No Middle Ground

by Caleb Wachter

  The Pride careened dangerously close to the star’s point of no return as the ship gained momentum along its projected, gently curving course which took a relatively sharp turn right as they passed the star at the closest point along the route. Middleton actually saw his bridge crew’s bodies list slightly to port as they did so, in what he would have believed to be an impossible display of the star’s gravity working against, or somehow with, the grav-plates.

  Then their aged ship began to pull away from the star, and Commander Jersey stood to face the Captain. “We’ve broken the neutron star’s gravity well, Captain; estimate twenty minutes before we reach the recommended safe maneuvering distance from the object.”

  “Very good, Commander,” Middleton said with conviction as he straightened himself in his chair. He was fairly certain that, regardless of how much confidence his XO showed in their current helmsman, the Pride of Prometheus would have never survived its close shave with one of deep space’s most enigmatic bodies without Commander Jersey’s hand at the tiller.

  “Mr. Fei,” Middleton said, turning deliberately to face the young man, “I believe you have an engagement to prepare for.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Fei Long said with a grin as an eager light filled his eyes.

  “Report to the shuttle hangar,” Middleton nodded, aware of just how much this meant to the young man in his own, strange hierarchy of needs, “and join Sergeant Joneson’s boarding party.” The young man clasped his hands and bowed low, holding the pose for several seconds before turning and exiting the bridge.

  Shaking his head at his new crewmembers’ still foreign-seeming customs, he turned to the Damage Control stander stationed near the Engineering petty officer. “Dispatch teams to the primary power relays and get Chief Garibaldi on the line; I need repair estimates, and I need them yesterday.”

  Chapter XXXVII: Protecting the Ball

  “All right, Lancers, listen up,” Sergeant Joneson barked as soon as the ramp to the shuttle had closed and the twelve person team had entered the craft. “We’ve got a mission to carry out, and I want everyone aboard this craft to understand what we’re getting ourselves into. You’re all the best the Pride of Prometheus has to offer,” he said, letting his eyes linger on the young man sitting near the cockpit, “which is why you’ve been selected for this important task. The details of this mission are to remain classified—whoever survives this mission is to share none of what they are about to learn with the rest of the crew, as doing so will compromise MSP security…and then some.”

  Lu Bu had never heard her Sergeant speak in such dour terms so even her straying thoughts regarding the young, conventionally-armored Fei Long wearing what looked to be a bomb-proof suit, were pushed aside as her Sergeant continued.

  “This mission is an intelligence operation,” he explained, casting a pointed look toward the Tracto-ans before continuing, “and if we are successful, it will change the balance of power in this Sector. Intelligence is the most critical component of warfare, modern or otherwise, as Lancer Lu correctly explained during the ride back from Elysium.”

  Lu Bu felt herself swell with pride, and felt Fei Long’s eyes on her. She did her best to ignore them, but found herself casting a glance in his direction before forcing her eyes back to her Sergeant. Those mixed feelings the gift of her armor had stirred within her had only strengthened with each passing day…and she very much disliked where they seemed to be going.

  “We are about to board a ComStat hub,” Joneson explained, evoking a round of whistles from the more senior members of the unit as he pointed at Fei Long. “And once we have done so, our expert here will perform a series of very technical, very geeky,” a chorus of snickers filled the cabin, “and most importantly, mission-critical interfaces with the hub’s mainframe. Indications are that conditions will be cramped, extremely hot—that means ‘electrically,’ Gnuko,” he added, taking the opportunity for yet another jab at what the entire unit knew to be Joneson’s eventual successor, “and more importantly, jammed with ionic interference. Thus, the new skins the Saint’s seen fit to bless you overgrown monkeys with,” he gestured to Thomas’ form-fitted Storm Drake armor. “These suits won’t be affected by the interference, which will render all complex electronics save those built specifically for such environments completely useless. That means com-links, HUD’s, tactical sensors and pretty much anything else with an ‘On’ switch that doesn’t look like this,” he gestured to the trigger of his blaster rifle. “Unfortunately, due to the sensitivity of the hub’s equipment, we won’t be bringing ranged weaponry—that includes grenades, Gnuko,” he said with a smirk as he discarded his rifle to the floor before drawing a vibro-knife from his belt.

