No Middle Ground

by Caleb Wachter

  His vibro-knives fell to the ground before he could remove the second weapon arm, and Lu Bu saw a pair of turrets pop out near some fifteen meters down from the Sergeant’s position. In the most incredible display of courage, determination, and physical prowess Lu Bu had ever seen, Walter Joneson—the greatest smashball player to ever don the pads—wrapped his arms loosely around the MR-93 series defensive unit and drove it back with all his awesome power.

  He easily overcame the MR-93’s lateral stabilizers with his churning legs and incredible balance, and physically drove it back five…ten…then fifteen meters down the corridor as the turrets opened up on continuous fire, hammering his torso with repeated impacts just as he neared the turret’s position.

  It was there that the vile poisons coursing through his veins worked their evil, and the peerless Walter Joneson finally succumbed to their foul effect and collapsed to his knees—but only an instant before the MR-93 defensive unit struck the turret on the left side of the corridor.

  As the MR-93 crashed into the turret, there was a bright, flameless explosion which would have made any of the Great Ancestors proud to call their own funeral pyre. The raw power of that explosion tore the mighty Lancer Sergeant Walter Joneson’s body apart—as well as reduce the MR-93 and two defensive turrets to piles of slag, and even less recognizable fragments.

  “On task, Lancers,” Corporal Gnuko snapped, and Lu Bu felt the tears stream down her cheeks as she turned to see that Fei Long had managed to open the door.

  Doing her best to focus on the task at hand, Lu Bu was filled with pride at having been able to serve alongside Sergeant Walter Joneson, and she silently promised to construct a tablet for him and place it prominently wherever she called her home for the rest of her life.

  With that, she managed to push the rising tide of emotions from her mind and re-focus on the task at hand. She knew in that moment that she had finally learned the lesson which Walter Joneson had taught her at the price of a broken jaw, and that she would honor his memory with her actions forever.

  “Move out, Team Atticus,” Gnuko ordered, and the Tracto-an did as he was instructed, moving Brasidas and Peleus through the doorway and into the chamber within just as the com-link died once again.

  When the rest of the Lancers entered, Lu Bu checked the environment and saw a massive, glowing, cylindrical structure in the center of the circular room. It must have measured four meters across, and extended upward and downward, apparently through the ceiling and floor of the chamber.

  There were several access stations in the room and after Gnuko had signaled that the room was clear, Fei Long moved quickly to one of these stations and withdrew yet another data slate. This one had three separate wires neatly coiled against each other, and he carefully uncoiled them as he inserted them into the console before himself.

  The glowing, cylindrical structure in the center of the room slowly increased in its intensity, and Lu Bu moved to cover Fei Long’s flank as he continued to work furiously—and simultaneously—with the data slate and the now-active access console. The light emanating from the cylinder intensified until her helmet’s auto-filtration systems kicked in and blocked a significant portion of incoming light.

  She felt heat through her suit and looked down anxiously at Fei Long’s efforts, which were so foreign to her she wondered why she even bothered, in what appeared to be her last moments. The cylinder was almost certainly a power source, and it was certainly building up to an overload—one did not require multiple degrees in engineering, or particle theory, or whatever else it was the officers studied, to see that.

  His fingers flew faster across the dual consoles faster than she could believe, and his eyes flicked back and forth between the readouts as he shook his head fiercely. Through the narrow slit in his work-suit’s viewer, she saw that he was squinting through the blinding light, as apparently his own visor’s light filter had failed. She quickly stepped between himself and the reactor, cupping her hands beside his visor as she did so, careful not to obstruct his view.

  Impossibly, he seemed to work even faster after she did this, and just as she felt a palpable thrum begin to shake the deck plates, the light of the reactor began to dim and Fei Long’s efforts become more deliberate, his pace slowing until he was moving no faster than the average computer operator aboard the Pride of Prometheus.

  “The self-destruct sequence has been disabled,” he said in a tremulous, scratchy voice. “I have assumed control of the primary computer.”

