“Don’t quote my own words back at me, Tim,” she snapped, “you know how I hate that!”
Middleton held up a hand by way of apology, knowing it had been bad form to jab her like that. He then shrugged slightly and said, “I’m not sure a partially torn rotator cuff quite qualifies as ‘nearly having one’s arm torn off,’ Doctor. Besides,” he continued in a calm voice when she opened her mouth to protest, “the Sergeant has final say over how his Lancer team operates. That authority extends to recruits under his care.”
“Care?” she snorted derisively. “Is that what you call this?” she demanded, jabbing a finger down on the data slate.
“Sergeant Joneson only has the well-being of his people—and this ship—at heart, Doctor,” the Captain said evenly. “We may not understand, or even agree with, his methods but he is one of the finest men I’ve ever had the privilege of serving with. I have to defer to his judgment regarding matters like this. Besides, your report says none of the injuries sustained during this incident should have lasting effects on anyone involved.”
“Just like that?” she said in disbelief, leaning across the desk. “You can just wash your hands of it and act like nothing happened because I was able to patch it all up?”
Middleton sighed. “I will speak with the Lancer Sergeant, as is protocol following such incidents,” he allowed. In truth, he had been more than slightly disturbed by this particular incident but for reasons quite different than the ones Jo had espoused. “But you need to understand that this ‘little girl’ is far more capable than you seem to believe. When she came aboard this ship I did my utmost to convince her that the Gunnery department would have been a safer choice than the Lancer detail. Not only did she refuse,” he said with a scoff, “she literally threw herself onto the floor and begged me to let her become a Lancer in one of the most impassioned pleas I’ve ever heard.”
Jo leaned back and folded her arms defiantly. “You know that she’s the product of genetic engineering, Tim,” she said coldly. “And not just any genetic engineering, but a kind that makes those Tracto-ans of yours look like a lucky stroke of Darwinism?”
“Of course I do,” he replied measuredly, through briefly gritted teeth. “I’ve read your report. Engineering like hers has been banned for centuries in the hope of preventing future eugenics-based conflicts.”
“And you gave her to him?” she spat incredulously before leaning back in her chair and shaking her head in open scorn.
He knew all too well to what she was referring, as Walter Joneson’s smashball career had ended in a spat of controversy regarding public statements he had made concerning genetic engineering and its place in society, with most having taken his words to be bigoted. Middleton had purposefully never delved into the matter, since he had only met Walter Joneson during his tour in the MSP.
But regardless of the reason for her outburst, Middleton was through coddling Jo’s overly delicate sensibilities. She claimed she was no longer the naïve young girl he’d married, and he was ready to put that to the test.
“Doctor,” Captain Middleton began in an icy voice of his own, “that was a long time ago. Surely you, of all people, can understand that a person’s past does not dictate his…or her future.”
Her eyes went wide for a moment, and while he knew that what he had said would bring an avalanche of bitter memories for them both, he was sick of ignoring it. If they were going to work together then they would need to move beyond their mutual history, and he could think of no better way of doing just that than putting it out there.
“I deserved that, Tim,” she said with a nod of resignation as she stood from her chair stiffly. “I just hope you’re not trying to get back at me by punishing that poor girl.”
She turned and left his office without another word, and for a moment Captain Middleton was tempted to call after her. But that moment passed, and Ensign Jardine came through the door with an anxious look on his face while holding a data slate in his hands.
“What is it, Ensign?” Middleton asked, briefly grateful for a distraction from the most recent visit with the ship’s doctor.
“I think we might have him, sir,” Jardine said excitedly, handing the data slate to the Captain.
A brief look at the timestamp on the report told Middleton that another unauthorized communication had just been transmitted less than three minutes earlier. And they had a precise location of its origin!
Activating his com-link, he opened a line with Sergeant Joneson, who responded promptly, “Joneson here, Captain.”
“It looks like we’re ready to spring that trap right now, Sergeant,” he said, “I’m forwarding the location to you now.”
A moment later, Sergeant Joneson responded, “I’m on it, sir.”
“We need this person alive, Sergeant,” Middleton said emphatically, “non-lethal measures only. Is that clear?”
“Tri-Locsium, sir,” Joneson replied curtly. “Joneson out.”
Now, as always, it was Middleton’s job to wait while his people did the work. Is there a more trying thing in the entire universe than waiting? he wondered silently as he made his way out onto the bridge, with Ensign Jardine close behind.
Chapter X: The Sleeping Dragon, the First Visit
“Here he is, sir,” Sergeant Joneson said gruffly as Captain Middleton entered the brig. “We caught him dismantling some kind of homemade patch job into the main dish’s transmitter. Little blighter almost seemed glad to see us when we apprehended him.”
As Captain Middleton approached, he was more than a little confused. The man—or rather, boy—before him could be no more than a mid-teen, with barely enough hair growing in his thin mustache and meticulously manicured chin patch to call organized growth. He was clearly one of the new recruits from Lu Bu’s world, and bore the same type of barcode tattoo over his right eye as the rest of the prisoners.
“What’s your name?” Middleton asked, looking down at the kneeling boy inside the cell.
