Flagship (2 page)

"What?"

"They don't know that the
Teddy R
isn't acting independently. If they kill or capture us, they'll assume it's over, and the rest of you will be free to operate with far less scrutiny. Which is to say, they won't be searching every ship for me."

"If they kill you, you'll be avenged," said a tall blond man.

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Sokolov," said Cole. "All right. Lieutenants Mboya and Briggs think they'll have their code finished by nineteen hundred hours station time. I'll want each of you to make your ships' computers available to them at that time, and I want at least one member of your crew, and preferably two, standing by to learn whatever they need to know about it. We'll depart the station tomorrow, after one more meeting at oh-nine hundred hours. This meeting is adjourned."

As the men, women, and aliens began returning to the casino, the Platinum Duke walked up to Cole.

"You're so calm and soft-spoken, one really has to listen to realize just how bloodthirsty you are."

A pretty brunette moved next to Cole. "We were hoping you wouldn't notice," said Sharon Blacksmith with a smile.

Cole put an arm around her and turned to the Duke. "You didn't mind financing most of this a week ago," he noted. "What made you so argumentative today?"

"A week ago eight hundred ships weren't coming after the space station that I happen to own and live on," answered the Duke.

"It was inevitable after we destroyed their force of three hundred last month."

"Inevitable is just a word," said the Duke. "Eight hundred Navy ships hell-bent on destruction is a
fact
—and you're leaving it to their mercy."

"If you really want out ..."

"No, of course not," said the Duke. "What I really want is for us to have won already with no damage to the station."

"Well," said Cole, "I'll give you points for honesty."

"I'll give you even more for gall," said the Duke. "The Teroni Federation has thrown a couple of million ships against the Republic and hasn't made any measurable progress in twenty-nine years. And you're planning to overthrow them with a handful of ships and a crew of misfits."

"I'd rather have a fleet of five million ships manned by seasoned veterans," said Cole. "To put it in terms a casino owner will understand, you play the cards you're dealt."

"Just destroy Admiral Susan Garcia and her flagship before they blow you away," said the Duke. "Do that and I'll consider it a victory." He paused and his expression softened. "You two want some dinner?"

"Maybe later," said Cole. "I want to get back to the ship and see how they're coming on the code."

The Duke checked his timepiece. "Two hours?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine—if my Chief of Security agrees."

"We'll be there," said Sharon.

"And Duke?" said Cole.

"Yes?"

"I think you should consider coming with us. They don't want the station, but sooner or later they're going to find out who's financing us."

The Duke considered the offer, then nodded. "You have a point. I'll have some of my things transferred to the ship in the next hour."

Cole and Sharon took a tram ride half a mile out on one of the docking arms until they reached the
Theodore Roosevelt.

"I've got to go up to the bridge," said Cole.

"I thought you hated the bridge."

"I do, but that's where Christine and Briggs are working."

"Okay," she replied. "I've got about an hour's work in Security. Pick me up there when you're ready to go back for dinner."

"Will do."

Cole took an airlift up to the bridge level and stepped out into a corridor, trying not to think of how long it had been since the ship had last been refitted. When he was still about forty feet away he stopped, walked over to a bulkhead, and tapped on it.

"Good afternoon, David," he said.

"Are we at war yet?" asked a voice from inside the bulkhead.

"All's quiet on the Western front," replied Cole.

"We're in space!" snapped the voice. "There
is
no West! And how dare you quote Erich Maria Remarque to me instead of the immortal Charles!"

"You get stranger and stranger every day," said Cole, heading off to the bridge.

"Bring me back a dry sherry," the voice called after him.

"You can't metabolize it."

"I'll be the judge of that!" said the voice.

Then they were out of earshot, and Cole entered the bridge.

"Hello, sir," said Christine Mboya, looking up from her computer. "How did it go?"

"Our side has a redhead who wants to attack all three million Republic ships at once, an egomaniacal criminal kingpin with eight hands, a platinum cyborg who's only willing to go to war as long as no one shoots back, and an alien who thinks he's David Copperfield," replied Cole with a wry grimace. "How can we lose?"

Cole sat at his usual table in a corner of the mess hall, sipping a cup of coffee and wondering why the galley created such foul-tasting cheese Danishes. The few crew members who were also there gave his table a wide berth; it was well known that he was not at his friendliest before he had his morning coffee.

One member who had no compunction about talking to him any time of the day or night was Sharon Blacksmith. She spotted him as she was walking past the mess hall, entered, walked over, and seated herself opposite him.

"Well?" she said.

He looked across at her. "Well what?"

"No red roses?"

"If I gave you a dozen red roses every time we've shared a bed together, I could defoliate an entire planet." He pushed his Danish across to her. "Settle for this instead."

She wrinkled her nose. "They're pretty awful."

He nodded his agreement. "They taste a lot better when we're fifty light-years from any inhabited planet that possesses a bakery. Maybe I'll buy a batch at Singapore Station and take them with us."

"You're really going to do it, aren't you?" she asked.

"Buy a bunch of Danishes? Probably not."

