The turning tide, p.14
The Turning Tide, page 14
CALHOUN: SPLENDID: NEVER KNEW WHAT HIT THEM ONE SUPPOSES. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?
“Trouble with one of the drives—I lost control in the middle of my attack.” He grimaced in spite of himself. “Must be out of practice—should have had better control.”
CALHOUN: NOT ACCORDING TO STEELE'S REPORT- SAYS YOUR FLYING IS THE ONLY REASON THEY'RE STILL ALIVE. FROM PAST EXPERIENCE, I LIKE HIS STORY BETTER.
“Can’t believe everything you read, Admiral.”
CALHOUN: WE'LL TAKE THAT UP OVER SOME GOOD MEEM SUNDAY, BRIM RIGHT NOW, I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE MET STATION. ANY IDEAS?
“Not a lot, Admiral”
CALHOUN: I CHECKED YOUR MANIFEST, JUST AS I ORDERED: YOU SIGNED OUT FOR THE BRIGHT TRIAD.
“That’s right, Admiral, it was there for anybody with the proper clearances to see, including any Leaguers who cared to look. Secret isn’t all that high, although there is always a need-to-know requirement.”
CALHOUN: NEED-TO-KNOW IS PURE GORKSROAR AND YOU KNOW IT. WHAT'S IMPORTANT IS THAT THIS PUTS PEOPLE ON OUR SIDE UNDER SUSPICION.
“Well, people with secret clearances and above.”
CALHOUN: CORRECT. AND I'VE GOT SUSPECTS WHO HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH CLEARANCE TO READ THOSE MANIFESTS.
There’s always an access trail to classified documents; I assume you’ve checked those. Do any names look suspicious
CALHOUN: YES, I'VE CHECKED THEM AND NO, I HAVEN'T FOUND ANYBODY'S NAME THAT SHOULDN'T BE THERE. BUT THAT DOESN'T PROVE MUCH. DATA CAN ALWAYS BE PASSED BY WORD OF MOUTH FROM SOMEONE WHO HAS CLEARANCE.
“I understand, Admiral, but, who would want to kill someone aboard our ship? We’re not threats to anybody I can think of—at least not Imperials.”
CALHOUN" YOU HAVEN'T BEEN DOING MUCH IN THE WAY OF THINKING ABOUT THAT, HAVE YOU BRIM? I KNOW A NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO MIGHT LIKE TO SEE YOU DEAD. BUT IF IT'S NOT PERSONS YOU THREATEN, HOW ABOUT YOUR MISSION?
Brim thought about that a moment. “Even though we were signed out for the Triad, very few people knew we were armed,” he said, “I can’t think of anybody outside your circle, the crew at TopLine, and the Emperor who knows anything about that part of the mission. And the WF-400 carries its HyperTorps internally, so they weren’t visible when we took off.”
This time, a number of clicks passed before Calhoun replied:
CALHOUN: SO I CAN'T SEE WHY THE LEAGUERS WOULD CARE ENOUGH ABOUT AN EXTRA-LONG-RANGE MISSION IN A SINGLE, UNARMED ASTROPLANE THAT WOULD CAUSE THEM TO DESTROY A WHOLE ME STATION-ESPECIALLY ONE THEY DEFEND THEMSELVES.
“I guess I can’t think of any reasons, either,” Brim replied. “Besides, if the Leaguers had been in on it, they’d have done a much better job.”
CALHOUN: BY VOOT, THAT'S A FACT, ISN'T IT? ALL RIGHT, LET'S GO ON THE ASSUMPTION IT WAS AN IMPERIAL JOB. HANG ON A MOMENT OVER THERE WHILE I TALK TO SOME OF YOUR OLD FRIENDS, HARRY DRUMMOND AND BOS GALLSWORTHY, WHO, BY THE WAY, SEND THEIR GREETINGS. GALLSWORTHY, ESPECIALLY WANTS TO KNOW WHY YOU CAN'T SEEM TO KEEP YOUR NOSE OUT OF TROUBLE.
“Tell him I blame it all on Barbousse, Admiral.”
CALHOUN: THOUGHT THAT MIGHT BE THE CASE. HOLD ON WHILE WE TALK THIS OVER.
After a few cycles:
CALHOUN: WE'RE ALL AGREED YOUR BEST COURSE OF ACTION IS TO COME BACK TO AVALON AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, ACTING AS IF NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY HAS HAPPENED SINCE YOU DEPARTED. DARK REPORTS SHE CAN HAVE YOU ON YOUR WAY SOMETIME TOMORROW, OUR TIME.
