"I c-couldn't get anyone to answer the door," Margot answered. "I t-tried...."
From the corner of his eye. Brim watched Barbousse emerge on the far side of the trees, striding briskly toward the bridge with a limp form slung over his shoulder.
"Nobody answered the door?" Tissaurd exclaimed in open disbelief. "That's Gorksroar, pure and simple! Palmerston managers are at that desk all night, every night. I ought to know; I get laid there now and then myself!" She shook her head for a moment, then dismissed the Baroness with an angry wave of her hand, "Let her go," she said to the Chiefs. "That was all I needed to hear."
The two immediately released their prisoner, who staggered a few steps, then lost her balance and collapsed in a heap on the grass.
"WUN-der-ful," Tissaurd growled while Brim hurried to help Margot to her feet. "Skipper, how in Voot's name can you do that when this blond zukeed just set you up for a pack of Agnords?"
"We can't just leave her here," Brim replied, nearly overcome with anguish.
"The Cap'm's right, Lieutenant," Barbousse put in, cleaning his knife with a dark-colored handkerchief. "I think we probably had better get the Princess back to her ship; otherwise..." He raised his hands in supplication.
"1 know," Tissaurd pouted, "another 'inter-domain incident.' Right?"
"Aye, Lieutenant," Barbousse said quietly.
While Brim helplessly supported the flaccid wreck of a woman he had once loved, he saw bright headlight beams swing into the park and race toward him. At the last moment, their source —an arrogant Majestat-Baron limousine skimmer—slewed sideways and came to a halt no more than twenty irals from where he stood, its powerful generators purring at idle. Four tall Controllers from the League catapulted out of the passenger compartment and strode imperiously toward Brim and Margot, completely ignoring the array of powerful blasters aimed at their heads.
"Baroness," one of them said as if she were alone in the park, "where have you been, my dear? We were worried."
Margot absently touched a lock of her hair and turned slowly to face the four sinister figures before her. "I h-have... been out to supper," she slurred, reaching toward him like a small child.
"We shall return you to your ship immediately. Your Highness," the Controller said, taking an outstretched arm,
"Get your xaxtdamned hands off her," Brim growled, but Barbousse appeared wraithlike at his side to gently place a restraining hand on his forearm.
"It's better this way, Cap'm" the big rating said in a low voice. "She'll need her TimeWeed soon enough."
Brim ground his teeth while bitter tears filled his eyes. Barbousse was right. It was the only way.
Now completely supported by the big Controller, Margot turned toward him one last time, and he felt he could almost touch her mind. Almost.... With an unfathomable expression in her eyes, she stumbled into the limousine; a moment later she was gone once more from his life in a cool breeze of gravitons and receding tail lamps.
Followed by Tissaurd in one of the IVG vans, Brim returned his rented skimmer, then climbed in beside his diminutive First Lieutenant while she drove back to the launch that had carried her and the Chiefs from Varnholm. The woman was clearly angry: too much for any relevant conversation. All she would say concerning the fracas that night—and for a long time to come—was, "That LaKarn woman is no longer your friend, Wilf Brim. Mark my words. She is out to have you killed."
During the three weeks following Brim's "incident" at Palmerston Park, relations between the League of Dark Stars and Fluvanna deteriorated at an even speedier rate than before, with accusations and counteraccusations spicing each new edition of the media. Strangely enough—at least to Brim—the Leaguers themselves continued to breathe life into the disappearance of R.F.S. Rurik. Insisting that the old armored cruiser was being hidden somewhere by Fluvanna's own Admiralty, they continued a succession of accusations that she was actually a spy ship. Further, they alleged that she had been used routinely for covert operations against the League and her allies, especially The Torond. The aspersions made no sense, but then, politics of any ilk made little sense to Brim.
One morning just before dawn, he was on his way back to Starfury from a chilly, predawn jog along the strand when Ursis met him at gravity pool one, where S.S. Maksim Litvinov, one of the big AkroKahn cargo liners, had moored the night before. The Sodeskayan had a look of deep concern on his face as he waved Brim to a halt.
"Morning, Nik," Brim panted, grabbing the Bear's huge biceps in friendship. "You look mighty concerned for such an early juncture."
Ursis nodded and placed a six-fingered hand over Brim's. "Deeply sorry to interrupt exercise, Wilf Ansor," he called over the roar of nearby repulsion generators, "but Commodore Calhoun asked that you be notified immediately."
Brim frowned, noting the uninterrupted succession of ghostly rings spreading from the ship's tall KA'PPA tower—something was definitely up. "Notified about what?" he asked. "Sounds bad."
"Perhaps 'inevitable' is better word than 'bad,' " the Bear said, "but 'appalling' also applies—'disastrous,' as well. In short, my furless friend, war has restarted or"—he checked the huge, old-fashioned timepiece he kept in a special pocket—" will have started in about two metacycles." He shook his head. "Sodeskayan intelligence organizations are best in Universe, yet not infallible. Were they perfect, we should have information you are about to learn at least two Standard Days in past. As things stand, we know what is about to happen, but we have no time to prevent it without revealing our sources." Glancing up for a moment at the big ship's lofty bridge, he bowed and indicated the brow.
"Commodore Calhoun requests your sweaty presence in the Communications Room," he said, "immediately."
Brim nodded, suddenly aware of the cold, gray morning around him—it seemed appropriate—then he stepped into the brow. Moments later he and Ursis were striding along a passageway deep within the hull of the great vessel. "Kind of laid out like a warship with the COMM room down here between the Drive bays," Brim commented with a smile.
"A warship?" Ursis gasped, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "But how could that be? We Sodeskayans are always peaceful."
"Except when you're angry," Brim said.
"Is true," Ursis admitted with a grin, then held up a tutorial finger. " 'Lightning and snug caves seldom bleach fur of young crag wolves,' as they say."
"As they say..." Brim averred, his eyes raised to the heavens.
"I knew you'd understand," the Bear said, fastidiously examining his claws.
When they arrived at Litvinov's COMM room. Brim was ushered directly into the ultra-secret transmission chamber. Calhoun sat at one of the big KA'PPA consoles, busily operating the complex mechanism himself from an old-fashioned keyboard. Beside him in chairs hastily drawn up to form a temporary conference room, Moulding and McKenzie sipped steaming hot cvceese'. Motioning Brim to a third chair drawn up beside the console, the Commodore completed his KA'PPA conversation—if interactive transmission of ancient symbolic characters could be considered "conversation"—then he turned and scowled. "For your information, Brim," he said angrily, " 'tis but a few metacycles afore Nergol Triannic begins war on Fluvanna." He shook his head. "And mere is nothin' any o' us can do aboot it."
"I don't understand," Brim said.
"You wull in a moment," Calhoun growled. "An' shortly after that, you'll need to hae your ships out in space. I've already ordered Tissaurd to ready your Red squadron for immediate liftoff."
"I still don't know what..." Brim started, but Calhoun cut him off with a wave of the hand.