No Middle Ground

by Caleb Wachter

  It took her a moment to regain her footing, but when she had she saw a large hole in the center of the door. The ragged edges were still glowing orange as Sergeant Joneson gestured for Sherman to enter.

  “Good work, Lu,” Joneson said. “Now take up position near that last pressure door,” he ordered, pointing down the corridor some ten meters.

  “But Sergeant—“ she began, only to be cut off.

  “If you don’t hear me say the word ‘pickoff’ in the next sixty seconds, you blast that door and then come support our position,” Joneson said over the top of her. “Start your clock, Lancer.”

  She did as she was ordered, and after the clock began counting down she said, “Clock is running, Sergeant Joneson.”

  “Good,” he replied after Sherman and another trio of Lancers had entered the airlock portion of the bridge’s access point.

  Lu Bu made her way down to the pressure door and checked the charge of her plasma cannon. She saw it had enough fuel for another six shots before requiring a new canister—which she did not possess. Still, six shots from such a destructive weapon would almost certainly be more than she could take before being overcome if a wave of enemy Marines suddenly appeared.

  Not long after she arrived at her new position, she heard a snap of static over her suit’s com-link and the lights of the corridor go out, but she kept her focus on the door. She watched as the countdown neared zero and felt her heart begin to quicken its pace as the clock reached single digits and still she had heard no word from Sergeant Joneson.

  Oddly, she had heard no comm. chatter from her fellow Lancers, but she dared not risk taking her eyes off the door. Sergeant Joneson had given her this task, and she would carry it out no matter the distractions.

  The clock reached five seconds remaining and she activated the weapon’s charge cycle. She kept the triggers down with her thumb and index finger as the weapon whirred and vibrated minutely in her hands, until the clock finally reached zero and she heard nothing from her Sergeant.

  So she locked her mag-boots to the deck and fired the plasma cannon at the pressure door, sending a gout of super-charged plasma streaming into the duralloy plates of the double-layered door, which caved and blew outward as her weapon tore a rough hole through it.

  The breathable gases around her streamed out of the hatch in a torrential rush, and she felt something slam into her backside just before something went hurtling out the door.

  She disengaged one mag-boot and turned slowly, careful to keep her footing, and saw an unarmored woman’s body come careening down the corridor toward her as though it was flying. The woman’s body slammed into Lu Bu’s power armor before the venting gases drove her body out through the ruptured pressure door.

  Pushing the image of the woman’s panicked face from her mind, and taking deliberate steps, Lu Bu re-cycled the charge of her weapon and clomped her way up the corridor toward the bridge’s airlock. She saw her fellow Lancers moving painfully slowly, with a few even having fallen over onto their sides. As she approached she saw Corporal Gnuko standing nearest her position, and she asked, “Corporal Gnuko, what is happened?”

  Receiving no verbal reply, she saw Gnuko reach up with his hand and tap his helmet three times, signaling that his suit’s comm. unit was down. He then gestured for her to enter the bridge as he sluggishly attempted to do likewise.

  Quickening her pace, she did as she was ordered and when she arrived on the bridge she saw Sergeant Joneson and Corporal Sherman, along with the surviving members of their squads. But they, too, appeared to be moving sluggishly—in fact, only the Sergeant and Corporal were moving at all. It then dawned on her that the pirates must have used some kind of ion burst which had knocked the Lancers’ suits off-line.

  She brandished the barrel of her weapon, sweeping it side to side as she scanned for threats and finding a vibro-blade-wielding pirate crewman moving toward Corporal Sherman. The pirate was wearing a ‘head bag’ over his face, which allowed him to survive in the current, gasless environment, and Lu Bu fired her weapon at him just before he managed to plunge the vibro-knife into Corporal Sherman’s gorget.

  The man’s body nearly disappeared without a trace, as only the hand which had clutched the vibro-knife remained after the plasma cannon’s flames had passed through his body. That hand fell to the deck, but oddly kept its grip on the knife as it rolled to a stop near Sherman’s feet.