  Lu Bu was glad she had opted for an extra vibro-knife in addition to her standard issue piece, rather than the short boarding axes which the Tracto-ans appeared to favor, or the longer swords which Thomas and Sherman had selected. In cramped conditions maneuverability would be a decisive factor, and a smaller weapon would make for less of a liability.

  “So it comes to this, Lancers,” Joneson said, twirling the blade over in his hands. “We have no idea what to expect when we board this hub, but since it is one of the most technologically advanced and valuable pieces of equipment known the humanity, I’m guessing we’ll get more than a personalized cake in the welcoming ceremonies.”

  “Sarge,” Corporal Thomas interrupted, “what’s the play? Limited intel means limited deployment package options.”

  “Nothing gets past you, Thomas,” Joneson quipped dryly before straightening. “The play is from the first page of the book: a Leeroy Jenkins. This will be a blind, up-the-gut, grindfest during which we can expect heavy resistance from various automated defense systems including: ion turrets, fluctuating grav-plates, and a dozen other things as to which your guess is as good as mine. But we will drive to the heart of this hub,” he said adamantly, “and, with Murphy’s blessing, a few of us might even make it back to the shuttle afterward.”

  A chorus of chuckles filled the cabin, with even the Tracto-ans joining in this time. Only Fei Long remained silent as he kept his eyes on Lu Bu—which filled her with a mixture of emotions that she knew had no place in the pre-game huddle, so she cast him a reproving look before returning her attention to Sergeant Joneson.

  “Ion turrets?” Sherman asked as the chuckles died down and the shuttle banked perceptibly, probably during final approach to their target. “I thought you said this thing was filled with delicate electronics?”

  Joneson nodded approvingly, “You catch everything, don’t you, Sherm? Imperial tech’s different than ours; for the most part their high-end hardware is shielded from ionic interference, so weapons employing ion pulses are the only ranged deterrent we’re likely to encounter. The rest of our contact should be of the up close and far-too-personal variety—just like Gnuko around shower time.”

  “Hey, c’mon! I already said that was an accident—it was wet, so my feet slipped!” Gnuko objected loudly as an infectious smile betrayed his protestation. The cabin was filled with nervous laughter at his duplicitous protest—laughter to which even Fei Long joined in, as Lu Bu saw from the corner of her eye.

  “It’s the showers, Gnuko,” the Sergeant deadpanned with a disbelieving shake of his head as he, too, began to chuckle, “they’re supposed to be wet.” The laughter rose to a deafening roar in the cramped compartment as Lu Bu found herself joining in with the merriment.

  “Touchdown in thirty seconds,” the pilot called over the comm., interrupting the pre-battle mirth.

  “You heard the woman,” Joneson barked as the group’s laughter slowly died down. “Saddle up, check you gear, and prepare to move out. High-end Imperial facilities are rumored to be insertion-proof,” he swept the cabin with a serious look, “but the wall hasn’t been built that can stop determined Lancers from climbing over it—especially when they look so damned good!”

  The Lancers bellowed their wordless assent as the braking thrusters fire
d on the shuttle and there was an audible clang beneath their feet, causing Lu Bu’s muscles to tense with anticipation.

  “Mr. Fei is the ball,” Joneson bellowed as his hand went to the doorway’s activation button. “Gnuko, Sherman, Thomas and Lu: protect the operative in a tight, two-by-two shell. Atticus, Peleus, Brasidas and Laertes: you’re on point with me. Gong and Lei: cover the rear. Move out!” he barked as he slammed his Storm Drake-clad hand against the button, causing the cabin to depressurize gently, with the majority of the atmosphere having already been vented during the approach.

  The four Tracto-ans leapt down the ramp after Sergeant Joneson, and even Fei Long managed to insert himself into the formation of the unit’s protective detail before they made their way out of the shuttle and followed the squad on point.

  They descended the ramp quickly, and Lu Bu scanned the nearby environs for signs of motion. They were clearly in some kind of docking area, with a single corridor leading directly ahead—presumably toward the heart of the ComStat hub.

