Starship: Pirate. Book Two. Copyright © 2006 by Mike Resnick. Rules of Bilsang copyright ©

2006 by Mike Resnick and Alex Wilson. Rules of Toprench copyright © 2006 by Mike

Resnick and Mike Nelson. Starship Schematics by Deborah Oakes. All rights reserved. No

part of his publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

or conveyed via the Internet or a Web site without prior written permission of the publisher,

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

Resnick, Michael D.

Starship—pirate : book two / by Mike Resnick.

p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-1-59102-490-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)

ISBN-10: 1-59102-490-0 (hardcover : alk. paper)

1. Space ships—Fiction. 2. Piracy—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Pirate.

PS3568.E698S737 2006

813'. 54—dc22

2006027555

The broad, burly, three-legged alien spun slowly down the battered, shopworn corridor, muttering to himself. He growled at a junior officer who didn't get out of his way fast enough, glared at another who quickly stepped into a room to let him pass in the narrow corridor, and finally reached the small, cramped mess hall of the Theodore Roosevelt. He spotted his captain sitting at an oft-repaired table, nursing a beer, spun across the room in his surprisingly graceful gait until he reached the table, and then seated himself.

"I hate these chairs!" he muttered in his deep guttural voice.

"I'm glad to see you too, Four Eyes," said the captain pleasantly.

"We have to get more furniture designed for Molarians if I'm going to continue to serve on this ship."

"Maybe we'll just jettison you into space," replied Wilson Cole. "It's probably cheaper than buying new chairs, and it would certainly be easier on everyone's nerves."

"You'd be lost without me."

"Who needs you? I think we've been lost for the past three days." Cole look a sip of his beer. "At the very least, we're in uncharted territory."

"Damn it, Wilson!" snapped the alien. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"I don't know about you," said Cole. "As for me, I'm drinking beer and listening to you show off all the new Terran words you've learned." He paused and stared at the alien. "Are you going to keep it up, or would you like to tell me what's really bothering you?"

"I don't know," said the alien. "When we decided to become a pirate ship, I thought life was going to be romantic and filled with adventure."

"You want adventure?" replied Cole with a smile. "Go back into the Republic. They'll give you all the adventure you can handle, or have you forgotten why we're out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I know, I know. The last time I checked there was a ten-million credit bounty on your ugly head."

"I hope you're not feeling ignored," said Cole. "As of last week they're offering three million for Commander Forrice as well."

"I can't tell you how flattered I am," muttered Forrice.

Cole laughed aloud. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. What I love about Molarians is that they're the only other race besides Men who share our speech patterns and our sense of humor."

"Only one of us is trying to be funny," said Forrice. "We've been clear of the Republic and traveling the Inner Frontier for almost three weeks. Isn't it about time we went about the business of pirating?"

"Soon."

"What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting to feel safe."

"You've been safe for three weeks," said Forrice. "No one's come after us."

"I don't know that, and neither do you," replied Cole. "Look, I was the Navy's first mutineer in more than six centuries. It doesn't matter that they know I saved five million lives by taking over the ship. Once the press got the story and ran with it, there was no way I was going to beat the charges—and then the Teddy R made the Navy look like fools when the crew broke me out of jail. If you were the Republic, would you give up this soon?"

"They're fighting a war, Wilson," the Molarian pointed out. "They've got better uses for their assets "

"I agree—but if they were that reasonable, I wouldn't have had to take over the ship in the first place. The fact that we haven't spotted any pursuit for the last few weeks doesn't necessarily mean they've called it off. That's why we're in the emptiest sector of the Frontier we could find; it'll be easier to make sure no one's tracking us. And once I know they're not pursuing us, I'll buy you a cutlass and let you maim and pillage to your heart's content—always assuming that Molarians have hearts."

"You really think they might still be looking for us?" asked Forrice.

"If I'd killed Fleet Admiral Garcia or blown up a friendly planet by mistake, they might have given up by now." Cole smiled ruefully. "But they'll never forgive me for escaping while the press was gathered on Timos for my court-martial."

"All this running away is getting on my nerves."

"I didn't know you had any."

The Molarian stared at him. "I'm getting so bored that I even tried some of that stuff you're drinking."

"You mean beer?" asked Cole. "I wouldn't think it would do much for the Molarian digestive system."

Forrice made a face, which would have seemed hideous to anyone who was unacquainted with his race. "What it did was totally clean out the Molarian digestive system," he admitted. "I was sick for a whole day."

"We don't have days out here," noted Cole. "Just three eight-hour shifts of night." He paused. "What else is bothering you, Four Eyes?"

"We're running short of food."

"We'll synthesize some."

"And fuel."

"We don't need fuel except for accelerating and braking," answered Cole placidly.

"And there are no Molarian females left on this damned ship!" exploded Forrice.

"Ah," said Cole with a smile. "Now we come to it."

"You'd feel the same way if you didn't have half the human females fighting for the right to cohabit with the great galactic hero!"

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"Jealousy, envy, frustration—it's all the same when you're stuck on a ship without the opposite sex."

"And I'm told Molarian females are about as opposite as they come," said Cole.

"Enough," said Forrice. "If anyone's going to make crude remarks about Molarian females, it's my prerogative."

"By the way, I thought Molarian females were seasonal."

"They are!" thundered Forrice. "I'm not!"

"There are two other Molarians aboard," said Cole. "Go swap dirty jokes with them. But when you're through, we've got some important things to discuss."

"We have?" asked Forrice quickly. "You mean you and me?"

Cole shook his head. "The whole ship. But we'll start with what passes for the senior staff, which means you, me, and Sharon Blacksmith."

"So it's a Security matter?"

"No."

"Then why include the Chief of Security?"

"I value her opinion."

"And you share her bedroom," said Forrice bitterly.

"Actually, she shares mine," replied Cole with no show of embarrassment. "It's bigger. Why don't you meet me there at 2200 hours, ship's time?"

Forrice nodded his massive head. "I'll be there."

He lumbered off, and Cole finished his beer, stood up, stretched, and wandered out into the corridor. We really need to do something to modernize this ship, he thought; I'll bet it hasn't been touched in fifty years. Most of it looks like a cheap spacehand's dive on a trading world, and the rest looks even worse.

He wanted to go to his cabin and relax, perhaps finish the book he'd been reading, but he decided it was more important to maintain the illusion that the captain was involved in the mundane day-to-day business of running the ship, so he took an airlift up to the bridge instead.

Lieutenant Christine Mboya, a tall, slender, grimly efficient woman in her late twenties, sat at a computer complex, studying screens, whispering commands and questions that neither Cole nor anyone else could hear.

Malcolm Briggs, an athletic-looking young man, also wearing a lieutenant's uniform, sat at the weapons station, watching a holographic entertainment that was being transmitted to his gunnery console from the ship's library.

Overhead, floating in a transparent pod attached high on the wall, was Wxakgini, the only pilot the ship had had for the past seven years, he was a member of the Bdxeni race, a bullet-shaped being with insectoid features, curled into a fetal position, multifaceted eyes wide open and unblinking, with six shining cables connecting his head to a navigational computer hidden inside the bulkhead. The Bdxeni never slept, which made them ideal pilots, and they formed such a symbiosis with their ships' navigational computers that it was difficult to tell where one started and the other left off.

"Captain on the bridge!" announced Christine, jumping to attention and snapping off a salute the moment she saw him. Briggs followed suit a few seconds later.

"Cut it out," said Cole. "How many times do I have to explain that we're not in the Navy anymore?"

"Maybe so, but you're still the captain," said Christine stubbornly.

"I am an outlaw," he said patiently. "You are an outlaw. Outlaws don't salute each other."

"This outlaw does, sir," she replied.

"So does this one, sir," added Briggs, saluting again.

"I think when we finally update this ship, the very first piece of new equipment I'm going to install is a mainmast, so I can tie insubordinate officers to it and flog the hell out of them," said Cole wryly. He looked up toward the ceiling. "Thanks, Pilot."

"For what?" asked Wxakgini, staring endlessly at some fixed point in time and space that only he and the navigational computer could see or comprehend.

"For not paying any special attention to me whenever I come onto the bridge."

"Oh," said Wxakgini tonelessly, all thoughts of Cole and the rest of the bridge's personnel seemingly vanished from his mind.

"Now that we're all through greeting each other and ignoring our Captain's wishes," he said to Christine, "is there anything to report?"

"Still no signs of pursuit, sir," she replied. "We've passed eleven habitable planets during the last Standard day. None of them have been colonized or show enough neutrino activity to suggest any sign of industrial civilization."

"All right," said Cole. "Four Eyes is feeling ill-used. It'll be a shame to spoil his snit, but I think it's safe to say that the Republic has decided we're more trouble than we're worth, at least for the moment. They need every ship they've got for the war against the Teroni Federation."

"What now, sir?" asked Briggs.

"I guess we wear eye patches and practice saying 'Avast there' and 'Shiver me timbers.'"

Christine couldn't repress a giggle, but Briggs persisted: "Seriously, sir, what do we do now?"

"Seriously, I'm not sure yet," answered Cole. "I have a feeling there's more to the pirating game than meets the eye."

"I always thought it was simple and straightforward," said Briggs.

"Okay," said Cole. "Pick a target."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"When's the last time you or Christine spotted a luxury ship?" asked Cole. "Or even a cargo ship?"

"Eleven days, sir," said Christine promptly.

"And the last planet worth plundering?"

"There were diamonds on two of the worlds we passed yesterday, and fissionable materials on three more."

"But no industrial civilizations," noted Cole.

"No, sir," said Briggs.

"I thought you wanted to be a pirate," he said. "But of course, if you'd rather be a miner, we can drop you off and come back in a couple of years to see what you've uncovered."

"I think I'll stick to piracy, sir," said Briggs.

"If you insist, Mr. Briggs ..." said Cole, unable to keep the amused tone from his voice. "As for ships," he continued, "a lot of

them will be better armed than we are, and some will have Republic escorts."

"You're the most decorated officer in the Republic," said Briggs. "You'll figure out the best way to go beat them, sir."

"I am no longer an officer in the Republic, and none of my medals was for excelling at piracy," said Cole. "This is as new to me as I hope it is to the rest of you."

"But you've been thinking about it since we escaped," said Briggs with absolute certainty. "I'm sure you've got it all doped out by now."

"You confidence is appreciated," said Cole. And don't buy any bargain real estate, he added mentally. He turned to Christine. "I suppose you might as well start mapping out the most populated worlds on the Inner Frontier, and see if you can dig up any information about the major trade routes. There's no rush on this; we're probably days away from any of them, and to tell the truth I don't know if I'll use anything yon manage to find. But on the assumption that I might need it, it wouldn't be a bad idea to begin gathering the information now."

"Is there anything I can do, sir?" asked Briggs.

"See if you can find out the schedules and routes of the largest spaceliners that travel to the Inner Frontier. They probably don't hit more than a dozen worlds—Binder X, Roosevelt III, a few others—but see what you can learn. And be subtle."

"Subtle, sir?"

"We are outlaws with prices on our heads," he explained patiently, wondering how long it would be before the crew started getting used to the idea. "Don't let anyone trace your queries back to the source."

"Yes, sir," said Briggs, offering a snappy salute.

Cole stared at him, considered explaining yet again that saluting wasn't necessary, decided it would be an exercise in futility, and left the bridge.

"You're going to break that poor young hero-worshiper's spirit," said a familiar female voice.

"You were monitoring that?" Cole asked of the empty air as he traversed the corridor on his way to the airlift.

"I like to snoop," said Sharon Blacksmith's disembodied voice. "It's my job."

"If you were snooping earlier, you know I want you in my cabin at 2200 hours," said Cole.

"You always want me in your cabin at 2200 hours," replied the voice.

"With your clothes on."

"What fun is that?" asked Sharon.

"Fun time's over," said Cole. "It's time we got down to the serious business of plundering the galaxy."

Sharon Blacksmith showed up in Cole's cabin at 2200 hours. She was small and wiry, and her uniform efficiently eliminated such curves as she possessed.

"This must be an important meeting," she said. "This is the first time you've made your bed since before the mutiny."

"I figure if I keep you busy enough criticizing my housekeeping, you won't have time to criticize my performance," he replied. Suddenly he smiled. "Besides, my office is a mess."

"I know."

Forrice arrived a moment later. Human chairs were not made for his physical structure, and he lowered himself gently to the bed.

"All right, we're here," said the Molarian. "Now what?"

"Now we discuss the future," said Cole, seated at a desk. "Not the far future," he added. "The immediate future."

"What's to discuss?" asked Forrice. "We can't return to the Republic. We have a whole ship and crew at our disposal. It's time to go to work."

"True," said Cole. "But we have to start considering just what kind of pirates we plan to be."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Forrice. "A pirate is a pirate."

