“No, sir,” Gnuko replied promptly, snapping to rigid attention with his eyes forward.
Middleton kept the weight of his gaze on the larger man until several seconds had passed, and then moved toward the group of newcomers. “Who will speak for you?” he asked sternly.
The men looked side to side until one of them stepped forward. “I will, Captain,” he replied, coming to an approximation of attention which more or less satisfied the military code, “Private Vali Funar, Promethean SDF Marine assigned to the MSP’s Lancer Corps.”
“Your world has a rich and storied history of military service, Private,” Middleton said, raking him up and down with a critical eye, “I’ve come to expect a better showing from her people—especially during first contact with a new CO.”
Vali shot him a surprised look before stiffening his posture and assuming a significantly better—if still far from perfect—posture. “Respectfully, sir, Prometheus has more than earned its reputation. There isn’t a planet in the Sector that can match our tradition, or our record.”
Middleton could see at least two heads behind Private Funar bob up and down in subconscious support of the statement, and the Captain took a step forward. “Bold words,” he said levelly, “but if you’re the best grunt she’s got to offer, I’d advise your people to stick to ship-building—at least that skill appears beyond reproach.” The heads which had been nodding stiffened—along with the spines to which they were attached—and Middleton snapped a short look into each of their eyes. “Do either of you have something you’d like to add to this conversation?”
The man on the left looked directly ahead, but the other met Middleton’s gaze and said, “It was all a misunderstanding, Captain—“
“Shut up, Tray,” Private Funar snapped, and Middleton immediately deduced the other man’s name must have been Traian. He had memorized certain aspects of the personnel transfer report, including which members were from which worlds. It was important information—information which would come in useful during situations precisely like this one.
“No, please,” Middleton said levelly, stepping toward the second man, “go on. Describe the nature of this ‘misunderstanding’.”
Traian looked briefly at the floor before saying, “We were just…umm…trying to…”
“What he means, Captain,” Private Funar cut in, “is that some of us were expressing concern over crew safety.”
“Crew safety?” Middleton repeated deliberately. “Just to make sure we’re speaking the same language,” he said as he moved toward Private Funar until their noses nearly touched, “you new transfers are afraid for your lives aboard this ship?”
“Afraid?” Funar blurted incredulously before setting his jaw. “We’re not afraid of anything, sir.”
There was a chorus of snickers from the far side of the room, and Middleton held Private Funar’s gaze for several seconds before turning pointedly to the members of the other group. “Do you have something to add?” he asked shortly.
One of the Asiatics jutted his chin forward—all of the Asiatic crewmembers were already at sharp attention—and said, “The new crew calls Pride of Prometheus a ‘Ship of Ghosts.’ Some even disrespect her Captain,” he said with a pointed look at Private Vali Funar.
Having thought the entire matter to be one of simple discipline, Middleton actually found himself amused and more than a little interested in what the crewman meant by ‘disrespect.’ “I see,” he said, realizing that he could at least relate to why Sergeant Gnuko had apparently taken it upon himself to leap to his ship’s—and Captain’s—defense. “Well,” Middleton said as he turned back toward Private Funar, “let’s hear it.”
“Sir?” Private Funar said blankly, but Middleton wasn’t about to let the matter rest.
“Would you prefer your crewmates,” Middleton said, gesturing to the Asiatics, “answer the question, or are you going to repeat your…concerns to the ship’s Captain when he has ordered you to do so?”
Private Funar’s eyes flicked toward Captain Middleton briefly before he seemed to somehow wilt. His shoulders were still square, and his chest puffed out as one would expect from a crewman at attention, but the Captain knew the other man would no longer resist.
“I—” Private Funar began.
“We,” Traian interrupted pointedly, and the rest of the crew assembled on their ‘side’ of sickbay nodded in agreement.
Funar cast a sharp look over his should before correcting, “We were just checking ship’s morale—honest, Captain.” Middleton searched the other man’s visage for signs of deception, but found none as Funar continued, “With the heavy losses the Pride’s incurred on her ‘maiden’ voyage as a ship of the MSP, we wanted to know how the crew felt about the decisions which may have led to those casualties.”
“Mutinous sc—“ Gnuko growled, but Middleton cut him off with a sharp gesture.
Captain Middleton fixed Private Funar with a heavy look. “And what did you find?” he asked dryly.
Private Funar shook his head. “Ship-wide morale is better here than any other ship in the fleet,” he replied promptly. “We had our suspicions as to why that might have been. We…” he added nervously, “well, we might have made some suggestions regarding said suspicions involving a, uh, cultural gap between certain segments of the old crew and the new.”
“He calls us drones!” one of the Asiatics spat, and the others growled their assent.
“So, let me get this straight, Private,” Middleton said slowly as he fixed the other man with a piercing glare, “on top of generally poor respect for the chain of command—and mixed with a thick, borderline mutinous streak—I can also infer that you, and the crewmembers with you, are bigots?”
“Bigots?!” Funar repeated incredulously. “Captain, we are not bigots; this has all been a…a…a cultural misunderstanding,” he stammered in protest.
