No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride)

by Caleb Wachter

  Jo held up a hand haltingly. “I’d really rather not discuss military politics, if it’s all the same to you,” she said.

  “Of course,” he acquiesced. “Thank you for your report, and your flexibility, Doctor.”

  Jo nodded curtly and left the ready room, after which Middleton took a look at the local star charts and felt his guts tighten when he saw that the nearest Core World—in fact, the only Core World within three days’ travel from their current position—was the Hedonist system.

  But the system’s name didn’t bother him. What bothered him was that it was solidly in the ‘grey’ portion of the Sector map which High Captain Manning had secretly provided the MSP.

  Meaning its current droid status was anything but certain, which was far from a good sign.

  Chapter XXXIX: One Headache after Another

  “Point transfer complete, Captain,” the helmsman reported. “Shield drain is within parameters; shedding sump now.” A tense few seconds ensued until the ship broke free of the sump, after which the helmsman breathed a short sigh of relief. “We’ve broken through, Captain.”

  “Good work, Helm,” Middleton acknowledged as the tactical overlay began to populate with the local system’s features. It was a relatively less-traveled, binary star system. This made it essentially uninhabitable outside of properly-shielded modules, or those which were positioned within the EM field of one of the system’s three gas giants.

  “Captain,” Fei Long said in his usual, calm voice from the Comm. section, “I am detecting unusual transmissions…they appear to be consistent with droid activity.”

  “Set Condition One throughout the ship,” Commander Jersey barked. “Battle stations!”

  “Give me a picture, Sensors,” Middleton said evenly as the crew sprang into action, knowing they had been fortunate to avoid an encounter during their previous series of jumps. There was only one more jump from their current position to the Hedonist system, so all the Pride of Prometheus needed to do was maintain distance from the enemy vessels until the jump drives could spin up.

  If only it would actually play out that way, Middleton thought as he readied for the inevitable battle.

  “Reading four vessels, Captain,” Sensors reported. “The readings are distorted…it will take some time to get precise measurements, but it looks like three of the ships are in formation and emitting radiation profiles identical to the ship we exchanged fire with at the depot.”

  “What about the fourth?” Middleton pressed as he flipped through the accumulated tactical information on the droid vessels contained in the Pride’s database.

  “I’m working up a reading now, Captain,” the Sensors operator replied. “There’s a lot of interference from the nearby gas giant; it’s almost large enough to be a brown dwarf. But preliminary data…” she trailed off before nodding her head curtly. “The fourth ship’s radiation profile is a match for the one we recorded five months ago at the bioweapon plant, Captain Middleton.”

  Middleton felt his stomach tighten. “Well, at least we’re all acquainted,” he said grimly as he saw that the fourth vessel was far closer to the Pride of Prometheus than Middleton would have liked—especially since Garibaldi been unable to get more than 50% out of the power grid since the near-miss with the neutron star. That meant they wouldn’t be fighting and cycling the jump drives at the same time, and against four droid ships the odds of the Pride and her crew surviving were…less than good.

  “All four vessels are moving to intercept, Captain,” Sarkozy reported, and Middleton found the anxiety he had come to expect in her voice notably absent. “At current acceleration rates, the three ship formation will enter extreme firing range in thirty two minutes; the fourth, larger, vessel will do so in eight minutes.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could outrun them?” Middleton asked dryly.

  Lieutenant Commander Jersey shook his head. “The fourth ship’s not much faster than we are, but the other three are moving like corvettes; there’s no way we stay out of firing range, and there’s no nearby planet to use for cover.”

  “Then the decision’s made,” Middleton said as he set his jaw. “Open a hailing frequency.”

  “Captain,” Ensign Jardine said evenly, “the droids haven’t been reported to accept any offers of surrender thus far in the crisis, or even respond to such messages.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Ensign,” Middleton said coolly. “Open the channel.”

  “Channel open, Captain,” Jardine reported after a brief delay.

