the necessary firepower."
"So?"
"So maybe we'd do better breaking into smaller units. Put ten or twelve ships each under Jacovic, Perez, and maybe Sokolov or Domak, and keep about fifteen or twenty under the Teddy R. There are probably a lot more assignments to be had that way. Right now the Duke is trying to get commissions that cover the expenses of close to fifty ships. We didn't have this kind of trouble getting work when we were a smaller fleet."
"It seems logical," she agreed. "There's not really much sense having this big a fleet if you're not going up against the Octopus."
"I think I'll talk to the Duke about it next time I go over to the casino." He paused. "By the way, how's Braxite doing?"
"He's still in sick bay. The medic says he's got cartilage damage, but he's no expert in Molarian physiology. Because of that he can't do arthroscopic surgery, and if he opens the leg up it could mean a four-month recovery and a permanent limp, so he's just prescribing bed rest and some anti-inflammatory medication until we can find a Molarian doctor."
"Too bad," said Cole. "Still, we can't have a different medic for every race aboard the ship. Is Braxite in much pain?"
"Mostly psychic pain," replied Sharon with a grin. "He's thinking of all the fun Forrice and Jacillios are having."
"Speaking of Four Eyes, has he contacted us yet about when he plans to return?"
"He's probably too exhausted."
"What the hell," said Cole. "He deserves it. And think of the fun we'll have teasing him when he gets back." He stood up and stretched. "Another dull day in port. I think I'll take a nap."
"I'll wake you in a few hours for dinner."
"Sounds good," he said, heading off for the airlift as her image flickered out of existence.
It felt like he'd only been asleep a few minutes when he heard an insistent female voice.
"Captain Cole? Are you there, sir? Captain Cole?"
He sat up groggily. "Is it dinnertime already?"
"This is Christine Mboya, sir. I'm on the bridge."
He opened his eyes and found himself looking at her holograph. "What's up?"
"We're getting a transmission I think you'd better see, sir."
"From who?"
"It's from the Braccio system, sir."
"Four Eyes?" said Cole. "When's he due back?"
"No, it's not from Forrice, sir," said Christine. "Take a moment to wake up and gather your wits about you, sir."
"I'm dressed. I'll be right up to the bridge. By the time I get there, I should be reasonably alert."
Cole got to his feet, rinsed his face off, left his cabin, took an airlift to the bridge, and stopped cold.
A life-size holographic transmission filled the far end of the bridge. Forrice was strapped to a chair. His face was a bloody mess, one of his four eyes clearly gouged out. It was obvious that two of his legs and one of his arms had been broken, the fingers of one hand mutilated. His torso looked like a piece of raw hamburger.
Standing next to him, staring into the camera, was a human male wearing the outfit and insignia of a captain in the Republic's Navy.
"How long as this been going on?" asked Cole.
"The transmission just reached us about three minutes ago, sir," said Christine. "It's being sent all over the Frontier on the broadest possible wavelength. I'd say fully a third of the Frontier worlds possessing subspace receivers can receive it."
"So this is the notorious Commander Forrice of the outlaw ship the Theodore Roosevelt," said the officer. "The Republic has posted a three-million-credit reward on his head, which I will be happy to deliver after I have severed it from his body. The fee will be split with the establishment that thoughtfully and patriotically informed me of his presence here."
Forrice had been gasping for breath when Cole arrived, but now his breathing was becoming so shallow Cole could hardly notice it.
"Nothing will free this traitor, but one thing can keep him alive. I have asked him to give me the location of the mutineer Wilson Cole and the Theodore Roosevelt. As you can see, he
"So?"
"So maybe we'd do better breaking into smaller units. Put ten or twelve ships each under Jacovic, Perez, and maybe Sokolov or Domak, and keep about fifteen or twenty under the Teddy R. There are probably a lot more assignments to be had that way. Right now the Duke is trying to get commissions that cover the expenses of close to fifty ships. We didn't have this kind of trouble getting work when we were a smaller fleet."
"It seems logical," she agreed. "There's not really much sense having this big a fleet if you're not going up against the Octopus."
"I think I'll talk to the Duke about it next time I go over to the casino." He paused. "By the way, how's Braxite doing?"
"He's still in sick bay. The medic says he's got cartilage damage, but he's no expert in Molarian physiology. Because of that he can't do arthroscopic surgery, and if he opens the leg up it could mean a four-month recovery and a permanent limp, so he's just prescribing bed rest and some anti-inflammatory medication until we can find a Molarian doctor."
"Too bad," said Cole. "Still, we can't have a different medic for every race aboard the ship. Is Braxite in much pain?"
"Mostly psychic pain," replied Sharon with a grin. "He's thinking of all the fun Forrice and Jacillios are having."
"Speaking of Four Eyes, has he contacted us yet about when he plans to return?"
"He's probably too exhausted."
"What the hell," said Cole. "He deserves it. And think of the fun we'll have teasing him when he gets back." He stood up and stretched. "Another dull day in port. I think I'll take a nap."
"I'll wake you in a few hours for dinner."
"Sounds good," he said, heading off for the airlift as her image flickered out of existence.
It felt like he'd only been asleep a few minutes when he heard an insistent female voice.
"Captain Cole? Are you there, sir? Captain Cole?"
He sat up groggily. "Is it dinnertime already?"
"This is Christine Mboya, sir. I'm on the bridge."
He opened his eyes and found himself looking at her holograph. "What's up?"
"We're getting a transmission I think you'd better see, sir."
"From who?"
"It's from the Braccio system, sir."
"Four Eyes?" said Cole. "When's he due back?"
"No, it's not from Forrice, sir," said Christine. "Take a moment to wake up and gather your wits about you, sir."
"I'm dressed. I'll be right up to the bridge. By the time I get there, I should be reasonably alert."
Cole got to his feet, rinsed his face off, left his cabin, took an airlift to the bridge, and stopped cold.
A life-size holographic transmission filled the far end of the bridge. Forrice was strapped to a chair. His face was a bloody mess, one of his four eyes clearly gouged out. It was obvious that two of his legs and one of his arms had been broken, the fingers of one hand mutilated. His torso looked like a piece of raw hamburger.
Standing next to him, staring into the camera, was a human male wearing the outfit and insignia of a captain in the Republic's Navy.
"How long as this been going on?" asked Cole.
"The transmission just reached us about three minutes ago, sir," said Christine. "It's being sent all over the Frontier on the broadest possible wavelength. I'd say fully a third of the Frontier worlds possessing subspace receivers can receive it."
"So this is the notorious Commander Forrice of the outlaw ship the Theodore Roosevelt," said the officer. "The Republic has posted a three-million-credit reward on his head, which I will be happy to deliver after I have severed it from his body. The fee will be split with the establishment that thoughtfully and patriotically informed me of his presence here."
Forrice had been gasping for breath when Cole arrived, but now his breathing was becoming so shallow Cole could hardly notice it.
"Nothing will free this traitor, but one thing can keep him alive. I have asked him to give me the location of the mutineer Wilson Cole and the Theodore Roosevelt. As you can see, he
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