She frowned. "You know what I'm talking about, Wilson."

"I don't see that we have any choice," he replied seriously. "And if we did, I'd still choose this course of action."

"I just wish we'd had more time to build our fleet," said Sharon.

"The bigger they are ..."

"Bullshit," she said. "Not when they're
that
big."

"Maybe not," acknowledged Cole. "I wish the odds were better. Hell, I wish we had a Republic that didn't plunder its colony planets and conscript men and women for the military against their will. I wish this was the Republic we thought we were fighting for when we all enlisted." His expression darkened. "I'd prefer a Republic that hadn't tortured my best friend to death. I'd prefer a Republic that's notion of pacifying an indigent population wasn't genocide. But it's clear we're not going to get
that
Republic until we get rid of
this
one."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You used to smile a lot more," she said at last.

"I used to have more to smile about. I can count, you know. I'm asking a force of maybe four thousand men to risk their lives against the most powerful military machine that has ever existed. Any bookmaker would say that if ten of us are still alive half a year from now, we've beaten the odds."

"Then why do it?"

"Because somebody has to," replied Cole. "Because all of us—you, me, Bull, Christine, poor Four Eyes—helped create and strengthen this monster. If we don't stand up and say 'This is not what sentient beings do to one another,' who do you think will?" He stared at her. "We've been through this a dozen times. Why bring it up now?"

"Because we're leaving Singapore Station in two hours, and there's no turning back."

A bitter smile crossed Cole's face. "If we
don't
leave, we'll be facing a fleet of eight hundred warships in less than a day." He sighed. "They're just a bunch of soldiers following orders, just the way
we
used to. If we're going to die in battle, let's do it against the people who
give
those orders."

She returned his smile, such as it was. "I thought the object was to make the other side die in battle."

He suddenly relaxed. "Well, that's certainly the way I'm going to plan it." He took another sip of his coffee. "Don't worry. I don't believe there's anything noble, or even effective, about a suicide attack. I have every intention of winning and surviving."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You're even crazier than the rest of us," said Sharon.

"There are days I think it's a prime qualification for command."

Suddenly a scream of triumph came over the ship's intercom. "Got one of the smarmy little bastards!" yelled a familiar voice.

"Val, calm down and tell me what happened," said Cole.

There was no response, and he remembered he hadn't touched the spot on the table that would open a communication channel. He placed his finger on it and repeated his statement.

"A seven-man Class H Navy ship was approaching Binder X," replied the Valkyrie as the image of her face materialized above the table. "It was probably going there for a little R and R. Two of the Octopus's ships blew it apart."

Cole frowned. "I don't suppose any of it survived?"

"A few pieces, I suppose."

"All right," said Cole. "And Val?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell the Octopus to pass the word that next time they go after a Navy ship I want them to try to destroy its antenna and then disable it."

"They're the enemy, right?" said the Valkyrie. "What do you do with the enemy? You kill him! You make the sonuvabitch wish he'd never been born! You—"

"Shut up and listen to me," said Cole irritably. "We're about to enter the Republic. Any time we can swipe the insignia from a Navy ship, that's one more of our ships that's not at risk when it's spotted. If we can get to their radio before it's destroyed, we can see if there are any new codes, we can learn how to send and respond to messages using the ship's ID, we can appropriate its weapons and give them to some of our own ships, we—"

"Why don't we just shake their hands and offer to buy all that shit?" growled Val.

"Are you going to give him my message or not?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he repeated.

"Okay, probably," she said. "What if they spot our ships and shoot first?"

"If they shoot first, of course we have to defend ourselves," replied Cole. "And 'probably' isn't any more acceptable than 'maybe.'"

"All right," muttered Val.

"By the way, what are you doing on the bridge anyway?" he asked. "It's oh-seven hundred hours. That means it's still red shift. That's Jacovic's shift."

"He's still on the station, trying to recruit some new arrivals."

"Teronis?"

"Who else could he recruit?" snorted Val.

"I hope he gets some," said Cole. "It would make up a little for losing that insignia because he wasn't on the bridge."

"All right, all right," said Val, breaking the connection.

Cole pressed another spot on the table.

"Sir?" said Malcolm Briggs as his face appeared where Val's had been.

"Remind Commander Jacovic that we're departing in less than two hours, and make sure all other crew members are on board."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you get that code installed in all the ships?"

"All those at the station, sir," said Briggs. "I didn't want to take the chance of it being intercepted as a signal, so I turned a cube over to Captain Flores and told him to take it to Mr. Lafferty on Piccoli III and stay there until it was successfully installed in all his ships."

"I approve," said Cole. He paused. "His ships are spread out over a dozen planets. I don't think we'll be seeing Mr. Flores anytime soon."

"We wouldn't anyway," said Sharon. "We're all loners, at least until you tell us what you have in mind."

"Thank you, Mr. Briggs," said Cole. "That will be all."

He broke the connection.

"You're going to tell me not to correct or contradict you in front of the crew, right?" said Sharon.

He shrugged. "I don't give a damn, unless someone's shooting at us. If it makes you happy, contradict all you like."

