No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) (54 page)

He turned and left the mess hall, dropping his tray off on the way out, and Lu Bu felt her ears turn red with the rising anger she felt. It wasn’t that he had particularly offended her, and the truth was she had been guardedly looking forward to her next encounter with the young man. The strength of his character had been proven during their two battles together, and he was the only other person aboard the
Pride of Prometheus
who was even within four years of her age.

“All members of a unified state fight in his or her own way, each according to their individual talents,” she heard a deep voice from behind her, and she turned to see Haldis, the armorer who had battled the droid unarmored, and with nothing but a drill in hand.

“What?” Lu Bu demanded, rather than asked, before realizing her miscue and exhaling completely before clasping her hands before herself in deference. “I am sorry,” she said, “I do not understand.”

Haldis shrugged indifferently. “That is the lesson I learned after years of shaping metal into arms and armor for others to wield, but did not have the time to relay to you on the gun deck,” he explained. “Our ship is more like a sovereign state than it is an army,” he added with a look around the mess hall, “and once I understood this, it made my adjustment less…difficult.”

“Do you believe I require ‘adjustment’?” Lu Bu asked evenly, trying hard to keep the emotion from her voice.

“As a warrior?” he scoffed. “Of course not; your fellow Lancers speak very highly of you and I have seen with my own eyes that your valor is second to none aboard this vessel.”

“Then I do not understand,” she said after a brief pause, finding herself strangely uncomfortable with such an unmitigated compliment.

Haldis sat down on the bench across from her and slid his tray slightly to the side. “When I was young—about your age,” he said with an appraising look, “I wanted two things: to be a warrior, and to have sons. I will spare you the details, but during my sixteenth year I took an injury,” he gave a hard look to his metal, prosthetic hand, “that stopped me from joining an army or even a defensive force. On my world, a man who cannot fight is barely a man at all; no woman would choose a cripple to sire her daughters, so both of my dreams appeared to have vanished.”

Lu Bu had never been good with stories but the man had proven invaluable in crafting her Red Hare armor, as well as proven his fortitude on the gun deck, so she remained silent as he continued.

“There was one woman, however,” he said as his eyes drifted into memory, “her name was Phedra and she overlooked my…shortcoming. She was two years my elder when we met during my twentieth year, and I jumped at the opportunity to compete for the right to be her Guardian—husband, if you will,” he added at Lu Bu’s look of confusion. “Hers was not a wealthy family, but they had a large grain farm with fertile soil, ample running water via two, intersecting creeks, and a fine house built of stone atop a ridge overlooking a wide valley. In the end it came down to myself and a brash young man named Laomedon, and she challenged us to ‘create a work which displays dedication to guarding her lands, and her children’s interests.’ We were given one month to complete our works before presenting them on the harvest’s eve.”

“What did you craft?” Lu Bu asked, her mind temporarily distracted from the tumultuous events of the last days—and minutes.

Haldis sighed. “In what I will always remember as my finest effort, I spent every day and night in a nearby forge which my mother’s sister owned. I shaped wood and metal into a series of improved plows to work her fields, specially designed to work in her particular ground. I even borrowed the designs from my brother for constructing a water mill, the major components of which I fashioned at the forge. I was well pleased with the result so, having finished some three days earlier than I had anticipated, I thought I should add another article to it. In that moment, when I decided what that article should be, it was as if something deep inside of me rolled over and presented a side of myself which even I had never seen. Given my shortcomings,” he gave another pointed look at his hand, “I fashioned perfectly-weighted javelins, since those were the only ranged weapons I could use properly.”

“You adapted,” she said, believing she understood the broad meaning of his lesson. “You know you have no future on battlefield, but still wish to defend family while improving Phedra’s farm. This is noble.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “it would have been…but harvest’s eve came and went, and I did not present my creations to Phedra. She would have certainly chosen me over Laomedon—who made for himself a fine sword and shield but clearly did not understand her needs
or
desires.”

“Why?” she asked in confusion. “Why not present to Phedra?”

“I didn’t want to accept something that was somehow less than my ‘ideal’ life,” he said with a shake of his head. “So like the fool I was, I took my javelins and rushed to the nearest citadel where I attempted—futilely—to enlist as a guardsman. They eventually relented somewhat and made me a smith, where I made a life working metal for men and women with two good hands.” He leaned forward and locked his eyes with hers, and she almost felt like withering under the weight of his gaze, “But not a day goes by where I don’t wish I could go back and drag that fool of a boy down to the harvest festival and make him present his works to the only woman who understood—and accepted—him for what he was.” Haldis then cast a deliberate look at the door through which Fei Long had exited minutes earlier, “I don’t know what you two said to each other, but some things are only clouded with words; actions are what really count in this life. With that in mind, I’ll leave you with one more piece of advice.”

The large Tracto-an stood from the table and collected his tray. For some reason she did not understand, Lu Bu stood as well. She then clasped her hands and bowed her head slightly, “What is your advice, Master Smith?”

