No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (44 page)

“Helm: shed that blasted sump, overdrive my engines and make all-stop,” Middleton barked before turning to Fei Long. “Is the hub here, Mr. Fei?”

“It is, Captain,” the young man replied confidently. “Based on the signal strength it is within roughly one hundred million kilometers of our current position.”

“Captain,” Sarkozy interrupted, “my calculations show the only way to shed the sump is to overcharge the entire shield grid by diverting all primary reactor output to the shield array.”

“Check those calculations,” Middleton said as he, himself, made to do precisely that.

After a few moments’ silence, he nodded grudgingly just as Fei Long interrupted, “Confirmed, Captain; doing as the Ensign suggests will yield a 58% chance of shedding the sump; if we fail to shed the sump in the next thirty seconds, we will fall well past the neutron star’s calculated point of no return, given our engines—”

“Do it,” Middleton snapped, cutting the young man’s verbosity off at the pass.

A moment later the power grid aboard the
Pride of Prometheus
visibly sagged, with lights dimming and consoles flickering as they went to their local, emergency power supplies.

“The sump is shed, Captain,” the helmsman reported tensely.

The Damage Control stander interjected, “I’m reading a cascade failure of the ship’s primary and secondary power grids. Engines are still operational, Captain, but all other systems including life support are now on emergency backups. Weapons and shields are off-line.”

“Plotting a parabolic course to slingshot around the neutron star, Captain, adjusting for our weakened grav-plates,” Commander Jersey said in a raised voice as he worked in tandem with the helmsman to do precisely that. “This is gonna be close,” the older man added after finishing his inputs to the helm.

The ship’s bow planed downward toward what appeared to be empty space, but if Fei Long was correct—and there was no apparent reason to believe he wasn’t—there was a neutron star somewhere off the port bow. Almost as if someone had read his mind, the tactical overlay populated with icons for the
Pride
, the ComStat hub, and the neutron star—which was far closer than Middleton thought possible.

The
Pride
careened dangerously close to the star’s point of no return as the ship gained momentum along its projected, gently curving course which took a relatively sharp turn right as they passed the star at the closest point along the route. Middleton actually saw his bridge crew’s bodies list slightly to port as they did so, in what he would have believed to be an impossible display of the star’s gravity working against, or somehow with, the grav-plates.

Then their aged ship began to pull away from the star, and Commander Jersey stood to face the Captain. “We’ve broken the neutron star’s gravity well, Captain; estimate twenty minutes before we reach the recommended safe maneuvering distance from the object.”

“Very good, Commander,” Middleton said with conviction as he straightened himself in his chair. He was fairly certain that, regardless of how much confidence his XO showed in their current helmsman, the
Pride of Prometheus
would have never survived its close shave with one of deep space’s most enigmatic bodies without Commander Jersey’s hand at the tiller.

“Mr. Fei,” Middleton said, turning deliberately to face the young man, “I believe you have an engagement to prepare for.”

“Yes, Captain,” Fei Long said with a grin as an eager light filled his eyes.

“Report to the shuttle hangar,” Middleton nodded, aware of just how much this meant to the young man in his own, strange hierarchy of needs, “and join Sergeant Joneson’s boarding party.” The young man clasped his hands and bowed low, holding the pose for several seconds before turning and exiting the bridge.

Shaking his head at his new crewmembers’ still foreign-seeming customs, he turned to the Damage Control stander stationed near the Engineering petty officer. “Dispatch teams to the primary power relays and get Chief Garibaldi on the line; I need repair estimates, and I need them yesterday.”

Chapter XXXVII: Protecting the Ball

“All right, Lancers, listen up,” Sergeant Joneson barked as soon as the ramp to the shuttle had closed and the twelve person team had entered the craft. “We’ve got a mission to carry out, and I want everyone aboard this craft to understand what we’re getting ourselves into. You’re all the best the
Pride of Prometheus
has to offer,” he said, letting his eyes linger on the young man sitting near the cockpit, “which is why you’ve been selected for this important task. The details of this mission are to remain classified—whoever survives this mission is to share none of what they are about to learn with the rest of the crew, as doing so will compromise MSP security…and then some.”

