"C-Capitan-Comandor Photius," the Fluvannian stumbled with a deep bow.
Brim shook the man's hand—it was soft and warm, like a woman's. Clearly, Mustafa's Army spent little time on maneuvers. "Pleased to meet you, Capitan," he said.
"Well, Skipper," Tissaurd demanded before either man could utter another word, " so how are things going tonight?"
Brim could only grin. "Tonight, Number One," he said, "things seem to be going... ah... swimmingly—at least so far."
"You don't say?" Tissaurd commented, her eyebrows raised. "So you're going to... a..."
"Would the word 'score' be appropriate to your question?" Brim asked caustically.
"What was that?" Photius asked, struggling in vain to keep abreast of the conversation in Avalonian.
" 'More,' " Tissaurd replied with a serious nod of her head. " 'More.' "
"Oh, I see," the man said. "My Avalonian is far from perfect."
"Lucky for you, soldier," Tissaurd mumbled in a grinning underbreath, "that it's not your Avalonian I'm interested in tonight." Then she winked at Brim. " 'Score' is most adequate, Skipper," she said. "And... well?..."
"Looks promising, Number One," Brim replied. "If the lady can once disengage from all the social climbers who want to rub elbows with a palace favorite."
"She'll disengage, Skipper. I'd bet on it," she said, clapping him on the arm.
Brim winked. "We'll see," he equivocated. "You'll be on the bridge in the morning?"
"Probably late in the morning, Skipper," she said with a sidelong glance at the big Fluvannian at her side.
"We'll carry on somehow, Number One," Brim said, manifesting a theatrical look of concern. "I don't think Starfury will be ready to fly for quite a while yet.'' Then be nodded to Photius and continued on toward the bar.
During the next metacycle, he bought rounds of Logish Meem for Omar Powderham, Owen Morris, and Ulfilas Meesha, but went easy on the spirits himself. Unless Raddisma were in the midst of a tremendous practical joke—to be inflicted on him—he would need to be in command of all his faculties later on that evening.
He stared across the gaily decorated ballroom, watching the tall, alluring Consort in spirited conversation with a half-dozen groups of local spouses who looked as if they were about to swoon from the very proximity of so much glamor. He shook his head in admiration. During a single day, this magnificent woman had shown him three very disparate—very real—personalities: one imperious as Mustafa's Consort; one affably gracious in her role as representative of her nation; and one as a most pragmatic human being, making her way in a tough, uncompromising world. He found they all delighted him, each in its own way.
While he sat at Calshot's cozy Officers Club bar passing time until Raddisma could free herself, Tissaurd and Photius strolled by on their way to the door. She winked as they passed; then they were gone. Atcherly and his wife stopped to regale him with some of the more preposterous aspects of maintaining a base in the polar regions of the planet. Their warm humor revealed a most genuine love for the frozen land in which they made their home.
Later, after checking Starfury's condition with Baranev for what seemed to be the eleventh million time—and still receiving no final assessment of actual damages—Brim joined a group of Fluvannian space officers as they discussed combat techniques against the new Gorn-Hoffs. In spite of their ancient starships, the audacious Fluvannians had developed effective ways to counter the ultra-modern warships they now faced on a daily basis. They had just begun to question him about uprating some of their existing disrupters when Raddisma abruptly appeared at his side, dressed in her long cape and clearly prepared to depart. Surprised—and not a little concerned about their plans—he introduced her to the group, then took the hand she extended to him.
"Commander Brim," she said, "it has been a long day for me, and my ship departs for Magor in the morning. Therefore, it is with considerable regret that I must leave the reception much earlier than I had planned." She glanced around the little group and smiled apologetically. "I have rarely enjoyed such a warm, gracious reception—anywhere. However," she added, turning to Brim as if she were issuing a command, "I need to allow time for availing myself of your kind offer to tour Starfury. The Admiralty would be sorely vexed if I blinked away such an opportunity." She met his eyes and for one instant betrayed the hint of excitement he had seen earlier in the limousine.
Brim grinned to himself. So it was Starfury that constituted the "discreet circumstances" she had in mind! Well, Lady Fortune was taking a lot for granted tonight—especially in view of the rule that required everyone to sign an entrance/exit log! "Madame Raddisma," he replied, his mind racing to overtake the new turn of events, "as I promised earlier, I... er... look forward with great pleasure to personally conducting your tour." He turned to the clearly envious officers and bowed soberly.
"Gentlemen," he said, "duty calls." Nothing more was necessary. Then, with Raddisma on his arm, he made his way directly to the cloakroom.
"I took the chance that you might volunteer, Captain," she whispered while he struggled into his white Fluvannian Fleet Cloak. "I have already dismissed my handmaidens for the evening and summoned a limousine."
Brim considered Starfury's sign-in/out register—that Raddisma simply could not sign—and put it out of his mind. By the time they got to the ship, he planned to think of something. After all, he was the captain. He smiled mischievously. "Madame Raddisma," he said with a theatrical frown as they strolled to the parking area under a canopy of cold-looking stars, "since nearly everything aboard is classified, the Captain's cabin may be the only part of the ship we can tour. Will such a highly restricted tour disappoint you?"
She paused some distance from a huge limousine and regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, men frowned. "Strangely enough, Captain," she said, her breath condensing into puffs of steam, "I believe it would." She pressed his arm. "I find that when I am with you, life takes on a much more serious aspect—as it did when I visited your wounded crew members in the hospital this afternoon."
"I don't understand," Brim said, suddenly confused. "...I thought you wanted to..."
Raddisma smiled sadly and peered into his eyes. "Dearest Wilf," she said, "I have been ready—anxious, even—to lie with you since our chance conversation on the Commodore's HoloPhone this morning. And I look forward to making love yet tonight. But this afternoon you made me feel as if I might have some value beyond my existence as a fetching bedmate." She touched his hand with an impassioned look. "I already know that I am beautiful," she said, "and I thank the Universe each day for such a gift. But beauty is only that: a legacy from one's parents. I crave to be more than that: to achieve a certain significance on my feet—fully clothed, even. Can you understand, Captain Wilf Brim of Avalon's vaunted Imperial Fleet? Or are you so jaded by your own prestige that you cannot envision the unfulfilled yearnings of others?"
Brim closed his eyes for a moment. "Sorry," he muttered presently. "Believe me, Raddisma, I am no stranger to those same yearnings—or the frustration that goes with them." He took her hand. "You were magnificent raising morale in the hospital this afternoon, and will clearly have the same effect on the exhausted teams laboring in the ruined power chambers. Sometimes," he admitted, "my brains tend to hang between my legs. Will you tour the damaged areas with me tonight before we...?"