Brim frowned for a moment, then peered into her face. "You mean that?" he asked incredulously. "You're in love with me?
She laughed quietly and looked down at her disheveled clothing. "You don't think I let just anybody see me like this, do you?" she asked, unhooking a badly stained skirt to hike it higher on her hips. "Especially the scar. It's part of that limp I never admit to."
"It's a beautiful scar," he whispered, "and whatever else it does, it gives you a wonderfully sexy walk."
Then he shook his head and sighed. "You see, Anna," he said, fondling the firm, pointed breasts that spilled from the top of her strapless dress, "I've been in love with you, too. I've known it for quite a while, now."
" You?" she gasped, "—in love with me?"
"Is that so unreasonable?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, frowning as if she were having difficulty with her thoughts. "Until this very moment, I certainly thought it was." She raised the palms of her hands. "What could I possibly offer a genuine war hero— and Principal Helmsman for the ISS. Why, you're known all over the galaxy. People even say you once had a big thing going with Princess Margot Effer'wyck herself. And I'm only a working stiff with a limp, remember? A wealthy one now, perhaps, but a gimpy working stiff, nonetheless." For a moment, the happiness in her face clouded. "Work's about all I ever do anymore.
That's why I simply gave up tonight and decided that maybe you'd at least make love once before you went back to your Fleet and forgot about me."
Brim shook his head incredulously. "Forget about you?" he whispered. "Anna, we've both been wrong, then, because I've felt pretty much the same way about you. I was afraid you could never care for me because you are so successful and influential."
"Maybe I am now, Wilf Brim, but when I started out, I was poor as a street beggar. This limp of mine: when I was a child, I couldn't walk at all. There was nothing wrong with my hip that a healing machine couldn't fix, but at the time there were no credits for that kind of advanced treatment. So my mother hired a local street quack to carve on me. And he didn't do a bad job, considering. I can walk—pretty well, too, considering that you thought my limp was sexy. So when I finally did have the credits to get myself fixed properly, I had neither the time nor the inclination—I'd learned to live with it. Wilf, dearest, I've had to fight for everything I have. I'm a nobody."
"You're damned special to me, Anna Romanoff," Brim exclaimed. "Why, since I met you, I've been afraid that you wouldn't have anything to do with me at all. If you think Margot Effer'wyck is daunting, how about me comparing myself with someone like Wyvern J. Theobold? I mean, Lixor's a whole hell of a lot more impressive than Carescria."
Romanoff took a deep breath and glanced down to watch his hands still gently stroking her breasts.
"Probably I shouldn't admit it," she said, "but the impressive Mr. Theobold from Lixor has never gotten very much farther than what you are doing right now. He's sexy, but I don't love him."
"Poor bastard," Brim said devoutly. "He's missed a great lay."
"I, on the other hand, have not," she giggled with a happy grin. "And those talented hands of yours have put me in the mood for more, Wilf Brim." She kissed him softly on the mouth. "If we really are in love with one another, then there will be a thousand tomorrows when we can rationally work out our relationship. But tonight—this morning, rather—I am much more immediately interested in good old-fashioned sex." Pulling her bodice over her breasts, she raised her hips and, leaning her shoulder on the door, drew up her knee. "Now, lover," she said, "if you would slide yourself back to the driver's seat and pull on your trousers, I know a place where we can continue this wonderfully iniquitous recreation with me lying comfortably on my back, in a bed, instead of pummeling my head on the roof of this skimmer. How does that sound to you?"
Brim only laughed as he slid behind the controls. "Is that answer enough, my beautiful lady?" he asked, indicating his lap. "I'd go anywhere to be iniquitous with you."
"In that case, we'd better hurry," she declared with a happy grin, "because if it's true that War Memorial Hall here is used nearly every day of the week, then I for one am going to be very embarrassed when the parking lot begins to fill in the morning while we're still iniquitizing, so to speak. It's been a long time since anybody's filled me the way you can, Wilf Brim, and I haven't even begun to get enough."
Lieutenant Commander Wilf Ansor Brim, I.F., pulled his Fleet cloak closer around his neck and treaded thoughtfully up the slush-covered marble staircase that fronted Avalon's imposing Admiralty Building. His most recent visit nearly five years earlier had been one of intense personal anguish: a final debriefing after they'd revoked his commission. Now as he glanced at the massive granite building above him, all the old torment seemed to fade into an insignificant past. He was back in uniform and eager to resume the only career that had ever mattered to him: the Fleet.
At the topmost landing, he stopped. From outward appearances, nothing about the old place seemed to have changed that much. Behind him in Locorno Square, traffic still careened wildly around the lofty statue of Admiral Condor Bemus, assaulting his ears with the sounds of a city energetically directing commerce throughout half a galaxy. Overhead, dirty gray clouds still shared the city sky with wheeling squadrons of noisy pidwings. The flocks themselves, he considered, might have become a trifle smaller, but individually, the birds were as filthy as ever. The steps bore mute witness.
Mounting the last staircase, he braced himself for changes he knew he would encounter behind the great metal doors. It was a changed world he was about to reenter. Five years ago, the CIGA was only beginning to flex its muscle within a host organization that was still principally composed of warriors—men and women who could prevail against the best the League could field. Now, that situation was almost totally reversed. CIGA advocates had become a major force in nearly every Admiralty program, planned or extant—and they mercilessly rooted out every "throwback" who attempted to resist their efforts to secure peace by disabling the Imperial Fleet.
When he was precisely four paces from the center entrance, two of the four windblown guards snapped to attention while the others yanked open the doors. Brim strode through the entrance without breaking stride. Only old Admiralty hands knew how to do that; invariably, every one else stopped. Laughing at himself, he wished Romanoff were there to share the little victory with him.
Inside, the Great Foyer and Memorial Court were as little changed as the facade, even to the slight tinge of mustiness Brim had always half blamed on his imagination. Familiar murals heroically characterized the same historic victories as always, and the vast oval floor was still crowded by legions of strutting military politicians. At one time, Brim had believed that most of them were actually on their way to something important (indeed, during the war years, some few might really have been). Now, he couldn't help laughing under his breath. The place looked embarrassingly like the self-conscious terminal in Tarrott!
Brim's objective, the Central Directorate for Personnel, had moved from what he remembered as an insignificant suite in a sub-basement into a whole wing of the eighth floor. He shrugged as he pushed his way through the crowded corridors, searching for the Records Division to authenticate his updated portfolio. He supposed that Personnel's expansion accurately reflected the Admiralty's new directions: they were now in the business of caring for people rather than projecting an Empire's military muscle.