Lu Bu tucked her chin and twisted her body in mid-air, and was thankful when only her shoulder struck the hard chunk of stone. She immediately lost sensation in her left arm but managed to maintain her grip on the larger man as she reached for the back of his head and pulled it toward her belly while securing the choke by squeezing her legs around his neck and arm.
To one uninitiated in the combat arts, it would have appeared to be a position more suited to a Kama Sutra manual than a fighting repertoire, but both Lu Bu and Atticus knew that there was a very real chance he was about to go to sleep—which is precisely what happened less than two seconds later.
As his body went limp, she rolled him over onto his back and secured a dominant position, cocking her fist as she heard a chorus of protests from Atticus’ people. But Lu Bu’s team had closed the distance, and the two groups exchanged barbs in their native tongue as Lu Bu released the blood choke just enough to allow Atticus to regain consciousness.
When he did so, he blinked and looked up at her in confusion for several seconds before she briefly flexed her thighs. The confusion vanished and he made to resist, prompting her to hammer her fist into his nose at the perfect angle to lay it flat against his cheek. She hammered another pair of blows into his face as he attempted to reverse their position, but Lu Bu managed to maintain the hold, and posture, as she drove yet another series of blows into his face. His trapped arm stiffened as he flailed wildly, and acting more on instinct than design, Lu Bu released the choke and spun her hips as she isolated the arm and applied a joint lock that would certainly destroy every ligament and tendon in his shoulder.
“Submit!” she snapped as she began to apply the pressure which would ruin his right, primary, arm. He continued to resist until she felt something give out in his shoulder.
“Submit…” he growled as he ceased struggling against her.
She released the hold and stood to her feet, her still-bloody hand cocked in preparation for treachery as the Tracto-an War Leader stood to his feet. He briefly cradled his right arm before assuming a more neutral posture, and for a moment the two of them merely regarded each other in cold, indignant, fury.
“I beat you,” she growled as a wave of exaltation swept through her as she gestured to a nearby smashball, “with toys!”
Atticus looked fit to lunge at her following her bold—yet wholly accurate, since smashballs were little more than toys—declaration, but then something in his visage changed and he relaxed as he began to laugh boisterously.
Looks of confusion flashed across his peoples’ faces, but then they, too, began to laugh. Soon Lu Bu’s team was laughing as well, with the most prominent voice belonging to Kratos, whose grating, rumbling laughter reminded Lu Bu of a glacier grinding its way between mountains.
“A good game,” Atticus said grudgingly, and while Lu Bu knew that it was not over between them, she could tell from the look in his eye that there would be no need for violence between them in the immediate future.
Lu Bu came out of her combat-ready crouch and nodded sharply as she reached into her pocket to retrieve her com-link. She found that it had been smashed into several pieces, and she turned to Atticus, “We must contact Argos to warn of Bugs.”
Atticus nodded agreeably as the laughter died down and he produced his own com-link, which he used to make contact with their camp. When he was finished, he placed the link back inside his armor.
“Stone Rhino is mine,” Lu Bu said severely, remembering the primary purpose of her raid against her fellow Lancer’s group.
Atticus’ eyes narrowed, and all was silent throughout the ravine as the two sides, which had previously been joined in mirth, tensed in preparation of further conflict.
Atticus eventually shook his head. “You beat me,” he admitted, “but we killed the beast. Honor demands a share—but no more,” he said unyieldingly.
She considered the offer and grudgingly accepted as she thrust her hand—her right hand—out to grasp his. She knew that it would cause him severe discomfort to match the gesture, and she took more satisfaction than she would have liked to admit to as she saw him wince in pain as he deliberately raised his arm and clasped her hand in mutual, if grudging, respect.
As far as Lu Bu was concerned the score was settled between them. But if Atticus felt differently on the subject, she would be ready for him.
