If he had been emotionally detached from the situation, he would have concurred with Captain Middleton’s assessment. But he knew now that he could never be emotionally detached where Lu Bu was concerned.
“Miss Foulchen,” Middleton continued, “have Corporal Lu transferred to the cryo-tube immediately. If the transfusion for Technician Xu is impossible, or does not stabilize him properly, then you are to exchange Lu and Xu immediately. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Captain,” Heldryn replied, her expression and tone unreadable.
Captain Middleton looked through the surgical suite at the lone, occupied, cryo-tube and asked, “What is Doctor Middleton’s prognosis?”
Heldryn turned to face the tube and briefly chewed her lip, prompting Fei Long to turn toward the tube as well. He wondered what had happened to her; she had already been placed in the tube prior to his arrival.
“Doctor Middleton’s lungs were severely burned by poison winds,” she explained, “and she will require new hair, but these wounds can be treated later. I put her in the tube because I could not heal her quickly enough to save her life, and I thought—“
“You did the right thing,” Middleton interrupted. “Can you perform the…healing her lungs require in order to come off life support?”
Heldryn nodded confidently. “I must use hy-per-bar-ic chamber for two days, then give medicine in-jec-tions direct to her lungs,” she replied. “And she must wear breathing mask for some weeks but, if medicine works, she will walk after four or five days. I have reviewed the process already and am confident I can perform it.”
Captain Middleton looked around sickbay and said, “Good work, Miss Foulchen. You’ve managed this situation better than I could have hoped.”
“Captain,” she acknowledged with a deep, awkward, bow. Fei Long knew that it must be difficult for the woman—who had apparently been a land owner on Tracto prior to enlisting—to address a man as her superior. Tracto-an society placed clear divides between men and women and, in all cases but warfare, women were given total social primacy over men.
“I won’t take up any more of your time,” Captain Middleton said as he turned to leave sickbay. He stopped halfway to the door and added, “Work to stabilize these people the best you can. When that’s finished, and assuming there are no new emergencies, you’re ordered to report to your bunk for at least six hours of sleep. Notify me when you’ve closed out your current shift.”
“Of course, Captain,” she replied, and Captain Middleton left the room. Heldryn turned to Fei Long and said, “You are brave…and foolish. But I am also foolish,” she added with the barest hint of approval in her voice as she gestured to the bank of scanning equipment where the blood analyzers were located.
Fei Long gave Lu Bu’s hand one last squeeze before following the ship’s senior-most healer to the equipment. Thankfully for all involved, his blood type did match Technician Xu’s.
He did not want to even consider what he would have done if it had not.
Chapter XXXV: A Snail’s Pace
“It’s been three days since the battle concluded,” Middleton said after the last of his department heads had reported to the conference room. “Let’s start with Engineering,” he gestured to Chief Engineer Garibaldi, who was still standing since he had been the last officer to arrive. It was understandable, given the continued state of affairs throughout the ship.
“Right,” Garibaldi said as he wiped some grease from his hands onto his work suit, “well, the good news is we’ve removed the heat sink from the Corvette and, with a little luck, we should have it patched into place by this time tomorrow. After that it’s a matter of calibration, which could take hours, or days, depending on a whole bunch of things I doubt would interest any of you.”
The Chief’s attempt at witticism, while normally well-received, fell on a group of people who were every bit as exhausted and drained as he was. This was in no small part due to every single member of the ship, excluding the Captain, XO, and Tactical Officer, having been temporarily reassigned to his department and pulling double shifts.
“Beyond that, the jump drive looks no worse for wear,” the Chief continued, “so once we’ve got the heat sink installed we’ll be good to go. Of course, even with that one undersized sink we’ll only be able to make about fifteen percent our rated acceleration.”
When it was clear he had completed his report, Middleton nodded and gestured for his longtime friend to take a seat. “Medical,” he continued, turning to face Heldryn Foulchen, “what do you have to report?”
