Against The Middle

by Caleb Wachter

  He straightened in his chair and looked around the bridge at the Third Shift personnel—all save Toto and Hephaestion, who were the only members of First Shift to have remained at their posts for this crucial mission. He saw fear in their faces, which he expected, but he saw what he had dearly hoped to see: determination. Every member of his crew knew the odds, and he had given them each every opportunity to get off the ship but they had remained aboard. In that moment, he truly understood what Jo had meant when she said he owed it to these people to lead them since they had already chosen the path he led them down.

  “This command has been the proudest time in my life,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion but he fought through it the best he could, “and I will gladly call each of you brother, or sister, for the rest of my days. Let’s show these people the beating heart of the Spine!”

  A cheer rose up on the bridge which was a mixture of growls, hoots, whistles and other rambunctious displays of emotion.

  He checked the clock and decided to do the honors of the final countdown, “Point transfer in ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…transfer!”

  The cheers subsided and disappeared entirely before he reached five seconds remaining, and when the Pride of Prometheus point transferred into The Bulwark he came face to face with the assembled forces of House Raubach.

  Chapter XV: Preamble

  “The heat sinks have dissipated seventy percent of their stored heat,” Fei Long said just after the Pride of Prometheus point transferred into the system. Even he had been surprised that they had managed to avoid detection by the local warships, which had been reinforced with multiple sensor buoys, but they had managed to find a small lake of methane several hundred meters across and they had perched the Mode on a shelf of rock only eight feet beneath the surface of the sub-zero liquid.

  After submersion, the heat sinks had opened their vents, which he had correctly—and thankfully—predicted would withstand direct contact with the methane during the heat transfer.

  Knowing it was time for him to implant his second Yin and Yang fragment, Fei Long opened his knapsack and withdrew the data slate containing the program he had ensured Captain Middleton he could write prior to this engagement.

  He knew now that he had needed Lu Bu’s stern rebuke to break through the haze which had unexpectedly settled over him while aboard the Lost Ark, and it was only after she had done so that he had managed to see clearly enough to assemble the code fragments.

  He rubbed the back of his neck gingerly, knowing full well that he had made a terrible mistake by not asking for the Doctor’s assessment of the strange condition prior to disembarking the Pride of Prometheus. But he had managed to complete his duties thus far, and with the discovery that his moral compass—otherwise known as a kill pill—was no longer with him, he had resolved not to infect the lives of those board the Pride of Prometheus with what he would inevitably become without the assistance of that previously ever-present companion.

  In many ways, the kill pill had been the metaphorical angel sitting on his shoulder. Prior to the angel, there had been only the devil, and he knew that as with all things a balance was needed. Without the presence of a counteracting force like the kill pill, he was doomed to return to his previous ways.

  He knew that those ways were nowhere near as destructive as those of their current adversaries, the Raubach forces at work in the Spineward Sectors, but he had tasted a life of harmony. For over a year, he had been truly happy aboard the Pride of Prometheus, and his mind was made up that he would never allow himself to fall back into the practices and behaviors of his past.

  “We should take off,” Strider said tightly, breaking Fei Long from his introspective reverie as the Pride of Prometheus moved to skirt the edge of the star system. The Raubach forces, predictably, dispatched a squadron of Corvettes to deal with the aged cruiser.

  “No,” Lu Bu said sharply, “we wait for battle, then sneak to edge of system and move on to next system. That is plan,” she said with a measure of finality that Fei Long greatly admired.

  Fei Long saw his panel light up and he said, “I am detecting a live connection between the Pride and the enemy Flagship, the Vae Victus.”

  Without waiting for her command to do so, he put the split-screen display of the two commanders on the largest, central screen of the cockpit. Captain Middleton looked as usual: his uniform was properly pressed, his hair was cut in a short, flat-top style, and his expression was an unreadable mask of stone.

  But Commodore Raubach’s intensity was unlike anything Fei Long had encountered, and as the other man spoke he was filled with a sense of foreboding which he had not expected.

  “Lieutenant Commander Middleton,” Commodore James Raubach III greeted with a polite nod, “I am glad we finally have the opportunity to meet, even in this limited fashion. I had hoped to conduct this conversation in person,” he said with a politician’s precision in his tone of false disappointment, while his eyes flared with perfectly-controlled emotion, “but we may yet find time for that in the coming days.”

  “Commodore Raubach,” Middleton replied, conveying all the respect to which the other man’s rank entitled him, “you’re a hard man to track down.”

  “That’s it?” the Commodore riposted with an arched eyebrow. “After mucking around these Sectors for the better part of a year, stumbling from one portion of my operation to another, that is the best you could come up with for an opening salvo? I am thoroughly disappointed,” he said coolly with a piteous shake of his head, “frankly, I expected more of my son’s murderer.” He sighed with overt disappointment, “How typical of the universe to fail to deliver on what was supposed to be a worthy diversion—an appetizer, if you will, before the meal proper.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Middleton said, keeping his voice steady. He knew that the longer he went back and forth with this man, the more ground he would lose in the verbal sparring. Commodore Raubach had been a Flag Officer with the Rim Fleet for three decades, and his involvement with that force had gone back since before the signing of the Union Treaty between the Confederation of the Spineward Sectors, and the Imperium of Man from which House Raubach hailed. “But, as an officer in the MSP, it’s my obligation to offer you the chance to surrender before carrying out my duty and defending the people of the Spineward Sectors from your commission of further atrocities against them.”