"Before we begin," interjected Sharon, "are we waiting for anyone else?"

Cole shook his head. "No, there's just the three of us—the ship's senior officers."

"Then I shouldn't be here," she said. "I'm not a senior officer."

"You stood up for me when I took over the ship," said Cole. "You were charged with abetting a mutiny. As far as I'm concerned, that makes you a senior officer."

"But I'm not," she said. "I'm Chief of Security."

"The Captain says you are," said Cole. "We're no longer a part of the Navy. We're no longer in the Republic. We're an outlaw ship with no rules to guide us." He paused. "Now, under those circumstances, whose word is law?"

"Yours," said Sharon.

"Until someone decides to lop your head off," added Forrice. "After all, we're pirates."

"I'll count on the Chief of Security to protect me," said Cole.

"While we're on the subject of senior officers," said Sharon, "I assume Forrice has been promoted from Third to First Officer. But shouldn't you be appointing a Second and a Third Officer?"

"We haven't needed them up to now," answered Cole. "All we've been doing is running without any sign of pursuit. Pilot, whose name I will never learn to pronounce, was able to handle that without any help. When we embark on our campaign, I'll fill those positions."

"Then let's get on with whatever you called us here for," said the Molarian.

Cole nodded. "We have some decisions to make, and as I said, the most important concerns exactly what kind of pirates we intend to be."

"The kind who get rich," said Forrice.

Cole touched a spot on his desk and made instant contact with the bridge. A pretty young woman's holograph instantly appeared in front of him.

"Ensign Marcos," he said, "send me a view of the nearest habitable planet."

"Habitable by humans, sir?" asked Rachel Marcos.

"By humans."

Suddenly the holograph of a green and gold world began revolving above Sharon's head.

"Thank you, Ensign," said Cole. She smiled and her image vanished. "There it is, Four Eyes. Ripe for the picking."

"All right, there it is," said Forrice. "So what?"

"Let's say there are six families living there. Originally there were thirty, but eight fell to native predation and sixteen left during a three-year drought. There are currently eleven adults, and fourteen kids ranging from three months to sixteen years. They're farming it. What do we do?"

"What do you mean, what do we do?"

"Let's say we need to resupply the mess hall. Let's further say that somehow, perhaps through Sharon's good offices, we know beyond any shadow of a doubt that they've got an aggregate of eighteen thousand credits and some very valuable gold and platinum family heirlooms. It would take ten minutes to send a party down in a shuttle and rob them of everything they have. Of course, even if they put up no resistance and we didn't kill them, we'd have to destroy any subspace radio we found so they couldn't report us—"

"This is the Frontier," interjected Sharon. "There's no one to report us to."

"I stand corrected," said Cole. "All right, we'll steal the radios— I hey must be worth something on the market—and we'll certainly disable or destroy any ships they have so they can't pursue us." He stared at Forrice. "Sound like the kind of thing you had in mind?"

"You know it isn't," growled the Molarian.

"Let me give you another example. A Republic ship is racing through the frontier. Lieutenant Mboya or Ensign Braxite charts its course and tells us that we can alter our own course and confront it in five hours. The ship has some weaponry, but we can outgun it. And I'll give you one more thing to consider: its cargo is worth ten million credits."

"That's it?" asked Forrice.

"That's it," answered Cole. "A ship from the hated Republic, poorly armed, and carrying an incredibly valuable cargo. What do we do?"

"We attack, we disable it, and we plunder its cargo."

"Do we kill the crew?"

"Not if they surrender," said Forrice. "We set them down on the nearest oxygen world."

"But they can identify us."

An alien smile crossed the Molarian's face. "How much more can the Republic hate you?"

"Point taken," said Cole. "So we disable the ship and take its cargo."

"Right."

"Want to know what the cargo is?" asked Cole.

Forrice shrugged. "Why not?"

"Very rare, very unstable vaccine, valued at ten million credits. It's being shipped to a colony world where a new plague has broken out. If it doesn't get there before it spoils in three Standard days, a couple of million colonists will die. And so it won't seem like a loaded example, the colonists aren't Men or Molarians—they're Polonoi. And every last one of them is as stubborn and wrongheaded as the Polonoi captain I deposed a few weeks ago."

"You can't let two million innocent beings die," said Forrice. "Even Polonoi."

"I'm sure our three Polonoi crew members would agree," said Cole. "But we don't have to let them die. Once we disable the ship, strand the crew, and appropriate the vaccine, we contact the Republic and offer to deliver the vaccine before it goes bad for thirty million credits. Oh, hell, why think small? For two hundred million. That's only a hundred credits a colonist, and now if they die we can say it's the Republic's fault. Let's further hypothesize that I was killed while we were taking the Republic ship, and now you're in command. What's your decision?"

"You know what it is," said Forrice.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be on board," said Cole. "But now you see why we need to know what kind of pirates we plan to be. It sounds like a contradiction in terms, but we need to create something akin to a Pirates' Code of Ethics, even if it applies to just the Teddy R."

"You know," said Forrice, "you're exactly the kind of hero I hate." He rumbled deep in his chest. "Whatever happened to heroes who didn't think everything through, but just walked in with weapons blazing?"

"They're buried in graveyards all across the galaxy," said Cole.

"I've got a question," said Sharon.

"Go ahead."

"I asked it before: What am I doing here? You obviously know what kind of code you want to operate under."

"I gave Four Eyes some loaded examples," answered Cole. "But saying that we won't kill a few innocent families for peanuts, or that we won't hold two million lives hostage, is not the same as saying what we will do, and that's what we have to discuss. Who and what is fair game, and who and what isn't? Under what circumstances will we use deadly force and under what circumstances won't we? Will we stay on the Inner Frontier, or will we make forays into the Republic? The Republic's at war with the Teroni Federation. Until a few weeks ago, so were we. If we chance upon a Teroni ship, do we give it safe passage or engage it?"

Forrice sighed deeply. "You know, piracy was a lot simpler when it only had me thinking about it."

"Well," said Sharon, "we're here because of the Republic. Not its citizenry, and certainly not the Teroni Federation. So I think that unless we have cause to attack someone else, we should limit our activities to those things and ships belonging to the Republic."

"That's a start," said Cole.

"What about your hypothetical medical ship?"

"Of course we're not going to attack a medical ship," responded Cole. "But we still need to decide what is fair game. Any suggestions?"

"Anything of sufficient value to warrant our risk," replied Sharon. "And the plundering of which will not cause undue harm or suffering to innocent people, whether they're Republic citizens or not."

"Go back to my first example," said Cole. "Doesn't the loss of an heirloom cause suffering? And if the person we take it from isn't a member of the Republic's military or government, wouldn't you call that suffering undue?"

"If you put enough restrictions on it, you're going to limit yourself to robbing only heavily insured banks on Deluros VIII," said Sharon. "We need some flexibility. How can we know at this moment what the effect of attacking a ship nineteen days from now will be? What kind of ship is it? Who's on it? What's it carrying?"

"I'll give you something else to think about," said Forrice, who had been silent for a few moments. "Let's say the ship is a military ship. So were we, until the mutiny. Let's say that they defend themselves against what they've been told is an outlaw ship. We would have." He paused. "Do we really want to kill a crew that is doing precisely what we spent our whole careers doing—following orders and defending their ship?"

"It's something to think about," agreed Cole pleasantly, as if to say: It took, you long enough to think, of that.

"It's something to avoid," said Sharon

"Actually," said Forrice, "the truth of the matter is that the Teddy R should have been decommissioned half a century ago. The odds are that we'll be outgunned by any Republic or Teroni ship we come across."

"I don't know about that," said Cole. "This is the Frontier. The only way a souped-up warship is going to come here is if it's in hot pursuit. I think the Teddy R is precisely the kind of military vessel we're likely to come across here."

"Which means we're likely to kill some young officers and crewmen who are guilty of nothing more than protecting their ship," said Sharon.

"I agree," said Cole. "Where does that leave us?"

"Perhaps—" began Forrice.

"Oh, shut up!" said Sharon wearily. She turned to Cole. "Why don't you simply tell us, since you obviously had your mind made up before calling this little meeting."

"It never hurts to have the people who work with you draw the same conclusion," he replied without denying her charge.

"Well?" she said.

"I should think it's obvious," said Cole. "We don't want to kill or even rob innocent civilians. We don't want to kill military personnel who are just carrying out orders and defending themselves. We don't want to get into a pitched battle with any Republic or Teroni ship that might outgun us. We don't even want to get into a battle with one we can beat. After all, there's no economic reward in destroying a military vessel; all it does is cost us casualties and ammunition."

"What's left?" asked Forrice.

Cole smiled without answering.

"Oh my God!" said Sharon a moment later. "It never occurred to me!"

"It still hasn't occurred to me," complained Forrice.

"Pirates!" exclaimed Sharon. "We're going to plunder pirates!"

Suddenly the cabin was filled with thunderous hoots of alien laughter. "I like it!"

"We don't want to rob or kill innocent victims," said Cole. "If they're pirates, they're not innocent. We don't want to get into a pitched battle with warships from either side. If they're pirates, they're not in a warship. We want the reward to be commensurate with the risks. If they're pirates, it figures to be." He paused. "Another consideration is that we've been running shorthanded since we left the Republic. Who better to recruit than pirates who know how our rivals operate and where they're likely to be?"

"Sounds good to me," said Forrice. "When do we start?"

Suddenly Rachel Marcos's image appeared above Cole's computer. "Excuse me, sir," she said. "But I thought you should know that we've spotted a ship."

"Republic?" asked Cole promptly.

"No, sir," replied Rachel. "A class-QQ ship of Taborian origin, unarmed. Chlorine atmosphere, which is what Taborians breathe. I'd say it's a colony ship, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign. Keep tracking it, but don't hail it or alter course. If they send any radio messages, let me know."

"Yes, sir," she said, flashing him a sharp salute and a smile.

Her image vanished.

"She still hyperventilates at the very sight of you," noted Sharon dryly.

"You'd prefer she hyperventilated for Four Eyes?" asked Cole with a smile.

"For someone who's not old enough to be her father, anyway."

"I hate to interrupt," said Forrice, "but let's get back to this ship she spotted."

"There's something like four hundred and fifty billion sentient beings in the galaxy," responded Cole. "That we know of. We couldn't expect not to come across some of them out here sooner or later."

"You're not worried that they'll report our presence?" persisted the Molarian.

"To whom?" he replied. "We're in a vast No Man's Land. Let's take it at face value and assume they're looking for a chlorine planet to colonize. And even if we're wrong, by the time the Republic could get here we'll be a few thousand light-years away."

"I thought we were all through running."

"We are," said Cole. "But we're not going to just stay in this empty sector. Tomorrow we start searching."

"Searching?" repeated the Molarian. "For pirate ships?"

Cole shook his head. "For all the things we need," he answered. "We've been traveling without a doctor since we escaped. We need at least one, probably two—one who specializes in humans, one who can work with the non-human species we're carrying. We need a safe haven, some port that we can use as our headquarters."

"Why not just use the ship?" asked Forrice.

"Because it can be pretty damned hard for a fence with a warehouse to find us when we're hiding between engagements. And since he'll almost certainly be operating inside the Republic, we don't want to get anywhere near his world, let alone touch down on it."

"It'd be nice if we could trade the first shipload of plunder for some better weaponry," suggested Sharon.

"I wouldn't hold my breath," said Cole. "Who trades in the kind of pulse and laser cannons we're looking for?"

"You pass the word and flash enough money, and somebody will," said Forrice with certainty.

"Anything's possible," admitted Cole. "But if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath until it happens."

"Well, that's that," said Sharon. "May we assume that this Pirates' Code of Ethics was a bunch of bullshit?"

"Not at all," said Cole. "Every member of the crew put his life and career on the line for me. They deserve to know what our policy is, since they're going to have to abide by it."

And the next morning there was a message posted on every private and public computer aboard the Theodore Roosevelt.

CODE OF ETHICS

1. The Theodore Roosevelt will not attack any innocent individual of any race.

2. The Theodore Roosevelt will not attack any innocent ships, even military ships, that are going about their business.

3. The Theodore Roosevelt will not plunder any innocent individual's or group's property.

4.Pirates are not innocent.

Cole stood at the entrance to the Gunnery Section of the Teddy R. The sole crew member stationed there amidst the laser and pulsar cannons was a large, heavily muscled man who snapped to attention and saluted.

"Good morning, sir," said Eric Pampas.

"Good morning, Bull," said Cole. "And I keep telling you that you don't have to salute or call me sir."

"It just seems natural, sir," said Pampas. "By the way, sir, I saw the ethics code you posted."

"And?"

