The steward assisted Margot into a high-backed chair at a table close to the warmth of the fireplace—the other was placed so the table's occupants were compelled to sit together facing the fire.
Somehow, the whole arrangement gave an illusion of privacy. Once they were seated, it was almost as if they occupied a warm, spice-laden room all their own. In the softly flickering firelight, Margot's lovely oval face seemed even more beautiful than ever—her moist red lips and sleepy eyes more desirable than any he could remember, or imagine.
"You're quiet, Wilf," she said with her smiling frown. "Is there something wrong?"
"No," Brim answered bemusedly. "Nothing's wrong at all. It's more like nothing has ever been quite so right."
'That's good," she said, closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. "It's awfully nice for me, too."
She smiled. "' All precious things discover'd late,/To those who seek them issue forth.'"
Brim nodded. "' For life in sequel works with fate,/And flings the veil from hidden worth' Latmos the Elder always did write your kind of verse, you know," he added.
Margot kissed her fingertips in admiration. "My kind?" she asked.
"Well," Brim said, "so much of you as I know."
She blushed. "I'm terribly honored," she said.
"You should be," be commented, watching a domestic serve from a dust-covered bottle of Logish meem. "He wrote for no one else but you—and did so more than five hundred years before you were born. Makes you quite social, you know."
She laughed. "You're pretty special yourself, Lieutenant Brim. And you don't even need Latmos."
"Me?"
" You," Margot affirmed. She frowned. "You know, Wilf, I haven't beard a word from you about what you really went through out there—only the technical detail." She raised her eyebrows and moved her face close to his. "Anybody else would still be crowing about how brave be was."
Brim snorted. "Nothing much to brag about," he said. 'They beat me up same, and we lost the merchantman we went after in the first place."
"You did have something to do with stopping the corvette, though."
"Well," Brim admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "Yes, I suppose I did. But anyone could probably have done the same. The brave ones were Ursis and Barbousse—they started the commotion that let me get away."
She laughed—a wonderful, honest laugh Brim wished he could somehow keep going for the rest of his life. "Wilf Brim," she declared, "you are impossible. Nothing to it, eh?"
Now it was Brim's turn to laugh. "Well," he said, "I had to let one of them shoot me, if I remember correctly."
Her face was suddenly serious, and she brought her face close to his again. "That's what I mean," she said. "You are special. Do you have any idea how many people wear the Fleet uniform—call themselves Blue Capes—and never even hear a shot fired. People like me, Wilf."
"Wait a cycle," Brim protested suddenly. "Getting shot at or not getting shot at has little to do with much of anything. It just turns out that I fly starships pretty well. And people naturally shoot at starships—big targets." He shrugged, looking her in her sleepy eyes. "If I could do something else better, they'd probably have me doing that."
Margot sighed. "I stand by my words, Mr. Brim," she said. "You are impossible." She smiled sleepily, her face soft in the firelight. "Given sufficient impossible people, we might even win this awful war."
Later, they dined sumptuously on food Brim recently thought be would never live to savor again. And they talked—about starships, the war, poetry, and love. But as the evening passed, they settled more on matters of love. For a while, Margot drew him out, listening to his words with a faraway look in her eyes. Later, she spoke of her own first lover. "I was terribly fortunate," she told him, her eyes focused across unbridgeable gulfs of space and time. "He had so much love to give. So gentle..."
Brim felt a thickness in his throat. He knew he would carry her words to the end of his days—and an irrational jealousy be would never manage to overcome. Without thinking, he took her hand—then panicked when he realized what he had done. To his surprise, she responded with her own hand, then looked silently into his eyes.
It was suddenly difficult to breathe in the tropical wash of her perfume. She was speaking as she squeezed his hand. She bad a confused look in her sleepy eyes. "I hardly know you, Wilf," she was saying hesitantly. "What's the matter with me?" Then she closed her eyes and shook her head—but kept her tight grip on his hand. In a moment, she seemed to regain herself and took a deep breath. "Hello, Lieutenant Brim," she said huskily as she opened her eyes.
"Hello;" Brim answered. He took her other hand, oblivious to anyone else in the room, then abruptly threw caution to. the winds. "I noticed they have rooms upstairs," be said. "Should people find themselves, ah..."
"0-Overcome... ." she stammered.
"Yes. By, ah, whatever," Brim finished.
She laughed suddenly. "'Whatever,'" she repeated. "I hate that terrible word, Wilf. My mother used it when she wanted to avoid me." She drained her goblet. "And, yes," she said, bringing her face close to his. "They do have rooms upstairs." Then she looked at her hands as if she were afraid to say the rest.
Brim never wanted anyone the way he wanted Margot Effer'wyck now—ever in his life. He squeezed her hand, took a film grip on his fast eroding emotions. "Th-Then..." he stammered shakily, "then, would you... ?" Before he could finish, he was stopped in midsentence by a hand on his shoulder, and taken completely by surprise, he turned in the seat, heart pounding, to confront the tavern's white-haired steward.
"A thousand pardons, Lieutenant Brim," the man whispered. "Your transponder."
"Sweet thraggling Universe," Brim swore fiercely under his breath. The thrice-xaxtdamned personal transponder he'd swallowed! He closed his eyes in total and absolute defeat. "Very well," he said with resignation. "Let's have the bad news."
The steward handed him a tiny message packet, which he authenticated with a fingerprint and placed in his ear.
"You are summoned immediately to I.F.S. Prosperous," it said, "at emergency priority. Your kit is already packed and delivered from Truculent."
"I deeply regret the intrusion, Princess Effer'wyck," the steward said as he turned to leave. "We had no choice."
'I understand," Margot answered with a wry look. Then she turned to Brim. "What?" she asked.
"I.F.S. Prosperous," Brim whispered. "I've been summoned."
With an incredulous look in her eyes, Margot suddenly dissolved into giggles. "A transponder?" she asked incredulously. "You really swallowed one of those things, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Brim admitted, cheeks burning from sudden embarrassment.
"Oh, Wilf," she exclaimed. "Didn't anybody tell you?"
"No," be admitted. "I haven't been around long enough to learn much of anything that's not in a textbook."
She shook her head. "Well," she said, "you've just had lesson one." She smiled sadly. 'There's no getting out of priority emergency. At least none I know." She squeezed his hand for a moment more, then gently withdrew. "I can probably save you a few steps in my skimmer. We Assessment types get cleared for all sorts of strange places."
They were on their way back down the tree-lined road in a matter of cycles.
No sooner had Margot swung onto the causeway than the Mermaid Tavern, the fire, everything but the woman herself quickly faded to an aura of unreality. Even with shared expenses, he'd never before spent so much for a single meal—nor been in a position where be could. He had no illusions about why everything bad gone so well. The name Effer'wyck was well known—often feared—all over the galaxy and beyond. But she'd never mentioned it. He smiled to himself. This beautiful young woman had no need to try to impress anyone; she simply did.