He nodded his head. Count on it, gentlemen." Then he looked up and smiled. "Do we have that out of the way, now?"
"Next topic, Your Highness," Calhoun said with a lopsided grin.
"How about you, Brim?" Onrad demanded.
"I'm ready, Your Highness."
"Drummond?"
The General's nod was all Onrad needed. "All right, then," he chuckled to Calhoun, "To continue with the original purpose of my visit, it appears that you and Brim have sold the Fluvanna concept. I can find almost no active opposition among the people who count. In fact, there even seems to be a groundswell building for its implementation, although as you have eloquently pointed out no one is clamoring to staff the ships."
Calhoun began to speak, but Onrad pointed a finger at him.
"You're going to tell me about the idiots in the Fleet who fear the CIGAs and won't back you because they think you might fail. Right?"
"Aye, Your Highness," Calhoun said with a grin. "I figured you had a right to know everything, e'en if some of it was na good."
"I always try to understand the downside issues first," Onrad said. "Often, that's the quickest way to see the bright side."
"Xaxtdamned cowards don't bother Your Highness?" Calhoun demanded hotly.
"Oh, they bother me, I suppose," Onrad replied. "But people like that are usually just weak, not disloyal. I pretty well know who they are, now—largely through your fortuitous efforts the last few weeks. Not so much threats as empty spaces that need to be filled." He nodded thoughtfully. "We'll simply never assign them a position of responsibility again. That way, they can still be useful to us without putting anyone in danger during times of stress."
"In that case," Calhoun said with a nod, "it's probably time to involve the Fluvannians, too. We've made a lot of assumptions aboot their willingness to be part of this wee scam."
"They'll come through for us," Drummond assured him. "I've known the Nabob since he was a child and I had just joined His Majesty's Foreign Service." He frowned. "A singular sort of person. But you know that, Your Highness. You've met him."
Onrad nodded. "Mustafa's 'singular,' all right," he said. "But only in how he reflects a society very much unlike ours. And of course, he's an absolute ruler. Feels he's Nabob by divine pronouncement—from the Universe itself. He doesn't have to put up with a legislature at all. He calls all the shots he wants to call; delegates the rest."
''Luckily, he's delegated considerable power to a real friend of the Empire," Drummond observed.
"Yes," Onrad agreed. "Old Beyazh, the Ambassador—one of the great rue' of our times, from what I hear."
"At least he'll listen," Drummond said. "Might have to find him a good-looking blonde for a while, but he'll come around."
Calhoun grinned conspiratorially. "I'll tell you how to gat on old Beyazh's guid side, in a hurry"—he chuckled—"aside from providin' him some guid-lookin' woman. He's an auld starsailor.
Years ago, he commanded ane o' those antiques that make up their 'Fleet.' I'll wager he'd swap his eye teeth for a ride in a ship like Starfury."
"Hmm," Onrad said with raised eyebrows as he turned to peer at Brim. "How is our 'pocket battlecruiser' these days?"
Brim felt his cheeks burn. "I've only got secondhand news. Your Highness," he admitted, "but Lieutenant Tissaurd reports that Starfury's fit-out is almost complete—with all trials modifications finished last week."
"Would you like to get back to your ship?" Onrad asked.
Brim peered at Calhoun. "Would I, Commodore?" he asked histrionically.
"You'd think I'd dragged him from his own first-born child, Your Highness," Calhoun guffawed.
Then he turned to Brim. "All right, my fellow Carescrian," he said, "I suppose it's time I let you go back and take over your ship. You've certainly done me proud here in Avalon."
"And I suspect we'll be needing Starfury soon for a bit of bribery after brother Calhoun here works his magic on Ambassador Beyazh,'' Onrad observed with a chuckle. "All very legal, of course."
"But of course, Your Highness," Brim said with as serious a mien as he could muster.
"Think you could come up with some quick transportation back to Bromwich for Commander Brim?" Onrad asked Drummond.
The latter looked up from his workstation. "Thought that might be coming, Your Highness," he said, winking at Brim. "S.S. Empress of Brockton embarks at midday tomorrow. Suppose you could be aboard?''
Brim smiled. "I could leave tonight," he said.
"Good," Drummond said. "In that case, I won't have to switch your tickets."
Brim frowned. "I don't understand," he said.
"Well," Drummond explained, "I thought you might be a little bored in the evenings, so I ticketed both you and your friend Barbousse on the S.S. Arkadia. She lifts in just five metacycles...."
A week later, with Barbousse thoroughly in command of Starfury's seventy-five nonrated starsailors, Brim had a chance to meet with Tissaurd in the newly carpeted wardroom, bringing himself up-to-date concerning the ship's fitting out. Like most wardrooms on major Imperial warships, Starfury's was divided into two richly wood-paneled compartments: a dining room and a lounge separated by a serving pantry with counter access to both. The dining area contained a U-shaped table hand-hewn from dark rennel oak, twenty-five matching chairs, and a number of wooden sideboards for serving. In the lounge, a score of leather armchairs and divans generally faced the ship's crest: a crimson shield outlined in gold containing stylized bolts of yellow lightning discharging from a blazing orange star. Above this, the ship's motto, "Go Boldly!" appeared in old-fashioned symbolic characters. On an adjoining bulkhead hung the same large portrait of Emperor Greyffin IV that Brim had encountered In his first ship at the beginning of his career. Below this was an array of workstations; Brim and Tissaurd sat at the leftmost display/interface, and from Tissaurd's exquisitely detailed records, the Carescrian could see that nearly a full complement of stores had already been stowed, and that nearly all Admiralty inspections had been passed with high grades. He looked at the woman beside him who had so ably shouldered his duties and shook his head in wonder. "You've done well. Number One," he said.
"Better than you expected, Skipper?" she asked, clearly daring him to admit he'd worried that she could handle the job without him.
Brim laughed in spite of himself. "Yeah," he admitted, looking around the comfortable room, "I suppose that's true." Was it because she'd caught him being himself, or was it because she was so damned cute—or a combination of both.
"It's all right," she said with a mysterious little smile. "I just wanted to make certain I could read you."
"Read me?" Brim asked.
"I read people," Tissaurd stated calmly. "I've been doing it for years."
"I don't understand," Brim said.
Tissaurd gently patted his shoulder. "You don't have to," she said. "I'll take care of it for both of us."
Owen Morris, Starfury's COMM Officer, strode into the wardroom before their conversation could continue. He handed Brim a sealed plastic envelope—the kind that usually contained ship's departure orders. "Hot from the crypto-KA'PPA, Skipper," he announced. "Untouched by human hands."
The envelope was marked secret; all sortie orders were sent as classified documents in peacetime; classification rose precipitously during wartime. Both Tissaurd and Morris were cleared for top secret and better, so Brim opened the envelope immediately.