Brim thought a moment. "Please convey to His Magnificence that I am deeply honored by his greeting, as is the company of my starship."
Saltash grunted and warbled back, then fell expectantly silent.
Mustafa looked amused and nodded. Again he pronounced a string of grunts and warbles, this time with a very serious look on his face.
"His Magnificence has learned that Starfury is perhaps the greatest warship in the known Universe," the diplomat said. "He wonders if you agree."
Brim grinned and looked the Nabob directly in his eye. "Tell Mustafa that he can bet his kingdom on that ship and the crew that flies her," he said proudly. "As well as the Starfuries that will follow her from the building yards."
Saltash had just begun his warbling translation when Mustafa held an imperious hand in the air for silence. The little man looked Brim directly in the eye. "Because I very well may bet my kingdom on Starfury," he began in perfect, but Rhodorian-tinged, Avalonian, "I wish to hear in your own words what there is about this ship that makes you so certain of her fighting powers."
"Your Magnificence," Saltash interrupted in stunned astonishment, "I had no idea...."
Mustafa frowned over his eyeglasses. "Neither do most of your long-winded Foreign Office colleagues, Saltash,'' he chuckled. "Prince Onrad assures me you can be trusted."
Saltash's eyebrows raised appreciatively. "I am honored, Your Magnificence."
Mustafa nodded, then focused on Brim. "With that finished, we can now return to my original question, Commander—concerning what it is about this odd-shaped warship that makes you so certain of her fighting qualities."
Brim started to reply, but Mustafa raised his hand again. "Not yet, my Carescrian friend," he said.
"I have all of the facts concerning Starfury that Sherrington can supply, plus official data from your CIGA-riddled Admiralty," He grinned. "I even have a significant body of classified information that my friend Baxter Calhoun has forwarded during the past few Standard Months. So I already know a great deal about the ship and her unique qualities. The information I require from you is your 'feel,' your very personal instinct of how these unique qualities of Starfury-class starships have combined, now that you have had a chance to get to know her. Is she, Commander, a true 'fighting ship,' or merely an object of considerable beauty?" He smiled. "Like a lovely woman of little intelligence."
Brim considered for a long moment before he attempted a reply. Clearly, this Nabob was no mere figurehead. At some point in his life, he must have commanded starships—conceivably a number of them. Somehow, it made the job easier. "First off, Your Magnificence," he began at length, "Starfury is truly a Helmsman's starship. In every meaning of the word...." He described the feeling he had at her controls, the rock steady feel of her helm, the easy power from the reflecting Drives, the speed, the pure joy of being at the controls of a faultless ship. He described the perfect integration of man and machine that permitted a crew to concentrate on operating the ship—not the ship herself. He told about the improved cooling system installed at Gimmas Haefdon, described the incredible destructive power of her disrupter batteries. And all through his dialogue, Mustafa listened—not as surfeited royalty listens with boredom in his eyes, but with almost childlike intensity—and not a single interruption.
When at last Brim fell silent, the little Nabob smiled. "That good, eh?" he asked.
"That good. Your Magnificence," Brim assured him.
The Nabob considered for a moment, then nodded to Saltash. "Leave us for a moment, my Imperial friend," he ordered.
With a nod, Saltash stepped off the carpet.
"All right, Brim," the Nabob said. "For that kind of a discourse, you deserve to know that you have erased the last doubts from my mind. I shall permit our mutual friend Drummond to stew for a few days more, but it seems pointless that you should be deprived of the knowledge. You have convinced me—as all the literature in the galaxy could not—that I should accept Prince Onrad's offer. Before one of my weeks has passed, the concordat will be made." He smiled. " Zin ilegs'oh!" he said.
"Kud lubs'oh!" Brim replied, returning the Nabob's smile. With that, he saluted, stepped backward from the carpet, and the audience was at an end.
CHAPTER 5
The Volunteer
By the time Brim returned to Starfury, the ship was abuzz with news that the whole crew was invited to Mustafa's palace as part of the Feast of Zaborew. During Brim's audience, royal messengers had delivered separate invitations: one for the wardroom, one for the enlisted mess. Officers were summoned to a "Grand Banquet" followed by a formal cotillion; a carnival with a great festal board would be set up on the palace grounds for the lower decks.
"And it's not just for our crew," Tissaurd declared with an excited smite from across a wardroom table, "they've sent invitations to every government ship in the harbor, including the Leaguers."
"Folks take feasts seriously around here," Brim observed, sipping his cvceese' with a grin. "When is this grand soiree?"
"Tomorrow evening," Tissaurd replied, a wistful look momentarily passing her eyes. "I've arranged the watch so I can be there."
"Great, Number One," Brim replied. "Perhaps I can even get you to take my arm on the way."
The last seemed to slip out on its own, surprising Brim as much as it seemed to affect Tissaurd.
The petite officer smiled with a sidelong glance that made it clear she had not expected his words. "I'd have loved that, Skipper," she said with a disconcerted little frown, "but I'm afraid I'm already spoken for. Beyazh drove over with the first messengers, and... well...."
Brim felt his cheeks flush as a surge of disappointment swept him fore and aft. "Just my luck," he said with what he hoped was an easygoing smile. "The locals always have the first word."
"I'll save you a dance. Skipper," Tissaurd said encouragingly.
"Then the evening won't be a total loss," he said, now feeling more embarrassment than anything else—he had, after all, put a junior officer on the spot, "But a word of warning to you," he added, "I'm a dreadful hoofer."
"I'll look forward to having you prove that, Skipper," Tissaurd chuckled.
"Wear your heaviest boots, then," Brim quipped, hurrying off for the Drive chambers to inspect a plasma-tube repair. Afterward, however, try as he might, he had very little luck shedding a feeling of disappointment that naggled him throughout a restless night....
As luck would have it, Brim, Beyazh, and Tissaurd all arrived simultaneously at the main hatch the next evening. Lieutenant Herbig Günter, who had volunteered for Duty Officer during the fete on religious grounds, gave a low wolf whistle as the latter passed his station. "If I'd known you were going to look like that, Nadia," he said, "I mightn't have followed the church rules so closely and asked you myself."
"Too late, Günter," Tissaurd bantered, "I'm spoken for tonight. Ambassador Beyazh has taken on the job of escort for this sortie." She looked positively stunning in her black formal uniform. Edged with embroidered braid, her frock coat was cut away in the front over a low, square-cut bodice trimmed with lace that revealed large areas of ample breasts. Knee-length in back, the coat had two slits reaching to the waistline with a huge gold military button at the top of each slit. Narrow lapels faced with golden embroidery, shoulder boards bearing the three stars of a Lieutenant, and an impressive row of service ribbons completed the embellishments. Beneath the coat, she wore slender black silk breeches buttoned at the sides that extended over her knees and ended in narrow golden bands. Sheer black hose covered her shapely calves, and she wore high-heeled slippers that only just revealed her toes.