Brim reined in his temper. "Yeah," he conceded, "I'll introduce you." Then he shrugged. "And I'll make xaxtdamned sure that I quit going around like a love-struck teenager," he added, "at least in public." He grimaced. "I'm sorry if I've acted like a fool, Number One."
"Like a human," Tissaurd corrected. "Like a man."
With that, she headed for the aft companion way, leaving him alone with his thoughts in Starfury's quiet, empty bridge.
On Mustafa's birth anniversary the next day, Brim and nearly half of the wardroom mess embarked for Magor aboard one of Starfury's fast launches, flying in finger-four formation with launches from the other three ships. Moulding flew wingman for Brim, and McKenzie led Starconstant's Carrie Hogan to form the second pair. Back at Varnholm Hall, the remaining IVG crew members had been placed on increased alert status, just in case. Too many unidentified "civilian" ships were now passing overhead each day to warrant any complaisance at all so far as Brim was concerned. The new base was nowhere near any of the planet's established commercial airways.
On final over Magor's harbor, Brim had little difficulty locating T.S.S. Katuka, The Torond-manufactured Dampier DA79-11 that would have borne Margot to the celebration.
Unquestionably the most important warships manufactured so far by The Torond, these new Dampiers had quickly established themselves as tough competitors during the short battle for Beta Jago. Angular in design (the only way to produce in quantity with skills and tools available in The Torond), these deltoid ships were powered by three P.XI RC.40 Drive crystals and a brace of primitive, but reliable, Schleicher ASK 13 gravity generators. The one parked below on a gravity pool appeared to carry six 280-mmi disrupters in triple-mount turrets mounted at the two aft topside vertices of its null; from intelligence briefings, Brim knew these were matched by three additional triple-mounts in similar belly mountings at all three hull vertices. The ships had been highly successful against the outmoded starships of Beta Jago, but Brim guessed they would quickly meet their match in new generations of fighting machines like Starfury.
The ex-Imperials had no sooner landed and secured their launches to mobile gravity pads in Magor's Levantine District than they were ushered into three magnificent omnibus skimmers that set off for the palace immediately. As base commander by default, Brim found himself seated in the front of the first omnibus with a Fluvannian General who clearly had been detailed to escort them by virtue of his ability to speak Avalonian. The man made it very evident he felt the job was largely beneath his station, especially since his highest ranking charge was two grades short of his own. "How do you find working for the Fluvannian Fleet, Commander?" he drawled without introducing himself, clearly uninterested in Brim's answer, whatever it might be.
"It's working out, General," Brim said noncommittally. "We've made a lot of progress with the base."
"Ah, yes, Varnholm Hall," the General said, peering approvingly at his perfectly manicured fingernails. "A bit out of the way, I suppose, but a fine location for you mercenaries."
Brim frowned. "I see," he said, stifling a smile. Mercenaries, were they? He'd been called a lot of names over the years, but never a "mercenary." In a perverse sort of way, he almost felt honored by the sobriquet....
After clearing the reception line, Brim and Tissaurd quickly located another of Mustafa's glorious little palace bars. This one's walls were covered in odd-shaped mirrors framed by elaborate baroque scrollwork and embellished in gold. The ceiling was formed in the shape of a giant seashell, glowing 'round about its scalloped periphery with muted light. And, of course, it had a good view of the Grand Entry Hall. Brim had been most adamant about that.
"You haven't taken your eyes off the doorway since we arrived, Skipper," Tissaurd commented, sipping a Logish Meem. She wore her dress uniform even lower on her breasts than it bad been at the last ball. "How come you aren't ogling my cleavage tonight?" she asked salaciously, shifting her torso to reveal a hint of dark, studded aureole in the folds of lace. "Mustafa certainly seemed to enjoy what he saw."
Brim grinned as he felt his cheeks burn. "Oh, I haven't missed those, Number One," he assured her, peering quite deliberately now.
Deftly, she checked the bartender—who was noisily occupied with an ice machine at the other end of the room—then momentarily slipped the top of her dress far enough to reveal a small distended nipple, stunningly brown against her creamy skin and the folds of Imperial lace. "Do you think your friend Moulding might be interested in this as much as you seem to be?" she asked.
"I have no doubt you'll get his attention," Brim answered, experiencing a very compelling sensation in his own loins. Tiny as she was, the woman had magnificent breasts. He marveled at how she managed to conceal them as well as she did.
"Good," she replied, nodding her head thoughtfully. "Because I intend to seduce that man tonight, just as soon as I meet this Princess who's got her claws in you years after she ought to." Abruptly she frowned and focused her eyes into the hall beyond. "And I'll bet that's her out there right now," she said, nimbly moving the top of her dress higher again.
Brim peered into the hall for the millionth time. This time, however, there she was, being helped out of her evening coat by five severe-looking women outfitted in bright green dress uniforms from The Torond. He felt his heart soar. She was dressed in a high-necked silken apricot dress with spike-heeled slippers that made her statuesque legs look even longer than they were. And as always, her strawberry-blond hair was arranged in carefully styled disarray. "Margot," he whispered more to himself than to anyone else.
Beside him, Tissaurd squeezed her chin in thought for a moment. "Well," she commented cattily, "they clearly eat well at Baron LaKarn's court, don't they?"
Brim smiled. In truth, the ample Princess had become even more so with the passing years.
"Yeah," he had to agree, "she's put on a few stoneweights. Number One." Even so, she was still almost perfectly proportioned, and—at least to Brim—perhaps the most voluptuous woman in the Universe.
Once, he'd known each secret alcove and recess of her body as well as be knew his own.
Afterward, they sat in silence, watching the Princess make her way through the long reception line. When—at last—Mustafa finished his ogling (clearly, his tastes were similar to Brim's), Tissaurd looked up and nodded. "All right, Skipper," she said, sliding gracefully from the bar stool, "let's get this inspection over with. I've had an itch—in a very personal location—to ravish your aristocratic friend Moulding since the day he arrived."
Brim frowned as he stepped to the floor. "Well, don't feel this is some sort of task you have to accomplish," he said, slightly chafed by her attitude.
"Oh, but I do," she assured him, then she looked him directly in the eye and winked. "I'm simply doing what I can to make sure you stay in one piece for a while, Skipper. Sooner or later, one of us will be transferred; then it'll be your turn to be seduced. I'm looking forward to that."
Brim laughed. "Don't hold your breath, Number One," he said with a grin. "You're the best First Lieutenant I can imagine. I'm not about to let you go for a long time."
"I can wait, Skipper," the gamin officer said as they made their way across the floor. "I'm being, shall we say, 'serviced,' on a pretty regular basis now that the other ships are beginning to arrive. But I keep wondering how long you can hold out, because I don't have the impression anybody's taking care of you," She peered through the crowd at Margot. "Hmm," she said appraisingly. "Perhaps...." Taking his arm, she stopped him and looked up into his face. "Wilf Brim," she said with a very serious expression on her face, "if you can talk that one into a bed tonight, do it. I'll personally guarantee transportation back to Starfury after, say"—she thought for a moment—"I ought to have your friend pretty well worn out by midday. So call me after that. All right?"