Then he felt a hand squeeze his arm. "You are a brave man, Wilf Ansor," Ursis said in a quiet voice, "and also a fool. Is this pride of yours worth all the pain it brings?"
Brim shut his eyes. "I don't know what you mean," he whispered, then took another great draught of meem.
"The way I see it," Ursis continued, "whether or not you care how I see things-is that you are suffering because you don't want people to know how melancholy you are about watching Margot Effer'wyck marry someone else."
Brim opened his eyes and frowned. "Whatever gave you an idea like that?" he bristled.
Ursis smiled sadly and shook his head. "Only Chief Barbousse and I know about your, shall we say, 'friendship' with Her Highness. We were the ones returning with you from the Typro missionin the captured scout ship-when Princess Effer'wyck extended your invitation to Avalon. Remember?"
"Yeah," Brim whispered, clenching his teeth as he watched Baron Rogan LaKarn-impossibly handsome and bemedaled-put his arm around that gorgeous waist....
"Accordingly," Ursis concluded through the side of his mouth, "I am the only one in this room who could possibly know, what you are trying to hide-and you have already failed to hoodwink me." He puffed thoughtfully on his Zempa pipe. "Or am I wrong, friend Wilf Ansor?
Can it be true that you want to watch this 'friend' of yours marry Rogan LaKarn?"
"Xaxtdamned Bears," Brim grumped under his breath. He poured himself another generous draught of meem, but abruptly set the goblet on the table, nodding to himself.
There was no way he could drink this kind of sadness away. After a few moments, he looked over at his Sodeskayan friend. "If anyone needs me, Nik, I'll be in the simulators.'' With that, he corked the meem bottle, set it in front of Calhoun, then slipped out into the hallway.
He never did see the actual wedding.
Signing out of the ship for a three-day "recuperative" leave-he had six days coming to him because of his wound-he made straight for the simulator building. There, he configured one of the older flight-bridge simulators as an ED-4-he was again amazed by the levers and gaugelike instrument readouts that materialized-then buried himself in practice for two solid days at the old-fashioned console. When at last he returned to Defiant-in the early-morning darkness before the change in the watch-he had become an expert ED-4 Helmsman, by simulator standards, if nothing else. Stopping at the deserted wardroom, he checked out a bottle of meem from the ever-present Grimsby, then made his way to his cabin. There, he drank himself into insensibility at his desk and slept the clock around.
The following morning, he awoke-miraculously-in his bunk. Even more miraculously, his clothes were hanging fresh and clean in his closet. Precisely one metacycle later, he reported on the bridge for duty-still somewhat numb, but once again in total control of himself and his Universe. And though he had his suspicions, he never did attempt to discover who was responsible for tucking him in his bunk and cleaning his clothes. Some favors were best left unthanked....
Atalanta's reconstruction of Prize continued unswervingly. Defiant flew her next convoy mission without sustaining so much as a scratch in battle damage. Then suddenly the forty days was over, Throughout the hectic rebuilding program. Brim and Claudia had encountered each other often, but only by chance in passing when they could find a few moments to exchange greetings-and a wistful "one of these days!..."
At the same time, the war's pace had picked up considerably. Not only did attacks on Atalanta increase in violence and frequency, but Intelligence reports indicated that Nergol Triannic's preparations for The Great Assault were now almost complete. In fact, Cloud Fleet units were beginning to embark even before rework on Prize was complete. The first to sortie was Vice Admiral Liat-Modal's 91st Troop Transport group that departed the League's capital planet of Tarrott. Immediately, he set course for what the Admiralty expected would prove to be a main assembly point where the formidable old starsailor could await further orders before setting off for the actual battles. His carefully shadowed armada included fifteen troop carriers, nineteen transport vessels and supply ships, auxiliary warships, and escort vessels-nearly one hundred in total. The transports carried a landing force of more than ninety thousand specially equipped shock troops, a third of whom were said to be Controllers, for the occupation of Haelic-and then Avalon. These were under the command of Marshal Ogen z'Kassierii-known as "The Butcher of Rennigal" for his bloody occupation of that star system early in the war.
Subsequent to Liat-Modal's departure, Imperial Fleet units began to arrive in Atalanta with astonishing regularity. The 19th, 43rd, and 61st Destroyer Flotillas were followed by the 3rd Battlecruiser Squadron and then both divisions of the powerful 4th Battle Squadron.
After this, all Leaguer raids came to an abrupt halt.
On the convoy lanes, however, a different story had begun. The new benders were now making their unseen presence felt acutely, and there were few defenses against them. It was imperative that a bender be captured immediately, and Prize constituted the best Imperial hope for that.
A little after dawn on the thirty-ninth day-following the tumultuous arrival of Admiral Penda's 1st Battle Squadron at the already crowded base-Collingswood traveled to the Payless warehouse with Calhoun in tow. Brim, Ursis, and Barbousse had been at work there for the last week, toiling the clock around with Claudia and her civilian shipwrights.
I.F.S. Prize was almost ready to fly.
"Well, Claudia," the Captain said with a pleased smile, "the old girl looks most impressive."
"Thanks, Captain," Claudia responded wearily. "Except for a launch, she's ready to fly again. Isn't she, Wilf?"
Brim nodded. "We've got Barbousse out beating the bushes for something about the same size as our attack launch. But little ones like that are hard to find anymore."
Collingswood frowned. "Am I to understand that Prize might be held up because you can't find a launch for her?" site asked.
Claudia frowned. "I'm afraid that's right, Captain," she admitted. "We can't get an Admiralty sign-off without one-and we need that before they'll even let the tower clear her for takeoff."
"Fleet regulations," Brim explained, shaking his head grumpily. "We can't take her up without a launch, even though I don't particularly need one. ED-4s are so maneuverable that most Helmsmen use the launch chamber for extra payload." He. shook his head angrily. "I've argued the point for a week now with some stupid clerk in the xaxtdamned Admiralty.
Wouldn't be surprised if her name was Voot."
"Specifically, the woman quotes Fleet Ordinance Regulations Number ED-2/3/4.998.12p, A and B," Ursis rumbled. "Series AGN-32, to be exact."
Chuckling, Collingswood stepped over one last checkout cable and entered the old starship. "Well," she said, "I believe I have an answer to your problems-at least until we can get the Admiralty to redesignate old Prize as some sort of special-mark ED-4 that doesn't carry a launch." She looked at Brim. "I shall lend you back Defiant's attack launch. Since we took delivery, the little ship has served mostly as a private space yacht. That is correct, isn't it, Wilf?"
"Aye, Captain."
"That takes care of that," she said, symbolically dusting her hands. "Now come show me the rest of the ship...." Collingswood had a way of solving problems like that.
Inside, Prize little resembled the abandoned hulk she had been only forty days beforehand in the salvage yard. Every interior surface had either been shined or coated with standard Fleet Gray #619 (INTERIOR). Forward, her tiny flight bridge was unaltered except for the addition of new, more powerful communications gear and standard Fleet KA'PPA COMM panels between the two Helmsman's consoles.