Jo bit her lip hesitantly, and her eyes flashed back and forth for several seconds before nodding abruptly. “All right, Tim. I’ll stay on until you’ve had a chance to find a qualified replacement,” she said grudgingly before leaning toward the pickup and lowering her voice, “but I’m a civilian, not a military officer, and I hope you remember it. I expect my civil rights to be upheld while I’m aboard this ship.”
“I think I can do that, Doctor,” Middleton nodded before leaning in toward the pickup as well, “but as long as you’re aboard this ship you will address me as ‘Captain,’ seeing as I am a military officer and it’s hard enough establishing discipline on this ship without a former acquaintance taking familiar liberties in public.”
Her eyes flashed with anger and Middleton was afraid she would argue the point, but the look was fleeting and she nodded affirmatively. “Very well, Captain,” she said icily. “Doctor Middleton, out.”
Middleton sat back in his chair and breathed yet another sigh of relief. The truth was that dealing with tactical situations, however hazardous or gruesome they might be, was nothing compared to the constant bureaucracy and administrative duties of being in command.
Still, he had managed to keep things pointed in more or less the right direction for his first month of command, and now it seemed he had but one task before himself: finding a planet where they could affect repairs and find some new recruits to replenish their losses.
After nearly three hours of considering the options, he finally decided on a relatively nearby star system with a single habitable world called ‘Shèhuì Héxié’ by its inhabitants, which when translated to Confederation Standard, meant something along the lines of ‘Social Harmony.’
With a name like that, how could we go wrong? he thought to himself sardonically.
Chapter V: Lacking Political Capital
“As I said, Captain, we will happily provide you with whatever material assistance you require—a process which, I understand, has already begun. But regarding the recruitment of our citizens for your ship’s crew, I am afraid that my hands are tied,” the representative said.
The representative wore an ancient style robe which was simple in its design, but clearly made of pure silk. His pale skin and sharp, angular features were quite unlike those possessed by a native Caprian like Middleton, and the man wore his hair in a high, perfectly bound topknot with a slender stick of some kind pinning it in place.
Middleton ground his teeth as he sat back in his ready room’s chair. “Representative Rong—“ he began, but the representative stopped him with a gesture.
“My family name is ‘Kong’,” he corrected patiently, “Rong is my given name, Captain Middleton.”
“Fine,” Middleton bit out, having gone round and round with the representative for several hours already, “Representative Kong, the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is a recognized arm of the Confederation government—a body to which your planet has belonged for over a century—and seeing as your world is a contributory member of the MSP, you are required to provide assistance where necessary—including manpower, not just physical assets.”
Representative Kong Rong nodded fractionally, “It is true that our planet was a member of the Confederation here in the Spineward Sectors. However, my world has determined that the signing of the Union Treaty and subsequent formation of the Confederated Empire rendered all former obligations null and void. Still,” he continued calmly in a tone that only a lifelong politician could use so expertly, “we are willing to provide material assistance in light of your ship’s recent accomplishment in liberating a gas mining facility and returning to us one of our SDF warships, both of which may prove vital in these increasingly troublesome times. But I am afraid that must be the extent of our involvement at this juncture.”
“We did return that corvette to you,” Middleton said hotly, feeling his temper beginning to flare uncontrollably. As luck would have it, the vessel which had survived the battle at the gas mine had originally belonged to this planet—which had played no small part in Middleton’s plan to come to this world rather than another. “Not only that, but we also arrested nearly two hundred confessed pirates and destroyed a bioweapons facility in the process of liberating that gas collection plant.”
Representative Kong Rong held a hand up politely. “Forgive me, Captain,” he said with a gracious tilt of his head, “but my government has yet to make a final determination as to the arrested individuals’ involvement in any activities such as those you outline—we were quite clear on this point when we agreed to take custody of them. However,” he added smoothly, “the return of an illegally seized warship is an act for which we are most grateful.”
“Then, as a gesture of gratitude,” Middleton pressed, returning to the same subject which had plagued the last two hours of unexpected negotiations, “I am asking you to provide me with skilled personnel, who are both willing and capable, of serving aboard this ship in the positions I have outlined.”
The representative sighed patronizingly. “You do not understand, Captain,” he said far too calmly for Middleton’s liking, “our planet has strict laws governing emigration of any kind. There are long-practiced protocols involved which help maintain our world’s namesake, as we have ever striven for absolute harmony in our society. I am afraid that none of our citizens would qualify for legal emigration and subsequent enlistment to your ‘MSP’ within the restrictive timeframe you outlined.”
Middleton forced himself to take deep, measured breaths to calm himself as he tried to think of a way around the representative’s unexpected obstinacy. “Ok,” he said, breathing out a long breath evenly, “explain to me how these ‘social harmony’ laws of yours work again?”