The boy looked up at him, and Captain Middleton saw his eyes quickly snap up and down his Captain’s uniform. “Captain Middleton,” the boy said with obvious relief. “I have been trying to gain an audience with you since we left my home world, but my ‘superiors’,” he spat the word disdainfully, “aboard this ship informed me that it would not be allowed.”
“Your name, recruit,” Middleton repeated, in no mood for further wordplay with anyone in that particular moment.
“That is a somewhat complicated question,” the boy said hesitantly, and Middleton realized that unlike his countrymen, he had almost no accent. “I can say with absolute conviction that the name on my embarkation paperwork is that of ‘Wang Xiu,’ which is itself a dull and uninteresting name, and not the one with which I was born.”
Sergeant Joneson handed the Captain a data slate, which he accepted and perused for a moment. It confirmed that the boy’s name did in fact appear to be Wang Xiu, a troubled youth who was arrested for multiple accounts of what would be considered petty larceny on Capria, as well as a few counts of public indecency.
Further confused at why such an individual had been brought on board, with little or nothing in the way of the desired qualifications his department heads had outlined, Middleton gave an exasperated shake of his head. “I’m not in the mood for games,” he said with an unyielding glare, “so you had best explain to me who you are, why’re you’re on my ship, who you’re working for, and why you’ve been sending these encrypted transmissions.”
The boy made to stand, but his hands were bound behind himself and were in turn connected to his also-bound ankles. “This is…awkward, Captain,” he began after a moment’s pause. “But to answer your questions succinctly and in order: first, my birth name is Fei Long. Second, I believe you were deceived by my government into taking me aboard under a false identity—although I must admit I am overjoyed to be here. Third, I am—and would very much like to continue to be—working for you, though in my humble opinion my talents are sorely w
asted in your Environmental department cleaning air scrubbers. And lastly, I have not sent any ‘transmissions’ in the plural sense. I did, in fact, access your hyper dish’s emitter today—for the first time, I might add—and sent an admittedly unauthorized transmission with the intention of gaining this audience with you so we might discuss your recent breaches in security, as well as further a particular…project which I have long held most dear.”
Narrowing his eyes, Middleton considered the young man’s words and replayed them in his mind as one of the Lancers entered the brig carrying a small crate with an assortment of what looked to be personal items.
“We secured his bunk, Sergeant,” the Lancer said with a respectful nod to the Captain as he set the crate down on a nearby table. “Pretty typical stuff, except it looks like he’s been tampering with this data slate, judging by the tool marks on the back.”
“That…umm,” the boy named Fei Long said quickly with a look of unmistakable, sheepish guilt on his face, “I was just making some modifications for…efficiency purposes.”
Joneson took the slate from his subordinate and tried to activate it but was met with a password lock which he showed to the Captain. “What’s the password?” the Sergeant growled.
“Is this really necess—“ the boy began.
“The password!” Joneson snapped, and even Captain Middleton felt the urge to jump at the man’s deep, booming voice.
“It is…uh,” the young man said hesitantly before slouching in resignation, “rotk11.”
Glowering at the boy for several seconds, the Lancer Sergeant tapped away on the slate. The slate chimed, indicating the password had been correct, and Sergeant Joneson’s eyebrows shot up briefly in surprise before lowering thunderously as he hastily deactivated the pad. Captain Middleton noticed the large man’s face go red as he growled, in what seemed to be a rare display of genuine outrage, “I should have you flogged, boy!”
In the face of discovery—of what, exactly, Middleton did not yet know—the boy’s eyes darted left to right in a mixture of embarrassment and open fear of the towering man standing just outside his cell. “Ok…this is not precisely how I had envisioned this meeting proceeding,” he said meekly. “But Captain,” he continued, turning toward Middleton as much as his bonds would allow, “you have a serious breach of security on this ship and I believe I am the only person who can close it.”
“The only breach I see,” Joneson snapped, “is the one on this slate!”
The young man winced. “I have indeed transgressed, and you should punish me accordingly. But before that happens at least let me show you what I have learned?” he pleaded.
Middleton had no idea what Sergeant Joneson had discovered on the slate, but from the look on the other man’s face he could wait to find out. “All right, Fei Long,” he said coolly, “you’ve got my complete and undivided attention. I hope for your sake you’ve got something worth bringing me all the way down here,” he said, uncertain of what the young man’s true intentions were but determined to discover them as quickly as possible.
Fei Long took a deep breath. “During my time aboard the Pride of Prometheus, I have indirectly detected six distinct signals which appear to have been generated by someone aboard this vessel,” he explained. When Middleton arched an eyebrow, the boy added, “I will explain how I was able to detect these signals later, I assure you. I believe you are aware of three such signals, but are unaware of the others, correct?” he said, with a pointed look at Ensign Jardine, who to this point had been silent.
Even if this was all a ploy, the boy now actually did have Middleton’s attention. “Go on,” he said evenly.
