Flagship Read Free

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