"I never liked the thought of holding up civilians or colonists at gunpoint. This sounds a lot more like what we've been trained for— our ship against other pirate ships."

"Is that pretty much the general attitude among the crew?" asked Cole.

"Well, among the gunnery staff anyway, sir," answered Pampas. "I haven't spoken to anyone else today."

"Which brings up a question," said Cole. "Now that you and Four Eyes have had a chance to train them, how many crew members would you say are qualified to work in this section?"

"Eight, maybe nine."

"That's a lot better than it was when I was transferred to the Teddy R," said Cole. "Starting tomorrow, you're relieved of duty."

"Sir?" said Pampas, frowning.

"You can choose your own successor as chief of the Gunnery Section," continued Cole. "You know each of their capabilities better than I do. We have enough Men heading other sections, so try to pick a non-human."

"With all due respect, sir," said Pampas, "nobody knows these weapons better than I do."

"I don't doubt it."

"Have I done something to offend you, sir? Or broken some regulation?"

"We're a pirate ship," said Cole. "We no longer have any regulations. Until I create some new ones, anyway."

"Then why—?"

"It's not a demotion, Bull. I have a more important job for you."

"More important than manning the weapons?" asked Pampas.

"Think about it, Bull," said Cole. "We want to plunder pirate ships, right?"

"Right."

"If you blow one up with one of our cannons, what's left to plunder?" asked Cole. "From now on these weapons are strictly for self-defense, not attack, and the gunnery crew's job is simply to make sure they're functioning. Christine or someone else on the bridge will program their targets into them."

"I hadn't thought of that, sir," admitted Pampas. "Of course we can't annihilate the ships we plan to rob."

"I'm glad we're in agreement on that," said Cole dryly.

"But all I've done since I enlisted seven years ago is work on weaponry," said Pampas. "It's what I know."

"You know a little more than that, Bull. You put four crew members into the infirmary for using drugs, remember?"

"You told me to stop them," said Pampas defensively.

"I'm not castigating you, I'm reminding you," said Cole. "One of them was a warrior-caste Polonoi. You damned near killed him."

"He was endangering the ship. We couldn't allow him around the weapons in that condition."

"I don't disagree. But any man who can beat a warrior-caste Polonoi with his bare hands knows how to use them."

"They are a little different from normal Polonoi," agreed Pampas.

And indeed they were, reflected Cole. All Polonoi were heavyset and muscular, but what differentiated the warrior caste was that their sexual organs, their eating and breathing orifices, and all their soft vulnerable spots—the equivalent of human bellies and midsections— had been genetically engineered so that they were on the warriors' backs. They were built to win or die. For a warrior-caste Polonoi to turn his back on an enemy was to present that enemy with all his vulnerable areas, whereas their fronts were heavily armored with bony plates and were practically immune to pain.

"Still, it was a lucky blow, sir," continued Pampas.

"I hope to hell you're being modest," replied Cole, "because I want a man with what I take to be your physical prowess on our boarding team."

"Boarding team, sir?"

"If we're not going to blow the enemy out of the sky, and we want to appropriate its cargo, sooner or later we're going to have to board it," said Cole as if explaining it to a child. They can't really be this dumb, he told himself; they just haven't started thinking like pirates. "Would you have any problem killing a pirate with your hands or your weapons?"

"Not if he wanted to kill me, sir."

"What if she weighed a hundred and ten pounds and looked as young and pretty and vulnerable as our Ensign Marcos?"

"Put a weapon in her hand and Ensign Marcos can squeeze the trigger just as easily as a five-hundred-pound Torqual can, sir. I don't have a problem with defending myself."

"Okay, you're hired," said Cole.

"I could stay on duty here until we spot a pirate ship, sir," suggested Pampas.

Cole considered it, then shook his head. "Who the hell knows when that'll be? I want you fresh. Besides, if the weapons are working now, they'll be working when we come across a pirate ship. I'm sure anyone you've trained can handle any minor adjustments that are needed." He paused. "I wish we had a gym for you to work out in, or a target range. But the Teddy R has barely got enough room to turn around in, so just keep yourself in shape as best you can in that tiny exercise room."

"Yes, sir," said Pampas, sensing that the interview was over and saluting.

"And try to get out of the habit of saluting."

"Like I said, sir..."

"I have my reasons, Bull," said Cole. "We've gotten rid of the Republic insignia on the ship. We've already jettisoned all our military uniforms. If we board a pirate ship, and they've got someone hiding out of sight, waiting to take a couple of potshots at us, there's only one way he's going to know who to kill first—and that's whoever it is that everyone else salutes."

"I hadn't thought of that, sir," said Pampas. "I'll do my best not to salute, sir."

"Or to call me sir," added Cole. "I ask it of the bridge personnel, but they're not going anywhere. I'm going to demand it of the boarding parties."

"Yes—" He stopped himself just in time.

"Fine. Pick your successor, clear the name with me or Forrice, and kiss this section good-bye at the end of your shift. And make sure all your hand weapons are in working order."

Cole turned before he could see if Pampas saluted him again, and walked to an airlift. He rode it up to the bridge, where Braxite, a Molarian, and Vladimir Sokolov, a tall blond man, were on duty.

"Captain on the bridge!" shouted Braxite, jumping to attention. Sokolov, who was working the computer consoles, stood up and saluted.

"Knock it off," said Cole wearily. "Has anyone got anything to report?"

"Lieutenant Mboya left orders that I was to continue the charts she started making," said Sokolov. He uttered a brief order to one of the computers in a language that seemed to be all numbers and formulae, and a moment later a three-dimensional star chart filled the space above his console. Another order and seventeen stars glowed a bright yellow and began blinking on and off.

"Each of these systems has one of the most populated worlds on the Inner Frontier. Fourteen are oxygen worlds, two are chlorine, and one is ammonia. The distance separating the two farthest apart is about three thousand light-years."

"That's not much, given the size of the Frontier," noted Cole.

"People tend to congregate together, sir," said Sokolov. "Especially out here, where there are so few of them."

"What about trade routes?"

Another incomprehensible command from Sokolov, and some seventy-five flashing purple lines popped into existence, each leading from one world to another. More than half the lines went directly from major mining worlds to unshown worlds of the Republic.

Cole turned to Braxite. "Anything on spaceliner routes or schedules?"

"Just what's posted, which anyone in the galaxy can access," answered the Molarian. "But I can't find out which ones travel with Republic warships as escorts, and each ship has so many fare levels that it's impossible to figure out which has the most affluent set of passengers. The luxury cruise ships, the ones with gambling and entertainment, never venture outside the borders of the Republic, and while they don't have military ships protecting them, they each hire mercenary ships for protection. Most of them also hire former police and military officers to patrol the ship itself. All incognito, of course."

"Of course," said Cole. "Well, we didn't want to rob any innocent parties on spaceliners anyway."

"An observation, sir?" said Sokolov.

"Yes?"

"If they're amusing themselves on a gambling ship during wartime, how innocent can they be?"

"I don't know how innocent they are, Lieutenant," answered Cole. "But if they've got mercenary ships and police guarding them, they're too well-protected to interest us. We'll stick to pirate ships."

"There figure to be a few thousand ships in this general area"— Sokolov waved a hand toward the seventeen flashing systems and about half the trade routes—"at any given moment. How will we pinpoint the pirate ships?"

"We won't."

"Then how will we—?"

"We'll let them find us" answered Cole. "Tell Slick I want to speak to him."

"In person, sir?"

"No, that's not necessary."

"In private, then? I can have him transmit his image to your quarters."

"Right here is fine," answered Cole.

"Coming right up," announced Sokolov, and suddenly Cole found himself facing the full-sized holographic image of the Teddy R's only Tolobite. It was a squat, shining, bipedal being. Its skin, smooth and oily, literally glowed. Its upper limbs were thick and tentacular, more like an elephant's trunk than an octopus's legs. There was no neck; the head grew directly out of the shoulders, and was incapable of turning or swiveling. Its mouth had no teeth, and seemed equipped only for sucking fluids. Its eyes were very dark and wide-set. No nostrils were evident. Its ears were mere slits at the sides of the head. It actually did possess most of the features that seemed missing or inadequate, but it possessed a unique one as well: a Gorib—a living, thinking symbiote that functioned as a protective second skin that filtered out all germs and viruses.

Cole found its name unpronounceable, as he did most aliens', so he had dubbed it "Slick" because of its shining false skin, and as far as he was concerned, Slick was the most valuable member of the crew, because its Gorib enabled it to function for limited durations in the vacuum of space or on the surface of chlorine and methane worlds, without any chance of an equipment malfunction, because except for the Gorib Slick wore no protective suit.

"You wished to speak to me, sir?" asked Slick in heavily accented Terran.

"Yeah. Remember when I had you climb outside and replace the ship's Republic insignia with a skull and crossbones right after we escaped?"

"Yes, sir."

"We were celebrating, and I wasn't thinking clearly," said Cole. "In the cold light of day, it's obvious that the very last thing we want to do is advertise the fact that we're pirates."

"Do you want me to just remove the skull and crossbones, or replace it with something else?" asked Slick.

"You'll be replacing it."

"What with, sir?"

"Hold on a second." He turned to Sokolov. "You're of Russian descent, right?"

"God knows how many centuries ago, sir."

"Can you give me a Russian name or location?"

"How about Stalin?"

"No, New Stalin's a major Republic world," responded Cole. "Try another."

"Samarkand?"

"That'll do." He turned back to Slick's holograph. "Wherever you remove a skull and crossbones, I want you to replace it with a logo for the Samarkand Cargo Lines."

"A logo, sir?" asked Slick.

"Mr. Sokolov will create a batch of them for you. I'll want it on the front and back of the ship, and you might as well put it on all four shuttlecraft as well. Can you get it done today?"

"Probably," said Slick.

"If it's a strain on your Gorib, you can do it over two Standard days," said Cole.

"The Gorib can handle it, sir. It just depends on how long it takes me to remove the skulls and crossbones. The old Republic insignia was partially worn away from the handful of occasions the ship had entered various atmospheres to land—but the skulls and crossbones have never been subjected to that kind of heat or friction."

"Well, get started as soon as possible, and let the bridge know when you're done."

"Yes, sir," said Slick, ending the transmission.

"Remarkable being, that Slick," said Cole admiringly. "Give me fifty like him and I could conquer any chlorine world in the Teroni Federation."

"Or the Republic," added Braxite.

"Or the Republic," agreed Cole. "They're peas in a pod."

"Whatever a pea is," said Braxite. "And whatever a pod is."

"Sir," said Sokolov, "I take it you want me to create a logo or an emblem for something called the Samarkand Cargo Lines?"

"Yeah," said Cole. "Once you've got it done, make it up in a dozen different sizes, each big enough to cover the skulls and crossbones just in case traces of them remain. Slick will bond them to the ship. Make sure they can handle heat and friction if we have to set down on a world."

"An oxygen world?"

"Any kind," answered Cole. "We don't always have a choice."

"I'll get right on it, sir," said Sokolov. "Do you want me to show it to you before I make a bunch of them up for Slick?"

"What do I know about designs?" said Cole. "Show them to Lieutenant Mboya. She's got the most orderly mind on the ship."

"Yes, sir."

Sokolov went to work on his computer, and Braxite turned to Cole. "Would I be correct in assuming that we plan to pose as a cargo ship to attract pirates?"

"A cargo ship in distress," said Cole. "If we were just a cargo ship en route to a destination, they couldn't be sure they could catch us, so they'd probably shoot to disable us—and at those kind of distances and speeds, who knows? What they think of as a disabling shot could be off by two seconds of a degree and blow us all to hell. Much better to give them a ship that's already disabled."

"We can't be the first ship to think of this, sir," said Braxite. "I'll bet the Navy does it all the time out on the borders between the Republic and the Frontier."

"I doubt it," said Cole. "The pirates have no reason to board a Navy ship. They'd blow it to bits from a safe distance."

"Then a cargo company that's tired of being hit—"

"Look," said Cole, fighting back his annoyance. "The Inner Frontier covers something like a quarter of the galaxy. We've been here, traveling at light speeds, for more than twenty Standard days, and so far we've seen three ships. I don't know where all the pirates are. Four Eyes doesn't know. Now, unless you know, it makes more sense to entice them to come to us than the other way around."

"I apologize, sir," said Braxite. "I didn't mean to be argumentative."

"There's nothing wrong with questioning orders that don't seem to make sense," replied Cole. "Unless we're being shot at, at which time I'd really appreciate some blind obedience." He paused. "I'm getting hungry. Tell Mr. Odom to meet me in the mess hall."

"Yes, sir."

