The gambit seemed to pay off as the little gunship, quickly flanked and partially shielded by its partner craft, sped off before apparently exhausting its fuel supply and drifting away from the conflict.
“No more fuel,” Toto reported matter-of-factly, and Middleton nodded after making eye contact with the Sundered officer. Toto had clearly known his craft possessed a small, but significant, reserve of fuel beyond that which he had originally confessed. But Middleton did not hold that fact against his newest Tactical Officer.
The Pride shuddered slightly as another pair of impacts landed near the bow. “Forward shields are experiencing power fluctuations!” the operator cried. “I can’t get ahead of the cascade.”
Without needing any encouragement to do so, Sarkozi leapt across the bridge far more quickly than her diminutive frame would have suggested possible and slotted in beside the operator. She quickly reported, “Power conduits three through seven have overheated; we’re going to lose the forward shielding, Captain.”
Middleton growled just loudly enough that he could hear it. “Keep our guns on them,” he said grimly, knowing that their inability to add a significant broadside complement to the aged cruiser’s arsenal was about to cost them in a very real way. “Don’t stop firing until their engines are completely out, is that clear?”
“Yes,” Toto replied, and for once Sarkozi made no gesture of irritation with the uplift’s less-than-professional reply—she was too busy trying to save the Pride’s forward shields.
“Helm: stay oriented with our bow on them,” Middleton commanded, “but cut our acceleration and put as much braking thrust as you can manage without changing our attitude. The more distance we can keep between us, the better our chances for a clean kill.”
“Yes, Captain,” the woman at the helm replied and the Pride’s tactical indicators flanking the main viewer image began to note a fractional, but consistent, decrease in velocity for the MSP cruiser.
Another barrage of heavy laser fire erupted from the Pride’s forward batteries, and the indicator for the droid destroyer’s shields flashed red before going grey. “Enemy shields down,” Toto rumbled.
“I’m reading inbound contacts, Captain,” the Sensors operator reported anxiously. “I have fifty…sixty…no, seventy incoming projectiles!”
“Check your tone, Sensors,” Middleton reprimanded coldly, and the operator visibly winced at the rebuke. The Captain then opened his chair’s mirrored sensor readout and examined the available data, concluding that the inbound objects were moving far too slowly to be missiles and that their energy signatures were nearly nonexistent. “Boarders,” he muttered as he spun to face his Sundered Tactical Officer, “Tactical, lock our point defense weaponry on those targets as soon as they’re in range. Continue pouring fire from the forward batteries onto the destroyer until it’s a lifeless hulk.”
“Yes, Captain,” Toto replied, and as the second wound down another round of fire erupted from the Pride’s forward weapons array. The destroyer’s port shields buckled immediately, and when they went the entire shield grid of the enemy vessel collapsed due to some sort of cascade failure similar to what the Pride had just experienced.
“Inbound objects will make contact with the hull in twenty eight minutes,” Sarkozi reported after sliding from the Shields station to the Sensors station. “We should be able to neutralize them before then.”
“All the same,” Middleton said, knowing this would be as good of an opportunity as any to get in some boarding action drills, “have Sergeant Gnuko’s rapid response teams formed up and awaiting orders at their assigned stations. Secure the airlocks and have department heads report when their crews are secured against incursion.”
“Yes, sir,” Sarkozi replied, and the droid destroyer sent a relatively pitiful volley of laser fire into the Pride’s forward shields, which absorbed it easily after Sarkozi’s apparently successful workarounds involving the forward power couplings.
“Forward shields at 77%, Captain,” the Shields operator reported sheepishly, clearly perturbed at needing the XO’s assistance to correct the issue.
“Good work, Shields,” Middleton acknowledged, making brief eye contact with the rating. Having his people thrust into combat hardly seemed fair, but then again the universe is rarely ever fair.
