"Lots of us in the crew don't think it's fair you have to go through with this, Wilf," Ursis added.
Brim glanced at his boots, wrestling with his emotions. He wasn't used to Imperials who even cared if he lived or died. Finally, he shook his head, looking first at one and then the other "Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you both. But sooner or later, I'm going to have to face up to this—and I suppose now is as good as any other time."
"It is a brave decision you make, Wilf," Borodov said.
"It is also too late to change your mind," Ursis interrupted inclining his head slightly toward the back of the bridge. "Now comes Gallsworthy." Without another word, the Sodeskayan dissolved into a suddenly quiet bridge.
CHAPTER 2
As he strode among the consoles, Bosporus P. Gallsworthy, lieutenant, I.F., wore the look of a man so secure in what he did that mere outward appearance was of no importance. His face was almost wooden in calm, though bushy eyebrows failed to mask a glint of cold intelligence in his red-rimmed eyes.
He had short-cropped hair and loosely jowled, pockmarked cheeks, a dark complexion, and thin, dry lips. His height was average or a little less, and his uniform—though most obviously clean—revealed the ghost of a stain halfway down the left breast of his tunic. Reaching the principal's console, he casually flipped his cape to one side and slid into the recliner. Brim watched him from the corner of his eye, motionless.
"Mr. Chairman," Gallsworthy said curtly.
"Good morning, Lieutenant Galls—"
"I'll have the systems checkout right away," Gallsworthy interrupted. "Altimeters?"
"Preverified," said the Chairman. "Set . . . and cross-checked"
"Engineers' preflight?"
"Preverified: complete."
"G-wave service?"
"Preverified: forty-four, five hundred G and G "
"What's this xaxtdamned 'preverified' business?" Gallsworthy demanded.
"The systems checkouts are already complete, Lieutenant," the Chairman said. "We are ready for immediate generator startup."
"Who ran them?"
"Lieutenant Brim, sir."
"Brim? Who's Brim?"
"Sublieutenant Wilf Brim," the Chairman replied, "at the console next—"
"Takeoff bugs ninety-two, one thirty-eight, one fifty-one," Gallsworthy interrupted, continuing the checkout. "And drop that 'preverified' muck."
"One sixty-nine five," the Chairman answered.
"Four eight oh four?"
"One hundred and seventy thousand, Lieutenant," the Chairman said. "Within tolerances."
Gallsworthy paused, frowned. "I know," he growled. "All right. You can skip the rest of that one, then.
We'll do the 'start' checklist next."
"The 'start' checklist is also Complete, Lieu—"
"I said 'start' checklist, Mr. Chairman. Now."
"Start pressure ninety-one forty. Subgenerator on," the Chairman said.
"Gravity brake?"
"Set."
"KA'PPA beacon?"
"Energized."
Again Gallsworthy stopped. "Skip down to...No. Stow that." Without turning his head, he spoke from the side of his mouth. "All right, Brim, or whatever it is they call you. If you think you're so xaxtdamned expert at checkout all by yourself, maybe you'll want to fly this beast yourself. Too?"
"That will be fine, sir," Brim answered—without turning his own head. But his heart was in his mouth.
He endured Gallsworthy's stony silence for a personal eternity, staring through the Hyperscreens into the dirty gray sky and driving rain and forcing himself to relax. Every eye on the bridge would be watching.
At some length, Gallsworthy turned in his recliner. "Smart-alec kid," he snarled under his breath, biting each word off short. "Right out of the xaxtdamned Academy and you puppies think you know how to fly a starship. I've got half a notion to let you try it—then kick your ass off the ship when you can't."
"I'm ready, Lieutenant," Brim asserted quietly, still staring out the Hyperscreens, "anytime you are." In the corner of his eye, he watched a startled expression form on the senior Helmsman's face - then turn to cold anger.
"You just thraggling asked for it, Brim— all of it," Gallsworthy hissed through clenched teeth. "The controls are yours." He sat back in his recliner and folded his arms.
For the first time, Brim turned and faced the waspish individual who was to be his first commandant.
"As you wish, Lieutenant," he said evenly.
Gallsworthy snorted, smiled, and began to return to the controls when he stopped short and turned in his seat again. "What was that?" he demanded.
"I said, 'As you wish, Lieutenant,'" Brim repeated.
Gallsworthy's face clouded; his bushy eyebrows descended to almost hide his eyes. "You mean you're actually going to try to...?" he stumbled, clearly unprepared for Brim's answer. "Why, you can't fly this ship any more than a..." He stopped, clearly groping for a suitable term of disapprobation.
"I can't believe you plan to finish that sentence, Lieutenant Gallsworthy," Collingswood interrupted.
"Certainly you would never turn over the controls to someone whose competence you question. Would you?"
The senior Helmsman jerked around in his recliner. "When did you...?" he growled, then bit his lip.
"My apologies, Captain," he said lamely. "I, ah..."
"Oh, please continue, Lieutenant Gallsworthy," Collingswood commanded sharply.
"Nothing, Captain," Gallsworthy grumbled. "Really."
"Good, Mr. Gallsworthy," Collingswood answered. "And I highly gratified to see you and Number One working so closely together today."
At this, Amherst looked up in alarm. "Together?"
"Why, yes," Collingswood answered, the very picture of innocence. "It was you who suggested Lieutenant Brim have a chance to show us how he graduated first in his class at Helmsman's Academy. Wasn't it?"
"First in his...?" Amherst stammered. "Ah. Why, a...of course, Captain." He turned to Gallsworthy.
"Didn't we Lieutenant Gallsw—"
"We shall discuss this cooperation at a more appropriate time, gentlemen," Collingswood interrupted pointedly. "Lieutenant Brim is about to transfer control to his console, aren't you, Lieutenant?"
Brim nodded. "Aye, Captain," he agreed quickly. Then, before anything further might transpire, he acted. "Mr. Chairman," he ordered, "swap command to this console immediately."
Gallsworthy stiffened, opened his eyes and his mouth at same time, and turned toward Collingswood—but he was already metacycles too late. Before retiring the previous night, Brim had carefully preset all necessary turn-over transactions, and the complex ritual was accomplished almost instantaneously.
"Start checkout is complete, Lieutenant Ursis," the Carescrian said to an image of the Sodeskayan that suddenly shimmered in a hovering display globe near his right hand. "Fire off the generators, please."
"Starboard antigrav," Ursis rumbled quickly. "Turning one—wave guide closed." From far aft and deep within the hull, a low whine dropped slowly to a wavering drone. This steadied. "Turning two." A thump passed through the spaceframe. "Guide open."
Brim watched colored patterns race across his power readouts as antigravity pressure built. A gentle rumble—more felt than heard—replaced the drone, building rapidly in volume and strength. "Call 'em out, Mr. Chairman," he ordered.
"Normal pressure," the Chairman confirmed. "Plus nine. Plus twelve. Plus fifteen—we have a start, Lieutenant."
Ursis' beady eye winked at Brim from the display. "Port generator, Mr. Chairman," he continued without interruption. "Turning one—wave guide closed." A second whine mingled with the sound of the running generator and dropped in pitch. "Turning two. Guide open." The combined rumble was a substantial presence on the bridge as the second antigravity generator reached operating parameters.
"Normal pressure on starboard," the Chairman reported. "Plus fifteen. You have a second start, Lieutenant Ursis."