Cole left the bridge, walked over to the airlift, rode it down a level to the mess hall, walked past three tables that were in use, and took an empty one in the back. A moment later Mustapha Odom, the ship's chief engineer, and the only crew member allowed to work with the nuclear pile, entered, spotted Cole, and joined him.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes," said Cole, ordering a sandwich and a cup of coffee from the menu that suddenly appeared in midair. It vanished when his order was complete and he found himself facing Odom again. "At some point, tomorrow or in the next few days, we'll want to convince another ship that we're disabled. We have to assume they're not stupid, that their sensors are going to go over every millimeter of the Teddy R before they try to board us. We're going to need to keep the life-support systems working. If the light drive is dead, is that possible or does it look too suspicious?"

"No problem. We've got an emergency power reserve for life support and for the infirmary, too. I think just about every ship does."

"I don't want to just float in space waiting to be approached. That smells too much like a trap. If the light drive is dead, can we travel at sublight speeds?"

"You'd be traveling at light speeds even with no drive," answered Odom. "The only time we really need it is to accelerate or brake. Once you're at the speed you want, there's no gravity or friction to slow you down."

"That won't do," said Cole. "If they wait too long, we'll be able to reach a planet. Hell, if we're faster than they are, they might never be able to catch us even if we've theoretically blown the light drive. I need them to think we're a sitting duck, there for the taking, totally helpless."

"Let me think about that, sir," said Odom. "What else?"

"If our weapons are functional, is there any way to fool an enemy's sensors into thinking they're not?"

"None."

"Wait a minute," said Cole. "I'm not thinking clearly."

"Sir?"

"If we turn off all power to the weapons systems, they'll read as if they're dead, won't they?"

"Yes," said Odom, smiling. "But they won't be dead. You can activate them on a second's notice."

"Yeah, that should work," said Cole. "Hopefully we won't need them, but you never know. Now, if the life-support systems are on, can the communications systems be functional?"

"Internally? Absolutely."

"How about the subspace radio?"

"Right now it's powered by the nuclear pile, but if that stops working, I'd have to rig it to run off the emergency system." He paused. "Are you sure you'll need it?"

"How are we going to broadcast an SOS without it?" asked Cole.

"Okay, I'll take care of it."

"Any way we can hide the fact that our small arms are functioning?"

"Not with our burners and screechers, sir," answered Odom, referring to laser and sonic pistols. "They run off battery packs, and nothing that happens to the ship's pile would affect them. Pulse guns, perhaps. Have you got any projectile pistols on board, the kind that shoot bullets?"

"I sure as hell doubt it."

"Too bad. How about knives?"

"They're not standard military equipment," said Cole. "I suppose we can rob the mess hall—but I'd hate to put a kitchen knife up against a burner."

"Like I said, let me think about it. Maybe I can come up with something."

"I'm open to suggestions," said Cole. "Just remember: We have to assume that our prey isn't stupid, so we can't pretend we've all got some new alien disease or anything like that. It's got to be something that not only makes sense, but happens often enough that they don't become so suspicious they just decide to walk away from it."

"All right," said Odom. "Give me a couple of hours to think about it."

"Where'll you be?" asked Cole.

"Right here."

"Don't you need access to your computer?"

"Why?" asked Odom. "I know everything it knows. Besides, you're asking me to improvise, and computers aren't very good at that."

I just hope ive're a little better at it than computers, thought Cole as he left the mess hall.

Cole lay back on his bunk, reading a book on the screen that hovered just in front of him and trying to ignore the miscoloration on the ceiling. Suddenly the text vanished and Sharon Blacksmith's face appeared.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You've been talking to everyone else all day," she said. "I thought you might care to let the Chief of Security know what your plans are."

"Since you've doubtless been observing and recording me, you already know," said Cole. "So what's your real reason?"

"I'm bored."

"Cherish the feeling," said Cole. "Once the action starts, you'll probably remember your moments of boredom with great fondness."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But this isn't like the war with the Teroni. No one's going to fire on us just for being the Teddy R. Once you start playing dead in space, it could take days, maybe weeks, before anyone approaches us."

"It'll take less than a day," he assured her. "If the pirates don't come, some well-meaning do-gooder will try to rescue us."

"That doesn't make me any less bored."

"If this isn't the preface to a sexual proposition, I can give you something to do."

"What?"

"We'll need a boarding party of half a dozen, so I want you to start picking out some names. Once we attract a ship and subdue their boarding party, we still have to board them and come away with something valuable enough to make it worth the effort. However many they send onto the Teddy R, they'll leave more aboard the ship. It won't be any cakewalk, subduing them and appropriating whatever they've got."

"Has it ever occurred to you that they might not have anything valuable on board?" asked Sharon. "I mean, if they've recently plundered a ship or a colony, wouldn't it make sense that they'd have dropped the goods off with their fence before going back out?"

"It's a possibility."

"And if it happens?"

"Then we'll steal information from the crew, which can be more valuable than anything else." He smiled at her. "I assume that the Chief of Security knows a little something about extracting it?"

"The Chief of Security has access to about half a dozen drugs that will elicit any information we need."

"Good," said Cole. "Because I've been thinking that the best way to fill out our own crew is with pirates we capture, and at least this way I'll know whether to believe their pledges of fealty."

"You're assuming that we're going to survive and capture some of the enemy," she noted.

"There wouldn't be much sense in making plans and attending to details if I expected to lose," answered Cole. "Getting back to that boarding party, I'll need four names, and I definitely want Eric Pampas on the team."

"The Wild Bull? Good choice. But that's only five. I thought you wanted six."

"I'm the sixth."

"You can't leave the ship!" said Sharon adamantly. "You're the Captain."

"So what?"

"It's against regulations."

"I wasn't aware that pirate ships bad regulations," said Cole dryly.

"Damn it, Wilson! You're our leader. Every crew member walked out on the Republic solely to serve with you. We can't have you getting killed on our first encounter."

"I don't plan to get killed."

"Have you ever known anyone who did?" she shot back. "Wilson, you didn't win all those medals because of your brawn. Let me put together a boarding party composed of Bull Pampas and Luthor Chadwick and that Mollute, what's his name, Jaxtaboxl . . ."

"I call him Jack-in-the-Box," interrupted Cole. "Jack for short."

"I don't care what you call him!" she said. "Let me add three more like that to the list, and you stay in command of the ship where you belong."

"A Captain is supposed to lead his crew, not follow them."

"A Captain is suppose to delegate authority and run his ship," said Sharon. "Damn it, Wilson—you know I'm right!"

"I'll think about it."

"What would you have said if Fujiama or Podok had left the Teddy R?" she asked, referring to the last two Captains.

"If Podok had gone, I'd have said good riddance," replied Cole. "And if you'll recall, Fujiama did leave the ship."

"And promptly got killed," she reminded him.

"I'm not Fujiama."

"Wilson, you lead a boarding party and you can find a new bedmate."

"What the hell," he said. "Rachel's chomping at the bit, and except for being ten years younger than you and twice as pretty—"

"And three times as dumb!" snapped Sharon.

"That's not always a disadvantage in bed."

"Take a good long look at her and engrave it in your memory," said Sharon. "Because if you lay a finger on her, I'm going to claw your eyes out."

"I'm certainly glad to see we're maintaining the simple, uncommitted relationship we agreed upon," said Cole with a smile.

"You're not leaving the ship," she repeated.

"May I go back to reading my book now?"

"Fuck you, Wilson Cole!" she snapped and broke the connection.

"I guess that means yes," he said to himself.

The problem was, he knew she was right. He was a little shorter than average, a little older than average, and would never have survived his first year in the service if he'd had to count on his physical abilities instead of his brain. And much as he resented it, that brain told him that his place was on the Teddy R, not boarding an enemy ship that could be hiding fifty armed men or be rigged to explode.

The problem was that he trusted himself more than he trusted anyone else. He didn't believe in senseless bloodshed, even if it was all being spilled on the other side. He'd recently freed the planet Rapunzel without firing a shot. He'd taken command of the Teddy R not to kill more of the enemy, but to avoid killing five million Men who were in the middle of things through no fault of their own. He didn't doubt for a second that Bull Pampas and Jack-in-the-Box and the others could handle an attack in close quarters far better than he could—but he was convinced that no one aboard the ship could prevent such an attack better than himself.

He was still considering his options when Mustapha Odom contacted him.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, sir," said the engineer.

"No," replied Cole. "I've been waiting to hear from you. What have you come up with?"

"There are a number of ways to do it, but I think the best way is to disable our external stabilizer."

"Would you care to put that in terms I can understand?" asked Cole.

"The external stabilizer is what prevents the ship from rolling or spinning if one thruster becomes inoperative. If I disable it, as well as shutting down the power plant, we could spin gently in a circle without going anywhere, or we might enter into an endless series of— how can I describe it?—somersaults in space." Odom smiled. "That should convince any observers that we're helpless."

"Why will that be more convincing that just shutting down the light drive?"

"They know that anyone can shut down a power plant and then start it up again if the situation gets too dangerous," answered Odom. "But if you try to go to light speeds while the ship is spinning or somesaulting in space, you'll break it into pieces."

"How will it affect the crew inside the ship?" asked Cole. "Will we have to strap ourselves in?"

Odom shook his head. "Not if we spin in a circle rather than head over heels. Part of any ship's emergency life-support system is the artificial gravity."

"Right," said Cole. "Can't have internal organs and body parts floating away during emergency surgery." He paused. "So you're assuring me that no one will float away, or lose their lunches?"

"That's right, sir."

"How long will it take to set it up?" asked Cole.

"Once you reach the spot you want and we brake to sublight speeds it'll take from one to ten minutes to come to a complete stop in space, depending on how fast we were going, and then just a few seconds to start a very gentle spinning."

"If I were a pirate ship approaching the Teddy R," said Cole, "I'd want to know how it managed to start spinning if its power was dead."

"Allah was not a neat craftsman, sir. The universe is filled with His leftovers. Any solar debris could set us spinning. It couldn't be something as big as a meteor or an asteroid; that would crush us or break us apart. But I assume we're not going to be doing this inside any star system, so we're not going to come across any meteors or asteroids anyway."

"All right. As soon as we decide upon the area we want, I'll have you contact Christine Mboya and explain what kind of debris we're looking for, and she can have Pilot position the ship so we're surrounded by it. This debris isn't going to stop another ship from approaching, is it?"

"Not as long as they've got power, sir," answered Odom promptly.

"And if they didn't, they couldn't approach anyway," concluded Cole. "Thank you very much, Mr. Odom. You've been most helpful."

Cole broke the connection, decided he wasn't interested in reading after all, got to his feet, walked out into the corridor, tried as always not to wince at the dilapidated condition of the ship's interior, and took the airlift to the bridge. Forrice was there, along with Domak, a warrior-caste Polonoi female, and Christine Mboya.

"Don't say it," muttered Cole as Christine jumped to her feet and announced: "Captain on the bridge!"

Forrice didn't bother to salute, but Domak and Christine did. They knew better than to wait for Cole to return their salutes, and both sat back down at their stations.

Cole walked over to Christine, glancing at all the incomprehensible formulae on her various screens. "Any progress?" he asked.

"I think so, sir," she replied. "The closest of the major trade routes seems to be between Binder X and Far London, which is at the edge of the Republic, just two parsecs from the Inner Frontier. We could position ourself between them in less than a day at maximum speed, maybe sooner if Wxakgini can pinpoint a hyperspacial tunnel."

"Keep looking," said Cole. "That's too damned close to the Republic. We may have removed our insignia, but if they spot an unidentified class-JZ starship, a type that hasn't been manufactured in close to a century, they're going to guess who it is and come after us full force."

"I beg to differ, sir," said Christine. "The Teroni Fleet recently launched a major attack in the Terrazane Sector, and my guess is that every available ship from this section has been transferred there. They may have left a few ships behind to protect the local planets against a surprise attack, but they're not going to desert their posts just to chase after a ship that may or may not be the Theodore Roosevelt."

"I didn't know about the Terrazane attack," admitted Cole.

"There's no reason why you should have, sir," she replied with a smile. 'You were in jail, awaiting your court-martial, when the attack came."

"All right, that's where we'll set things up. Once you've picked out an area, have Mustapha Odom speak to Pilot and explain exactly what kind of conditions we're looking for."

"Yes, sir."

"So we're all set?" asked Forrice.

"Pretty much so," answered Cole. "I've got Sharon working on the hoarding party."

"You, me, and who else?" asked the Molarian.

"The Captain and the First Officer don't both leave the ship at the same time," said Cole. "That's the stupidest thing you've said in months."

"All right—me and who else?"

"Why you instead of me?"

"To start with, I'm stronger, faster, and younger than you, and I can see better in the dark. Besides, the Captain can't leave the ship in enemy territory."

"Since when has the Inner Frontier been enemy territory?" asked Cole.

"Since we became pirates," answered Forrice promptly. "You've got to stay with the ship."

