"I say, Wilf," Moulding commented, "your mind certainly seems to have wondered."
Blinking, Brim raised his glass once more and nodded assent, "That is has, my friend," he said, nodding toward Cartier who apparently had also been resummoned to a previous conversation. "If you two will excuse me...?"
"That's Commander Eve Cartier over there, isn't it?" Moulding remarked offhandedly.
"Either Eve or somebody who looks a lot like her," Brim said over his shoulder as he began pushing his way through the throng of Blue Capes.
With a grin, Moulding raised his goblet once more. Brim heard him say, "To Carescrians..." Then he was engulfed in a babbling sea of faces as he struggled toward the other side of the room.
Cartier was one of those exquisite women whose beauty was so completely natural that Brim found it difficult to characterize. Each time he saw her, he had the delicious pleasure of rediscovering her all over again. Tonight was no exception. A small-busted, statuesque woman of middling age, she wore a uniform clearly tailored to reveal her long, shapely legs to their best advantage. "Stunning" was a good description so far as Brim was concerned. Just as she had been the first day he set eyes on her aboard Baxter Calhoun's space yacht Patriot.
Presently, she was talking to a tall, athletic-looking Captain whose bull neck and massive physique Brim imagined might start hormones flowing in a granite sprite. And the studied manner in which he ignored Brim's determined approach through the crowd revealed that either he and Cartier had come as a pair or he had staked her out as his personal conquest of the evening.
The encouraging glances Brim was receiving from her were a good indication, however, that she might not entirely share the same feelings. "Eve," he exclaimed as he pushed his way through a last gaggle of Blue Capes. "How good it is to see you again,"
"Faith, Wilf Brim," she said, looking deeply into his eyes, " 'tis a ge'at pleasure to see your face again, too. I did'na know you war here in Avalon."
"I wasn't," Brim explained with a grin, "until the middle of this morning when I arrived from Gimmas."
"I suppose I had heard that you were coming," she said, her eyes dropping to the floor shyly.
Then suddenly she remembered the man with whom she had previously been talking. "Oh, er... yes.
Captain Brim," she stammered, "I should like to present Captain, er...?"
"Cavindish," the man announced with studied ennui. "Kingsly Cavindish, First Officer of His Majesty's battlecruiser I.F.S. Benwell. I, ah, didn't catch your ship, Brim."
Smiling evenly, Brim turned to face the man whose campaign he had just badly interrupted.
"Pleased to meet you, Cavindish," he said, extending his hand, "and I didn't give the name of my ship because she doesn't have one."
"A pity," the man said disparagingly as he grandly shook Brim's hand, "but then if we gave names to all the small ones, we'd soon run out, wouldn't we?"
"I never thought of that," Brim replied, fighting back a sudden desire to alter the shape of the man's handsome nose. Instead, he turned to Cartier. "What news of Baxter Calhoun?" he asked.
Cartier smiled. "The Govern... er, Admiral Calhoun seems to be settlin' into his new job directin'
Defense Command. I see him noo and again."
"And you, Eve?" he asked, attempting to ignore the angry scowl that was beginning to cloud Cavindish's handsome countenance. "They say you're heading up 617 Squadron."
"Tis true," she said with a proud little blush. "I've even got my own Starfury noo. The 1Cs started comin' thro' twa' weeks ago."
"And Patriot?'' he asked.
"I turned her over to the Admiralty," she said with a shrug. "She's a fine auld ship—they'll mak'
good use o' her somewhere."
"Yes, well," Cavindish interrupted with a most pointed little cough. Brim guessed the man had little interest either in Carrier's career or the ships she commanded. "I had invited the Commander for a tour of the ship. I'm certain that you will excuse us, Brim."
Brim gave a little bow. "By all means, Cavindish," he said with a smile. It was perfect. If he and the lovely Cartier were indeed a pair, this gave both of them an opportunity to be easily rid of him. On the other hand, if Cartier were merely the target of an evening's dalliance, then she would be free to return (or not return) as she wished. He turned and took her hand for a moment. "Eve," he said, "I look forward to seeing you again soon."
"I look forward to the same thing, Wilf," she said with an enigmatic little smile, "soon."
For the next half metacycle, Brim found that he knew a number of the guests aboard Benwell.
During twenty-odd years of HyperSpace activity, one tends to collect acquaintances from all over the galaxy. He even encountered a member of his graduating class at the Helmsman's Academy, noting wryly how things had changed over the intervening decades. During those days, Carescrians had been looked down upon to the point of subjugation. Amazing how Captain's stripes changed people's opinions!
Moulding and Aram appeared to have blended into the party well, too, especially the latter. The young, red-haired A'zurnian clearly had winning ways, especially with a number of A'zurnian ladies from the Embassy. He thanked the Universe Aram's gregariousness seemed to have also worked on the prima-donna Helmsmen of 32 Squadron, It made things easier all the way around.
He had just accepted a fresh goblet of excellent Logish Meem when a hush suddenly came over the room as if someone had thrown a switch. Turning with a frown, he was just in time to watch Admiral Dugan himself step into the room followed immediately by the hefty bulk of a man whose visage now hung in the wardroom of every ship in the Imperial Fleet: Onrad V, Grand Galactic Emperor, Prince of the Reggio Star Cluster, and Rightful Protector of the Heavens.
Dressed in the uniform of a Vice Admiral (a rank he earned by his brilliant command of Task Group 16 during the Battle of Atalanta), Onrad was slightly taller than Brim and considerably heavier. A comfortable man of obvious royalty, he had dark brown hair and wore a short, pointed beard with perfectly trimmed mustaches. And even halfway across a room, the man's eyes clearly set him apart. As he greeted the high-ranking guests who immediately surrounded him, he had a way of looking at them that bespoke genuine honesty. Not the kind of bumpkin morality that attempts to please everyone, everywhere. Onrad's mien promised only that he would make the best decisions for his Empire, and if you happened to think you could help, so be it.
"Looks as if I was right," Moulding chuckled, joining Brim at the bar. "No wonder security was so tight at the brow."