No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (17 page)

Middleton nodded, returning the other man’s salute. “Permission granted, Sergeant.”

Joneson turned and made to leave the room before stopping and, without making eye contact, saying, “If my read on her is good, you’re probably going to hear about one more visit to sickbay for Recruit Lu before the week is out. One way or the other, that’ll be the end of it, Captain.”

“I’ll be expecting your report, along with the doctor’s,” Middleton said pointedly.

Joneson nodded. “Of course, sir,” he said as he turned to leave the ready room.

“Oh, and Sergeant,” Middleton called just before Joneson had made the door, “that security breach regarding our prisoner in the brig?”

Joneson stopped in his tracks and nodded, reaching his hand into his pocket as he made his way to the captain’s desk. He withdrew a tiny, round object smaller than most old-style coins Middleton had seen in antique collections. “This was the source of it, Captain,” the large man said, handing the object over.

Middleton turned it over in his fingers and recognized it as a low-profile security camera from the ship’s armory locker. “A button cam?” he asked with a quizzically raised eyebrow.

Joneson snorted before his features gradually morphed into something between a smirk and a lopsided grin. “We found it strategically located in the…women’s showers, sir,” the Sergeant said with a knowing look. “I’ve had the entire ship swept for more of them but seeing as this is the only missing unit from our supply, and our physical inspections came up blank, I believe the threat has been neutralized.”

At first, Middleton was genuinely surprised and concerned that Fei Long had managed to break into the ship’s armory undetected. Then he shook his head at the audacity of the young man’s violation of his crew’s privacy. Although, if he was being honest with himself, he could remember doing worse when he was Fei Long’s age…but at least his offenses hadn’t been committed on an actively deployed warship.

“It looks like our prisoner is just full of surprises,” Middleton mused dryly.

“Surprises, sir?” Joneson asked with a cocked eyebrow of his own. “He needs to be punished for violating his crewmates’ trust but I can’t say it’s all that ‘surprising,’ given his age and obvious technical abilities.”

“True enough,” Middleton allowed. “Thank you, Sergeant; that will be all.”

“Captain,” Joneson acknowledged before turning and exiting the room.

Middleton looked down at the button cam and allowed the grin he had been holding back to spread across his lips. “Some things never change,” he chuckled before placing the button cam on the desk and sitting back down in his chair.

Having survived their latest crisis, Captain Middleton decided it was time to take a closer look at this ‘Fei Long’ character. Possessing limited information to peruse, he pulled up the young man’s medical records along with everything else which had been compiled on him, and began to read.

Chapter XIV: Bread Crumbs

“Comm., have you received a response from the colony?” Middleton asked as they neared high orbit over the lone habitable world in the system. The enemy vessel that had overwhelmed the
Pride
’s shields with just two volleys had not returned, and since it had been well over a day since their initial engagement, Middleton had decided it was time to investigate the system.

“No response yet, Captain,” Jardine replied, having resumed his first shift post after securing the strange particle imaging device after downloading the image into a detached, high-security workstation. “I’m reading the standard handshake protocols from the main comm. relays, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone on the other end of the line.”

“Either that, or they’re avoiding contact with us,” Sarkozi offered as she populated a corner of the main viewer with a series of rotating images – most of which showed smoldering craters where buildings should have been. “The damage appears to be consistent with a highly-targeted orbital bombardment, Captain,” she continued, “if there are survivors, they might be deliberately avoiding contact.”

“Give me a breakdown of those strike points, Ensign,” Middleton ordered as he leaned back in his chair and considered the options.

“Twelve structures appear to have been destroyed in total, Captain,” Sarkozi reported promptly. “The main research facility looks to have taken the worst of it with repeated impacts,” she continued as a particularly large crater’s image expanded on the screen, “while the six adjoining structures of the campus were also leveled, but with what look to be individual strikes. After that, it seems that three supply depots were also leveled…in addition to the primary residence structure of the colony.”

