THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (14 page)

“I tried to, Captain,” Brim said.

Collingswood laughed quietly. “I'm quite certain you did, Lieutenant. But I shall need to know a bit more than that,” she asserted. “I
am
required to file an official report, you know. “

Brim felt his face flush. “Sorry, Captain,” he said. “I didn't understand.” He stared at his boots, reflecting for a moment, then rubbed his chin. “So far as I can remember,” he began, “this is what happened after we spotted that corvette...” For the next metacycle, he described what he had seen aboard the enemy warship, including his own activities when he felt they had any relevance.

Collingswood sat relaxed in her recliner while he spoke, taking notes, interjecting occasional questions, or clarifying certain points. When he finished, she re-crossed her legs, frowned thoughtfully, and looked him straight in the eye. “Strange,” she mused, “how much like your shipmates you have become. None has mentioned Lieutenant Amherst so far, or his part in this little adventure of yours. I wonder why.”

Brim frowned. In the seclusion of the healing coffin, he considered himself ready for questions about
that
part. Now all his confidence seemed to dissipate like smoke. He fumbled with a loose fastener on his tunic. “Well,” he uttered, groping for something to say, “I can't speak for the others, of course. I was alone most of the time we spent aboard the corvette, Captain. “

“I see,” Collingswood said, brushing aside a stray lock of hair. She studied the fingernails of her right hand. “Would you,” she began, “make any further comments were I to ask you for information concerning alleged
incompetence
on the part of Lieutenant Ursis?”

“In what context, Captain?” Brim asked warily, not yet willing to meet her eyes.

“Why, in the context of his attempts — or should I say, non-attempts — to alter the control settings of the Cloud League merchantman
Ruggetos,
of course,” she answered, her expression suddenly cold as space itself.

Brim took a deep breath and met her gaze squarely. “In that case, Captain,” he said evenly, “I should probably have a great deal more to say.”

“Would you
testify,
Lieutenant?” she continued, sitting well forward in her recliner, elbows firmly on the armrests.

“If it came to that, Captain, you can
bet
I would testify,” Brim answered. He waited for an explosion — both she and Amherst were clearly Imperials of no mean station, and in his experience, Carescrians didn't usually get away with taking stands, no matter who was in the right.

As if considering her next words, Collingswood remained for a moment staring into his eyes. Then, suddenly she relaxed and sat back in her recliner, smiling broadly. “You
have
joined my old
Truculent,
haven't you, Brim?” she pronounced. “I rather thought you'd have little trouble doing that once you got started.”

Brim blinked. “Pardon?” he stammered.

“Protecting Amherst the way you are,” Collingswood explained. “You're already part of my crew.” She laughed quietly. “In rather record time, too.”

Brim kept his silence, unsure of where she was leading him.

“You probably wonder what I plan to do about him, don't you, Lieutenant?” she went on, holding up a graceful hand. “His part in the loss of that merchantman was easy enough for me to piece together — and caused
you
considerable difficulty and pain. You deserve an answer.”

Brim nodded his head noncommittally. “Thank you, Captain,” he said simply.

“I shall
not
rid the ship of him,” she said with no further preamble. “Because Amherst is a powerful name throughout the Fleet — and other reasons which have nothing to do with either of you — he shall have one more chance, at least.” She smiled and shook her head. “No one ever said life would be fair, Lieutenant. In spite of what Amherst might
really
deserve, I shall not commit political suicide to secure his punishment — though I
shall
attempt to insure he is never again in a position to cause so much harm, should he fail a second time.”

Brim nodded again. At least she was honest.

“And no record of Amherst's report will ever find its way into your friend Ursis' records.” She glanced at her empty display, then grimaced in an unmistakable sign of dismissal. Brim got up to leave.

“Your report was first rate, as were your actions, Lieutenant,” she added. “You weren't thinking of returning to bridge duty immediately, were you?”

“Not for two more days, Captain,” Brim answered.

“Dr. Flynn knows best,” Collingswood said as her display began to fill with data.

Brim left feeling better about his future than he had ever dreamed possible. So long as the Fleet had a few Collingswoods, Carescrians still had a chance.

