"So, friend Brim," Ursis continued, leaning back in the seat, "when Leaguers finally come after Avalon, as they will, if everything else is in place—spirit, bravery, equipment, and the like—immediate future of our old Empire will probably depend on your countryman Baxter Calhoun, whom Onrad has determined will lead Defense Command." For a moment he peered critically at the claws extending from his long, slim fingers, then he nodded to himself. "With help of BKAEW, he will most likely prevail against confusion."
"Yeah," Brim agreed quietly. "I have already seen a little of what BKAEW can do."
Ursis grinned. "So I have heard. Voof! For first time in... what, five, six hundred Standard Years, starships can be sensed and positioned before they slow below LightSpeed. Newest BKAEW sets—as you already know—can 'see' all way across 'Wyckean Void and beyond, it may well become most critical technology in coming war. At least, is how we Bears see things. And believe me, furless friend, we watch, because no matter how things turn out in Avalon, Sodeskaya is Triannic's next target."
"Makes sense," Brim said. "But BKAEW's pretty new stuff. I've only seen a couple of stations."
Ursis laughed, "You haven't been here all that long, Wilfooshka. BKAEW is well past experimental stage. Each of your five planets has at least three of those crazy-looking satellites."
"I didn't know that," Brim said. "But then I haven't been especially looking for them, either."
Ursis laughed. "But I'll bet you have noticed how much more accurate your vector controllers have been during past month or so?"
Brim frowned. He had, come to think of it, "I guess I hadn't been doing much questioning lately,"
he admitted, nodding toward the display cluttered with day reports, manning tables, ship availability projections, budget authorizations. He laughed unhappily. "This exalted position of mine requires I spend as much time tending to admin garbage as I do trying to kill Leaguers."
Ursis laughed. "When one is busy just keeping head attached to shoulders—as you are—is quite easy to neglect other things," he said, then raised both his eyebrows and an index finger " There, my Imperial friend," he said with a chuckle, "a Sodeskayan aphorism even humans can understand."
"Amazing," Brim said in mock astonishment. "Next thing, you Bears'll be smoking deodorized Hogge'Poa in those Zempa pipes of yours."
"Fat chance of that!" Ursis chuckled. "Not so long as lady Bears think Hogge'Poa smells sexy."
"Lost cause, eh?"
"Believe it, friend Brim. Believe it...."
When Onrad and Jaiswal finally did return to the ship, Brim had little trouble guessing the outcome of their talks.
Striding directly from their limousine with no outward sign of emotion, both men quickly acknowledged Barbousse's honor guard, then hurried into the ship's tiny boarding lobby. "Let's get out of here. Brim," Onrad said, his lips pressed into a white slit in his face. "I cannot much longer stand this ichor of defeat...."
Later, once they were into deep space and safely on the way back to Avalon, Onrad gently tapped Brim on the shoulder. "I suppose Ursis has already told you about the conferences," he said.
Brim put the ship on autohelm and turned in his recliner. "He did, Your Majesty," he said, "at least the conferences he attended."
"Bad?" Onrad asked.
"In his eyes, Your Majesty," Brim replied.
"In mine, too," Onrad said grimly, "and in Jaiswal's. The defense back there in Effer'wyck is now in tatters. Oh, they'll fight on as long as they can. Especially if we send more reinforcements—which we will almost certainly have to do if we hope to put the Empire back together after the war. But they can't last anymore than a few more days, and we shall have to be on our guard every moment or they'll try to take us with them. Nations that go down fighting rise again," he asserted with a fierce look in his eyes,
"but those that surrender tamely are finished...."
The Emperor's short-range predictions were all too accurate. Within two Standard Days, the Effer'wyckean capital of Luculent was bloodlessly occupied by the League with parades and celebrations of great pomp and ceremony. Galactic media everywhere suddenly filled with views of Triannic and his henchmen marching along the Luculent's wide Boulevard of Heroes.
At last came the great blow. Even while the last Imperial troops were reembarking for Avalon, Effer'wyckean Prime Minister Holleran-Millard KA'PPAed to the Universe from the little planet Darendyl in the Forbean provinces, "It is with a broken heart," he began, "that I tell you today that fighting must cease...."
Three short days later, on the twenty-sixth (the 1,250th anniversary of the Empire's victory at the battle of Ool'retaw), an Effer'wyckean puppet government signed armistice with the League, and the Empire began final preparations for the invasion that must certainly follow on the heels of Triannic's latest conquest.
That night, as Leaguers proudly toured the Effer'wyckean capital, Onrad appeared throughout the Triad's media, broadcasting simultaneously to all five of the Home Planets and by KA'PPA to the far reaches of the Empire. Brim joined most of the off-duty officers of FleetPort 30 in the satellite's big wardroom where a huge global display had been wheeled in from one of the situation rooms.
During most of the day, the media had been rife with a succession of pundits reviewing the Effer'wyckean situation in minute detail, and by the time Onrad was due in the big globe, the room was both crowded and strangely quiet—a far cry from its usual high-spirited atmosphere. When the Emperor's image appeared in the center of the globe, a murmur of palpable admiration swept the officers.
Brim had never seen the man so wrought up, and doubted that many of the others had either.
After brief statements of introduction, the burly Emperor adjusted his spectacles and launched into the topic that everyone knew was coming. "The Battle of Effer'wyck is over..." he stated in a voice that was uncharacteristically hesitant—almost slurred. "I expect the Battle of Avalon is about to begin."
Everyone in the wardroom was now listening in absolute silence, hanging on his every word. "Very soon," he continued, glowering from the full-sized display as if he were talking personally to each of his viewers,
"the whole fury and might of the enemy must be turned on us. Triannic knows he will have to break us on these five planets or lose the war." His words grew louder and more assured as he approached his emphatic conclusion. "Let us therefore brace to our duties," he growled, thrusting his chin forward as if in defiance, "and bear ourselves in such a manner that if this hoary old Empire and its dominions last for a thousand Standard Years or more, living beings throughout the Universe will say that this was the finest moment of all!"
A stunned hush extended the silence for perhaps three clicks more, then the wardroom suddenly erupted in an emotional paroxysm of shouting and acclamation that continued until everyone was literally breathless. Brim, however, stood aside during the initial rush for the bar, watching reflectively and remembering other such nights filled with wild bravado by people who had little conception of what really lay in store when they encountered the outrageous, barbarous visage of battle. He closed his eyes for a moment while a thousand visions—each more horrible and bloody than its predecessor—paraded before his eyes. Hellish noise... blinding light... concussion. Fright so palpable you could reach out and touch it. Screams filling your battle helmet that couldn't be turned off. Death. Death. More death!
Grinding his teeth, he waited until there was room at the bar, then using Captain's privilege, he carried two whole bottles of Logish Meem back to his cabin and drank himself senseless.