Chapter X: Unusual Recruits
“We have achieved a stable orbit, man” the Pride of Prometheus’ new Navigator reported smugly and Middleton watched as his XO whirled on the uppity ‘recruit.’
“We have achieved a stable orbit, Sir,” Sarkozi corrected scathingly, and the Navigator—a former pirate Captain named ‘Strider’—snorted.
“Right,” Strider said, “we have achieved a stable orbit, sir.”
Middleton nodded grimly. A ship of misfits, indeed, he thought to himself as he opened a channel to the shuttle bay, what’s a few more?
“Commence embarkation protocols,” he instructed the pilot via his chair’s built-in com-link.
“Aye, Captain,” the pilot replied.
“We are receiving packets of information from our recruiting team,” Fei Long reported from the Comm. station. Middleton had considered replacing the transferred Ensign Jardine with a qualified petty officer, but the truth was Fei Long knew more about the job than anyone they were likely to get, so he had become the Pride’s de facto First Shift Comm. Officer. “All of our units report green status,” the young hacker-turned-MSP recruit reported with a hint of relief.
Middleton knew of the relationship between the young man and Lu Bu, the promising young Lancer who Sergeant Joneson had identified as potential command material. The truth was that Captain Middleton could have found firm grounds for interfering with their relationship using a strict interpretation of the MSP’s codes of conduct, but nothing about the Pride of Prometheus’ mission to date had been what he might consider ‘by the book,’ so he had decided to relax certain aspects of ship-wide discipline while tightening others.
“Give me a count, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said as he called up the highest priority communiques from the planet’s surface.
“Initial estimates…” Fei Long trailed off as he accessed several different reports, “put our total Tracto-an recruits at two hundred and nine—forty seven confirmed Lancers and one hundred sixty two general crew applicants.”
Middleton’s eyebrows lifted in open surprise. He had expected the Lancer number to be slightly higher, and the general crew applicants to be no more than a third of what Fei Long was reporting. “Confirm that those are pre-qualified numbers,” he said as he stroked his chin. Two hundred additional Tracto-ans would present some interesting, and challenging, operational variables…
“Confirmed, “ Fei Long replied quickly, “it would seem there are an additional eighty four recruits who might qualify if they pass a more rigorous medical examination, bringing the total to two hundred ninety three hopefuls.”
Middleton switched his chair’s com-link to Sergeant Gnuko’s frequency. “Sergeant,” he said after the connection had been established, “adjust the schedule for the Lancers assigned to shuttle escort duty to account for three hundred total transferees.”
“Three hundred?” Gnuko asked in surprise.
“Three hundred,” Middleton repeated. “Also have your people tighten security on anything that might be used as a weapon,” he continued, “at least until our new crew have had a chance to settle in.”
“Larry that,” Gnuko replied professionally, and for a brief moment Middleton was reminded of his former Lancer Sergeant’s similar, unflappable demeanor, “Gnuko out.”
“Captain,” Fei Long said just after the connection with Gnuko had been severed, “it would appear that two of our recruiting teams encountered a small Bug unit while engaged in…erm,” he hesitated, “war games.”
Middleton felt the hairs on his neck rise. “Scan the surrounding area for Bug propulsion trails,” he said quickly.
“It would seem that a Bug Scout Marauder crashed near Argos not long after the Battle of Tracto,” Fei Long continued evenly, “and the specimens our Lancers encountered were the last remnants of the Marauder’s ‘crew.’ Our teams have conducted a thorough sweep of the area, with the support of the Argosian military, and they are confident the threat has been neutralized.”
Middleton relaxed and nodded. “Very good; relay the relevant information to the Furious Phoenix,” he instructed, “Fleet Command needs to be aware of any lingering Bug presence.”
“Yes, Captain,” Fei Long replied smoothly.
Lu Bu helped fasten the final group of Tracto-an recruits into their harnesses inside the shuttle, and when she was finished doing so she checked to ensure that her portion of the Stone Rhino’s hide had been properly stowed.
