She grinned. "They have great rooms upstairs, too," she said.
"Somehow, I thought you might have seen one or two of them."
"Well," she joshed with a smile, "if I had to wait for you to take me up there, I might forget how to do it. And I don't mean climb stairs."
"Little danger in your forgetting that, I'd bet," Brim said.
"True," she admitted. "It's like riding a kid's gyrocycle, I guess."
"Only more fun."
"Yeah. Lots more..."
They shared a moderately expensive bottle of Logish Meem while they dined comfortably on fruits, chutney, cheeses, and yeasty, hard-crusted bread. Like all starsailors who once were shipmates, they shared a special kind of friendship forged in long watches, fierce gravity storms, and a deep, enigmatic love of space itself. Their conversation was reflective, often touching on old acquaintances and their fates. Had he heard any more concerning the fate of Margot Effer'wyck? Had some lucky woman finally stolen Toby Moulding's heart, or was there yet a chance for small, graying Commanders? Was Utrillo Barbousse still running everything?
"And who are you sleeping with these days, Wilf?" she demanded. "I don't mean that in a literal sense, either." She made a shy grin. "Has that leggy Carescrian woman—Eve Cartier, that's it—beaten me to bed with you?"
"None of your damned business," Brim replied defensively, but an inadvertent grin and burning cheeks gave him away.
"Aha!" Tissaurd gloated. "You don't have to tell me, I know." She smiled. "Wish I had long legs like that to wrap around a man."
"I'm certain you make up for it in other ways," Brim chuckled.
"Trust me," she said with a smile. Then she frowned. "Cartier's a real Carescrian, isn't she?" she said. "Understand she even used to fly one of Calhoun's, er, privateers I think he calls them."
"She did," Brim said. "That's where I met her. But what's this 'real Carescrian' business?"
Now it was Tissaurd who frowned. "I don't know," she said. "Just words that came to mind."
Cocking her head, she peered at him as if she were seeing something in him for the first time. Then she raised her eyebrows. "Maybe I do know," she said. "She's not like you. She's proud to be a Carescrian; I've never known you to even mention it."
"Well," he said, "I've been working on that."
"Oh?" she replied.
"Yes, xaxtdammit," he said. "I'm beginning to feel all right about being a Carescrian. But I'm also—probably foremost—an Imperial. One who just happens to come from Carescria, that's all.
Believe me, the two of us have talked about this a couple of times."
Tissaurd reached across the table and took his hand. "I'm glad to hear that, my future lover," she said. "I've never questioned your 'Imperiality,' if such a word exists, I can't think of anybody who does—except somebody like Puvis Amherst. For xaxt's sake, with two Imperial Comets to wear and connections all the way to the throne, you are unquestionably an Imperial, Wilf Brim. But there is still one big difference between the two of you—that has nothing to do with what you've got between your respective legs."
"And that is?"
"Eve Cartier is finally proud her home is Carescria."
"Who says I've got an exclusive on this 'no-home' business?" Brim demanded. "I can't remember you ever talking about your home."
She laughed softly and touched his arm. "It's because I've never left my home, Wilf Brim," she said.
"I don't understand," he replied. "I thought you were born in the Lampson Provinces."
"I was," she said with a little grin.
"Then why is it I never hear you talk about them?"
"Because we left there before I was a year old," she explained—then frowned. "Wilf Brim," she said after a moment. "I don't think you spent much time with the personnel records when we served together or you'd know I'm a Fleet brat—both my mother and father were Blue Capes. The Fleet's my home, and I'm proud of it. You, on the other hand, act as if you have no home at all."
"That's damn near the same way Eve talks."
"Hmm. The more I hear about that woman, the more I like her—in spite of her damned long legs."
"I suppose that next you're going to tell me that I'm lonely," he said.
"No," she said. "I'll simply remind you that I said those words a year ago when we were off somewhere in space aboard old Starfury."
Brim nodded. "I guess I do remember that," he said.
"The more you ignore who you are, the more you're going to insulate yourself," she said. "You know, Carescria's pretty well thought of these days."
"When I started in the service, it was the other way 'round, believe you me," he said.
"Oh, I know all that," she said. "But years of war and people like you, Calhoun, and that damned long-legged Cartier have gone a long way toward changing that attitude forever."
"It's not been that easy to forget," he said, realizing immediately that he was being forced down the very same road he'd traveled recently with Eve Cartier. "You weren't mere at the Helmsman's Academy when I was. You didn't have to put up with a whole Fleet full of Puvis Amhersts who treated you like dirt no matter how well you did." He ground his teeth. "It wasn't easy to be a Carescrian those days, and now it's hard to forget."
"But denying Carescria, you direct the anger I just heard against the Carescrians themselves—not the people who made trouble for you."
"I know," he said. "She told me that, too."
"Did she also tell you it's that same anger that makes you lonely?" she asked.
"No," he admitted. "She didn't. But then, who's to say you're right? Maybe anger hasn't anything to do with it."
" 'It,' " she said, snatching at his word. "Then you admit that you're a lonely man, do you?"
Flustered, Brim shook his head and prudently decided to sidestep the whole thing. "No," he said.
"I admit to nothing except that I'll soon be too heavy-lidded to get myself back to the shuttle station." He grinned. "How about a lift to the Fleet base on Lake Mersin in that finagled skimmer of yours?"
"All right, Skipper," Tissaurd said in resignation, "I'll drop it for now. Hang on till I pay the bill and... stop off in the loo."
"I'll be the one snoozing in the lobby," Brim said, this time only half in jest. He had a rather deadly war waiting for him, and desperately needed at least a few metacycles sleep to ready himself for it.
It was late when they pulled up in a parking lot, some distance from a portable gravity pad where the Night Watch shuttle tested its mooring in the damp autumn breeze coming off Lake Mersin. Most of the other small craft had long since departed. As she set the gravity brake, she smiled at him and opened the door. "I'll walk you to your ship," she said, "I wouldn't want you to fall asleep in the lot here."
Brim smiled. "I'm sorry I wasn't better company on the ride out here," he said. "I'm simply worn out—physically and mentally."
"You're always good company, my ex-Skipper," she said, taking his hand and starting across the concrete apron. "Sometimes, you don't always need to talk."
"Thanks," he said simply. He appreciated her, too.
Halfway across, she paused for a moment to look around, then drew him into the shadow of a large tool crib. "About that dessert, Captain Brim," she said with an impish little smile. "Still interested?"
He frowned. "Dessert?" he asked, then he closed his eyes and smiled. "Oh, You mean?..."
Looking directly into his eyes, Tissaurd opened her Fleet cloak. Beneath, she wore only crimson briefs.