  “This is Captain Tim Middleton of the MSP Cruiser Pride of Prometheus,” he said in a carrying voice, opting to use the name he preferred rather than the one he was born with. “I would like to negotiate on behalf of my crew to safeguard their well-being…but judging by intelligence we’ve gathered on the engagements between my kind and yours, it’s clear you wouldn’t care to listen to my plea.”

  He stopped mid-sentence and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. He knew this situation was utterly hopeless, but that didn’t mean he was going to go gently into the night.

  “Which is why I’ll save us all the act,” he said fiercely as he opened his eyes. “Your kind has fired on hundreds of vessels and invaded dozens of star systems, resulting in the deaths of as-yet uncounted sentient beings. You have made no attempt to negotiate a peaceful end to these hostilities, which would at least mark you as sentient beings yourselves. However, given your apparent lack of such a simple emotion as ‘sympathy,’ I have no choice but to treat you like the disease that you are and eradicate however much of your vile horde I can. But long after we’re dead and gone, with the hull of our ship dismantled and repurposed into components which will no doubt serve to support your continued acts of mindless aggression, I promise that those who follow us will prove more than capable of grinding your processing units into sand and casting the remnants of your blighted plague into the nearest sun.”

  Middleton made a slashing gesture across his throat, and Ensign Jardine cut the channel. “Transmission ended, Captain,” the Ensign reported crisply.

  “Let’s not make this any easier on them than we need to, people,” Middleton said, sweeping the bridge with a piercing look. “Let’s spit in their eye and meet the Saint with our heads held high.”

  “Aye, Captain,” came a chorus of confident voices which filled him with the only kind of pride he had ever known: the pride of working alongside such fine people as these.

  “Shields to maximum,” Middleton barked, “and divert all available power to the forward array for an overcharged salvo; I want to bloody their noses before we go down.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sarkozy replied promptly.

  “Helm,” Middleton continued, “adjust course to make orbit of the nearest planet.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman replied. “Estimate we’ll make orbit in forty eight minutes.”

  “Engineering,” the Captain continued, as he issued what may well be the final round of pre-battle orders of his career, “tell Chief Garibaldi to prepare for maintenance on the forward laser array. We’ll need to keep them online as long as possible.”

  The Engineering officer relayed the orders before replying, “The Chief wants to confirm you’re pulling his crews off maintaining the shields.”

  “Confirmed,” Middleton acknowledged. “He is to tend the forward array to the exclusion of all else, including life support.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the crewman replied.

  “The fourth vessel will enter extreme firing range is two minutes, Captain,” Sarkozy reported. “It will take another six minutes until our heavy lasers enter their maximum range.”

  “Understood, Tactical,” Middleton replied, and judging from the size of the fourth vessel—whose configuration was completely different than the other three—they would be lucky to still have firing control in eight minutes.

  “I do not understand, Doctor Middleton,” Lu Bu said as she followed the doctor through the c
orridor at a jog.

  Not long after the ship had completed its point transfer, during which Doctor Middleton and Lu Bu had just been making their way to the mess hall for the midday meal, the Doctor’s hand had gone to her head as though she were suffering from a severe headache.

  Then she had grabbed Lu Bu by the wrist and told her to come with her in a dire tone.

  “I can’t explain, Bu,” the Doctor said tersely. “But you must come with me to the bridge.”

  Lu Bu shook her head as she followed the other woman into the lift. “Bridge protocol very strict,” she argued. “Lu Bu is only Lancer; this one cannot enter bridge unless summoned!”

  Doctor Middleton, for the first time since they had shared their meals, completely seemed to miss Lu Bu’s mis-tense in not using the first person to describe herself, which only served to heighten Lu Bu’s general anxiety at seeing the Doctor so clearly upset.