Middleton set his jaw. “I don’t have the time, or patience, to indulge in this kind of sophomoric behavior,” he growled. “This ship’s entire command structure has been upended, and I’ve been saddled with the rest of the Fleet’s castoffs—castoffs like you,” he snapped, causing the assemblage to collectively wince. “If you can’t learn to deal with life aboard a warship on active deployment—and all the harsh realities that entails,” he added coldly, “then I suggest you opt out of your service contracts. There is absolutely nothing compelling any of you to serve aboard this vessel, and frankly I don’t want anyone aboard the Pride who isn’t ready, able, and eager to put his or her life on the line at the drop of a hat.” He drew back slightly and added, “We hold ourselves to a higher standard than the rest of the Fleet; either catch up to our speed or I’ll have you confined to quarters until we can let you off someplace that won’t threaten your delicate sensibilities, understood?”
The men—accompanied by one woman—bristled and Middleton didn’t wait for them to collect themselves before turning to Sergeant Gnuko.
“Escort them to the brig; place them on a twenty four hour hold,” he instructed. “That should give them time to think about whether they have what it takes to serve on this ship.”
“Yes, sir,” Gnuko replied evenly before gesturing for the newcomers to follow him. They did without objection, and the looks they cast their Captain’s way were mixtures of surprise and confusion. After they had left sickbay, he turned to the second group composed almost entirely of Asiatics—apparently, one of them had been a recent transferee which Middleton had not correctly identified at the outset.
“And you lot,” he said, sweeping them with his gaze, “I suggest you thicken your skins. This is the last time I’m stepping in on something like this; after we get under way we’ll be observing wartime military discipline, so I suggest you get a head start learning what that entails. The games end here and now, is that clear?”
“Tri-Locscium, sir!” they replied in unison, and he blinked in surprise at hearing Walter Joneson’s words coming from their mouths.
“Dismissed,” he barked, and the group quickly dissipated.
When they had left he turned to the lone, silent occupant of the sickbay and saw that she was giving him a faintly disapproving look. But the expression was wiped from her face as soon as their eyes met and Middleton couldn’t resist the urge to engage her.
“You disapprove, Doctor?” he asked rhetorically, almost hoping she would take the bait.
“Only because several of them still have untreated wounds,” she replied evenly.
Several seconds passed and he nodded, deciding to let the matter rest at that. “Have you received the medical supplies you requested from the station?” he asked.
She nodded curtly. “The ship’s stores have been resupplied, and most of the radiation meds I requested have already arrived and been stowed.”
“Do you have any other requests for equipment transfers to sickbay?” he asked.
His ex-wife shook her head. “The ship’s stores are robust; I’ve taken the liberty to double up on our antivirals just in case we run into another bioweapon,” she said pointedly.
“Good,” Captain Middleton replied before switching topics. “It doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out that morale is going to be an issue in the coming weeks and months,” he said as he grimaced in disdain. “The Pride has apparently become the Fleet’s penal ship, so we’d better get used to the current state of affairs…at least for the time being. Our mission is too important to get lost in the usual squabbles.”
“If you say so,” she said, and Middleton snapped a glance over at her. He was surprised—and, if he was being honest with himself, pleased—to see the same, fiery determination behind her eyes which he had come to know so many years earlier. In spite of everything that had happened between them—much of which had been kept from him, it seemed—Middleton knew that he needed Jo’s counsel during whatever lay ahead of them.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Doctor,” he began in a slightly subdued voice, “the personal history you and I share isn’t something I intend to ignore in perpetuity. But you need to understand that on this ship,” he pointed to the deck and fixed her with a thousand meter stare, “things must, out of absolute necessity, conform to my schedule above any other. And right now, I need to know if I can count on my Chief Medical Officer to serve in the same capacity she had done prior to…” he trailed off, unable to find the proper words for her life-saving display on the bridge of the vessel so many weeks before.
“I will tend to your wounded, Captain,” she said before he could fish the right word from his mind, “and I will follow your ship’s code of conduct, as well as whatever particular limitations you might see fit to place on me.”
“That’s not what I meant, Doctor,” Middleton said, his voice tinged with equal parts weariness and irritation. “Let me put this as bluntly as I can: I am woefully short of support structure out here, and where we’re going we can expect what little support I do have to evaporate. I want…no,” he corrected, “I need your advice going forward.”
“Why?” she shot back quickly—so quickly that Middleton deduced she had been waiting for the opportunity to ask that very question. The way she had pounced on the opening reminded him of the way a cat might pounce on a mouse, and he allowed half a grin to play out over his features.
“Because I’m the Captain,” he said simply. The two stood in mutual silence for nearly a minute, engaged in a familiar battle of wills until Middleton stepped forward and continued, “And because, as the Captain, it’s my duty to see to it that every member of this ship is able to perform at peak ability. I pushed for those medical supplies that you mentioned to be transferred even though Supply only wanted to give us a fourth of what you requested. Why?” he asked, mirroring her own inflection as closely as he could. “Because it’s my job to keep this ship running in the right direction and to make sure everyone has what they need. Right now,” he said, gritting his teeth, “I need to look after the Captain’s support structure. Can you understand that?”