Fei Long nodded in satisfaction. “As I suspected; the signals you have already detected are easily traceable, given one knows when and where to look for them. The others are less obvious, for a few reasons, all but one of which are irrelevant at this particular moment.” He took another deep breath and exhaled quickly before continuing, “The main reason you did not detect these signals is because they are not ‘signals’ in the traditional sense; they are deliberately formed patterns in your ship’s strange particle field which, when viewed through the proper lens and recorded in their own ‘language,’ can combine with the other message fragment to complete the entire transmission.”
Middleton’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he turned to Ensign Jardine. “Is this possible?”
The Ensign looked doubtful for several seconds as his eyes snapped back and forth. “I suppose it could be,” he admitted, “but that would mean someone had to gain access to the strange particle generators.”
“That is inaccurate,” Fei Long said with a chuckle before hastily adding, “I mean no disrespect, of course. These field fluctuations are not created by the generators, but rather are made with subtle adjustments of key gravity plates located throughout the ship at the correct time. These adjustments are so minor that the people inhabiting those areas might not even notice these adjustments as they take place.”
Ensign Jardine nodded slowly. “I suppose it’s possible,” he allowed, “but that’s too far out of my field, Captain.”
Fei Long made as if to throw his head back, but his bindings prevented him from doing so. Still, he uttered an incredulous, strangely arrogant laugh before saying, “Information in any form is well within my field, Captain. But, for obvious reasons, you are likely reluctant to either take my word in this matter or to allow me to physically assist you at this time. So I have a proposition: in Environmental maintenance locker number six there is a crate marked ‘one-one-six-two-three-four-nine.’ Inside that crate is what could be considered a ‘strange particle lens;’ using that lens, your Communications officer should be able to record this second, concealed portion of the whole message just prior to your ship’s hyper jump.”
Middleton nodded slowly. “And what if all of this is a trick of some kind?” he asked calmly. “Or, assuming you’re telling the truth, what if the person sending these messages realizes we’re onto them?”
Fei Long shook his head adamantly. “I have no reason to deceive you, Captain. Indeed, if I had wished to remain unnoticed I could have easily done so and continued cleaning your air filtration units as the tragically named Wang Xiu. To the second matter, even if the individual—or individuals—who authored the message wished to do so, they would be unable to destroy the message fragment at this time. We are already too deep into the Pride’s jump cycle to affect the field in any way via the ship’s gravity plates. However,” the boy said as his eyes rose to meet Captain Middleton’s with a hardened look that took Middleton by surprise, “if you find that I have deceived you in any way, shape, or form, I ask only that you kill me in whatever fashion you deem appropriate, as that is the only proper punishment among my people for mutineers.”
There was a brief silence, during which Fei Long never once took his eyes off Middleton’s. “We should increase security at the sensitive parts of the ship pre-jump, Captain,” Sergeant Joneson suggested gruffly.
Middleton knew that Joneson’s suggestion was likely in the best interests of the ship, but to follow the Sergeant’s advice would increase the likelihood that whoever was sending these messages would realize they had been discovered. He briefly weighed the alternatives as he saw them before nodding his head.
“Do it,” he ordered after deciding that, in this particular instance, the Pride’s immediate security trumped all other concerns of which he was aware. “I want a full-time Lancer posted on this prisoner, as well,” he said as he turned and left the brig, gesturing for Jardine to follow. He paused just as he reached the door to the adjoining corridor and added, “If he so much as sneezes in a way you find suspicious, treat him as a clear and present danger to the ship and dispose of him accordingly.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Joneson acknowledged with gusto before activating his com-link and issuing orders to his Lancers.
An hour later, a security team had successfully retrieved the contents of the environme
ntal locker which Fei Long had identified and brought it to the officer’s conference room.
After a few tests, Ensign Jardine appeared more than a little surprised to confirm that it did in fact appear to be a crude, yet surprisingly effective, strange particle detector. Moreover, it seemed to have been built using materials present on board the ship…all except for the actual ‘lens’ of the apparatus, which was some kind of strange, crystalline fragment of unknown origin.
“Can you use it to record the supposed message fragments we’ve been leaving in our wake?” Middleton asked after Jardine had completed his inspection of the half-meter long piece of patchwork components.
“I believe so, Captain,” he agreed, shaking his head in obvious admiration, “this kind of thing would have earned me my master’s degree in pretty much any Communications field—if I had the vision to build it, of course. Even if I had the wherewithal to design and assemble it…I can’t imagine getting it done in less than three months’ off-duty time.”
“Is it possible he brought it with him from the planet?” Middleton asked, more than a little disturbed at what his Comm. officer was suggesting: that Fei Long was some kind of prodigy. More disturbing still was that his government had essentially snuck him aboard the Pride in what appeared to be a surreptitious attempt to get rid of him.
“I’m afraid not, Captain,” Jardine said with a shake of his head. “Every single piece used to make this thing—except that piece of crystal—has at least a partial serial number that matches up with a piece of equipment that’s been logged as missing in the last two weeks. The last piece was reported missing just twenty hours ago, so he clearly just finished putting this thing together.”
Nodding in satisfaction at Jardine’s disquieting assessment, Middleton waved his hand at the odd-looking, patchwork device. “Where do you need to be in order to use it?”
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