The representative bowed slightly, clasping his hands before himself and perfectly joining the hems of his sleeves as he did so. “Of course, Captain. In our long-practiced philosophy, passed down by our ancestors who brought with them the learned wisdom of our Ancient Earth forebears, each person has a place of equal importance in any society. However, there are certain individuals who can be considered ‘central’ to any harmonious social structure but whose individual aptitudes or abilities, while often exceeding those of others in certain respects, should not afford them special dispensation or regard. It is in this fashion that our society differs most from your own; we do not believe one person should be treated with more or less respect or deference than another, since the contributions of every individual are essential to the continued harmony of the group.”
Middleton nodded as he interrupted, “And this group of ‘central’ individuals makes up roughly five percent of any group’s population, yes?”
The representative nodded fractionally, “Between three and seven percent of a given population, whose number exceeds two thousand, can be considered ‘central’ to that group’s harmonious existence. So yes, five percent is an adequate approximation for the purposes of this discussion.”
“And am I to understand then that, in general terms,” Middleton continued, feeling his choler rise as he did so, “the majority of those whose aptitudes would qualify them for service aboard this ship would fall into this ‘three to seven percent’?”
“This is almost certainly the case,” the representative replied with another infuriating tilt of his head. “Perhaps you can now understand how we cannot allow our citizenry to upset the delicate balance which we have worked so hard to achieve and maintain.”
“All right,” Middleton said as he activated the console built into his desk, “I’ll need some time to digest this. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to remain aboard this ship for a few hours while I consider the matter further?”
Representative Kong Rong again clasped his hands before himself and bowed his head officiously. “It is my humble duty to act as my world’s liaison to your vessel, Captain. I would be honored to remain as long as my presence is of benefit.”
“Thank you, Representative,” Middleton said,
standing and gesturing to the door. The representative bowed again and took several steps back while still facing the Captain before turning and leaving the room. Not long after he left, Chief Engineer Alfred Garibaldi came into the room unannounced, holding a data slate.
“Chief,” Middleton began exasperatedly after the door had swished closed behind the man, “I understand that these people aren’t being all that cooperative, but I really need to clear my head for a minute. If you’ve got a formal complaint to lodge, leave it here and I’ll take a look at it when I’ve got a minute.”
“What?” Garibaldi asked with a look of clear puzzlement, turning briefly as if to see where Representative Kong had gone. “No, Captain, it’s nothing about that,” he said excitedly. “Matter of fact, the stuff these guys are sending up is top-notch; I’m seriously impressed by the subtle improvements I’m seeing in the gear they’ve brought aboard. I’m certain everything we pick up from this planet will outperform the rated specs by at least twenty percent.”
Middleton’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, at least that’s good news,” he said, rubbing his neck to work out some of the tension the last few hours had built up. “If you’re not here to complain…then why exactly are you here, Chief?”
“Captain, you wound me,” the Chief said in mock outrage before waving the data slate as a mischievous look came over his face. “I’ve got something here you’re gonna want to see.”
Middleton sighed and held his hand out for the slate, desperate to deal with whatever it was so he could return to the business at hand. “Let me have a look,” he said in as even a tone as he could manage.
“Check this out,” Garibaldi said as he activated the slate and moved beside the Captain. The screen was filled with a smashball pitch as the offensive and defensive players took their positions.
“Chief, I really don’t have time—“ Middleton began.
“No, no,” Garibaldi interrupted. “You’re gonna love this, Captain. Just keep an eye on double-aughts lined up wide right for the offense.”
The commentary was in an unfamiliar language and after glancing at the characters streaming across the screen, Middleton realized this must have been a broadcast from the planet below. His eyes locked on the player wearing twin zeroes just as both teams came set, and number zero-zero went in motion from right to left.
The ball was snapped just as zero-zero came across the rightward line marking the backfield pocket, and took a hand-off from the prime back before exploding toward the far sideline with a burst of speed like nothing Middleton had ever seen—even in thirty years of religiously watching the Omega Bowl.
The commentators began chattering in what sounded like mixtures of irritation and outright condemnation as the ball carrier shoulder charged a defensive lineman easily half again his size, flattening the defender and laying him out in an unmoving, spread eagle position.
Another defender—the rightbacker, who had clearly been spying zero-zero—came flying at the player at what seemed to Middleton to be fairly impressive speed, but player zero-zero was simply on another level. Lowering his shoulder, the ball-carrier cut low and just as the defender matched levels in an attempt to attack zero-zero’s hips, the ball-carrier sprung upward and easily leapt over the defender like a track star clearing a thirty inch hurdle—only this particular hurdle had to be closer to fifty inches high than thirty.
There were still four defenders—the entire secondary—downfield, and it looked like around seventy meters between the ball-carrier and the score. It seemed that just one score would win the game, since the clock had already wound down to zero, making this the final play of the game barring a penalty.
Two players—a wingbacker and the deathbacker—converged toward a single point in the carrier’s path while the other two defenders—the lastbacker and far-side wingbacker—backpedaled and spread out wide to cover the field sideline-to-sideline. Each was already at least fifteen yards downfield from the runner as they backpedaled, which seemed more than a little odd to Middleton. In smashball, if the ball-carrier held onto the ball for long enough then that ball became a weapon, and its use as such was what had given rise to the sport’s name.
