"I'll drink to that," Valerian said matter-of-factly. "Anybody who'd fly those racing starships I designed has to be a little daft."
Brim grinned as his mind went spinning backward in years. Probably he had been a little daft to fly Valerian's racers. It all seemed so long ago, but the whole thing had begun only a few years previously—in 52005, if he remembered correctly—when Sodeskayan physicist U.V. Popova theorized the Reflecting HyperLight Drive. Based upon Sheldon Travis's (then) obscure Special Theory Number Six, Popova's hypothesis foreshadowed a whole new generation of starships. Under normal circumstances, practical applications of such a radical new Drive would have required years of experimentation. Instead, the singular rise to intergalactic prominence of a yearly competition for starship speed, the Mitchell Trophy race, spurred Sodeskayan development of the reflecting Drive to such a pace that prototypes were available for use by Imperial racers within three years, permitting Imperial Helmsmen like Brim to win permanent possession of the trophy—while League Drive development continued along a more conventional path. This seemingly arcane technological achievement combined with simultaneous development by Designer Mark Valerian of the classic Sherrington Starfury produced historic results only a few Standard Years afterward.
And despite the Starfury's legendary reputation, there was really no mystique about Valerian's design. It was a straightforward merger of all the technical knowledge of the time into one composite unit of machinery, including its superb Krasni-Peych Drive, that, with the spaceframe, embodied every experience of high-speed starflight gathered from the Mitchell Trophy races. In the case of the Reflecting-Drive Starfury, everything came right at the psychological moment—a rare event in starship and Drive design....
"Daft or not, I'll drive you to the bar anyway," Valerian continued, snapping Brim from his reverie. "How about that for compassion?"
Brim relented; no exercise tonight—again. "You've got a deal," he said, climbing into the warmth of the passenger seat. "And speaking of daft, what kind of new starship brings you to Gimmas this time?" he asked. "Especially when it's summertime back home at the Sherrington labs on Lys."
"Starfuries," Valerian said, easing the skimmer into forward. "At least for the present."
Brim turned and frowned. "But you designed Starfury years ago," he said. "Nothing new?"
"Oh, we're kickin' around a few new ideas on Lys, Brim," Valerian drawled with a little smile.
"But I didn't say Starfury; I said Starfuries." He winked as they pulled into a circular driveway lined by the twisted, skeletal forms of trees that had been dead for centuries. "New Starfuries, my friend," he added. "Like Starfury Mark 1C killer ships,"
"Killer ships? Mark, Starfuries are light cruisers, not short-range killer ships."
"One Cs are killer ships, Brim. Trust me," Valerian laughed. "All they share with normal Starfuries is hullmetal. Single helms. No provisions for long-range cruising at all. I've packed every cubic iral with amplification gear for the new disruptors."
"New disruptors, too?"
"You bet—425s."
"Four what?" Brim demanded, stepping out onto the snow. "I thought 406s were the biggest they make."
"Not anymore," Valerian said. "And the new 1Cs carry fourteen 425s in seven turrets.
Superfocused, no less; we brought the technology from Theobold Interspace in Lixor.''
Brim held the bar door for his friend as tides of familiar warm odors swept past him into the cold air outside. A thousand subtle flavors of camarge cigarettes mixed with Hogge'Poa, meem, perfume, and life itself. "The Great Neutrals," he laughed at the mention of Theobold Interspace. "Those Lixorian zukeeds manufacture—and peddle—more weapons than anybody else in the galaxy. Why, they're so peaceful, they almost make me sick."
"Yeah, you're right," Valerian admitted. "But at least they don't do much of the shooting."
"They leave that up to their clients," Brim said, handing his Fleet Cape to a shapely rating. "Like the xaxtdamned Leaguers."
"And us, now," Valerian reminded him. "From what I hear, you're gonna like the merchandise."
"If it kills Leaguer starships easier, I'll love it," Brim said grimly. "The bastards we fought in Fluvanna gave us quite a run for the money." Through an ancient wooden arch, he could see Borodov and Gallsworthy signaling from the crowded twilight and started into the room.
"Disrupters won't, be the only things you'll like about the 1C," Valerian assured him.
"Somehow I have little doubt about that," Brim called over his shoulder. "Like Logish Meem!
Thank you, Doctor," he said, taking a goblet from the old Bear. He sniffed its pungent contents.
"Excellent, excellent!" he exclaimed, examining the deep ruby liquid against light from an excellently counterfeited fireplace—firewood on dead Gimmas was worth a king's ransom.
"Tastes as good as it looks!" Valerian said, appreciatively sipping a goblet proffered by Gallsworthy. "It once again proves that Drive systems are not the only subjects on which Bears are born masters."
"Is good to be appreciated for truly important things," Borodov chuckled. "No Drive system can compare with excellent Logish Meem."
"And speaking of important things..." Gallsworthy interrupted.
"You going to talk about work already?" Valerian asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"War," Gallsworthy corrected.
"War's work enough for me," Brim observed bleakly, refilling his goblet from a fresh decanter silently placed on the table by a rating. After six Standard Days at Hyperspeed in a cramped destroyer, he was beginning to feel the trip.
"It's war's work we need to talk about, Brim," Gallsworthy said, turning abruptly serious. "All of us."
"Is calling meeting to official order," Borodov intoned, raising his goblet. "To His Majesty, Onrad the Fifth," he toasted.
"To Onrad the Fifth," the others chorused earnestly. "Long may he reign!"
"Now, Brim," Gallsworthy began, "all three of us are here tonight specifically to get you started in your new job. What do you want to hear about first?"
Brim sat back and considered. The meem was warm in his stomach and he was tired. If he really had his choice, he wanted to hear about how to get back to his room and some sack time. "Well," he chuckled, "Mark introduced me to the Starfury 1C on the way over. So I'm assuming I'll be flying one."
"You've got that right," Gallsworthy said with a smile. "But you'll be doing a lot more than flying."
"I was afraid of that," Brim said wryly. "The Wing Commander thing...."
"Yeah," Gallsworthy laughed, "the Wing Commander thing. You want to hear about that next?''
"I've got a choice?" Brim asked.
"Certainly," Gallsworthy answered. "We can also talk about your new job as Wing Commander. Which one?''
Brim grinned resignedly. "Well then, how about an introduction to my new job, Admiral?" he said.
"Ah! Perceptive choice, Wilf Ansor," Borodov rumbled.
"You always were lucky at thinks like that," Valerian observed with mock gravity.
"Things won't be as bad as you think, Brim," Gallsworthy promised. "You'll get plenty of time at the helm of a starship, believe me. It's just that you'll have a number of other duties, too—with the same importance as Helmsmanship. And you won't be doin' anything that you haven't already done setting up that IVG base at Varnholm Manor for our friend Baxter Calhoun. Mostly getting things done and keeping people out of trouble. It all came out pretty well on Fluvanna, didn't it, now?"