Within cycles, Brim found himself approaching a crew exit hatch. Beyond, the yellowish brilliance of Karlsson lamps streamed from the end of a long, covered brow. Freedom was less than a hundred irals distant; however, one last obstruction remained: a crystal guard column. And there was no way he could enter the brow without passing it. Gathering all the courage and brashness he could muster, he marched toward the opening as if he expected the guard to let him past on sight.
Inside his transparent enclosure, the man was tall and raw boned with unintelligent eyes, a lumpy nose, and a great lantern jaw that fairly begged to be punched. He appeared to be in vigorous conversation through his terminal with a sultry-looking woman whose lavishly made-up face and fantastic green eyelids suggested a well-established profession. Without interrupting his dialogue, the man thrust an officious hand out a small window to block Brim's path.
"I've gotta hurry, Officer," Brim protested in an exaggerated whisper through the window, "this traveling bag was promised at hatch fifty-one more'n five clicks ago. Somethin' about a lady gettin' caught with the wrong guy in her bed last night..." He flashed the scriber. "See?" he said, pointing first to the display, then to the flashing ID tag on the traveling case. "They match."
His heart skipped a long beat when the terminal prattled angrily and the guard's eyes opened wide with rage.
"Nobody," he growled resentfully at the display, "says anything like that to me—'specially the likes of you , ya slut!"
The terminal responded noisily with something unintelligible, whereupon the man looked blindly at Brim with a frenzied expression on his face, as if he were trying to put words to his rage.
Heart in his mouth, Brim could only flash the scriber again. "Got to hurry," he mouthed theatrically.
Without another glance, the guard waved him through while he shouted a great torrent of invective at the display. Brim heard little of it, nearly outrunning the traveling case again in his haste to clear the IGL crew area, which he did before the next five cycles had passed.
Much later, hurrying inland on foot, he hoped guiltily that someone would restore the purloined traveling case to its rightful owners. He'd abandoned it with his IGL work togs behind a gigantic potted o'gett fern in the crowded terminal. Presently, he was climbing City Mount Hill, following one of the stone tram alleys that crisscrossed Atalanta, dodging huge top-hampered interurban cars that thundered by from both directions at perilously high speeds. When he'd put at least five c'lenyts between himself and the IGL, he veered into one of the older parts of the city to shelter for the remainder of the chilly spring evening in a dark storefront. And even though his teeth chattered from time to time, he couldn't remember when he'd last felt so much at ease and at home, anywhere.
He awoke when the great star Hador was just beginning to tint Haelic's broad horizon with tenuous shades of red and mauve. In the dusky half-light, he watched a little native Zuzzous crackling down from the nightward sky toward a waterfront landing, its beacon flashing like a firefly. Atalanta! He was hungry again, dying for a hot cup of cvceese'. But he was also free. And that alone seemed worth the trip.
From his vantage point on City Mount Hill, he could see all the way to the civilian districts of the harbor and the colossal form of Prosperous brooding on an immense canal-side gravity pool amid IGL's sprawling complex of warehouses and terminals. The big ship's myriad position lights and scuttles glittered like stars from a private galaxy. He shook his head. Magnificent was the word she brought to mind. He'd loved the big ship when he'd first laid eyes on her years ago, and his sour experience as a menial had changed nothing. People who loved starships—and the stars—as much as Brim did were a tough lot to discourage.
He shrugged, surmising the harbor authorities would have given up searching for him by now. His name would soon be posted as a "jumper" in waterfront police departments of a dozen ports of call throughout the Empire. But aside from the postings themselves, he was fairly certain that nothing further would result from his jumping ship. The loss of one Slops Mate more or less could have little real significance.
Besides, he chuckled to himself, IGL had actually gained in the transaction—menials weren't paid off until the ship returned home; therefore, he'd worked the outbound leg free. A fair trade, he calculated. And with his pay, they could keep the remainder of their garbage, as well.
While one of the city's million-odd sable rothcats brushed against his legs, he contemplated his first real view of the city in slightly more than two years. Atalanta's administrators had clearly accomplished much in the way of rebuilding since the League's last great attack was rebuffed. Everywhere he looked he could see new tile roofs in a million reds, browns, oranges, and greens, along with walls that didn't quite match their neighbors and domes whose surfaces were patched with varying degrees of metallic luster.
But, as he had noted the previous evening, unrestored vestiges of destruction were equally evident—to his Helmsman's eye, perhaps more so. The whole cityscape was pockmarked with empty lots, tumbled masonry, yawning windows, and skeletal remains of burned-out structures. Perhaps the most poignant reminder of that ferocious battle was the empty crag that once cradled the Gradgroat-Norchelite's now-vaporized monastery. He stared in awe, remembering its colossal, flame-shaped spire and the curious motto that appeared over its massive doorway.
In Destruction Is Resurrection;
The Path of Power Leads Through Truth
While Hador's first rays painted the great melted pinnacle with subtle traces of crimson and coral, he glimpsed elaborate scaffolding and the beginnings of a huge circular wall. Smiling to himself, Brim nodded his head in approval. The Gradygroats were already at work rebuilding their once-famous edifice.
Norchelite friars were never ones to let a little destruction stand in their way. Brim knew that from experience.
He frowned. How his life had changed! Once, long ago in his days as a Fleet officer, Gradygroats and their monastery had seemed interesting to him—important even, in a strange sort of way. Now, his whole existence seemed to be taken up with things like occasionally filling his empty stomach or finding shelter for the night. He shook his head and glanced across the harbor to the Fleet base where a light cruiser soared effortlessly up from the bay. Even at a distance he could pick out the lines of a Vengeance-class starship. As it thundered out toward space, a charge of emotion surged along his spine. In spite of everything, it was hard to disregard the memories he'd accumulated at the sprawling military complex.
Especially memories of Claudia Valemont, the beautiful, long-haired Division Manager who had been his friend and occasional paramour while I.F.S. Defiant called Atalanta its home port. He smiled wryly, watching Hador's brilliance at last reach down to sparkle on Grand Harbor itself. Even now, it was hard to decide if Claudia had been more lover than friend, or the other way around, during those frantic months after Margot's wedding. One thing for certain, however: she'd been absolutely the number one cook in his known Universe. Memories of her kitchen still made his mouth water.
Claudia, too, was gone from Brim's life—by his own choice. He had gradually stopped answering her messages when his fortunes began to sour in Avalon. Loss of her sparkling correspondence had been a high price to pay for his pride, but it seemed a lot better than letting her discover what a failure he'd become in civilian life.
He squandered a few moments more in reflection before he put his hands in his pockets and started off downhill, this time toward Atalanta's ancient waterfront district to look for work. Perhaps, he considered, some day he might still attempt to get in touch with her. But it wouldn't be until he had made a lot more of himself in this new, postwar environment than he'd been able to do so far.