No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (46 page)

“You heard the man,” Gnuko snapped. “We move out; Peleus, bring Sherman. Lei, Brasidas: you get Thomas and Gong.”

“Yes, Corporal,” the Lancers replied.

They collected the bodies of their dead, with Atticus stopping to recover what was left of Laertes, which he then carried back to the shuttle.

As each Lancer passed by the place where Walter Joneson had fallen, they paused fractionally to make their respects to their fallen commander, and Lu Bu did likewise. She saw one of his vibro-knives lying on the deck and leaned down to collect it, finding it damaged but apparently repairable. She tucked it into her belt and clasped her hands reverently, with Fei Long doing likewise, before they returned to the shuttle in reverent silence.

Chapter XXXVIII: Repair and Regroup

“The shuttle has touched down in the hangar, Captain,” Commander Jersey reported.

“Good,” Middleton said absently, knowing it would be several hours before Garibaldi’s work crews had brought the priority systems back online. He wanted nothing more than to bug out as quickly as possible, but his strange particle generators were currently off-line and he had prioritized repair of life support, weapons, and sensors—in that order—ahead of the point transfer system.

“The Chief says decks one through four have life support restored, Captain,” the Engineering petty officer reported.

“Would you ask the Chief, in as gentle a manner as you are capable, to ignore the manual if it expedites matters?” Middleton asked dryly.

The petty officer hesitated before nodding. “Yes, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Middleton muttered before activating Sergeant Joneson’s com-link. “I’d like an after-action report as soon as possible, Sergeant.”

When there was no reply, he checked to see if the message had gone through and saw that the connection had never been made. Furrowing his brow and assuming Joneson’s com-link had been damaged, he cycled through to the coded Lancer command channel and repeated, “Sergeant, I’d like an after-action report as soon as you’ve seen to your people.”

The connection was live, but there was a brief delay before a vaguely familiar man’s voice said, “This is Corporal Gnuko, Captain. I’ll have that report ready for you as soon as we’ve been cleared by Medical.”

Understanding the unspoken message the Corporal had just sent all-too-well, Captain Middleton swallowed the sudden knot in his throat. “That will be fine, Corporal,” he said staidly. “See to your people first.”

“Yes, Captain,” Gnuko replied stiffly before signing off.

The silence throughout the bridge was truly deafening, and Middleton’s ears began to ring at learning of Walter Joneson, his Lancer Sergeant and one of the few people he had called a friend, having fallen in the line of duty.

Lieutenant Commander Jersey approached the command chair and, clasping his hands behind his back, said, “I can take over here if you’d like to inspect the Lancers, Captain.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Middleton said evenly, “but that’s not necessary. The task before us is to get this ship’s systems back online as quickly as possible, and we can’t afford to indulge in distractions.”

“In that case,” Jersey said with a consolatory nod, “I’d like permission to go help the repair crews. I spent two tours in Engineering on one of these Hammerheads back when the clean-head look was fashionable, and I think I can help.”

“Permission granted, Commander,” Middleton assented, and after he had gone the Captain began to peruse the stream of reports coming through to the bridge.

Six hours later, a comm. request from Chief Garibaldi came through to Middleton’s chair.

“How’s your progress, Chief?” the Captain asked.

“We’ve got every spare relay installed and have hotwired more systems than a lifer doing time for grand theft whatever,” Garibaldi replied raggedly. “But the life support system’s back up, you’ve got sensors within operating specs, and the weapons are ‘up’ in theory, but we put too much of a strain on these systems concurrently and we’re in for it. The strange particle generators are almost finished; I’ve just got to run a few tests from my little instruction manual here—unless you want me to ignore the point transfer calibration process entirely?” he added sarcastically.

“How long, Chief?” Middleton asked.

“My guess? Twenty minutes,” Garibaldi replied seriously. “Then we can spin the systems up and make a jump—so long as we don’t try fighting at the same time. There is just no way that this grid will support more than one or the other, and we haven’t even gotten the shields back online yet. But I can rig them up with enough juice to make a point transfer between now and jump-time.”