  “Cheeky, aren’t you?” Raubach quipped dryly. “I can see why you got my son’s back up,” he said with the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, “but you would have found me to be less…volatile than my would-be successor was.”

  Middleton drew himself up in his chair and held the other man’s gaze as he said, “Commodore James Raubach III, the MSP has found evidence connecting you and your organization with the production, and willful deployment, of banned bioweapons, as well as the coordinated piracy of twenty six confirmed warships throughout Sectors 23 & 24. As a duly-appointed officer of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, I am here to accept your surrender and see you transferred to local authority for investigation of, and prosecution for, these crimes.”

  “I take it back,” Raubach said wearily, “you did rehearse something…pity it was such dreck, though. I fear I must disappoint you, young man, by rejecting your most gracious offer.” The Commodore gestured off-screen, causing Hephaestion to spring into action at his station. A moment later, the icons of an additional four warships began to move toward the Pride of Prometheus, bringing the total to eight warships now moving toward Middleton’s battered cruiser—including a pair of Destroyers.

  “For the record, Commodore,” Middleton said after silently acknowledging Hephaestion’s written report regarding the four warships, “you are refusing to surrender yourself to a duly-appointed officer of the peace?”

  “I am refusing to recognize your badge as worthy of anything more than marring what would otherwise be a perfectly acceptable provincial u
niform,” Raubach said easily. “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is just one of many illegal pirate organizations which the Rim Fleet will bring to heel in the coming months, Lieutenant Commander,” the other man said, and Middleton had to grudgingly admit that this man was, indeed, far more capable than his son could have ever been. “The Spineward Sectors will soon know the rule of law once again, and House Raubach will be, as it has ever been, happy to share in the burden of rebuilding these tragically mis-administrated worlds as quickly, and properly, as can be done.”

  “There are no cameras here, Commodore,” Middleton said pointedly, “you can save your lies and speeches for the bright lights.”

  “Son,” the Commodore tisked as he leaned forward in his chair, “there are always cameras—especially when you think there are none.” He then leaned back in his chair and shook his head, “No, Lieutenant Commander Middleton, the Rim Fleet is the only duly-appointed peacekeeping force in the Spineward Sectors. As such, and in a gesture of goodwill, it is I who will offer you the chance to surrender for the crimes of destroying a surrendered warship in the Pegasus system, as well as the coldblooded murder of Rim Fleet Captain James Raubach IV. Given the unusual circumstances—chief among them my relationship to both commanders in question—I will publicly assure you a fair trial once you are returned to an Imperial court.” The Commodore gestured to the Pride’s bridge crew, “Your people will be left unmolested, and your ship allowed to go free if you are but handed over to me before my warships reach firing range.”

  Middleton chuckled, forcibly relaxing his grip on the arms of his chair as he shook his head. “Not everyone can be bought, Commodore,” he said reproachfully, looking around at each of his bridge crew in turn and seeing fierce determination on each of their faces. “It speaks volumes about your character that your agents, acting on your orders, constantly assume we’ll dance to your tune once it—and an agreeable price—has been struck.”

  Commodore Raubach’s eyes flicked off-screen for a moment, “No, Lieutenant Commander Middleton, my guns are the only spokesmen my character will ever need—and you’ll be having a heated debate with them in one hour and twelve minutes if your people don’t hand you over.”

  The communication severed, and Middleton felt his people release a collective breath after the Commodore’s image disappeared and was replaced by the tactical overlay of the system.

  Straightening his uniform, Middleton said, “This is what we came for, people. Execute tactical sequence, ‘Pride before the Fall’.”

  “Aye, sir,” Hephaestion acknowledged, accompanied soon by Toto and the rest of the bridge officers.

  Fei Long watched as the Pride of Prometheus made a maximum power engine burn along the outer edge of the system. The system had nine planets—three rocky worlds, four gas giants, and one ice dwarf just large enough to be classified as a proper planet—and a pair of asteroid belts which were denser than usual.

  The first step of the plan called for the aged warship to execute a maximum burn at the system’s edge, so that it would have forward momentum sufficient to keep the approaching enemy squadron of vessels from surrounding it. It looked to his eye as though Captain Middleton had correctly anticipated the maneuvering capabilities of the enemy warships as they smoothly adjusted their formation so as to remain in pursuit and work to cut off the Pride before it could circumnavigate the system’s periphery.

  “Jump cycle will take another two hours, mom,” Strider declared, his words followed by a chronometer appearing on the display above him.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” Funar said from the rear of the cockpit. “Us leaving our ship behind when the fighting just gets started…it doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Captain Middleton has plan, Private Funar,” Lu Bu said with less rebuke in her voice than Fei Long had expected to hear. “We must trust his leadership.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Funar acknowledged, but it was clear to Fei Long that he was far from convinced.

