"I'm sorry," Brim said lamely.
"So am I," Ursis said with a faraway look in his close-set predator's eyes. "But then Hagsdoffs always gore the hairiest oxen first, don't they?"
"Pardon?"
"An old saying from the Mother Planets," Ursis explained. "And it is I who ought to be sorry for unloading troubles on you." He put a hand on Brim's arm. "Your people suffered with mine in the first raids."
Brim bit his lip.
"Despots like Nergol Triannic strike sears and men alike," Ursis said. "Our work is to finish him—and his thrice-damned League—eh?" He puffed thoughtfully on his Zempa pipe.
"Some news of your coming preceded you, Carescrian. Many of us have looked forward to your arrival with great interest."
Brim raised an eyebrow.
"Soon, my new friend, we will talk of many things," the Bear said. "But for now, the Drive demands my presence. And I am certain you will be delighted to see your cabin, which at last seems to be ready."
He nodded toward the door.
Brim turned. A starman waited outside in the companionway.
"This way, please, Lieutenant," the young woman said.
"Later...." Ursis declared, leading the way through the door.
Within a few cycles, Brim stood proudly in a tiny stateroom, the first in his memory he would not share with someone else. Luxury like this was a far cry indeed from Carescria and her ore trade, and he had paid dearly to win it. For the moment at least, all seemed worth the price.
He had only just stowed his traveling case beneath the narrow bunk when he noticed a message frame that had materialized on the inside of his door.
"Yes?"
"Captain's compliments," the frame said. "And interviews will begin in her office at standard 0975."
Glancing at his timepiece, Brim saw he had more than three metacycles to wait. "Very well," he answered, then settled back on his bunk as the indicator faded. Clearly, he was one of very few early risers aboard Truculent, at least when she was in port.
Well before standard 0975, Brim climbed two levels to the aft end of the bridge tower. Near the ladder, a door was engraved simply "CAPTAIN," below which removable adhesive stickers spelled out "R.G. Collingswood, Lt. Commander, I.F." While he waited, he was joined by a second sublieutenant with Helmsman's blazes on his collar. The newcomer was pink and chubby and had an uneasy look about himself. His belt divided an expensive-looking tunic into two rolls which flubbered up and down as he hurried. "I thought I'd never find the Captain in this awful warren," he grumped in a high-pitched voice.
"What time is it anyhow?"
"If you're scheduled at standard 0975, you've made it," Brim assured him, checking his own timepiece.
"We have nearly a cycle to go."
"No little wonder," the man said, panting, then suddenly looked at Brim with something like recognition. "You're not that Carescrian sublieutenant, are you?" he asked.
"I am," Brim asserted, immediately on the defensive.
The other grunted. "Well, you certainly don't look odd," he observed.
From bitter experience, Brim knew Imperials often had no idea they were giving offense—and now was not the time to teach this one. "Ready?" he asked evenly.
"As I'll ever be, I suppose."
Brim knocked firmly.
"It's open," a voice called from inside.
Brim pushed the latch plate. Inside, with her back to the door, Lieutenant Commander R.G.
Collingswood stared intently at a display. Soft chords of stately, unfamiliar music beguiled Brim's ears from the background. "Come in," she urged without turning around. "I shall be finished momentarily."
Brim led the way, then stood uncomfortably in the soft, haunting music until she cleared the display and swiveled her chair, looking first at one and then the other. She had a long, patrician nose, hazel eyes, and soft chestnut curls. Graceful fingers interlaced on her lap.
"Well?" she asked.
"Sublieutenant Wilf Ansor Brim reporting for duty aboard I.F.S. Truculent, ma'am," Brim said with as steady a voice as he could muster. In the following silence, he realized he was very nearly terrified. He also noticed he was not the only one—his overweight counterpart hadn't even opened his mouth. Still in silence, he offered his orders card, carefully turning it for insertion in a reader.
Collingswood read the printed name, then—accepting the other's without a glance—placed both behind her on the desk. She frowned. "So you're Brim?" she asked finally in a quiet mezzo.
"Yes, ma'am."
"That makes you Theada," she said to the other.
"J-Jubal Windroff Theada the Third," he said, "from Avalon."
"Yes," Collingswood said with a frown. "At one time, I knew your father." Silent for a moment, she smiled distantly, then went on. "I suppose both of you are fresh from Helmsman's training," she said.
Brim nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said again. The other continued his silence.
A tiny smile escaped Collingswood's thin mouth. "Ready take old Truculent into space from the command seat, then?" she joked.
"I'd gladly settle for any seat up there, ma'am," Brim said with a grin. For the first time, it occurred to him the woman was dressed in a threadbare sweater and short skirt that revealed slim legs and soft, well-worn boots. Somehow, even at her leisure, she looked every inch a captain.
"You are the one who piloted those horrible ore carriers, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Brim answered, again braced for the inevitable insult.
"Hmm," she mused, "I understand they require some rather extraordinary flying."
Brim felt his face flush and kept an embarrassed silence.
Collingswood smiled again. "You'll show us your talent soon enough, Lieutenant." she said. "And you, Lieutenant Theada. Shall I put you in the command seat straight off?"
"W-Well, Captain," Theada stammered, "I only h-have about three hundred metacycles at the controls—and some simulator time. I don't know if I'm actually ready f-for the left seat right away...."
"You'll build your metacycles quickly in Truculent," Collingswood interrupted with just the shadow of a frown. Then her neutral smile returned. "Lieutenant Amherst will expect you to check in with him—he's our number one. And of course you must see Lieutenant Gallsworthy when he returns to the ship. He's chief Helmsman—you report to him." Abruptly, she smiled, then swiveled back to the display. 'Welcome aboard, both of you," she said in dismissal.
Brim led the way out the door. Just as he stepped over the sill, Collingswood turned his way again.
"By the by, Lieutenant Brim," she said, looking past Theada. 'When you address me, it's 'Captain,' not 'ma'am."' She smiled with a warmth Brim could actually feel. "Nothing to worry about," she added. "I thought you'd want to know."
When Theada disappeared along the companionway without uttering another word, Brim decided his next move should to report to Truculent's first lieutenant. He tracked the down in the chart house portion of the bridge at work before a small disorderly table that projected one of the ship's ubiquitous display globes. "Lieutenant Amherst?" Brim inquired politely, eyeing a richly lined Fleet Cape carelessly heaped on a nearby recliner.
"Never forget it," Amherst growled coldly as he turned his display. His were the same aristocratic features as Collingswood's—only strongly masculine. He had a thin, straight nose with flaring nostrils, two narrow mustaches, a lipless silt for a mouth, and wavy auburn hair. It was the eyes, however, that set him apart from Collingswood. While hers greeted the world with easygoing intellect, Amherst's revealed the quick, watchful manner of a true martinet. "You certainly took your time reporting, didn't you?" he sniffed, ignoring Brim's original question.
"I was with Captain Collingswood, sir," Brim explained.