The door to her quarters slid open, and Lu Bu snapped up from the edge of the bed where she had been sitting and trimming her toenails. One of the many disadvantages of her genetically-engineered body was that it grew hair and fingernails far more rapidly than a regular human body did. If she did not perform basic grooming every two or three days, her fingernails and toenails would grow long enough that they would become problematic for her training garb.
Annoyed at the unexpected interruption—as well as the violation of her privacy—Lu Bu was ready to fight whoever had just breached her room’s security. But when she saw that it was Dr. Middleton she literally squealed with joy and ran toward the shorter, slenderer woman. “Doctor Middleton!” she said, grasping the other woman in a bear hug while ensuring she did not squeeze tightly enough to harm the smaller woman. “This one—I,” she corrected hastily as she withdrew from the short-lived embrace, “did not know if you would come.”
Dr. Middleton gave her a warm, yet somehow hollow, look and surveyed their quarters. Lu Bu moved excitedly toward the split beds and gestured to the one she had used since being informed of her new living arrangements. In truth, she found them to be far more comfortable than she was used to, but she had learned to make good use of the extra space by having a few exercise stations installed in the far corners of the room.
“Yours there,” she gestured to the perfectly-made bed before gesturing to the slightly less-well-made bed beside it, “mine here. We have water shower,” she continued pointing to the private head as she moved to a small bench built into the wall near the foot of Dr. Middleton’s bed, “and even private data terminal.”
When she finished showing off the appointments, she saw Dr. Middleton had a tear in her eye, and Lu Bu suddenly became anxious.
“What happens, Dr. Middleton?” Lu Bu asked warily as she set her jaw. “Who hurt you? This one will deal with,” she said, cracking her knuckles audibly.
Dr. Middleton shook her head and reached out with her arms, and Lu Bu carefully embraced the older woman. They stood there for several moments of silence before Dr. Middleton said, “I’m sorry, Bu. I wanted to come sooner, but I thought it was best if I waited a little while. I should have left the brig earlier than I did…you shouldn’t have been left alone all this time.”
Lu Bu shook her head dismissively, eyeing Dr. Middleton uncertainly as she did so. “Dr. Middleton needs time,” she said, “Lu Bu gives Dr. Middleton time. Also…Lu Bu takes care herself.” The door chimed and Lu Bu cast a sour look at it, “Wait here—I deal this.”
She went to the door and opened it, ready to verbally unload on whoever it was that had disrupted her reunion with the Doctor, but she saw Sergeant Gnuko standing outside and she immediately snapped to attention.
“Sergeant,” she said quickly, “I not expect you.”
“At ease, Lancer,” Gnuko said easily as he leaned forward just enough that he could see Dr. Middleton. He nodded as though in satisfaction at seeing her and then the Lancer Sergeant produced a large box, “I was going through Sergeant Joneson’s effects and…well, considering the possibility of a pending transfer, I thought you should get this now rather than later.”
Lu Bu’s eyes went wide as she reverently accepted the box. It was made of a durable, hardened polymer and bore the emblem of the Omega Bowl—the ultimate championship game of professional Smashball. The box was large enough to house a helmet, and she briefly forgot her commanding officer was standing in front of her. “This…for me?” she asked hesitantly, unable to believe the possibility.
Gnuko nodded. “For what it’s worth, you were second from the top on my list of essential personnel to keep aboard, Lu. Whatever happens,” he said, straightening himself and nodding deliberately, “it’s been an honor serving with you…but I’m not about to let them take you if there’s anything I can do about it.”
Lu Bu tried to salute, but found the box too cumbersome to quickly accomplish the gesture and Sergeant Gnuko waved her off from further attempt. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said, a mixture of emotions warring within her as she was reminded of the possibility that she might have to leave the Pride of Prometheus soon.
“As you were,” he said before briefly making eye contact with Dr. Middleton, who had nearly made it to the door by that point. “Doctor Middleton…I’m glad you’re still with us.”
The Doctor nodded silently in reply and Gnuko turned to make his way down the corridor, leaving the women alone as the door swished closed.
“What is it?” Dr. Middleton asked with what sounded to Lu Bu like mild interest.
“I do not know,” Lu Bu replied honestly. She moved toward the workstation and set the box down before gently unclasping and lifting the lid. She saw an assortment of personal effects but, in an odd moment of disappointment, Lu Bu saw no Omega Bowl helmet. She had assumed the trophy case would have carried the iconic symbol of Smashball domination, but instead there were several books printed on long-lasting plastic sheets—and even one which looked to have been printed on paper.
She pulled the paperbound book up reverently and examined the cover, which had faded so badly it could barely be read and read the title aloud, “Win Forever.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Dr. Middleton admitted, and neither had Lu Bu.
Lu Bu slowly produced the rest of the books and found a small data slate wedged between two of them—one of which was The Art of War, by Sun Tzu, a book with which Lu Bu was already partially familiar. She knew that—at least, according to her home world’s account—the tome had not been written by one person, but was instead a combined work of several equally brilliant military tacticians.