The former Tracto-an farmer stood stiffly and, judging from the black semicircles beneath her eyes, she may have been the least rested of the officers in attendance. “We lose three more crew to old burn wounds,” she reported matter-of-factly. “No new ca-su-al-ties since last meeting.”
Middleton nodded grimly, knowing that these latest deaths brought the total to one hundred thirty four during the battle with Rabuach’s people. “When will you work to revive Doctor Middleton?” he asked, knowing that a second doctor’s presence would save lives, even if Jo merely acted in a consulting fashion.
Heldryn nodded as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “The process begins now; she will be in hy-per-ba-ric chamber in ten hours and will awaken soon after.”
“Good,” Middleton gestured for her to be seated. “What of our morale problem?” he asked, turning to Sergeant Gnuko.
The Lancer Sergeant’s nose had been broken recently, and the external fixation device he had been fitted with made his voice sound hollow as he said, “I’m keeping Atticus’ people working in the bow and all the other Tracto-ans in the stern. But we’re running out of work to do on opposite ends of the ship,” he said grimly. “Sooner or later things are going to flare up again, and when they do we’re going to have bloodshed.”
Captain Middleton leaned forward and pressed his knuckles against the conference table’s top as he considered the matter. Apparently one of the Recon Team members, an older warrior named Kratos, had cold-cocked Atticus in sickbay. The particulars had been difficult to pin down, but in the ensuing hours several fights had broken out between the Tracto-ans which Atticus had hand-picked and those Tracto-ans he had not.
“Can I at least assume that the armory is locked down?” Middleton asked, venting a portion of his disappointment in his Lancer Sergeant’s failure to keep his people in line.
Sergeant Gnuko clenched his jaw and nodded sharply. “Everything with a trigger’s been inventoried and placed under lock, key, armed guard, and round-the-clock video surveillance set up by Mr. Fei,” he gestured to the young man seated to his left. “All power armor’s also been recalled; the only Tracto-ans with power-assist are the ones in heavy work suits out on the hull.”
“Good,” Captain Middleton grudged. The past few days had been stressful in the extreme, but it appeared that light was finally at the end of the tunnel. “I’ve been going over our flight plan with Mr. Strider,” he said, turning to the ship’s pirate-turned-Navigator, “and he has some thoughts.”
Mr. Strider stood and made his way to the conference room’s view screen. Once there he pulled up the image of the Pride’s current position, which was roughly half way across Sector 24.
“This be—erm, this is,” he corrected as he briefly met Captain Middleton’s disapproving gaze, “our current location, yeah? The only Core World within four jumps be…erm, is,” he corrected again, clearly fighting against his own heavily exaggerated accent and verbiage with each word he spoke, “Capital.”
Eyebrows popped up around the room, and Middleton knew that their attention had been piqued. “I’ll be a creeper’s knee,” Garibaldi said after a brief whistle. “Are you actually suggesting we go there?”
“I am,” Middleton said simply before gesturing to Mr. Strider to continue.
“Right,” the Navigator said as he brought up a new image of the Capital system, “the Pride be—“ he stopped mid-sentence, and Captain Middleton rolled his eye
s in annoyance as the other man shot him a concerned look.
“If it will speed the process,” Middleton said tightly, “then disregard my bridge orders about proper nomenclature—for this meeting only,” he added with a hard look.
Strider visibly relaxed as he exhaled. “Right, man,” he said, slipping back into his previous, at times incoherent, speech patterns, “well, it be like this: Capital ain’t all bad like y’all be thinkin’. Sure, there be rough patches here an’ there, and the occasional pikey-type keeps a brother on his toes—lest he wind up with debts not entirely earned, if you catch my meanin’,” he said with a knowing look as he laid a finger aside his nose.
Silence hung over the conference room for several seconds, but Mr. Strider seemed oblivious as he continued rambling on.
“The Pride be in need of major repair work, and for a shiny price there be any of a dozen outfits what might take a wounded bird like us under wing,” he explained, zooming in on the image of a space station in orbit of Capital Prime. “Of course, we be needin’ somethin’ worth tradin’. But assumin’ we’ve got coin to spend and can talk the talk, I know of a few types what might even help source some of those hard-to-find components we need to put our gal back in. Are we green?”