"Et tu, Brutus?" said Cole.

"I don't understand the language or the reference," said Forrice. Suddenly he smiled. "But I can intuit the meaning."

"Sir?" said Christine.

"Yes?" asked Cole, glad to have the conversation interrupted.

"I'd like to volunteer for the boarding party."

"Absolutely not," said Cole. "I need you aboard the ship."

"But—"

"If Four Eyes is going to go, I need someone I can trust right here." He paused and stared at her, then nodded his head as if he'd made up his mind about something. "You're my new Second Officer."

Her eyes widened. "Me?"

"Would you rather I didn't trust you?"

"No, sir."

"Then it's settled. Choose your eight-hour shift—red, white, or blue. I'll try to arrange to sleep while you're in charge."

"You'll need a Third Officer while I'm off the ship," said Forrice.

"I'm working on it," answered Cole. "That's enough promotions for one trip to the bridge."

"You really meant it, sir?" asked Christine, still surprised.

"Why not?" answered Cole. "You certainly know the ship better than Four Eyes or I do."

"I'll try to prove worthy of it, sir," she continued.

"No speeches," said Cole. "You've already proven worthy of it or you wouldn't have been given it. Now the sooner you decide where we're going to play dead, the sooner Mr. Odom can tell Pilot where to park us."

"Yes, sir," she said, saluting again, then turning her attention back to her computers.

He lingered a few minutes, decided there was nothing else for him to do on the bridge, and returned to his cabin, where he found Sharon waiting for him.

"I guess you're not such a bastard after all," she said.

"Sir?" said Christine Mboya's voice.

Cole came awake instantly. "What is it?"

"I think I've found the right spot. There's all kinds of minor debris there, just the sort of thing Mr. Odom tells me could set us spinning if the power failed." Pause. "Sir, I think something's wrong with the communication system. I can hear you but I can't see you."

"Give me a minute to fix it," said Cole.

He nudged Sharon awake, put a finger to her lips before she could speak, and gestured toward the bathroom. She immediately got out of thie bed and walked out of camera range, carrying her uniform into the bathroom with her. Cole quickly got dressed, then activated his holocamera and ordered it to transmit his image as well as his speech.

"About how long will it take to reach our chosen destination?" he asked.

"Wxakgini says we'll be there in two more hours, sir," replied Christine.

"Two?" repeated Cole. "I thought we were a day away."

"He found a wormhole that took about eighteen hours off the journey, sir."

"Okay," said Cole. "If Four Eyes is around, tell him to take a nap. There's no sense all of us being up at the same time. I'll relieve you in about ninety minutes, and then I want you to go to your cabin and spend the next eight hours sleeping."

"I don't know if I can, sir," said Christine. "I think I'll be too tense."

"Find a way," he said firmly. "If the ship we want to attract arrives in nineteen hours instead of nine, I want to know that whoever's in charge of the Teddy R will be fresh and well rested."

"In charge?" Christine's eyes widened. "I've never done anything like this before, sir."

"Neither have I," answered Cole. "You'd be surprised how little schooling the Navy gives its senior officers in the art of piracy."

"I mean—"

"I know what you mean," he cut her off. "You're my choice. Live with it."

He broke the connection as Sharon, now in uniform, emerged from the bathroom.

"Time to pick that boarding party," Cole told her.

"I was listening. Two hours?"

"Two hours to get there. It could be ten or twenty before we have company."

"I'll have your party selected in an hour."

"It shouldn't take that long. We've decided on three of them already, and there's no way I can keep Four Eyes off it, so I only need two more."

"How about Slick?" she asked. "You seem to think highly of him. Or is he an it?"

"I don't think gender applies to Tolobites," said Cole. "And don't ask him."

"Oh?"

"I've got better uses for him."

"All right," replied Sharon. "I'll come up with two more and let you know."

"It's your call, of course—but if I were you, I'd consider Domak. Warrior-caste Polonoi of either sex can be pretty hard to kill."

Sharon shook her head. "She's too good at running the ship's systems. If Christine is going to be off duty when you're on the bridge, you might need her."

"Fine. Like I said, it's up to you. Just complete the party in an hour."

"It'll look better if I contact them from Security," she said, walking to the door. "I'll see you later. Remember to make your bed; it's a mess."

"Try not to be so cloyingly romantic and clinging," said Cole sardonically. "I enjoyed it too, but you don't see me carrying on about it."

"I think I'll lock you in a room with Rachel Marcos for a couple of days," said Sharon. "What little remains when she gets finished with you figures to be much more tractable."

She walked out into the corridor and the door sprang shut behind her.

Cole began going over the details of the plan in his mind, feeling vaguely uneasy. There were so few details, he had to be overlooking something, but he couldn't see what. Find an empty spot, not far off a major trade route, a spot the Teddy R might reasonably be thought to have wound up at after a total shutdown of the power plant. He had the exterior cameras check the ship's insignia; it all proclaimed that this was a ship of the Samarkand Cargo Lines. Christine had created an SOS message to his specifications, and the ship would broadcast it on more than two million frequencies simultaneously. It would reach close to forty light-years in every direction. He would have his own boarding party hidden near the main hatch, but he wouldn't send them over until he'd subdued the pirates' boarding party. Whoever was manning the sensors on the bridge would read the atmosphere aboard the pirate ship, as well as the gravity; the Teddy R's boarding party would have space suits handy in case the conditions aboard the pirate ship were inimical to carbon-based oxygen-breathing life. There were three starfaring races that had no eyes, that used some as-yet-undefined senses to maneuver, but none of them were supposed to be on the Inner Frontier. Still, it couldn't hurt to make sure Forrice and the rest of the party were equipped with night-vision lenses to enable them to see the interior of the pirate ship.

There was just one last thing to do before he went to the bridge. He activated his communicator and contacted Slick.

"Yes, sir?" said the Tolobite's image.

"Drop whatever you're doing and meet me in the Gunnery Section right away," said Cole.

He broke the connection even before Slick could answer, then contacted Pampas, gave him the same instructions, left his cabin, walked to an airlift, went down a level, and made his way to the Gunnery Section, where he found the Tolobite waiting for him. Pampas arrived a moment later.

"Bull," said Cole to Pampas, "you used to be Chief Gunnery Officer. I need your expertise."

"It sounded better than Sergeant, sir," replied Pampas with a smile.

"We're all officers since we became pirates," said Cole. "Anyway, you know this section better than anyone else, so as of this moment you're the Temporary Chief Communications Officer."

"What do you want me to do, sir."

"I don't care if you do it yourself or supervise it," said Cole. "First, I want you to rig the communication system here so that there's a constant visual of the bridge. One-way. I want Slick to be able to see the bridge, but I don't want anyone on the bridge to see the Gunnery Section."

"That's easy enough."

"There's more," said Cole. "I also want Slick to be able to see the main hatch. When the pirates board the ship, I want him to know it."

"One-way again, sir?"

Cole nodded his assent. "Right."

"Since the weapons will be aimed from the bridge, we don't need all the viewscreens that are tied in to them." Pampas indicated one that was attached to a pulse cannon. "We'll have the hatch showing on this one. Is that all, sir?"

"Not quite," said Cole. "I also want you to make up a dozen explosive devices that can be detonated from wherever Slick happens to be, inside the ship or outside it."

"How powerful?"

"Not powerful enough to ruin the structural integrity of a ship's hull, but strong enough to take out a weapons system."

"It would have to be an external weapon, sir," said Pampas.

"That's right."

"The pirates' weapons?"

"Can you think of any other weapons we might want to disable today?"

Pampas smiled. "No, sir. And by the way, thank you for putting me on the boarding party."

"I just hope you're as good at disabling pirates as you are at disabling your fellow crew members," said Cole. Before Pampas could protest, Cole held up a hand. "That was said in admiring tones, Bull. Alter all, you did it on my orders."

"Yes, sir," said Pampas uneasily.

"Okay, you'd better get to work. Enlist any help you might need, but try to get it done in two hours." Cole turned to Slick. "You've figured out most of it, I presume?"

"You want me to attach the explosives to any external weapons on the pirate ship," said the Tolobite.

"And all but one of their shuttlecraft," said Cole. "That's assuming i hey have any shuttles, and that they're attached on the ship's exterior."

"Why all the screens, sir?" asked Slick.

"Because it's always possible that an ambulance ship, or simply a ship full of decent beings, will be the first to reach us. I don't want you to leave the Teddy R until your observations convince you that these really are pirates. If they shoot anyone when they enter the hatch, you'll know immediately. If they wait until they reach the bridge and try to take over the ship, you'll know then. But once you know, I want you to go out through the shuttle port, not the main hatch, and start attaching all the explosives."

"When do I detonate them, sir?"

"I want you safely back in the ship first," said Cole.

"I'll be perfectly safe out there," replied Slick. "There are no shock waves in space."

"I know—but there will be a lot of flying weapon fragments. Unless your symbiote is impervious to them, it could get chopped up pretty badly, and I have to assume once it's dead or even punctured, you can't survive in space any longer than I can."

"You're quite right, sir," said Slick. "We hadn't thought of that."

"We?" repeated Cole.

"Myself and my Gorib, sir."

"It understood what I said?" asked Cole. "As far as I can tell, it's just an epidermis. I didn't know it had any sensory receptors."

"We are telepathically connected. It doesn't need sensory inputs when it can use mine."

"You know, I've never really asked you about it. Do you and your Gorib ever argue?"

"We are symbiotes, sir," answered Slick, as if that explained everything.

"Well, as I said, I want you back inside the ship so neither you nor your Gorib can be harmed by the explosions. Once you're back, wait for my signal."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No," said Cole. Then, "Yes."

"Sir?"

"Has your Gorib got a name?"

"You couldn't pronounce it, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"You can't pronounce my name, sir, and we share it. If you wish to refer to my Gorib, call it Slick."

"I call you Slick."

"We are symbiotes."

Cole got the feeling that every line of inquiry about the Gorib would end with that same answer, so he left Pampas and Slick and went up to the mess hall. All but two tables were empty, and he sat down in a corner and ordered coffee and a sandwich. One of the other diners, tall, slender, young, with close-cropped blond hair, stood up and walked over, carrying his drink and what was left of a rather plain dessert.

"Do you mind if I join you, sir?" asked Luthor Chadwick.

"The man who broke me out of the brig can join me any time he wants," replied Cole.

"The whole ship broke you out, sir."

"But you were the prison guard with the code to the locks. What can I do for you, Mr. Chadwick?"

"I just want to thank you for the opportunity, sir," said the blond man.

"The opportunity to be a member of an outlaw ship that's wanted by the Republic and the Teroni Federation?" said Cole with a smile. "You're an easy man to please."

"No, sir," said Chadwick seriously. "I meant the opportunity to be part of the boarding party."

"It's no great honor. You'll be the first to get killed if this doesn't work out."

"I've been feeling like I'm not earning my pay," began Chadwick.

"You're not getting any pay," interrupted Cole.

"I mean my keep, sir," Chadwick corrected himself. "We're carrying a crew of thirty-three, and there simply isn't much for an Assistant Chief of Security to do, especially with Colonel Blacksmith around. She is so efficient and has things so much under control that I've felt totally useless, sir, and I'm just glad that I'm finally being given something to do."

"You may feel differently about it when the shooting starts," said Cole.

"I doubt it, sir."

"Just be careful, Mr. Chadwick," said Cole. "We're traveling with less than half the normal contingent of crew members. Nothing on any pirate ship is worth as much as any of your lives. If it looks bad, if you smell a trap, if you have any reason to think we've bit off more than we can chew, I strongly suggest that the boarding party gets the hell off the pirate ship and lives to fight another day."

Chadwick smiled. "That's just what Commander Forrice told me not half an hour ago, sir."

"Just goes to show that even a hardheaded, stubborn, sarcastic Molarian can learn," said Cole.

"You two have been together a long time, haven't you?" asked Chadwick.

"On and off," said Cole. "We've known each other for years. He's probably as good a friend as I've ever had. I don't begin to understand eighty percent of the aliens I meet, including some on this ship, but Four Eyes feels like a brother. Hell, all Molarians do; in ways they're more human than Men are."

"I've noticed that, sir," said Chadwick. "I never heard any other being laugh—just Men and Molarians."

"Let's hope all the Teddy R's Men and Molarians are still laughing tomorrow," said Cole.

"They will be. After all, you're Wilson Cole."

"If I thought that was the real reason for the crew's confidence, even you would find me unbearable," said Cole. He finished his sandwich and drained his coffee container. "I'm off to the bridge. I'd recommend that you try to get some rest. It could be a few hours, or even a couple of days, before anyone shows up."

"Yes, sir," said Chadwick, standing up and saluting. "And thank you again, sir."

