been quite cold, as you might have heard.”
“The Bear’s skin is mine, Placeman,” the Prefect's voice said with an ill-concealed irritation.
“Without question, my Praefect,” a number of voices chimed in. “Without question.”
“That’s better,” Valentin said. “Now, as to the recent trouble in the vestibule module: The next time we take prisoners, you will be extra vigilant at all times; otherwise...”
Heart pounding, Brim left the doorway and started aft again along the K tube. It was imperative that he prolong the corvette's trip in space — once it reached its destination, they all were good as dead. Especially Ursis.
Free passage along the tube ended abruptly in a solid-looking bulkhead and dogged-down hatch at the entrance to the ship's aftmost module. Illuminated warnings mounted on either side of the hatch read “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” and “SIGN IN/OUT REQUIRED BY THE PREFECT.” Below these, a tabulator board hung from a hook, complete with logic scriber, the same kind of portable writing device carried by everyone in the Universe who ever took an inventory or made a survey. It was all Brim needed.
Checking behind himself for activity, he suddenly ripped the tabulator free from its hook — only one person had signed inside. He scrolled the sign-in form from its display, then touched a glowing panel on the hatch before him and waited.
“Yes?” a voice asked from a speaker.
“Radiation-level survey,” Brim answered briskly, pointing to the blank tabulator board as if it were his own.
“Name and rank” the voice demanded.
Brim grimaced, heart pounding. “I have already signed that information in the tabulator board you have hanging from your hatch, fool!” he blustered, pointing to the empty hook as if it were visible from the other side of the hatch. “Now you open up before I have you fire-flogged. Do you hear?”
“Aye, sir. Aye, sir! I h-hear,” the voice stammered as a series of clanks and chatterings announced the opening of the hatch. Brim was almost knocked to the deck as it swung open toward him.
“Th- This way, please, Overmann, sir,” a frightened rating stammered, face white with fear. He was short, wiry, and middle-aged with narrow-set eyes and a sharp-looking chin covered by uneven gray stubble. His hands bore the blue stains of a sometime kupp'gh cleaner.
Brim pushed his way past and into an antechamber, which ended in a second hatch. This one looked even more secure than its outside counterpart. Keeping his nerve under control, he slammed the first hatch shut and whirled on the rating with the best imitation of haughty anger he could summon. “You will also open this immediately,” he demanded through tight lips.
“Oh, ah, aye, Overmann,” the cowed guard said, taking a key from around his neck and unlocking the inner hatch. “And will you need assistance, sir?” he asked.
“You dare question my ability?” Brim hissed through his teeth.
The rating shrank back away from the hatch. “S-Sorry, sir,” he whispered. “Don't have me whipped, Overmann. I mean no harm askin' ye.”
Brim looked down his nose at the wretched rating, hating himself and what he had to do. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. “Perhaps I may overlook the lapse this time,” he said. “But I shall brook no interruption of my work. Do you understand? No interruption.”
“I understand, sir,” the rating said, taking his seat with a wan face. “No interruptions. I'll make sure.”
“See that you do,” Brim growled, then stepped into the bright, humming module and closed the door after himself. He had just dogged it down tight from the inside when he heard alarms go off everywhere. He glanced at his watch — time was up by almost ten cycles.
“Warning!” the speakers brayed. “Warning. An Imperial murderer is loose within the ship. He is armed and dangerous. Shoot on sight and shoot to kill. Repeat: shoot on sight and shoot to kill.”
Brim
“The Bear’s skin is mine, Placeman,” the Prefect's voice said with an ill-concealed irritation.
“Without question, my Praefect,” a number of voices chimed in. “Without question.”
“That’s better,” Valentin said. “Now, as to the recent trouble in the vestibule module: The next time we take prisoners, you will be extra vigilant at all times; otherwise...”
Heart pounding, Brim left the doorway and started aft again along the K tube. It was imperative that he prolong the corvette's trip in space — once it reached its destination, they all were good as dead. Especially Ursis.
Free passage along the tube ended abruptly in a solid-looking bulkhead and dogged-down hatch at the entrance to the ship's aftmost module. Illuminated warnings mounted on either side of the hatch read “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” and “SIGN IN/OUT REQUIRED BY THE PREFECT.” Below these, a tabulator board hung from a hook, complete with logic scriber, the same kind of portable writing device carried by everyone in the Universe who ever took an inventory or made a survey. It was all Brim needed.
Checking behind himself for activity, he suddenly ripped the tabulator free from its hook — only one person had signed inside. He scrolled the sign-in form from its display, then touched a glowing panel on the hatch before him and waited.
“Yes?” a voice asked from a speaker.
“Radiation-level survey,” Brim answered briskly, pointing to the blank tabulator board as if it were his own.
“Name and rank” the voice demanded.
Brim grimaced, heart pounding. “I have already signed that information in the tabulator board you have hanging from your hatch, fool!” he blustered, pointing to the empty hook as if it were visible from the other side of the hatch. “Now you open up before I have you fire-flogged. Do you hear?”
“Aye, sir. Aye, sir! I h-hear,” the voice stammered as a series of clanks and chatterings announced the opening of the hatch. Brim was almost knocked to the deck as it swung open toward him.
“Th- This way, please, Overmann, sir,” a frightened rating stammered, face white with fear. He was short, wiry, and middle-aged with narrow-set eyes and a sharp-looking chin covered by uneven gray stubble. His hands bore the blue stains of a sometime kupp'gh cleaner.
Brim pushed his way past and into an antechamber, which ended in a second hatch. This one looked even more secure than its outside counterpart. Keeping his nerve under control, he slammed the first hatch shut and whirled on the rating with the best imitation of haughty anger he could summon. “You will also open this immediately,” he demanded through tight lips.
“Oh, ah, aye, Overmann,” the cowed guard said, taking a key from around his neck and unlocking the inner hatch. “And will you need assistance, sir?” he asked.
“You dare question my ability?” Brim hissed through his teeth.
The rating shrank back away from the hatch. “S-Sorry, sir,” he whispered. “Don't have me whipped, Overmann. I mean no harm askin' ye.”
Brim looked down his nose at the wretched rating, hating himself and what he had to do. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. “Perhaps I may overlook the lapse this time,” he said. “But I shall brook no interruption of my work. Do you understand? No interruption.”
“I understand, sir,” the rating said, taking his seat with a wan face. “No interruptions. I'll make sure.”
“See that you do,” Brim growled, then stepped into the bright, humming module and closed the door after himself. He had just dogged it down tight from the inside when he heard alarms go off everywhere. He glanced at his watch — time was up by almost ten cycles.
“Warning!” the speakers brayed. “Warning. An Imperial murderer is loose within the ship. He is armed and dangerous. Shoot on sight and shoot to kill. Repeat: shoot on sight and shoot to kill.”
Brim
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