Still, the name ‘Sun Tzu’ had become synonymous with military tactics on her home world—nearly overshadowing that of Zhuge Liang—and she was eager to read a physical edition which had not been censored by the government of her home world.
She reached into the box and withdrew another pair of novels, the first of which was On War, by General Carl von Clausewitz; the other was The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli.
At the bottom of the box was a physical photograph printed on a high-grade silicate background. Lu Bu took the picture—the dimensions of which fit the interior of the box perfectly—and examined it.
There were two men featured wearing the proud colors of their team—blue, green, grey, and white—and they were holding a trophy between them amid a frozen-in-time rain of confetti composed of the same colors. But they were holding no ordinary trophy—it was the Omega Bowl itself!
One of the men was a youthful-looking Walter Joneson; the other was a massive, white-skinned man with whom Lu Bu was unfamiliar. The second man’s physique, almost impossibly, seemed to dwarf Joneson’s own in terms of muscle mass, and his neck appeared half again as wide as his head. There was no caption on the photo itself, and the reverse was blank as well. It was pristinely preserved and had a tiny number printed on the bottom left corner of the back which showed it to be one of two such printings.
“You know him?” Lu Bu pointed at the second man, and Dr. Middleton shook her head.
But it didn’t matter; Walter Joneson, even in death, had found a way to speak with her…and Lu Bu was not one to dismiss such an event as merely random chance.
She carefully replaced the items in the box—all save the photo—and then placed that box on a small table which she had already begun to use as a shrine to her departed mentor. During their brief time together he had managed to communicate more meaningfully with Lu Bu than any other person had done during her entire life, and she knew that there was still much she could—and would—learn from Walter Joneson.
Chapter III: Creative Interpretation
Middleton smirked after Sergeant Gnuko had completed outlining his plan for securing as many of the loyal Lancers as possible for the Pride of Prometheus. It was actually a good plan and, more to the point, even if it failed in its primary purpose it would at least yield a batch of more desirable candidates than they might
otherwise become saddled with.
The transfer orders for the rest of the crew had already begun streaming in, and in just two days’ time over a third of the Pride’s crew had been transferred to their new assignments in the MSP.
“Not bad, Sergeant,” he said approvingly, “not bad. Are you ready to execute this…maneuver?”
“I can have my people in the shuttle in thirty minutes if you give the word, Captain,” Sergeant Gnuko replied smartly.
“Sergeant Gnuko,” Middleton said, affixing his digital signature to the proposal Gnuko had given him a few minutes earlier, “the word is given. Bid your people good hunting down there.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Sergeant Gnuko said with a lopsided grin as he activated his com-link and turned to leave the ready room. “Operation Stone Horn is ‘go;’ repeat: Operation Stone Horn is ‘go’.”
Middleton heard a chorus of chatter come back over his Lancer Sergeant’s com-link before the ready room doors closed, at which point he chuckled softly. “Good eye, Walt,” he muttered under his breath, appreciative for his friend’s astute judgment of character when it came to suggesting a successor for his post.
“But…when will you return?” Fei Long asked in their native tongue as Lu Bu grabbed several personal articles which she would need for the mission she had just told him about.
“I will not return,” she corrected with a scolding look, “you will. When the Pride of Prometheus returns to Tracto, we will embark.”
Fei Long had to admit that having a little time to himself would be a welcome change, but he was also far from pleased with the fact that he would be unable to see Lu Bu for several weeks at least.
“I have something for you,” she said, as though she had nearly forgotten. She reached into her duffle and produced a book with which he was already quite familiar: The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. It was clearly an old copy, and his brow furrowed as he accepted it.
“Where did yo—“ he began.
“No time,” she said as she zipped up her bag. “Take care of it,” she said with a hard look, and he nodded almost dismissively. He couldn’t have cared less about the book at that moment, and Lu Bu made to leave the room without another word.
“Wait!” he protested.
She sighed loudly. “What is it?”
Fei Long looked around for something that would do, and then he remembered his Zhuge Jin copy—the headwear which his favored Ancestor was known to wear—and quickly went to the closet and withdrew the article while Lu Bu tapped her foot impatiently. He proffered the hat and said, “Please…it is my favored possession.”
She eyed it dubiously. “It is a cheap imitation,” she scoffed.
He shook his head and locked gazes with her, and for a moment he saw her recoil slightly at the look in his eye. “It, and this robe, are all that remain of my childhood that I would carry with me…please, take it and keep it safe until we are reunited.”
Lu Bu nodded slowly and unzipped the bag before carefully folding the hat and placing it within. She then zipped the bag up and, after a brief hesitation, grabbed him by the collar and planted a hard kiss on his lips.
He tried to lose himself in the moment, as many meditation masters suggested one could do, but he failed spectacularly as he felt their lips part and Lu Bu awkwardly said, “Thank you.” She then turned and exited the room, leaving Fei Long to wonder precisely what it was he felt. Was it longing? Jealousy? Could it be nothing more than simple, rampant, hormonally-driven lust? Or was it something deeper…?