Clearly needing no prompting to do so Ensign Sarkozi expanded the view of the last detailed target, showing the rubble of what the official records said had been a twelve story housing complex. The records indicated that over two thousand people had recently resided there.

“What about radiation?” Middleton asked, turning to the Sensors operator.

The woman shook her head. “Nothing above tolerances detected, Captain. There’s a slight increase at each impact point, but nothing dangerous for short-term exposures.”

“Still no response to our hails?” Middleton asked again.

“Nothing, Captain,” replied Jardine. “The orbital relays all appear to be functioning, but I can’t tell if the ground-based transmitters are functional from here. A physical inspection of the comm. station would be required for that, sir.”

“Strange they didn’t send any distress signal,” Helmsman Jersey observed dryly. “Either they were attacked too fast to hit the panic button or they didn’t realize those ships were hostile.”

“Just so, Helm,” Middleton agreed, having arrived at the same conclusion almost immediately. But he was more than a little surprised that Jersey had been the member of the bridge crew to first make that particular observation.

“But that hostile was unlike anything in our ship’s database,” Sarkozi said doubtfully. “So unless they were completely asleep at the switch, they should have known those ships weren’t friendly.”

“Pull up the specs on this colony again,” Middleton said.

Sarkozi pulled up the data on her console and mirrored it to the main viewer. “This was a splinter colony established fifty two years ago,” she read the data clinically, “with an initial population of two thousand forty four. Demographic breakdown includes technicians, farmers, and other standard personnel. The only notable quality of the population is their fairly diverse cultural background, having been pulled from a half dozen Core Worlds.”

“Two thousand forty four?” Middleton repeated as his eyes narrowed. “Call up the most recent population for census, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” Sarkozi acknowledged as she minimized the first census, before putting the newer one beside it on the main viewer. “Latest census reads total colony population of…two thousand twenty six?” she finished with a scowl.

Middleton leaned back in his chair as the true nature of the facility was made clearer. “This was no colony,” he concluded, “this was some kind of secret facility disguised as one. No colony would be maintained without a population growth of at least fifty percent per generation during the initial stages, and fifty years of growth means a minimum of five thousand colonists just to keep from being defunded and abandoned by the sponsor worlds.”

“Answers a few questions, at any rate,” Jersey muttered darkly.

Captain Middleton considered the situation for a moment before arriving at a decision. He activated his chair’s com-link and opened a channel with Sergeant Joneson.

“Joneson here, Captain,” came the man’s deep voice.

“Sergeant, I want you to prepare a landing party,” Middleton said, “I’ll need you to lead an eight man tactical team to escort four officers into a potentially active combat zone for an estimated twelve hours.”

“Any intel on potential hostiles, Captain?” Joneson asked with calm professionalism.

“Nothing solid,” Middleton replied after a brief hesitation. “You’ll board the shuttle in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” Joneson replied.

“Middleton out,” the captain said before severing the link and turning to Ensign Jardine. “Sarkozi, Jardine: you’re on the away team. Get down to the armory for your gear and then meet up with Sergeant Joneson in the shuttle bay.”

“Yes, Captain,” they replied, standing from their stations and making for the lift. After they had exited the bridge, Middleton stood from his chair and headed toward his ready room.

Without breaking stride, he said, “Jersey, in my ready room.”

“Aye, Captain,” the Helmsman said as he stood from his console, waiting for his replacement to take over before following Middleton into the ready room.

When they were both within the ready room and the door had slid shut, Middleton turn to his sour Helmsman. Jersey looked at him with hard, grey eyes beneath bushy eyebrows so apparently unkempt that they bordered on violating the uniform code.

“Jersey, I need an XO,” Middleton said, wishing to waste no time. “Frankly I can’t think of a better man for the job.”

“Sir?” Jersey said, clearly taken aback.

“This ship needs a proper command structure and I can’t sit on my hands any longer; you speak your mind and you know the rules as well as I do,” he said magnanimously.

“Better, sir,” Jersey said stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back.

