No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride)

by Caleb Wachter

  Joneson shook his head. “It was a team effort all the way, Captain; I was just calling the plays.”

  “Still,” Middleton said with a short laugh, “I’m not sure I’ve heard of anyone employing your breach methodology before.”

  The Sergeant shrugged his broad, powerful shoulders, “Read and react, sir; there’s no way we could frontal-assault two dozen armored Marines on their home turf. Even still, we’re lucky Lu was outside the ion blast they detonated on the bridge during our entry.”

  “That same ion blast cut out their primary comm. system,” Middleton nodded. “Otherwise we would have kept jamming and couldn’t have received your signal. You’re certain the Cardinal’s Wrath is secure?”

  “Gnuko kept a dozen Lancers over there, and after seizing Environmental they started cycling off life support throughout the ship so they could round up the crew. Last count was one hundred thirty six souls locked in the Wrath’s cargo bay under armed guard,” Joneson said confidently before giving a derisive snort. “Blighters gave up with nary a fight after we took the bridge, Captain; no spine whatsoever.”

  “Thank Murphy for small blessings,” Middleton intoned half-heartedly, as he was more concerned with their quicker-than-expected submission than he was disappointed.

  “At any rate,” Joneson said into the growing silence, “we managed to take the Captain, along with nearly half his bridge crew. Their engineers ejected the power cores and slagged the primary fire control systems, along with the strange particle generators before we could clamp them down.”

  Middleton’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The strange particle generators?” he repeated.

  Joneson nodded grimly. “Never heard of anyone pulling that one out of the last ditch,” he said before giving the pirate captain a quick glare. “They obviously don’t want us taking their ship.”

  “Yes…” Middleton agreed as his mind raced through the possible reasons for such an action. “But this also tells me something important about their operation,” he mused, very much disliking what it told him, but grateful for the intel regardless.

  “Sir?” Joneson asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  Middleton inclined his head toward the pirate Captain. “His organization must be able to affect complex repairs on large vessels in a mobile capacity,” he explained in a low voice, “which confirms they aren’t your run-of-the-mill, smash-and-grab pirates…and that Captain Rodriguez believes his superiors will be coming before too long to reclaim their lost ship.”

  Sergeant Joneson whistled appreciatively before shaking his head. “That’s why I’m a ‘pounder, Captain,” he said with half a grin, “can’t see the angles anywhere near as clearly as you.”

  Middleton disliked this new information more than just a little, but he had a job to do. “How’s the Master at Arms?” he asked after looking around for the man, only to remember he had accompanied Sergeant Joneson aboard the Cardinal’s Wrath and been subsequently injured.

  “Doctor Cho says it’s touch-and-go,” Joneson replied with a sigh. “Lost a leg to a plasma cannon and ruptured just about every organ in his abdomen when his own grenades cooked off in the blast; it’s a miracle he made it back to the ship before bleeding out. I’ll keep an eye on the prisoner for now, if it’s all the same to you, Captain.”

  Middleton nodded, knowing he had very few people he trusted to be alone in the brig with their latest batch of prisoners. “I’d appreciate that, Sergeant,” he said before turning to give his full attention to the prisoner and activating the audio link to the cell while simultaneously shifting the armored glass from two-way mirror mode to clear. “Captain Rodriguez,” he said, causing the other man to stand at a leisurely pace.

  “Captain Middleton,” Rodriguez said with barely-concealed disdain, “I’ve heard stories of your rag-tag outfit, but couldn’t bring myself to believe something so ridiculous could be true—or that any reasonable tactician would be part of it. But,” he gestured at Middleton’s uniform with a sigh, “here you are, living proof that truth is stranger than fiction.”

  “You have an odd attitude for a man who just lost his ship,” Middleton said evenly, keeping his patented poker face in place.

  “I’m trying not to think of it that way,” Rodriguez replied with a dismissive wave, “but rather that I’ve just gained an ally.”