  The lift began to move and Doctor Middleton turned with a grave look on her face. “Bu, I need you to understand that what I’m about to do won’t be well-understood by the rest of the crew. You’re going to learn something about me that I wish we’d had time to talk about privately first…I just ask that you make up your own mind as to what it means, and only after you’ve had time to think about it on your own. Can you do that?” she asked as she input her Condition One bridge access code into the lift’s interface.

  “Doctor Middleton…” Lu Bu felt a surge of conflicting feelings. What could the Doctor be planning that would require her to ‘make up her own mind’ about? “If you are planning to endanger the ship,” Lu Bu said as she drew a frightening conclusion, and almost without thinking she took a step toward the older woman—a woman who, in many ways, Lu Bu had come to think of as the mother she always wanted.

  “No, Bu,” Jo said fiercely as the computer chimed, having accepted her codes, “I’m planning to save it!”

  The doors to the bridge cycled open just as Sarkozy reported, “Enemy vessel will enter firing range in thirty seconds.”

  Middleton turned to see Jo step onto the bridge, with Lu Bu standing so close to her as to almost touch. The young, powerfully-built Lancer had a look of concern on her face, while the Doctor locked her eyes with the Captain’s.

  “Doctor, this isn’t the time—“ he began just before his ex-wife reached up beside her head and giving her hair a sharp tug, causing a small tuft to come off. He watched in horror as she reached up with her other hand and withdrew a small, crystalline device the size of a finger—apparently from within her skull!—and held it out toward him.

  “You need to transmit the message contained in this and you need to do it now, Captain,” she said urgently.

  “Jo,” he said, his mouth suddenly agape at what he had just seen—and drawing a startling conclusion he very much did not want to believe.

  “Tim!” she said sharply, rousing him from his momentary shock as she glanced up at the countdown on the main viewer. “You need to do this right now.”

  All his experience and all his training told him he should do anything but what she had suggested. But he knew this woman—or at least, he thought he did—and he also knew that she had never once given him cause to doubt her sincerity. Of all her flaws, dishonesty was not among them.

  “Mr. Fei,” Middleton snapped, his mind made up, “transmit the message.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the young man said as he plucked the device from her fingers. A few seconds later, he had accessed its contents using a portable scanner and uploaded it to his console. “Message sent, Captain,” he said.

  “Firing range in five…four…three…two…one,” Sarkozy reported, and what ensued was the longest three seconds of Middleton’s life as he awaited the inevitable pounding from the oncoming warship—which was easily half again as large as the Pride, and likely packed a far bigger punch than even its size suggested.

  “Status report,” Middleton growled after it became clear the enemy vessel would not fire—yet.

  “The enemy vessel is coming about, Captain,” Sarkozy reported in surprise bordering on shock.

  Just then, Jo fell to her knees and clutched the sides of her head as her face twisted in agony.

  “I am reading intense comm. activity, Captain Middleton,” Fei Long reported an instant before Jo had fallen to her knees.

  “Can you make anything of it?” Middleton demanded, very much disliking the sudden uncertainty of the situation. He didn’t wish to die in a firefight with an overwhelmingly superior foe, but at least when that had been the inevitable outcome he knew he could manage the last few minutes of his life reasonably well. Now, however, new wrenches had been tossed into the gears…and Middleton disliked unaccounted variables almost as much as the prospect of death.

  “No, Captain,” Fei Long replied promptly. “I can only conclude, from the apparent structure and duration of the exchange, that this is a significant exchange of information.”

  “They…say,” Jo breathed between sharp, panting gasps as she knelt on the deck, “they say…they…can’t win…against three of them,” she yelped wordlessly as her body was wracked with a brief spasm. “They say…you should…retreat!”

  It took him only a second to realize what Jo was saying—and to realize that doing as she suggested ran wholly counter to his way of thinking. “Tactical,” Middleton barked, “I want fresh simulations based on current intel on these vessels and I want them ten minutes ago!”

  “Re-running for a three-on-two scenario, Captain,” Sarkozy replied promptly.

