Children carried flowers as they trailed their elders along the crowded sidewalks. Here and there, robed Gradgroat-Norchelite priests chanted blessings to all passersby who would bow their heads. And at one corner, a great silvery egg-shaped Norchelite chapel rose sheer before them, its polished metal walls splendidly reflecting the vivid green light of Haelic's mid-evening moons. Glowing characters over the doors spelled The Order's curious motto: "In destruction is resurrection; the path of power lies through truth."
Often, the skimmer's headlights reflected pairs of greenish-yellow eyes in darkened alcoves: sable rothcats, a unique breed of felines imported during an earlier age to combat plagues of rodents and giant moths that once infested the city. The rothcats did half their job, and to this day consumed most of the giant moths as soon as they hatched. But Felis Roth-bartis stubbornly ignored rodents of all forms. Haelic was still searching for a better mousetrap....
Countless shops-often the merest slits in walls-lined the streets, enjoying a thriving business at this late, but comfortably cool, hour. All too often, however, huge gaps appeared in the buildings where ruined masonry and plaster cascaded into the streets-legacies from the League of Dark Stare. Claudia passed these without comment, but Brim could feel the dark anger that blazed within her. Leaguers would be better off if they didn't capture this target, he thought.
In a tiny street full of colorfully dressed people who stared at Brim's uniform as if he didn't quite belong, Claudia expertly wedged the little skimmer into a tiny opening along a curb and switched off the grav. "We're here," she said with a smile of pleasure.
Brim looked around him at the bustling shops, people, and animals. Smells of every kind assaulted his nostrils: spices, animals, hot metal from the skimmer, street dust, Claudia's perfume, cooking oil, even the stones themselves seemed to have a particular odor. An exciting place, he thought. Every inch of wall space was covered by elaborate bas-relief: battle scenes, statues of Norchelite saints, intricate scrollwork, ancient-looking starships, dragons, chilling alien forms-designs of every shape and texture. "Lead on, my trusty guide," he said with a grin, "for I am hopelessly lost."
"I heard that you Helmsmen are pretty dependent on navigators," Claudia teased, invoking a rivalry much older than spaceflight itself, "but I had no idea how much."
"Show me a Fleet navigator who could find his way in-or out-of here on his first trip, and I'll eat my battle suit," Brim remonstrated. "Unless he's a Haelician, of course. You people are clearly born with some sort of crazy navigational system; otherwise, nobody could ever go anywhere."
"You've guessed our secret!" Claudia exclaimed, dramatically raising her eyebrows.
"And mine homes in on taverns, too-like this one." She indicated a narrow arched doorway, framed with exquisite wooden filigree and outlined in lacelike metal scrollwork. Above it was a colorful sign.
"'Nesterio's something or other," Brim read aloud, peering at the carved letters. The rest was in Haelician.
" 'Rocotzian Cabaret,'" Claudia translated for him. " 'Spirits and Meem'-I assume that is what we've come for."
Brim cupped her elbow as they descended a steep staircase. "Doesn't matter what language the label's written in," he said, "just what's in the bottle." Then he laughed. "I must sound like a Sodeskayan," he said. "That's an old Carescrian saying."
Claudia smiled into his face. "I could understand it," she said. There's a difference, you know."
"Yeah," Brim chuckled. "We Carescrians never were much for mystery."
In a dimly lit alcove at the bottom of the staircase, they were confronted by a muscular, heavily bearded man in crimson tights with long pointed shoes that curled into coils at the tips. He wore an embroidered blue tunic with shiny brass buttons in two rows extending from a high lace collar to a short skirt of brightly woven patterns. A broad, elaborately jeweled leather belt draped over his hips, placing a silver dagger in easy reach of his right hand. For a moment, his glance moved sidelong over Brim's uniform; then he narrowed his eyes and peered into Claudia's face. Only when she raised her hand in the traditional greeting did he bow and open the door. "This way, my beautiful friend," he said, his face brightening into a friendly smile, "and Lieutenant," he added graciously, "please feel that our poor tavern is always your home when you again find yourself in The Section."
Brim bowed. "I am deeply honored," he said, very much aware that Claudia's presence alone granted his singular welcome.
Inside, the room itself was long, narrow, and crowded. Lighted by dim oil lamps that hung from a high stone ceiling, it looked every bit as incredibly old as it probably was. The walls were of whitewashed plaster whose smoke-browned surfaces were relieved here and there by inset wooden beams painted bright green and lavishly decorated by colorful primitive designs. From the small corner stage, a trio of musicians created sinuous melodies that blended and separated, sometimes harmonically, sometimes discordantly, in what even the unsophisticated ear of Wilf Brim understood must be a unique, totally authentic Haelician mellifluousness. The air was thick with mu'occo smoke, a mildly narcotic-some claimed aphrodisiac-leaf the natives had smoked during moments of relaxation since time immemorial.
They were shown to a booth so narrow that Brim had no choice but to occupy a seat opposite his beautiful companion-a disappointment, somehow, but there was no help for it.
Across the aisle, he recognized the Base's civilian manager-with two attractive women. He smiled to himself. He might be no more man a lieutenant, but Claudia Valemont was with him, and she was more stunningly beautiful than either of the manager's companions.
"Like it?" she asked.
"I love it," Brim responded as he relaxed in the surprisingly comfortable wooden bench.
"And I want you to know I feel considerably privileged to be here."
"I suppose it's not a part of the City many 'outsiders' see," Claudia agreed.
"I sort of got that idea from your friend at the door," Brim replied.
Claudia smiled. "Nesterio is an old acquaintance," she explained, a soft blush rising momentarily to her cheeks. "He... ah... protects me."
"With muscles like that, I assume he can do quite a thorough job," Brim commented with a grin.
"Yes," Claudia said quietly, lowering her eyes to the table. "A childhood friend-and much more. Almost two years ago, he pulled me from the rubble of the building where I lived at the time. I'd been trapped for nearly a day before he dug me out with his bare hands...." She laughed grimly. "Now, he seems to feel a responsibility for my continued safety. And Universe knows I shall never discourage him."
"By the beard," Brim said quietly. "I had no idea you'd been..."
"The scars don't normally show," she said. "But I no longer worry about bringing children into this Universe of war, either."
Brim could find no adequate response. Years ago, his own tiny sister died screaming in his arms after the very first of Kabul Anak's vicious raids on helpless Carescria-a raid that cost him everyone else in his immediate family, as well. Somehow, now was not the time to share his experience. Besides, he'd personally come through the raids without so much as a scratch....
Presently, a shapely red-haired waitress in a white, floor-length skirt and bright green surcoat with huge, puffy sleeves took their orders: native e'lande for Claudia and meem for Brim. After that, she seemed to relax. Brim was stunned when she suddenly rummaged through her purse and produced a tiny silver case containing six of the slim, golden mu'occo "cigarettes," as they were called.