“The citadel—make that, destroyer’s power signature,” Hephaestion corrected, “is fluctuating. It might be going cri—“
Before he could finish his report, the destroyer’s primary hull ruptured near the drive section as a series of explosions rippled forward from that point. Debris from the warship went outward in a cloud of turbulent particles and the bridge crew let out a collective, if uncoordinated, cheer—all save Toto, the XO, and the Captain.
Middleton clenched his jaw as he forced a neutral expression onto his face. He was more than slightly disappointed that the enemy vessel’s power plants had melted down and the Pride’s bridge crew had been unaware of that fact until literal seconds before they had destroyed the enemy vessel. If such a simple thing could be missed for so long, it was probable that even more sensitive information had been missed as well.
But he also knew that to expect significantly more than he had gotten from his new crew would have been unrealistic. Still, the only way to improve was by constant practice, and Middleton knew that combat drills would rise to the top of the Pride’s daily schedule for as long as they remained in the Zhu’s Hope system.
“Focus on those boarders, everyone,” Sarkozi snapped, clearly sharing Middleton’s irritation over the destroyer’s unexpected destruction. “We’ve got eighty one droids inbound, and I shouldn’t have to remind everyone of what happened the last time just a fraction of that number managed to board this ship!”
Her words put an instant stop to the short-lived celebration, and the collective visages of the bridge crew returned to their workstations as they appeared to regain some semblance of professionalism. Middleton gave his XO an almost imperceptible nod of approval, and they went about the task of removing the would-be boarders from the Pride’s path.
“All droid signatures have been neutralized, Captain,” Lieutenant Sarkozi reported snappily some twenty minutes later. With the destroyer blown from the space ways, it was a fairly routine matter for the MSP cruiser to adjust its course to prevent the droid boarding party from maneuvering close enough to land on the hull.
Once their heading had been adjusted, the point defense weapons had picked the droids off one by one. Their pace had been far slower than Middleton would have liked, but the job did get done and now that it was concluded, he knew it was time to return to the planet.
“Helm: come about and make for orbit above the colony,” he instructed, and the woman at the helm nodded as she complied. “Secure from Condition One, XO, and set Condition Two throughout the ship.”
“Standing down from Condition One, aye, Captain; making Condition Two throughout the ship,” Sarkozi replied promptly before relaying his orders through the rest of the vessel.
Middleton knew it would be a long road to get his new crew into proper fighting shape, but he had managed to do so once before and he knew that, appearances notwithstanding, his current roster was capable of exceeding his previous crew.
It would just require a firm hand at the tiller and, thankfully for the Pride of Prometheus and her crew, Middleton’s was just such a hand.
Chapter XVI: Stargazing
“Here’s the report on the surface teams’ activity, Captain,” Sergeant Gnuko said as he sat down across from Middleton in the Captain’s office adjoining the bridge. “The fusion plant was secured with one fatality sustained by our Recon Team, but they were able to keep the bunker shields up throughout the engagement. As a result, Atticus’ Assault Team was able to secure the settlement and root out the droids while sustaining only two casualties. All three suits of armor will be back in rotation within the week, but Lancers Homer, Scopas and Eustace were confirmed KOA.”
“Three
fatalities,” Middleton mused, “that’s within your expectations, correct?”
“Correct, sir,” Gnuko replied. “If I had led the Assault Team I’m confident we could have cut that to one, but the Recon Team’s job was less predictable. They were on a timetable, and frankly it’s impressive that they were able to get the job done at all. Without some quick thinking on Lu’s part, I doubt the shield would have stayed up—she made a tough decision in the heat of battle and it paid off just like it should have.”
Middleton nodded slowly. “It would seem that both you and your predecessor was right about her,” he said as he affixed his signature to the twin reports. “Atticus’ success was more of a guarantee; he had the shuttle for aerial support and a fortified position to defend. Still, it’s good to see that your planned division of the Pride’s Lancer force is shaping up nicely.”
“It wasn’t my plan, sir,” Gnuko reminded him, “but I do believe in it. I just hope we can make it work; it’s a template I think the rest of the organization could benefit from.”