* * * *

The endless succession of days that followed was notable only by their sameness until danger and boredom became two great stones, which ground
Truculent
and her crew alike. And all around, the larger war waxed and waned. Victories and defeats: There were still more of the latter, but one could sense an occasional ray of hope among the grim news KA'PPAed in from powerful transmitters halfway across the galaxy.

To Brim's utter astonishment, his abbreviated answer to Margot's note established a lively — if disappointingly chaste — correspondence. During the long stretches of boredom, he often argued with himself concerning
that.
After all,
any
kind of treatment was more than he should ever expect. She was, aside from being promised to someone else, a person of noble blood.
Very
noble blood. And a full military rank above his own into the bargain. What more could he expect?

Sometimes this sort of logical approach worked. Sometimes it didn't. But most of the time, it didn't.

And for some exasperating reason, he never
did
quite condition himself to the point where he could comfortably think of her in the company of Rogan LaKarn. That became painfully apparent when a chance news program pictured the two together during a leave in Avalon:

Princess Margot Effer'wyck and Commander the Honorable Baron Rogan LaKarn share a well-deserved leave in Avalon's Courtland Plaza near the Imperial castle. Engaged nearly two years now, the popular couple has postponed their nuptials while they work to defend the Empire from its enemies.

Somehow, the sight of them holding hands in that manicured garden tied his heart in a knot. He gritted his teeth and felt his cheeks burn, hoping against hope nobody in the wardroom noticed his helpless discomfort — he a Carescrian worked up over an Effer'wyck. What a joke
that
was!

In private, he railed at himself. He could claim no part of her life. How she chose to spend her leave was certainly none of his business. He meant nothing special to her, and she ought to mean nothing to him

But he really didn't believe the second part.

That night, as he fitfully dozed, his mind was torn by weird, wildly erotic dreams. He pictured her beckoning to him through a soft, warm fog. But when he reached to touch her, Rogan LaKarn interposed. And each time, Brim awoke to find himself alone in his tiny cabin, sweating and frustrated, the rumble of the generators no longer comforting to his ears.

In a foul mood, he dressed and made his way up to the bridge, where he spent the remainder of his free watch tutoring Jubal Theada for a battery of upcoming tests. Even
that
kind of frustration was better than fighting his own imagination!

* * * *

For the next three Standard Months, Collingswood's aggressive blockading techniques eroded both
Truculent
and her crew. Space off the Altnag'gin Complex at Trax was a busy crossroads of the League's commerce. Always there was another “runner” to be pursued — or a
pursuing
Cloud League warship determined to rid the space lanes of Imperial blockaders. Borodov and Ursis constantly rushed through
Truculent's
battered hull, patching battle damage or repairing components worn to uselessness from constant duty at maximum settings.

Flynn was similarly busy patching burned and blasted bodies: Carelessness caused by advanced fatigue was at least as deadly an enemy as the League itself. Yet no relief was forthcoming, and everyone knew why. The Imperial Fleet was stretched so thin that every ship and every crew member served past all reasonable limit. No alternative existed; everyone was well aware of Triannic's vow to “punish” the Imperial Fleet “to its last man.”

Only continuing success made any of it bearable. Collingswood was an extraordinary tactician, and
Truculent
sent a steady stream of prizes off toward Avalon — often seriously shorting her own crew complement for weeks at a time. Everyone was now accruing Imperial credits in individual accounts, and even Brim found himself debt free one day, for the first time he could remember.

Following still another stormy month of desperate fighting and wearing fatigue,
Truculent
was even more patched and dented than before. Many of her less critical mechanisms were by now completely inoperative — the crew worked around these when possible, but mostly did without. Some of the important systems were little better than these, and operated only marginally, when they worked at all. Often, Brim looked over the battered decks from his position high on the bridge and wondered if anyone back in the Imperial Client States had any idea at all what it really took to keep Triannic from their gates. A small part of him wanted desperately to believe they did. The remainder doubted many of them had
any
idea what was going on at all.

