Middleton perused the slate’s contents and nodded slowly. “Private quarters can be arranged on an interim basis,” he allowed before his eyebrows jumped at the list of food items Fei Long was requesting. “Don’t you know this stuff will kill you?”
Fei Long tossed his head back and laughed briefly. “With access to modern medical services and pharmacology, I have been assured that the deleterious effects of such an unhealthy diet can be easily counteracted. I am of course capable of working without these items, but I have done so before and experience a roughly twenty percent decrease in output.” He shrugged emphatically, “It is simply what works for me.”
“All right,” Middleton allowed, “I’ll see what the mess can dig up, but I’m afraid that most of this stuff isn’t even distributed in this sector. Still, I’ll tell the quartermaster to make reasonable substitutions as needed and using materials available.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Fei Long said. “After this program has been reconstructed in total, it will be ready for deployment at the earliest convenience. I must be physically present to upload the program, however, as it will require last-minute adjustments to the parameters—to say nothing of the expertise required to overcome whatever security measures are in place aboard the hub.”
“Understood,” Middleton said as he signed off on the list after he had completed it. “What’s the status of that Storm Drake project I approved?”
Fei Long nodded graciously. “I appreciate the Captain’s generosity; the material has been fashioned into as many suits of armor as possible, given the limited supply. I am assured that they will be delivered to the Lancer Sergeant at the start of next shift.”
“How many suits did we get?”
“Eleven,” Fei Long replied. “We could have crafted twelve, were it not for your preference to include the larger Tracto-ans.”
“You said it yourself, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said pointedly, “a smaller team increases the chances of success for this mission. Those Tracto-ans, pound for pound, pack more punch than anyone on this ship…well,” he added belatedly with a lopsided grin as he remembered reading Joneson’s smashball report on Lu Bu, “almost anyone.”
Fei Long laughed again, this time somewhat nervously, and nodded. “I should begin my work then, Captain.”
“Come to me personally if there’s anything else you need,” Middleton said. “This project is top priority for the ship; I’ll pass your requisition list on to the quartermaster immediately.”
“Thank you, Captain Middleton,” the young man said before clasping his hands, bowing, and leaving the room.
When he left, Middleton chuckled as he took another look at the list of junk food Fei Long had concocted. “Re-constituted corn-salt snacks, single-use self-cooking pizzas…and carbonated caffeine extracts,” he sighed. “Yep…looks about like a grocery receipt from my bachelor days.”
“Lu, front and center,” Sergeant Joneson called across the Lancer quarters—which Lu Bu still thought of as ‘barracks, even though her fellow crewmates had informed her that ships did not have ‘barracks.
She stood and made her way to the Sergeant’s side, and saw he was standing in front of a trio of crates. The four Tracto-ans and Corporals Gnuko, Sherman, and Thomas were also present, along with two of her countrymen: Gong and Lei.
“Armory put together a care package for us,” Joneson explained, kicking each of the crates in turn. “They’re marked for their intended wearer; I assume this will be the first time you’ve worn a tailored suit of any kind, Gnuko?” he added with what Lu Bu now knew was nothing but good humor.
The Corporal chuckled, and Sergeant Joneson kicked off the lids of the crates one by one. “Dig in, boys and girl,” he said with a knowing look at Lu Bu, “you’re to assemble in the rec room in twenty minutes for acclimation to these new threads.”
The Lancers began to sort through the suits of dark, leathery material which did indeed look to have been tailor-made for each of the Lancers present. There was even a helmet for each one fashioned in the vague shape of a dragon’s head, as well as a pressure seal at the collar.
“Storm Drake?” Gnuko said appreciatively as Joneson took a suit with Sergeant stripes on the sleeve from the crate. “Is this…legal?”
“Let’s leave the legality to the paper pushers,” Joneson said as he made to leave the room with his own suit and helmet under his arm.
Lu Bu took her own suit—which had what seemed to be a unique, red hue to its dark, almost black, surface—and saw her own name emblazoned over the left breast. There were additional characters beside her name, and she immediately knew who had put them there…which gave her mixed feelings she would need to examine at a later date.
When they had all donned their suits, they carried their helmets under the crooks of their arms and made for the rec room. When they arrived, Sergeant Joneson was wearing his own suit. Even though he was past his physical prime, the musculature of his body was apparent through the form-fitting, dark leather of the suit. He had a standard issue sonic rifle in his hands, which he used to gesture for the Lancers to line up before him for inspection.
They did so, and after the group had come to attention, Joneson looked up and down the line. “This is Storm Drake hide, which is one of the most durable, organically-created substances in existence. Its energy reflecting and dissipating qualities make it unparalleled in personal protection, and it’s favored among the criminal elite for its flexibility…as well as the badass factor it instills in its wearer.”
The Lancers collectively snickered, and Lu Bu could indeed attest to the suggested effect. She did in fact feel measurably more menacing in this armor than she had ever felt—even when wearing power armor.
