Arriving at the brig, she used her private identification codes and entered while saying, “Sergeant Joneson requires the Master at Arms’ assistance—“
She cut herself off when she saw the same scrawny, delicate-handed boy sitting before the Master at Arms’ console. His eyes were closed and he swayed back and forth slightly, much as a pianist might do during concerto, with his fingers flying this way and that across the workstation.
The Master at Arms was standing a short distance from the boy, but his look was one of grave concern as the boy went about his work. Lu Bu approached carefully, having not expected this particular scene. She had expected to endure more of the young man’s verbal banter, but not to see him outside his cell and working on something which was clearly quite important—and at the Master at Arms’ console no less!
“Master at Arms?” Lu Bu beckoned quietly as she reached his side, and only then did he tear his eyes away from the display being put on by Fei Long.
“Yes, recruit Lu Bu?” he said with a quick glance to her before returning his gaze to the console and lowering his brow seriously.
“Sergeant Joneson prepares strike teams,” she said evenly as she, too, looked at the screen in front of Fei Long’s still-closed eyes, “and requires your assistance. He orders me to relieve you.”
“I just got his update,” the Master at Arms replied absently before turning and fixing her with a hard, penetrating look, “but I’m not sure I can leave him unattended.”
“Not unattended,” Lu Bu corrected him, feeling a flare of resentment, “I remain to carry your duties.”
The Master at Arms looked unconvinced and shook his head. “I’m afraid this might be more important…” he said doubtfully.
“What must this one do?” Lu Bu asked forcefully, keeping her tone just short of a demand. Walter Joneson had ordered her to relieve the Master at Arms, and she was not about to fail in carrying out her first, real, assignment.
The Master at Arms folded his arms and stared at the screen of his workstation for a few seconds before nodding and removing his sidearm. He handed it to her and asked, “Are you rated for this?”
Lu Bu recognized the sonic pistol immediately and took it in her hands, turned it over once, and saw that it was currently set for a left-handed user. She depressed the safety mechanism and cracked the breach of the weapon open, revealing a fully-charged power core. With a pair of twists and a subtle adjustment of the grip, she once again closed the breach with the weapon now returned to its default, right-handed setup and handed it back to him. It was irrelevant to her which hand she fired it with, being ambidextrous, but she hoped her displayed proficiency would prompt the Master at Arms to action.
She was correct. He nodded approvingly and replaced the weapon in its holster before unfastening the holster and handing it to her. A few seconds later, she had secured it against her hip and prepared to receive her orders by bracing to attention.
“My orders are to stay out of his way,” the Master at Arms explained, “and that he is no longer to be treated as a prisoner of the brig, but neither is he to be allowed free roam of the ship unattended. If you’re not sure what to do, restrain him and seek the Captain’s—and only the Captain’s—instructions. Clear?”
“Clear…sir,” she replied, briefly uncertain if she was to call him ‘sir.’ The chain of command aboard the Pride of Prometheus was still largely unclear to her, but she decided to err on the side of caution in this instance.
“Good; keep an eye on him, Recruit,” the man said before leaving the brig at a brisk pace.
After he had left, she took up his position and began to watch as Fei Long worked on whatever it was he had been assigned. While she had spent an inordinate amount of time on virtual social networks of questionable legality, Lu Bu had never been good with computers, likely owing to her ‘creator’s’ vision of creating a group of super soldiers. As such, brainpower was not high on the list of desired traits, but she had long since learned to accept her own limitations.
Still, watching the boy work was almost hypnotic, and several times she had to blink and shake her head as the stream of numbers and letters poured onto the screen with each stroke of the young man’s hands.
“I wholeheartedly approve of your name choice,” the boy said suddenly and in their native tongue without breaking the tempo of his movements—or opening his eyes. “Had I been free to do so during your last season, I would have used every last social exchange unit I was allotted to acquire a replica uniform of yours.”
“Less talk, more action,” she quipped in Confederation Standard. It wasn’t that she disliked her native tongue especially, but in the event that the brig was being monitored she wanted whatever interaction she was forced to endure with the insufferable boy to be as clear as possible.
“My tongue is not connected to my fingers,” he replied easily in fluid, perfect Confederation Standard as the corner of his mouth twitched briefly into a smile. “Besides, I am without my classical music collection; I must then somehow occupy the many parts of my mind not currently engaged in this important, if simplistic, task.”
Lu Bu was amazed that the boy’s fingers never stopped, and that the scrawling text and images continued to fill the screen before being replaced with a seemingly endless supply of fresh screens, which were in turn populated by Fei Long’s efforts. But she was determined not to let the boy see that she was impressed, so she ignored him to the best of her ability.
Abruptly, the boy’s eyes opened and he struck the console emphatically with his index finger, which caused a progress indicator to appear on the screen. When it had reached ten percent completed, he turned to her and opened his eyes. “Once the program has successfully compiled, we must make our way to the primary hyper dish relay located on deck seven,” he said as he stood and stretched his neck, causing a series of pops and crunches as he did so. “You may wish to advise the
Captain of our location?”
Lu Bu took an interdictory step between Fei Long and the small office’s door. “Sit down,” she commanded.
