The turning tide, p.13
The Turning Tide, page 13
“What about the SpinGrav on that side?”
“It’s far enough back in the nacelle it might just be all right, but I’m not exactly trusting it, either.”
“What kind of system readings are you getting?”
“Readings look good, but I’d sure like to do a ‘hands-on’ before we have to bet our lives on trouble-free operation. That was a big shock it took.”
Brim nodded. “Got you, Treble,” he said with a wry grin. “I’ll be watching for a visit from Voot and his friends when we’re coming in on final.” He looked up from the display, considered a moment, then turned to Barbousse, “Think I’m going to take us to Gimmas instead of Avalon,” he said. “The way the ship looks right now, we’ll attract a lot of attention back on Lake Mersin.
Barbousse nodded. “Sounds right, Skipper,” he said. “Especially with a piece of bender sticking out of the port nacelle—but,” he added, “this civilian ship is going to need special clearance to land on a military planet.”
Brim grinned grimly. “Somehow,” he said, “I doubt if we’ll have any trouble with that, once I send our latest report. Steele….”
“Aye Skipper.”
“Take a Top Secret-Plus message to Admiral Calhoun in Avalon. Ask him to clear us into Gimmas’ Complex 19.”
* * * *
Approaching Complex 19, one of the few totally restricted landing areas on Gimmas/Haefdon, Brim watched a landing vector begin to melt in Gimmas’ perpetual ice. This one was at least three times as wide as normal for the WF-400’s size. Brim laughed. “Not taking any chances, aren’t they?” he said wryly.
“Doesn’t look like it skipper,” Barbousse replied with a chuckle. “Guess they don’t trust that port SpinGrav any more than you do.”
“Oh, I’m good,” Brim quipped with a shrug, “it’s Treble and Kermis who don’t trust it.”
“Four Nines Wakefield,” a tower controller’s voice crackled in Brim’s ear. “You are cleared for final on the 08:31:22 landing vector in your path.” Simultaneously, a ruby beacon began to flash from the far end of the vector.
“Thanks, Tower Nineteen,” Brim replied. He checked his instruments. No mistake, he was on a 08:31:22 heading. “Four Nines sees vector at zero-eight, thirty-one, twenty-two.”
“Can we be of any assistance?”
“Negative for now, Tower Nineteen. Four Nines sees crash vehicles pulling alongside the vector—we appreciate them.”
“Tower Nineteen….”
“Okay, folks,” Brim said. “Everybody strapped in? Can’t count on the restraint systems. Let’s see those lights.”
Six diodes winked.
Brim forced himself to relax. Everything that could be checked had been checked—and cross-checked: vertical Gravs, lift enhancers, altimeters, flight instruments. Now, it was all up to him. He laughed to himself. Except for the crumpled port nacelle, everything seemed to be normal—actually could be for all anybody knew. In the corner of his eye, he checked the port SpinGrav’s readings—everything on the money. He walked the steering engines; Four Nines was a little slippery at low speeds, but she was pretty well right on with the ruby beacon, despite a slight crosswind. Off to the left, an odd-looking structure with a great helical spiral in its center slid past, reminding him of an absurd opener for Meem bottles. Closer in, windows below the Tower glowed warmly. Nice touch on this life-forsaken planet. Scanning the instruments one more time, he eased in a little more thrust—better to be just a little fast just before touchdown. Now…. He eased off on the steering engines; the bow wandered slightly to starboard, and he banked to counter the drift. Nose up ever so slightly. Hold her off…. Voot, if you ever turned your back, this is the time! An instant before touchdown, he leveled the deck, then… cascades of black water and slush shot skyward in the side Hyperscreens, diminishing gradually as he pulsed the gravity brakes and slowed the ship until it came to a stop, about a thousand irals from the edge of the ice. Down in one piece.
Taking his first breath in what seemed to be a long time, Brim checked the area for clearance, then eased the thrust dampers forward to taxi through a side canal melting away from them toward a group of hangar-like buildings near a slight rise in the snow that appeared to be what passed for “shore.” Suddenly—amid surprised outcries from every part of the ship—the WF-400 pivoted sharply to port, then spun completely around before Brim could bring her to a halt.