  “Lancers, sound off,” Gnuko snapped, causing Atticus, Brasidas, Peleus, Lei and Lu to do so. When Sherman’s voice was notably absent, Lu Bu turned to see that he had collapsed near the door. A closer inspection revealed that his helmet had been compromised by one of the poisoned needles, the body of which was still lodged in his visor. But it looked like the tip had not made contact with his skin, at least from where Lu Bu was standing.

  “Among men, Lu Bu,” Fei Long said, his voice having returned to something approaching his normal, admirably calm, tone.

  “Among horses, Red Hare,” Lu Bu responded with a curt nod, which she hoped adequately conveyed her thanks, as she finished the famous saying regarding her namesake and his legendary steed.

  The tag on her armor which bore her name, using the characters of her home world rather than Confederation Standard lettering, contained additional characters which formed the complete phrase: Lu Bu’s Red Hare. She knew that only two people aboard the Pride of Prometheus were likely to have read the ancient tome Romance of the Three Kingdoms, which she had nearly completed. Doctor Middleton was one, but she was unlikely to have participated in the creation of military equipment of any kind, which left only Fei Long.

  “You have my eternal respect and gratitude, Lu Bu,” Fei Long said in a tone that took her by surprise, and she felt a flash of something which spread from her belly to her fingertips.

  Before she could reply, Gnuko interrupted, “Can the chatter, you two. How long until you’ve finished, Mr. Fei?”

  “I require three minutes and twenty three seconds to complete the upload of the program. A verification of its installation will require an additional minute, after which time we may return to the ship, Corporal Gnuko,” Fei Long replied matter-of-factly.

  “Hear that, Lancers?” Gnuko barked. “We hold for four minutes; all other considerations are moot. Protect the ball!”

  “Protect the ball!” the other five Lancers, including Lu Bu, repeated in unison. Lei and Atticus quickly took up positions flanking the door, while Gnuko and Brasidas swept the room. Peleus moved to Lu Bu’s flank, and the seconds ticked by slower than Lu Bu had ever known time to pass.

  She felt sweat beading on her forehead, and she forced herself to take deep, measured breaths, but no further attacks materialized.

  Fei Long finally stood from the console and withdrew his data slate’s connections.

  “I have finished,” the young man said simply. “We may now return to the ship.”

  “Repeat, Mr. Fei,” Corporal Gnuko said sternly. “Are we ‘mission accomplished,’ and is there anything else we need to do aboard this blighted thing?”

  “My work here is done, Corporal Gnuko,” Fei Long said with conviction. “We have indeed accomplished our mission, but I suggest we make all haste to return. I have initiated a complete system’s reboot requiring approximately five minutes which has shut down all systems aboard the hub. After that interval, I make no guarantee that additional countermeasure will not be brought online.”

  “You heard the man,” Gnuko snapped. “We move out; Peleus, bring Sherman. Lei, Brasidas: you get Thomas and Gong.”

  “Yes, Corporal,” the Lancers replied.

  They collected the bodies of their dead, with Atticus stopping to recover what was left of Laertes, which he then carried back to the shuttle.

  As each Lancer passed by the place where Walter Joneson had fallen, they paused fractionally to make their respects to their fallen commander, and Lu Bu did lik
ewise. She saw one of his vibro-knives lying on the deck and leaned down to collect it, finding it damaged but apparently repairable. She tucked it into her belt and clasped her hands reverently, with Fei Long doing likewise, before they returned to the shuttle in reverent silence.

  Chapter XXXVIII: Repair and Regroup

  “The shuttle has touched down in the hangar, Captain,” Commander Jersey reported.

  “Good,” Middleton said absently, knowing it would be several hours before Garibaldi’s work crews had brought the priority systems back online. He wanted nothing more than to bug out as quickly as possible, but his strange particle generators were currently off-line and he had prioritized repair of life support, weapons, and sensors—in that order—ahead of the point transfer system.

