Once in the historic Beardmore Section—as always abounding in reconstruction scaffolding and derricks—Felicity slowed at two heroic marble statues of Cerenian asteroid wizards done in the classical Barrett style, turned onto ancient, tree-lined Gregory Street, and pulled to the curb before a half square of fusty old office buildings done in the flamboyant style of a bygone age. The rainy gloom made them look gray and tired, their gallant colonnades and statues out of place in these shameful days of CIGA-induced privation within the Fleet. Brim recognized the structures instantly: the old Admiralty Annex buildings. If they could only speak!
He scaled the massive front staircase while his hovering umbrella dodged this way and that in a plucky (but ineffective) struggle to outguess the chancy air currents set up by the huge stone edifice before them. With cold rain dripping from his nose, he returned a salute by four imperious-looking guards at the portico, then followed his two companions across a sculpted colonnade and into a lofty room encircled by five levels of balconies. Overhead, a vaulted ceiling holographically depicted cavalcades of historic starships that soared off toward destinations so far removed in time that some now existed only in memory.
Brim recognized many of the famous vessels at a glance: graceful I.F.S. Valorous, the renowned battlecruiser that cleared the Lorandal Cluster of space pirates for the first time in recorded history; S.S. Pericole Enterprise, a plucky little freighter that ran the deadly Qu'oodal blockade thirty times; even little I.F.S. Idrovolante, a classic example of Mario Castoldi's fine hand that to this very day held the speed record for starships powered by old-fashioned Agello Drive systems.
"Hey, Wilf," Drummond called out with a guffaw. "That's a great way to trip over your feet or run into a wall!"
"Oh, right," Brim said, feeling his cheeks burn as he lowered his gaze. "I always was an easy mark for old starships."
"Makes sense," Drummond chuckled. "Who else would the Admiralty put in charge of their newest Fleet iron?"
At the elevator lobby, a frosted-glass partition slid back and two pairs of eyes scrutinized each of the three before they passed into the lifts. On the seventh floor, they were stopped by three marines checking fingerprints and retinal images before they passed into a high-ceilinged hall whose length was clearly designed to foil intruders. The guard at the far end would have extra moments to activate whatever safety devices he deemed necessary before potential threats could move from one end to another. A truly ancient device. Brim considered with a smile. But effective for all that.
Once past that guard station, he found himself in a large, rectangular room like all the others he had seen in the complex over the years: row upon row of workstations, quietly humming electrical equipment, the occasional clatter of switches and keystrokes, a muffled cough or the creaking of a chair.
The air was filled with odors from hot electrical equipment, whiffets of perfume, Hogge'Poa smoke indicating Bears somewhere in the area, and the all-pervading odor of mustiness from the ancient building itself. Brim's sense of history even imagined the brittle redolence of paper, though that primordial substance had been available only in museums for more than five hundred years.
"In here," Drummond said, keying open the door to a side office with his holobadge.
Brim found himself mildly shocked as he entered. Unlike the other offices he'd seen, this room was bright and airy. Tall windows with ornately rounded tops and high ceilings completely dwarfed both desks and a huge conference table that dominated the room. The latter had been carefully lined with decanters, ready for whatever libations accrued to various Admiralty dignitaries who would be briefed in the office.
"Executive office," Drummond explained to Brim's raised eyebrows. "It's also one of the best briefing rooms in the complex. I'll demonstrate soon as you've had a chance to look around. You'll want to know what the Leaguers have come up with to counter Starfury."
Calhoun nodded, "Aye," he said. "We'll need to know that, all right." He looked around the room appreciatively, men frowned and peered over the top of his eyeglasses, "I assume you won't hae time to personally escort us in and out for the next couple of weeks," he added.
"Your IDs ought to be here within the metacycle," Drummond countered. "I've got to get some army work done, after all." He nodded toward the door. "Just so you don't get too homesick for deep space, you'll find the office cvceese' brewer behind the panel outside with the usual tin for credits. There are reasonably clean mugs on the shelf. Standard rules: when you're done here, leave 'em the way you found 'em."
"The place is secure?" Calhoun asked.
"Electronically: as perfect as we can make it Actually, it's secure as the Bears can make it.
Xaxtdamn CIGAs have the same clearances as we do, but the Sodeskayans... well... they have a few extra levels all their own, so they swept the room. It's clean."
"How about the people outside?" Brim asked.
Drummond thought about that for a moment. "Most of them have higher clearances than either of you," he said. Then he frowned and pointed a finger at Brim. "What's the most reliable way you know of to tell a CIGA from an ordinary starsailor?" he demanded without warning.
Startled, Brim frowned. "I don't know, General," he said, rubbing his chin, "Unless I have some personal knowledge, or a tip from somebody I trust, there's no reliable way I can tell—at least until someone does something overt."
"That's the point, Wilf," Drummond answered with a serious look. "We can't, either. That's why we've got a good door, a good lock, and Bears to do a daily sweep. Most of the real security will be up to you Fleet types." Then he glanced through the door. "You're lucky, though. Cal let us re-recruit one of your old shipmates about a month ago. He's had most of the duty setting up an office here and working with the Bears."
Brim noticed Calhoun break into a wide smile. "He'll also be your new Master Chief Petty Officer when you get back to Starfury," he added with a wink. "Come in, Chief, while I help brother Drummond set up his League briefing."
"Aye, aye, Commodore," an oddly familiar voice replied from the hall.
Suddenly Brim caught his breath as a tall, powerfully built figure strode into the room.
"Barbousse!" he shouted, a huge grin breaking across his face. "Utrillo Barbousse!"
CHAPTER 3
The Annex
Brim returned the huge man's salute, then strode across the floor to shake hands. "There were times I thought I'd never see you again. Chief," he said, fighting back a wince as his fingers were crushed in a viselike grip. "What ever became of you?"
Barbousse smiled wryly. "That's a long story, Cap'm," he said.
"Something in the neighborhood of ten years long," Brim replied, his mind rushing back in time like a whirlwind. He'd just received a transfer as First Lieutenant aboard I.F.S. Thunderbolt; Barbousse was off to the Helmsman's Academy; Nergol Triannic was on the run; and the future had at last begun to show some promise after nearly five years of military disasters. "Seems like a couple of lifetimes since you dropped me off at the Atalanta Terminal," he said. "Will you ever forget how we sighted our first bender?"
"Couldn't forget that, sir," Barbousse said with a faraway grin. "By accident it was. You, Polkovnik Ursis, an' me—aboard old S.S. Providential. She'd been abandoned close to some gas giant... um...."