The briefings themselves were well prepared and easy to understand. Careful lectures from a whole staff of experts gave Brim details of the landscape and climate, planetary transportation system, the Magalla'ana city layout (including locations of the target research nodes), and known effects of the League occupation.
This last subject was covered by a tall female with the huge eyes and large retinas of a born hunter—she instantly captured Brim's imagination. Her presentation, however, drove all thought of pleasantries from his mind, for 'she described an A'zurn that suffered mightily under Triannic's iron fist.
As she explained it, League soldiers intended no special malice toward their A'zurnian thralls, but the net effect was much the same as if they did. Triannic's military structures were specially designed to stifle independent thought of any kind. Pragmatic rules covered everything—including how conquered peoples were to be governed. So, when the fragile A'zurnians were subjected to the same general treatment that subdued a planet of sturdy warriors like the seven-iral giants of Coggl'KANs, their hollow bones and fragile wings literally tended to crumple and shatter upon contact. Broken extremities were so common that fully a quarter of the A'zurnian population was known to have succumbed in the first two years of occupation alone. And if this were not enough, the feared black-suited Controllers (who were occasionally permitted to think) soon discovered it was much more convenient to imprison A'zurnians once their wings were snapped in half just below the "elbow." Captives altered in such a fashion could then be impounded without the Leaguers' first having to construct sky barriers as well as walls. It wasn't so much cruelty that led the Controllers to devise such gross tortures—it was simple pragmatism.
When the briefing ended, a much subdued Brim made straight for his stateroom and pondered the utter callousness of war. At that point, he would almost have joined the ground forces himself.
Less than a day later, the big liner arrived in high orbit over A'zurn. Below, on the surface, a small but highly organized A'zurn underground was already well into a noisy—and highly I successful—uprising in the distant city of Klaa'Shee to draw League occupation troops away from Magalla'ana while Imperial land forces disembarked for operations on the surface. In the air, the Imperial Fleet held complete, if temporary, command of the skies. After six years of League occupation, the A'zurnians were so totally devastated that the Controllers had seen fit to reassign all but a few surveillance warships to other occupied planets where more active opposition to League ministrations made such equipment mobs in demand.
"I say, Brim," Sandur exclaimed, bursting onto the bridge where Brim idly watched a stream of shuttles ferry men and equipment toward the surface. "Someone claims they've actually got work for you down there. How does that sound?"
Brim laughed. Used to constant—grueling—activity on blockade duty, he was more than halfway desperate for something to at least occupy his mind. "Where do I sign up, Commander?" he asked immediately.
"Well," Sandur said, smiling and cocking his head, "you won't need to sign anything. Seems they've already saved that trouble and volunteered you."
Brim smiled. "How thoughtful, sir," he chuckled. "What sort of work do they have in mind?" he asked.
Sandur frowned, managing somehow to look even more surprised than normal. "I don't know, Brim,"
he answered. "You're to receive your orders from an Army type once you've arrived—a Colonel Hagbut, I believe." He cleared his throat. "I suppose it could be dangerous."
Brim nodded with equanimity. "Boredom can be dangerous, too, Commander," he chuckled. "I'll be packed in five cycles."
Sandur grinned. "That's the spirit," he said. "And you won't go alone, either. There's the most Universe—awfully big rating who insists he travel with you." He scratched his head. "Don't rightly know how he even found out about the whole thing—nor how he managed to get orders cut and signed by the Captain himself But he did. Said he'd wait in the shuttle, Brim. You Truculents stick together, don't you?"
Brim smiled. "Have to, Commander," he agreed. "It's a rough war out there."
"Isn't it," Sandur said soberly. "And getting more so all the time, as I am about to inform you." He squared his shoulders. "Seems Triannic's occupation forces got off every broadcast for help we predicted they would. Maybe even a few more. We were pretty accurate guessing those." He gazed thoughtfully out the Hyperscreens, drumming his fingers on a nearby console. "Unfortunately, we also predicted Triannic wouldn't be able to free up much equipment for a counterattack," he continued, "at least not before we finished most of our work." This time he ended with a grimace.
"You weren't so accurate there, Commander?" Brim asked.
"Not quite," Sandur answered.
"What went wrong, sir?"
Sandur laughed. "Nothing actually went wrong, my young friend. We simply did not count on Admiral Kabul Anak and his battlecruiser squadron to be in quite such close proximity." He shook his head in disgust. "You've heard of him, of course."
"Once or twice," Brim growled, a little girl's face flashing painfully in his mind's' eye. "And us with only destroyers..." He stared out into the starry blackness. "How long do we have, Commander?"
"Perhaps three standard days," Sandur said, frowning daddy. "Instead of the five Planning Ops allotted." He grimaced. "I thought I'd better let you know beforehand—because whatever you're going to accomplish down there, you'd better do it quickly. When we receive orders to move Prosperous, we'll move her—let me guarantee you that. This starship is more than just a fast transport; she's considered an Imperial resource—one of the biggest and fastest liners in the Universe—but she can't fight and she can't outrun a battlecruiser. So when those orders arrive, we'll pick up whomever and whatever we can on the way out—and we'll leave everything else here." He placed a hand on Brim's shoulder. "There's ample time to accomplish the destruction of the research network—that's important to the Admiralty, too. But once those objectives are accomplished—well, remember, Brim, after the raid, everything is expendable except Prosperous herself."
Later, the Carescrian hurried toward his cabin, chucking in spite of storm clouds gathering in the back of his mind. He could distinctly remember the Commander's original warning that he might likely have nothing to do on this trip.
Barbousse arrived on A'zurn's surface armed to the teeth. He carried two heavy-looking meson pistols on his belt and a wicked-looking curved knife strapped to the top of his right boot, this latter in a splendid jeweled scabbard that glittered in the bright afternoon sunlight as he jumped to the ground from the shuttles He surveyed the noisy, crowded landing field for only a moment, then pointed to a big L-181-type armored personnel carrier hovering nearby, its driver beckoning with a burly arm.
"Transportation into town, Lieutenant," he announced while Brim adjusted the small knapsack attached to his battle suit.
The crowded roadway was not in the best of repair, but Magalla'ana itself was beautiful, though mysteriously bereft of all but a few winged inhabitants—at least from what little Brim could see through the side port of the L-181 as it lumbered along at high speed through equipment-crowded suburban streets. He fancied exploring its tree-shaded squares and shaggy-moss-covered carved stone spires (which looked as if they had been in place since the Universe cooled.) Here and there they passed side lanes lined by deserted-looking homes with upper-story doors and overgrown gardens of multicolored flowers in place of roofs. Then they rattled between two heroic obelisks and out across an ornate stone bridge spanning what looked to be a major canal. Through intricate balustrades, Brim could see a great waterway fronted by palaces or at least important houses of state, each terraced with the remains of once-tended gardens, most gone wild with neglect. The burned-out wreck of a graceful water craft rose gruesome from the center of the channel like a charred finger of warning. Brim grimaced sadly as they drove through more deserted streets and lanes. Heroic efforts would truly be needed to restore this, tiny paradise to its former tranquillity—beginning with the demise of Nergol Triannic and his horde of invaders from the League.