Satisfied that all was as it should be, she signaled Sergeant Gnuko to that effect before strapping herself into a harness beside the mammoth Tracto-an, Kratos.
“You have my thanks,” Kratos said after she had finished securing herself, and the compartment juddered slightly as the shuttle lifted off from the ground.
“For what?” Lu Bu asked.
Kratos shrugged. “I had long thought that I would die on my birth world,” he explained, “but you have given me a chance to walk among the stars themselves. For that, I am grateful,” he said before hesitating and ultimately saying no more.
“Why you don’t like Tracto?” Lu Bu asked in genuine curiosity. “It is your home.”
Kratos snorted in open derision. “That world is not my home,” he said darkly, “it was only my prison…and now I am free.”
Lu Bu considered his words but could not understand how he believed his world to be a prison. Kratos had freely been allowed to walk up to their tent and apply for a position among the Pride’s crew—unlike her own countrymen, who had literally been imprisoned prior to Captain Middleton officially requesting their transfer to the Pride of Prometheus to replace heavy losses the ship had previously suffered at the hands of their enemies.
“I see no chains,” Lu Bu said evenly as she leaned back in her chair. “And I see no brands,” she added bitingly, knowing that every other person serving aboard the Pride who hailed from her home world had a barcode tattoo prominently placed over their right eyes.
“A man with a bound and broken body is freer than one with a bound and broken mind,” Kratos retorted sharply in his deep, grating voice. “You could not understand.”
“Why,” she demanded, “because I am woman?”
His brow furrowed in apparent confusion before he laughed. “I suppose not because of that,” he allowed, “but because you were born in a place where freedom of thought was not restricted as it is on…Tracto,” he nearly ground the name of the world into sand as it passed his gritted teeth.
Now it was Lu Bu’s turn to snort derisively. “You speak much…but know little,” she rebuked before closing her eyes.
Fei Long had been excused from his bridge duties so he could assist Doctor Middleton in the psychological examinations of their prospective crewmembers. The addition of so many crewmembers reminded Fei Long of a proverb which suggested one should ‘be wary of quenching thirst with poisoned wine’—implying that a person should take care to avoid creating a large problem by applying a quick solution to a smaller one.
The Tracto-ans were a proud, warrior culture and as such they proved invaluable in times of combat. But they had also been more than slightly disruptive to ship-wide operations on a fairly regular basis—and that had been with fewer than two dozen of them aboard the Pride of Prometheus during its previous mission!
But Fei Long had learned that Captain Middleton was a sagacious commander, and he had come to trust the Pride’s Commanding Officer over the previous months. Fei Long was uniquely capable of identifying the potential flaws in a given plan, due to his enormous intellect, but he also knew there was truth to the adage ‘a good plan today is better than a great plan tomorrow.’
The door to sickbay slid open before him and he felt butterflies in his stomach upon seeing Lu Bu standing with a group of Tracto-ans.
He made his way toward her and realized just how much he had missed her in the previous weeks. It was amazing to him that he could remove her completely from his conscious thoughts and yet, now that she was in front of him again, it seemed as though he could think of nothing else.
She nodded her head curtly as he approached, and his buoyant mood was instantly deflated. Her face was covered in deep, purple bruises and more than a few scrapes, and it appeared she was wearing a sling on her left arm. He took her gesture to mean he should keep a professional distance, so he did as she apparently desired and adjusted his course to intercept Doctor Middleton, who was on her way to one of the examination beds.
“I am here to assist in the evaluations,” he said, stealing one final glance at Lu Bu as he fell in beside the Doctor.
“Good,” Doctor Middleton replied, handing him a data slate as she began to wave an examination wand over the Tracto-an lying on the examination bed. The patient was a truly gargantuan woman with what looked to be a permanently contracted arm which had atrophied to no more than one third the size of its opposite. “Call out the names and begin the examination—how is your Tracto-an?”