Jo shook her head slowly, “It’s all just variables to you, isn’t it?”
“Doctor…” he trailed off, closing his eyes as he fought to keep his temper under control. But he knew the meeting would only last for another few minutes at most if things continued to escalate.
“But somehow,” she added belatedly, and with a hint of empathy in her voice, “this time I can understand why you see things that way. I’ll offer whatever advice you think appropriate,” she said with a meaningful look, “but in return I need to know that we’re going to talk about…”
The words trailed off, but each of them knew precisely what she meant.
“As I said,” Middleton said evenly, “everything aboard this ship must conform to my schedule whenever that is possible. Do you understand?” he pressed, hoping she could understand.
She nodded slowly. “I do,” she agreed.
He wanted to breathe an epic sigh of relief, but Middleton nodded instead. “Then I would like to propose a schedule,” he said.
Jo arched an eyebrow. “What kind of schedule?”
Tim Middleton clasped his hands behind his back, “I took a big gamble suggesting to the Admiral that you remain on this ship, Doctor. He agreed to my request, but given the recent transfers I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t entirely trust my judgment.”
She furrowed her brow. “I had no idea…” she trailed off before shaking her head. “But what does the Admiral’s trust have to do with anything?”
Middleton looked pointedly over his shoulder toward the door through which Private Funar and his cohorts had been escorted, “Half of that group of troublemakers was part of a covert operation to infiltrate Capria and launch a surprise raid on the Royal Palace.”
Doctor Middleton reared back in surprise. “I had no idea…why wasn’t anything in their files?”
“Possibly because that mission, like our upcoming one, was off the books,” Middleton replied darkly, “but almost certainly it’s because we weren’t supposed to know about it. Thankfully, I’ve still got a few friends throughout the Fleet who gave me the straight download. Those men,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder pointedly, “are almost certainly plants that the Admiral, or his people, sent here to keep an eye on us and, if we’re being generous, secure the ship against outside influences. As far as they’re concerned, that might mean me, you, or anyone else who was part of our previous mission.”
“Why such mistrust?” she asked with a wary look.
Middleton chuckled shortly. “Trust, but verify, Doctor,” he chided. “Besides, the Little Admiral’s already been betrayed by his supposed allies; I can’t blame him for being proactive and neither should you. He’s just doing what any responsible leader would do. And, frankly,” he admitted, “it doesn’t look good that half of our crew was from an Asiatic League world after just a few weeks on patrol—and they were reported to be prisoners, at that. Then, after the better part of a year—when our mission was supposed to last only a month—we come back to port carrying a Sector Judge whose home world just so happens to belong to that same Asiatic League?” He shrugged indifferently, “It’s not hard to realize how it might look. I’d have done the same in his shoes.”
“But what does that have to do with any sort of ‘schedule’?” she asked after a moment’s consideration.
“Well…the problem arises not from the fact that we might have Admiralty agents aboard who are looking to secure the Flag’s interests. Far from it,” he said with genuine feeling, “I welcome the extra security. The issue is that the Pride’s Captain wasn’t apprised of these officers’ transfers, which were apparently meant to be hidden among the genuine malcontents we received as part of the mass transfers. As such,” he gave a tight smile, “I have to treat them as potential threats to ship security. I believe, however, that I can keep them off-balance long enough to determine their true allegiances with just a few subtle shifts to shipboard protocol. I won’t bore you with the det
ails,” he waved a hand dismissively, “except to say that it would serve many purposes if you were to have dinner with me, in the conference room, three nights out of seven.” He held up a hand before she could get indignant, “You don’t have to eat, or even pretend to enjoy yourself, but I’ve come to value your advice. Unfortunately, given your official record I can’t give you free run of the ship. But I can have you escorted via armed guard to my ready room whenever necessary which, as I suggested, three days in seven would probably satisfy that requirement.”
She chewed on the thought for several moments before shaking her head in confusion. “I’m back to my original question: why?” she repeated. “Why do you feel the need to ask my advice on anything? We both know you’re going to do what you think is best regardless of what others say—”
“Please, Doctor,” Middleton said coolly, “let’s keep this above board.”
Jo nodded quickly, “I apologize.”
Middleton shook his head, “You don’t need to apologize…but the truth is I’ve made decisions on behalf of this ship which did, as you suggest, treat my crew as nothing but variables, or assets,” he admitted. “I firmly believe that is what any good commander must do, but” he allowed, “there are times when a less…calculating perspective might better serve the ship, the mission, and the crew. I can think of no one better qualified to provide that perspective than the Pride’s current Chief Medical Officer. What do you say?”
Doctor Middleton nodded slowly before saying, “All right…I agree.”
“Good,” the Captain said. “We’ll start tomorrow night.” He turned to leave sickbay before stopping and looking around, “Strictly between you and me…if you can think of anything else you might need in the coming months then now is the time to fill out a requisition. We aren’t going to have this kind of material support for a long time,” he said pointedly.
Comprehension seemed to dawn in her features and she nodded, “I can think of a few things.”
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 8
