Anak's words hit Brim like a meteorite. "I don't know what to say, Admiral," he muttered.
"There are no adequate words, Mr. Brim," Anak said, nodding to his aide for the next guest, "only the understanding that two sides exist in every war."
Stunned, Brim moved on to the next dignitary in the line, but he never even heard the woman's name, nor, for that matter, the names of the other Leaguers he met that evening. Except for Valentin, of course, who never had time for him anyway. In fact, the appearance of Margot in a magnificent white gown was one of the few events that registered as the revelry continued. LaKarn himself was in an expansive mood, and stopped to greet the Carescrian as if he were some long-lost friend. Brim shook the man's hand, then bent to kiss Margot's beautiful tapered fingers. But when he peered into her eyes, he could see how much pain and embarrassment the exchange was actually causing her. After listening to the Baron boast pointedly about his new son for a few moments, he made a mindless excuse and joined Moulding, who was talking to a group of fashionable young Imperials—patriotic members of the Imperial Highspeed Starflight Team on temporary duty to study the race firsthand.
Subsequently, Anna Romanoff's appearance might well have been the best part of Brim's evening. She looked the very picture of high fashion in a soft reddish brown knit coat that reached to her knees, a matching skirt, and an onyx turtleneck sweater. She was also, however, under close escort by a handsome Commander in the uniform of the Lombardian Fleet. Brim chanced to meet them a number of times during the next metacycle, but after their first encounter, the Commander made it quite clear he had little interest in furthering relationships with mere "private citizens," even though Romanoff herself appeared as if she might harbor ideas to the contrary.
Neither Brim nor Moulding stayed late at the reception. The first heats of the race were scheduled in the morning, and both wanted to be fresh for the occasion. Even so, Anak preceded them out of the reception hall by thirty cycles. On the way home, Moulding asked him what he and the Admiral had discussed during their rather extraordinary conversation in the reception line.
Brim shook his head. "Let's just say that I learned something important about warfare from the Admiral, Toby," he said.
"And that was?" Moulding asked.
Brim thought a moment, then looked his friend directly in the eye. "I learned that the other side could bleed, too," he answered. "For some reason, that had never occurred to me."
CHAPTER 5
Lys
Next morning, Brim and Moulding arrived at the Imperial box in the grandstand area just after dawn transformed the morning skies from lavender to pink and then to gold. Colossal outlines of two Leaguer battleships dominated the far shore of Lake Tegeler, their massive disrupters somehow at odds with the peaceful sunrise. One, the extensively rebuilt Lias Mondor, had been badly damaged at the Battle of Atalanta; its adjunct, a new super-Rengas-class ship named Burok was still another of the advanced warships Anak was building in flagrant violation of the Treaty of Garak. Leaguer bureaucrats simply claimed she was half her actual mass, and nobody questioned their words—at least nobody with any authority.
At the race complex itself, black and crimson Leaguer flags fluttered in the central grandstand and shed areas. From the pavilion area, one could view only takeoffs and landings—and, of course, the start/finish line. The race circuit itself, however, was far out in space along a triangular route with legs of 494.8, 228, and 277.2 Standard light-years, each turning angle marked by a huge type-19 beacon star. To complete the contest, crews had to make ten laps (negotiating two sharp angles and one easy curve each time), then return. They flew the course against the clock: fastest computed speed took the trophy—for one Standard year. According to the rules, any competitor who managed to win the trophy three times gained permanent possession.
Uadn'aps was halfway toward its midday zenith when Rogan LaKarn ostentatiously lead Margot to a seat in the Torond's royal box, thereby affording Brim—only a few irals distant in the Imperial section—his first close look at Rodyard. Wearing a miniature Grenzen's uniform, complete with peaked cap, jodhpurs, and high boots, the child was carried in the arms of a squat, masculine-looking attendant who seemed more like a bodyguard than a nurse. And prepared as Brim might have thought he was to meet Margot's child, the strange, melancholic sensation of loss he got from the encounter was far out of proportion to anything he'd imagined. Once—a million years ago, it now seemed—he had dared hope to father his own child with the beautiful Margot Effer'wyck. Now, that vision seemed dead and cold as space itself.
Moments later, for some reason known only to himself, the child turned to fasten his steel blue eyes on Brim, staring intently with a kind of insight that bordered on recognition. And in that brief interval, a new and more sinister shadow added its own unique darkness to the Carescrian's already gloomy mood—a distinct and menacing impression of presentiment.
Brim recognized the sensation immediately; there was certainly nothing unfamiliar or mysterious about it.
He'd often experienced similar awareness in combat when he spied a League warship closing in at a distance: an unavoidable menace to be dealt with at some future juncture, but not right away.
A time would come—unquestionably—when he must likewise deal with young LaKarn. He knew it in his bones. Now, however, more pressing matters demanded his immediate consideration, and he turned his attention to the race.
Precisely at Morning:2:0, stirring, martial strains of "The Conqueror," the League's national anthem, split Lake Tegeler's cool morning air, while a prototype Renkers attack ship dived steeply over the grandstand, then executed a shrieking pull-up and thundered out toward space, spinning vigorously around its central axis. As the sound of the Renkers faded into the sky, loudspeakers announced the arrival of Kabul Anak, personally representing the exiled Nergol Triannic. Brim watched the little man take his seat with mixed emotions, then shrugged off the previous evening as a temporary aberration, nothing more. Precisely ten cycles following Anak's arrival, a traditional trumpet fanfare yerked out the official opening of the contest and the Starter, a grizzled veteran Controller, gave a little speech about sportsmanship from his platform directly in front of the grandstand. He spoke in Vertrucht. Brim wondered how many of the actual contestants could understand it.
Individual heats were flown in reverse sequence from the previous year's finish order. Therefore, the actual race began when doors to the Ripernian shed slid open; that small dominion had managed to finish dead last. While a huge brass orchestra yerked out the Ripernian national anthem ("There Is No Star Like Ripern"), a powerful crawler tugged their wedge-shaped star racer outside on a portable gravity pad, its support machinery thundering. Nearly thirty assorted mechanics and technicians in matching lavender coveralls marched on either side of the little vessel, then assisted in transferring it to the gravity pool.
Following this, the technicians swarmed up ladders and spread out over the hull for a final inspection, the colorfully dressed crew climbed aboard amid sporadic cheering from the grandstand, and the gravity generators fired off in a great rush of noise and distorted light. Moments later, the Helmsman waved from his little flight bridge, an army of Legionnaires cleared a path from the gravity pool to the water, and the little starship trundled off toward the water amid rolling thunder from its twin generators. Just short of the shore—and a safe distance from the grandstand in case of malfunction—it stopped in a circle of N-ray hydrants while special teams of experts hurried to enable its Drive. Then it moved out over the water and headed for the takeoff vector.