“What happened?” Barbousse asked in a dazed voice.
Brim could only shake his head in wonder. “The port Grav—It just quit cold.”
“What’d I tell ya, Skipper?” Treble quipped in a weak voice from a globular display.
“I’ll never doubt your word again,” Brim swore. Rolling his eyes and trimming the steering engines to compensate for the dead port Grav, he began taxiing toward the canal once more. It had been a close thing, he thought with a shiver. If the Grav had gone out just off the surface, things might have been disastrously different. But, he had recovered from worse circumstances in the past, and, as he’d learned back at the Helmsman’s Academy, any landing you can walk away from is a good one. By Voot, they all were going to walk away from this one—including, figuratively, the Emperor’s personal WF-400, although the latter was a bit worse for wear. As he neared a portable brow hastily erected beside the heated waterway, he noticed everyone was wearing the distinctive blue of the Imperial Intelligence Services. “Talk about ‘restricted areas,’” he muttered.
Barbousse chuckled. “I doubt if they get any more restricted than this,” he quipped.
Chapter 27
. . .complex 19
GIMMAS/HAEFDON, COMPLEX 19, 19 DIAD, 52017
With Four Nines rapidly covered with a huge tarpaulin by warmly bundled handlers—all dressed in IS blue—Brim and his crew were directed toward a bright red omnibus skimmer As he climbed aboard, the driver smiled. “G’ Mornin,’ Admiral,” he said, raising a freckled hand. “It’s been a while.”
Brim peered at the man, whose crested, reddish hair and chalk-white complexion did seem familiar. Then, with a shock, he recalled a narrow face, long, thin nose, and a name that didn’t fit at all. “Blue!” he exclaimed. “By Voot, it’s been years since….”
“Red Rock 9, Admiral”, Blue said with an appreciative grin. “It was there we showed you how to fly your first astroplanes.”
“Yes,” Brim said, a long-past adventure bursting into his memory. “You worked for Colonel Dark, I believe.”
“Well, I still do, and she’s Major General Dark now,” Blue corrected. “She’s sure anxious to lay eyes on you again, too.”
“By the way,” Brim said as Blue put the omnibus into motion, “it’s just Wilf Brim anymore. I, ah ran into some….”
“Gorksroar, Admiral,” Blue said. “Every true Blue Cape knows what that court martial was all about.”
“Well….”
“’Well,’ yourself, Admiral. In a few ticks, you’ll be at General Dark’s complex, and there, you’re Admiral Brim, make no mistake.”
Brim took a seat beside Barbousse and shrugged.
“Your past has a way of catchin’ up with you, Skipper,” the Chief said with a grin.
“Did you recognize Blue?” Brim asked.
“Didn’t have to, Skipper,” Barbousse replied. “I was first off the ship, an’ he had his hand out, ready like. Seems like General Dark is the only one on the planet who runs an area with the proper security arrangements to take care of us.”
Brim rolled his eyes. “Probably has something to do with the MET station.”
“Or perhaps the bender we put paid to,” Barbousse added.
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Brim said with a chuckle.
“If we’re lucky,” Barbousse quipped
“Yeah,” Brim agreed. “I hear that, too.”
* * * *
Blue dropped them off at the building that looked like a meem bottle opener. Inside, Barbousse and the others were ushered into a comfortable lounge where orderlies were serving hot cvc’eese and yeasty breakfast fixings. Before Brim could sit, however, a very senior Sergeant let Brim down a long corridor, trough a ciphered gate, and past two guards wearing side arms to a door marked A. M. Dark, Major General. The Sergeant knocked lightly.
“Show the Admiral in, Sergeant,” a feminine voice replied from inside.
“Admiral,” the Sergeant said with a little bow, then opened the door.
Brim’s mind raced as he stepped into a sparse office whose only adornment to relieve its bare walls was a portrait of Emperor Onrad. Dark was standing, hand outstretched, with a little smile. Sixteen, perhaps seventeen, years had passed since he had last seen the legendary woman. Granted, he’d not spent much time with her then, but from what he could see, she had aged hardly at all. Dressed in the sleek blue coveralls of the Imperial Intelligence Service—which Brim understood she ruled with an iron hand—the close-fitting uniform still revealed a great deal more than it concealed. Her complexion remained the chalky white he recalled, but now she wore salt-and-pepper hair in a bob reaching only to her shoulders. The large, almond-shaped eyes had clearly not softened with age, but she no longer nervously fingered the fragment of Hullmetal Brim remembered had been the constant, companion of her long fingers. Major General Dark was clearly nearing sixty, but she had lost none of the energy that always seemed to crackle around her. Brim grasped her outstretched hand and kissed it. “General Dark,” he said. “I am honored.”