  Middleton allowed himself to snicker softly as he folded his arms across his chest. “You have my attention,” he said through slightly narrowed eyes.

  Captain Rodriguez turned and began to pick his fingernails. “We’ve heard of your ‘Admiral Montagne’ and his little White Knight routine,” he said with a chuckle. “But you have to realize that his days are numbered; even on his home world he’s a wanted man whose neck is destined for a good stretch in the not-too-distant future. Any man—or woman—who follows such an obviously foolish child and his blind quest to do The Right Thing,” he snorted emphatically, “is bound to end up acting against the very interests of those he is pledged to protect...wouldn’t you agree?”

  Middleton’s eyes narrowed even further as he carefully considered the man’s words. Eventually, he gestured with his fingers, “Continue.”

  Rodriguez nodded in obvious satisfaction as he moved toward the glass-like door. “I knew you weren’t a stupid man, Middleton,” he said as though in congratulation, but Middleton kept his features as unreadable as he could. “The Imperials abandoned the Spineward Sectors when we needed them most,” Rodriguez continued as he leaned against the door, “and there’s only one man out here in the Spine who has the vision and the will to do what needs to be done to restore order.”

  Captain Middleton took a step toward the cell and nodded, “Who?”

  Rodriguez wagged a finger as though in reprimand. “Don’t play me for a fool, Middleton,” the pirate Captain said in a dangerous tone. “You know exactly who I’m talking about—Demon’s Pits, you’ve already disrupted his plans more than once.”

  Silence hung between them for several, tense seconds. “Commodore Raubach,” Middleton said finally, “and his Rim Fleet detachment.”

  “Not a detachment,” Rodriguez shook his head, “the whole thing...well, all those who recognize his lawful mission. The Commodore is the only person doing what’s necessary to restore peace and order to this sector. Within six months, Murphy willing, every system in Sectors 23 and 24 will have come under his protection—that’s seven core worlds and dozens of colonies, Middleton.”

  Middleton drummed his fingers against his bicep and paced for several seconds before asking, “How many ships are we talking about?”

  “Tyrone,” the other man said flatly, using Middleton’s true first name—a name he despised, “don’t play me for a fool. You have a choice to make, and I suggest you make it quickly. When the Commodore arrives, he’ll be…displeased with me for losing the Wrath—however briefly,” he added smugly. “That displeasure will pale in comparison to his feelings for the man who not only killed his daughter in law, but who stubbornly refuses to join the cause of right and good while instead serving that pompous, strutting, barely-royal princeling from Capria.”

  Middleton shook his head after a moment’s consideration. “Not much of a sales pitch, LeBron,” he said dryly.

  Rodriguez cracked a grin. “Bah, the old man never much cared for the woman anyway,” he said, clearly referring to Captain Meisha Raubach, “truth be told, not many people did—including her husband. Besides,” he wagged a finger in the air, “a true leader knows talent when he sees it and is willing to make reasonable concessions to bring that talent into the fold. You want to patrol the Spine?” he asked rhetorically. “That’s the Rim Fleet’s purpose! You want a real ship to command instead of some rusted out bucket like this? He’s got the ships, Middleton, and he needs capable commanders like you.”

  Captain Middleton felt like making a snide remark, but stayed his tongue as the other man continued.

  “You deserve better than this, Captain,” he waved his arms
around the brig. “And Saint Murphy’s brought it to you on a silver platter; he’s begging you to seize it with both hands and never look back. All you need to do is ask yourself one, simple, question,” Rodriguez said as he leaned against the bulkhead and confidently folded his arms over his chest. “Are you ready to play for a winner?”

  Middleton actually did think about the man’s offer. He knew that there was truth is his words, and that the ‘Little Admiral’s rag-tag outfit wasn’t likely long for this world. A man could only win a war while fighting on one front—two, if he was well-equipped—and Admiral Montagne had not one, single organization which would openly embrace him as an ally. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, such as it was, would face certain battles against local bureaucracies for supplies; its own crewmembers over certain-to-decline morale; as well as the inevitable formal challenges to its very existence’s legality. All of which said nothing of the battles which truly mattered, like fighting off pirates or bugs…or even worse threats than those.

