THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (3 page)

“Word has it we lost heavily in that one,” the Bear said.

“More than half the cargo vessels,” Brim asserted. “Twelve, I think.”

“And most of the escorts,” the Bear stated.

Brim nodded again. The. Eorean Complex boasted an accurate rumor mill. “I watched old
Obstinate
blow up no more than a c'lenyt off our port bow,” Brim said.

“No survivors you could see?”

“I can't imagine anything living through that blast,” Brim answered. “All four Drive chambers seemed to blow at the same time; there wasn't even much wreckage.”

Ursis got out of the recliner thoughtfully. Standing, he was average for a Sodeskayan native: powerfully barrel chested and slightly taller than the three irals Brim claimed for himself. Like other Bears, he had short pointed ears and a short muzzle for natural heat retention on the cold planets of his origin. He looked Brim in the eye. “Two cousins,” he pronounced slowly. “Voof.”

“I'm sorry,” Brim said lamely.

“So am I,” Ursis said with a faraway look in his close-set predator's eyes. “But then Hagsdoffs always gore the hairiest oxen first, don't they?”

“Pardon?”

“An old saying from the Mother Planets,” Ursis explained. “And it is I who ought to be sorry for unloading troubles on you.” He put a hand on Brim's arm. “Your people suffered with mine in the first raids.”

Brim bit his lip.

“Despots like Nergol Triannic strike Bears and men alike,” Ursis said. “Our work is to finish him — and his thrice-damned League — eh?” He puffed thoughtfully on his Zempa pipe. “Some news of your coming preceded you, Carescrian. Many of us have looked forward to your arrival with great interest.”

Brim raised an eyebrow.

“Soon, my new friend, we will talk of many things,” the Bear said. “But for now, the Drive demands my presence. And I am certain you will be delighted to see your cabin, which at last seems to be ready.” He nodded toward the door.

Brim turned. A starman waited outside in the companionway.

“This way, please, Lieutenant,” the young woman said.

“Later...” Ursis declared, leading the way through the door.

Within a few cycles, Brim stood proudly in a tiny stateroom, the first in his memory he would not share with someone else. Luxury like this was a far cry indeed from Carescria and her ore trade, and he had paid dearly to win it. For the moment at least, all seemed worth the price.

* * * *

He had only just stowed his traveling case beneath the narrow bunk when he noticed a message frame that had materialized on the inside of his door.

“Yes?”

“Captain's compliments,” the frame said. “And interviews will begin in her office at standard 0975.”

Glancing at his timepiece, Brim saw he had more than three metacycles to wait. “Very well,” he answered, then settled back on his bunk as the indicator faded. Clearly, he was one of
very
few early risers aboard
Truculent,
at least when she was in port.

Well before standard 0975, Brim climbed two levels to the aft end of the bridge tower. Near the ladder, a door was engraved simply “CAPTAIN,” below which removable adhesive stickers spelled out “R.G. Collingswood, Lt. Commander, I.F.” While he waited, he was joined by a second sublieutenant with Helmsman's blazes on his collar. The newcomer was pink and chubby and had an uneasy look about him. His belt divided an expensive-looking tunic into two rolls which flubbered up and down as he hurried. “I thought I'd
never
find the Captain in this awful warren,” he grumped in a high-pitched voice. “What time is it anyhow?”

“If you're scheduled at standard 0975, you've made it,” Brim assured him, checking his own timepiece. “We have nearly a cycle to go.”

“No little wonder,” the man said, panting, then suddenly looked at Brim with something like recognition. “You're not that Carescrian sublieutenant, are you?” he asked.

“I am,” Brim asserted, immediately on the defensive.

The other grunted. “Well, you certainly don't
look
odd,” he observed.

From bitter experience, Brim knew Imperials often had no idea they were giving offense; and now was not the time to teach this one. “Ready?” he asked evenly.

“As I'll ever be, I suppose.”

Brim rapped firmly.

“It's open,” a voice called from inside.

Brim pushed the latch plate.

Inside, with her back to the door, Lieutenant Commander, I.F. Collingswood stared intently at a display. Soft chords of stately, unfamiliar music beguiled Brim's ears from the background. “Come in,” she urged without turning around. “I shall be finished momentarily.”

Brim led the way, then stood uncomfortably in the soft, haunting music until she cleared the display and swiveled her chair, looking first at one and then the other. She had a long, patrician nose, hazel eyes, and soft chestnut curls. Graceful fingers interlaced on her lap.