“So as of now your total combat-ready Lancers are…” Middleton led, having put off this part of the Lancer inspection as long as humanly possible.
Gnuko bit his lip briefly before shaking his head, “In truth, only two of Lu’s Recon Team were checked out on the grav-sleds. And of the Assault Team, only half of the ones we sent to the surface were rated over 80% effective in power armor. As of now, thirty two of the ninety four crew assigned to my department are combat-ready, and half of those are assigned to the Pride’s Defense Team. I should be able to get the number up to twice that within two weeks’ time, but the rest will be a more gradual process of sifting the wheat from the chaff.”
“And you’re confident you’ll end up with a hundred total Lancers?” Middleton pressed, not exactly encouraged by the Lancer contingent’s schedule.
Gnuko nodded evenly, “We’ve got an additional thirty hopefuls currently serving in Gunnery, Environmental, and even helping out in Engineering while they adjust to their new implants. It would be impossible for them to learn how to use their new prosthetics and incorporate the combat training they need to undergo simultaneously. If anything, I’m thinking we might end up more like a cen-ten.”
Middleton’s eyebrows rose at his Lancer Sergeant’s assertion that the Pride could end up with a hundred and ten active duty Lancers. “They’re proving out that well, are they?”
Gnuko nodded. “Those Tracto-ans are a determined bunch, you’ve got to give them that much. But I think the balance we struck, between the classic, alpha-type personalities serving mostly under Atticus, and the ones with chips on their shoulders and something to prove has been everything we could have hoped for. If anything,” he added with a shake of his head, “the rivalries between the groups are heating up a bit more than I expected.”
“Keep them in check, Sergeant,” Middleton said sternly. The last thing he needed was for the Tracto-ans to begin waging war against each other in the corridors of the ship.
“I’ve got it in hand, sir,” Sergeant Gnuko said confidently, “I’ll let you know if I need an assist, but I’ve got to keep them motivated to compete with each other. There’s no other way we can form them into cohesive units in this setting.”
“Always compete,” Middleton echoed the sentiment he had read in one of Sergeant Joneson’s favorite books.
“Yes, sir,” the powerfully-built Lancer agreed.
“Speaking of prosthetics,” the Captain said abruptly, “how’s your leg?”
Sergeant Gnuko looked down at his limb and nodded slowly, “The therapy’s going better than I’d expected. The Doctor is a talented woman.”
“Indeed she is,” Middleton replied neutrally, fighting the rising wave of anger he felt at hearing her mentioned. He knew he needed to address the matter she had revealed to him so many weeks earlier, but it simply had to wait until a better time.
“I’ll be a hundred percent in another month,” the Sergeant said, clearly picking up on his CO’s downturned mood. “Until then I’m still ninety percent in a suit of armor, so I’m on active Defense Team duty.”
“Speaking of your team…” Middleton urged.
Gnuko sneered briefly before schooling his features. “Tight-lipped as a dying clam and none too pleasant, at that,” he replied bitterly, referring to Funar and Traian, who Middleton suspected were aboard the Pride with orders from the Admiral to watch for signs of disloyalty. “They’re clearly here on assignment, but none of them will say what it is or even confirm the theory.”
The Captain sighed. “Do what you can, but ensure that they’re accounted for if things take a turn.”
“I’m on it, Captain,” Sergeant Gnuko replied with a curt nod. “I’ll put them down myself if I have to.”
“Let’s hope, for all of our sakes, that it doesn’t come to that, Sergeant,” Captain Middleton said with a knowing look before finishing, “dismissed.”
“How long will you require on the planet’s surface, Mr. Fei?” Captain Middleton asked, and Fei Long wondered briefly if he should get into the variables in play which would determine his reply. But in less than a second, he deduced that the Captain, as usual, was requesting what he called the ‘short version.’
“Three days, Captain,” the young man replied, “but it may require four. I must write the software which will interface with, and then download, their outdated records. I must then manually modify that program with each of the twelve, distinct, data classes they have used over the past three hundred years of the university’s existence.”