Lu Bu had never heard her Sergeant speak in such dour terms so even her straying thoughts regarding the young, conventionally-armored Fei Long wearing what looked to be a bomb-proof suit, were pushed aside as her Sergeant continued.

“This mission is an intelligence operation,” he explained, casting a pointed look toward the Tracto-ans before continuing, “and if we are successful, it will change the balance of power in this Sector. Intelligence is the most critical component of warfare, modern or otherwise, as Lancer Lu correctly explained during the ride back from Elysium.”

Lu Bu felt herself swell with pride, and felt Fei Long’s eyes on her. She did her best to ignore them, but found herself casting a glance in his direction before forcing her eyes back to her Sergeant. Those mixed feelings the gift of her armor had stirred within her had only strengthened with each passing day…and she very much disliked where they seemed to be going.

“We are about to board a ComStat hub,” Joneson explained, evoking a round of whistles from the more senior members of the unit as he pointed at Fei Long. “And once we have done so, our expert here will perform a series of very technical, very geeky,” a chorus of snickers filled the cabin, “and most importantly, mission-critical interfaces with the hub’s mainframe. Indications are that conditions will be cramped, extremely hot—that means ‘electrically,’ Gnuko,” he added, taking the opportunity for yet another jab at what the entire unit knew to be Joneson’s eventual successor, “and more importantly, jammed with ionic interference. Thus, the new skins the Saint’s seen fit to bless you overgrown monkeys with,” he gestured to Thomas’ form-fitted Storm Drake armor. “These suits won’t be affected by the interference, which will render all complex electronics save those built specifically for such environments completely useless. That means com-links, HUD’s, tactical sensors and pretty much anything else with an ‘On’ switch that doesn’t look like this,” he gestured to the trigger of his blaster rifle. “Unfortunately, due to the sensitivity of the hub’s equipment, we won’t be bringing ranged weaponry—that includes grenades, Gnuko,” he said with a smirk as he discarded his rifle to the floor before drawing a vibro-knife from his belt.

Lu Bu was glad she had opted for an extra vibro-knife in addition to her standard issue piece, rather than the short boarding axes which the Tracto-ans appeared to favor, or the longer swords which Thomas and Sherman had selected. In cramped conditions maneuverability would be a decisive factor, and a smaller weapon would make for less of a liability.

“So it comes to this, Lancers,” Joneson said, twirling the blade over in his hands. “We have no idea what to expect when we board this hub, but since it is one of the most technologically advanced and valuable pieces of equipment known the humanity, I’m guessing we’ll get more than a personalized cake in the welcoming ceremonies.”

“Sarge,” Corporal Thomas interrupted, “what’s the play? Limited intel means limited deployment package options.”

“Nothing gets past you, Thomas,” Joneson quipped dryly before straightening. “The play is from the first page of the book: a Leeroy Jenkins. This will be a blind, up-the-gut, grindfest during which we can expect heavy resistance from various automated defense systems including: ion turrets, fluctuating grav-plates, and a dozen other things as to which your guess is as good as mine. But we
will
drive to the heart of this hub,” he said adamantly, “and, with Murphy’s blessing, a few of us might even make it back to the shuttle afterward.”

A chorus of chuckles filled the cabin, with even the Tracto-ans joining in this time. Only Fei Long remained silent as he kept his eyes on Lu Bu—which filled her with a mixture of emotions that she knew had no place in the pre-game huddle, so she cast him a reproving look before returning her attention to Sergeant Joneson.

“Ion turrets?” Sherman asked as the chuckles died down and the shuttle banked perceptibly, probably during final approach to their target. “I thought you said this thing was filled with delicate electronics?”

Joneson nodded approvingly, “You catch everything, don’t you, Sherm? Imperial tech’s different than ours; for the most part their high-end hardware is shielded from ionic interference, so weapons employing ion pulses are the only ranged deterrent we’re likely to encounter. The rest of our contact should be of the up close and far-too-personal variety—just like Gnuko around shower time.”

“Hey, c’mon! I already said that was an accident—it was wet, so my feet slipped!” Gnuko objected loudly as an infectious smile betrayed his protestation. The cabin was filled with nervous laughter at his duplicitous protest—laughter to which even Fei Long joined in, as Lu Bu saw from the corner of her eye.