“No,” Heldryn said sourly, and a subdued round of snickers made its way through the assemblage.
“Right,” Strider said, apparently confused as he splayed his hands. “Capital be known to me; assumin’ things be much as they was last time I set eyes on the place, I can get us in touch with a brother what owes me a tat.”
“A what?” Middleton asked, barely able to make sense of the man’s fast-paced, piecemeal verbiage—which had apparently been drawn from at least a dozen fictional sources.
“A tat,” he repeated with a stupefied look. “Gods of the spaceways,” he grumbled, “ain’t none of you ever heard the expression ‘a tit for a tat’?”
“Ah,” Garibaldi said, as though that explained everything. Which, Middleton supposed, maybe it did.
“Anyway,” Strider rolled his eyes, “we be needin’ a fair bit of cheese if we be wantin’ a crack at the good stuff—”
“I’m sorry,” Gnuko interrupted, “but ‘cheese’?”
“Money,” Middleton cut in, grateful that Strider’s speaking part in the meeting had drawn to a close, “thank you, Mr. Strider.” Strider looked dejected as he made his way to the chair beside Middleton as the Pride’s commanding officer gestured to the screen. “We need currency, but for obvious reasons I don’t think it would be acceptable in any way, shape, or form for us to barter away MSP property during our stay at Capital.”
“Leaving us with…what?” Garibaldi asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Mr. Fei,” Middleton gestured for the young man to stand.
“Thank you, Captain,” Fei Long replied as he stood. The young man reached into his pocket and removed a tiny pin bearing the insignia of House Raubach, which he handed to Sergeant Gnuko before continuing, “This pin was found aboard the yacht which our Lancers commandeered from the Dämmerung during the boarding action.” The young man hesitated as the officers passed the pin around the table after each had taken a few moments to examine it. “That pin was crafted by one of the foremost jewelers in the Imperium of Man and, if my preliminary research is any indication, it is worth at least three suits of power armor in liquid currency.”
Eyebrows shot up all around the table, and Mr. Strider—who was holding the pin when Fei Long had revealed its value—briefly clutched the object in his hands before casting a sideways look at Captain Middleton and handing it to him with a reluctant, longing look in his eyes.
Once a pirate, always a pirate, Middleton thought to himself as he handed the pin to Lieutenant Sarkozi.
“Ok, so we can get the Lancers a few new suits of armor while we’ve already got a surplus of battle suits,” Garibaldi quipped. “What good does that do us?”
Middleton smirked as the pin finally made its way back to Fei Long, who reverently placed the object in his pocket. He cast a sharp look in Mr. Strider’s direction before saying, “The vessel is in the hangar bay and has been placed under round-the-clock guard; the total value of objects inside it is likely greater than the practical replacement value of the Pride of Prometheus.”
Captain Middleton gestured for Fei Long to be seated. “That’s right,” he said, “which means we’ve got all the money we’ll need, even if Mr. Strider’s contacts deem us worthy of a ‘friendly discount’.” He made eye contact with each of his officers in turn before continuing, “Capital is purported to be a rough place but, aside from Mr. Strider, no member of this crew can lay claim to having set foot there.”
“That’s because of the trade and travel embargoes the Sector Assembly levied against them nearly sixty years ago,” Lieutenant Sarkozi cut in, and for some reason Sergeant Gnuko looked uneasy for a moment before straightening in his chair. “As such, lawful travel to Capital is expressly forbidden by three fourths of the Core Worlds in the Spine.”
“I heard it was basically a pirate haven,” Garibaldi mused, clearly amused by the entire notion of the Pride seeking aid from pirates.
“The irony isn’t lost on me, Chief, I assure you,” Middleton said shortly. “But intel paints a little different picture than the one we’ve been treated to in the media. The planet has a population of just over a billion and is broken down into no fewer than two dozen autonomous states—a handful of which exist only in orbit—and each state has its own rules and regulations.”
