While the long message played, Brim marveled, as he did so often, that this young noblewoman—and quietly genuine war heroine—was actually in love with him. Of course, she was not entirely his in any sense—merely in love with him. Being a princess came with certain requirements, and Princess Margot Effer'wyck would soon enough pay her dues in a political marriage to (The Hon.) Rogan LaKarn, Baron of the Torond. Their wedding date—mandated by no less a personage then Emperor Greyffin IV himself—was to be set shortly.
And while Brim knew he could probably tolerate the marriage itself, he had long ago given up trying to make himself accept the fact that LaKarn would also share Margot's bed—even though he knew full well that no real love existed there. She was always careful that he understood where she stood on that point. In the privacy of her suite at the Embassy, she had concluded the message so erotically she left him sweating and short of breath. He fell asleep after his fifth replay....
Next morning, as Chief Steward Grimsby, Collingswood's ancient family retainer, chauffeured the foursome to the stocks, Flynn sat bolt upright in his seat the moment Defiant came into view. "Who is that? " he exclaimed, pointing through the skimmer's windscreen,
"and what in the Universe is he doing?" At the entrance, a huge, familiar figure was intently raising a great blue-and-gold banner onto a flagstaff newly attached to one of the gate uprights.
Brim recognized "who" in an instant, even though the man's broad back was turned from the road. "That's Barbousse!" he exclaimed, hopping through the hatch before Grimsby could fully bring the vechile to a stop.
"Lieutenant Brim," the huge rating bellowed, turning to salute with his free hand. He stood half an iral taller than Brim, was completely bald under his garrison cap, and might have weighed a quarter millstone—yet there was clearly not a measure of fat on his powerful body. He had gentle brown eys that shone with intelligence and compassion, the nose of an eagle, and a jaw that must have stopped a thousand fists—clearly to the detriment of the fists. He had large hands and feet, yet he was perfectly proportioned in every respect. And he wore a huge, ear-to-ear grin. " Defiant's a beauty, sir," he exclaimed, "every iral of 'er."
Collingswood followed Brim from the skimmer with Ursis and Flynn close on her heels.
"Utrillo Barbousse," she whispered, shaking her head in helpless wonderment, "you weren't supposed to report for at least a week. I thought you were on leave...."
"Aye, Captain," Barbousse admitted, saluting again, "that I was. But... Well... I sort of figured the four of you would have your hands full gettin' the new ship finished and all." He shrugged and blushed momentarily. "An' to tell the truth, I was gettin' tired of nothin'
important to do, so..." He saluted Ursis and Flynn, then nodded toward the ship while he secured the flag halyards to a cleat on the flagpole. "I thought it wouldn't hurt if I pitched in signin' on the new crew."
Collingswood suddenly seemed to have something in her eye. She looked up at the great flowing pennant with its colorful depiction of a deadly Rhondell falcon— Defiant's hallmark—then bit her lip for a moment before she spoke. "It's a most elegant banner, Barbousse," she said, "and we can certainly use your help with the crew."
Ursis kissed his fingertips and shook his great, furry head. "Utrillo, my friend," he interjected with a baleful eye, "this new banner will make such a fine impression on the entire shipyard that we shall have our hands full merely preventing other crews from signing on without orders."
Flynn frowned and stared at the great pennant flying lazily in the early-evening breeze.
"How in the world did you manage to get your hands on..." His voice trailed off and he winced. "Ah, belay that, my friend," he said hurriedly.
"Aye, sir," Barbousse mumbled, busying himself with the flag halyards again.
Brim stifled a laugh as Collingswood suddenly scanned the empty sky as if expecting the arrival of an extremely important starship. No one who had ever shipped with Barbousse really wanted to know how the big rating acquired war-vanished luxury items like cases of fine old Logish Meem, and flagstaffs with custom pennants far in advance of launch ceremonies, only the he could and did—with satisfying regularity.
"Barbousse," Brim choked presently, "your banner is perfect—as is your timing."
"True," Ursis agreed, nodding his head gravely. "'Winter songbirds trill lustily from autumn treetops,' as we say—and with your arrival, Utrillo, comes my own personal feeling that this war may yet be won by our tired old Empire...."
During the next days, specialists among Defiant's crew began to report aboard. For the most part, they were engineering technicians assigned to the big antigravity generators that lifted and propelled the ship at speeds below Sheldon's Great LightSpeed Constant. They went to work immediately on the two Admiralty CL-Standard-84 Verticals that would soon be needed when she was towed from the stocks for finishing.
One new lieutenant who was not assigned to the Engineering spaces appeared one morning at the simulators and reported directly to Brim. He was tall, redheaded, and barrel-chested—and he was not dressed in the blue cape of Emperor Greyffin's Galactic Fleet. Instead, he wore a stiff crimson collar, dark knee breeches with crimson side stripes, and lightweight, knee-high boots.
He could also fly—with no help from the machines. Midway between his shoulders, his tunic opened to accommodate a pillow-sized swelling common to his species known as a
"tensil." This protrusion covered an outgrowth of his reflexive nervous system that automatically coordinated the complex motions of an enormous pair of auburn wings—really a second, specialized, set of arms—that arched upward like sandy cowls trailing long flight feathers in cascades that reached all the way to the floor.
He was an A'zurnian, dressed in the wonderfully old-fashioned regimentals of his home planet, the mild, lushly vegetated world on the edge of Galactic Sector 944. Entirely populated by flighted—determinedly peaceful—being, A'zurn had been easily seized by League invaders early in the war. Less than a year previously, Brim distinguished himself in a daring raid to assist the very active A'zurnian resistance movement—and was subsequently decorated for his efforts by Crown Prince Leopold, leader of the Free A'zurnian gorvenment-in-exile at Avalon. There was something about the cut of this lieutenant's uniform that said "unusual." Especially his shiny, new Helmsman's insignia that fairly shouted of recent graduation from the Academy near Avalon. He had a wide forehead and narrow chin with a sharply chiseled nose. His huge eyes were those of a born hunter, and they sparkled with intelligence and compassion, as well as humor.
"Leading Torpedoman Barbousse suggested I report directly to you after I signed in," the young A'zurnian said in a strong, steady voice, saluting formally. "I am known as Aram of Nahshon, and I have wished to meet you since I learned that you personally freed my father on A'zurn."
"Your father?" Brim asked in astonishment.
"Yessir," the lieutenant said. "A man in a tricornered hat. You gave him your captured field piece—just before you boarded the launch for home. Do you remember?" he asked anxiously. "Torpedoman Barbousse did."