Stepping over a high sill, he drew the hatch closed and breathed deeply of starship odors: the too-fresh redolence of ozone and rank stench of electronics mixed with odors of hot metal and scorched sealants. Food. Bodies. And on every starship in the Fleet, an unmistakable scent of polish. He chuckled as he made his way along the short companionway—everything military smelled of polish. Before him, a petty officer glared at her hovering display. Her desk plate read, "Kristoba Maldive, Quartermaster."
"All right, Barbousse," Maldive growled without looking up. "What now?"
"Well," Brim said, "you might start by signing me in...."
Maldive wrinkled a large, thin nose and continued to stare into the display. "Sign you what?" she demanded, fingers flying on a nearby control panel. Hues and patterns in the globe shifted subtly (Brim politely avoided reading any of them). "What in Universe do you mean by th—?" she continued, then stopped in midword when her narrow-set eyes strayed as far as Brim's cloak—and the sublieutenant's insignia on the left shoulder. "Oh, Universe," she grimaced quietly. "Sorry, sir, I never expected anyone out so early." She stared down at the desk. "We don't often get a chance to sleep so long. And the skimmers—"
"It's all right," Brim interrupted. "I walked."
Maldive looked up again. "Yes, sir," she said with an embarrassed smile. "I see you certainly did." She inserted Brim's card in a reader, then peered at the display. More soft hues and patterns filled the globe.
"Everything seems in order, sir," she said. From her desk she hefted an old-fashioned book—elegantly bound in polished red fabric with gold trim. Truculent's emblem of a charging bull, Hilaago (deadly predator from the planet Ju'ggo-3 in the Blim Commonwealth), was engraved in its front cover. "Sign here, sir," she grunted, opening the heavy book on the desk top facing Brim. "We'll have you aboard in no time at all."
Brim bent to the book and signed full fingerprints of both hands. "Well," he asked with a smile, "how was that?"
"I'd bet you're in, sir," the Quartermaster said, returning the smile. "Can you find your way to the wardroom? It's on the same deck level. We'll need a few cycles to make up your cabin."
"I'll find it," Brim said with more confidence than he actually felt. He'd been at pains to learn the starship's layout in the Academy library back on Avalon, but now everything looked unfamiliar and confusing.
"We'll come for you there when your cabin's ready," Maldive promised. "And you can leave that traveling case with me, too."
Brim nodded thanks and shook his head. What a difference the tiny device on his left shoulder made!
Having someone else look after his luggage was a far cry from life on the ore carriers at home. Of course, there he would have been counted fortunate indeed to have any baggage at all-aside from what he wore on his back or could carry in a pocket.
Along the companionway, he paused at a gleaming metal plate set with old-fashioned rivets. "I.F.S. TRUCULENT," it read, "JOB 21358 ELEANDOR BESTIENNE YARD 228/51988." The plaque might have been polished every metacycle on the metacycle from its looks—and by persons who cared considerably for the ship. A fine portent, he decided; and gave it a few good strokes of his own with a sleeve. He smiled. Something like that might even bring good luck.
Finding the wardroom proved easier than he expected-he was lost only twice. He opened the door almost bashfully-officers' country had been strictly off limits as recently as six days ago. With sincere relief, he discovered it was unoccupied, and stepped over the high sill. A large picture of Emperor Greyffin IV, "Grand Galactic Emperor, Prince of the Reggio Star Cluster, and Rightful Protector of the Heavens," adorned the forward bulkhead (identical poses stared beatifically from every available wall in the Empire). Battered recliners lolled here and there along a narrow deck dominated by a massive carved table with ten matching chairs. Eight places were set at the table; two additional chairs faced only polished wood.
Beyond the table, a window opened through the aft bulkhead into a tiny, dark pantry. From within this space, two incredibly rheumy eyes peered at him from atop a thin nose which ended in a bushy white mustache. This time, it was Brim's turn for surprise. He jumped. "Er, good morning," he said.
"It certainly does, sir," the face stated with conviction.
"Pardon?"
"But then I understand all you young fellers love snow."
Brim was just opening his mouth again when be was interrupted by the appearance of a Great Sodeskayan Bear with engineering blazes on the high collar of his Fleet Cloak. The newcomer-a full lieutenant-peered through the door, appeared to immediately grasp the situation, and wiggled long, unruly whiskers. "Lieutenant Brim?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Brim answered. "Ah. . . ?" He inclined his head toward the pantry door.
The Bear smiled. "Oh, that's Chief Steward Grimsby," he explained. "He's all right-he just doesn't listen anymore."
"Doesn't listen, sir?"
"Well, not in the half year since I signed on he hasn't."
Brim nodded, more in capitulation than anything else.
"Don't let him bother you, friend," the Bear maid. "He seems to anticipate most everything we require.
Anything else, we get for ourselves."
"I, ah, see, sir."
The Bear grinned, exposing long, polished fangs, each with the tiny jeweled inlay all fashionable Bears seemed to consider indispensable. "'Sir' is not really my name," he said, extending a large furry hand. "On the Mother Planets, I sin called Nikolas Yanuar Ursis—but you should call me 'Nik,' eh?"
Brim gripped his hand. "Nik it is," he replied. "And you seem to know mine's Wilf Brim—Wilf Ansor Brim, that is."
"Kristoba told me you were here," Ursis said, drawing a battered Sodeskayan Zempa pipe from a pocket of his expensive-looking tunic. Six strong fingers delicately charged its bowl from a flat leather case, and he puffed vigorously until the hogge'poa glowed warmly, filling the wardroom with its sweet, heavy fragrance-object of centuries' aggravated complaint by suffering human crewmates all over the Universe. "You don't mind, do you?" Ursis asked, settling into one of the less seedy recliners.
Brim smiled and shook his head. Hogge'poa never especially bothered him. Nobody seriously expected the Bears to stop anyway, but the tolerance had less to do with altruism than with recognition of the extraordinary genius by which engineered Hyperspace Drive systems, and besides, female Bears simply loved the smell of it.
"Fresh from the Academy, eh?" Ursis asked, crossing his legs comfortably. His high boots were perfectly polished, as if he expected an imminent inspection.
"I only graduated last week," Brim admitted.
"Then you came in from Avalon on Amphitrite, didn't you?"
Brim pursed his lips and nodded. Indeed, he had arrived in the big converted liner only the night before. "Convoy CXY98," he explained.
"Word has it we lost heavily in that one," the Bear said.
"More than half the cargo vessels," Brim asserted. "Twelve, I think."
"And most of the escorts," the Bear stated.
Brim nodded again. The Eorean Complex boasted an accurate rumor mill. "I watched old Obstinate blow up no more than a c'lenyt off our port bow," Brim said.
"No survivors you could see?"
"I can't imagine anything living through that blast," Brim answered. "All four Drive chambers seemed to blow at the same time-there wasn't even much wreckage."
Ursis got out of the recliner thoughtfully. Standing, he was average for a Sodeskayan native: powerfully barrel chested and slightly taller than the three irals Brim claimed for himself. Like other Bears, he had short pointed ears and a short muzzle for natural heat retention on the cold planets of his origin. He looked Brim in the eye. "Two cousins," he pronounced slowly. "Voof."