  She re-cycled the weapon and scanned to either side, but found no more apparent threats or armed crewmembers. A man wearing long, braided hair and bearing the insignia of a Captain backpedaled as Sergeant Joneson bore down on him with slow, deliberate steps before finally cornering him near the main view-screen.

  The pirate Captain’s shoulders sagged as Joneson put his hands on him and placed him in restraints, and Lu Bu almost failed to notice Corporal Sherman making hand signals in her direction.

  It took her a moment to understand his instructions, but she signaled that she understood his orders before allowing the plasma cannon to power down and activating her suit’s com-link.

  “Captain Middleton, this Lancer Lu Bu,” she reported over the link after switching to the proper frequency. She waited a reasonable interval and received no reply, so she repeated, “Captain Middleton, this Lancer Lu Bu.”

  This time, she received a static-laden reply, “This is the Captain. What is your status?”

  “Bridge secure, Captain,” she reported, feeling the thrill of victory like never before, “we have the ball. Repeat: we have the ball.”

  Chapter XXVI: Answers

  “Good work, Sergeant,” Middleton congratulated as soon as he entered the brig.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Joneson replied with a curt nod.

  Captain Middleton came to the last cell and looked at its lone occupant for several moments before turning back to the Lancer Sergeant, “You made quite the run, from what I hear.”

  Joneson shook his head. “It was a team effort all the way, Captain; I was just calling the plays.”

  “Still,” Middleton said with a short laugh, “I’m not sure I’ve heard of anyone employing your breach methodology before.”

  The Sergeant shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders, “Read and react, sir; there’s no way we could frontal-assault two dozen armored Marines on their home turf. Even still, we’re lucky Lu was outside the ion blast they detonated on the bridge during our entry.”

  “That same ion blast cut out their primary comm. system,” Middleton nodded. “Otherwise we would have kept jamming and couldn’t have received your signal. You’re certain the Cardinal’s Wrath is secure?”

  “Gnuko kept a dozen Lancers over there, and after seizing Environmental they started cycling off life support throughout the ship so they could round up the crew. Last count was one hundred thirty six souls locked in the Wrath’s cargo bay under armed guard,” Joneson said confidently before giving a derisive snort. “Blighters gave up with nary a fight after we took the bridge, Captain; no spine whatsoever.”

  “Thank Murphy for small blessings,” Middleton intoned half-heartedly, as he was more concerned with their quicker-than-expected submission than he was disappointed.

  “At any rate,” Joneson said into the growing silence, “we managed to take the Captain, along with nearly half his bridge crew. Their engineers ejected the power cores and slagged the primary fire control systems, along with the strange particle generators before we could clamp them down.”

  Middleton’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The strange particle generators?” he repeated.

  Joneson nodded grimly. “Never heard of anyone pulling that one out of the last ditch,” he said before giving the pirate captain a quick glare. “They obviously don’t want us taking their ship.”

  “Yes…” Middleton agreed as his mind raced through the possible reasons for such an action. “But this also tells me something important about their operation,” he mused, very much disliking what it told him, but grateful for the intel regardl
ess.

  “Sir?” Joneson asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  Middleton inclined his head toward the pirate Captain. “His organization must be able to affect complex repairs on large vessels in a mobile capacity,” he explained in a low voice, “which confirms they aren’t your run-of-the-mill, smash-and-grab pirates…and that Captain Rodriguez believes his superiors will be coming before too long to reclaim their lost ship.”

  Sergeant Joneson whistled appreciatively before shaking his head. “That’s why I’m a ‘pounder, Captain,” he said with half a grin, “can’t see the angles anywhere near as clearly as you.”

  Middleton disliked this new information more than just a little, but he had a job to do. “How’s the Master at Arms?” he asked after looking around for the man, only to remember he had accompanied Sergeant Joneson aboard the Cardinal’s Wrath and been subsequently injured.

