THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition Read Online Free Page A

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