“That’s what she says, Admiral.”
CALHOUN: OF COURSE, YOU'LL IMMEDIATELY TAKE THE SHIP BACK TO TOPLINE BEFORE ANYONE HAS MUCH OF A CLOSE LOOK AT HER.
“Immediately, Admiral.”
CALHOUN: AFTER THAT, GO ABOUT YOUR LIFE AS IF NOTHING HAPPENED. I'M ASKING YOU AND BARBOUSSE TO TRAIN THE FIRST BATCH OF WF-400 HELMSMEN, SO YOU CAN PUBLICLY MAKE YOURSELF BUSY GETTING READY FOR THAT.
“Batch of Helmsmen? Until I talked to General Dark, I thought I had the only WF-400 in captivity.”
CALHOUN: WELL, I DID A BIT OF CHEATING WITH THE FLEET FUNDS, SO WE HAVE A FEW NEW ONES IN STORAGE WITH ALL THE MODIFICATIONS YOU ASKED. AS SOON AS WE CAN TRAIN THOSE HELMSMEN, WE'LL PUT THEM ON PATROL.
Brim shook his head and smiled. “Somehow, I’m not surprised Admiral.”
CALHOUN: OF COURSE YOU AREN'T. YOU KNEW I'D DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT - SOON AS YOU PROVED THE SHIPS COULD DO THE JOB, NICE WORK.
“I’ll train them, Admiral,” Brim replied, wondering what was coming next.
CALHOUN: AFTER THAT, I'VE GOT AN INTERESTING ASSIGNMENT FOR YOU, TOO, IF YOU'LL TAKE IT. WE'LL TALK AFTER YOU RETURN.
“I’m all ears, Admiral.”
CALHOUN: ANYTHING ELSE ON YOUR END BEFORE I BREAK THE CONNECTION?
“Nothing, Admiral. See you when I see you.”
CALHOUN: OUT, THEN.
Brim’s display went dark
Chapter 29
. . .Abby Dark
GIMMAS/HAEFDON, COMPLEX 19, 19 DIAD, 52017
When Brim returned to the Officer’s Club, another Sergeant delivered a note from Dark:
Admiral: With regret, I must cancel our plans for dining this evening. I’d looked forward to the chance of knowing you better, but if anybody understands the service life, you do. With luck, I shall have a chance to see you before you leave tomorrow. ~Dark
“Will there be an answer, Admiral?” the Sergeant asked.
Brim thought a moment. “Yes,” he said with a smile. “Please tell General Dark I am deeply disappointed, but hardly surprised,”.
“I’ll convey your message,” the Sergeant replied, then saluted—though the gesture was unnecessary indoors—and disappeared at a brisk clip.
Brim shrugged, looked around the Club Lounge—lonely at this time of the Gimmas’ day—then started off for his room in the Visiting Officers’ Quarters. A few Metacycles remained before the dining room would open, and he might as well catch up on his mail. He was halfway there when he met Barbousse in a corridor. “Skipper,” the big man said. “I understand you no longer have supper plans.”
“News travels fast around here,” Brim said with a grin.
“No finer Logus vine than in the Imperial Intelligence organizations, Skipper.” Barbousse explained. “And will you be joining the rest of the crew and me now you’re free? We’re dining at the NCO club.”
“The NCO Club, eh? Had I known you had that set up, I’d probably have turned down Dark’s invitation.”
“In a gratzl’s eye, you would, Skipper. Dark may be on the far side of sixty, but she’s a true hottie.”
“Yeah, well, no denying that, but good food’s a great recompense.”
“So you’ll join us?”
“Of course. When?”
“Twilight plus one—same time you were to meet Dark.”
“By Voot, it’s good to have so much privacy,” Brim said with a grimace.
“Glad to know you feel that way, Skipper,” Barbousse replied with a chuckle. Then, winking, he turned and continued along the corridor toward his quarters. “Pick you up at Twilight plus three quarters” he called over his shoulder.
“I’ll be ready, Chief,” Brim shouted after him, then continued on to his own door. Later, using the room’s communicator, he answered a number of posts from long-time friends, including a steamy missive from Claudia Valemont-Nesterio in far-off Atalanta. Somehow, despite her ostensibly indissoluble marriage to a Atalantan barkeep, their quiet, passionate affair had managed to survive and continued to smolder. Metacycles passed quickly as he composed; he liked to correspond with friends and had all too little time for it.
