Against The Middle

by Caleb Wachter

  Lu Bu gave her a wary look when the woman unexpectedly stopped speaking, as a sane person would do, and nodded slowly. “We look,” she gestured toward the cargo hold, and the two women moved past what passed for a sickbay on the Lost Ark before arriving in the cargo hold.

  Private Funar was checking the gunship, along with Yide, and the two looked up when Lu Bu entered the hold. “Gunship checks out five by five, Corporal,” Funar said, wiping some sort of greasy substance from his hands onto a nearby rag. “The only thing preventing us from a thirty second launch is Ed,” he gestured to the assault droid, who had taken up what looked like a defensive posture near the large pressure doors at the very stern of the craft. They had entered the Lost Ark’s hold via those doors, which were just large enough to fit the Sundered gunship as Yide had carefully maneuvered it into the hold.

  “Good work,” Lu Bu said as she descended the port gangway to her right. When she reached the bottom she looked at the nearby bulkhead and, after a few minutes, thought she had found what she was looking for. There was a small pressure plate, cleverly-concealed behind an overlapping section of duralloy plating, and when she pressed it a nearby section of plating swung open with a click.

  “Nice going,” Funar said warily, approaching with a blaster pistol drawn as he checked the interior of the compartment before Lu Bu could do likewise. “It’s a smuggler’s hold,” he concluded, waving the barrel of his pistol invitingly, and Lu Bu stuck her head inside the compartment. “Looks like it’s pressure-sealed, too, so even if the main hold vents its gases this thing wouldn’t get vacuumed in the process. Who knows how long it’s been since it’s been given a proper going over, though…” he said, pointing to a nearby patch of corrosion on the iron struts running through the compartment.

  Lu Bu nodded, concluding that she could fit, at most, three of her team members within, and she suspected that only two Storm Drake-armored Lancers would be able to squeeze into the space.

  “Thank you, Trixie,” Lu Bu said with a courteous nod. “This may help.” She sincerely doubted they would find a use for the compartment, but it was better to have too much knowledge of one’s surroundings than not enough.

  Trixie beamed, her pigtails bouncing side to side as she turned and pointed to the blast doors, “The captain also said that if we were ever boarded, there are four hidden emergency purge switches. The first was…here,” she declared, moving to the port gangway and feeling around behind the third step before finding what she was looking for and motioning Lu Bu over. She complied, and when she knelt down she saw that the archeologist’s hand was hovering over a small, transparent piece of housing which protected a button from being accidentally pushed.

  She briefly shuddered at the thought of a thin piece of polymer being all that stood between an errant boot, or groping hand, and the cold void of space. “Where are others?”

  “One was in the cockpit…” Trixie mused, tapping her chin in what seemed to be a cartoonish display of contemplation, “another was in the engine room. And the fourth…” she trailed off into silence for several seconds before throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t remember; I was too busy checking Ed’s power couplings since he had been reporting a seven percent chance of operation beyond one hour due to a short somewhere in his motivation systems.”

  Three out of four was a good start as far as Lu Bu was concerned, and she nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Trixie. We find fourth later.”

  “Sure thing!” Trixie replied energetically before turning and veritably bouncing her way back to the companionway where Lu Bu had run into her. She bumped into Hutch as she did so and nearly fell over backward as she backpedaled away, visibly flushing in embarrassment—or possibly in excitement—at having bumped up against the physically imposing Steve Inson. “Pardon me,” she nearly giggled before skipping off past him.

  Shaking her head at the other woman’s seemingly indomitable spirit, and knowing there was a valuable lesson to be learned from the other woman but being unable to consider the matter at present, Lu Bu turned to Hutch and asked, “Have you finished unloading gunship?”

  Hutch nodded, “All of the gear you requested to be transferred has been.” He pointed to a neat stack of crates and duffels beneath the starboard gangway which led up to the parts of the ship from which she had just come, and she nodded in approval at seeing the appropriate number of containers.

