The Mercenaries

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Commander Wilf Brim, I. F., scanned a mass of polychrome data cascading over his four readout consoles—then checked the panel clock, "It's time, Number One," he said, nodding to Lieutenant Nadia Tissaurd at the CoHelmsman's station beside him. "Let's pipe it on the blower."

"Aye, Captain," Tissaurd replied; a deft pass of her index finger triggered the starship's intercom.

"Hands to liftoff stations," she announced, her voice resounding into every cubic iral of the big starship.

"Hands to liftoff stations. Stand by mooring and fender beams!"

Abruptly, the bridge filled with noises of imminent departure: running footfalls, airtight doors slamming, the cadenced babble of thirty different checklists. Brim settled into his recliner with a full measure of excitement. Beneath his boots, I.F.S. Starfury's deck trembled to the steady beat of six Admiralty A876 gravity generators running at fast idle in long pontoons at either side of the main hull.

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