"Aye, Chief!" the trio said in unison, bending to their work with renewed fervor. No one ever questioned Barbousse's ability to get action out of work parties.
Indeed, the work detail completed their task in record time. Brim finished his inspection long before the giant, bluff-bowed AkroKahn freighter thundered in from the swirling mists, stark white except for the line's distinctive red hull stripe and wreathed six-pointed stars on either side of the bridge, aft of the Hyperscreens.
Sacha Muromets was one of the Sodeskayan Morzik-class freighters: big, good-looking starships of twenty thousand milstons, intended for the general carrying trade, but each had accommodations for passengers as well. Out of the corner of his eye, the Carescrian saw a beacon begin to flash on one of the newly refurbished gravity pools and the starship's taxiing speed dropped off as the Helmsman brought her head around. Then, as she came abeam of the beacon, she swung hard to port with the gray waters thumping and foaming under her hull until she drove onto the pool like a ship half her size, putting mooring beams across in a most spacemanlike manner. The Imperial ground crews had her secured in a matter of cycles.
"Nice," Barbousse said quietly. "I'll wager it's a Bear at the helm."
"Nice indeed," Brim chuckled, leading the way back through the hatch and into the starship, "but I wouldn't touch your wager with a ten-iral pole...." The occasional Bears who chose to fly starships were always superb pilots. Cursed with relatively poor eyesight in comparison to other spacefaring races, most Sodeskayans preferred to employ their vast intellectual energies by engineering vessels for others to operate.
Trailed by a dusty-looking case of rare old Logish Meem, the little party arrived at the gravity pool only moments before Ursis stepped from the brow, resplendent in full Sodeskayan military regalia: high black boots, an olive-green greatcoat, and a billed service cap, all trimmed in crimson. Bright crimson epaulettes with the three gold stars of a Sodeskayan Polkovnik embellished his broad shoulders.
Brim saluted. "I thought you'd be at Dytasburg," he shouted over the din of six thundering repulsion generators. "It can't even be time for midterms yet, is it?"
"Academy is in good hands, Wyilf Ansor," Ursis replied, returning the salute with a sober look.
"Dr. Borodov has come out of retirement to act as Dean until I return. My place is here at present; Sodeskayan intelligence organizations believe Great War will shortly resume." Then his brown eyes softened as he extended his hand. "Is good to be working with you again, my furless friend."
Brim gripped the huge Bear's delicate, six-fingered hand. "I'm awfully glad to see you for a number of reasons, Nik," he said, looking his old friend in the eyes. "And I've brought a number of people whom I know feel the same way."
Ursis looked up and grinned as the others saluted in unison. "Ah yes," he boomed, returning the salute with a huge, toothy grin, "Chief Barbousse and his surrender party! Come!" he ordered, sweeping the little group into the brow with his arm. "At top of stairs, Steward will lead you to place where we sacrifice some prisoners!"
Cycles later, in the Muromets's comfortable main dining saloon, he greeted Moulding and Tissaurd, then introduced himself to McKenzie before shaking Barbousse's hand. "Chief," he said, placing a fraternal arm around the big rating's shoulders, "is been long time. Where did you manage to disappear after war? You did even better job than friend Brim here."
Barbousse blushed for a moment, then grinned. "Other people have asked me that, too, Polkovnik Ursis," he said with a mock-serious look, "but I can't seem to remember. Must be one of those memory lapses they talk about."
"I understand," the Bear replied, matching Barbousse's look of concern. Then he winked. "I think Calhoun himself must have had lapse when he put three of us on another operation together, eh?"
"You've heard from Calhoun?" Brim interrupted.
"But of course, Wyilf Ansor," Ursis replied. "Message came through secure network—from covert field operative, of course. He said you needed maintenance apparatus. So I brought some of what you need—a whole ship full, vould you believe? And more is on way."
Brim shook his head in amazement. Somehow, it all made some sort of sense. Bear sense, anyway. "When did you hear from him?" he asked.
Ursis shrugged. "Perhaps two Standard Weeks ago," he replied with a frown. "The Commodore isn't in touch with you?"
"I don't suppose he could be, now that I think about it," Brim said. "Beta Jago's an occupied dominion now, and most of our Imperial intelligence organizations are riddled with CIGAs."
"He got in touch with us instead," Ursis said, lighting up one of the Sodeskayan's dreaded Zempa pipes. "Is same thing; we Sodeskayans are Imperials, too, in own way. So you got your supplies and me—although tomorrow I must temporarily return with Muromets to Sodeskayan before my own induction into Fluvannian Fleet." Then he smiled broadly. "But," he added, "according to friend Harry Drummond, combination of you, Chief Barbousse, and myself comprises perhaps greatest threat to League in existence. Is that not so?"
"If nothing else," Brim said, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the Zempa smoke that—at least to humans—smelled a lot like burning yaggloz wool, "we are certainly a great threat to much of the Universe's Logish Meem."
"Aha!" the Bear said, grinning now so his fang gems gleamed. "Until war actually does resume, we should certainly attempt to make good on such threats. Speaking of which...."
"Speaking of which..." Brim continued, "you said something about Grompers, vintage '81, didn't you. Chief?"
"Absolutely, Cap'm," Barbousse replied with a twinkle in his eyes, indicating the dusty meem case that hovered just inside the room.
"Grompers '81?" the Bear said, holding an index finger in the air. "Ah. but I knew there must be good reason I travel nearly halfway across galaxy to end up in remote parts of Fluvanna. Chief, you will do honors...?"
Just before a slightly woozy Brim turned in that evening, he heard a light tapping at his door.
Barbousse was in the hall with a sealed envelope. "Personal message for you, Cap'm," he said quietly. "I thought I'd seal the hardcopy and deliver it personally on the way to m' cabin."
Brim nodded. "Which is all the way at the other end of the hull," he observed with a frown.
"Beggin' the Cap'm's pardon," Barbousse said, handing over a sealed blue plastic envelope,
"but... well, it was a personal message, an' all."
Brim squeezed the man's forearm. "You take damned good care of me, Utrillo Barbousse," he said.
Barbousse grinned. "Don't want anythin' to happen to you, Cap'm," he said. "It'd be too easy goin' back to the Governor's privateer—an' then I'd probably get myself killed."
"What makes you think it'll be any different with me?" Brim asked. "We went through some pretty hairy times during the last war."
"Well, Cap'm," Barbousse replied emphatically, "there's no way I can refute that, now. But if I do have to get myself killed, at least with you I'll go in service to the Empire. An' that's mortally important to me." He shrugged. "Besides," he added, "we have had some excitin' times together, haven't we, sir?
Like when we captured that bender with the little spin-grav launch from I.F.S. Intractable."
"It's rarely been boring," Brim chuckled, recalling that they had nearly been vaporized a number of times during that desperate action.
"Good night, Cap'm," Barbousse said, interrupting Brim's reverie. "You'll want to be woken early so you and Polkovnik Ursis can work on settin' up that covert supply line to Commissioner Gallsworthy at the Atalanta Fleet Base. Sacha Muromets is scheduled to lift before midday."