"If anything," Ursis rumbled to Brim one afternoon as they relaxed in comfortable wardroom chairs, "friend Barbousse has become even more discerning since leaving old Truculent." He lifted a ruby goblet to the light. "Look at that color, Wilf. Such meem can only be described as 'glorious.'" In the background, a number of his countrymen were toasting each other heartily: "To ice, to snow, to Sodeskaya wo go!..."
Brim's tastes were in no way so sophisticated as Ursis's. before joining the Helmsman's Academy, he had experienced the pleasures of meem only twice in his life. "It certainly tastes 'glorious,' Nik," he said with a grim. "Iguess I'll have to take your word on the color—I'm still kind of low on experience."
"Then you vouch for the taste," the Bear said, "and I shall vouch for the color."
"We have a bargain, Nik," Brim laughed. "Now, all we need is to find somebody who is interested in what we think."
"That," the Bear said with a thundering laugh, "may be more difficult than the vouching itself."
"Not so," grumped a deep female voice from a couch behind them. "I only signed on this afternoon. And I don't know anything about this wardroom at all—except you, Wilf Brim."
Surprised, Brim whirled around to confront a woman of average height with wide shoulders, narrow hips, long thin legs, narrow feet—and a perfectly awesome bust. Her face was almost totally round, with a button nose, intelligent eyes, short fuzzy hair, and a toothy smile. He felt his jaw drop. Nobody else in the Universe looked like that. "Professor—
Commander—Wellington!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "I never missed a single one of your lectures at the Helmsman's Academy!" With a look of awe on his face, he placed a hand on Ursis's shoulder. "Commander Wellington, may I present Nikolai Yanuarievich Ursis, the finest Systems Officer in the Universe?"
"I am indeed honored, Commander Wellington," Ursis said, rising to his feet, then bowing deeply in the Sodeskayan manner. "And what place do you hold in Defiant's crew?" he asked.
"My orders read 'Weapons Officer,'" Wellington declared, scratching her head. "But it all happened so quickly. A week ago, I didn't even own a battle suit; I am really a historian, you know. Then—zap!—I got the assignment by message, and here I am. My head's still spinning."
"Commander Wellington is probably the Universe's expert on antique weapons systems, Nik," Brim added.
Wellington laughed. "Just between you, me, and the bedpost," she said, placing her hand conspiratorially beside her mouth, "I think they're getting a little desperate for crews."
"Say not so, good lady," Ursis said, eyes sparkling with good humor. "It would surprise no one if Defiant were to receive a battery or two of antique weapons."
"I thought of the possibility myself," Wellington quipped, "so I brought a few barrels of gunpowder with me in my kit. We may have a small problem with recoil in deep space, but..." She shrugged phlegmatically.
Ursis looked at Brim and grinned. "Nergol Triannic is in deep trouble now, my Carescrian friend," he said. "He might be able to fight radiation fires with N-rays, but how can he hope to counter cannonballs and grapeshot? You are clearly our secret weapon, Commander Wellington!"
"That's 'Dora,' please! I won't know who anybody's talking to."
"'Dora' it is, then," Ursis agreed. "Together, the three of us will blast the League of Dark Stars into spinning atoms."
"With a few deep-space recoil problems," Wellington piped in.
"Which it appears we shall soon toast with Logish Meem," Brim interjected as Grimsby magically appeared with a third filling goblet. "Probably not a half-bad idea, come to think of it," he mused as the ancient steward bowed and set the goblet before Wellington. "All problems dissolve eventually in this magic solvent."
"To ice, to snow, to Sodeskaya we go!" Ursis exclaimed. The three drained their meem in the fashion of Bears, then touched the goblets together upside down.
"Hear, hear!" Wellington replied with her eyes opened in surprise. She looked at the goblet. "By the Great Feathered Spirits of Higgins!" she exclaimed. "Where in the Universe did you find this? I haven't tasted anything like it since before the war started."
"We depend on a great deal of magic aboard this ship, Dora," Collingswood interrupted from the doorway. "When I discovered Glendora T. Wellington had volunteered for combat, I knew I'd found someone who could help sustain it. So I personally asked for you."
"Regula Collingswood!" Wellington squealed. "Well, I should have known."
The reunion lasted long into the hours of darkness....
During the next weeks, Brim and Aram were joined in the simulators by angeline Waldo, a Reserve Helmsman from the merchant service who decided she wanted a ship that could fight back, Galen Fritz, a veteran trooper-turned-Helmsman from the Bax cluster, and Ardelle Jennings, a junior Helmsman fresh from the Imperial Academy. Each, Brim found quickly, had a unique style at the helm.
Jennings, for example, flew absolutely by the book. She was so perfect it was almost annoying, and she left absolutely nothing to chance. Brim imagined that when she was at the controls, Defiant would leave a neat red pen tracing across space—exactly corresponding to the course she had laid out well in advance of their passage. He hoped she would be able to perform as efficiently in the heat of battle, where the best-laid plans could—and often did—change with each click.
On the other hand, Fritz and Waldo—both experienced Helmsmen—flew easily, almost casually. They were comfortable at the controls. Even during the most trying of circumstances the Master Simulators could throw at them, they remained calm and never
"lost" the ship. Brim knew that Triannic's minions would quickly come up with more taxing challenges than any the civilian operators might conjure, but he expected that both would rise to the occasion. So long as the ship was capable of flight, they'd make sure her gunners accomplished their mission. And that was what the war—and defiant—were all about.
Aside from that, Waldo had magnificent legs....
It was Aram, however, that Brim found truly astonishing. Beneath his formal A'zurnian veneer, he was both technically astute and relaxed at the controls. And he could learn anything at any time, even after the many Sodeskayan meem bashes, when everybody—including himself—had toasted far more than was even remotely sensible. Not only that, he was absolutely unflappable in The Box. Even after session that left Brim himself on the edge of taking a blast pike to the whole complex, Aram came through sweating but still firmly in control of every situation. The young Helmsman modestly explained that being naturally flighted made the act of piloting far easier for him, but Brim knew better. Arm was simply xaxtdamned good....
Gradually over the ensuing weeks, sounds of construction subsided inside the ship , and her passages and companionways became less cluttered wit loose wires, construction gear, and just plain dirt. Closed access hatches for the most part stayed closed as stores were packed away and secured for deep space. The smell of the ship changed, too: from dust, bonding chemicals, and drying paint to new carpeting, new electronics, hot food, and the unmistakable smell of polish—the universal element of every military starship that had ever been built.
During this time, the number of dockyard workers between decks and on the gangways also changed, thinning to a trickle as civilian contractors were replaced by ever-increasing numbers of the Blue Capes who would actually man the commissioned ship. And—much to the amazement of neatly everyone—the shipyard declared I.F.S. Defiant to be "officially" complete two days ahead of schedule.