Middleton fought the urge to bristle and let a cool smile play over his lips instead. “You prove my point perfectly,” he said evenly. “You’re also one of the only officers who holds a rank higher than Ensign aboard this ship, and you’re the only one to have more service time than I do.”

“Never made it past Lefty J-G, Captain,” Jersey said, for the first time showing doubt in the Captain’s decision. “I’m not sure what good I can do you.”

“You let me be the judge of that, Lieutenant Commander,” Middleton said forcefully with a bit more flare than he had intended. “I need a senior officer to command the away team; Sarkozi and Jardine are good, young officers, but I need a steady hand down there.”

“Lieutenant Commander?” Jersey said with an arched eyebrow. “Wouldn’t Sarkozi be better suited for this, Captain?”

“Sarkozi’s a fine officer,” Middleton allowed, “but I need her where she is. Your skills on the helm, fine as they are, are more easily replaced than hers are at tactical. This move won’t affect the rest of the chain, and I know I can count on you to speak your mind – especially when we disagree.”

A smirk came over the other man’s features as he nodded slowly. “I’ll go where you need me, sir, but I’m afraid I’m too old to learn new tricks,” he said as he braced to attention. “I’ll give you my best from day one but unlike these pups we’re training up, I’ve done all my growing. You find I can’t do the job to your satisfaction, just put me back on the helm; whipping me for my shortcomings ain’t liable to do much but cause mutual aggravation.”

“Fair enough, Commander,” Middleton said, thrusting his hand out. Jersey accepted it and Middleton found that the man had a surprisingly powerful grip for his stature. But Tim Middleton was no slouch himself, and the two gripped as tightly as they could without grimacing before Jersey cracked a smile.

“What are we looking for down there, Captain? I can tell you’ve already got a notion,” the newly minted Lieutenant Commander said matter-of-factly.

“Honestly,” Middleton bit his lip for a moment before shaking his head, “I think it will be best if you just run a thorough, class two scan of the ‘colony’ before making your way up to the comm. station on the nearby mountain. Maintain complete radio silence unless you find something suspicious or noteworthy, in which case you are to pipe it directly to me on a point-to-point beam using top encryption. The away team will not discuss its findings with any of the crew, do I make myself clear?”

“As a klaxon, Captain,” Jersey replied with a snappy salute that was completely at odds with his usual demeanor.

“Good hunting, Commander,” Middleton said, returning his salute.

Lieutenant Commander Jersey turned on his heel and left Middleton’s office, which left only one more specialist he needed to corral for the away team.

“Visual tracking of the away team shows they’ve just finished their inspection of the colony, Captain,” the sensors operator reported. “They’re making their way back to the shuttle now. No hostiles detected using passive scans.”

“Good work, Sensors,” Middleton said before turning to the Comm. officer, a crewman named Babin. “Keep scanning all frequencies, Comm.,” he instructed, “report any activity whatsoever.”

“Yes, sir,” the crewman replied, “continuing passive scans; no activity detected at this time.”

The minutes ticked by until the away team had re-boarded the shuttle. Seconds later, the craft lifted off and began its journey toward the nearby comm. station located on the nearest peak – which measured nearly four thousand feet above sea level.

As the craft flew toward its destination, the com-link silently flashed on Middleton’s command chair, and he saw that it was a transmission from Commander Jersey. The message read:
Debris at depot sites consistent with high-yield military-grade weapons containment facilities; main housing complex located above underground facility of some kind, unable to access from surface.

Captain Middleton nodded to himself and deleted the message from his log, as Jersey had just confirmed his suspicions that this was some sort of military weapons cache leftover from around the time of the Confederation’s Union Treaty with the Imperials.

Whoever had placed those weapons there, probably fifty years earlier, had clearly dispatched the three ship detachment they had encountered on their way into the system. Apparently the recovered cache was more valuable to them than avoiding discovery, since the unidentified warship had not returned to finish the
Pride
off.

Protocol called for containment of any remaining sensitive equipment or intelligence, so Middleton watched as the shuttle bearing his away team neared the landing pad at the summit of the mountain.