He bowed his head graciously as he accepted the data slate, and replied in his best Tracto-an, “I believe I am capable of fluent discourse.”
She shot him a withering look before tilting her head toward the group of Tracto-ans beside Lu Bu. “Start at the top of the list and work your way down,” she instructed, and he bowed as he backed away and made to follow her instructions.
He looked down at the data slate and found the first name on the list, which he called out, “Kratos.” He looked up and saw a veritable mountain of a man, who had only one eye remaining in his head, turn deliberately toward him, and a quick series of calculations suggested the man weight approximately four hundred pounds and was easily seven feet tall. “Have a seat,” he said, threading his voice with the sternest stuff he could muster as the other man towered over him.
He sliced another glance at Lu Bu and saw a bemused look on her face as he commenced with the psychological examination’s question-and-answer segment.
Chapter XI: An Arms Race
“Two hundred thirty two is all we can manage, Tim,” Doctor Middleton repeated impatiently, but Captain Middleton wasn’t about to give up so easily.
“Doctor, I got us the growth vats,” he repeated, “along with a total of a hundred bionic prosthetics—“
“We’ve been over this,” she snapped. “We have an extra thirty partial leg prosthetics lying around down there but we’re short just as many mechanical arms. What do you want me to do, attach BKA prosthetics to their shoulders?!”
Middleton gave her a sour look as he rallied, “But the growth vats—“
“Are already operating at maximum,” she reiterated. “We’ve been over this, Tim: the crew we’ve picked up are, to put it insensitively, short of arms and there’s no way we can overcome the gap.”
Middleton ground his teeth. In the last few days they had conducted interviews with their prospective crewmembers and found that all but a dozen were psychologically and intellectually qualified to contribute to shipboard operations. Not only that, but the group would likely perform to a similar standard to those recruits which Commodore Druid had rounded up from the nearby Confederation worlds.
Not only were the Tracto-ans qualified, but they would provide the Pride of Prometheus with roughly two hundred percent the standard combat rating of an unarmed crewmember from the Confederation worlds. Middleton had already factored the increase in combat rating to several aspects of the ship’s tactical capability, and he would be blasted if he gave up such a valuable resource without a fight.
He took a deep breath, “If we got extra va
ts—“
“There aren’t any, Tim,” she cut him off adamantly. “I’ve already scoured every single piece of medical technology from the rest of the Fleet that I can get without employing physical coercion.”
Middleton fixed her with a hard look and repeated, “If we got extra vats…” He saw her roll her eyes before sitting back in her chair and fold her arms, but thankfully she was silent as he continued, “say…two of them, how long to get the limbs replaced or rehabilitated using fresh neuro-muscular tissue grafts?”
She narrowed her eyes and chewed on her lip as she performed silent calculations. “Two more vats would get us another twenty or so up to combat ready,” she bitter spat the words, “in two months.”
“And the rest?” he pressed.
She shook her head. “We simply don’t have the resources to perform such sensitive rehabilitation. We could grow the new limbs, sure,” she agreed with forced patience, “but you’re talking about a six month rehab cycle to train their central nervous systems to interface properly with the new tissues—and that’s only with fully-outfitted facilities, which we clearly don’t have.”
Middleton nodded slowly. “What about bionics?” he asked yet again, hoping she would budge from her previous position.
She shook her head doubtfully. “Another dozen—maybe,” she said pointedly, “but even then we’re talking about incredibly expensive implants, Tim, the kind even you and I would be hard-pressed to afford. Only Core Worlds will have them, and they’ll only be available at a premium.”
Middleton closed his eyes and ran some numbers in his head. If she could get him another three dozen crewmembers, that would put him solidly into the roster depth he needed for the mission they were about to undertake. Factoring in losses to battle, potential morale issues, and limited material resource availability, they were going to need every able-bodied—or roughly able-bodied—person they could stuff into the Pride.
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 11