“It’s the showers, Gnuko,” the Sergeant deadpanned with a disbelieving shake of his head as he, too, began to chuckle, “they’re supposed to be wet.” The laughter rose to a deafening roar in the cramped compartment as Lu Bu found herself joining in with the merriment.

“Touchdown in thirty seconds,” the pilot called over the comm., interrupting the pre-battle mirth.

“You heard the woman,” Joneson barked as the group’s laughter slowly died down. “Saddle up, check you gear, and prepare to move out. High-end Imperial facilities are rumored to be insertion-proof,” he swept the cabin with a serious look, “but the wall hasn’t been built that can stop determined Lancers from climbing over it—especially when they look so damned good!”

The Lancers bellowed their wordless assent as the braking thrusters fired on the shuttle and there was an audible clang beneath their feet, causing Lu Bu’s muscles to tense with anticipation.

“Mr. Fei is the ball,” Joneson bellowed as his hand went to the doorway’s activation button. “Gnuko, Sherman, Thomas and Lu: protect the operative in a tight, two-by-two shell. Atticus, Peleus, Brasidas and Laertes: you’re on point with me. Gong and Lei: cover the rear. Move out!” he barked as he slammed his Storm Drake-clad hand against the button, causing the cabin to depressurize gently, with the majority of the atmosphere having already been vented during the approach.

The four Tracto-ans leapt down the ramp after Sergeant Joneson, and even Fei Long managed to insert himself into the formation of the unit’s protective detail before they made their way out of the shuttle and followed the squad on point.

They descended the ramp quickly, and Lu Bu scanned the nearby environs for signs of motion. They were clearly in some kind of docking area, with a single corridor leading directly ahead—presumably toward the heart of the ComStat hub.

Lu Bu looked briefly over her shoulder and saw the emptiness of space on the other side of the boarding shuttle, and for the first time in her life she realized she was doing something she had never truly dreamed possible. During the boarding action on the enemy Destroyer, she had simply kept her mind free from distractions and focused on the immediate needs of the situation. But looking out at that star field, she knew that doing so may have actually changed something within her.

She pushed the thought from her mind as they entered the corridor, with a vibro-weapon in the hands of each team member, and she noted that the corridor was nearly three meters wide. It was a fairly tight fit for the protective unit, but they managed to make their way down in quick order, with Gong and Lei bringing up the rear.

She saw a flash of light up ahead and instinctively placed a hand on Fei Long’s bulky, padded shoulder, which she pressed down with probably more force than she should have and sent the boy to the deck.

If he protested, she was unable to hear it as she saw another pair of flashes, and this time she saw that the Tracto-ans were taking blue-white bolts of energy weapon fire.

The protective squad tensed and used hand signals to communicate, with Gnuko taking the lead as squad commander. He ordered them to continue their advance and the unit quickly did so, despite the incoming fire the point team was taking.

Lu Bu saw Atticus brandishing his boarding axe as he tore into a nearby, pop-out style turret, sending arcs of electricity flaring intermittently from the weapon as Sergeant Joneson did likewise on the other side of the corridor with the turret’s paired unit.

The other Tracto-ans surged down the corridor as a flicker of movement further down indicated another pair of turrets popping out to take aim at the oncoming Lancers. Brasidas and Peleus each took a bolt in the chest, but the Storm Drake hide proved Sergeant Joneson’s assertion that it was an unbelievably resilient material as they did little more than stagger from the impacts before laying into the turrets with their own boarding axes.

With their work at the first turrets finished, Sergeant Joneson and Lancer Atticus leapfrogged the savagely chopping Peleus and Brasidas. Joneson, Laertes, and Atticus then methodically tore into another set of turrets before they even had time to fully pop out, and Lu Bu’s squad was able to advance at a brisk pace behind their lead blocking unit comprised of the Sergeant and four Tracto-ans.

As Peleus and Brasidas made to leapfrog Joneson, Laertes, and Atticus, a nearby conduit exploded and Laertes was enveloped in a wreath of angry, blue flame. His body crashed into the opposite bulkhead and he went immediately limp as the flames quickly died down—but not after destroying his life support unit and causing it to vent its stored gases.