Free Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy by Nick Webb Page A

his own damn ship.”
    Granger’s fists tightened around Haws’s uniform. Looking both ways down the hall to make sure they were alone, he leaned in close. “You and I both know that’s not true. The fleet’s been on the decline for decades. They needed a kick in the ass and I gave it to them. Just like I’m doing with you.” He released the XO and shoved him down the hall. “Go. Sober up then report back.”
    “Is that an order, Captain ?” Haws growled.
    Granger let his shoulders hunch over. “Does it need to be, Abe?”  
    An officer rounded the corner and walked past them, nodding a quick salute. Granger let her disappear through a door down the hallway before going on. “Look, Abe, you’re my best friend. We’ve given the Old Bird a good run. Let’s not sully it by—”
    Haws brushed past him. “Save it, Tim. Save it for someone who cares. You and I both stopped caring years ago, when they sentenced us to the Old Bird.”
    “Sentenced?” he asked. Haws didn’t stop.
    “You heard me.”
    He turned around the corner and disappeared out of sight.
    And Haws was right: their assignment was a sentence. A subtle effort to get the two of them out of the way. To silence and discredit them. A court martial would have brought too much publicity, and a discharge, honorable or otherwise, would have given them the ability to speak out. But a dead-end assignment?
    Granger rested a hand on the wall. The ship hummed with the distant pulse of the ancient engines. Her engines. His engines. Haws called it a sentence, and it may have been, but it was the best damned sentence he would have ever dared to ask for.

Chapter Twenty

    Earth’s Moon
    Main Auditorium, Lunar Base

    Vice President Isaacson of the United Earth Government beamed out from the podium, flashing his toothy politician’s grin at the auditorium full of reporters, dignitaries, politicians, celebrities, and civilians—there was even a class of students from some well-to-do private elementary school in New England.
    Granger glanced at his watch—an ancient gold and silver time-piece with leather straps given to him by his mother several decades ago. Damn, this ceremony was taking forever. Isaacson sure knew how to talk.
    “—in fact,” the Vice President continued, “some might say that we’ve gone too far in our efforts to modernize the military. They think we should remain constant. Fixed. Unchanging. Well, ladies and gentleman, times change, and with those changes we rise to meet them. The challenges we’ll face in the twenty-seventh century will be unlike those we faced in the twenty-sixth. The Swarm is long gone, as our intelligence and science expeditions have claimed. There is no sign of any other alien civilizations for all the many thousands of cubic lightyears we’ve explored. Again, as we’ve seen throughout the millennia, our most difficult challenges will come from within, and so we must be prepared for that threat—”
    Granger suppressed a wry grin. He knew the Russian president was probably seething if he was watching, which he almost undoubtedly was—who wasn’t watching the decommissioning ceremony of the oldest ship in the history of Earth’s spacefaring fleets?
    “—and so we say to you future generations”—Vice President Isaacson inclined his head down to his left, towards the rows of seated students—“the future lies with you, if you will rise to meet it. We deliver into your hands a safer galaxy, a safer humanity, a safer world. Study hard, learn as much as you can, follow in the footsteps of your heroes, and for god’s sake, come up for air from your video games every now and then, ok?” he added, to a roomful of delighted, polite laughter.
    And before he knew it, it was his turn. Isaacson sat down, and all eyes turned to Captain Tim Granger as he lifted slowly to his feet, trying hard not to wince from the sharp pain in his lungs.
    He approached the podium, and set his hand-written speech down next to a