The young man turned and left the mess hall, and somehow Cole knew that, far from sleeping, the blond man was going to get more excited and tense by the minute. Finally Cole stood up, walked to the nearest airlift, and went up to the bridge.

"How soon?" he asked Christine Mboya.

"Maybe ten minutes," she said. "Wxakgini tells me we've been braking to sublight speeds for about two minutes now."

"I barely felt it," said Cole.

"That is precisely what you can expect to feel, as long as I'm the pilot of this vessel," said Wxakgini from his pod high above them.

"That's what I like in a pilot," said Cole. "Modesty." He turned to Christine. "You're relieved. Go get some sleep."

"But my shift isn't over yet," she protested.

"You're relieved anyway." He turned on the intercom. "Ensign Marcos to the bridge." He turned to Domak. "Are you good for another six or seven hours, Lieutenant, or do you need some sleep or nutrition?"

"I am fully capable of remaining at my post for the next seven hours," replied the Polonoi.

"I'm sure you are—but in all probability nothing's going to happen right away. Would you like some rest?"

"Like?" repeated Domak with a frown, as if she didn't comprehend the word.

"Forget I asked," said Cole. "Stay at your post." Suddenly he raised his voice. "Is Security monitoring the bridge?"

"You don't have to yell," said Sharon's image, which appeared instantly before him.

"How's that boarding team?" he asked as Rachel Marcos came onto the bridge. "All chosen?"

"All chosen."

"How many races?"

Domak, Christine, and Rachel all turned and stared at him curiously.

"Three," replied Sharon. "Four Men, Forrice, and Jack-in-the-Box."

"Lose one of the men and get me another member of another race."

"I picked the best crew members for the job," replied Sharon.

"I don't doubt it, and I'm not being a bigot," said Cole. "But we don't know what race will be on the ship we're hoping to attract. Probably it'll be Men, just because there are more Men than anything else on the Inner Frontier—but if it's some other race, let's try to increase the chance of their finding a fellow member in our boarding party. It may encourage them to talk rather than shoot."

"I doubt it," said Sharon.

"To tell you the truth, I doubt it too," agreed Cole. "But it couldn't hurt, and there's a very slight chance that it might help."

"Okay," she said. "You can have Lieutenant Sokolov back if you need him."

"Not right now. Tell him he's replacing Lieutenant Domak in six hours. In the meantime, if he's awake, send him down to the Gunnery Section and have him help Pampas. I want Bull leading our boarding party. In fact, if Sokolov knows how to finish the job, have him relieve Bull instead of just helping him. The same with Braxite. If he's not doing anything vital, send him down to Gunnery to help."

"Right," said Sharon, breaking the connection.

"Rachel, get over to the computer station," said Cole. "Christine, get the hell off the bridge and go to bed."

Rachel Marcos seated herself in front of the computers, and Christine Mboya sighed, grimaced, and otherwise made her unhappiness at being relieved clear, then walked to the airlift and went to her quarters.

"Sharon, is Slick tied in to the bridge and the hatch yet?" asked Cole, raising his voice.

"You don't have to shout," said Sharon's image, appearing once again. "We monitor the bridge every second even on days when we don't expect all hell to break loose. And in answer to your question, yes, Slick can watch everything that happens on the bridge and at the hatch."

"At some point he's going to leave the ship," said Cole. "Once he gets back, I want him to be able to hear me wherever he is."

"No problem."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay, you can vanish again."

Sharon's image disappeared.

A few minutes later Wxakgini announced that the ship had come to a stop.

"Start it spinning," said Cole. He turned to Rachel. "Start sending out that SOS Christine created—the one that says our power died, our external stabilizer has been damaged, and we're helpless. And patch me through to Odom."

Mustapha Odom's image instantly appeared.

"All right, Mr. Odom," announced Cole. "We're stopped and we're spinning. I think it's time to turn off the drive and put the ship on emergency life-support power."

"It'll take about three minutes to shut the power down," said Odom.

"How long does it take to power up again, if we need it in a hurry?" asked Cole.

"Maybe a minute, but remember—you can't be spinning when we start moving."

"I know. Shut it down now, Mr. Odom."

With the emergency life-support power on, there was no noticeable change inside the Theodore Roosevelt. If Cole hadn't gotten dizzy watching one of the viewscreens, he'd have sworn that they were still speeding across the Frontier.

"How long do you think it'll be, sir?" asked Rachel Marcos.

Cole shrugged. "More than an hour, less than a Standard day."

"I wonder what they'll be like?" she mused.

"Greedy."

"So are we," said Domak. "There is no difference."

"There's one," said Cole.

"What is that, sir?"

"If we saw a ship spinning helplessly in space," answered Cole, "a ship that was broadcasting an SOS, we'd help it. They're coming to rob it."

"Then we're not very efficient pirates," concluded Domak, her fierce face displaying no expression.

"We're new at the game," replied Cole easily. "We're still learning." He paused, then continued more seriously: "But if we ever reach the point where we'd attack and plunder a ship that had put out an SOS, then we're no better than the ships we're planning to loot. And on that day, the Teddy R can find itself a new captain."

Domak fell silent, Rachel continued monitoring her computers,

Wxakgini remained blissfully remote from everything except the navigational computer that was wired into his brain, and after a few minutes Cole decided to go to the tiny officers' lounge and relax. He called up a musical entertainment, and had watched about half of it when the singers and dancers suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by Sharon blacksmith's holograph.

"Would the Captain condescend to move his ass back up to the bridge?" she said.

"What's up?" asked Cole.

"We're about to have company."

Cole's first words as he walked onto the bridge were: "What kind of ship is it?"

"Class LJD, sir," replied Rachel.

"Armaments?"

"The LJD is a luxury space yacht, sir. It isn't built with any weaponry, but they've jury-rigged two pulse cannons, one on each side of her nose."

"Can they rotate?"

"I'm sure they can spray their fire," answered Rachel. "But if you mean, can they do a one-eighty and fire behind the ship, I can't tell."

"And there's just two cannons?" asked Cole. "You're sure of that?"

"Yes, sir."

"A luxury yacht? Well, they like their comfort, I'll give them that," said Cole. "If it was me, I'd have bought a heavily armed and armored military ship from a defeated power like the Sett and adapted it for my crew's needs." He turned to Domak. "Any indication what kind of crew it's carrying?"

"The sensors pick up fourteen life-forms," answered the Polonoi. "But I can't tell yet— Wait! They are oxygen breathers."

"Men?"

She shrugged. "Bipeds. I won't know their race until they get a little closer."

"Are their cannons armed?"

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly Christine Mboya appeared on the bridge. "I saw that they've arrived, sir. I request permission to take my station."

"You don't have a station," said Cole. "You're the Second Officer, remember?"

"I request permission to take my former station," she amended.

Cole stood stock-still for a few seconds, making up his mind. Then he nodded his assent. "Rachel, you're relieved."

"But sir—" protested Rachel.

"I haven't got time to be diplomatic," said Cole. "Christine's the best we've got at what she does, and we're putting our lives at risk. You can still make yourself useful. Slick is going to be moving some things down to the shuttle bay. Give him a hand." Rachel looked as if she was about to cry, which was the last thing he needed at this moment. "It's not busywork," he assured her. "You drop anything and the pirates won't have to blow us out of the ether. We'll do it for them."

Rachel saluted and left the bridge, and Cole turned his attention back to Domak. "Do we know what they are yet?"

Domak shook her head. "Soon."

"Christine, can those cannons rotate or can they only shoot ahead of the ship?"

"I can't tell from the configuration, sir," answered Christine, "but all logic says they can. A pirate ship is more likely to fire at pursuers than prey; after all, it can't loot what it's totally destroyed."

"Makes sense." Yes, he thought, at a time like this, you're the one I need at this station.

"Sir?" said Slick's voice, and his image appeared in front of Cole. "If we're using explosives on the weapons, what difference does it make if they can fire behind the ship or not?"

"Not to cause you undue consternation," replied Cole, "but while we'll be doing our best to distract them and hide your presence, there's always a chance they might spot you and blow you and your Gorib to hell and gone. Under those circumstances, I would have to assume they're watching for replacements, and I'd just be wasting anyone else I sent out to complete the job."

"Thank you, sir," said Slick, looking not the least bit distressed. "I was just curious."

"Try to contain your curiosity," said Cole. "We're going to be very busy here for the next few minutes."

No sooner had he spoken than Christine signaled him that a message was coming in from the approaching ship.

"Put it on visual," ordered Cole, "and let's pray that it's not an ambulance out to save us."

The holograph of a human form appeared, a tall, dark-haired bearded man. He wore what looked like a surplus military uniform with the sleeves cut off. A little pornographic tattoo on his left arm was in constant motion, more laughable than erotic. He carried a burner, a screecher, and a pulse gun, none with holsters, all bonded onto his belt.

"Attention, cargo ship," he said. "My name is Montegue Windsail, and I am the commander of the Achilles. We picked up your distress signal and came immediately. What is the nature of your problem?"

"This is ship number eighty-one of the Samarkand line," answered Cole. "I am Captain Jordan Baker," he continued, using the name of his court-martial defense attorney on the assumption that his own name might be instantly recognized. "Our light drive has gone dead, and at least one of our external stabilizers has malfunctioned. We're on emergency power right now, but I can't stop the spinning. Thank you for coming to our rescue."

Montegue Windsail allowed himself the luxury of a smile. "Well, now, rescuing you wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking of something more along the line of a trade."

"A trade?"

"Those are a nice quartet of laser cannons you have, Captain Baker. You give them to me, and I'll transport your crew to the nearest colony world."

"This is extortion!"

"This is business," replied Windsail calmly. "And if you don't like my terms, you can wait here and hope a better offer comes along."

"Maybe we'll just show you how well our laser cannons work," said Cole.

"That seems fair," said Windsail, smiling again. "You aim at us while you're spinning in space, and we'll aim our cannons at you, and let's see who's the more accurate."

"Wait!" said Cole, hoping he sounded desperate enough. "I need a minute to consider your offer."

"Take two minutes, Captain Baker," said Windsail. "But after two minutes either you agree to let us come aboard or we open fire. There's no third way."

The Achilles broke the connection.

"Did you see him?" asked Cole, struggling not to laugh. "The man looks like a cartoon character pretending to be a pirate. That tattoo—and those hand weapons! I wonder if he knows just how ludicrous he looks?"

"What are we going to do, sir?" asked Christine.

"Part of it depends on whether their boarding party approaches us in a shuttlecraft, or whether they link the Achilles with the Teddy R," answered Cole. "Let me know when ninety seconds have passed, and then reestablish the connection with them."

"Do you want us to subdue them when they come aboard?" asked Forrice's image.

"No," said Cole. "You just stand by near the hatch, keep out of sight of their boarding party, and be ready to storm the Achilles when the time comes."

"Wilson," said Forrice, "I've got an armed party right here. If we don't confront them, there's nothing to stop them between the hatch and the bridge."

"Why don't you let me worry about that?" responded Cole.

"Okay . . . but I hope you know what you're doing."

"If our sensors know where they are on board their ship, it's only reasonable to assume their sensors can do the same thing," said Cole. "If they see you clustered by the hatch or on the bridge, they won't come aboard."

Christine signaled him that he had ten seconds left. He broke the connection with Forrice, then nodded to her, and suddenly he was facing Montegue Windsail again.

"Well?" said the pirate.

"Before I agree, I want your promise that you won't harm my crew," said Cole.

"We're only interested in your cannons and your cargo," answered Windsail. "And speaking of cargo, just what are you carrying?"

"Nothing," said Cole. "We're deadheading back to Far London."

"You had better be telling the truth, Captain Baker," said Windsail. "If not, I will consider it an abrogation of our agreement."

"Wait," said Cole, looking defeated.

"Yes?"

"We're carrying one hundred sixty-three pieces of alien artwork to the Odysseus Art Gallery on Far London."

"Thank you, Captain Baker. You may lose your cargo, but you have saved your crew's lives. We'll rendezvous with you in approximately three minutes. I will lead a boarding party to your bridge, where you will order your crew, in my presence, to turn over your cargo to us and not to hinder us in any way while we are appropriating your laser cannons. Is that understood?"

Cole glared at him.

"Is that understood?" repeated Windsail ominously.

"It's understood," said Cole.

"Good. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Windsail broke the connection.

"Get me Odom!" said Cole urgently.

The engineer's image appeared a few seconds later.

"Mr. Odom, I want you to kill all the power to one of the airlifts on my signal."

"You mean you want to kill the gravity?" asked Odom.

"The gravity, the oxygen, everything."

"No problem. Which airlift?"

"Whichever one the pirates take to get from the hatch to the bridge."

"The fall could kill them before the lack of air does," offered Odom.