  Lu Bu looked briefly over her shoulder and saw the emptiness of space on the other side of the boarding shuttle, and for the first time in her life she realized she was doing something she had never truly dreamed possible. During the boarding action on the enemy Destroyer, she had simply kept her mind free from distractions and focused on the immediate needs of the situation. But looking out at that star field, she knew that doing so may have actually changed something within her.

  She pushed the thought from her mind as they entered the corridor, with a vibro-weapon in the hands of each team member, and she noted that the corridor was nearly three meters wide. It was a fairly tight fit for the protective unit, but they managed to make their way down in quick order, with Gong and Lei bringing up the rear.

  She saw a flash of light up ahead and instinctively placed a hand on Fei Long’s bulky, padded shoulder, which she pressed down with probably more force than she should have and sent the boy to the deck.

  If he protested, she was unable to hear it as she saw another pair of flashes, and this time she saw that the Tracto-ans were taking blue-white bolts of energy weapon fire.

  The protective squad tensed and used hand signals to communicate, with Gnuko taking the lead as squad commander. He ordered them to continue their advance and the unit quickly did so, despite the incoming fire the point team was taking.

  Lu Bu saw Atticus brandishing his boarding axe as he tore into a nearby, pop-out style turret, sending arcs of electricity flaring intermittently from the weapon as Sergeant Joneson did likewise on the other side of the corridor with the turret’s paired unit.

  The other Tracto-ans surged down the corridor as a flicker of movement further down indicated another pair of turrets popping out to take aim at the oncoming Lancers. Brasidas and Peleus each took a bolt in the chest, but the Storm Drake hide proved Sergeant Joneson’s assertion that it was an unbelievably resilient material as they did little more than stagger from the impacts before laying into the turrets with their own boarding axes.

  With their work at the first turrets finished, Sergeant Joneson and Lancer Atticus leapfrogged the savagely chopping Peleus and Brasidas. Joneson, Laertes, and Atticus then methodically tore into another set of turrets before they even had time to fully pop out, and Lu Bu’s squad was able to advance at a brisk pace behind their lead blocking unit comprised of the Sergeant and four Tracto-ans.

  As Peleus and Brasidas made to leapfrog Joneson, Laertes, and Atticus, a nearby conduit exploded and Laertes was enveloped in a wreath of angry, blue flame. His body crashed into the opposite bulkhead and he went immediately limp as the flames quickly died down—but not after destroying his life support unit and causing it to vent its stored gases.

  When it was clear Laertes did not survive the explosion, they continued to advance until they reached a junction of some sort. To either side was a short, blind corridor extending approximately eight meters perpendicular to the main corridor down which they had just advanced, and it was into one of these corridors which Fei Long quickly ducked and knelt down.

  Thinking him a coward, Lu Bu made to grab him and set him back onto the path, but before she could do so she saw him extend his hands through thin, delicate gloves set beneath his bulky work-suit’s main arms. He then withdrew a small, clearly modified data slate and uncoiled a tiny wire from around it, which he then inserted into a nearby slit which Lu Bu had barely even noticed.

  A moment later the data slate powered up and a sequence of images and glyphs began to populate its screen before rapidly cycling blank and re-populating with a different sequence. This process repeated as Fei Long deftly tapped the icons as quickly as it seemed human fingers could move, and once again Lu Bu was impressed by his apparent abilities.

  He continued for several seconds until Corporal Gnuko moved to Lu Bu’s side and made the ‘status update’ gesture.

  She quickly flashed the signs for ‘controlled stop,’ ‘computer,’ and ‘access.’ The Corporal nodded curtly and gestured for the other nearby Lancers to form up on the junction.

  A few seconds later, she saw Fei Long remove the wire from the wall and replace the data slate into a cleverly-concealed pocket in his work-suit. He then tapped the side of his obtrusive helmet while giving Lu Bu a pointed look.

  She tapped the side of her helmet to activate the com-link and immediately heard his voice, “We have comm. access for approximately three minutes. I suggest you inform the squad and we continue.”

  Lu Bu turned and gestured for comm. check to the other Lancers, who all immediately tapped their activation switched on the outsides of their helmets. “We have comm. for less than three minutes.”