  “You make a reasonable case,” Middleton sighed in resignation. He actually thought he could feel the triumphant energy pouring off Captain Rodriguez even through the armored door, and that vile, pompous aura made him set his jaw. “But I’ve learned something about myself in my time out here.”

  “Oh?” Rodriguez asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  He nodded as he met the prisoner’s gaze, and when their eyes locked he saw Rodriguez flinch, which only made Middleton’s lip curl into a snarl. “I’m not a very reasonable person,” he said darkly, knowing down to his core that it was the truth. “When push comes to shove, there’s always some spineless coward like you jumping to suggest a compromise, or offering the vaunted ‘middle ground.’ Guess what?” he barked, lowering his hands to his sides and shaking his head adamantly. “There is no middle ground; there’s right and there’s wrong, and those precious few times in life when you can tell the difference then you had better act in accordance with your principles — because you might not get another chance to do so. And I’ll tell you something else I’ve learned,” he added as he felt himself flush with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, “anyone who deploys ship-busters loaded with bio-weapons, or is willing to endanger a quarter million colonists for the chance to capture one blasted corvette, is and always will be on the other side of the ball from me. You want to play for the winners? That’s a perfectly reasonable choice, Captain Rodriguez. Me? I’ll take my chances with the real good guys.”

  With that, he flipped the switch on the two-way mirror and deactivated the comm. system to Rodriguez’s cell before turning and leaving the brig with a head full of steam and making his way to the bridge. If Captain Rodriguez was to be believed, Middleton had yet another battle to plan for.

  And this one looked to be for all the marbles.

  Chapter XXVII: Shopping for a Gift

  Fei Long took a deep, cleansing breath as he exited the hyper dish junction, having just finished making repairs to their makeshift—and now horrifically odious—transmitter.

  “Captain says you’re free to roam the ship,” Jardine said, wiping his hands on his work suit. “I’ll show you to your quarters, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I can manage,” Fei Long replied as graciously as he could manage. Being stuffed inside that junction with the ship’s Comm. officer for the past eighteen hours had been a test of his patience and resolve, but like always, he had passed the test.

  “Suit yourself,” Jardine said with a shrug, “me, I’m going for a shower and some shut-eye.”

  “A wise plan,” Fei Long approved before making his way down the corridor toward the far lift.

  Jardine shot him a look before moving to catch up with him. “Your quarters are on deck two,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “the other lift takes you there.”

  “I have already told you,” Fei Long said as calmly as he could manage, “I have little need for rest in the traditional sense; additionally, I have an errand I wish to run.”

  The Ensign shook his head as they entered the lift, and Jardine input deck nine as his destination before Fei Long entered deck six as his.

  The lift went first to deck six, and Fei Long exited as soon as the doors opened.

  “You sure you know where you’re going?” Jardine asked hesitantly, clearly less-than-comfortable with allowing Fei Long free roam of the ship as the Captain had instructed.

  “Of course,” Fei Long replied with a tilt of his head. “I will see you at the start of first shift’s next rotation.”

  “Ok,” Jardine said before closing the door to the lift, and Fei Long blinked his eyes rapidly as if he could somehow clear the past few hours from his memory. The Ensign was not a stupid man, nor was he overly intrusive, but Fei Long had always found interaction with others to be more stressful than rewarding, and such long hours of continuous contact had worn his patience thinner than he could ever remember.

  But he took a few calming breaths before setting down the corridor toward his destination. When he arrived, he activated the chime to request entry. The door opened after several seconds, and a towering man with long, strawberry red hair and a beard which was equal parts white and red stood before him. Fei Long clasped his hands in his peoples’ universal sign of respect, “I am seeking Master Smith Haldis the Red. May I assume you are he?”

