"That's true enough," the other allowed. "But Starfuries could."
"Starfuries?" Brim demanded, turning to face Calhoun in surprise. "I don't understand."
"You will directly," Calhoun assured him with a smile, "because Starfuries are a major part of my plan."
Brim frowned. "Cal"—he chuckled—"I'm all ears."
"Simplest thing you could think of,'' Calhoun explained, "an' it even makes a bit of business sense.
We'll simply transfer I.F.S. Starfury to the Fluvannian Nabob along with the next ten Starfuries to complete. In return, Fluvanna wull send their entire production of celecoid quartz kernels to the Empire.
That way, they can defend themselves wi' the same ships we wad, and the xaxtdamned CIGAs won't hae onything to say about it."
"You may have a spot of trouble with that one," Brim cautioned. "Starfuries are the most restricted ships in the Empire. Even if Prince Onrad could get the sale approved somehow, the Bears at Krasni-Peych would never consent. The reflecting Drive is their latest technology."
"I didn't say anything about a sale, young Brim," Calhoun chuckled. "What I mean to do is lease them the ships."
"All right," Brim allowed. "Maybe you could get some sort of leasing arrangement past the Bears, but who would man the ships? Damned near half the systems aboard are classified, with a no foreign nationals caveat. Even our closest allies are barred from the Drive chambers and the control systems."
Calhoun smiled as he urged the little skimmer around a fast-moving lorry. "Well, there you are," he said, cutting back in front of the lumbering vehicle and careening onto an exit ramp. "You already know who would man them, then. Who else but their present crews?"
"Cal," Brim objected, "you know better than that. The Imperial Fleet Oath strictly forbids us from anything like—"
"True enow," Calhoun interrupted. "But if you weren't in the Fleet anymore, you simply wadn't ha' that problem, noo, wad you?"
Brim considered that for a moment, then gasped in horror. "Are you suggesting that everyone simply resigns?"
"Not permanently," Calhoun answered. "Only lang enough to do a wee bit of fightin'—defendin', that is." The skimmer was now speeding along the perimeter of a small private spaceport Brim had often spotted from the air.
"Voot's beard," Brim growled, "whoever heard of a temporary resignation? The CIGAs would love it. They'd never let us in again."
"How about if Greyffin IV himself guaranteed your return?"
"Greyffin IV? He knows about this?"
"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure," Calhoun admitted, "but Onrad does, as you well know."
Brim considered that while they pulled to a hover beside a large gravity pool. He'd only regained his long-revoked Fleet commission a year previously, and many of his civilian-life recollections weren't all that comfortable. "I'm not sure anything less than an Imperial guarantee would be acceptable anywhere," be concluded at length. "I know I'd certainly have a hard time with it."
"I think I understand," Calhoun said. "I hae pretty strong feelin's myself." He put his hand gently on Brim's shoulder. "When the time comes, if our plan's right, we'll hae little trouble gettin' Greyffin to back us. Wha's important noo is to start the groundwork in Avalon. We're a lang way from settin' course for Fluvanna."
Brim climbed out of the skimmer. "I take it then that we're headed for Avalon," he said, glancing up at a large starship floating on the pool, its ebony hullmetal coated stunning white. A curious red circle glimmered just aft of its bridge Hyperscreens, enclosing what could only be an old-fashioned blue hat folded into a "tricorn" shape.
"Avalon it is, young Brim," Calhoun replied. "An' welcome to my yacht, S.S. Patriot," he said over the roar of the pool's repulsion generators.
Mounting a short stairway to the pool's rim, Brim shaded his eyes and took in the angular lines of Calhoun's "yacht." A curious craft; with her trilon-shaped hull she looked more like someone's idea of a very fast attack vessel, pre Starfury, than someone's expensive toy. And she mounted no disrupters, of course: visible ones, at any rate, Brim considered with a smile.
"What do you think o' her?" Calhoun shouted proudly. The repulsion generators were even louder here.
"Powerful-looking," Brim called out. He guessed she was in the neighborhood of 500 irals long with a beam of perhaps 250, and by the size of the four Drive outlets in her squared-off stem, she was probably powered by Admiralty HyperDrives of some sort. "Where'd you find her?" he asked. "She's got Imperial lines right out of the last war, but I've never seen anything like her."
Calhoun smiled proudly. "That's because I own the only three e'er built," he explained, passing Brim onto the brow with a wave of his hand.
The moment his foot touched the runners, a trio of white-cloaked starsailors at the top snapped to attention. Each was armed with a large blaster bolstered on his hip.
"And you're right about the era," Calhoun continued as they moved out across the brow. "They're prototypes o' fast attack ships that were to be built on an out-o'-the-way planet called Arret—in the Rhodorian province. Your Medical Officer, Penelope Hesternal, comes from there. They make damme fine deep-space cruisers, they do. But after the Treaty of Garak, there wasn't all that much demand for new warships. And then the CIGAs declared 'em surplus. That's when I got 'em. Bought all three hulls as scrap metal." He stopped at the entry port and gazed up at the wide line of Hyperscreens fronting the bridge. The angle at which they were set gave a brooding look to the ship, like some great spaceborne creature of prey, "They'd removed all the weapons and propulsion systems, but they were scrappin' so many ships at the time I had no trouble replacin' onything."
As they approached the entry port, two of the sentries gave an Imperial Fleet salute and held it while the third blew two shrill notes from a tiny silver whistle. At that moment, a fourth white-uniformed crew member appeared inside the large airlock. Even at a distance, she was stunning.
"At ease," Calhoun said, standing aside while Brim stepped over the coaming.
Inside, the woman saluted, in a most military fashion.
Instinctively, Brim returned her salute, upon which, she met his surprised gaze with a most charming smile. She was tall and slim with high cheekbones; a sharp, attractive nose; soft eyes; small breasts; and legs that seemed to go on forever. Her black, shoulder-length hair was cut in severely coiitured bangs, and she wore two full gold stripes on the cuffs of her white cloak: a Lieutenant Commander of some sort. Brim guessed. And try as he might to maintain a professional attitude toward her, she was simply beautiful.
"Make you feel at home?" Calhoun chuckled proudly.
"Especially the white Fleet Cloaks," Brim equivocated, struggling to dismiss the seductive woman who still held his glance. "Almost as if I'd never left Starfury."
"Commander Brim, meet Lieutenant Commander Cartier," Calhoun said perfunctorily, indicating the woman with his hand. "She's Patriot's Number One."
"Eve Cartier," the woman said, extending her hand. "An' it's quite a pleasure to meet you.'' Her face colored for a moment. "I've heard much aboot you from the Governor."
"Any of it good?" Brim asked.
"A wee," she chuckled in a soft voice.
"Eve," Calhoun interrupted, "I'm on my way to the bridge. Show the Commander to a stateroom so he can stow his gear, then bring him along as soon as possible. I'll hae the skipper begin his start-up checklists the moment I get there."
"Aye, Governor," Cartier said. "But you'll find the checklists done already; Patriot's ready for generators on a moment's notice. All we need are your orders."
"How about that for a seasoned crew?" Calhoun asked, starting toward the far end of the airlock.