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 ‘shamefu
l,’ 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 turned 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.”
Allowing himself a chuckle, Captain Middleton said pointedly, “The organization to which you refer would be the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Representative.” Sitting back in his chair, Middleton continued in a more level tone, “On the next page of that slate you will find a series of articles and statutes which quite clearly govern this particular situation. I suggest you read them before we continue.”
Representative Kong Rong eyed Middleton briefly before doing as he was told, and his eyes narrowed only slightly as he neared the end of the listed statutes. “An interesting—if archaic and therefore irrelevant—set of legalities,” the representative said, placing the slate on the desk and sliding it toward Middleton. “However, I fail to see how this applies since, as I already mentioned, my planet considers the Confederation to have been dissolved with the signing of the Union Treaty?”
“I thought you might say that,” Middleton said before pushing the data slate across the desk yet again. “Read the last page, please.”
Representative Kong took the data slate deliberately and did so. This time when he was no more than halfway through the contents he deactivated the slate and set his jaw before placing the device on the desk yet again—but this time he did not push it back toward the Captain. “You make an…unexpected argument, Captain. But even if our continued acceptance of interstellar trade with the various members of the former Confederation,” he said with a pointed pause before continuing, “did, in some way, legally bind us to these clearly outdated laws, I doubt my government would accede to allowing our social harmony to be disrupted by the removal of so many, so quickly.”
Nodding knowingly, Middleton leaned forward and splayed his hands in deference. “I couldn’t in good conscience ask you to do that, Representative Kong,” he said seriously. When the other man’s look became guarded, the Captain continued, “So in the interests of…furthering our relations, I’m suggesting a compromise of sorts.” At this Middleton slid a second data slate over to the representative, evoking an audible grinding of teeth by the other man as he took the slate in hand and began to read.
The other man read the entire document, then re-read it and began to nod slowly as he finished it. “I should be able to convince my people to consent to this first stipulation,” he said eventually, “but I can make no guarantees regarding the second.”
“I have every confidence in your skills of persuasion, Representative, but it must be all or nothing,” Middleton said, rising from his chair as the other man did likewise.
“You will have your reply in no more than one day, but I must return to speak directly with my people before a decision can be made,” Kong said.
“We’ll be in orbit for another week at least,” Middleton said agreeably, “but the sooner we can get started with the transfers, the better. After all, the more I learn about this ‘social harmony’ concept of yours, the more I think your people might be on to something,” he lied. “We’d just like to do our part for such a good friend.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Representative Kong said, clasping his hands in his people’s traditional sign of respect yet again, “I believe your proposal will prove beneficial to all involved, and will in fact promote lasting harmony. I will do my best to convey this sentiment to the others.”
With that, the man swept out of the ready room and Middleton was left alone with a splitting headache that always seemed to accompany prolonged contact with politicians. But at least this latest contest seemed to be concluded—for now.
Murphy only knows what’s waiting around the corner, he thought as he left his ready room with every intention of getting some much-needed sleep.
The com-link chimed and, while Middleton was tempted to deactivate it to get just a few more minutes of sleep, he grudgingly flailed his hand until it found the link and activated it. “Middleton,” he acknowledged, placing the link on his chest as he closed his eyes for what might be the last time in several hours.
“Captain,” came the voice of the Comm. officer on the bridge, “I have Representative Kong requesting to speak with you.”
Sitting up and rubbing his eyes briefly, Middleton stood and made his way to the nearby console built into the wall. “Thank you; put him through to my quarters,” he instructed after taking a deep breath.
“Yes, sir,” the Comm. officer acknowledged and the face of Kong Rong appeared on Middleton’s display.
“Representative,” Middleton greeted, “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
Representative Kong made his customary gesture of respect and Middleton could see a clearly pleased expression on the other man’s face, ca
using him to feel hopeful for the first time since arriving in orbit. “Captain Middleton, I would like to relay my people’s willingness to accede to your most gracious proposal. If you would like, I can send a manifest detailing the particular segment of our population you requested. I assumed you would wish to begin as quickly as possible?”
Middleton nodded agreeably. “If it’s all the same to you, I think that would be best.”
“Very good, Captain,” Representative Kong said with an inclination of his head. “I am forwarding the packet to you now.”
The console chimed, indicating that he had indeed received a data packet from the other man. A quick perusal indicated that it at least appeared to be what Middleton had asked for, with nearly two million individual entries, so he nodded. “I have it now. Thank you, Representative. As to the individual case I asked you to present…?”
Representative Kong shook his head shortly. “It was not easy, but I managed to convince them to acquiesce on that particular matter as well. On behalf of my people I wish you serendipity in your efforts, Captain Middleton,” he said, again bowing his head behind clasped hands. “May your travels again bring you to our harmonious world.”
No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) Page 7