“Good work, Chief,” Middleton said just as seriously. “Update me as you feel appropriate.”

“Will do, Captain,” the Chief replied before severing the connection.

Just then the doors to the bridge cycled open, and Corporal Gnuko set foot on the bridge, followed by Fei Long and, surprisingly, by Jo.

“My ready room,” Middleton gestured, standing from his chair. “Ensign Sarkozy, you have the conn.”

“Yes, Captain,” she replied as Middleton led the trio to his private office.

Once inside, he gestured for them to sit before realizing he only had two chairs opposite his own.

“I’ll stand, Captain,” Gnuko said, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Very good, Corporal,” Middleton said as he sat in his own chair, and Fei Long did likewise beside Jo. “Let’s have it,” he said, gesturing to the trio in no particular order.

Fei Long leaned forward. “We successfully infiltrated the ComStat hub and I was able to upload the program into the mainframe.”

“Do we have control of the system?” Middleton asked, his hopes rising even in the face of the mission have carried the price it had.

“Not control, no,” Fei Long said hesitantly. “I was unaware of certain protocols in place, but now that I have interfaced with the system and collected the pertinent data, I am certain I—“

“Please, Mr. Fei,” Middleton said through gritted teeth, “the short version.”

Fei Long took a short breath. “We can now fully monitor all activity across the ComStat sub-network of which this particular hub is a part,” he explained. “However, to send a transmission at this point using my hidden program would reveal the program’s existence and likely result in its deletion; trapping data for later perusal, however, is a simple matter which is already under way.” His face took on a look that bordered on frustration and disappointment, “To create a two-way communications system will require a slight modification to my program, and subsequent installation at a separate hub.” He hung his head deliberately. “I have failed you, Captain, and I willingly submit myself to whatever punishment you deem appropriate.”

Middleton realized he had been holding his breath as the young man reported his partial success, and he released that breath as he processed the update. “In truth, Mr. Fei,” he said while leaning forward with his fingers laced together over his desk, “I doubted you could do this at all. You have done something which, frankly, most would consider impossible.” Middleton shook his head emphatically, “You haven’t failed this ship, its crew, or the MSP; you may have just dealt the biggest blow to the anarchy and discord spreading like wildfire through the Spineward Sectors. I don’t want to see you hanging your head over this minor setback, do I make myself clear?”

Fei Long raised his eyes, and Middleton could see the sting of defeat in the young man’s countenance, but it was clear that his words of encouragement had not been dismissed outright. “You do, Captain...thank you,” he said graciously, bowing his head in deference.

Middleton nodded and turned to Gnuko. “How is your unit, Corporal?”

“We took losses, Captain,” the Corporal said, clearly uneasy about this first debriefing as the Lancers’ commanding officer. “Six of us made it back, but we managed to retrieve the remains of all but the Sergeant.”

“I can assure you, Corporal Gnuko,” Middleton said with a snort, harsh laugh, “that Sergeant Joneson would have been more upset about a funeral
with
his body than a memorial service without. It’s the way he would have wanted it.”

Gnuko nodded, and Middleton could see a sliver of relief cross his features. “Thank you, sir.”

“Doctor,” the Captain continued, “can I assume you’re here to discuss the strike team’s status?”

“Yes, among other things,” she replied. “The entire away team was exposed to incredibly high levels of radiation with most of the exposure found in the cranium; I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve already started them on a therapeutic regimen which will require them to be on active bed-rest for at least a week. During that time they’ll experience neurological deficits which, in my professional opinion, would make them unfit for military duty. If not for that illegal armor of theirs,” she added grudgingly, “they would have all collapsed before reaching the shuttle.”

Middleton was surprised to hear of radiation poisoning, but nodded slowly. “What’s their long-term prognosis?”

“Given the short interval between exposure and first treatment, excellent,” Jo replied with certainty. “After the recovery period, given twice daily therapy sessions and adherence to the prescribed chemical treatments, they should have no long-term effects.”

“Excellent,” Middleton said feeling genuinely relieved. He very much disliked the idea of operating with only a dozen Lancers on the ship for any longer than absolutely necessary, and he was glad that his people would make a complete recovery. “Good work, Doctor.”

