THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition by Bill Baldwin

they hurried by as if they were relieved to be out of his way. He smiled to himself: No more relieved than he! Then, passing an open door in the next-to-last module, he heard voices, glanced inside, and was rewarded with a view of five Controllers seated at a circular table, clearly pursuing serious matters among themselves. Putting his haste aside for the moment, he stepped to a position outside the door where he could hear what was gong on but still remain unseen by the conferees. He rested the butt of his blast pike on the deck beside his right boot, then assumed the Universal position of a bored guard. So far as he could remember, he himself seldom questioned armed guards — especially commissioned armed guards — and guessed it was a pretty typical reaction. This was verified only moments later when he was passed by three gray-suited ratings (who saluted) and two Controllers (who did not). Not one of them so much as met his eyes.
    “The Bear incident is now under control?” a smooth, perfectly modulated voice demanded in Vertrucht from inside.
    “It is, Praefect Valentin ,” a younger voice declared, fear just below its surface.
    Brim felt his eyebrows raise. Praefects were the equivalent of Imperial lieutenant commanders. The corvette was too small for more than one of these, so it was a good bet this Valentin was the ship's commanding officer.
    “And the count of prisoners, Placeman Naddock — how many prisoners were there?” Valentin’s mellifluous voice demanded.
    “Ah,” Naddock’s younger voice began. “Ah, I…” A chair scraped the deck.
    “Well, Placeman ?
    “We have all eleven of them locked up, Prefect,” a self-assured female voice interrupted impatiently. Brim recognized it as belonging to the scarred Overmann Controller from the K tube. “Gray Overmann Mocht counted the prisoners just after the Bear experienced his fit.”
    Brim smiled: Eleven, eh ? Ursis' distraction had come just in time. They didn’t know he was loose — yet.
    “You had better hope the Gray fool's count is accurate, my scarred beauty,” Valentin said with an audible sneer. “Or I shall make certain you both spend the remainder of the war on the ground — armed only with blast pike and sword. I am certain you will enjoy brawling with the Wild Ones on the Sodeskayan front!”
    This was followed by a sharp intake of breath and then silence.
    In the hall, Brim returned the melancholic salute of a fat, gray-suited rating with a painful-looking, very swollen, black eye, who limped slowly along the corridor. Souvenir of Ursis' free-for-all in the K tube, he guessed, hard put to stifle a smile.
    “Well, what then have you planned for our visitors from the Empire, Placeman Zodekk?” the Prefect's voice demanded from inside. “I haven't all day. We dock in only a few metacycles.”
    “Oh, we are keeping the prisoners busy, sir,” another female voice answered, this one with just the hint of a lisp. “They are being questioned one-by-one, even as we speak.”
    “Well, go on, pretty fool. What follows that?”
    “Wh-When we finish, we shall s-simply shoot them, I suppose… push them out into space.”
    “You’ll what ,” the scarred woman’s voice interrupted. “Use your head, fool. Sentient laborers are scarce on Altnag'gin. Our captives might well serve there as slaves. All appear to be well fed and could survive a long time on next to nothing; am I not correct, Praefect? ”
    “Hmm,” Valentin’s modulated voice intoned. “Indeed a point. Of course, I have heard of your — shall we say — predilection for the slower forms of death, my dear. So I cannot grant full credit for your suggestion.” Then he laughed. “But what of the Bear? What should we do with this most troublesome Bear?”
    “Ah, the Bear receives special treatment, my Provost,” the lisping voice interrupted gleefully. “Bearskin coats and carpets are in much demand among Emperor Triannic's royal court in Tarrott this season. It has