Starship: Mercenary (Starship, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

pair of three-dimensional holographic scenes of distant worlds that were static until Cole turned to look at them, at which point the scenes became a flurry of motion, only to become static again when he looked elsewhere. The lush carpet yielded to their footsteps, then re-formed as they moved forward. Leather chairs that molded themselves to their occupants hovered a few inches above the floor, and there was a well-stocked bar along one wall. Two robots, even taller than Val, flanked a shining metal desk—but the most unusual thing in the room was the man who sat behind the desk.
    At first Cole thought he was a robot too, but upon closer observation he wasn’t so sure. Most of him—arms, legs, torso, hands, feet, skull—was a sleek, shining metal, probably platinum. But the mouth and lips were definitely human, and there was a totally incongruous handlebar mustache swirling down from his upper lip. The left eye glowed an unholy blue, but the right eye possessed both iris and pupil. He was wearing a pair of sleek black shorts, with a tuxedo stripe down each leg.
    “You didn’t prepare him, Joan,” said the man.
    “It’s more fun to watch them when they first meet you,” replied Val. “And my name’s Val this week.”
    “Cleopatra, Nefertiti, Joan of Arc . . . you just never tire of changing names. Who was Val?”
    “It’s short for Valkyrie,” she replied.
    “In that case I approve.” He turned to Cole. “And you are the man that the Republic is offering ten million credits for?”
    Cole stared at him and said nothing.
    “Do not worry, Wilson Cole,” he said. “I have no intention of selling you to the Republic. Singapore Station couldn’t stay in business if people stopped trusting our discretion. Allow me to properly introduce myself: I am the Platinum Duke.”
    “So I see,” said Cole.
    “Ah, but you only see the end result. There was a time, many years ago, when I was just like you. In fact, I served in the Navy. My captain was Susan Garcia, who has gone on to far greater things.”
    “What happened?” asked Cole, curious in spite of himself.
    “I lost my left leg in the Battle of Barbosa,” answered the Duke. “They gave me a prosthetic leg made, I believe, of a titanium alloy. The interesting thing is that it worked better than the original had: it never tired, it never felt pain, it could withstand extremes of cold and gravity.” He paused. “I was back on active duty four months later, just in time for the Battle of Tybor IV.”
    “I’ve heard about that one,” said Cole. “I think we took eighty percent casualties.”
    “Eighty-two percent,” said the Duke. “I was one of them. Lost both my arms and my left eye. They kept me alive long enough to transport me to a field hospital, where I was fitted out with prosthetic arms and an eye—and, as before, they functioned better than the originals. I was mustered out of the service shortly thereafter—I guess they felt that three limbs and an eye were enough to give to the Republic—and I came to the Inner Frontier, and eventually to Singapore Station. Along the way I’d made my fortune, we needn’t discuss how, and I decided that platinum was more in keeping with my new status than titanium. I also decided that while I was undergoing these . . . improvements , I might as well go the whole route: another leg, eardrums, epidermis, all but a small handful of things. All that remains of the original me, Captain Cole, is my mouth and taste buds—I couldn’t live without the ability to taste my favorite foods and drink—and I kept my lips, because I am a vain man (if I weren’t why would I have converted to platinum?) and I was always proud of my mustache. My right eye remains for a practical reason: though my left eye sees farther and more clearly, and can even see into the infrared and ultraviolet spec trums, it does not adjust to changes in illumination as quickly as my real pupil does. All else—heart, lungs, you name it—is