Jo shook her head. “I can’t take all the credit; Doctor Cho knows a lot more about this type of treatment than I do. Without him, I couldn’t guarantee such a positive outcome.”

“Please relay my thanks to Doctor Cho,” Middleton said, keeping the surprise out of his voice. Doctor Cho had filed a rather venomous complaint against Doctor Middleton over the triage incident which had made the rounds through the
Pride
’s social grapevine. That they were at least working together again was just extra good news, as far as the Captain was concerned. “Also, given the ship’s current condition, I’m inclined to place the strike team members on a twenty four hour medical hold,” he held a hand up when Jo made to argue, “after which, circumstances allowing, they are to follow your regimen to the letter. In the event of emergency and the ship requires their service, I would appreciate if sickbay were to conduct a thorough neurological exam in conjunction with each therapy session, so that their capabilities are properly measured. Is that satisfactory, Doctor?”

Jo bit her lip for several seconds before nodding. “It is.”

Captain Middleton stood and gestured to Gnuko’s sleeve, “You’re going to need to get that fixed, Sergeant.”

Gnuko clamped his teeth quietly before nodding and snapping a salute. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I can’t exactly make it official, of course, given the degree of separation between our given branches of the MSP,” Middleton said, “but Sergeant Joneson made it quite clear to me his preference to succeed him in the event of his inability to continue in the role. You were at the top of his list, Gnuko, and I’d like to be the first to congratulate you on impressing the Hades out of a man who was not easily impressed.” Middleton then stood and thrust his hand across the desk.

The newly-made Sergeant nodded and accepted his hand. “Thank you, Captain; he was a good man.”

“Yes he was,” Middleton agreed, “and he’s left some awfully big shoes to fill.”

“I’ll do my best, Captain,” Gnuko said confidently.

“Dismissed, Sergeant,” Middleton said as warmly as he could manage.

After the Sergeant had left, Middleton turned to Fei Long. “I’ve arranged for the quarters you’ve been using to become your permanent lodgings,” he said. “Your service to the ship, the MSP, and your fellow Confederation citizens in general has earned that and more. Unfortunately for you,” he said with a wry grin, “you’ll have to settle for a private bed and bath for pulling off a hack that should be celebrated among your peers.”

“I understand the need for secrecy, Captain,” he said, standing from his chair. “You have my word that I will not violate your trust in this matter. Besides,” he added with a lopsided grin of his own, “I do not seek praise for my actions. I merely seek to test myself in the most challenging ways I can; the satisfaction of passing each test is reward enough.”

“So you won’t be needing the quarters, then?” Middleton asked straight-faced.

Fei Long hesitated before catching Middleton’s eye and bowing his head. “I defer to your judgment in that matter, Captain.”

“Good answer, Mr. Fei,” the Captain said evenly. “Dismissed.”

After the young man had left, Middleton allowed a smile to creep over his face.

“You enjoyed that far too much,” Jo chided, and he found the familiarity in her tone more than a little comforting.

“Someone’s got to keep these kids in line,” he sighed as he slumped back into his chair. “With Walt gone to meet the Saint, the only military man aboard the ship who’s older than I am is Lieutenant Commander Jersey.” He rubbed his eyes for several seconds as the past few hours seemed to catch up to him in a sudden, draining flood of images, voices, and emotion. “When did I get to be ‘the old guy’?” he asked rhetorically as he ran his fingers over his head before gesturing to his short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair. “At this point I just might prefer an early grave to seeing the rest of this turn grey.”

“It suits you,” she said with a shrug. “It can’t be said of all men, but it really does make you look more distinguished.”

“Distinguished,” he scoffed. “Now there’s a word that women virtually invented so they could tell a man he’s past his prime without coming out and saying it.”

“Take it how you will,” she said, clearly hiding a self-satisfied smirk behind her suddenly businesslike demeanor. “But there is another reason I came here.”

“What is it?” he asked after flipping a mental switch and bringing himself back into the moment.