  “Doctor Cho says it’s touch-and-go,” Joneson replied with a sigh. “Lost a leg to a plasma cannon and ruptured just about every organ in his abdomen when his own grenades cooked off in the blast; it’s a miracle he made it back to the ship before bleeding out. I’ll keep an eye on the prisoner for now, if it’s all the same to you, Captain.”

  Middleton nodded, knowing he had very few people he trusted to be alone in the brig with their latest batch of prisoners. “I’d appreciate that, Sergeant,” he said before turning to give his full attention to the prisoner and activating the audio link to the cell while simultaneously shifting the armored glass from two-way mirror mode to clear. “Captain Rodriguez,” he said, causing the other man to stand at a leisurely pace.

  “Captain Middleton,” Rodriguez said with barely-concealed disdain, “I’ve heard stories of your rag-tag outfit, but couldn’t bring myself to believe something so ridiculous could be true—or that any reasonable tactician would be part of it. But,” he gestured at Middleton’s uniform with a sigh, “here you are, living proof that truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “You have an odd attitude for a man who just lost his ship,” Middleton said evenly, keeping his patented poker face in place.

  “I’m trying not to think of it that way,” Rodriguez replied with a dismissive wave, “but rather that I’ve just gained an ally.”

  Middleton allowed himself to snicker softly as he folded his arms across his chest. “You have my attention,” he said through slightly narrowed eyes.

  Captain Rodriguez turned and began to pick his fingernails. “We’ve heard of your ‘Admiral Montagne’ and his little White Knight routine,” he said with a chuckle. “But you have to realize that his days are numbered; even on his home world he’s a wanted man whose neck is destined for a good stretch in the not-too-distant future. Any man—or woman—who follows such an obviously foolish child and his blind quest to do The Right Thing,” he snorted emphatically, “is bound to end up acting against the very interests of those he is pledged to protect...wouldn’t you agree?”

  Middleton’s eyes narrowed even further as he carefully considered the man’s words. Eventually, he gestured with his fingers, “Continue.”

  Rodriguez nodded in obvious satisfaction as he moved toward the glass-like door. “I knew you weren’t a stupid man, Middleton,” he said as though in congratulation, but Middleton kept his features as unreadable as he could. “The Imperials abandoned the Spineward Sectors when we needed them most,” Rodriguez continued as he leaned against the door, “and there’s only one man out here in the Spine who has the vision and the will to do what needs to be done to restore order.”

  Captain Middleton took a step toward the cell and nodded, “Who?”

  Rodriguez wagged a finger as though in reprimand. “Don’t play me for a fool, Middleton,” the pirate Captain said in a dangerous tone. “You know exactly who I’m talking about—Demon’s Pits, you’ve already disrupted his plans more than once.”

  Silence hung between them for several, tense seconds. “Commodore Raubach,” Middleton said finally, “and his Rim Fleet detachment.”

  “Not a detachment,” Rodriguez shook his head, “the whole thing...well, all those who recognize his lawful mission. The Commodore is the only person doing what’s necessary to restore peace and order to this sector. Within six months, Murphy willing, every system in Sectors 23 and 24 will have come under his protection—that’s seven core worlds and dozens of colonies, Middleton.”

  Middleton drummed his fingers against his bicep and paced for several seconds before asking, “How many ships are we talking about?”

  “Tyrone,” the other man said flatly, using Middleton’s true first name—a name he despised, “don’t play me for a fool. You have a choice to make, and I suggest you make it quickly. When the Commodore arrives, he’ll be…displeased with me for losing the Wrath—however briefly,” he added smugly. “That displeasure will pale in comparison to his feelings for the man who not only killed his daughter in law, but who stubbornly refuses to join the cause of right and good while instead serving that pompous, strutting, barely-royal princeling from Capria.”

  Middleton shook his head after a moment’s consideration. “Not much of a sales pitch, LeBron,” he said dryly.

