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 get 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 silence 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?”
Jo shook her head. “It’s the same place it’s always been, Tim,” she said hollowly, “the only things that have changed are us.”
Now it was Middleton’s turn to shake his head. “People don’t change, Jo.”
She gave him a sharp look which he had expected to be reproachful, but instead he saw something closer to surprise in her eyes. “Not that old argument,” she sighed as her expression cleared.
“It’s true,” he continued, ignoring the strange look he had seen in her face. “Just look at us? I’m still governed by my logic, and you’re still ruled by your passions. What’s changed?”
She regarded him quietly for several moments before her eyes drifted downward. “Plenty has changed,” she said hollowly, “for both of us. For instance, you re-married.”
Middleton was actually surprised she chose to bring it up. The truth was he had expected her to do so much, much earlier in the trip, or to ignore the topic altogether. “I did,” he admitted, “and for a time I even thought it was the right move. Things seemed…stable, even happy, all the way until Thomas, our son, got into secondary school.”
“You always said you were going to teach your children at home,” she interrupted with a cocked eyebrow.
“We are…or, rather, we were,” he corrected before knowing the conversation was taking an unexpected turn—one which he doubted led anywhere productive. “The truth is, it just took her longer to see the things about me that you learned in college,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “Not only that, but my son doesn’t feel much differently about me than his mother.”
“Alfred said your family was settled on Tracto,” she said in confusion.
He nodded. “That’s a long story, but the short version is I didn’t want my family—however estranged—traveling to a Rim colony for their fresh start without supervision, so I decided to accompany them and provide whatever assistance I was able when they arrived. I emptied my private pension, took out loans against every single asset I’ve accumulated, and turned it into things they could barter with if things took a turn for the worse. You know,” he added, keeping the bitterness from his voice, “module-sized atmospheric cleansers, medical supplies, portable condensation units, etc.. Let me tell you something: whoever’s manufacturing all of those ‘approved’ colony supplies is getting rich, because there doesn’t appear to be much difference between those units and the standard ones that cost a quarter as much.”
“So then…you’d taken a leave of absence?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, “I’d actually retired—the official term for it is a ‘T-672 Reduction,’ which for all intents and purposes is the first step in retirement from active-duty. I hadn’t decided what I was going to do, but I’d given serious thought to settling down somewhere out on the Rim. Maybe even on the same planet my family chose.”
“You?” she asked incredulously. “Retired?”
“I’d done my twenty,” he said, “and while the benefits weren’t as robust as the thirty and forty year marks, I realized that no matter how much I thought it was my life’s calling to serve like my father did, I could never have the life I wanted—no,” he corrected, “the life I needed, as long as I was hopping around on starships.”
“So what changed?” Jo asked with what seemed to be genuine curiosity.
Middleton had tried to come up with a way to say this last part, but nothing had sounded quite perfect, so he just decided to ad lib the best he could. “Not long after the Imperial withdrawal, a settlement ship was attacked by pirates,” he explained, “and as fate would have it, the ship I was assigned to, the Lucky Clover, was first on the scene. Without so much as a single, functioning weapon, Admiral Montagne,” he said before adding, “the ‘Little Admiral’—as even I was guilty of calling him on several occasions—charged headlong into the fray and beat the pirates back. It wasn’t until after the battle that I realized it was the same ship my soon-to-be-ex-wife and son were on.”
Jo exhaled softly after he finished. “Still,” she said after a pregnant pause, “you had to know the odds they would be on that particular ship.”
“On that day, 17.3%,” he agreed absently, having gone over the figures time and time again. “All colonists are routed to central hubs to await disembarkation at the Colonial Authority’s schedule. So without the ComStat network to check the outgoing manifests on a daily basis, I calculated there was a 17.3% that everything I held precious in the universe was not only in peril, but that I would play a part in protecting it—protecting them—without even knowing I had done so. Now, you know me, Jo,” he said seriously, “I’m not one of those blowhard, ‘the Saint will provide’ types, but after I learned that Katie and Thomas were on that ship…for the first time in twenty years I knelt down and prayed to whatever space gods might have been listening. I told them that I’d heard their message, and would work to repay their favor�
�no matter the cost.”
“See?” Jo said softly. “People can change, Tim. You would never have prayed to the space gods when we were married.”
“Oh, I had a few…choice words for them back then,” he grudged. “But we didn’t exactly leave things on cordial terms. Which brings me to a question of my own,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood, “why did you keep my name after all these years? And don’t tell me it was because of the paperwork.”
Jo shrugged indifferently. “Ever since I met you, all I wanted to be was ‘Mrs. Middleton’,” she explained as though it was nothing. “Even after we separated and the divorce was finalized, I found that hadn’t really changed. I—or rather, the girl I’d been—still wanted nothing more than to be Mrs. Middleton, and I wanted to do everything I could to protect that girl and what was left of her dreams for as long as I could. Plus, I knew that I’d never re-marry after you. For all your infuriating flaws, you set the bar pretty high…it just wouldn’t have been fair to the field to compete against even the echo of you.”
Middleton had absolutely not expected this type of a reply to his question, and from the look in her eye he knew she didn’t say these things lightly. He sat in stunned silence for several seconds until she leaned forward.
No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) Page 33