  “Go to galley and help Traian with meal,” Lu Bu ordered, and after he had done so she made her way to one of the passenger’s berths adjoining the cargo hold.

  The chamber was small, with a trio of bunks set against the bulkhead and a lone workspace built into the opposite wall. Sitting at that workspace was the second specialist assigned to her team, and Lu Bu felt a moment of trepidation as she knew she would need to deal with this particular member of the team differently than she had done in the past.

  “How is your progress?” she asked finally in the tongue of her home world, pressing forward into the small berth with renewed resolve to behave as a professional.

  Turning from his portable workstation, Fei Long gave her a blank, weary look for a moment before shaking himself and standing to stretch. When he had finished he yawned, “This project is…difficult to predict, Fengxian. There are many components which must be aligned perfectly, and I find that I am having difficulty focusing at the moment.”

  “That does not sound like you, Kong—Mr. Fei,” she corrected herself before finishing the style name of her boyfriend, instead opting for the same wording as her commanders used.

  Fei Long nodded and sighed. “That is part of what weighs on my mind, Fengxian,” he said in their native tongue, pointedly using her style name rather than a more professional form of address, like ‘Corporal’ or ‘Miss Lu’. “But I should not lay my burdens at your feet; yours are plentiful enough,” he said, shaking his head.

  The two stood in awkward silence for several moments before Lu Bu gestured toward the bow of the ship, “Traian is inventorying food in the galley. He will be finished within the hour, after which time we should take our second meal.”

  “Of course, Corporal,” Fei Long said, sounding genuinely strained at having to refer to her by her rank rather than a more familiar term. “I will attempt to divine a timetable for this,” he waved his hand at the contents arrayed on the work area—contents which included a pair of droid cores like the one Lu Bu had torn from the chassis of a droid warrior during their defense of the hyper dish junction so many months earlier. “But I must insist on serenity while aboard this ship,” he added with an edge to his voice that she had not heard before, “it is the only way I can clear my mind of the distractions which would prevent me from succeeding.”

  Lu Bu nodded, knowing that it was likely best if she did as he suggested. She turned to the door, ready to leave, but hesitated just before reaching the threshold. Acting less on thought and more on instinct, she decided that Fei Long’s ‘serenity’ and peace of mind were of paramount importance to the mission’s success…and, as mission commander, it was her job to ensure that her people operated at their maximum ability.

  She closed the door softly before locking it from the inside, turning out the lights with the flip of a switch, and saying, “Let me help clear your mind.”

  Chapter XI: Patience is the Plan

  “That’s how I see it, Captain,” Lieutenant McKnight agreed after nearly two hours of back-and-forth between the Pride’s Captain and XO. “If this really is where the Raubach base is located,” she pointed to the highlighted system on the display situated between them before sliding her finger to the nearest star system between it and known space, “then this system is the bottleneck. The bulk of Commodore Raubach’s defensive elements will be located there, with only a reserve force—likely including his Flagship,” she said heavily, “located at the base itself.”

  Middleton nodded, “With access to the ComStat network there’s no chance he would show his entire hand at either location. We have to a
ssume he also has elements here and here,” he pointed to a pair of star systems on the opposite side of where they suspected the Raubachs’ base to be located, “but they would be relatively minor. Three ships in each system, at most, covering these rear approaches,” he indicated a possible, although highly treacherous, path composed of an additional twenty point transfers compared to the route the Pride was currently taking.

  “Recent estimates have his fleet strength between fifty and sixty five warships,” McKnight said, calling up their best projections of what the current Rim Fleet under Commodore Raubach consisted of. “Seventy to eighty percent of these will be Corvettes, but we can be fairly certain that he has at least eight Destroyers, four Cruisers, and one Defiance-class Battleship under his command as well.”

  “And, given his access to the ComStat network,” Middleton grudged, “there would be little reason for him to deploy even half of his forces throughout the Sector. That means we’re looking at a genuine fleet of at least thirty warships ready to defend his base of operations.”