  “Make it fast, Sarkozy,” he growled before turning to Jo, who was still gasping on her knees as she clutched her head in obvious agony.

  Lancer Lu Bu wore a look of shocked disbelief as she looked at the Doctor.

  “Lancer,” Middleton said, and when the young woman failed to respond he repeated, “Lancer!”

  Lu Bu tore her eyes from the Doctor and raised a numb salute. “Captain.”

  “Escort Doctor Middleton to her new quarters,” the Captain said through gritted teeth before adding, “in the brig. You are to report to me when you have done so, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Lu Bu acknowledged, just as Jo’s hands fell from her temples and her features relaxed fractionally.

  “Transmissions between the vessels have ceased, Captain,” Ensign Jardine reported before adding, “I’m reading a blanket of jamming signals from the three vessels. Our comm. can’t penetrate this level of interference, sir.”

  “What is the current attitude of the fourth vessel?” Middleton demanded as Lu Bu physically helped the Doctor to her feet before leading her off the bridge.

  “No change, Captain,” reported Sensors. “They’re continuing to maneuver for an interdictory position between the Pride and the hostile formation, which is still on an intercept course with us. Estimated time to firing range is eleven minutes.”

  “Sarkozy,” Middleton said evenly, “I need the results of those simulations.”

  “The initial batch is seventy percent complete, Captain,” the Ensign reported, “I will have results in two minutes.”

  “We don’t have two minutes,” Middleton snapped before deciding on a course of action, “and we’re not going to tuck our tails and run. Helm: maneuver to support the fourth vessel; we’ll act as its wingman like Sarkozy did for us aboard the Elysium’s Wings.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the helmsman acknowledged.

  “Captain,” Commander Jersey interjected, “our maneuvers were carefully coordinated between the Pride and the Wings due to constant communication.”

  “We’ll just have to play this one by feel, Commander,” Middleton grudged, well aware of the myriad obstacles before them.

  “Then I request permission to take the helm, sir,” Jersey said without missing a beat.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Middleton said dryly, gesturing to the console. “Permission granted, Commander.”

  After Jersey had taken over at the helm, Middleton knew he
needed to bolster morale however he was able. So he activated the ship-wide announcement channel and raised his voice, “This is the Captain. We are about to engage in a firefight with an uncertain ally and an even more uncertain outcome. I’m not going blow smoke up your skirts or make a lengthy speech; you all know your jobs better than anyone else on the ship. Stay focused, stay calm, and stay in the fight,” he said sternly before smirking. “Whoever said ‘Pride goes before a fall’ never met this crew.” He could almost feel the bridge crew respond to his words as he cut the channel and swiveled to face Fei Long. “Mr. Fei,” he said lightly, “this ship could use some fire support, don’t you agree?”

  “I do, indeed,” Fei Long replied as he stood from his console. “I will require several able-bodied crewmen to assist me with readying the ten remaining Starfire missiles for deployment.”

  “They’ll meet you in the cargo bay,” Middleton said with a nod.

  “Simulations complete, Captain,” Sarkozy reported after Fei Long had left. “I’m forwarding the relevant results to your console, as well as to the gun deck.”

  “Very good, Ensign,” he replied, knowing they would need every available resource, no matter how small.

  Chapter XL: Fight Out of It

  The Pride of Prometheus shuddered slightly as the first strikes of enemy fire splashed against its shields.

  “Forward shields at 42%, Captain,” the Shields operator reported, which was more than slightly surprising.

  “That shot should have brought the forward shields down outright,” Middleton said darkly. He was equally glad for the fact that his shields were still up, and upset by the continuing unpredictability of the battle as it began to unfold.

  “I’m reading several, distinct impacts, Captain,” Sarkozy reported. “This was not the same primary weapon like we encountered during our first exchange with a ship of this type.” The icon of their ‘ally’ vessel flashed as Sarkozy reported, “Massive power surge detected from the battle cruiser.”