Brim glanced up to see one of the distant figures wave its arm. "I see you. Commodore,'" he said.
"Too bad about the ice hill there off the end of the runway," Atcherly mused. His eyebrows raised for a moment as he peered out past his portable communicator. "You've taken considerable battle damage," he added, returning his eyes to the display. "Offhand, I'd say you did an admirable job landing with no propulsion—nearly made it, you know. Anyone hurt on board?"
Brim ground his teeth. "We've a number of casualties, Commodore," he declared while a portable brow clanked into place two decks below at the main boarding lobby. "And... many thanks for the fast assistance," he forced himself to add, as medical teams rushed through the crystal tube toward Store's sickbay.
Atcherly nodded, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired at all. "Next," he mused, "I suppose we'll have to see how quickly we can get that ship of yours out of the water," He scratched his head and frowned. "She's a big one for the salvage equipment we've got to work with here." Abruptly be looked off to his right, mewing unintelligible words in Fluvannian.
Brim again glanced through the Hyperscreens at the two figures. From the HoloPhone, he could hear the woman's voice in the background—familiar, somehow—although her words were also in Fluvannian.
A moment later Atcherly peered into the display again. "I say, Commander," he muttered with a grin, "is your name Brim by any chance? I don't think I've given you much of an opportunity to tell me."
Brim felt his cheeks burn. In all the excitement, he'd never even thought of introducing himself—poor manners indeed. "My name is Brim, Commodore," he said. "Wilf Ansor Brim of Mustafa Eyren's Imperial Volunteer Group."
Atcherly nodded and once again looked to his right, saying something to the unseen woman about "Commander Wilf Ansor Brim" and the "IVG."
Suddenly, Atcherly's visage disappeared from the HoloPhone. It was immediately replaced by a glorious combination of oval face, patrician nose, full lips, and enormous, almond-shaped eyes that could only belong to Raddisma, the Nabob's favorite Consort. She wore a loose, fur-trimmed hood that revealed some of her black, shoulder-length hair. Even in his small panel display, she was beautiful—gorgeous was probably a better word, he decided.
"Well, Commander Brim, we meet again," she said in the dusky voice he remembered so well.
Her smile alone was enough to melt most of the Station's ice. "It is... regrettable," she said pointedly, "that Mustafa has not accompanied me on this trip. But then. Lady Fortune offtimes chooses strange circumstances and localities for the fulfillment of debts, wouldn't you agree?"
Brim's mind raced. Yes! He clearly recalled her words the day he had shielded her body with his: Someday I shall see to it that you are appropriately rewarded— in a personal manner, of course. "Most strange, madame," he agreed cautiously, "but all the more delightful because of them." In the corner of his eye, he could see Tissaurd studiously ignoring the proceedings. She was making a bad job of it.
"Indeed," Raddisma said, her eyes narrowing to a presence that could only be described as carnal. "You were unharmed in the, er, difficult landfall I watched."
"Completely unharmed, madame," Brim assured her, "although a number of Starfury's crew sustained casualties in a recent battle that, I fear, I must tend to without further delay." He hesitated for a moment, then decided that even a Principal Consort could only say "no." "Might I have the honor of continuing this conversation later in the day?" he asked, heart in his mouth.
Safely beyond the HoloPhone's field of view, Tissaurd wordlessly grinned and pumped her fist in encouragement.
Raddisma's face colored visibly at his words, and she looked genuinely taken aback for a moment.
Brim felt his face begin to color. He'd blown it this time! He braced himself....
" Casualties?" she queried with a distraught look—while completely ignoring his proffered invitation. "Commander, I must beg your indulgence that I could lack the basic compassion to inquire about casualties." She shook, her head in obvious mortification. "What can I do to make amends?"
"G-E-T L-A-Y-E-D!" Tissaurd mouthed soundlessly.
Cheeks burning while he stifled a grin that threatened to break forth all over his face, Brim considered for only a moment. "Madame Raddisma," he said, glancing at the procession of covered GravLitters that were gliding through the brow to ambulances that hovered at the edge of the ice—many contained the bandaged figures of Bears. "Perhaps you would do me the honor of accompanying me through the base hospital tomorrow, once Starfury has been secured," he said. "I know the IVG casualties there would consider your presence a particular honor,"
The woman's face slipped for a moment from its regal mien to one of genuine astonishment.
"Me?" she asked with a frown, "tour the base hospital with you?"
"But yes, Madame Raddisma," Brim said, bemused at her evident surprise.
"Why... I... should be honored to accompany you on such a tour. Commander Brim," she said, her eyes momentarily flashing with considerable emotion, "at your convenience. I shall await your call tomorrow with great anticipation." Then, turning to Atcherly, she quickly reverted to her accustomed bearing as the Nabob's Principal Consort. "Commodore Atcherly," she directed, this time in faultless Avalonian, "may I assume that Commander Brim and his officers will be requested to attend the reception in my honor tomorrow evening?"
Tissaurd nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Y-E-A-H!" she mouthed.
"Aye, that you may, madame," Atcherly said, replacing Raddisma in Brim's display. He spoke as if he hadn't noticed that she had switched to Avalonian for her query—but clearly he had. "You'll all attend, Commander?" he asked with a little smile.
Brim grinned in spite of himself, fighting to keep his eyes from Tissaurd. "As many of us will attend as possible, Commodore," he replied, "depending, of course, on Starfury's condition by that time." He laughed grimly to himself. Only a few cycles ago, they had been fighting for their very lives.
Here at Lake Solent, without Starfury's battle-damaged presence, it might have seemed as if the war had never started.
"I understand your concern, Commander," Atcherly said, "but I think we shall be able to move Starfury, in spite of her size." Then he frowned. " Repairing her, however," he added, "may turn out to be an altogether different problem—much as I hate to say it."
Nobody hated those words more than Brim....
Judicious application of Calsnot's big snow tractors and a miraculous performance by crews deftly operating all six of the Station's medium-duty gravity barges (at a risky 115 percent levitation factor) finally managed to wrestle the light cruiser onto one of the base's five "large" gravity pools. When they concluded their work, Brim, who had watched the delicate operation all afternoon from the bridge, found himself soaked in sweat. Though he was only a helpless bystander, he had probably traveled ten c'lenyts pacing back and forth across the bridge from Hyperscreen to Hyperscreen. It felt as if he had hefted the cruiser on his own shoulders.
"Commodore Atcherly reports the ship is secure, Commander," Barbousse announced, his normally deep bass voice at least an octave higher with the tension on the bridge.
"Very well," Brim replied. "How much time do you suppose the Bears will need for their damage report?"
"I asked Chief Baranev on my way to the bridge," Barbousse said. "He sent his compliments and asked me to tell you that it's at least as bad as it looked when you were there about a cycle ago, but he'll need at least all day tomorrow and perhaps more for a detailed report."