As the two front defenders converged, the carrier juked hard right, then left, then right again, doing so without losing much, if any, forward momentum—an impressive feat, even for a lifelong athlete.
The rightward defender bit on the first fake, sprawling out on the pitch in a heap as he failed to maintain his footing. The second, leftward defender, stayed with the runner’s first two fakes before clearly injuring his lower leg while trying to match the ball-carrier’s final, incredible cutback. Middleton checked the play clock and saw that five seconds had already elapsed, which meant that the ball now weighed in excess of thirty kilos, having steadily increased in apparent mass over the course of the play. Impossibly, the ball-carrier seemed barely affected by the increased load as his legs continued to churn away and send his body downfield toward the score zone.
The commentators’ voices had collectively risen, and now all of them seemed genuinely outraged—with a few even sounding like they had broken into tears.
It was apparently a small thing for the ball-carrier, having already cleared the largest and most powerful defenders on the opposing team, to stiff-arm the first remaining defender into the ground. The runner then grabbed the ball with both hands and, just before the lastbacker launched himself through the air in an attempt to tackle the ball-carrier, zero-zero swung the ball upward in a vicious arc which saw the smashball slam into the last defender’s chest. The lastbacker was sent flying several meters through the air by the impressive smash, and landed near the sidelines.
With the way clear, zero-zero tucked the ball and ran the final twenty or so meters into the scoring zone. Without fanfare or celebration, the player sprinted in for the score, after which time he set the ball down calmly on the pitch and turned to jog back toward the defenders. The commentators kept repeating a single word over, and over, and over in their apparent outrage which sounded something like ‘Kay Chee’ to Middleton. Player zero-zero went to check on the injured defender just before the recording ended and the screen went dark.
“So, who is this ‘Kay Chee’” Middleton asked, handing the slate back to Garibaldi, “and why is it so important I watch his admittedly impressive smashball skills?”
“Wrong on both counts, Captain,” the Chief said with a crooked grin. “’Kay Chee’ is actually ‘Kěchǐ,’ which in their planet’s ancient tongue means ‘shameful,’ or ‘disgraceful’. And it’s, uh…” he cleared his throat emphatically, “not a ‘he’.”
Middleton’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, that makes her accomplishments doubly impressive,” he allowed, “but again, why was it so important I see her play?”
“Word has it,” Garibaldi leaned in conspiratorially, “she wants to join up and this is her application. Seems she gave the vid to one of our requisition officers, who handed it to me during transfer of those shield emitters and said she’s waiting planet-side for your reply. Something about,” he tapped the data slate a few times and scanned its contents before continuing, “here it is: ‘Confederation Article 2.10.73-b, governing the lawful military enlistment of Confederation worlds’ citizens during a time of crisis’.”
“Let me see that,” Middleton took the pad from the engineer and silently perused the text, finding a slew of references and legal excerpts, but it seemed that most of them did not apply to this particular world’s citizens. “Bah, ’Social Harmony,’ my left—“ Middleton began before catching himself and continuing more professionally, “this whole ‘every person is equally important’ mantra looks like it makes these statutes objectionable, at least in a legal sense, since Article 2.10.73-b clearly states ‘individuals deemed by their respective planetary governments to be indispensable are exempt’.”
Garibaldi shrugged. “Well, whatever, I just thought you’d want to see it.” With that, the Chief Engineer t
urned and left Middleton’s ready room. When he had gone, Middleton sat down at his desk and decided to watch the smashball play one more time.
He noticed that the woman’s body was exceptionally broad and powerful…unnaturally so. She had twin ponytails running down her back beneath her helmet, and it was clear that her arms were far more muscular than all but Sergeant Joneson’s or the four Tracto-an Lancers’, even if she was a bit short—at least, compared to the other players on the field with her.
Flipping through the data slate, Middleton took a deep breath before delving into the Confederation statutes the woman had provided him. At that particular moment, it seemed to be his best hope of finding a way through this web of legal entanglement so he could get the crew replacements he desperately needed.
Chapter VI: Tit for Tat and Letter vs. Spirit
“Representative Kong,” Middleton greeted as the man swept gracefully into his ready room, “please have a seat.”
Clasping his hands before himself briefly, the representative did as he was instructed, looking more than a little uncomfortable as he did so. Middleton put it off to the man’s strange attire, which probably made it difficult to sit properly.
“I think I may have found a solution to our mutual problems,” the Captain began, eliciting a faint look of surprise on the other man’s face.
“You have already apprised me of your own particular challenges…but to what ‘problems’ of ours might you be referring?” the representative asked with the barest hint of challenge in his voice. Middleton slid a data slate across the desk to the representative, which the other man accepted and read quickly before chuckling slightly. “I assure you, Captain Middleton, that my world will have little difficulty providing for the pirate prisoners you have brought. We consider it a debt of gratitude which we will gladly repay, in the hope of fostering friendship and goodwill with your organization.”
No Middle Ground Page 7