“I assure you,” he said with an overly cocky grin, and once again Lu Bu was struck by his oddly handsome features, “I am merely attempting to complete the task which Captain Middleton has given to me.”
“I said ‘sit’,” she repeated, taking a half-step toward him. No flashed smile would distract her from her orders.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, “Very well.” He sat down in the chair and drummed his fingers on the desk for several seconds before prodding, “Time is of the essence; I believe you should contact the Captain now.”
Torn between the urge to rearrange Fei Long’s facial features for his impropriety, and the demand that she fulfill her own appointed task, Lu Bu eventually scowled as she knew it was no choice at all. She activated her personal com-link and connected with the ship’s Communication’s Officer.
“This is Comm.,” the woman’s voice came promptly.
“This Lancer Recruit Lu Bu in brig,” she replied, feeling her stomach begin to flutter as she realized she was potentially breaking protocol, “I must speak with Captain Middleton.”
“Hold, please,” the woman said before a lengthy pause. “I’m patching you through,” she said, and Lu Bu felt her throat tighten and she silently cursed herself for being such a weak-kneed disgrace; getting worked up over a simple call to her commanding officer was pitiful, but she could not control how she felt—only how she behaved.
“This is the Captain,” she heard Captain Middleton’s voice, “where’s the Master at Arms?”
“Sergeant Walter Joneson require his assistance for strike teams,” Lu Bu said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment at her poor Confederation Standard linguistic skills. “The priso—“ she caught herself and took a quick breath before speaking more deliberately, “Fei Long is completed his task and requests to go to hyper dish relay at deck seven.”
There was a brief pause before the captain replied, “
Granted. Do not allow him access to any of the ship’s systems without Ensign Jardine’s direct supervision, Recruit.”
“Yes, Captain,” Lu Bu replied, making as if to clasp her hands and bow before catching herself mid-motion. She saw the hint of a smile play out over Fei Long’s face, which only served to heighten her frustration as she finished, “Recruit Lu, out.” With the com-link severed, she gestured toward the door. “We go,” she snapped irritably.
“As you wish,” he replied in their native tongue as he stood and made his way toward the door.
It did not take them long to reach their destination on deck seven, and when they arrived they saw Ensign Jardine was there, along with a short, bald man with whom Fei Long was unfamiliar and a handful of technicians. They appeared to be installing the components which Captain Middleton had listed on his data slate, but they seemed well behind schedule.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he approached, with Recruit Lu Bu close behind, “perhaps I can be of some assistance?”
The short, bald man shot him a look of confused irritation before waving him off, “This is a secure area. Get him out of here, boys.”
“Yes, Chief,” two of the technicians replied as they moved to do precisely that.
Lu Bu stepped between them and held out a hand haltingly. “Captain Middleton orders Fei Long to assist you,” she explained in a tone that brooked no dispute.
“And who are you?” the bald man asked shortly.
“This one is Lancer Recruit Lu Bu, Chief Garibaldi,” she replied.
“It’s ok, Chief,” Jardine said, beckoning for Fei Long to approach, “I’m afraid we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Fine with me,” Garibaldi said, throwing his hands up before returning to his task of connecting the salvaged transmitter from the satellite.
“May I?” Fei Long said, suppressing a wince as he saw the Chief Engineer very nearly disconnect a delicate series of wires within the transmitter’s housing. The Chief’s hands were thick and strong, while Fei Long’s were better suited to this type of work, being slender and nimble.
The Chief shot him an incredulous look. “You, uh, know a little bit about orbital transmitters, do ya?” he asked sarcastically.
Fei Long clasped his hands in deference and inclined his head. “I am familiar with all seventeen variations of the Cornwallis-Raubach, high-orbit communications satellites, including variation 6-A,” he said with a pointed look at the connected portion of the satellite’s housing which designated it as just that. “I believe I can dismantle these components and arrange them on a makeshift chassis, so you can install the entire unit within the Jeffries tube located there,” he pointed to a nearby hatch.
“Why would we use the Jeffries tube?” Garibaldi demanded with a quick, nervous glance toward the tube’s entrance. “The primary power relays are right here, and so are the dish’s transmitter hard lines.”
“Power is not the issue,” Fei Long said as he approached the satellite components with a gesture indicating he would like to begin. When the Chief Engineer acquiesced, Fei Long continued, “The hyper dish requires a significant power draw, and that draw will interfere with the transmitter’s operation should the two systems require simultaneous activity.”
“This is just a temporary job,” Garibaldi countered with a nervous glance toward the Jeffries tube as he watched Fei Long carefully, yet quickly, remove the desired components with the tools the Chief had laid out for himself.
“We have sufficient time to make it permanent,” Fei Long said smoothly. “It would seem a waste of resources not to do so, especially if it increases our chances of success during this first deployment which, in my estimation, it will.” He looked around for what he knew was referred to as a ‘Fisher-style clamp-and-strip’ tool, but finding no such device he asked, “Did you bring a Fisher clamp?”
Garibaldi scoffed, proffering a multi-tool from the kit but Fei Long sighed. “What?” the Chief said defensively. “It does the job; not like we’ve got a lot of call for Fishers here on a starship—none of the components are that fine.”
