Brim smiled distantly. "Memories," he explained. "Some go pretty deep."
Valerian nodded. "I think I understand," he said. "I visited Carescria a couple years ago...."
"You had to live there, Mark," Brim muttered, wondering for the ten billionth time what it was that made him love the Empire in spite of what hundreds of years of heartless-but-legal plundering had made of his native dominion.
"Yeah," Valerian replied after a pause, pulling to a halt near two sets of doors under a small canopy, "I'll be glad to take your word for it...."
Inside, the cavernous building was divided into four huge chambers, each capable of housing at least three cruiser-sized starships. For the most part, two of the mammoth rooms were cold and empty—as they had existed since the great base was shut down by the CIGAs in the first years of "peace" after the disastrous Treaty of Garak. Rusting donkey engines rested ghostlike on darkened tracks beneath old-fashioned gantry cranes that could still lift whole Drive sections from their chambers.
Brim and Valerian passed through these rooms aboard a clanking little tram that echoed in the emptiness like some noisy insect caught in the Catacombs of Savnie'er. But long before passing through the door to the third chamber, they could hear the bustle that emanated from the other side. Glare from hundreds of ceiling-mounted Karlsson lamps was almost painful as they emerged from tomblike stillness to the noisy commotion of an active finishing bay.
Two of the room's thundering gravity pools were occupied by what were unmistakably Sherrington Starfury-class starships, attached to an army of monitoring instruments through what looked like thousands of glittering cables. Handsome vessels in obsidian hullmetal, the cruisers were designed to enhance high-speed atmospheric maneuvering by extremely clean exterior configurations. They were tri-hulled, in the Valerian tradition: a main fuselage complemented on either side by "pontoon" units mounted slightly below the centerline. These housed three Admiralty A876 gravity generators each and were connected to the main hull through "trouser" structures characteristic of the racing starships produced earlier by Sherrington HyperSpace Works. Raked, low-set bridge/deckhouse units protruded some way back from their sharply tapered bows, and except for blisters housing the main battery, these constituted the only slipstream disturbances anywhere. The turrets were also the most visible difference between Mk1s and Mk1Cs, for the latter carried two twin-mount turrets atop the main fuselage instead of one. Of course!—new superfocused disrupter pairs emanating from the sheered-off turrets were slightly thicker. They'd have to be if the big weapons were to house a boost path close enough to the main feeds for efficient cooling. And... yes, the forward Hyperscreens were raked even further. He nodded. That ought to clear up the ship's nasty bent toward overheat during high-speed landfall operations. By Voot, she was a bit longer, too. Had to be. On Mk1 models, the Drive-chamber hatch line ran just past center on the trousers. This one made it only midway along the fillet. And what else...?
In his utter fascination, he forgot all about Valerian until chuckling intruded....
"I take it you approve of how she looks," the designer said, softly nudging the Carescrian's elbow.
"Count on it, friend," Brim said, emerging slowly from his reverie. "You always did have a penchant for handsome starships."
"If they look good..." Valerian prompted, holding his hands palm outward in the manner of a popular children's game.
"They usually fly that way, too," Brim finished like a litany. It was the oldest aphorism in the engineering handbook—but it rarely failed. Sherrington Starfuries followed the dictum exactly. They were a pure, delicate pleasure to fly from lift-off to landfall, with a turn of speed that placed them among the fastest ships in the known Universe. And now, at least some of the phenomenal ships were being built in Carescrian yards.
Boarding through an open brow, Brim wandered through the ship with Valerian in tow, dodging busy workmen and engineers while taking in all the amazing changes he found within the hull.
Vastly—incredibly—different from normal Starfury-class warships, Mk1Cs existed on the basis of shooting, maneuverability, and speed alone—in that order. With full exploitation anywhere in the flight envelope. Gone were the comfortable wardrooms, messing facilities, sleeping quarters, and the rest of the facilities necessary for extended cruising. The only elements Brim could see that had been left untouched were the propulsion units. Even the primary plasma generators had been enlarged in the form of Krasni-Peych 2450 units fresh from research laboratories in Sodeskaya. This alone made it possible to slightly increase armor protection over the Drive chambers, a weak spot that had become glaringly apparent in Fluvanna during battles with the League's deadly new Gorn-Hoff 262s.
Toward late afternoon, they emerged back onto the noisy floor of the bay. "All right, Wilf," Valerian shouted over the roar of the pool generators, "what do you think?"
Brim grinned happily. "Well," he allowed, "they're certainly pure killer ships, now. I haven't seen enough room aboard for so much as a box lunch. What's the crew size again? With less than ten command stations—and I'll bet the enlisted complement is reduced by at least half."
"Pretty close, Wilf," Valerian said. "We've got it down to a single Helmsman, eight other officers, and thirty-one ratings. No support types at all—except for damage-control teams."
"Probably not a bad idea to keep them aboard," Brim agreed emphatically. Starfury had sustained considerable damage during her year in Fluvanna, and had even been shot down once with direct hits in a Drive chamber—an event that, he considered with no little misgiving, led directly to the fathering of his first child.
He'd only learned about that within the last week, and still found his new status difficult to comprehend. Especially since Raddisma of Magor, the unborn child's mother, was also the favorite consort of His Majesty, Mustafa Eyren, Nabob and absolute ruler of embattled Fluvanna.
He shrugged. Later.... He'd deal with that once he got all the other loose ends of his life sorted out—like setting up a whole new wing of the Home Fleet. The child's mother could provide her with a home, for he certainly had none. Anywhere but the fleet.
"Voot's beard, Wilf, that certainly took you afield," Valerian said with a curious smile, "I'd heard Starfury was shot down during one of her battles with the Leaguers, but I'd no idea it had affected you so. I'm sorry. Truly."
Brim laughed sardonically. "Mark," he said, placing a hand on the designer's shoulder. "Aside from killing a number of fine Imperials—and scaring the bevboots out of me—crash landing Starfury was no particularly big thing. I've been shot down a number of times before. It was what happened later that..." He stopped himself and laughed. "If I ever get it all sorted out myself, you'll be among the very first to know."
"Sounds like a deal to me," Valerian said—still frowning. Then he shrugged, checking the ancient timepiece he carried with him. "Probably time we hie ourselves off to meet Admiral Gallsworthy and Dr. Borodov. They'll be waiting at the Officers Mess. Both of 'em are anxious to hear what you think of the new 1Cs."
Laughing as they boarded the little tram for the parking lot, Brim nodded. "I'll tell everyone they're beautiful as ever, Mark," he promised.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Valerian said. "You didn't get to fly one."
"Well," the Carescrian said, "that would be nice."