“Well?” she asked.

“SubLieutenant Wilf Ansor Brim reporting for duty aboard I.F.S.
Truculent,
ma'am,” Brim said with as steady a voice as he could muster. In the following silence, he realized he was very nearly terrified. He also noticed he was not the only one — his overweight counterpart hadn't even opened his mouth. Still in silence, he offered his orders card, carefully turning it for insertion in a reader.

Collingswood read the printed name, then — accepting the other's without a glance — placed both behind her on the desk. She frowned. “So you're Brim?” she asked inƒ a quiet mezzo.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“That makes you Theada,” she said to the other.

“J-Jubal Windroff Theada the Third,” he said, “from Avalon.”

“Yes,” Collingswood said with a frown. “At one time, I knew your father.” Silent for a moment, she smiled distantly, then went on. “I suppose both of you are fresh from Helmsman's training,” she said.

Brim nodded. “Yes, ma'am,” he said again. The other continued his silence.

A tiny smile escaped Collingswood's thin mouth. “Ready to take old
Truculent
into space from the command seat, then?” she joked.

“I'd gladly settle for
any
seat up there, ma'am,” Brim said with a grin. For the first time, it occurred to him the woman was dressed in a threadbare sweater and short skirt that revealed slim legs and soft, well-worn boots. Somehow, even at her leisure, she looked every inch a captain.

“You are the one who piloted those horrible ore carriers, aren't you?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” Brim answered, again braced for the inevitable insult.

“Hmm,” she mused, “I understand they require some rather extraordinary flying.”

Brim felt his face flush and kept an embarrassed silence.

Collingswood smiled again. “You'll
show
us your talent soon enough, Lieutenant.” she said. “And you, Lieutenant Theada. Shall I put you in the command seat straight off?”

“W-Well, Captain,” Theada stammered, “I only h-have about three hundred metacycles at the controls… and some simulator time. I don't know if I'm actually ready f-for the left seat right away “

“You'll build your metacycles quickly in
Truculent,”
Collingswood interrupted with just the shadow of a frown. Then her neutral smile returned. “Lieutenant Amherst will expect you to check in with him; he's our number one. And of course you must see Lieutenant Gallsworthy when he returns to the ship. He's chief Helmsman — you report to him.” Abruptly, she smiled, then swiveled back to the display. “Welcome aboard, both of you,” she said in dismissal.

Brim led the way out the door. Just as he stepped over the sill, Collingswood turned his way again. “By the by, Lieutenant Brim,” she said, looking past Theada. “When you address me, it's 'Captain,' not 'ma'am.'“ She smiled with a warmth Brim could actually feel. “Nothing to worry about,” she added. “I thought you'd want to know.”

When Theada disappeared along the companionway without uttering another word, Brim decided
his
next move should be to report to
Truculent's
first lieutenant. He tracked the man down in the chart house portion of the bridge at work before a small disorderly table that projected one of the ship's ubiquitous display globes. “Lieutenant Amherst?” Brim inquired politely, eyeing a richly lined Fleet Cape carelessly heaped on a nearby recliner.

“Never forget it,” Amherst growled coldly as he turned from his display. His were the same aristocratic features as Collingswood's, only strongly masculine. He had a thin, straight nose with flaring nostrils, two narrow mustaches, a lipless slit for a mouth, and wavy auburn hair. It was the eyes, however, that set him apart from Collingswood. While hers greeted the world with easygoing intellect, Amherst's revealed the quick, watchful manner of a true martinet. “You certainly took your time reporting, didn't you?” he sniffed, ignoring Brim's original question.

“I was with Captain Collingswood, sir,” Brim explained.

“Plead your rationalizations
only
when I ask,” he sneered. “Lieutenant Theada came to see me straight off — as befits a proper Imperial officer.” He swiveled his chair and smoothed his blue-braided breeches where they became close fitting just below the knees. Elegant knee-high boots exuded the soft luxury of expensive ophet leather (which Brim had seen before only in pictures). “Colonials always have
so
much to learn about proper deportment,” he sighed, then peered along his nose at Brim. “You Carescrians will probably prove the worst of all.”

Brim held his temper — and his tongue. After the Helmsman's Academy, Amherst's manner was all too familiar.

“Well?” the other demanded suddenly. “What have you to say for yourself?” .

“I was with the Captain,” Brim repeated, “at her request.”

“You'll soon learn to be smart with me, Carescrian,” Amherst snapped, eyes flashing with quick anger.