  “The Chief says decks one through four have life support restored, Captain,” the Engineering petty officer reported.

  “Would you ask the Chief, in as gentle a manner as you are capable, to ignore the manual if it expedites matters?” Middleton asked dryly.

  The petty officer hesitated before nodding. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Thank you,” Middleton muttered before activating Sergeant Joneson’s com-link. “I’d like an after-action report as soon as possible, Sergeant.”

  When there was no reply, he checked to see if the message had gone through and saw that the connection had never been made. Furrowing his brow and assuming Joneson’s com-link had been damaged, he cycled through to the coded Lancer command channel and repeated, “Sergeant, I’d like an after-action report as soon as you’ve seen to your people.”

  The connection was live, but there was a brief delay before a vaguely familiar man’s voice said, “This is Corporal Gnuko, Captain. I’ll have that report ready for you as soon as we’ve been cleared by Medical.”

  Understanding the unspoken message the Corporal had just sent all-too-well, Captain Middleton swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. “That will be fine, Corporal,” he said staidly. “See to your people first.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Gnuko replied stiffly before signing off.

  The silence throughout the bridge was truly deafening, and Middleton’s ears began to ring at learning of Walter Joneson, his Lancer Sergeant and one of the few people he had called a friend, having fallen in the line of duty.

  Lieutenant Commander Jersey approached the command chair and, clasping his hands behind his back, said, “I can take over here if you’d like to inspect the Lancers, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Middleton said evenly, “but that’s not necessary. The task before us is to get this ship’s systems back online as quickly as possible, and we can’t afford to indulge in distractions.”

  “In that case,” Jersey said with a consolatory nod, “I’d like permission to go help the repair crews. I spent two tours in Engineering on one of these Hammerheads back when the clean-head look was fashionable, and I think I can help.”

  “Permission granted, Commander,” Middleton assented, and after he had gone the Captain began to peruse the stream of reports coming through to the bridge.

  Six hours later, a comm. request from Chief Garibaldi came through to Middleton’s chair.

  “How’s your progress, Chief?” the Captain asked.

  “We’ve got every spare relay installed and have hotwired more systems than a lifer doing time for grand theft whatever,” Garibaldi replied raggedly. “But the life support system’s back up, you’ve got sensors within operating specs, and the weapons are ‘up’ in theory, but we put too much of a strain on these systems concurrently and we’re in for it. The strange particle generators are almost finished; I’ve just got to run a few tests from my little instruction manual here—unless you want me to ignore the point transfer calibration process entirely?” he added sarcastically.

  “How long, Chief?” Middleton asked.

  “My guess? Twenty minutes,” Garibaldi replied seriously. “Then we can spin the systems up and make a jump—so long as we don’t try fighting at the same time. There is just no way that this grid will support more than one or the other, and we haven’t even gotten the shields back online yet. But I can rig them up with enough juice to make a point transfer between now and jump-time.”

  “Good work, Chief,” Middleton said just as seriously. “Update me as you feel appropriate.”

  “Will do, Captain,” the Chief replied before severing the connection.

  Just then the doors to the bridge cycled open, and Corporal Gnuko set foot on the bridge, followed by Fei Long and, surprisingly, by Jo.

  “My ready room,” Middleton gestured, standing from his chair. “Ensign Sarkozy, you have the conn.”

  “Yes, Captain,” she replied as Middleton led the trio to his private office.

  Once inside, he gestured for them to sit before realizing he only had two chairs opposite his own.

  “I’ll stand, Captain,” Gnuko said, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “Very good, Corporal,” Middleton said as he sat in his own chair, and Fei Long did likewise beside Jo. “Let’s have it,” he said, gesturing to the trio in no particular order.

  Fei Long leaned forward. “We successfully infiltrated the ComStat hub and I was able to upload the program into the mainframe.”

  “Do we have control of the system?” Middleton asked, his hopes rising even in the face of the mission have carried the price it had.