Shaking his head, Fei Long withdrew a pair of delicate-looking pliers and said, “These will suffice.” He knew it would take longer to complete the task using such crude tools, but they still had an estimated twenty minutes before entering the range of this particular device, so time was not an obstacle…yet.
Chapter XX: Smoke & Mirrors
“Ensign Jardine here, Captain,” came the Comm. officer’s report an hour after the Captain had returned to the bridge, “the unit is connected and seems to be ready for deployment.”
“’Seems to be’?” Middleton repeated in a warning tone.
“It’s ready, sir,” Jardine said quickly. “Fei Long says the program has been saved to the secondary mainframe under a directory with his name, with the password…”
After a moment’s pause, Middleton pressed, “What’s the password?”
“He said the password is the same word he shared with you during your second visit,” Jardine replied.
Middleton’s eyes narrowed as he called up the indicated directory and entered the six letters which comprised the word Jardine had referenced. The folder opened, and a short list of step-by-step directions for deploying the program appeared above the complex files below. “Thank you, Ensign,” he said, severing the connection and forwarding the file to Tactical. “Sarkozi, you’re receiving a packet now; follow the instructions contained within precisely.”
“Yes, Captain,” she replied as she opened the file at a nearby Tactical console. A few minutes later, she turned and reported, “The program’s diagnostics say it’s ready for deployment, Captain.”
Middleton leaned back in his chair and saw that they still had twenty three minutes before entering firing range on the merchant conversions, which had taken up positions behind the settler ship’s wreckage—precisely where he wanted them.
“Flip the switch, Ensign Sarkozi,” he ordered.
A moment later, a handful of new—wholly illusory—tactical icons appeared on the main viewer, as though they had just come out of the planet’s far side sensor shadow. Their transponders indicated they were MSP vessels: a destroyer and two corvettes, with a trio of smaller, short-range shuttlecraft in tight formation.
After two minutes’ time, during which those transponder signals made a max-speed bee-line for the merchant conversions on the side of the planet closest to the Pride of Prometheus, Middleton activated a comm. channel to the hostile vessels. “To all vessels in orbit of the fourth planet, this is Captain Tim Middleton of the MSP Cruiser Pride of Prometheus. Our patrol fleet has surrounded your position and will open fire as soon as they enter weapons range in three minutes’ time unless you offer your immediate and unconditional surrender. You have one minute to eject your fusion cores, heave to, and prepare to be boarded by MSP inspection teams aboard those shuttles—failure to comply within that timeframe will result in your immediate and absolute destruction.” He cut the transmission and turned to the Comm. stander, “Be sure to scan all frequencies for their reply.”
“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged.
“Commander Jersey,” Middleton continued, “are my engines prepped for a sustained overdrive?”
Jersey nodded. “The Chief was kind enough to give us the keys while he was tucked inside the Jeffries tube in the hyper dish junction,” he said with a knowing look. “Engines are primed for a one hundred forty percent burn of up to eight minutes, Captain; push them any harder and it’s in the Saint’s hands.”
Middleton winced at hearing that Chief Garibaldi had been inside a Jeffries’ tube. The man had a deep-seated fear of confined spaces, which would seem odd given his origins as a Belter, but Tim Middleton knew only too well why Garibaldi had developed mid-life claustrophobia.
“Be ready to hit it if they call our bluff, Commander,” Middleton ordered. He knew that the sensor ghosts wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny—let alone a visual inspection, if a
nyone aboard the merchant conversions decided to look out a porthole on final approach—which is why he had demanded their surrender before visual contact would be possible.
If he could get them to flinch for just a few minutes it would be enough time to bring them both within his newfound, overdriven-engine-created zone of control, even if they decided to make a run for it. Regardless of how many weapons they might have installed on those ships, no merchantman could stand up to the Pride’s heavy weaponry for more than a salvo at most.
“Receiving a transmission now, Captain,” the Comm. stander reported. “The conversions are signaling their surrender; no transmission detected from the Elysium’s Wings.”
“Confirmed, Captain,” Sarkozi said, “the conversions have both ejected their power cores; no activity detected from the corvette.”
Middleton breathed a sigh of relief as he opened a channel to Sergeant Joneson. “Sergeant, the merchant conversions are no longer a primary target. Focus your efforts on the corvette first then secure the wreckage of that settlement ship; we’ll keep an eye on the conversions from the Pride.”
“Larry that, Captain,” Joneson acknowledged. “I’ll dispatch teams of five Lancers to each conversion once we’ve boarded the corvette. Keep an eye out for a counterattack while we’re away.”
“Good hunting, Sergeant,” Middleton said as he deactivated the link.
Captain Middleton leaned back in his chair slightly as he considered the possibility of an ambush, or some as-yet-unseen tactical resources which could be brought to bear against them but he quickly dismissed the notion. The corvette, Elysium’s Wings, had clearly been the target of this attack. From what data he had—assuming it was accurate—it seemed the pirates attacked the settlement ship and then stowed an infiltration unit aboard it so they could seize control of the vessels involved in the rescue operation.
No Middle Ground Page 18