Supper at the NCO Club was more a banquet than a simple meal—as Brim expected: everywhere the Imperial Fleet Noncoms established a permanent headquarters, the NCO Club quickly became famous for its faire. Moreover, once the sommelier opened his reserve meem cellars, Barbousse chose some of the finest Logish Meem Brim had tasted for years. It helped stem some of his angst left over from the mission and its surprises. For victuals, the waiters served no dominating main course; instead, they brought what seemed like endless small, sophisticated dishes until everyone at the table was perfectly stuffed with victuals and excellent Logish Meem. Long after the last plates had been cleared, good camaraderie continued with countless salutes to Emperor Onrad and anyone—or anything—the revelers could summon to mind. At last, Brim noticed very few diners were in the room—and the waiters were giving their table sidelong glances. “I think,” he said ruefully, “it’s time to let these people clean up and go home.”
This was met with groans and grumbles, but eventually, everyone managed to stand and make their way from the dining room. Barbousse quickly palmed the bill and slipped it into Brim’s pocket before they were in the lobby. Shortly thereafter, cold Gimmas air restored everyone quickly to some semblance of sobriety, and the little party split up for their own temporary domiciles.
“Good night, Skipper,” Barbousse said. “Sorry to say I’m glad your supper with Dark didn’t materialize. Our night out together meant a lot to the crew.”
“I’ve gotta’ agree,” Brim said as they approached the Officer’s Quarters. “That was an opportunity we shouldn’t have passed up, even though Dark is one magnificent woman. It would have nice getting to know her a little better, though—even she is a bit odd.” Inside, they stomped snow from their boots, checked for messages, then headed for their rooms.
“Any idea what time we’ll get out of here tomorrow?” Barbousse asked.
Brim shrugged. “Another of the secrets this place likes to wallow in,” he chuckled. “I for one am going to sleep in and let them tell us what’s what when they’ve figured that out themselves.”
“Sounds like a good idea, Skipper,” Barbousse agreed, stopping at his door. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“See you then,” Brim said, continuing on down the hall to his own door. After a long day—if the mission could even be called a day—he was in need of some sleep, which he got the moment his head hit the pillow.
* * * *
In the middle of the night, Brim was awakened by someone opening the door to his room—although he remembered he’d carefully locked it as soon as he’d entered. Instantly awake, he sprang to his feet, ready to defend himself—then quickly changed his mind when he recognized a small female figure in a great white bathrobe silhouetted in light from the hallway. “Abby?” he whispered in surprise.
“Well, shall I come in?”
“I surely hope so, Abby” Brim replied, reaching for the lights. “Be a terrible shame if you’d come to the wrong room.”
“No mistake, Wilf,” Dark said, stepping inside and shutting the door. She smiled, staring at him quite obviously as she opened her bathrobe. “Seems as if you’ve forgotten to pack your jimmies.”
“I have,” Brim assured her.
“Pity,” she said, “you seem to be growing a nice place to hang them now.”
“Like to try that bathrobe of yours?”
Dark let the bathrobe drop to the floor. “Something tells me if we concentrate, we can find better uses for that hanger,” she whispered. She was wearing some sort of blue negligee that was all lace in front. It left nothing to the imagination—including a million freckles.
Brim walked slowly to her, taking in everything. She was more beautiful than he’d imagined! He pulled her to him; she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her face, then whole Universe simplified itself into a wild confusion of lips, tongues, and teeth until—mysteriously—he found himself on the bed beneath her, panting as if he’d run a c’lenyt or more. With an expert wiggle, she managed to fling the negligee over her head, then, raising her haunches, she bent forward so their lips touched. Time stopped in its tracks….
* * * *
At last they lay side by side, sweaty and exhausted, she on her back, he resting on his elbows. Peering into his eyes, she chuckled. “Wilf Brim, if I’d had any idea back at Red Rock One you were so talented, I’d never have let you go on that mission.”
“Abby,” Brim replied, “…had I known anything about you, I probably wouldn’t have gone.” He chuckled. “Except I doubt if you spend much time in bed with SubLieutenants, do you?”
Dark laughed out loud. “Yeah,” she admitted, “there is that.”
Brim leaned over and kissed her lips gently. “You know I am terribly honored, Abby,” he whispered. “I’ve always thought of you as a great lady.”
“You’re pretty great, yourself, Wilf,” she said. “Someday, you’ll get that Fleet Cloak back and you’ll realize you’ve only just gotten started with your life” With that, she sat on the edge of the bed, then retrieved her negligee from the floor. “It’s time I get back to my day job. Your ship will be ready by the time you’ve gathered your crew and had a decent breakfast. Is there anything else I can get for you before I become General Dark again?”
