what?"
"I just hate it when you make sense. You take away all my distaste for a clearly distasteful situation."
"I was planning on taking you to that elegant new restaurant that just opened up on the sixth level of the station," said Cole. "They're supposed to have mutated bison imported from Pollux IV. I suppose we should each pay our own way to avoid another distasteful situation."
"I can live with that one," she said promptly.
"You're sure?" he asked with a smile.
"Easier than you can live a celibate life for the next six months," she replied. "Your choice."
"Let me see a menu and check the prices and then I'll make a decision."
She laughed, he laughed, and both of them decided they were very fortunate not to have been born Molarian.
It would be a few days yet before they knew how lucky.
Cole and Forrice walked past the gaming tables of Duke's Place and sat down at the Platinum Duke's table.
"I got word that you wanted to speak to me," said Cole.
"How soon can you be ready for a major action?" asked the Duke.
"That all depends. Define major action."
"The biggest outlaw on the Inner Frontier is the Octopus ..." began the Duke.
"Human?" asked Forrice.
"I don't know," admitted the Duke. "I don't think anyone does, except his lieutenants."
"Okay, so he's the biggest outlaw on the Frontier," said Cole. "Go on."
"I'm surprised you haven't heard of him."
"Why should we?" asked Cole. "We're not exactly long-term residents. The Teddy R goes out after selected targets, and then it comes right back to Singapore Station."
"I'm sure someone on the ship has heard of him," said the Molarian. "After all, we've added more than four hundred to our various crews. Maybe the original members of the Teddy R don't know who he is, but beings who've lived most of their lives on the Inner Frontier probably have."
"I repeat: What about him?" said Cole.
"There's a consortium of some forty-three worlds that would like lo put a stop to his activities."
Cole shook his head. "Not good enough. Spell it out."
"They want him killed or imprisoned, and his fleet demolished."
"How come no one's asked us to do this sooner?" asked Forrice. "We've been a mercenary fleet for just short of a Standard year now."
Cole shot him a look that said: Dumb question.
"They never thought you were strong enough until now," replied the Duke. "Word has spread that you prefer to assimilate enemy ships and crews rather than destroy them, so they figure every time you score a major victory you're that much bigger and more powerful for the next assignment."
"What's the bottom line?" said Cole.
"They'll pay you the sum of—"
"That's David's bottom line," interrupted Cole. "I want to know what we're up against."
"I don't have exact numbers," answered the Duke. "It's estimated that he's got between three hundred and four hundred ships."
"I don't think much of your notion of fair odds."
"When you hear what they're paying . . ."
"Later," said Cole. "Tell me what kind of armaments they're carrying."
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"How many planets do they control?"
The Duke shrugged. "I told you: forty-three."
Cole shook his head. "That's how many are willing to pay us. How many does he control—planets that are too afraid to join the consortium?"
"I'll find out. Don't you want to hear the price?"
"After you find out what I want to know, then we'll talk price," said Cole. "Although right at the moment, I'm inclined to tell you to forget it. They outnumber us six or eight to one, maybe more. We've got a lot of small class-G and class-H ships. If they've got any Level 4 thumpers or Level 5 burners and commensurate defenses . . ."
"So you'll lose a few ships," said the Duke. "You'll replace them with the ones you assimilate."
"Those ships you shrug off are filled with people who depend upon me to keep them alive, or at least give them a fighting chance to survive."
"You have to expect losses. This is war, Wilson."
"Not if we don't declare it,"
"I just hate it when you make sense. You take away all my distaste for a clearly distasteful situation."
"I was planning on taking you to that elegant new restaurant that just opened up on the sixth level of the station," said Cole. "They're supposed to have mutated bison imported from Pollux IV. I suppose we should each pay our own way to avoid another distasteful situation."
"I can live with that one," she said promptly.
"You're sure?" he asked with a smile.
"Easier than you can live a celibate life for the next six months," she replied. "Your choice."
"Let me see a menu and check the prices and then I'll make a decision."
She laughed, he laughed, and both of them decided they were very fortunate not to have been born Molarian.
It would be a few days yet before they knew how lucky.
Cole and Forrice walked past the gaming tables of Duke's Place and sat down at the Platinum Duke's table.
"I got word that you wanted to speak to me," said Cole.
"How soon can you be ready for a major action?" asked the Duke.
"That all depends. Define major action."
"The biggest outlaw on the Inner Frontier is the Octopus ..." began the Duke.
"Human?" asked Forrice.
"I don't know," admitted the Duke. "I don't think anyone does, except his lieutenants."
"Okay, so he's the biggest outlaw on the Frontier," said Cole. "Go on."
"I'm surprised you haven't heard of him."
"Why should we?" asked Cole. "We're not exactly long-term residents. The Teddy R goes out after selected targets, and then it comes right back to Singapore Station."
"I'm sure someone on the ship has heard of him," said the Molarian. "After all, we've added more than four hundred to our various crews. Maybe the original members of the Teddy R don't know who he is, but beings who've lived most of their lives on the Inner Frontier probably have."
"I repeat: What about him?" said Cole.
"There's a consortium of some forty-three worlds that would like lo put a stop to his activities."
Cole shook his head. "Not good enough. Spell it out."
"They want him killed or imprisoned, and his fleet demolished."
"How come no one's asked us to do this sooner?" asked Forrice. "We've been a mercenary fleet for just short of a Standard year now."
Cole shot him a look that said: Dumb question.
"They never thought you were strong enough until now," replied the Duke. "Word has spread that you prefer to assimilate enemy ships and crews rather than destroy them, so they figure every time you score a major victory you're that much bigger and more powerful for the next assignment."
"What's the bottom line?" said Cole.
"They'll pay you the sum of—"
"That's David's bottom line," interrupted Cole. "I want to know what we're up against."
"I don't have exact numbers," answered the Duke. "It's estimated that he's got between three hundred and four hundred ships."
"I don't think much of your notion of fair odds."
"When you hear what they're paying . . ."
"Later," said Cole. "Tell me what kind of armaments they're carrying."
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"How many planets do they control?"
The Duke shrugged. "I told you: forty-three."
Cole shook his head. "That's how many are willing to pay us. How many does he control—planets that are too afraid to join the consortium?"
"I'll find out. Don't you want to hear the price?"
"After you find out what I want to know, then we'll talk price," said Cole. "Although right at the moment, I'm inclined to tell you to forget it. They outnumber us six or eight to one, maybe more. We've got a lot of small class-G and class-H ships. If they've got any Level 4 thumpers or Level 5 burners and commensurate defenses . . ."
"So you'll lose a few ships," said the Duke. "You'll replace them with the ones you assimilate."
"Those ships you shrug off are filled with people who depend upon me to keep them alive, or at least give them a fighting chance to survive."
"You have to expect losses. This is war, Wilson."
"Not if we don't declare it,"
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