“The look of the material is only part of it,” Joneson explained as he paced up and down the line, “as close proximity with the leather somehow creates a magnetic effect within the brain. I won’t bore you with the details—mostly because I can’t understand that medical crap,” he added, eliciting another round of chuckles from the Lancers, “but I can tell you that reflex times have been measured in controlled studies involving Storm Drake armor, and those studies suggest a possible six percent increase for the wearer. Obviously, this material is in high demand, and just as obviously it is rather expensive—so much so that Storm Drakes have been hunted to near extinction through the Spine. Now normally I wouldn’t humiliate the rest of you by wearing something so incredibly sexy,” he deadpanned, to great affect yet again as the Lancers laughed collectively. “But for our upcoming mission I’ve been informed that not only will it be beneficial; it might actually make the difference between success and failure, or life and death—not that Lancers care about the latter.”
The assembled Lancers roared wordlessly as one.
Sergeant Joneson then smoothly, and without warning, turned and fired his sonic rifle into Gnuko’s chest. The Corporal barely even flinched as the energy wave splashed against his armor.
“This material renders sonic weapons all but useless on anything but the highest settings, and even then they do little more than pin the wearer down,” Joneson explained as he gestured for Gnuko to brace himself, and after the Corporal had done so, the Sergeant flicked the setting switch to maximum before firing again. This time the energy wave smashed into him with what should have been bone-crushing force, but he was merely staggered back a pair of steps before regaining his composure.
A round of murmurs filled the room, and Lu Bu looked down in wonderment at the armor she now wore. It was truly a marvelous material—one might even think of it as ‘magical,’ if one were possessed of such silly, girlish notions.
“Unfortunately,” Joneson continued, “we’re unlikely to encounter any sonics on our mission, but the point remains that this is easily the most expensive piece of gear any of you have ever touched with your grimy little fingers. You will care for it like it is your most vital organ, and you will do so without deviating from my outlined maintenance schedule—do you g
et me, Lancers?”
“We get you, sir!” the Lancers barked in perfect unison, and Lu Bu felt herself trembling with excitement; she couldn’t wait to put the armor through its paces!
“Now the primary weakness of Storm Drake,” Sergeant Joneson said in a raised, drill-Sergeant voice like from the holo-vids Lu Bu had seen recently, “is vibro-weapons. And while it’s still better in that regard than regular leather by enough to make the comparison laughable, if you’re going to get violated while wearing this super hero-looking stuff it’s probably going to be via blade. So hand-to-hand and bladed weapon drills are the order of the day, Lancers,” he barked as he waved the barrel of the sonic rifle toward the assorted practice blades by the nearby wall. “Pair off and get to it!”
Chapter XXXV: Meetings of the Minds
“Representative Kong,” Captain Middleton greeted, standing from behind his desk to greet the Sector Judge as he entered the ready room, “please come in.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the Representative said graciously as he made his way to the chair opposite Middleton’s own.
“I apologize for the delay,” Captain Middleton lied after sitting down, having willfully pushed this meeting back as long as he felt would be tolerated, “but my ship has been through a lot and we’re sorely lacking in experienced officers, so I’ve been needed to oversee a great many matters personally.”
“The delay is understandable, Captain,” Kong Pao said with the hint of a bemused smile tugging at the corner of his mount. “But now that we have met, I would very much like to dispense with the wordplay; you are obviously a busy man and the sooner we conclude this business, the sooner you can return to doing…whatever it is you are doing out here. And the sooner that is completed, the sooner we may speak with your Admiral Montagne.”
“I do tend to prefer the direct approach, Representative,” Middleton agreed. “Now, tell me what it is you think the MSP can do for you?”
Kong Pao leaned forward. “There is a grave threat spreading throughout Sectors 23 and 24,” he began. “An…artificial threat, if you take my meaning?”
“Droids,” Middleton said dryly, to which the Judge’s eyebrows rose slightly before lowering. “I and my senior officers have been briefed on the situation, although it seems the accuracy and timeliness of reports becomes problematic the further out we go from Elysium.”
“High Captain Manning is a predictable, blunt man,” Kong Pao said with a barely audible sigh. “However, in this instance I am glad that he obeyed his base nature; it will save us considerable time as well as facilitate greater understanding on your part, regarding the severity of this threat.”
“I’m well aware of the situation as the High Captain relayed it,” Middleton said. “Frankly, I’m not sure I should be discussing the matter with you, since your branch of the Sector Government is clearly not connected to the military in any official capacity.”
“Then I will share what I know,” the Representative said. “Elysium was one of the hardest-hit worlds in Sector 23, obviously due to its strategic and resource value as a primary Trillium production site. But High Captain Manning and his family have done a remarkable job in repelling these attacks…which is unfortunately more than can be said of my own home world. We still hold out against the invasion, but our fleet is battered and I fear that we will soon fall. And when we do, a half dozen systems will be snapped up by these Droid Tribes within days. The Core Worlds in Sector 23 have been isolated in a well-coordinated effort by these machines,” he veritably spat the last word, “with only Elysium proving able to break these blockades—at least, they are able to break them for the time being.”
“What do you know of Sector 24?” Middleton asked.