  “How many of those ships do you think will be armed with the upgraded turbo-lasers?” McKnight asked into the suddenly ominous silence.

  “We can only assume that he hasn’t completed those retrofits, XO,” Middleton said, leaning back in his chair and considering the question with what he hoped was a fresh perspective. “Otherwise he would have likely made his move, at least in these Core Systems,” he said, indicating the nearest trio of Core Worlds. “With control over those worlds he would have a real foothold into the Spineward Sectors, and with fifty warships under his command there isn’t an active force in the Spine that could stand against him. That means a coalition would have to be formed,” Middleton said, feeling a sudden pang of shame at having left the Little Admiral and the rest of the MSP to deal with the main Droid threat, “and I suspect that the majority of the mobile assets in Sectors 23 & 24 are going to be, at best, banged up for a few months following the battle at Elysium.” He shook his head with renewed confidence, “No, if he was in position to make his move, he would have done so by now. So all we really know is that he hasn’t outfitted enough of his fleet…say, a minimum of thirty ships,” he mused, doing the quick calculations on throw weight the alien tech-powered turbo-lasers would amount to when installed on the Corvettes under Commodore Raubach’s command, “so most of his ships will not be outfitted with the improved weapons.”

  “If just a dozen of his ships are already outfitted with them, though,” McKnight said doubtfully, “even our Tracto 2.0 plan won’t take them down. With no tactical points to defend, superior maneuverability, and a dozen Corvettes outfitted with these upgraded turbo-lasers—to say nothing of a Defiance-class Battleship like the Commodore’s Flagship—I doubt there’s a mobile force in the entire Spine that could even make a decent fight of it.”

  “We’re going to have to catch a break or two,” Middleton allowed, “but it’s the only plan we’ve got that gives us anything resembling a fighting chance, XO.”

  Looking surprised and a little offended, McKnight stiffened, “If we’re going down, we’re going down swinging, Captain. You will be abandoning this fight before I do,” she said, a steely glint in her eye that Middleton had never quite seen in the young woman before, and he nodded approvingly.

  “No need to get defensive,” Middleton said with a half grin.

  Her expression softened somewhat and she nodded, “My apologies, Captain. That was out of line.”

  “In any case,” he said, turning back to the display, “we’re in agreement how to proceed, yes?”

  “100%, Captain,” McKnight said with a nod.

  “Good,” he said, glad to have the meeting concluded.

  His XO wore a look of concern which she quickly masked, but Middleton wanted to clear the air while they had the time.

  “Something else, Lieutenant?” he queried.

  McKnight bit her lip for a few seconds before saying, “It’s about War Leader Atticus, sir.”

  Middleton thought back to watching the War Leader’s last moments via the concealed camera he’d had installed in the shuttle hangar, and for a moment he was unable to remove the image of Kratos, bloodied and bruised, crushing the nearly-as-massive Tracto-an’s head with his bare hands. “What about him, XO?” Middleton asked, trying to shake the image from his mind’s eye.

  McKnight looked hesitant, and was clearly torn as to how to proceed—or, perhaps, whether she even should proceed.

  “It’s ok, Lieutenant,” Middleton said, believing he understood the nature of her dilemma, “I installed you as my XO, but once I did so your job became to challenge me as much as to support me. You can speak frankly in here, Lieutenant.”

  She seemed to take some solace in that, and eventually said, “I can’t condone the series of events which culminated in his death, sir.”

  Middleton nodded, having correctly surmised the nature of her quandary. “Then as a fellow officer—and your direct superior—it is my advice that you file a report outlining your objections. Spare no details, Lieutenant McKnight,” he said, fixing her with a piercing look, “because I am mortally certain that you’re not the only member of this crew who objects to the War Leader’s death.”

