When he received no reply, Joneson called over his shoulder, “Lu, you’re not much newer to the group than the Tracto-ans; how many variables must the typical force gain superiority in, in order to expect victory?”
“One, Sergeant Joneson,” she replied promptly.
“Which one?” he pressed.
“A significant advantage in either of the last two will assure victory in any circumstance,” Lu Bu said confidently. “A single arrow can defeat an army if it slays the general, and one false report can lead an otherwise superior force into a decisive ambush.”
“Well said,” Joneson replied with an approving nod. “This is why, despite having superior physical talent and dead even terrain, Team Gnuko lost today: the object of the game was unclear, so Team Joneson possessed an intelligence advantage,” he said, casting a look to the Corporal.
Gnuko was nursing a sprained ankle as he stood with a tight grip on a nearby cargo strap, but it quickly became apparent to Lu Bu that the Tracto-ans had not been the only students which Sergeant Joneson had been lecturing out on the field.
“The rest of this week will be spent on light duty,” Joneson added, “but I expect each member of this unit to review Captain Middleton’s after-action reports on the naval battles which took place this past week. He knows combat strategy and tactics better than anyone here, and we’re lucky to serve under a man like him.”
While Corporal Gnuko appeared to have learned the lesson and was nodding silently to himself, the Tracto-ans looked skeptical but they, too, remained silent.
“Probably goes without saying, but the game ball goes to Lu Bu,” Joneson said, flipping the ball to her before taking his own seat and strapping in. She took the ball and cradled it in her lap, noting approving looks on the faces of her fellow Lancers—including grudging nods from the four, still-silent, Tracto-ans.
Chapter XXXIII: An Unexpected Guest
“We can’t thank you enough, Captain Manning,” Middleton said after eight days at dock, taking advantage of a first-class repair facility and top-shelf components. “Please relay our appreciation to your father when next you see him.”
The younger Captain Manning’s visage on the bridge’s main viewer was covered in grease and sweat, but he was all smiles as he made a quick, two-finger salute. “It’s me that should be thanking you, Captain Middleton; without you my ship would have been taken and what was left of me would probably have burned up on re-entry by now after being spaced by those blighters. You ever find yourself in our neck of the woods again, look me up and we could have an Elysium SDF vs. MSP game of smashball; I hear you’ve got quite the roster over there.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Middleton replied graciously.
“My government has ensured me that you should be fully re-supplied before leaving,” Manning added. “It’s not quite like them to be so generous, but we should probably count ourselves lucky.”
“And we do, Captain Manning,” Middleton said heavily. “The Pride is as close to 100% as I’ve ever seen her, and we have your people to thank.”
“That being said,” Manning added hesitantly, “I’ve been told you’re to receive a guest before disembarking.”
Middleton furrowed his brow in confusion. “A ‘guest’?” he repeated.
The younger Manning nodded. “I just received the orders a few minutes ago; he should be arriving with his retinue any time now. It’s all very hush-hush, but the orders have my father’s signature—which I’ve personally verified—so I must officially request you at least meet with him prior to departure.”
“It seems a bit irregular,” Middleton mused before making up his mind, “but in light of your people’s support, I’m inclined to meet with him.”
“Excellent,” Manning said before adding, “good hunting, Captain.”
“Likewise, Captain,” Middleton replied before severing the connection.
“Reading a civilian shuttle on approach, Captain,” the Sensors operator reported. “They’re squawking Sector-Gov. idents.”
Middleton set his jaw but did his best to keep his features even. “Verify the idents and clear them for landing. Have Sergeant Joneson meet me in the hangar,” he said as he stood from his chair. “Commander Jersey, you have the con.”
“Aye, Captain,” the Lieutenant Commander acknowledged.
Not long after Middleton had arrived in the Pride’s hangar, Sergeant Joneson did likewise. A few minutes later the civilian shuttle—bearing external markings which appeared similar to those used on Shèhuì Héxié—touched down.
The ramp descended and a man stepped out onto it, with red skin and a long, black beard. He took a look around the hangar before his eyes settled on Middleton, and he descended the ramp as soon as he had done so.
“Captain Middleton, I presume?” the man asked graciously, speaking in an accent that was reminiscent of his new crewmembers’ from Shèhuì Héxié.
“I am Captain Middleton,” he acknowledged, “and you are…?”
The man clasped his hands briefly before himself, clearly more out of protocol than true deference like the members of his crew displayed. “My name is Kong Pao; is there a place we may speak privately? I imagine you wish to get underway, and now that I am aboard you may do so.”
“Kong Pao?” Middleton repeated, remembering the name of his contact at Shèhuì Héxié had been named Kong Rong. And when he looked hard enough, he could see a physical resemblance between the two men, who were clearly separated by several decades in age. “Your shuttle’s idents checked out well enough that I agreed to receive you, but I’m going to need a little more than a name before we go anywhere.”
“Forgive me, Captain,” the man said as his eyes flashed with something akin to anger, “I am Kong Pao, the Primus Judge of Sector 23, and I believe we can help each other—or, at least, I believe I can help your organization. We should speak further after you get underway,” he suggested, his eyes flicking to Joneson and then back to Middleton.
