The other however—blond, square-jawed, and strikingly handsome in a somehow familiar manner—peered for a moment at the 219, stepped cautiously aside, then pocketed his blaster with a great, swashbuckling grin. Next he waved his sodden cap, grinning as if he had suddenly recognized an old acquaintance—which clearly he had. Brim recognized him at the same instant.
"Kirsh Valentin." he whispered more to himself than anyone else—his long-time adversary through two wars and a number of years deceitfully labeled "peace." The blasted Leaguer could do nothing to influence the situation either way—and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as his long-time rival made a fool of himself at the helm of a small starship!
Almost blinded with sweat, Brim returned the grin in spite of himself and waved back, only nudging the steering engine. He got past the limousine this time with merely a loud scrape as the ship's ventral safety cladding removed most of its passenger compartment.
Then, abruptly, they were at the portal. Carefully prodding the thrust dampers forward, Brim switched to local gravity and nudged the ship onto the glowing tube. "Hang on back there!" he bellowed, standing on the gravity brakes and shoving the thrust dampers all the way to their forward stops.
As thunder filled the control bridge, a dripping Aram slipped into the co-Helmsman's seat and buckled in. "Think she'll fly?" he quipped as rainwater ran from his feathers and collected in puddles on the cabin floor.
"We're going to find out right now!" Brim answered grimly, and glanced back at the still-grinning Valentin, who had just raised his hand in a casual salute. In spite of a sodden uniform, the Leaguer's smile was infectious. Brim returned it again—and the salute—then released the brakes. Instantly, the little ship surged forward through the sheeting rain, staggering along the Becton tube until Brim hauled back on the unfamiliar controls—a bit too soon! The ship lifted only for a moment, then sank uneasily back to the tube. ''Fly xaxtdamnit!" he urged. "FLY!"
This time, the 219 lifted again, still too early for comfort, but Brim's innate skill as a Helmsman kept it airborne—amid howls of protest from the flight warning system. He could almost feel Valentin's scornful laughter on the back of his neck. Moments later, however, the little ship began to steady as it bumped and clawed its way blindly into the storm. Soon, they were accelerating toward LightSpeed.
"Aram, you got the Drive figured out yet?" he demanded.
The A'zurnian hesitated only a moment. "What's a Czambell?" he asked.
"A Drive crystal," Brim translated.
"Then, I've got it figured out," Aram whooped. Presently, a deep growl began to build beneath their feet. "Avalon, here we come!" he chortled happily.
"Yeah, Avalon," Brim repeated. Now, it might actually be true. Their 219 could outspeed any of the clumsy Zachtwagers back at the base, and with a little luck, they'd be well into the Void before the Leaguers could call in anything faster. Unfortunately, the bigger trick would be figuring how they would get anywhere near the Triad in a ship with the red daggers of the League painted boldly on either side of its hull. He felt for his new Effer'wyckean timepiece to clock their passage and... "It's thraggling gone," he exclaimed angrily, checking all the pockets of his borrowed battlesuit.
"What's gone?" Aram asked, looking up in surprise. "Is there something wrong with the ship?"
Brim shook his head in exasperation. "No," he grumped, "there's nothing wrong with the xaxtdamned ship. I've just lost my new timepiece back there, the one I bought in Luculent just before Effer'wyck threw in the towel, Gorksroar!"
"You thinking of going back after it?" Aram joked.
"No," Brim said, throwing a bogus punch across the little flight bridge. "But if someone ever finds it, they'll know I've been there. I even had my name engraved on it." He thumped the armrest.
"Damnation," he pouted. "I'd hate to think of some thraggling Leaguer enjoying my timepiece. I never owned one that good before."
Aram frowned. "Probably won't matter much if people know you were there."
"Yeah," Brim agreed, shaking his head in disgust. "Let's just hope Onrad didn't drop his, too...."
Just to be on the safe side, Brim set a roundabout course for home: an old smuggler's trick he'd learned from Baxter Calhoun. The enemy base had begun broadcasting demands for a general interception before he could even accelerate into HyperSpace. But as soon as the little 219 passed above LightSpeed, he made a sharp turn—directly into the path of a fierce gravity tide— then fought his way through raging streams of gravitons parallel to the Effer'wyckean frontier, dodging in and out of spacecoast stars for nearly half a metacycle before he actually set course for home. The ruse clearly worked (as others had over the centuries, according to Calhoun), for KA'PPA communication was abruptly flooded by calls from every Leaguer warship in the area—all heading at their best speed for positions along a line of flight leading directly from the base to the Triad.
"The bastards are really after us, aren't they?" Aram remarked after watching the static-filled KA'PPA display for a few moments. "I've never seen 'em make so much of a fuss."
"You're right," Brim agreed. "It's like they've forgotten about everything else. Just look at the KA'PPA—Your Majesty, you need to see this—they've even recalled a couple of raids that just got started for Avalon."
Onrad stepped to the flight bridge. "Where's the KA'PPA on this Leaguer garbage scow anyway?" he demanded.
"Right here, Your Majesty," Brim said. "Right below this big crystal 'thing.' "
The Emperor frowned and stared at the crystal. "I'm no Helmsman, but I've never seen anything that looks like that. What d' you suppose it is?"
Brim laughed and turned in his seat. "Got no idea, Your Majesty," he said, "and I've never seen anything like it, either. I think it's only a temporary mount, though. And the ship handles fine without it, so...."
Onrad nodded and turned his attention to the KA'PPA, which if anything was even more active with messages now. "By Voot," he swore, "they're raising a lot of fuss about losing one little transport. D' you think they know I'm on board?"
Brim shrugged. "How could they know?!'
"Couldn't be any of the survivors at the BKAEW satellite," Onrad said with a frown. "That place is so classified, nobody who's even a slight risk gets in." He shook his head. "It's got to be coincidence."
"Thraggling WON-der-ful," Brim grumped as KA'PPA traffic requesting help with the search continued to build. As the little 219 sped homeward, they even received an angry rebuke from a passing GH 262 because they hadn't joined in on the search for the Weg'wysershmook ship. He frowned for a moment. "Weg'wysershmook?" That was a word in Vertrucht he hadn't often heard. Its derivation had something to do with glass or mineral crystals, though. But then, he only had a good working knowledge of the Leaguer language; he was far from being an expert in technical terms. Chuckling grimly, he KA'PPAed back (in perfect Vertrucht) that his ship was flying a secret mission and that they would find themselves in serious trouble if they attempted further communication.
KA'PPA transmissions from the Gorn-Hoff ceased immediately.
Brim's chuckling ended not more than a quarter metacycle later, however, when the 219's proximity alarm wailed and the little ship was suddenly blasted off course by a tremendous explosion that ripped the very fabric of space not more than a thousand irals to port. A ranging shot, clearly. Brim swung in his set just in time to see four Imperial Starfuries turn onto his tail—at such a reckless speed that they were on top of him before he could make the slightest move. Pitching heavily in an area of gravity turbulence, the sleek, deadly ships outclassed the 219 in everything, especially size and in speed. There seemed little hope of escape.