“That sounds problematic,” Fei Long said as he stroked the miniature patch of facial hair he grew on his chin.
“It would be,” Middleton agreed, “which is why, for logistical reasons, we’re going to limit our interactions as much as possible. Shèhuì Héxié is one of the few Core Worlds which, somewhat surprisingly, did not join the embargo against Capital. So any away missions will be comprised primarily of your countrymen, Mr. Fei.”
“Of course, Captain,” the young man acknowledged, and Middleton suspected Fei Long had already arrived at that conclusion judging by his lack of surprise.
“Mr. Strider assures me that his credentials are still valid for travel to and from Capital,” Middleton said, “so a team will need to be put together with Mr. Fei acting as the ship’s representative.” Strider’s crestfallen expression made clear he had been of the belief that he would be conducting business on the Pride’s behalf, and Middleton grudgingly added, “Mr. Strider will serve in an advisory capacity to you, Mr. Fei, so I suggest you two sit down and get your stories straight.”
“Our stories, Captain?” Fei Long asked.
“I’ll make this as plain as I can,” Captain Middleton said as he leaned forward in his chair, “under no circumstances are you to reveal that you are crewmembers of an MSP vessel. The last thing we need is a target on our backs, is that clear?”
“Perfectly, Captain,” Fei Long replied with a knowing nod. “We shall construct a suitable cover story.”
“Good,” Middleton said before turning to the last bit of business. “What about the prisoners, Lieutenant Sarkozi?”
The XO shook her head in obvious frustration. “I can’t get them to say a thing, Captain. They’re all clamped up tighter than a virgin on—“
“Thank you, XO,” Middleton interrupted with a forced look of disapproval. He very much would have liked to let her finish the joke, but he wanted his ship out of the system as quickly as possible. “Have you been able to determine any of their ranks?”
Sarkozi cocked her head doubtfully. “I’m fairly certain one of them is a Lieutenant, and another a Chief Petty Officer, but beyond that I can’t tell with the other two dozen. They could be environmental workers or top-flight espionage agents as far as I can tell, but they’re convinced we won’t do anything to jeopardize their safety so they’ve been smugly confident in their decision not to cooperate.”
Middleton considered bringing up the topic of chemical interroga
tion, but that was likely a subject better left to a smaller gathering of officers if it became necessary to discuss.
“Are there any questions?” he asked. When no one replied, he nodded and stood from his chair, “Dismissed.”
Captain Middleton sat bolt upright and struck his head on the hyperbaric chamber as he did so. His hand went to his scalp unconsciously as he looked around to ensure nothing was amiss. Aside from one of the nurses giving him a briefly concerned look, everything was precisely as it had been prior to his falling asleep inside sickbay.
He had not intended to fall asleep, but as is so often the case his body had not asked his permission to deal with the past several days’ worth of exhaustion with a perfectly reasonable nap interval. A brief look at the chronometer put said interval at nearly two hours, which was far more than he had initially suspected.
He looked inside the hyperbaric chamber and felt his heart skip a beat at seeing Jo’s eyes were already open. Not only were they open, but she was looking directly at him.
It was one of the instances in his life when Tim Middleton was unable to think of something to say, so instead of flailing about with words he sat back down and maintained eye contact with his ex-wife.
“Is everything all right, Capt—“ began the same nurse who had seen him awaken roughly before her eyes drifted to Jo and she cut off mid-sentence. “Miss Foulchen,” the nurse said, her query to the ship’s commanding officer seemingly forgotten, “Doctor Middleton is awake.”
Sickbay began bustling with activity as a trio of personnel surrounded the hyperbaric chamber, and Middleton took several steps back without breaking eye contact with his ex-wife. He honestly did not know what had compelled him to come down to sickbay between shifts, but he did know that whatever it was, it needed to be addressed.
He saw a tear roll down her cheek and, much to his own surprise, he found his own eyes had begun to mist. He set his jaw as hard as he could, trying to keep from causing a scene during Jo’s delicate recovery process, but he failed to control the rising tide of emotion he felt when he looked at her.
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