“As am I, Admiral,” she replied with an appreciative smile.
“It’s not ‘Admiral,’” Brim protested.
“Never forget this is my bailiwick,” she warned, her eyes suddenly hard as Hullmetal as she took a seat at her desk, “and here, you are ‘Admiral’ Brim, with all the particular appellation implies.”
Brim gulped. “As you wish, General Dark.”
The smile returned to her lips. “Much better, Admiral,” she said, touching a sensor on her desk and motioning for Brim to sit in the room’s only other chair. “Now that little matter is settled, in private, I hope you will call me Abby if I may address you as Wilf.”
Sinking into the chair, Brim took a deep breath. “Abby,” he said with a sigh, “I should be proud if you called me Wilf.” On the moment, the door opened as a Sergeant wheeled a serving table into the room. The smell of cvc’eese and hot rolls made his mouth water. He’d been living on flight rations since takeoff.
“Excellent,” Dark pronounced, then waited in silence as the Sergeant poured two cups of the sweet thick liquid and placed a basket of rolls in the center of the desk. When she’d left the room, Dark seemed to relax and took a long sip of cvc’eese. “I’m certain you’d like to be brought up to date about what has transpired since you reported the destruction of that bender.”
“You’ve got that right Gen…, er, Abby,” Brim replied tearing into a sweet roll. “It’s a pretty good guess this first mission of ours has stirred up a nest of trouble.”
“Some guess,” she said with a dark laugh. “But then, you’ve been in one kind of trouble or another since I first laid eyes on you at Red Rock 9.” She daintily broke a roll in half and took a bite.
Brim made a faux grimace. “Mostly for the League, I hope.”
“Oh, really? From what I recall, you’ve been magnificently equal-opportunity about causing troubles: Leaguers and Imperials alike.”
“I try to be fair.”
Dark rolled her eyes. “But I did promise to tell you what I can, didn’t I?”
“When you’re ready, Madame,” Brim said, refilling both cups from a carafe. “Right now, I’m more interested in fresh cvc’eese than anything else I can think of.”
Dark smiled. “First: about that hot astroplane of yours. Soon after you KA’PPAed your report to Admiral Calhoun, I received orders directly from his office to put that little ship back into operation post haste—which I should be able to do before the next local Gimmas day is through. That should get you back to Avalon approximately four Standard Days following your departure. The Admiral wants you to be seen landing on Lake Mersin as soon as possible.”
Brim frowned. “That ‘400’ is a pretty special ship,” he warned, buttering a second roll large.
“We’re well aware of your ‘400,’” Dark said with a nod. “I’ve got a new Krasni-Peych 77/77 Drive on the way from Sodeskaya already. It’s my long-lead time item.”
“How are you going to get it here from Sodeskaya so fast?”
“Aboard another WF-400,” Dark said. “With Admiral Calhoun, all sorts of things become possible.”
“Wait a cycle,” Brim exclaimed, setting down his cvc’eese. “Another WF-400? I thought the one I’m flying was the only one outside Hatfield/Salisbury.”
“I worried about the same thing,” Dark agreed with a chuckle, “but you never know when you’re dealing with Calhoun. If I were to take a wild guess, I’d say he had so much faith in the performance you and that crazy crew would wring out of those little ships that he put them into production before the results were in.” She shrugged. “And looks like he was right….”
Brim felt his cheeks burn. “How about the wrecked nacelle?” he asked?
Dark laughed. “My people can hammer out that damage so only close inspection will show it was repaired.” She shut her eyes and laughed. “‘TopLine Spacecraft Performance, Customization & Research, Ltd.,’ indeed! Almost as good as that ‘Payless’ outfit you set up at Atalanta a few years back. Where do you get the names?”