“I meant no insult, sir,” Brim stated evenly, still under relatively firm control.

Amherst glared coldly. “I shall be the judge of your pitiful insults, SubLieutenant.” He joined long fingers at the tips, contemplated the roofed structure they formed while Brim stewed in uncomfortable silence. “I believe I shall do the whole crew a favor,” he said presently, looking Brim in the eye for the first time. “The sooner your kind display your
true
abilities, the sooner we can replace you with your betters.” Abruptly, he turned to his display. “Imagine, “ he muttered to no one in particular, “a Carescrian with a cabin of his own!” He shook his head and moved long, pink fingers over the control panel. “We are scheduled out of here the morning after next,” he chortled. “And
you
are now posted as co-Helmsman for the takeoff. Old Gallsworthy ought to be in a
spectacular
mood after another two nights' gaming. He'll make short work of your no-account talent.”

Trembling with frustration, Brim remained in the doorway, waiting for whatever might come next.

“You may go,” Amherst said, turning his back. “You have the remainder of today and tomorrow to enjoy the ship. After that, good riddance, Carescrian. You have no place with a gentleman's organization — in spite of what Lord Beorn's perverted Reform Act might allege.”

Brim turned on his heel, and with the last vestiges of his patience eroding like sand on a beach, he stormed off to his cabin.

* * * *

Long Metacycles later — he lost track of time — Brim sat, head in hands, on his bunk, halfway between murderous anger and deep, deep despair. It was cadet school all over again. The few Carescrians who even made it to the Academy had to be better than
anyone
else just to be accepted as living beings. And the very weapon Imperials always used was a person's own temper. He shook his head, painfully rehearsing his meeting with Amherst for the thousandth time when a mighty pounding rattled the door to his cabin. “Wilf Ansor, my new friend, come! Now is the time for libations in the wardroom, eh?” In all his twenty years, Brim could not remember a more welcome sound.

Now, late in the last watch of the day, the wardroom was dim with hogge'poa smoke and crowded by people who had clearly collected from all over the base. Brim picked out uniforms of spaceframe structure masters, logic boffins, and a whole cadre of Imperial officers — many with impressive ranks. Most of the latter wore insignia from other ships. And beautiful women! They were all over the room. Some young, some not so young. His eyes had just fallen willing prisoner to an artfully tousled head of golden curls and soft expressive eyes when Ursis returned with two largish goblets of meem — and another Bear in tow.

“Come, Anastas Alexi,” Ursis called to the smaller edition of himself. “Let me present new Helmsman just reported in. Wilf Ansor, you must meet glorious engineering officer, and my personal boss, Lieutenant A.A. Borodov!”

Borodov grasped Brim's hand in a firm hirsute paw. “Brim?” he exclaimed. “But I have heard of you — greatest Helmsmen of all in latest Academy class, is it not so?”

Brim felt his face flush. “I am pleased to meet you, sir,” he stammered.

“Ah-ha!” the Bear exclaimed, turning to Ursis triumphantly. “Blush gives him away, would you believe?”

Ursis chortled heartily. “All's dark when snow flies blue, eh?” They both laughed.

“Well, Wilf Ansor,” Borodov rumbled on. “Many of us have looked forward to flying with you at helm. Tonight we shall drink toasts to your Carescrian ore barges.” He placed a paw on the chest of Brim's uniform. “I myself started Drive work on same star beasts, eh? Many years before you were little cub.” He chuckled. “Destroyers should prove easy work in comparison, believe me.”

He turned suddenly and caught the arm of a dainty lieutenant. “Ah, Anastasia,” he said. “You must meet our new Helmsman, Wilf Brim!”

“Beautiful woman here is Anastasia Fourier — weapons officer, Wilf,” Ursis added with a wink. “So small for such large job... “

“Big enough to bruise
your
shins, you chauvinist Bear,” Anastasia said as she bussed his furry cheek. Her face was almost perfectly moon shaped with wide-set eyes and heavy, pouting lips. She had a high-pitched voice and talked at such a rate that Brim marveled she could make herself understood at all. Her Fleet Cape revealed just enough in the way of curves to assure Brim that great intrinsic worth lay beneath. Her wink made him believe that much of it might, under proper circumstances, be readily available. “If this is the kind of company you keep, Lieutenant,” she squeaked, “I shall have to keep a close eye on you, and the sooner the better.” Then, suddenly as she appeared, she was swept away giggling on the arm of a smiling commander. He wore the insignia — if Brim's eyes didn't lie — of a battlecruiser.