  Rodriguez cracked a grin. “Bah, the old man never much cared for the woman anyway,” he said, clearly referring to Captain Meisha Raubach, “truth be told, not many people did—including her husband. Besides,” he wagged a finger in the air, “a true leader knows talent when he sees it and is willing to make reasonable concessions to bring that talent into the fold. You want to patrol the Spine?” he asked rhetorically. “That’s the Rim Fleet’s purpose! You want a real ship to command instead of some rusted out bucket like this? He’s got the ships, Middleton, and he needs capable commanders like you.”

  Captain Middleton felt like making a snide remark, but stayed his tongue as the other man continued.

  “You deserve better than this, Captain,” he waved his arms around the brig. “And Saint Murphy’s brought it to you on a silver platter; he’s begging you to seize it with both hands and never look back. All you need to do is ask yourself one, simple, question,” Rodriguez said as he leaned against the bulkhead and confidently folded his arms over his chest. “Are you ready to play for a winner?”

  Middleton actually did think about the man’s offer. He knew that there was truth is his words, and that the ‘Little Admiral’s rag-tag outfit wasn’t likely long for this world. A man could only win a war while fighting on one front—two, if he was well-equipped—and Admiral Montagne had not one, single organization which would openly embrace him as an ally. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, such as it was, would face certain battles against local bureaucracies for supplies; its own crewmembers over certain-to-decline morale; as well as the inevitable formal challenges to its very existence’s legality. All of which said nothing of the battles which truly mattered, like fighting off pirates or bugs…or even worse threats than those.

  “You make a reasonable case,” Middleton sighed in resignation. He actually thought he could feel the triumphant energy pouring off Captain Rodriguez even through the armored door, and that vile, pompous aura made him set his jaw. “But I’ve learned something about myself in my time out here.”

  “Oh?” Rodriguez asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  He nodded as he met the prisoner’s gaze, and when their eyes locked he saw Rodriguez flinch, which only made Middleton’s lip curl into a snarl. “I’m not a very reasonable person,” he said darkly, knowing down to his core that it was the truth. “When push comes to shove, there’s always some spineless coward like you jumping to suggest a compromise, or offering the vaunted ‘middle ground.’ Guess what?” he barked, lowering his hands to his sides and shaking his head adamantly. “There is no middle ground; there’s right and there’s wrong, and those precious few times in life when you can tell the difference then you had better act in accordance with your principles — because you might not get another chance to do so. And I’ll tell you something else I’ve learned,” he added a
s he felt himself flush with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, “anyone who deploys ship-busters loaded with bio-weapons, or is willing to endanger a quarter million colonists for the chance to capture one blasted corvette, is and always will be on the other side of the ball from me. You want to play for the winners? That’s a perfectly reasonable choice, Captain Rodriguez. Me? I’ll take my chances with the real good guys.”

  With that, he flipped the switch on the two-way mirror and deactivated the comm. system to Rodriguez’s cell before turning and leaving the brig with a head full of steam and making his way to the bridge. If Captain Rodriguez was to be believed, Middleton had yet another battle to plan for.

  And this one looked to be for all the marbles.

  Chapter XXVII: Shopping for a Gift

  Fei Long took a deep, cleansing breath as he exited the hyper dish junction, having just finished making repairs to their makeshift—and now horrifically odious—transmitter.

  “Captain says you’re free to roam the ship,” Jardine said, wiping his hands on his work suit. “I’ll show you to your quarters, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I can manage,” Fei Long replied as graciously as he could manage. Being stuffed inside that junction with the ship’s Comm. officer for the past eighteen hours had been a test of his patience and resolve, but like always, he had passed the test.

  “Suit yourself,” Jardine said with a shrug, “me, I’m going for a shower and some shut-eye.”

  “A wise plan,” Fei Long approved before making his way down the corridor toward the far lift.

  Jardine shot him a look before moving to catch up with him. “Your quarters are on deck two,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “the other lift takes you there.”