'Hab'thall," Brim spat defiantly, picking the most insulting malediction he could dredge from his store of gutter Vertrucht—then grunted in pain as a polished boot smashed into his mouth, snapping teeth and throwing his head back against his shoulder.
"That should teach you better use of Vertrucht."
Brim willed the pain away and glared up in silence.
"Good," Valentin said at length, studying his fingernails. "Now, what is your ship? Name and home port, if you please."
Brim continued his silence as blood seeped from the corner of his ruined lips and ran warm along his lower cheek to puddle silently on the deck.
"My, my," the officer said with an innocent mien, "others in your crew have shared that secret with me. And much more, too. Now..." He stepped on Brim's helpless fingers again. "Won't you?"
Brim threw up on the other perfect boot.
Valentin roared in anger, jumped back, and kicked Brim full in the stomach.
By this time, Brim hardly noticed.
"I'll show you, cretin son of a capcloth," the enraged officer shouted, pulling a blaster from a black, shiny holster on his hip. He pointed it in the direction of Brim's stomach. "Slowly, Avalonian scum. As I promised."
Fascinated, Brim watched the man's finger curl over the trigger. Then suddenly, alarms went off all over the bridge.
"Prefect," a rating yelled in panic. "Prefect Valentin, sir!"
Valentin growled—lowered his blaster and turned. "Well?" he demanded.
"Another sh-ship, Prefect," the voice stammered.
"Drat!" Valentin swore. "They got here much sooner than I, expected." He glared at the generator console. "Now I suppose I shall have to accept their help."
"It...it's the w-wrong kind of ship, Prefect Valentin," the rating declared.
"Well, what kind of ship, fool? How does it answer the challenge?"
"It does not answer, Prefect."
"What?"
"See for yourself, Prefect."
"Silence, fool! Where is it coming from?"
Brim couldn't see where the man pointed, but watched Valentin's boots spin round.
"Train the guns," the officer bellowed. "And..." He stopped in midsentence. "Sweet hok'kling Pokknor," he swore through his teeth. "Belay that last order. It's one of their T-class ships. Our 99s don't stand a chance."
Brim laughed through his cut and bleeding lips—though it came out as more of a bubbling noise. He mouthed the next words slowly and carefully. "What number, hab'thall?" This time, he spoke entirely in Vertrucht, then waited for the foot. It didn't come.
"You sneaking slime," Valentin snarled. "Vertrucht, eh?"
"What number, hab'thall?" Brim bubbled, this time with a smile worth twice the pain it caused his lips.
Valentin narrowed his eyes, peered through the Hyperscreens. "T.83," he snapped furiously, then turned and called over his shoulder, "Get this ordure into the seat here. Perhaps he can be of further value after all." He slipped the blaster back into its gleaming holster.
Rough hands hauled Brim from the deck and into a recliner at an empty console. He almost passed out from the pain—new blood was trickling along his chest again. His eyes fogged over and he felt himself slump toward the console. "I think you're too late, Prefect, old cock," he mumbled as a tiny popping noise exploded on his right arm.
"There, that'll bring him around for a while," another voice said.
Warmth spread rapidly from his right arm, and his eyes abruptly cleared. A rope under his arms secured him to the back of the recliner—he could see out the Hyperscreens. He focused his eyes, grinned as well as he could. I.F.S. Truculent, all right. Never had a "pick and shovel" starship looked so beautiful. Bow on, she was standing about a thousand irals off the corvette's port quarter, all seven of her powerful 144-mmi disruptors pointed, it seemed, directly at his head. Even while he watched, they flashed in unison, accompanied by great coruscating eruptions of flame and glittering clouds of radiation.
Outside, the Universe went mad in a paroxysm of erupting, runaway energy. The corvette bucketed violently, seams creaking and groaning as her spaceframe twisted in the backwash of space falling back in on itself. Screams of terror filled the bridge. The lights flickered out, then relighted—much dimmer this time.
Too near the final onslaught of death to care, Brim turned to the young Prefect. The hypodermic that cleared his eyes also seemed to have stemmed the pain—at least most of it. He smiled crookedly. "She's about to blow all of us to subatomics, Valentin," be bubbled happily, "I'm sure the others won't mind."
"She?"
"Captain Collingswood," Brim said reverting to Avalonian.
"By Pokknor's beard," Valentin whispered. "Perhaps there's a chance yet," he whispered to himself.
"Univers..."
"Not 'Universe,' 'Collingswood,'" Brim corrected gleefully.
"Silence, fool!"
"As you wish, Prefect."
Valentin shivered, peered through the Hyperscreens at Truculent's seven 144-mmi's. "I want to talk to her," he said almost to himself, then turned to a rating at a nearby console. "Get me a connection to that ship," he ordered, smoothing his wavy blond hair. "Immediately!"
"Aye, Prefect," a rating with a bald head and large ears answered, bending over his console. Within scant ticks, a blank Lobe appeared on the console nearest the black-suited officer.
"Not yet to me!" he bellowed. "Him!" He pointed to Brim.
A second blast from Truculent, this time much closer, sent every loose article on the bridge crashing wildly to the deck. The ship's gravity pulsed and the Hyperscreens flashed wildly.
"Hurry, fool!" Valentin wailed, nervously shooting his cuffs. "Hurry!"
"Aye, Prefect," the rating answered. "They're listening now, I think." A new globe appeared on Brim's console, flashing once... twice. Then it filled with a Blue Cape rating—bald with fat cheeks. It was Applewood.
"Connection's made, Prefect," the League rating reported.
Applewood's image peered out from the globe, talking with someone off the display. "We've got a connection to them, Captain," he said hesitantly. "I seem to be looking into the bridge." His eyes came to rest on Brim's ruined face. He stopped, a look of horror on his face. "Oh, sweet thraggling Universe," he groaned. "It looks like Lieutenant Brim."
Brim nodded, raised his good band. He felt hot and weak. The hypodermic was rapidly wearing off and his vision was starting to fog again. Blood still trickled down his chest.
"There's blood all over him," Applewood exclaimed. He was suddenly thrust aside, replaced by Collingswood in the globe.
"Lieutenant Brim," she said, clearly struggling to keep herself under control. "What has happened to...?" She paused. She seemed to know the answer to that. "To the rest of the crew?" she asked.
Smiling toothsomely and fairly dripping masculinity, Valentin moved beside Brim and spoke into the globe. "They are safe, Captain Collingswood," he said with the earnest look of a schoolboy. "You have my word as an officer of the League."
"Oh?" Collingswood answered. "Lieutenant Brim certainly doesn't look particularly safe to me."