She emitted an exasperated sigh. "What the hell kind of hero are you, anyway?"

"A live one."

She stared at him. "Come to think of it, you don't look much like a hero."

"What does a hero look like?" asked Cole.

"Bold. Tall. Strong. Handsome. Fearless."

"You've seen me with my pants off too many times. It spoils the illusion."

She laughed, leaned across the table, and kissed him. "You're hero enough for me."

Suddenly Malcolm Briggs's face appeared again. "I hate to bother you, sir," he said apologetically, "but we can't locate Commander Jacovic."

"Pass the word to Val or whoever replaces her on white shift that we don't take off without him," said Cole.

"Yes, sir."

Cole got to his feet. "I'll fetch him. We know he's recruiting, and there's only two or three Teroni hangouts on the alien levels of the station." He paused. "Tell Bull Pampas to meet me at the hatch."

"Do you think you'll need him?"

"Probably I won't," answered Cole. "But Jacovic didn't respond when we summoned him, and after Val, Bull is the best human weapon we've got."

"Then why not take Val?"

"Because she's the Officer on Deck for another hour or so. Protecting the ship is more important than protecting the Captain."

Sharon didn't agree, but decided not to argue the point, and a moment later Cole and his tall, dark-haired, heavily muscled Gunnery Chief, Eric "Bull" Pampas, boarded the tram and were soon inside the station.

Suddenly an alarm went off.

"Are you armed?" asked Cole.

"Colonel Blacksmith told me I was supposed to protect you," said Pampas as two security guards approached and confiscated his weapon. "Besides, that never happened before."

"The Duke was never worried about the Navy sending spies, saboteurs, and assassins before," said Cole. He turned to the guards. "We'll want that back on the way out."

"Fuck you," said one of the guards. "You get the Navy to come out here, and then you and all your ships leave us to face them alone. You're damned lucky I don't turn it on you."

"The Navy doesn't want
you"
said Cole. "They want
us.
Don't fire a shot and they won't either."

"And if you're wrong?" demanded the man. "If they wipe us out, are you going to avenge us? I feel all better now."

Cole could see that Pampas was tensing, preparing to try to take the laser pistol back. "Keep it," he said, taking Pampas by the arm. "Come on, Bull."

"But that was my burner!" protested Pampas as he fell into step behind Cole. "They have no business keeping it!"

"Draw another one from the armory," said Cole, heading to an airlift. "I don't need you getting yourself killed on Singapore Station. We've got bigger fish to fry."

They reached the airlift, and Cole briefly read the holographic chart next to the controls. "Okay, third level," he said. "I don't spend much time on the alien levels. I couldn't remember where the Teronis congregate." They were lowered to the third level on a cushion of air. "Probably his communicator is just on the blink. But if there's any kind of situation, take your lead from me. Don't act independently unless you're attacked."

"Yes, sir."

They stepped out into a corridor. The gravity was a little lighter than Galactic Standard, the air a little thinner and dryer. The doorways were a mixed lot, some built to accommodate beings who dwarfed Men, some for aliens who barely came up to Men's waists, some exceptionally wide, others equally narrow. Cole always felt a bit disoriented on those few occasions when he had to visit this level—and this was for oxygen breathers. The lowest level was even stranger.

They walked past a few stores, some selling items as familiar as weapons, others selling things that were completely incomprehensible to the two Men. As they came to a corner, Cole looked around for a Guidebox, found one, and approached it.

"How may I help you?" asked the Guidebox as it sensed his presence.

"I'm looking for a Teroni friend. Where on this level am I most likely to find him?"

A screen materialized in the air, with three blinking lights on the schemata of the third level. "I am compelled to point out that you are a Man, and you cannot metabolize the food and drink you will encounter at these locations."

"Thank you," said Cole, heading off toward the first of them. They passed a tripodal Hesporite and four Lodinites, but no one paid them any attention, and a moment later they entered a storefront that served as a bar, a restaurant, and a casino filled with alien games.

Cole looked around, couldn't spot Jacovic, walked up to an employee, and asked if he had been there. The Teroni pointed to his ear and shook his head; clearly he didn't understand Terran. Cole reached into his pocket, pulled out a T-Pack, and bonded it to his throat.

"I am looking for a Teroni named Jacovic," he said. The T-Pack muted his Terran and broadcast an unaccented monotone Teroni. "Has he been here?"

"Ah, Jacovic!" was the reply. "He was here less than an hour ago. He said he was going to the ..." Whatever the word was, Cole's T-Pack couldn't translate it into Terran.

"Can you direct me there?"

The alien led Cole and Pampas to the front door and pointed to another storefront about a hundred feet distant. Cole thanked him and began walking.

"You better put on your T-Pack," Cole said to Pampas. "It's obvious they don't speak Terran down here."

Pampas pulled his own translating mechanism out and bonded it to his throat. "What if we don't find him, sir?"

"Then we look harder. He was here maybe half an hour ago, and the closest planet is three light-years away. He's still on Singapore Station."

They reached the second storefront and entered through a doorway created for exceptionally tall beings.