  “I’m not a rat, sir,” she said, shaking her head sharply. “What happened ended up for the best, even I can see that. But the process that led up to it—“

  “You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Lieutenant,” Middleton interrupted firmly, working to avoid coming across as irritated. He was actually grateful she had brought the subject up with him, since he had been debating how to broach the topic with her for several days. “In fact, you’d be remiss in your duties if you included me—who you likely suspect of wrongdoing—as an advisor in your decision-making process during the lodging of your complaint.”

  “Captain Middleton,” she said tightly, “I believe in what we’re doing out here—“

  “Then file the report, Lieutenant!” he cut in sharply. He felt his nostrils flare and he fought to rein his emotions in after the unexpected surge of anger he felt. Drawing several deep breaths, he closed his eyes and considered how he could explain his opinion on the matter without manipulating her in any way. “If you genuinely believe in what we’re doing out here,” he said more measuredly, “then you will file the report, and you will encourage as many of your crewmates as possible to line up with you on the matter.”

  “Sir?” she said in a hollow voice, her eyes going wide momentarily.

  “Look around you, McKnight,” he said, gesturing to the aged warship. “What do you see?”

  She gave a cursory glance to the ready room’s interior before answering, smartly, “The best ship in the MSP, sir.”

  “Wrong,” he said with gentle, yet firm resolve. “The Pride of Prometheus is a broken-down rust bucket, built on the cheap before our grandparents were of voting age, and she’s on her last legs—we both know that’s putting it mildly. She’s been ridden into battle so many times that even a full replacement of her forward power grid barely kept pace with the degradation of the dependent systems—systems which Chief Garibaldi now informs me are on the verge of collapse. Her superstructure is literally crumbling as we speak; her thermal dissipation systems are woefully inadequate—and patched together from a dozen different sources, at that; her broadsides are still pitifully underpowered for a ship of her size; and she’s got upwards of a fifty warship fleet gunning for her.” He shook his head calmly, “This ship is a lost cause, Lieutenant, but she’s got one last ride in her and I aim to give her a sendoff befitting a lady of her standing and character.”

  Lieutenant McKnight leaned back in her chair, clearly at a loss how to reply, and Middleton allowed the silence to linger for over a minute before he leaned forward, laced his fingers together, and pointed at her.

  “The only thing this ship has going for it, at this point, is her crew,” Middleton explained, holding her gaze for several seconds with a piercing stare. “That crew
has proven capable of doing great things—things the rest of the Fleet could only dream about,” he said, meaning every word. “When all of this is over, do you want to see them dismissed from service? Do you want to see them relegated to some backwater facility like Easy Haven?” he demanded, feeling his choler rise at the thought of his brave crew being forced to play out the string as reservists when they had already proven to be as capable as any regulars he had served with. “Is that what you want?!”

  “No, sir,” she replied, jutting her chin out defiantly.

  “Then file that report, Lieutenant, and do so as quickly as possible!” he flared. “Because when this mission is over—assuming any of us survive—the Admiral is going to be looking to make examples of anyone who didn’t protest, officially and loudly, this ship’s current commanding officer’s decisions after leaving Gambit Station. Anyone who doesn’t toe his line is going to get canned, or worse, transferred to the ass end of space until their resolve breaks and they opt for retirement rather than decades of futility scraping green creepers from passing garbage scows’ bilges.” He shook his head adamantly, “I won’t condemn these brave men and women to that fate, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid the matter is no longer in my hands. I’ve made my plays, and now it’s someone else’s turn to carry the ball.”

  Lieutenant McKnight nodded slowly. “In that case…” she said, producing a data slate, “all I need is your signature, sir.”

  Middleton accepted the report and, after a quick perusal of its contents, relaxed after finding that she had already determined much of what he had just told her. Her language was severe, her protests pointed, and she had already secured the signatures of thirty two crewmembers for the formal complaint.

  “Good work, Lieutenant,” Middleton said, affixing his signature to the document and handing it back to her. “Make sure that gets filed in triplicate, and keep a copy on your person at all times. It may be the key to securing this crew’s future, understood?”