No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (53 page)

“And it gives you a chance to measure him during our trip back to MSP command, while you’re on the mend,” Middleton nodded approvingly. “All right, Sergeant, you have my full support.”

“Did you get a chance to read the rest of the report, Captain?” Gnuko asked.

Middleton glanced at the slate and nodded. “All of this meets with my approval, Sergeant,” he assured him before affixing his digital signature to it and handing the slate back to the other man. “You should run your department how you see fit. If I have any concerns we will discuss them in private, but given your service record and recent accomplishments, I have every reason to give you my complete support.” He deliberately did not include Sergeant Joneson’s absolutely glowing recommendation of then-Corporal Gnuko, because after just a week on the job, the man had proven his own merits and did not require another’s expressed support to bolster his claim to Lancer command.

“Thank you, Captain,” Sergeant Gnuko said, and Middleton liked to think that his slowly-improving ability to read people suggested the younger man swelled with pride at his commanding officer’s endorsement. The Lancer Sergeant stood from his chair, and Middleton did the same.

“I’ll be seeing you in the shuttle bay at mid-third shift?” Middleton asked.

“Of course,” Gnuko said stiffly, “a broken neck couldn’t keep me from paying my respects, let alone a torn-up leg.”

Captain Middleton nodded approvingly. “Dismissed, Sergeant.”

The sternward cargo ramp of the shuttle craft was lowered, and Captain Middleton stood at the base of the ramp as over two hundred crewmembers had stuffed themselves into the cramped conditions of the shuttle bay.

“You’ve come to know me over these last six months,” Middleton said, sweeping the assemblage with his gaze, “and over that same time I’ve come to know you. I’m not one for long-winded speeches, so I’ll keep this brief.”

He turned and began to pace along the front line of the throng, which was filled with faces with which he had become more familiar than he ever would have dreamed possible. Six months earlier, he had thought that starship Captains sat in their cushy chairs, drinking high-end caffeine sources and sending the ship’s problems running down the proverbial hill toward the unsuspecting crew. But the truth, as is so often the case, held little resemblance to reality.

“A year ago we were all going about our lives,” he continued, “and I imagine that if you’d asked each other back then what the odds were that you would be here, in this moment, after doing the things that you’ve done…you would have dismissed it as a billion to one. Moreover, you probably would have asked ‘Why would I go stand on the wall if even the Imperials won’t? Let someone else deal with it,’ you might have said.”

He turned to face the line of bodies, for which the Hedonist system’s main world had graciously supplied enough proper burial tubes. The
Pride
’s supply of fifty such devices had only met roughly half the demand their recent efforts had created, as ninety three crewmembers had been killed during the droid attack alone. Each tube was draped with the flag of its occupant’s home world.

“These men and women,” Middleton pointed to the neatly stacked tubes bearing the Multi-Sector Patrol fleet’s emblem at the top, “stood on that wall, and they did it not because they were forced to, or because they were compelled to. They did it for their families back on the seventeen worlds from which they came, including Capria, Prometheus, Shèhuì Héxié, Tracto, and the many colonies under the shields of protection which those worlds provide.”

He turned to face the assembled crew and regarded them silently before sweeping across them with his outstretched hand.

“But that shield isn’t some vague, abstract thing made of words written on the pages of some moldy book; that shield is
you
,” he said forcefully, allowing the word to hang for several moments before continuing. “The majority of our fallen crewmates have requested their remains be returned to the worlds of their birth, which we will do to honor their memory. But for some, they have asked us—their true family—to see them returned to the stars. They did not fail us, so we must not fail them.”

Middleton already knew the names of the fallen for whom they were about to provide a star burial, so he gestured for the pallbearers to approach. The first were mostly from his own world of Capria, and were entirely made of Lancers—some were active-duty like Corporal Gnuko, and some, like Bryant and Rice following the bioweapon attack, had been transferred to other departments after sustaining grievous injuries. Only one member of the group neither from Capria, nor a man, and Middleton gave her a curt nod as he said, “Walter Joneson, Lancer Sergeant of the
Pride of Prometheus
.”

