He didn't wait long. Within cycles, he sighted large numbers of approaching Leaguers, under such heavy attack they could no longer be described as a formation. Moments later, his crystal came to life—as did the other two crystals allotted his wing. Positioning two Starfuries at that intersection, he quickly located a second beam and began to circle its intersection. Moments later a big Kreissel 111 hove into view and was immediately blasted into subatomics without firing its first shot. Before he could locate another beam, however, a small group of Kreissels with an escort of two Gorn-Hoff 270s flashed past his nose. He opened fire at a point-blank range, getting one of the 270s on fire. The other broke off immediately and headed for Effer'wyck.
In the suddenly crowded sky, he next picked up another beam but before he could follow it to its intersection he encountered still another Kreissel and attacked at a high deflection angle, blowing large chunks from the port side of its bridge until at least three League killer ships drove him away.
Now, with the Leaguers on his heels, he dived for the surface, his rear turrets blasting away at a stubborn Gorn-Hoff that didn't break off until they were no more than ten thousand irals from the surface.
Making a steep, climbing turn to starboard, he zoomed vertically into the fight where his gunner got a number of shots at still another Gorn-Hoff from no more than six hundred irals' distance. As this unfortunate Leaguer dived steeply, apparently out of control, Brim spotted another Gorn-Hoff and closed to attack him from astern, all forward turrets firing short bursts from nine hundred to three hundred irals' range. This 270 dived and crashed to the ground in flames...
Brim returned to FleetPort 30 reporting two authenticated kills, and a number "damaged." Too tired for the usual victory celebrations, he headed directly for bed. Counting his tour in Fluvanna—he'd been fighting the war for nearly two solid years now—and it was beginning to tire him out. He could only thank Voot that the Leaguers appeared to be getting tired, too!
On the fifth morning of the Leaguers' onslaught against Avalon City proper, intense gravity storms returned to the area, all but shutting down operations on both sides. Brim's morning TSIB indicated that the previous day's fighting cost the Imperial defenders twenty-nine aircraft against the League's twenty-five. And even though a good proportion of the Imperial losses could be made up by midafternoon of the next day, operational starships had fallen by 12 to 679. One crew was reported lost and five were missing.
In spite of the tempestuous regional gravity, however, approximately forty-three Leaguer attack ships, most heavy cruisers, did make it through the storms that day—and indeed managed to inflict even more damage to Avalon. A further forty people were killed, and the strain in the city remained intense.
As Brim moored at FleetPort 30 after a sortie in which the ship he was flying shared destruction of a Kreissel 111 and damaged three Gorn-Hoff 262s, he learned that one of the audacious late-afternoon raiders had even blasted the Royal Palace, landing a number of disrupter hits in close proximity to where Onrad was at work in his office. His thoughts went immediately to Raddisma as Imperial media services made the most of the occasion, anxious to prove that the new Emperor was as much at risk as everyone else. But common logic told him that little danger could have come to either Onrad or Raddisma, and he dismissed the bald-faced propaganda with a smile of derision. Places like the palace were so well protected that literally nothing could harm its occupants so long as they remained inside.
Weren't they... ?
Somehow, "common logic" failed to ease his mind as he shut down the Starfury's helm, and when he wearily quit the bridge, he had still not shaken the forebodings of tragedy, especially since—for the first time since he could remember—no one was at the end of the brow to greet his victorious crew.
Had something gone wrong? Where was everybody? Before he reached the ship's boarding lobby, he found himself tearing along the corridor at a dead run—on a course for his office and a private HoloPhone from which he could place a call to Raddisma.
He never made it....
On the far side of the boarding tube, Onrad himself waited with a grim face, a black eye, and a bandage covering his swollen forehead. Silently, the two made their way through a sea of raised eyebrows to Brim's office, where Onrad gently closed the door.
Brim's heart nearly stopped from dread as the Emperor began to speak. Somehow, he knew what was coming next.
"Wilf," Onrad said quietly, "for all my supposed talent at oratory, I simply don't know how to put this nicely." He grabbed Brim's hand and looked him straight in the face. "Emperors are supposed to have no friends—only interests. The fact that you have nevertheless become a friend, and a trusted one at that, makes this so difficult that I almost sent someone else to tell you," he continued, staring at the wall as if he couldn't stand his own words. "It was that bond of trust between us that brings me here this afternoon to tell you that Raddisma was killed in the raid that you must by now have learned damaged the palace late this afternoon. Neither of us were in the deep shelters, as we should have been."
Brim staggered backward until he caught his balance on the desk. "Sweet mother of the Universe," he gasped in utter despair. He had never experienced a wave of grief tike this—not even when his sister died in his arms.
Onrad shook his head bitterly. "I shall always blame myself for her death," he continued in a voice high with strain, "both because she was here in Avalon at my personal request and because I had not moved the palace hospital farther underground."
From somewhere deep in his despair, Brim found compassion for the Galactic Emperor who had just prostrated himself because of a single death. "You can't blame yourself for doing the best you could for her," he said. Then, it began to dawn on him that the man was here to tell him about the tragedy—not Mustafa. He opened his mouth to speak but Onrad continued, his eyes fastened somewhere thousands of c'lenyts distant.
"Miraculously," the Emperor continued, "she did manage to deliver your daughter in the metacycle before her death. The little girl was still being prepared in the palace infirmary when the Leaguers' shots hit the wing where Raddisma was resting..."
"My daughter!" Brim exclaimed, the thought—and the words—about Mustafa blasted from his mind. "She is alive?" he asked.
Onrad put his great, strong hand on Brim's shoulder. "She is very much alive, Wilf," he said. "A beautiful young woman, even now. Raddisma would have been very proud—as will you."
Brim shook his head for a moment and peered at the Emperor. "Wait a moment, Your Highness—did you say, my daughter.''
Onrad smiled, "Yes, Wilf," he said. "I've known her true parentage for a few months, now."
Brim closed his eyes again. "Somehow, I thought you had. That's why you brought Mustafa Eyren and his court to Avalon, isn't it?"
Onrad smiled, "Well," he said, "I'll admit that had a lot to do with it."
"Universe," Brim whispered. "How can I ever begin to express my gratitude...?"
"For getting her killed?"
"For doing what you thought was best for her and me, Your Majesty." Brim stated firmly. "They might both have been killed in Atalanta. Hador Haelic's under attack, too, you know."