Brim thought for a moment, then an idea that had been forming since his run-in with the bender came complete. “Ya, know, “ he said, “…aside from an invitation for a special visit to you some day in the future, there is one other thing.”
Dark grinned. “You’ve got your invitation, Wilf Brim—an open one at that. Now what else?”
“That chunk the bender your people have by now removed from our Drive nacelle. I need a piece of it—not big. Maybe just enough to fill in a shoe box.”
“A piece of Bender,” she exclaimed, slipping on her robe and fastening it. “What in the name of Voot do you want with something like that?”
“I’d like to have it gift wrapped for Emperor Onrad,” Brim explained. “His birthday’s coming up shortly, and he once jokingly asked me to bring back a piece of bender. Then he threatened to have me exiled if I tried a trick like that in his personal WF-400.”
“So, you want to be exiled?”
“Well, if it was exile to here—with you—I might consider, but….”
“I’ll give you exile,” she said with a laugh. “What a great birthday gift! Soon as I get back to my suite, I’ll make sure a proper piece is waiting for you at breakfast. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Absolutely,” Brim said with a grin “but I’m too worn out to do anything about it.”
Dark laughed. “So am I,” she said, then opened her arms, “.…but I’d love one more long hug before this lovely evening is over.”
Brim complied, and a long time afterward, the two held each other before Brim gently let her go. “I’ll never forget you Abby.”
“Nor I you, Wilf,” she said, taking his hand, then walking to the door and turning out the light.
“How’d you get here with nobody seeing you?” Brim demanded.
“Simple,” Dark said, opening the door and stepping into the hall. “Until I’m back in my suite, every door on this floor is locked except yours. It’ll be chocked up to a malfunction, of course.” Then, after a peck on Brim’s cheek, she disappeared along the corridor and around a corner.
BOOK III
Uh oh!
Chapter 30
. . .a lot easier dealing with Leaguers
AVALON/ASTURIUS, LAKE MERSIN, CONTROL TOWER, AVALON CITY, 21 DIAD, 52017
Tall, gray-bearded Tower Controller Seyess Inhardt was engaged at his terminal catching up on administrative duties when, by chance, he overheard a neighboring Controller handling a ship with a familiar call sign:
“Four Nines Wakefield: turn new heading of five zero two five zero to join the Covington-32 radial inbound. Descend and maintain ten thousand at velocity of two fifty; the altimeter two nine nine one.”
Inhardt looked up from his work, listening intently. Something familiar about….
“Four Nines Wakefield: Fly new heading two thirty five and descend to seven thousand.”
Yes: the ebony civilian Wakefield with ‘four nines’ as a call number. The one whose departure he’d been asked to report on. Inhardt wondered why his mysterious contact hadn’t asked for information on the ship’s return. Perhaps the man had wanted to—and simply neglected to call. Or, possibly, the ship’s return was a surprise, and he’d appreciate knowing about it. Either way, Inhardt decided it was worth a call. One could always use a few more credits in one’s pocket—if the information was deemed valuable. While the neighboring controller continued working the incoming ship, Inhardt put his terminal on hold, then hurried to a nearby observation balcony, where he entered an address in his HoloPhone.
After a few moments the online indicator lighted, but the display remained dark, as he expected: “Inhardt? How dare you contact this address on your own?”
“I h-have information y-you might find useful, sir,” Inhardt whispered hesitantly.
“What information?”
“The F-four Nines Wakefield you w-wanted me to report on the Fifteenth.”
“What about it?”
“It’s in the landing pattern here on Lake Mersin, s-sir.”
“Why would I want to know about that?”
“Perhaps because you wanted me to notify you when it lifted off”
“I did?”
“Yessir.”
“Wait… yes, I see here I did. You say it’s in the landing pattern?”
“It is.”
“Tail number ISS nine-nine-nine-nine?”
“I can’t see; it’s at the wrong angle.”
“You will see the astroplane when it lands?”
“I shall, sir—in moments.”
“Record it with your HoloPhone, then call me back.”
Inhardt’s HoloPhone went dark. Frantically, he pointed it toward the landing vector and began taking photos as the Astroplane smoothly touched down and skimmed the surface, trailing a long wake of spray. The landing was at some distance out on the lake, but Inhardt’s HoloPhone was an expensive model; it could record details like the tail number. As the little ship slowed, it turned abruptly and disappeared into a side canal—almost as if its crew was in a hurry to be out of sight.
“Inhardt for Voot’s sake—what on Avalon are you doing out here on the observation deck taking pictures? On my time!”