The bearers carried the burial tube up the cargo ramp of the shuttle and set it down reverently before turning back and rejoining the crowd.

“Gong Wei, Confederation Lancer who volunteered to serve aboard the
Pride of Prometheus
,” Middleton continued as Lu Bu peeled off from the Lancers and made to carry the second tube bearing the Lancer emblem. Lu Bu was joined by a handful of her countrymen as they carried the tube up onto the shuttle.

“Norbert Jersey, Lieutenant Commander in the MSP,” he said as the bridge crew bore his former XO’s casket up the shuttle’s ramp past the previous group of pallbearers.

One by one, Captain Middleton read off the rest of the twelve names of those who had requested a star burial. After he had completed, the shuttle’s cargo ramp closed and the craft gently floated toward the air lock. Once inside that chamber, the inner door closed shut.

Captain Middleton then read the names of those who wished to have their remains returned to their home worlds, and after he had finished he turned to the crew and regarded them for several, silent seconds before nodding curtly, “Dismissed.”

The
Pride of Prometheus
’ internal viewscreens were all set to a single camera feed, as the aged warship drove almost directly toward the sun. The shuttle launched when they had entered the designated zone, and most of the crewmembers—even those on duty—watched as the burial tubes were ejected one by one from the shuttle’s cabin before the tiny vessel returned to its hangar.

The tubes formed a nearly perfect line which fell toward the sun, and the external video feed stayed on those tubes until it was no longer able to filter out the intense light from the system’s primary, causing the camera to go black and the feed to disconnect.

Such was the traditional star burial of a Confederation serviceman or woman. With the task concluded, the
Pride of Prometheus
set course for what would be the final destination of this particular mission and, for many, it was a return to that part of space which they called home.

But for Captain Middleton, it was just another stop along the way. He had a mission to complete and by the Saint’s mercy, he would carry it out with every breath in his body.

Tim Middleton had learned many things during his tenure as the Captain of the
Pride of Prometheus
, and chief among those hard-won lessons was the harsh reality that no matter where a person was, or what they did, there was always someone—or something—lurking in the shadows.

Sometimes they want your money, sometimes they want your life, and sometimes they want even more than that. And when they came to do you harm, they often did so in the guise of offering help—or worse, compromise, and the promise of reaching the elusive ‘middle ground.’

He knew he had been right when speaking to Captain Rodriguez: the reason that ‘middle ground’ is so elusive is because there is no middle ground. There’s right, and there’s wrong, and the precious few times a person’s life when can tell the difference they had better act in accordance with their principles, because the universe is rarely generous enough to do so twice in a lifetime.

The middle ground is all that stands between what is right, and what is wrong, and as such it should never be surrendered. Once the lines become blurred, a person can no longer reliably determine their course. The surest path from clarity to confusion is compromise.

For Captain Middleton, life had been distilled down to a series of battles between people with diametrically opposed ideologies, where competition was the best filter through which those ideologies could be examined and refined. And he, like the late Sergeant Walter Joneson, had resolved to give no ground in that particular battle.

Especially not the middle.

Epilogue I: Advice…and an Airlock!?

“Bu, you shouldn’t come down here,” Doctor Middleton said wearily.

“I am permitted to do so, Doctor Middleton,” Lu Bu said stiffly as she pulled up a stool and sat outside the Doctor’s cell. “Do you wish me to go?” she asked pointedly.

Doctor Middleton was clearly torn, but she shook her head after a brief delay. “No, Bu, of course not…I just don’t want my actions to bring you harm.”

Lu Bu snorted unthinkingly. “Captain Middleton is sagacious,” she replied confidently, “he will understand.”

“No,” the Doctor replied, “I don’t think he will.”

“You must have…faith,” Lu Bu said, failing to find the perfect word. “Now, where were we?” she asked rhetorically as she flipped to page 1853 of
Romance of the Three Kingdoms
.

“Bu,” Doctor Middleton sighed, “I’ve already read that book.”

“As have I,” Lu Bu agreed, stressing the first person pronoun. “But must do something together; you all I have.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Doctor Middleton said sharply, causing Lu Bu to wince at the other woman’s tone. Doctor Middleton took a short break and shook her head. “Bu, you need to understand that I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to spend time together—at least not while I’m in here, which may be for quite a while.”

