Slamming MASTER RESET at the Drive controls, he shook his head and sat back in the recliner while he gathered his remaining nerves. Krasni-Peych's new HyperSpeed Drive was proving to be more a demon than a wizard. "We'll need to change out that xaxtdamned plasma choke first thing," he grumped to Borodov.
"I have made note of it, Wilf," Borodov said patiently.
Glowering at the D meter—no longer registering anything—Brim eased the wastegate closed again. Back came the pressure, and this time, a number of indicators in the power section began to glow red as the pressure built. At that point, Brim decided to take command of the situation. If the power controls were not workable, he was reasonably certain that the Drive controls were. It was only a matter of getting the ship started on her Drive. After that, he could make his tests and then turn the damn thing off. This close to home, gravity generators were good enough to get him back to Sherrington's.
Grinding his teeth in apprehension, he jammed the wastegate all the way shut. Moments later, plasma pressure began to build like an oncoming meteor—and suddenly, the D meter was reading in the middle of its safe range. Only the ship's powerful thrust dampers stood in the way of the Drive's awesome thrust.
"She wants to fly!" he roared to Borodov.
"So I see," the old Bear said. "Probably that is your best bet—you have much finer controls for the Drive itself."
"That's what I had in mind, Doctor," Brim said. Clearing himself for local traffic, he made a final check of the time synchronizers—everyone had heard nightmares about those getting out of tune—switched on the mass stabilization system, then, opening the blast tube aperture, he gently eased pressure on the thrust dampers. A bright blue glow from aft filled the M-5's bridge and the display of Borodov went blank as normal radio waves were left far behind in the Wizard's wake.
Abruptly, the stars went wild ahead, wobbling and shimmering to an angry kaleidoscope that ended in a confusion of multicolored sparks, while on Brim's panel, the LightSpeed indicator began to climb like a rocket. Immediately, he keyed on the Hyperscreen translators, and his view forward cleared.
Nearby stars were mere streaks while those ahead in the distance grew in size even as he watched. A second glance at the LightSpeed meter showed it moving through 73M LightSpeed, even though the crystal's heat output was easily keeping pace with the little ship's phenomenal acceleration. Brim found himself once more in control, regulating output from the Tesla coil by use of the ship's speed regulators instead of the poorly adjusted plasma choke. In a shallow turn, he craned his head aft, watching the Wizard's distinctive turquoise Drive plume. Then he grinned to himself. This would give Kirsh Valentin something to think about!
Abruptly, his KA'PPA display sparked to life with an incoming message: WILF! CAN YOU READ
THIS?—BORODOV SENDS.
He grimaced. He'd been so absorbed that he'd forgotten all about the chase ship, which was clearly far behind by the distance indication on the KA'PPA screen. He returned, READ YOU LOUD AND
CLEAR. ALL SYSTEMS PERFORMING WELL EXCEPT DRIVE COOLING—BRIM SENDS.
GOOD TO KNOW WE DON'T REQUIRE SERVICES OF DR. FLYNN THIS
TIME—VALERIAN SENDS. P.S. HOW ABOUT SOME EASY MANEUVERS AND A RUN
FOR HOME? NO WAY ARE WE GOING TO CATCH UP!
DRIVE TEMP JUST BELOW MAXIMUMS. WILL DO A COUPLE OF EASY TURNS, THEN
HEAD FOR WOOLSTON. RACE YOU BACK TO THE LABS—BRIM SENDS.
YOU WIN!—VALERIAN SENDS.
After a few of the most rudimentary maneuvers, Brim found himself anxiously piloting with a wary eye evenly divided between traffic and a rising Drive temperature. The M-5 was turning out to be a steady, docile racing machine, while its lusty Krasni-Peych PV/12 clearly promised it would someday live up to its nickname of "Wizard"—once the Sodeskayans managed to overcome its considerable cooling problems.
Just before landfall, he encountered a swarm of media ships again taking turns coming dangerously near for close-up coverage of the Empire's new Mitchell racer. He had nearly aborted his landing sequence to avoid another accident when three Imperial destroyers appeared seemingly from nowhere and sternly warned the civilians off, taking up close escort through reentry and remaining in perfect formation until he started his descent for the lake. The R-class warships absolutely dwarfed Valerian's little M-5 and provided Brim with a startling lesson in perspective. Aboard the light cruiser I.F.S. Defiant, he'd considered the destroyers to be runts!
"Thanks for the help," Brim sent as he lined up on the lake. "Those media guys can be downright troublesome."
"Yeah," one of the ships answered. "We saw recordings of what happened the last time one of "em got interested in your flying."
"Good talking with you again, Brim," another of the ships sent. "That half-pint boat you've got there is a long sight smaller than old Truculent, but she looks like she might go a lot faster, too."
Brim grinned. "Who's that?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled inside his helmet.
"Gondor Runwell," the voice answered. "I served aboard I.F.S. Narcastle years ago—before the CIGAs sent her to the breakers. A lot of us would like to see you back with the Fleet, mister."
Brim took a deep breath—he couldn't remember the man at all. "Yeah, thanks," he agreed, "so would I sometimes." Shortly thereafter, no time remained for anything but concentration as he brought the little ship in for her second landing.
Long after a thorough debriefing and a much-needed shower, Brim joined Romanoff for a late afternoon stroll along the lakeshore. She had changed into a cool gingham shirt, ivory skirt, and soft, white moccasins. Small pleasure boats still plied the deep blue water, and a cooling breeze was redolent with the fragrance of the lake. Relaxed, Brim set off at an easy pace, but before long, Romanoff began to fall behind, her distinctive, prancing walk turning slowly into what appeared to be a limp. "Are you all right?" he asked, taking her arm.
"I'm fine, Wilf," Romanoff answered, continuing along as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "It's so beautiful by the lake this afternoon."
"It is beautiful," Brim agreed. "But... are you certain everything is all right with you?"
"Wilf," she said while small beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead, "this afternoon is one of the nicest I can remember in my life—seriously." Then she smiled. "Perhaps we might pause and enjoy the view."
Brim stopped while she leaned against a tree. The comely businesswoman was clearly unwilling to discuss whatever was causing her discomfort, and he was glad to respect her wishes.
It was enough that she was there, with him. "I take it you finally paid Valerian," he offered with a chuckle.
"Oh, Wilf," Romanoff laughed as she peered out over the lake, "Dr. Borodov was only joking about that." She blushed and turned to look at him. "Actually," she admitted, "I finished all my contract work yesterday afternoon—and your friend Valerian gets his remuneration on a very regular basis."
"I'm glad you decided to stay on," Brim said.
"So am I," she answered quietly. "It's been quite a day for me—and, I imagine, for you, too."
Brim nodded. "It has," he said. "The M-five's turned out to be a pretty special ship. I'd bet that we have yet to find out how special. Valerian's clearly put his soul into the design." He peered through the open doors of the hangar. "Something very basic in me says that she's not just another racer."
"What else is she, then?" Romanoff asked, frowning quizzically.
"I don't completely know," he said. "The beginning of something, perhaps." He shrugged helplessly.
"A beginning, Wilf?"
"Well," he answered after a few moments of thought, "like the beginning of a whole new line of starships.