  “Not control, no,” Fei Long said hesitantly. “I was unaware of certain protocols in place, but now that I have interfaced with the system and collected the pertinent data, I am certain I—“

  “Please, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said through gritted teeth, “the short version.”

  Fei Long took a short breath. “We can now fully monitor all activity across the ComStat sub-network of which this particular hub is a part,” he explained. “However, to send a transmission at this point using my hidden program would reveal the program’s existence and likely result in its deletion; trapping data for later perusal, however, is a simple matter which is already under way.” His face took on a look that bordered on frustration and disappointment, “To create a two-way communications system will require a slight modification to my program, and subsequent installation at a separate hub.” He hung his head deliberately. “I have failed you, Captain, and I willingly submit myself to whatever punishment you deem appropriate.”

  Middleton realized he had been holding his breath as the young man reported his partial success, and he released that breath as he processed the update. “In truth, Mr. Fei,” he said while leaning forward with his fingers laced together over his desk, “I doubted you could do this at all. You have done something which, frankly, most would consider impossible.” Middleton shook his head emphatically, “You haven’t failed this ship, its crew, or the MSP; you may have just dealt the biggest blow to the anarchy and discord spreading like wildfire through the Spineward Sectors. I don’t want to see you hanging your head over this minor setback, do I make myself clear?”

  Fei Long raised his eyes, and Middleton could see the sting of defeat in the young man’s countenance, but it was clear that his words of encouragement had not been dismissed outright. “You do, Captain...thank you,” he said graciously, bowing his head in deference.

  Middleton nodded and turned to Gnuko. “How is your unit, Corporal?”

  “We took losses, Captain,” the Corporal said, clearly uneasy about this first debriefing as the Lancers’ commanding officer. “Six of us made it back, but we managed to retrieve the remains of all but the Sergeant.”

  “I can assure you, Corporal Gnuko,” Middleton said with a snort, harsh laugh, “that Sergeant Joneson would have been more upset about a funeral with his body than a memorial service without. It’s the way he would have wanted it.”

  Gnuko nodded, and Middleton could see a sliver of relief cross his features. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Doctor,” the Captain continued, “can I assume you’re here to discuss the strike team’s status
?”

  “Yes, among other things,” she replied. “The entire away team was exposed to incredibly high levels of radiation with most of the exposure found in the cranium; I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve already started them on a therapeutic regimen which will require them to be on active bed-rest for at least a week. During that time they’ll experience neurological deficits which, in my professional opinion, would make them unfit for military duty. If not for that illegal armor of theirs,” she added grudgingly, “they would have all collapsed before reaching the shuttle.”

  Middleton was surprised to hear of radiation poisoning, but nodded slowly. “What’s their long-term prognosis?”

  “Given the short interval between exposure and first treatment, excellent,” Jo replied with certainty. “After the recovery period, given twice daily therapy sessions and adherence to the prescribed chemical treatments, they should have no long-term effects.”

  “Excellent,” Middleton said feeling genuinely relieved. He very much disliked the idea of operating with only a dozen Lancers on the ship for any longer than absolutely necessary, and he was glad that his people would make a complete recovery. “Good work, Doctor.”

  Jo shook her head. “I can’t take all the credit; Doctor Cho knows a lot more about this type of treatment than I do. Without him, I couldn’t guarantee such a positive outcome.”

  “Please relay my thanks to Doctor Cho,” Middleton said, keeping the surprise out of his voice. Doctor Cho had filed a rather venomous complaint against Doctor Middleton over the triage incident which had made the rounds through the Pride’s social grapevine. That they were at least working together again was just extra good news, as far as the Captain was concerned. “Also, given the ship’s current condition, I’m inclined to place the strike team members on a twenty four hour medical hold,” he held a hand up when Jo made to argue, “after which, circumstances allowing, they are to follow your regimen to the letter. In the event of emergency and the ship requires their service, I would appreciate if sickbay were to conduct a thorough neurological exam in conjunction with each therapy session, so that their capabilities are properly measured. Is that satisfactory, Doctor?”