“Less than of 23, to be certain, although my sources say they have experienced a similar, if less intense, wave of attacks,” Kong Pao replied. “But if our projections are accurate, once Sector 23 reaches a tipping point in the coming months—or perhaps even weeks—Sector 24 will most certainly be next. And should these artificials manage to seize the infrastructure and materials they need for mass replication…” he trailed off pointedly.
Captain Middleton knew all too well the price which would be paid by the Sector specifically, and the Spine as a whole, if these droids were allowed to do just that. “I can assure you that after we’ve completed our current mission our top priority is to relay this information to Admiral Montagne. And if I know the man,” he added as he recalled the young Prince-cadet’s orders to engage Captain Cornwallis at Easy Haven, “then the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet will do everything it can to prevent these machines from taking control of Sectors 23 and 24.”
“I cannot stress enough the urgency of my task, Captain Middleton,” Kong Pao said seriously. “I am certain that my mission must take precedence over whatever covert operation you have been engaged in these past five days I have been on board.”
“Unfortunately we’re of differing opinions there, Representative,” Middleton said, acutely aware of how this must look. “But let me assure you that I wouldn’t be pursuing this other matter if I didn’t genuinely think it could be of direct benefit to the people of Sectors 23 and 24, in addition to benefiting my own organization, the MSP.”
Representative Kong sat back in his chair and his eyes seemed to search Middleton’s features but the Captain had put his best poker face on for the occasion, so the two sat in mutual silence for several seconds before the Judge nodded curtly. “Very well, Captain Middleton, I will anxiously await the completion of your ‘secret mission’.” With that, he stood and left the ready room.
After the door had closed behind the Representative, Middleton muttered, “You and me both.”
“Doctor, may I have a seat?” Captain Middleton asked after having his tray filled at the chow line and making his way over to the Doctor.
Lancer Lu Bu was sitting across from his ex-wife, and she shot to her feet as soon as Middleton spoke. “Captain,” she acknowledged, snapping a salute.
“At ease, Lancer,” Middleton said, returning the salute.
“It’s your ship, Captain,” Jo said neutrally as she took another bite of food.
Middleton gave Lu Bu a brief look, which was all it took for the ship’s youngest—and, to hear Walter Joneson tell it, most promising—Lancer to turn to the Doctor and say, “I thank you for these new books, Doctor. I like to read them now.” She turned and nodded respectfully to the Captain as she took her empty tray back to the drop-off at the door to the mess hall.
Captain Middleton slid his own tray beside where Lu Bu’s had been, and sat down on the light, metal bench.
“Don’t often see you in the crew’s mess,” Jo said after finishing her portion of food which, thankfully, did not include duck. The Elysium SDF had gone all-out and provided fresh meats, vegetables, grains, and even fresh dairy products by the metric ton. Needless to say, the variety far more suited to Captain Middleton’s palette than what they had picked up from Shèhuì Héxié, which had actually made him long for military rations toward the end of their supply. It appeared today’s meal was lasagna, which was a luxury he intended to savor.
“I make it down here off-shift for leftovers every day,” Middleton explained. “Never did get used to the senior officers’ mess, but I take my breakfasts in there since it’s expected. Besides,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “these people are what make this ship run. How can I think to command them if I don’t share in their experience? At least, to whatever capacity doesn’t interfere with my own duties.”
Jo snorted softly as she pushed her tray forward a few inches. “You always were the analyst. Everything’s just cold, hard facts to you, isn’t it?”
This wasn’t precisely how Middleton had wanted to broach the subject, but now that it had been brought up, he set his first bite of lasagna back down on his plate and considered his words carefully. “Actually, yes,” he said heavily, “that is how I see the world—and everyone in it.” He paused, allowing the sil
ence to linger for several moments before adding, “But while those ‘cold, hard facts’ must often—or, even most of the time—dictate a life’s course, they don’t, and can’t, control how we get from here to where we’re needed.”
She narrowed her eyes for a moment before nodding slowly. “Maybe I’m not the only one who’s grown since then,” she allowed as her expression softened fractionally.
Middleton nodded slowly before collecting his fork and slipping the first bite of his lasagna between his teeth and closing his eyes as the taste of fresh mozzarella flashed across seemingly every square millimeter of his mouth. “Chef’s outdone himself this time,” he said appreciatively.
“I’m not normally for dairy,” Jo admitted grudgingly, “but I’m not sure I’ve ever enjoyed a meal as much as this one.”
Middleton’s eyes snapped open and he cracked a grin as he prepared his second bite. “You mean, even more than first year’s finals celebration eating those tortas behind…blast, what was the name of that old roach coach?”
“Tacos El Rey,” she said with a knowing nod before adding pointedly, “but if I recall, you weren’t exactly interested in the food on that particular night.”
“Well, yeah,” he said with a chuckle, remembering what he considered to be a fairly creative application of sour cream and guacamole—to replace portions of his then-wife’s clothing, of course, which he then dutifully removed, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a memorable meal.”
Jo feigned a shudder as she leaned forward with a smile of her own. “I’m still scraping the plaque from my arteries all those late-night runs caused. But I will grant you this: that place was a feast for the senses.”
“College,” Middleton said in a mixture of resignation and wistfulness, “the world was a different place then, wasn’t it?”
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