Only when Borodov managed to convince his Sodeskayan superiors at the Admiralty that
Truculent
could no longer be patched enough to fight and win did Flight Operations deign to send their replacement, and by then it was nearly too late. The Drive itself failed three times on the way home and fully half the Atmospheric Controller Modules consumed themselves in a cloud of sour-smelling vapor and sparks before the ship was two days en route. The nearly desperate crew completed their return with most of the ship's environment simulating the worst elements of a steamy Crennelean Narr jungle.

One way or another, they made it. Both Gimmas and Haefdon were sizable disks in the Hyperscreens ahead when Brim heard the Drive finally eased all the way back to idle. He and Theada occupied observers' seats while Gallsworthy and Fourier flew the approach. “You may prepare us for landfall, Lieutenant Gallsworthy,” Collingswood said, her voice loud in the unaccustomed silence.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Gallsworthy growled. Immediately, Brim heard distant alarms go off below in the ship, and docking crews began to fill the bridge.

Fourier signaled to Ursis; a few moments later the generators shivered to life.

“Finished with the xaxtdamned Drive,” Gallsworthy rumbled.

“I think it's finished with
us
anyway,” Collingswood said grumpily.

“Drive deactivated,” Borodov chuckled. Astern, the flowing green of the Drive plume flickered and disappeared.

“Drive shutters closed,” Ursis said.

“LightSpeed point zero,” Fourier called out as Gandom's 'v
_e
effect went into full flare and the Hyperscreens stopped translating. Gradually, the view cleared as the speed dropped below the critical mark. Applewood contacted Haefdon Approach soon afterward, and within a few metacycles they were in a holding pattern for clearance at the Lox'Sands control ring, this time in zone green. Traffic was light during that watch, and presently
Truculent
was on final, thundering down through Haefdon's cloudy turbulence.

With a sense of weary excitement, Brim waited impatiently for
Truculent
to break out of the overcast. So far, all he could see were regular flashes of the beacon reflected back from the streaming haze outside and the occasional glow of KA'PPA rings expanding outward as Applewood talked to Approach Control. The sound of the generators was now moderated to a burbling grumble, and the muted drones and thumps of imminent landfall were well under way. Gallsworthy banked to port, revealing glimpses of gray, fog-strewn seascape wrinkled by the thickly sluggish patterns of frigid-looking swells and jagged ice fragments everyone associated with the base.

As they returned to level flight, Brim spied two or three lamp-studded causeways below like the thin spokes of some great wheel converging at an unseen hub somewhere far off to port, but the haze swallowed them completely in damp-looking muzziness before he could distinguish any details. As usual, there was no real difference between land and sky aloft on Haefdon — no horizon, only fog and clouds and occasionally the wrinkled blackness of the inhospitable sea below.

Another turn to port, generators roaring momentarily, then
Truculent
settled gently onto her forward gradient and churned over the icy rollers that shone dully in the landing lights twenty-five irals below her stained and dented hull. Through a chance break in the fog, Brim saw they were now running parallel to another causeway. He watched giant waves batter themselves to wind-blown spume against its rocky bulwarks. A beacon flashed indistinctly in their direction. Ahead, fog-shrouded blue and red lights marked the opening to the Eorean section. He smiled to himself. The last time through here, he'd been considerably more occupied than he was now, sitting at his leisure in an observer's seat. Beyond, a forest of KA'PPA masts jutted from the starwharves themselves.

With Fourier at the controls,
Truculent
changed course smoothly, slid through the entrance, and in a few moments glided to a halt above a gently glowing gravity pool. Thick mooring beams leaped from lenses in the seawalls and Brim's nausea made itself known when the umbilical arm connected, switching
Truculent
back to local gravity. Gallsworthy raised his hand silently and their gravity generators spun down and stopped — the unaccustomed silence after nearly six months of one kind of propulsion system or another was almost physical. A tentative “Hurrah!” sounded from the back of the bridge. Then another, and another — in a moment, the whole ship was gone wild in a paroxysm of cheering. Even the normally reserved Collingswood could be seen pounding Gallsworthy on the back.