Middleton did a double-take before swallowing the knot in his throat. “Excuse me…you’re a Sector Judge?”
“Indeed,” the other man replied, “and as I said, I believe we may be able to provide some, hopefully significant, mutual assistance to one another.”
Captain Middleton knew he had just met with one of the most powerful officials in the entire Spineward Sectors. Even planetary monarchs or elected presidents wielded less raw power than a Sector Judge. “Your honor,” he began awkwardly, uncertain how he should address the man.
“I am not here in an official capacity related to my posting as a Sector Judge,” Kong Pao waved a hand dismissively. “You may simply use the honorific ‘Representative,’ since that is the role which I have accepted on behalf of the people in this region of the Spineward Sectors.”
“Fine, Representative,” Middleton said hesitantly, “this ship’s about to embark on what is almost certainly the most dangerous mission it’s engaged in to date…and if you knew our recent history, that would probably be enough to make you run screaming back to your shuttle.”
Kong Pao clucked his tongue and sighed. “Captain Tim Middleton,” he began officiously, “a former Lieutenant in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet who was granted command of one of said fleet’s constituent vessels after Vice Admiral Jason Montagne had re-taken it from a band of…pirates,” he said with a knowing look. “The field rank of Captain was bestowed upon him by said Admiral Montagne, whereupon he embarked on a patrol of Sector 24, since that Sector is a contributor to the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s interests. Lost roughly half of his crew during a bioweapon attack at gas mining facility in low orbit of Pegasus VI, during which he…” He paused briefly before continuing heavily, “During which he destroyed a pirate vessel in clear observation, and accordance with, several admittedly outdated laws which this court finds to have resumed primacy during these difficult times—pending official review of all pertinent details, of course—thereby ensuring the Pride of Prometheus may continue its
patrol as directed by Admiral Montagne.”
Middleton knew exactly what the man meant, and he had to work extra hard to keep his teeth from grinding at the thinly-veiled threat.
“Now,” Kong Pao said, taking a calm step toward him, “shall I continue with my recitation of your recent…activities, or would you like to have Sergeant Joneson here escort me to my quarters where I will patiently await the opportunity for a private audience with this ship’s Captain?”
“I thought you said you weren’t here in the capacity of a Sector Judge,” Middleton said coldly.
“I am truly desperate, Captain Middleton, as are the people in my Sectors,” the Representative said with a nod that was anything but gracious. “Please forgive me for pleading our case in the most effective method available to me. I am certain you would do the same, were our roles reversed.”
“What I’m certain of,” Middleton said evenly, “is that I have a mission to carry out. If you’re content with being a passenger aboard my ship until that mission is concluded, then I will, in fact, have Sergeant Joneson escort you to your quarters.”
“I am perfectly willing to travel as a passenger while we return with all haste to your fleet’s commanding officer, Admiral Montagne,” Kong Pao said, his words seeming to twist and writhe in Middleton’s skull as he fought down his rising irritation.
“Oh we’re going to return to the Admiral, Representative, but not just yet. We’ve got a classified operation to conduct first, after which,” he said pointedly as the Representative made to interrupt, “we will return to Sector 25 and report on the goings on of Sectors 23 and 24.”
Kong Pao considered Middleton for several moments. “How long will this ‘classified operation’ require to complete?”
“I honestly have no idea,” he said seriously before stiffening his spine. “But in any event, Sector 23—the Sector over which you preside in your official capacity as a Sector Judge—is not a contributory member of the MSP. As such, this ship does not fall under your immediate jurisdiction, so let’s stow the threats for the time being.”
The Representative’s eyes flashed with a hint of amusement—and something darker—before he nodded. “Very well, Captain,” he said, and this time when he bowed his head Middleton actually thought there was a tiny sliver of respect being displayed, “I will accompany Sergeant Joneson to my quarters and await your summons.”
“Welcome aboard, Representative,” Middleton said, pointedly not offering his hand. Middleton hated politicians with the fury of a supernova, but he knew that whatever this one wanted was way above his pay grade—and he suspected that Admiral Montagne wouldn’t exactly appreciate one of his Captains making enemies of Sector Judges…especially not after such a protracted mission.
Chapter XXXIV: An Update…and the gift of Red Hare
“Mr. Fei,” Middleton greeted as the young man entered his ready room. “I’d like an update on the status of your project.”
“Of course, Captain,” he replied as he sat down and slid a data slate across the desk. “This is my official report, but the truncated version says that my comrades on the world of my birth were able to access the vestiges of my network and reconstruct the majority of my program, which was then returned here via one of Captain Manning’s courier vessels. However, there are certain gaps in the software which I must reconstruct from memory; a process I believe will require no more than six days’ uninterrupted work in a harmonious environment.”
“A ‘harmonious environment’?” Middleton repeated skeptically.
“Yes, Captain,” Fei Long replied. “I do my best work in a controlled environment without distractions and with certain materials at my disposal—none of which are difficult or expensive to acquire,” he added hastily. “I have listed them on the slate for your approval.”
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 S
ergeant 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.”
No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) Page 32