“If not Lu Bu, who?” Lu Bu demanded. “Doctor Middleton saves lives of crew in sickbay, but then crew turn backs on Doctor Middleton; Doctor Middleton saves whole ship during attack, but none offer thanks!” Lu Bu felt the data slate snap between her fingers as her grip had tightened unexpectedly. “If this how crew treat each other, Lu Bu not wish to speak with crew!”

“Bu, calm down,” Doctor Middleton said with a pointed look at the younger woman’s hands. When Lu Bu looked down, she saw her palms had a few drops of blood caused by the broken edges of the data slate, which she set down on the bench in favor of hurling it in frustration.

“Lu Bu spends whole life in compound,” she said after a moment’s consideration and trying to find the right words. “Until government raid, Lu Bu never speak with outsiders; even when play smashball Lu Bu make no friends; all distrust, or afraid of, Lu Bu. But Doctor Middleton not afraid,” she said, leaning forward. “If Doctor Middleton not afraid of Lu Bu, Lu Bu not afraid of Doctor Middleton
or
her shadow,” she said fiercely. “We are family, not enemies.”

Doctor Middleton’s eyes had filled with tears while Lu Bu had spoken, and the older woman shook her head softly. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Bu,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Please…I don’t want you be here right now.”

Lu Bu stood from her stool and was momentarily taken aback by the Doctor’s quiet sobs. “If Doctor Middleton wishes,” she said, “I will come back tomorrow.”

Doctor Middleton nodded quickly. “Please do,” she said as she made eye contact with Lu Bu, after which the younger woman nodded.

“Tomorrow, Doctor Middleton,” Lu Bu said before bowing her head in respect and exiting the brig.

She made her way to the mess hall, realizing her stomach had been growling for quite some time. After receiving her tray she sat down at a nearby table and began to eat, as she remembered the doctor’s words.

“Is this seat taken?” she heard a man ask, and she looked up to see Fei Long standing across from her.

She narrowed her eyes slightly and shook her head. “It is not,” she replied in their native tongue. When she was frustrated it became too difficult to converse in Confederation Standard, so she opted for their native tongue.

“Thank you,” the young man replied in kind, and after sliding his tray onto the table opposite hers, he took a bite and sighed. “The only thing I miss about the world of our birth is the cuisine.”

Lu Bu barely even heard his words as she fought against the rising surge of emotions welling up inside her. She had no idea what half of them meant—and the half she
did
understand made her want to punch herself. She had always been heavily influenced—her mother had said ‘ruled’—by her emotions and urges, and Walter Joneson had helped show her that she could control those feelings if she wished to do so.

“Still,” Fei Long continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that all she wanted was to be left alone in that particular moment, “in my particular case, the merits of life aboard this ship greatly outweigh the demerits, even including the often questionable food.”

She felt her fists tighten and her fingernails—which were thankfully trimmed short—dug into the callouses of her palms. “Some people must worry about more pressing issues than the menu,” she growled in their native tongue.

Fei Long nodded as he took a sip of water. “Of that, I am acutely aware—“

“Then why do you go on and on and on about it?” Lu Bu snapped. “You sound as if you and you alone are inconvenienced by the current state of things!”

Fei Long looked surprised and put his utensils down. “I only meant to make pleasant conversation,” he said meekly—at least, meekly for him. “I am sorry if I offended you; such was the exact opposite of my desire.”

Lu Bu gritted her teeth and held back a dozen scathing things which were dancing on the tip of her tongue. She took deep, angry breaths as she struggled against her impulse to grab him by the collar and make him feel her current frustrations.

Fei Long made a gesture of surrender and stood from the table, collecting his tray as he did so. “I apologize to you, Lu Bu,” he said with what seemed to be genuine feeling. “I know how close you are to Doctor Middleton; I, myself, have visited her to offer my thanks regarding her action on the bridge. I merely wished to offer some measure of consolation,” he said before hanging his head. “It would appear that I have failed in this regard. I shall leave you be.”