  The hulking man, who Fei Long was aware hailed from a planet named ‘Tracto’—the entire population of which was the product of advanced genetic engineering—looked down at him for several seconds before grunting, “Assumptions are dangerous.”

  “How very true,” Fei Long allowed, graciously bowing his head in deference. “I have heard tales of your people’s bravery and valor in combat and was told that, of all the people serving aboard this ship, only you had succeeded in slaying one of the mighty beasts called a ‘Stone Rhino.’ Is this true?”

  Haldis folded his massive arms across his chest, and Fei Long saw that his right arm was bionic from the mid-point of the forearm down. The mechanical device appeared crude to Fei Long’s eye, and he briefly wondered why the man had not simply opted to have a new arm grown. Then he remembered that the Tracto-ans were relative newcomers to the ‘River of Stars’ as they referred to it, being only recently afforded access to technology. “A man lets his deeds, not his tongue, speak for him.”

  “Be that as it may,” Fei Long said, fearing he would fail to broach the topic he had come to discuss if he failed to be more forward, “I have come to inquire as to the protective qualities of Stone Rhino hide. I have heard that, in the hands of a capable armorer, it can be worked so it rivals even duralloy armor?”

  “Rivals?” Haldis scoffed. “Properly harvested and worked Stone Rhino hide is every bit as strong as these star metal alloys, while affording greater range of motion.”

  “I defer to your knowledge,” Fei Long said, glad to have finally gotten the armorer-turned-machinist to open up on the subject. He withdrew a data slate from within his robe and handed it to the Tracto-an, “Could Stone Rhino hide be worked into this style of armor, while allowing the designated range of motion?”

  The smith eyed the data slate briefly before taking it and perusing its contents. The man was surprisingly at ease with his surroundings for one who, until a few short months earlier, had never even seen electricity, let alone starships. The armorer shook his head after a moment’s examination of the slate’s contents, “Some parts of the Rhino’s hide are pliable enough for that, but those portions don’t provide any better protection than stiff leather. A proper suit of Stone Rhino armor, using the strongest parts, could never allow for quite that range of motion.”

  Fei Long sighed as he accepted the data slate from the other man. “I thank you for your time, Master Smith,” he said respectfully as he turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Haldis said gruffly, causing Fei Long to stop mid-motion and turn around. The armorer gestured to the slate with his rough, scarred, left hand, “I cou
ld craft that armor for you.”

  Fei Long cocked his head in puzzlement. “I fear I do not understand; are you saying Stone Rhino hide could, indeed, be used?”

  “That is impossible,” he shook his head adamantly, “however, I have seen a material which would afford the measure of protection you desire, as well as the range of motion you seem to need.”

  Fei Long clasped his hands respectfully before himself. “I would be indebted to you, Master Smith.”

  Haldis nodded slowly as he explained, “The hide of a mighty dragon, known to these Starborn as a ‘Storm Drake,’ could be fashioned into that suit. In truth,” he added, “should you manage to provide the material for this armor, I would be indebted to you merely for being granted the honor of being the first of my people to work such a material.”

  “I am under the impression that Storm Drake hide is illegal,” Fei Long said evenly, working to keep the disappointment from his voice. The creatures known as Storm Drakes were, indeed, highly sought-after for their hides. So great was the demand for the material, that the species had been placed under several universal protection laws.

  “It is,” Haldis grudged. “But I believe the Captain confiscated some from the ‘gas mining facility’,” he said the last three words deliberately. “If I have heard correctly, there is more than enough there to make the suit you desire.”

  “I shall endeavor to secure the material for you, Master Smith,” Fei Long said, respectfully bowing his head behind his clasped hands before turning and making his way back to his quarters to retrieve some supplies.

  He had hoped the Stone Rhino hide would suffice for the armor he had designed, but in truth he was more than pleased by the apparent knowledge and ability of Haldis, the armorer-turned-machinist. And if what the Tracto-an said was true, then Fei Long had only to ask the Captain for access to the material.