"That," Valerian said, "is what worries me the most...."
Exactly ten metacycles later, Brim was suited up and ready to go; his M-6B had somehow been cobbled together again with its new reflecting Drive. But the only change he could see on the flight bridge was a new thrust-damper assembly, equipped with a row of indicators on a small panel marked reflecting. All were dark except a glowing, jewellike lamp above the words SCAN
ON. The damper itself had an elongated throw, but the clearly hurried application of metalized tape prevented damper beams from advancing farther than halfway forward.
Outside, Bears were now decoupling the last electrosaturation cables from the Drive chamber.
With Moulding's ship still largely unassembled on a neighboring Drive-arming lens, they were only just in time. As usual, the heats had been ordered in the reverse of last year's finishing sequence, and the last A'zurnian entry had just landed in towering cascades of spray between the glaring marker buoys.
Only the Imperial heats now remained to be run....
Because the League had failed to complete the previous contest with either racer, this year they had been among the very first to compete. Both of their angular new Gantheisser GA 262-A3s ran the course with astonishingly high velocities: 99.S6M LightSpeed turned in by Kirsh Valentin (who had shown up that morning with a clearly painful limp) and 95.82M LightSpeed by Groener's replacement, one Provost Wogan Arn. The blinding speeds had certainly placed a damper over the remaining activities of the day—as well as answering any lingering questions about Gantheisser engineers and their ability to come up with a starship that could compete with an M-6B.
Highest speed for the two Dampier entries from Tarrott had been a disappointing 96.79M LightSpeed. Clearly, puppet states were permitted to compete with their League masters only up to a point. And that did not include winning!
Now, with the second little A'zurnian R'autor taxiing back to the sheds (after turning in a credible speed of 97.45M LightSpeed), Brim opened his face plate and leaned out of the open Hyperscreen while he watched Krasni-Peych engineers seal the last access covers. Word of Imperial difficulties had spread rapidly. Behind the barriers, a huge crowd was now gathered in the glare of the Karlsson lamps, watching to see if Krasni-Peych and Sherrington could bring off their overnight miracle. Many were taking pictures—just in case. There was even a contingent of Leaguers with two bulky orange and yellow cameras, overdoing things, as usual. Even at a distance, he could see the cameras were equipped with awkward electronic lens systems that Brim usually associated with long-distance image recording.
"Is ready as we can make her," Pogreb called from the edge of the gravity pad. He was now wearing a clean set of coveralls, but the worried look on his face persisted.
Brim grinned—the Bear would be a terrible ere'el player. Everyone would know what kind of assets he'd been dealt just from watching his face. "You figure she'll fly, then?" he asked.
Pogreb rolled his eyes heavenward, holding up a tutorial index finger. "Best way to keep one's word not is not to give it," he called with a smile. "Is promising only that she is ready as we can make her."
"That's good enough for me," Brim said undauntedly.
"Not for me," Pogreb said. "But I add these words, brave Wilf Ansor: were there room for this Bear to accompany you on your flight, I should go with a minimum of hesitation."
"For that, my Sodeskayan friend, I owe you many large drinks when I get back," Brim replied with a grin.
"Is going to be fine victory celebration," Pogreb said, ambling off toward the other M-6B.
"Perhaps ve may even get Commander Moulding in the air, too—then beeg dronk for everybodys!"
Moments later, Ursis's voice crackled in his headset. "Last chance to back down, my furless friend," he warned. "If we're going to compete this year, we've got to tow you to the gravity pool immediately. Then, voof—off you go."
"I'm ready, Nik," Brim said quietly, looking down at the Bear, who was dressed in Krasni-Peych coveralls and standing near a stout optical bollard mounted at the front of the gravity pad. His headphones were connected to the M-6B by its last set of external cables.
Ursis looked up and waved, then signaled to the driver of a traction engine, who backed carefully to within a few irals of the bollard and switched on a heavy mooring beam. It blazed up for a moment when the driver shifted into forward to tension the load, then settled into a steady green.
Outside the gates, onlookers were already dispersing, most toward the Imperial gravity pool to get a last shot of the M-6B as ground crews propped it for the race. Everyone, that is, except the party of Leaguers who were hotfooting it in the opposite direction toward a big Majestat-Baron idling just beyond the crowd-control ropes. As soon as they were aboard, the arrogant limousine wobbled to a temporary follower cable (one of many installed for this year's race by CIGA behest); then it took off like a starship for a media parking apron where Brim could see the ugly fins of a Gorn-Hoff 810.C reconnaissance ship painted in civilian colors.
Brim frowned as his own gravity pad moved smoothly toward the Starter's pool. The zukeed Leaguers were certainly sure of themselves this year, hurrying off with the latest race images even before it was all over. Probably, he conjectured, the recordings were destined for late-workday delivery to one of the many dominions Triannic had his eye on. That way, they'd physically beat the other media services by nearly half a day—and, depending on local rotational speeds, perhaps gain as much as a Standard day in actual viewer coverage. He laughed grimly. If he had anything to do with it, the hasty bastards were in for an unpleasant surprise, indeed....
Presently, Ursis's voice growled in his headset again; the Bear was now riding at the rear of the tractor, still connected by voice wires to the M-6B. "You can relax for a few moments, Wilf Ansor," he said. "It seems the Leaguers have requested a break while they inspect the racecourse—just to make certain that everything is legal when you race."
Brim frowned. "What in xaxt is that all about?" he asked.
Ursis shrugged his huge shoulders. "Aside from the grandfather of all insults to the Empire, the whole thing remains a mystery to me," he replied. "It seems to have been imposed by a committee of CIGAs over protests by nearly everyone else." He shook his head. "They are certainly galactic-class experts at raising a stir."