He shook his head, knowing that such thoughts had no place in the mind of Kongming’s inheritor, which he had long believed himself to be. He exhaled slowly, regaining control of his emotions as he did so and moved to his workbench. The components had already been assembled for his prototype, and with any luck, he would have assembled the three distinct variations of his new ‘pet’ before he was reunited with Lu Bu.
“Now,” he muttered under his breath, all thoughts of Lu Bu finally banished from his mind so he could focus on the work at hand, “say ‘arf,’ little boy.”
Lu Bu strapped into her seat on the shuttle and received a reproachful look from Sergeant Gnuko as she did so. Apparently she had been the last entrant to the shuttle, and she looked around to see that Atticus, along with the rest of the survivors of the ComStat Hub mission, were present. A few other members of the Pride’s crew were also aboard the small craft, including Haldis—the Tracto-an who had made the Red Hare armor she had worn during the Hub mission where Walter Joneson’s life had ended.
The ramp via which she had entered rose up until it locked in place, and the shuttle began to undergo its familiar pre-flight sequence. The engines thrummed and the deck beneath her feet shuddered as the craft lifted off from the deck and spun around to face the launch doors.
As the craft slowly exited the Pride of Prometheus’ shuttle bay, Lu Bu found herself absently feeling inside the duffle bag for the archaic headwear which Fei Long had given her. Despite his often infuriating inability to understand her—or to even attempt to explain himself in a reasonable fashion—she had found the previous few weeks to be the most enjoyable of her entire life. And, if she was being honest with herself, it was entirely because of her budding relationship with him.
She didn’t know where it would lead, but one thing she had learned from Walter Joneson’s example was that one could not worry overmuch about the future; if one addressed the present in a manner which is consistent with her personal code, then the future would be precisely what she made of it.
For the first time in her life, she felt a bond she had only ever read about in novels—and she dearly wanted that bond to be part in her future.
The shuttle had touched down several hours earlier, and Lu Bu had helped set up camp on the rocky, broken terrain a few clicks west of Argos Citadel. The air on Tracto was unlike anything she had ever breathed in her young life, and she drank in the pure, sweet smell as an alcoholic might sample a new spirit.
To her, the smell of Tracto’s air was one of freedom and she was nearly overcome by the intoxicating, verdant, green grass, which was irregularly broken by jutting ledges of stone. Lu Bu caught sight of Sergeant Gnuko beckoning her to approach the shuttlecraft, so she quickly made her way to him. As she approached he asked, “Are you situated?”
She nodded curtly. “The terrain defensible, there is much running water,” she gestured to a small stream splashing across the rocks not far from their location, “and primary settlement, Argos, is one hour away at walk. Our rations are secured and we have food to survive for one month.” She was getting better at speaking Confederation Standard, but at times like these she knew she was still making several errors per sentence.
“Good,” Gnuko said before leaning forward pointedly, “I’m leaving you in command of the non-Lancer recruiting drive, Lu. Make sure the assessors have freedom to perform their duties…no matter what. Is that clear, Lancer?” he asked with a hard look.
Lu Bu shot a look over to Atticus, who was strutting like a self-important peacock now that his feet had found the soil of his old home. “Tri-Locsium, Sergeant,” she said, baring her teeth briefly. She could not wait for Atticus’ inevitable intrusion on her clearly-defined authority.
“Good,” Sergeant Gnuko said with a satisfied nod. “I have to return to the Pride and make ready for our trip, and I’ve given Atticus authority over the Assault Team recruitments. That said,” he added with a wry grin, “if you see anyone interesting that slips through his thick, white, fingers, you’ve got my authorization to run your own examinations on them however you see fit. Just remember,” he added with a stern look, “we’re not here to bring each and every one of these people to the stars. The Pride has specific personnel needs which need to be addressed, and I’m counting on you to help facilitate that.”
Lu Bu shook her head hesitantly. “This one is not good in…tests,” she said with a slightly anxious glance at her Sergeant.
Gnuko clapped her on
the shoulder. “You know more about them than you think,” he assured her. “But if you’re stuck and can’t figure a way out of a situation, just ask yourself one question and the answer will guide you…just like it has guided me these last few weeks.”
Silence hung between them for several seconds before she finally asked, “What question, Sergeant Gnuko?”
Gnuko drew up to his full height, turned and ascended the ramp to the shuttle as the craft’s engines powered up. He then turned and gave her a wan smile as he said, “What would Walter Joneson do?”
When those words met her ears, she realized that Sergeant Gnuko was even wiser than she had previously known. And the almost grim look on his face told her that he had been battling the very same issues she, herself, was now facing. “Understood, Sergeant,” she said, standing to attention and snapping off a salute as best she was able. Sergeant Gnuko returned the gesture and the cargo door to the shuttle raised up until it was closed, and not long after that the craft lifted slowly from the ground and began its ascent to rendezvous with the Pride of Prometheus.
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 3