“Mostly from Barbousse,” Brim admitted with a chuckle. “But what about the Grav that went out on me?”
“A Grav’s a Grav,” she said with a shrug. “If we had to, we could completely rebuild it before you turn in for the night.”
“Seems like you’ve got quite a place here on old Gimmas, Abby.”
“Wilf, you don’t know the half of what we’ve got in this complex—and probably never will.”
“Somehow, I don’t have any trouble believing that,” Brim admitted, refreshing their cvc’eese cups again. “What do you know about the MET station?”
Dark checked a display beside her desk. “So far, nobody has a clue about that,” she said. “Doesn’t make any sense; the Leaguers depend on that station as much as we do.”
“That’s what I understand,” Brim agreed. “Looked like a rush job: poorly planned and badly carried out.”
“The Admiral’s got some ideas about who might be responsible, but he wouldn’t even share them with me, Wilf,” she said. “He forwarded us the Holophotos you sent ahead; I’ve got people studying them as we speak.”
Brim grinned. “Kind of figured they’d end up here.”
“You’d be surprised what ends up here.”
“Not any more.” Brim quipped.
Dark nodded, checked her timepiece, and stood. “I’m due at a meeting, Wilf” she said. “I’ve got it set up so you and your crew have access anywhere in this building, but I’ll have to keep you out of anywhere else. How about if we dine together here at the Officer’s Club, say Twilight and one?”
“T-that would be wonderful, Abby,” Brim said in surprise. “But I’m hardly dressed for supper at an Officer’s Club. I only packed spare flight gear.”
Dark laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time in Avalon. Out here on Gimmas, we’re a lot more casual.”
Smiling awkwardly, Brim stood and took her hand. “Meet you at the Officer’s Club, Twilight and one on the dot.”
“Be there, Admiral….”
Chapter 28
. . .can’t keep your nose out of trouble
GIMMAS/HAEFDON, COMPLEX 19, 19 DIAD, 52017
No more than a Metacycle later in the casino of the Officer’s Club, Brim was passing time in a game of Cre’el with Barbousse, a most talented player. Brim—himself no slouch at the game—had just won a difficult play of linked Tomers when a Sergeant stopped by their table. “Urgent message for Admiral Brim in the secure section,” he announced.
Brim shook his head. He was still down by six Tomers; leaving would give the game—and the pot—to Barbousse. He scowled. “Chief,” he grumbled, “If you cooked this up….”
“Not me, Skipper,” Barbousse said with a great smile. “Besides, face it, you were going to lose anyway; I feel lucky this afternoon.”
Brim rolled his eyes. Beating Barbousse was nearly impossible. Grudgingly, he pushed the pot across the table. “One of these days, Chief….”
“Not if I can help it, Skipper….”
Chuckling wryly, Brim stood and slapped his old comrade on the shoulder, then: to the Sergeant, “I’m all yours.” During the next few cycles, he followed the man through a number of corridors to a secure gateway where a retinal scan of both the Sergeant’s eyes was required before the door swung open to a small, bare room containing only a table, a chair, and a KA’PPA set, facing the door
“When you’re finished, Admiral,” the Sergeant said motioning Brim inside, “please knock and I’ll escort you back to the Officer’s Club.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Brim replied, watching the door close and lock. He tried the lever—it didn’t move—then walked around the KA’PPA set and took a seat. The display read:
MOST SECRET, EYES ONLY
PLEASE TOUCH CONTROL TO BEGIN
Brim touched control. Immediately, the display changed to:
ADMIRALTY: PLEASE SIGNAL WHEN READY FOR
ADMIRAL CALHOUN.
“Ready,” Brim said, then waited at least four cycles until:
CALHOUN: HELLO, WILF. YOU ALL RIGHT??
“We’re all fine, Admiral,” Brim said.
CALHOUN: GLAD TO HEAR IT. CONGRATULATIONS ON BAGGING THE BENDER. FROM OUR INTERCEPTS, WE THINK THE LEAGUERS DON'T HAVE A CLUE AS TO WHAT'S HAPPENED
“Piece of good luck on my part, Admiral. We just happened on it at the right time: when it was coming out of cloaked mode. I think we got it right after the crew made their regular report.”