"Well, that's the chance you take when you decide to become a pirate." He paused briefly. "It occurs to me that we may need someone to go with them, so they don't smell a trap. That means Slick, since that Gorib of his can keep him going without air for a few hours. Can we rig something he can grab hold of while everything else is plunging down? Once they hit bottom you can turn the gravity back on, as long as it's still airless."

"I can't rig anything they won't be able to spot," said Odom.

"I'm willing to risk it, sir," said Slick, his image appearing across the bridge from Odom's. "If I'm ready, if I'm prepared, I can probably land atop them and break the fall."

"I can't take the chance, Slick," answered Cole. "I need you for later. You're the one crewman who can't be incapacitated."

"Sir," said Sokolov, his image appearing beside Slick's. "I've been down here working with Slick, so I've heard what's been said. I'd like to take a shot at it."

"Are you feeling especially suicidal today, Mr. Sokolov?" asked Cole. "The reason I thought of Slick is that he can live without air for a few hours. Unless you've been holding out on us, you can't."

"No, sir," answered Sokolov. "But I can act so damned eager to misdirect them that I'll bet I can get them to order me off the airlift."

"What you're betting is your life," said Cole. "Are you sure you want to do that? We can arrange a pretty hot reception for them on the bridge if we have to, but I've only got about a minute and a half to prepare it."

"Let me try it, sir. They're going to have their weapons drawn when they reach the bridge. You'd be risking too many casualties."

"Even if you survive the fall, there won't be any air," said Cole. "We may not get you out of there in time."

"This is war, sir," said Sokolov. "It's not the one I signed up for, but the principle is the same. They're the enemy, and I'm ready to do whatever has to be done to win."

"Okay, I'm out of time," said Cole decisively. "Meet them at the airlock and let's hope you're as obnoxious an actor as you think you are."

The Achilles reached the Theodore Roosevelt half a minute later. An extension reached out from its hatch, bonded to the Theodore Roosevelt over its hatch, and the two ships were locked together, spinning slowly, even Cole had to admit that it was a hell of a nice job of maneuvering.

A moment later Montegue Windsail, looking every bit like a refugee from a bad holo entertainment, boarded the Theodore Roosevelt, followed by seven men, all humans.

"Greetings, Captain Windsail," said Cole, his holograph appearing at the end of the short corridor. "The man who is stationed at the hatch to guide you is Vladimir Sokolov. He will take you to the airlift that leads directly to the bridge."

"Why is he armed?" demanded Windsail. "We have an agreement. No harm will come to your crew if you honor your end of it."

"Pirates killed my brother and my wife," growled Sokolov. "I don't trust any of you bastards."

"Perhaps they were killed because they would not relinquish their weapons," suggested Windsail. "I think it might be best if you relinquished yours."

"Not a chance," said Sokolov. "My orders are to take you to the airlift. Let's go." He indicated the direction.

"After you," said Windsail.

"I don't turn my back on pirates," said Sokolov. "Just get on the airlift, and keep your hands where I can see them."

"That's the airlift?" asked Windsail, indicating the shaft.

"That's right."

"Then I think we can dispense with your services."

"My orders are to go with you," said Sokolov coldly. "Captain Baker said to take you up to the bridge, and that's what I'm doing."

Don't overplay it, thought Cole. He's already told you to stay out of the airlift. Let it drop.

But Sokolov had read his audience correctly. "I'm in charge now," said Windsail. "And I say you're staying behind. I don't need an armed enemy standing behind me on the bridge."

"Fuck you!" said Sokolov heatedly. "I don't take orders from pirates!"

"Vladimir," interjected Cole, "do what Captain Windsail says."

"But sir—"

"You heard me," said Cole.

"Yes, sir," muttered Sokolov, glaring hatefully at the pirates.

"Thank you, Captain," said Windsail, as he led his crew of seven onto the airlift. It rose half a level; then Cole said "Now!" and the eight pirates plummeted down four levels. Their cries became inaudible gurgles as the air vanished from the shaft.

"Not the brightest bears in the woods," said Cole. "Christine, share Domak's sensors and see if one of you can spot how many men are still on the Achilles and where they're located. Slick!" he said, raising his voice. "Time to get to work."

Forrice's image floated in front of Cole.

"Are we ready to board the Achilles now?" asked the Molarian.

"Soon," answered Cole. "We're just finding out where all the bad guys are. By now their sensors will have shown them that their captain and his team are dead."

"Then we'd better move fast," said Forrice. "They may decide to cut and run."

"It won't do them any good," said Cole. "The two ships are bonded together."

"Sir?" said Christine.

"Yes?"

"There are six of them on board. They seem to have gathered in the control room."

"You mean the bridge?"

"Pleasure yachts don't have bridges. I guess a control room's as close as they can get."

"You heard it, Four Eyes. They're in the control room. Christine, put a floor plan of the Achilles on every private and public screen on the ship. Four Eyes, Luthor, Jack-in-the-Box, the rest of you—study it so you know where everything is when you get there."

"It's too small for them to hide in," said Forrice. "Either they surrender or we kill them."

"Let's give them a chance to think about it," said Cole. "Christine, patch me through to the Achilles, audio and video, all frequencies."

"You're on," said Christine a moment later.

"Crew members of the Achilles, this is Wilson Cole, the Captain of the Theodore Roosevelt, the vessel that Captain Windsail thought was a distressed cargo ship. You six are the only remaining crew of the Achilles still alive. We will soon be sending a boarding party onto your ship." He paused. "You have three choices: you can pledge your allegiance to us and join us as members in good standing of the Theodore Roosevelt, a former Republic warship which is now"—he searched for the right words—"an independent contractor. You can surrender and choose not to join us, in which case your weapons will be confiscated and you will be set down on the nearest colony planet with an oxygen atmosphere and acceptable gravity. Or you can refuse to join us or surrender, in which case you will suffer the consequences. I'm going to give you five minutes to make up your minds. This channel will remain open."

The bridge became silent. Then, some three minutes into the countdown, Slick's image appeared.

"I'm done, sir."

"Are you back aboard the ship?" asked Cole.

"Yes, sir," answered the Tolobite. "I'm on my way to the Gunnery Section."

"Blow them right now."

A brief pause. "Done, sir."

"Crew of the Achilles" said Cole, "if it will help you to reach a decision, I can now inform you that your laser cannons have been disabled."

Two more minutes passed, and the Achilles offered no response. Cole made a slashing motion across his neck, and Christine killed the connection.

"Now?" asked Forrice.

"Something's wrong," said Cole. "They've got six men and nothing more than hand weapons against a military ship that for all they know is carrying a full crew. Let's let 'em sweat for another few minutes."

"What do you think is going on, sir?" asked Christine.

"I don't know," answered Cole. "We're not at war. They can't be willing to blow up their ship in a fit of patriotism or pique. Whatever loot they're sitting on, it's not worth dying for. I'm missing something, and I'm not sending my people over there until I figure out what it is."

"Sir?" said Christine, staring at her sensors and frowning. "Something very strange is happening."

"What?" demanded Cole, suddenly alert.

"Now there are only three men on the bridge. The rest seem to be heading down toward the belly of the ship."

"Shit!" exclaimed Cole. "Now I know! Four Eyes, get your party over to the Achilles on the double! I don't think you'll meet much resistance in the control room, but that's not your destination. Get down to the shuttle level as fast as you can! That's where you'll find them!"

"We're on our way," said the Molarian, spinning his tripodal body through the hatch like some alien dervish.

"That's what I was missing," said Cole to Christine. "I had Slick not only blow the cannons, but also all but one shuttlecraft. I figured we'd stick any survivors on it and set it to land on a colony world— but they've already figured out what I should never have forgotten: that they've got an operative shuttle. My guess is that they're loading their loot onto it right now. They might leave one or two misdirected idiots behind to make a lot of noise and try to slow us down."

"But they know we'll be able to destroy them at more than a light-year's distance," said Christine. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It makes a lot of sense," answered Cole. "They're counting on the fact that we're not going to destroy the shuttle when it's got their treasure aboard it, and they're hoping they can get to a friendly planet before we can catch them."

"Are there any friendly planets out here?" she asked.

"I told them who we are, remember? You total up the rewards the Republic is offering for me, for Sharon, for Four Eyes, and for the Teddy R, and just about every damned planet on the Frontier will give aid and comfort to anyone who can lure us there."

"That right," she admitted. "I'd forgotten."

"Sir," said Domak, staring at a screen, "at least one of our party is down. Just from the positioning, it looks like there's a pitched battle in the control room. One of the non-humans, I can't tell from the readings if it's Forrice or Jaxtaboxl, has reached the shuttle bay. . . . Now a human has joined him."

"It's my fault!" said Cole, furious with himself. "We've got shuttles to spare. I should never have told Slick to leave that one alone!"

"The battle in the control room seems to have ended. Two Achilles crewmen and two of ours are dead or disabled."

"And we still haven't got a doctor on this fucking ship!" grated Cole. "It's a damned good thing I'm not still in the Navy or they'd be taking another command away from me!"

"Well, I'll be damned!" blurted Christine, still glued to her monitors. "Good for you, Forrice!"

"What happened?" said Cole.

"One of them, Forrice or Jaxtaboxl, blew the mechanism that opens the shuttle bay. Now it can't leave the ship!"

"That should do it," said Cole, relieved. "There's no escape. They'll surrender, and then we can try to save the ones who aren't already dead."

Suddenly Forrice's image appeared above Christine's bank of computers. There was the purple fluid that passed for his blood running down his arm, and his neck had been singed by a burner. He was crouched down behind the disabled shutlecraft, pulse gun in hand.

"Are you there?" he asked urgently. "Is this getting through to you? I've got to speak to Cole!"

"I'm here," said Cole. "What is it, Four Eyes? It looks like the shooting's over."

"Yes and no," said the Molarian, grimacing in pain as he shifted his position.

"Explain."

"We have what I would call a situation," said Forrice.

"I'm on my way," said Cole, walking toward the airlift.

"I thought the Captain and the First Officer never left the ship at the same time in enemy territory," grated Forrice.

"We're in neutral territory," answered Cole. "And as long as the Achilles is bonded to us, I consider it an extension of the Teddy R."

"That's my Wilson," said Forrice.

"I'll see you in about a minute."

"Wilson, one more thing," said the Molarian.

"What?"

"Don't rush blindly in."

C!ole approached the yacht's control room cautiously, burner in hand, but it wasn't necessary. Two of the pirate ship's crew lay dead on the floor. So did one of the Theodore Roosevelt's three Bedalians. Luthor Chadwick was propped up against a bulkhead, blood running out of his ears, his eyes barely able to focus.

"I've got to go to the shuttle bay," said Cole. "We'll get help for you as soon as we can."

"I can't hear you, sir," rasped Chadwick.

"I said I've got to go to the shuttle bay!" said Cole, raising his voice.

Luthor pointed to his ears. "I took a heavy blast from a screecher, sir," he said. "I can see your lips move, but I can't hear anything. I think the rest of our team is down in the shuttle bay."

Cole nodded, and headed off toward the bay. There were no sounds of combat as he neared it, but as he approached Forrice he saw a sudden flash of motion and dropped to the ground as an energy pulse burned itself into a bulkhead where his head had been.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked, crawling toward Forrice over the fallen bodies of two of his crewmen.

"You're not going to believe it, sir," said Pampas, who was crouched behind a disabled shuttlecraft.

"Let's have it," said Cole. "These guys have no means of escape, they're outnumbered, we've killed most of their crew including their captain, and we've offered them positions on the Teddy R or safe passage to a colony planet. Why are they still fighting?"

"The man the late Captain Windsail left in charge of the ship told them we were slave traders," said Forrice. "It was actually pretty effective propaganda to stiffen their resolve. They think if we capture them we're going to sell them."

"Bullshit!" said Cole.

"Pampas told you you wouldn't believe it," said Forrice with the Molarian equivalent of a smile.

"Is there any slavery on the Inner Frontier?" asked Cole. "Why would they believe him? I thought the last of it had been wiped out centuries ago."

"Probably there is, sir," said Pampas. "There is no actual law to speak of on the Frontier, just some planetary governments and some bounty hunters. I'd be surprised if at least half a dozen worlds aren't trafficking in slaves."

"And the Teddy R is big enough to carry a cargo of slaves," noted Forrice.

"This is ridiculous," said Cole. "It's time to end it."

"They're pretty well protected, sir," said Pampas.

"I didn't say I was going to shoot them," answered Cole. "I said I was going to end it." He paused for a moment, lost in thought, then looked at the Molarian. "Four Eyes, what was your mother's name?"

Forrice looked at Cole as if he had gone mad.

"Come on," said Cole. "I haven't got all day."

"Well, roughly translated, it would be—"

"No translation. Tell me the Molarian name."