  Fei Long decided to interject himself, knowing that a properly timed word could turn a man’s heart from defeated to hopeful. He only hoped he could approximate some small part of that effect. “If we manage to slip past their defenses, Private Funar, we may deliver a blow to our enemies with far greater impact than even a Liberator torpedo could deliver. We will certainly contribute more to the mission there than we could ever do aboard the Pride of Prometheus.”

  Funar gave him a short, but pointed look which told Fei Long he had not entirely succeeded in his attempt, and he could not help but think that he was not the same man he had been just a few weeks earlier.

  “Maintain comm. silence,” Lu Bu instructed, and Fei Long nodded, proud at his girl’s ability to read the situation as clearly as he had done. Private Funar was a recent addition to the Recon Team, but he and Traian’s experience behind enemy lines—specifically on Capria during Lady Akantha’s assault on the Royal Palace—had made them invaluable to this particular operation.

  There were major differences between this operation and that one, but the depth chart on the Pride of Prometheus was extremely thin when it came to covert operations, which was why Hutch had been assigned to the mission even though he had only been aboard for a few weeks. He and Lu Bu had developed an immediate—and mildly concerning, at least to Fei Long personally—rapport which likely stemmed from their mutual backgrounds as professional smashball players.

  “When do you want I should lift off, ma’am?” Strider asked, his chosen honorific sounding remarkably like the word ‘mom’ to Fei Long’s ear. He had taken some slivers of pleasure at seeing his girl’s irritation directed at someone other than himself, so he had not informed her that the man’s strange accent was responsible for her misunderstanding him as calling her ‘mom.’

  “We are on far side of system,” she said, and Fei Long noted a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she spoke, “calculate time for intercept from nearest forces and lift off not before then.”

  “Calculating,” Fei Long acknowledged before Strider could ask for a confirmation. Lu Bu’s Standard became significantly worse when she was stressed, and making ship-wide decisions was clearly not in her present comfort zone. A moment later he turned and said, “Nearest intercept by Rim Fleet forces is thirty six minutes, Corporal.”

  She bestowed a short nod in his direction, allowing her eyes to lock with his for an extra moment in silent gratitude.

  “This is all so exciting,” Trixie said into the mounting tension. “I mean, obviously the fighting is bad, bad stuff,” she amended quickly, “being a pacifist myself, I’ve never really understood all the need for the chest-thumping, loud noises, and breaking things. But we’re just one jump away from a secret military base built on top of a world with working technology left over from the Ancients. This is just too cool!”

  A few days earlier, Fei Long would have shared her enthusiasm—in truth, he had shared it then. The thought of coming in direct contact with more than just trace evidence of the Ancients—like the sample which had apparently caused the infection on the back of his neck—was more than even his vivid imagination had seriously considered to be a possibility during his lifetime.

  But today, he was only glad that he had not failed his shipmates. He was having great difficulty sleeping, or finding any measure of respite since facing the truth about his now-defunct kill pill. The only things which had helped calm his increasingly frayed nerves had been the successful completion of his Yin & Yang program, and putting the finishing touches on Hansheng’s—the name he had bestowed upon Ed, the assault droid—new suite of programs.

  In a way he almost welcomed the distance which Lu Bu had put between them during the mission—barring the delightfully unexpected encounter shortly after they had boarded the Lost Ark. He did not think he could look her in the eye in a private moment and not break down entirely.

  As he watched the ships move into position, like positioning pieces on a chessboard before any actual exchanges began, Fei Long felt sick t
o his stomach. He could not tell why he felt that way, but his neck was becoming more and more irritated and it was all he could do to keep from scratching it where Lu Bu could see him do so.

  The Pride of Prometheus barreled around the edge of the star system which Middleton had nicknamed The Bulwark, and as he performed some simple math the ship’s Captain concluded without a shadow of a doubt whatsoever that his ship was presently moving faster than it had at any other point in its lengthy history—excluding FTL transit, of course, which was less about moving the ship and more about warping the space around it.

  With the engines redlined for just over an hour, the Pride had continued to gain momentum to the point that her main engines were required to keep the vessel on the parabola of the system’s outer boundary. The maneuver itself was nothing special, or overly difficult to execute, which was why Middleton had relinquished Ms. Marcos to Lieutenant Sarkozy’s—make that, McKnight’s—command. The real danger at these velocities was more that they might run into a stray chunk of rock or ice, and if it was larger than a smashball it could very well cause them all a very, very bad day.

  Commodore Raubach’s forces had behaved predictably, as well they should have done considering their overwhelming firepower superiority. Middleton still had approximately three minutes before the first of the approaching squadron, which had matched the inverse angle of the Pride’s run beautifully while maintaining an optimal intercept trajectory, was within the newfound range the alien tech provided Commodore Raubach’s retrofitted ships.

  It was an impressive display of coordination, discipline, and formation flying given the unusual nature of Middleton’s deceptively circumspect-looking attack run. For all of the Commodore’s flaws when it came to observance of law—or even something more basic, like the sanctity of human life—he was clearly a top-notch military commander.