“Welcome to the Republic of Threeworld,” Kenichi Ishikawa addressed his crew. “We’re the last men standing, barring a few war criminals. So we’ve won the revolution.” Laughter.

“But this republic’s history looks to be damn short. I’ve been saving bad news. A Synod ship is in orbit with escorts; so far it’s destroyed one shuttle. And I’m betting the USNE sends a relief expedition. As if we wanted their relief.” The room was silent.

“One or the other is going to land on us. But that’s okay; our navy needs a new ship. So, I need a party to check the Fort Obama armory and see if there’s anything down there that’s not too rotten to be any good. I need a party to lay some explosives. I need earthworks around the spaceport. And I need a flag.” The men started laughing. “Really,” he insisted.

The flag work party was the first one to return. They’d found a T-shirt emblazoned “Threeworld / 3HE / ‘Either way will do!’”

Sewn onto a tablecloth without the suggestive text, it would pass as a video prop.