"Chorinszloblen."

"Fine." He raised his voice. "Crewmen of the Achilles, this is Wilson Cole, Captain of the Theodore Roosevelt. Can you hear me?"

"I'm not coming out!" yelled a voice.

"I'm"? thought Cole. So there's only one of you left. Aloud he said, "I want you to listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. We are not a slave ship. We do not traffic in sentient beings. My original offer still stands. If you surrender, you can join my crew as an equal member and today's action will not be held against you, or I can set you down on a colony planet. In either case, you will not be harmed. But I'm all through waiting, and I won't spend any more lives. I have with me a cannister of chorinszloblen, a powerful nerve gas. My crew members all have protection against it. It won't kill you, but it will incapacitate you, and it will almost certainly burn out most of your neural circuits. You can surrender now or you can become a vegetable; it's your choice. You've fought a brave fight, but it's over. You're all out of time."

Cole stopped speaking. After thirty seconds a pulse gun and a burner were tossed out into the open. Then, very slowly, a young man arose, hands behind his head, and walked across the bay.

"I'm your prisoner," he said.

"He's just a kid!" said Pampas, staring at him.

"Even kids can kill," said Cole. "Four Eyes, make sure he's unarmed. Bull, keep an eye on him."

Forrice quickly examined the prisoner. "He's clean," announced the Molarian.

"Okay. Bull, check out his companions."

"They're all dead," said the young man bitterly.

"That makes you the sole surviving member of the Achilles," said Cole. He turned to Pampas. "Bull, Luthor Chadwick is in a bad way up in the control room. I want you and Jack-in-the-Box to bring him back to the Teddy R and see if anyone can stop the bleeding. And dope him up until we can get him to a doctor."

"Colonel Blacksmith has confiscated all the drugs, sir," said Pampas.

"She'll release some for this. Just let her take a look at him."

"Right, sir," said Pampas as he and Jaxtaboxl went off to the control room.

Cole turned his attention back to the prisoner. "What's your name, son?"

"I don't have to tell you," said the young man defiantly.

"No, you don't," agreed Cole. "But it means until we set you off on a planet you're going to have to answer to 'Son' or 'Hey you.'"

"You're really going to set me free?" said the prisoner.

"I told you we would."

"But Captain Windsail said—"

"Captain Windsail lied," interrupted Cole.

The young man stared at him. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but you killed every other crew member from my ship."

"Your ship tried to plunder my ship," noted Cole. "Let's not forget that little fact. Now suppose you save us some time and tell me where your cargo is. The sooner we appropriate it, the sooner we can set you loose."

"That wasn't part of the deal," said the young man.

"The battle's over," said Cole. "Why do you insist on being difficult?"

"If you use that chemical, that chori— . . . chori-whatever-it-is, on me, you'll burn out my memory," said the young man pugnaciously, trying to hide his nervousness. "Then you'll never find it."

"I would never dream of using chorinszloblen on you," answered Cole. "I don't think my First Officer would approve." Forrice uttered a pair of hoots that passed for Molarian laughter. "We'll find your treasure with or without your help. I know it and you know it, so why not just tell me what and where it is?"

"How do I know you won't kill me after you get your hands on it?"

"This is a goddamned yacht, not a dreadnaught," said Cole irritably. "How the hell many places can it be? If I was going to kill you, I'd do it right now, for putting us through the trouble of finding it."

"All right," said the young man. "We're carrying about four hundred uncut diamonds from Blantyre IV, and there's some jewelry that Captain Windsail stole the last time he was on Binder X."

"Where is it?"

"Captain Windsail never told us, but I'm pretty sure it's in the galley."

"Why?"

"He'd never keep it in his cabin. That's the first place anyone would look."

"Why the galley?" persisted Cole.

"That's the one place none of us have searched," was the answer. "We were all afraid of cutting off a hand reaching back behind all those food synthesizing machines."

"All right, we'll search the galley first. If you're right, you can have a handful of diamonds as a grubstake when we set you down."

The young man stared at him curiously. "You'd really do that?"

"I just said so," replied Cole.

"Esteban Morales."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's my name—Esteban Morales." He paused. "Is your offer still open?"

"Which one?"

"To join your crew," said Morales. "I could prove very useful to you."

"I'm listening."

"I know all the places the Achilles went—all the worlds that gave us safe haven, all the people Captain Windsail dealt with."

"You're hired, Mr. Morales," said Cole. He reached for the communicator that was bonded to his shoulder and touched it. "Christine, the shooting's all done. Have Briggs round up a party of six or seven and come on over."

"Will he be removing the bodies, sir?" asked Christine Mboya.

"He'll remove our crew's bodies," replied Cole. "Send over some airsleds and body bags. I'll read over them when they get back to the ship. And tell Briggs to start hunting for treasure in the galley. He's looking for uncut diamonds, maybe four hundred of them, and some jewelry, no description."

"Four hundred diamonds?" she said. "That's not a bad day's work."

"Also, we have a new crew member, human male, name Esteban Morales. Assign him a room and have Sharon make sure the computer registers his voiceprint, thumbprint, and retinagram when he gets there so he can lock and unlock the damned thing."

"Got it."

"Then hunt up the nearest world with a medical facility, put Sokolov in charge of a shuttle, and have him transport Chadwick there."

"Should he wait?" asked Christine.

"We'll all be back in the Teddy R long before he gets there, so have him contact me once he hears what they have to say."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Not that I can think of. Just get Briggs and his party here in a hurry. The Achilles probably wasn't the only pirate ship to hear that SOS, and we're a sitting duck while we're bonded to it."

He broke the communication and turned to Morales. "Let's check out your companions."

"They're all dead."

"Probably, but it never hurts to make sure. If any of them are even mildly alive, we'll stick them on that shuttle that's taking my man to a hospital."

"You're a strange kind of pirate, sir."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Cole, walking over and examining the bodies lying on the floor of the shuttle bay. All three were dead. Then, accompanied by Morales, he returned to the control room. The two crewmen were dead; so was Ensign Anders from his own ship.

Malcolm Briggs showed up a moment later, leading five members of the Teddy R.

"Mr. Briggs, this is Mr. Morales, our newest crew member. Mr. Morales, show them where the galley is," said Cole. "Mr. Braxite, start putting our fallen comrades in body bags." Morales led them to the Achilles' galley, then returned alone to the control room.

After five minutes had passed Christine Mboya contacted Cole and told him that the shuttle had been dispatched to the single hospital on Sophocles, a farming world nine light-years distant. And ten minutes after that Briggs uttered a shout of triumph, and Cole knew they'd found the diamonds and the jewelry.

"That's it," said Cole. "Let's get the treasure and our dead back to the Teddy R."

"Don't you want to see the diamonds?" asked Morales.

"There's plenty of time to admire our plunder after we cut the Achilles loose," said Cole. "And you've got some work to do."

"I do?"

Cole nodded. "I'll want the names and locations of the worlds where we won't be harassed if we land. And I especially need the name of Windsail's fence."

"His fence, sir?"

"These diamonds cost us two lives and put a third in the hospital," said Cole. "We'd damned well better get a price that makes that sacrifice worthwhile."

"We have a count on the diamonds, Captain," said Christine Mboya.

"And?"

"Four hundred and sixteen, all uncut. Most of them are pretty big; it's almost as if they threw the small ones back until they grew up." She paused. "There's also a ruby ring, matching earrings, a gold-and-diamond necklace, a gold tiara with about seventy-five gems set into it, a gold bracelet with a set of unknown stones on it, and a ring with a diamond that's bigger than any of the uncut ones."

"Well, it's a start," said Cole. "I suppose we'd have done better if we'd robbed a spaceliner, or even one of the bigger jewelers back in the Republic, but this way there was no collateral damage to innocent civilians, and we didn't kill anyone who wasn't trying to kill us."

"It may turn out that the most valuable thing we came away with was Mr. Morales," she said. "Rachel Marcos is handling his interrogation, and he's been speaking for two hours. Colonel Blacksmith has captured everything on her computer. Once she sorts it out, I'll feed all the data on friendly worlds and profitable commercial routes into the navigational computer."

"Rachel Marcos?" he repeated, surprised. "I know we're only carrying a skeleton crew of thirty-two—well, twenty-nine now—but she's about twenty-fifth in rank."

Christine smiled. "Men like to talk to her, or haven't you noticed?"

"I know men like to pounce on her," replied Cole dryly. "I wasn't aware of the talking."

"She's well protected," Christine assured him. "We've got Mr. Pampas with her."

"Yeah, that should do the trick," said Cole. "Providing he doesn't pounce first."

"He won't," said Sharon Blacksmith's voice. "I'm watching them like a hawk."

"There haven't been any hawks in two thousand years," said Cole.

"All right," amended Sharon. "I'm watching them like the best Security Chief in the business. And we've only got a crew of twenty-eight since this morning. Three dead, Luthor in the hospital."

"I want him to get the best medical help they've got," said Cole. "He's the man who unlocked my cell when his job was guarding me. In the meantime," he continued, "we've added Esteban Morales to the crew. That makes twenty-nine, in a ship that was designed to carry sixty-four."

"Esteban Morales has barely started shaving," said Sharon. "Once he tells you everything he knows about the pirating business, what else can he do?"

"We'll find out," answered Cole. "Hell, what could any of us do when we were that young? If he needs training, we'll train him."

"Maybe we'll lock him in a room with Rachel and see who hollers 'Uncle' first."

"Maybe we'll sic him on the Chief of Security when the Captain doesn't want to be bothered," replied Cole with a smile.

"He's only eighteen," said Sharon. "He could be an old man before that happy day arrives."

"I shouldn't be listening to this," said Christine.

"You're Second Officer," replied Cole. "No one ever promised that the job would all be killing bad guys and spending their money. You just have to learn to put up with the difficult stuff too."

She seemed about to make a serious reply, obviously thought better of it, and went back to studying her computers.

"Just a minute," said Sharon. There was a moment of silence. "Christine, find out the official name for a world named Riverwind, stick it in the navigational computer, and tell Wxakgini that's our destination."

"That's where Windsail's fence is?" asked Cole.

"Yes," said Sharon. "According to Mr. Morales, this guy is not just Windsail's fence; he's the biggest fence on the whole damned Inner Frontier."

"Has he got a name?"

"Given his business, he's probably got twenty of them, but Mr. Morales says they know him as the Eel."

"Aw, come on," said Cole. "No one calls himself the Eel."

"Just a minute," said Sharon. "Right, that's just what Rachel and bull pointed out. Clarification: Windsail called him the Eel, but only to his crew, never to the man's face. His name, at least the one Morales knows him by, is David Copperfield. Try not to laugh."

"What's so funny about that?" asked Christine as Cole tried unsuccessfully to repress a broad smile.

"He's a fictional character."

"I'm not aware of him."

"It's from a book that was written more than a thousand years before the Galactic Era," answered Cole. "Could be worse. At least we're dealing with someone who reads."

"I read, sir!" said Christine heatedly.

"Let me amend that," said Cole. "At least we're dealing with someone who reads classics from when Man was still Earthbound—and there aren't that many of us left. Better?"

"I had no right to object to what you said originally, sir," said Christine.

"We're not in the Navy anymore, and we haven't written any regulations for pirates yet."

"What about 'Pirates Are Not Innocent?" asked Sharon's voice.

"That applies to all pirates except us," answered Cole. "And it's a statement of policy, not a regulation."

"Sir?" said Christine suddenly.

"What is it?"

"The computer says there are two worlds named Riverwind," she said, frowning. "They're both Earth-type planets."

"Of course," said Cole. "What alien would give a Terran name to a world? All right, put Mr. Morales's debriefing on audio and visual."

Suddenly images appeared of Morales, Rachel, and Pampas, all seated at a small table.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Cole, "but we need some clarification. There are two planets called Riverwind. Can you help us out, Mr. Morales?"

"This one had polar ice caps," answered Morales. "I remember seeing that whenever we'd approach it."

"Christine?" said Cole.

She checked her computers, then shook her head. "They both have polar caps, sir."

"What else can you tell us about it, Mr. Morales?" asked Cole. "Do you know the name of the star system?"

"No," said Morales. He lowered his head in thought, then looked up suddenly. "I remember that it had four moons. Does that help?"

"It ought to," said Cole. He turned to Christine again. "Does it help?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "The other Riverwind has one moon. The one we're interested in is Beta Gambanelli II."

"Okay, Rachel and Bull. He's all yours again." Cole nodded to Christine, who broke the connection. "Beta Gambanelli," he mused. "There was an officer in the Pioneer Corps named Gambanelli some centuries ago. I can't remember what the hell he did, but there was a statue of him on Spica II. I wonder if this is the same one?"

"I can find out, sir."