  “Regroup with the Sergeant,” Gnuko ordered, and just as Fei Long made his way back to the corridor the squad resumed its journey down the corridor.

  Thirty seconds later they had re-joined Sergeant Joneson, who activated his own comm. unit after Gnuko gestured for him to do so. “How’d we get comm.?” he demanded.

  “I sent the hub’s broadcast system into a rapid diagnostic cycle,” Fei Long said over the channel. “The process will only last for another two minutes, after which we will be blacked out.”

  “Can you open that door?” Joneson gestured down the corridor about ten meters.

  “Yes,” Fei Long replied simply.

  “Then move out,” Joneson snapped as his squad moved to secure the door before the rest of the Lancers followed.

  When they arrived at the door, Fei Long withdrew another data slate with an entirely different wire connected to it as he tilted his head toward a bulkhead panel near the floor. “Please remove that panel.”

  “Atticus,” Joneson said, stepping aside for the larger man.

  “Delicately, please,” Fei Long said sharply as Atticus brought his axe up. He lowered the weapon and reached down to grasp the panel before giving a mighty heave. Unfortunately, the panel did little more than budge. He adjusted his grip and posture before trying again, but again he found no success.

  “Move,” Lu Bu said to Fei Long, who did as she said and after he had cleared the area, she knelt beside one edge of the panel and gripped with her fingers. “One, two, three,” she said after making eye contact with Atticus, and between the two of them they tore the cover off the complex series of circuits and crystalline boards which it had protected.

  “Thank you,” Fei Long said as he knelt beside the panel and carefully inserted the free end of the cable attached to the new data slate. After he had done so, he again began to cycle through page after page of data before apparently finding what he was looking for and rapidly inputting commands to the slate.

  “Comm. blackout in forty five seconds,” Gnuko said.

  “Larry that, Corporal,” Joneson replied just as Gong and Thomas yelped in surprise.

  Turning to see the source, Lu Bu barely had time to twist out of the way as a small, needle-like projectile silently flew through the space her left shoulder had occupied prior to reacting. T
he weapon impacted on the panel behind her and she saw a drop of green, viscous fluid drip from its tip after it fell to the deck.

  “Take cover,” Joneson bellowed and the Lancers followed his instruction and flattened themselves against whatever nearby surfaces they could find. A few seconds later Thomas and Gong began to spasm violently, writhing uncontrollably on the floor for several seconds before going limp. Each had a needle-like projectile similar to the one Lu Bu had narrowly avoided protruding from their torsos.

  Down the corridor in the direction of their shuttle was a hovering orb of some kind that looked to be around a meter in diameter. It had several external armatures protruding from its spherical body, and three of those armatures were spinning as they clearly meant to re-load.

  Lu Bu, having studied armaments for the past several months, recognized the platform as an MR-93 defensive hover-unit. It was a fairly common unit in this part of the Spine and was often used by criminals or other outfits operating on a tight budget. But she had never heard of an automated system like that being deployed by the Imperials—or being outfitted with poison projectiles.

  “Protect the operative, Lancers,” Joneson roared, making eye contact with Lu Bu as he stood and drew his vibro-knives. “Complete this mission—no matter the cost!”

  With that, he charged down the corridor with his knives brandished, bellowing a wordless, primal roar.

  Lu Bu felt like charging after her Sergeant, and she might have just done so a few weeks earlier. But he had given her one last look before doing precisely what he had ordered the rest of them to do—and she knew what that look had told her:

  Protect the ball.

  So it was with a mixture of emotions—all of which she knew needed to be forced from her mind—that she watched as her commander closed to grips with the hovering orb that had already cost two of her fellows their lives.

  He rammed his vibro-knives into the bases of the armatures, the force of his blows knocking the floating orb into the bulkhead as he savagely removed the first arm with repeated strikes. Lu Bu felt tears well up in her eyes as the Sergeant continued his attack, even after being struck by two of the needle-like weapons which the platform fired point-blank into his chest while arcs of electricity from other armatures on the orb’s surface scorched holes in Sergeant Joneson’s armor.