He could almost see Captain Middleton’s patience wearing thin even as he finished his—in his opinion—succinct reply. He had made no mention of the linguistic obstacles involved, seeing as the scientists had recorded their findings in pure, mathematical ‘language’ which was quite unlike anything he had encountered. He had also glossed over the fact that some of that data appeared to be privately held, and would possibly require…discrete methods of access which, fortunately, lay well within his specialty. He had also ignored the fact that, as a military organization without proper political backing—at least at the moment—there was no truly ‘proper’ way for the Pride of Prometheus to request this information. But Fei Long had already devised several methods of approach which should, in theory, grant the Pride’s crew access to the files they sought.
“We need to do better than that, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said sternly, and Fei Long’s jaw nearly dropped open. “We can’t spend four days at every one of the science facilities you’ve placed on our itinerary; we have a mission to complete that is of the highest importance to the Fleet.”
“I understand that, Captain,” Fei Long assured him as graciously as he could manage. “However, I am simply incapable of accomplishing this task any more quickly than I have suggested.”
The Captain’s eyes narrowed and he regarded the young man silently for several seconds. “Fine,” he said eventually, “we’ll dispatch you to the surface where you’ll conduct your retrieval. But after that we’re going to need to bypass at least one of the scheduled stops so we can keep to our itinerary.”
Fei Long wanted to protest, but he suspected the Captain had more on his metaphorical plate at that moment than he could reasonably handle. So instead, he stood and clasped his hands in deference, “As you command, Captain.”
“Dismissed,” Middleton said with a wave of his hand as he began examining a short stack of data slates which appeared to contain recent shift reports.
Fei Long nodded and left the office, making a bee-line for the lift after doing so. His mind was keenly focused on the task at hand, but there was so much that needed to be done.
He barely even realized he had walked all the way to his quarters without thinking about his need to visit Haldis, the Tracto-an smith who had crafted Lu Bu’s Storm Drake armor—armor which Fei Long had lovingly called ‘Red Hare’ to respect Lu Bu’s Ancestral namesake. The Ancestor whose name Lu Bu had adopted was famous for
riding a fearsome, legendary steed into battle which bore the same name as her Storm Drake armor.
He reversed course, re-entered the lift, and after a few minutes found himself entering the workshop of Haldis. The Tracto-an was working a piece of cylindrical metal at a bench grinder, and Fei Long made his respects as he came to a stop a respectful distance from the metalworker. Fei Long knew that success in any endeavor required a degree of focus which was incompatible with distractions, so he waited for nearly twelve minutes until Haldis had finished working the shaft of metal—which Fei Long had deduced was an axial pin for one of the Pride’s heavy laser mounts.
Haldis only then made eye contact with him and, gripping the re-worked pin in his bionic hand, he nodded curtly. “Kongming,” he said, using Fei Long’s chosen moniker.
“Master Haldis,” Fei Long replied, once again making his respects with a courteous nod, “I humbly request an update on the project I set before you.”
Haldis nodded as he set the heavy, metal pin—which was nearly three feet long and three inches in diameter—in a coolant bath. “It is nearly finished,” the Tracto-an replied in his deep voice which seemed to only carry a hint of the ‘Tracto-an accent’ with which Fei Long—and the rest of the crew—had become so familiar since the ship had taken on over two hundred new crewmembers from that fascinating world.
“May I see it?” he asked, anxious to witness the forge master’s craft.
Haldis coughed to clear his throat as he opened a nearby locker. He pulled a small box from it and set that box on the table before lifting the lid and gesturing for Fei Long to see for himself.
The young man stepped forward and peered inside, feeling a rush of excitement as he beheld the craftsmanship. “It is remarkable,” he breathed as his fingers, seemingly of their own accord, reached out to grasp the slender handle before he quickly withdrew them. “May I?” he asked respectfully, noting with some minor annoyance the bemused look on Haldis’ face.
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 17
