Brim considered for a moment, peering up at the bustle in Starsovereign's bridge, then he shook his head. "I don't think so, Garrivacchio," he said. "But when you have the connections secure, make to the Captain... ah... 'Thanks in advance for... the bottle of Logish Meem you will bring with you to my cabin aboard Starfury at Evening:0:30.' Got that?"
" 'Thanks in advance for the bottle of Logish Meem you will bring with you to my cabin aboard Starfury at'... um... 'Evening:0:30,' Captain," Garrivacchio repeated with a grin.
"You've got it," Brim said. "And pass that same message on to the Captain of R.F.S. Starglory immediately you secure the brow."
"Ave, Captain," the Torpedoman assured him with a quick salute. "I'll have the same message delivered within five cycles."
At precisely thirty cycles past the Evening watch, Barbousse answered a polite tapping on the door to Brim's stateroom.
"Come in, gentlemen," Brim said, extending his hand to the first officer over the coaming, "Wilf Brim, here."
"Fortune McKenzie, of Starglory," the other said with a grin, offering his hand while he turned over a bottle of obviously Logish Meem to Barbousse. He was a short man, stocky and powerfully built, who clearly had not an ounce of fat on his body. His foursquare face was framed by a close-cut beard and short gray hair. He had a small, rather common nose, a thin mouth, and the mortally precise eyes of a savant marksman. Brim recognized the man immediately. Long ago, Starglory's Master had served with Commander Englyde Zantir, the famous leader of Destroyer Flotilla 91, as an Imperial Marine. Indeed, there was nothing phony about the man's prowess as a military Helmsman, either. Two great scars ran from his forehead to his chin, souvenirs of a thousand-odd hand-to-hand skirmishes with the League—and he had applied the same fighting skills to piloting an E-Class destroyer in the Battle of Atalanta: keen eyes, swift reactions, and a dashing spirit. "I think the gentleman behind me will need little introduction to you," McKenzie added, grinning.
Brim looked up just in time to see a tall, blond Commander in an impeccable uniform step over the coaming. He had blue eyes that sparkled with good-natured humor, a grand promontory for a nose, and the droll, confident smile reserved for the very rich. "I say," the man muttered with a fictitious look of confusion, "have you chaps any idea which way Avalon might be. I'm from Starsovereign, and our navigator got frightfully confused about a day ago...."
"Toby Moulding!" Brim exclaimed. "What in the crazy name of Voot are you doing here?"
Moulding grinned and handed Barbousse a magnum of Logish Meem so ancient that the bottle was actually made of glass. "I suppose I shall be doing the same as you and Commander McKenzie," he said, grasping Brim's hand. "It's my understanding that the poor benighted Fluvannians have hired us to fly these bloody buses around, frightening Leaguers, and such. That's how I'm to earn my modest living, at any rate."
"I suppose you two have more time in Starfuries than anyone else in the Universe," McKenzie said with a grin. "If I weren't so hardheaded, I think I'd be intimidated."
"Let him intimidate you," Moulding replied, pointing to Brim, "not me. Aside from the metacycles I've spent training in Starsovereign, all I've done is chase the man around in some of Mark Valerian's racers."
"Well, that's chasing I never got a chance to do," McKenzie replied.
"Before this is over," Brim predicted, "we'll all probably have more chasing than we want."
"Amen," the ex-gunner agreed, taking a goblet of Logish Meem Barbousse served discreetly from a magnificent silver tray that Brim couldn't remember seeing before.
"And speaking of 'tired,' old chap," Moulding interjected, "you must be damned tired yourself after getting this base set up." He sipped his meem and looked appraisingly into the goblet. "Excellent," he said at length, "like the job you've done around here. Calhoun's lucky they had you to put in charge."
Brim was about to comment about that when Beyazh's words echoed in his ear: Someone has to be in charge, my friend. The man was right. "Only till the Commodore shows up," he hedged.
" That could be a while," McKenzie commented. "Last I heard of Baxter, he was somewhere in Beta Jagow when the League attacked."
"True," Brim said with a grimace, "but I'm far from giving upon him yet."
"If I know Calhoun," Moulding interjected, "he's not only safe in Beta Jagow, he's also doing something that will eventually cause the bloody Leaguers a lot of trouble. Mark my words."
"I hope you're right," Brim said, peering into his meem for a moment. "I certainty hope you're right."
By the time the evening was over, the three officers managed to resurrect at least an aeon of war history, while putting away a lot of Logish Meem.
Early next morning, Brim balanced himself—and one mighty hangover—atop Starfury's bridge, a dizzying seventy irals from the surface of the gravity pool while Barbousse supervised a sealant repair to Hyperscreen panel 81D. As their little party of maintenance ratings eased the heavy crystal plate back in place, his ears picked up the thunder of approaching gravity generators. Big ones. And they were definitely not the Galaxy 10-320-BlCs that powered ancient ED-4s below Light Speed velocities.
Looking up into the overcast, he frowned. "If those are League ships, we could be in big trouble," he grumbled to Barbousse. "Wonder why Tissaurd hasn't sounded some sort of warning."
Barbousse nodded. "I can't say as I know, Cap'm," he replied, "but I'd really find that hard to believe that Lieutenant Tissaurd is prone to makin' mistakes like that."
Brim nodded, but the noise continued to vex him, especially since the mysterious starship continued to circle, hidden in the dense overcast. Finally Tissaurd herself popped through the hatch. "Oh, there you are, Skipper," she called. "That's a ship from the Sodeskayan national space line, AkroKahn, up there with a cargo of spare parts. And your friend Nik Ursis is on board, demanding Chief Barbousse's personal guarantee of a bottle of good Logish Meem before they'll land."
Brim and Barbousse looked at each other for a moment. "Thank the Universe the crews got those extra pools going yesterday," the latter whispered, casting his eyes skyward.
Brim looked down at Tissaurd for a moment. "Seems to me you said a few words about starting something that could bring down a wall, didn't you?"
The tiny officer grinned. "Watch out for flying bricks," she said. Then, spontaneously, both broke out laughing.
"What do you think, Chief," Brim said to Barbousse after a few moments, "are you going to let 'em land?"
"I think I'd better, Cap'm," the big rating said with a look of mock concern. "Strikes me they might just stay up there till we do." Then he winked. "Besides, I've stashed away a few cases of Grompers, vintage '81, that I know Polkovnik Ursis especially relishes."
"Why am I not surprised?" Brim laughed. "Then we'll deliver a case in person! Number One," he ordered, "message Ursis that the Chief capitulates unconditionally, and"—he thought for a moment—"yes, as soon as they moor, he will lead a party to their brow and surrender the meem,"
"I'll have that relayed to the Bears," Tissaurd chuckled with an overdone salute and disappeared into the hatch.
"Call Moulding and McKenzie, too," Brim called after her with a grin. "They ought to share in the capitulation, after all."
"An' we'll finish here in plenty of time for all that, Cap'm," Barbousse promised, casting a baleful eye at the three maintenance hands, "won't we, gentlemen?"