There was a pregnant pause before Haldis replied, “Never pass up a good thing.” With that, he turned and made his way to a table further down the line and proceeded to eat his meal.

Lu Bu believed she finally understood the other man’s message and, seeing as what he was suggesting hadn’t exactly been far from her mind even just a few short minutes earlier, she nodded and left the mess hall having completely forgotten about her meal tray.

Fei Long worked his way down the corridor at a leisurely pace. He knew he needed to return to his examination of the intact droid cores, but his heart simply was not in it at that moment. Still, he knew he would find no respite from what others would call a ‘broken heart.’

It wasn’t as though he had shared much time with Lu Bu, but ever since learning of her story from within the confines of his isolated cell, he had viewed her as a source of inspiration. And, as recently as a few minutes earlier, he thought he understood her plight better than most.

But the universe was a fickle mistress, and Fei Long knew it was only a matter of time before all hopes are shattered against the cruel bulwarks of reality. So with a heavy heart he made his way down the corridor, noting airlock number four to his left as he took a step past it.

Hearing footfalls behind him, he turned to see the very person he had contemplated come around the corner and fix her gaze on him. Lu Bu had a hard, strange look on her face, and Fei Long was suddenly more than slightly fearful for his well-being.

“Lu Bu,” he said in Confederation Standard, bowing his head as she approached. “I truly did not wish to give offense; please accept my apology—“

As soon as she was within reach of him, she grabbed him by the collar with her left hand and placed her right index finger against his lips. Fei Long felt his heart skip a beat as she looked around, clearly uncertain where they were.

Not wanting to waste even the extremely unlikely possibility that he was not, in fact, hallucinating, Fei Long quickly turned to the access panel and entered an override code he had learned during his tenure in Environmental as the pitifully-named Wang Xiu. The code would place the airlock’s inner door on a diagnostic cycle, which would complete before the door’s activation registered by Environmental or the bridge crew.

The inner door slid slowly open and, clearly needing no encouragement to do so, Lu Bu shoved him into the two meter square chamber before activating the closing cycle of the door behind them.

“We will only have nine minutes before they discov—“ Fei Long began before Lu Bu covered his mouth with one hand, while placing the other hand where no one—save him—had ever done so.

“Less talk, more action,” she growled before pressing him up against the wall, causing a thrill of excitement like nothing he had ever experienced in his young life to course through his body as the door slid shut and the airlock was plunged into darkness.

Epilogue II: Coming to Terms

“Ensign Sarkozy, have a seat,” Captain Middleton said as soon as the young woman had entered the ready room.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said with a curt nod as she sat down. Her shoulders were tight with obvious anxiety, and Captain Middleton kept his features unreadable as he regarded her silently for several seconds.

“You’ve done an admirable job following Lieutenant Commander Jersey as acting XO, Sarkozy,” Middleton said neutrally. “The ship has barely missed a step following the Commander’s death, and I want to extend my congratulations on a job well done. Managing the duties of both XO and Tactical Officer is a tall order, but you’ve done a better job than I could have hoped for.”

“I’m just doing my job, Captain,” she replied, but Ensign Sarkozy’s eyes told Middleton that she was braced for the eventual ‘but,’ so he decided to lay it out there.

“Six months ago we shared this office,” Middleton said with a pointed look around the ready room, “and you attempted to file a report. Do you recall?”

Sarkozy nodded stiffly. “I do, Captain.”

“I do as well, Ensign,” Middleton said with just a hint of iron threaded in his voice. “However,” he continued while leaning back in his chair, “to my mind, that particular situation has been resolved. Your actions, your department’s consistently high performance, and your prompt, accurate reports,” he paused fractionally before continuing, “as well as adherence to the codes of conduct to which we as officers must hold ourselves has been exemplary.”

Her eyes seemed to flicker for a moment, as she had clearly not expected this particular turn in the conversation. “I…I only want to serve the Confederation, Captain. My actions have only ever been consistent with what I judge to be in the best interests of the ship.”

“Well said, Ensign,” Middleton allowed with a hint of a smile. “And, judging by your recent behavior, it appears that the…lapse in your otherwise sound judgment six months ago was nothing but a blip on what has otherwise been a truly stellar track record. With that in mind,” he said, standing from the desk and thrusting his hand out pointedly, “I’d like to make your new posting official, XO. You’ll need to hand off your Tactical duties over the next couple weeks while we return to fleet HQ, and I’d like that process to begin immediately.”

Ensign Sarkozy looked completely stunned as she stood from her chair, her mouth barely managing to snap shut before the back of her throat was visible. “Thank you, Captain,” she said while accepting his hand.

“Care for a word of advice, Sarkozy?” Middleton asked.

“Of course, Captain,” she replied smartly as her face veritably shone with pride.

“Do your best to vet your subordinates; take a good, hard look with both eyes before giving them the keys to the stand,” he said seriously. “But after you’ve done that, turn one of those eyes to other issues and understand that nobody will do things precisely as you would. The people beneath you need to work to earn your trust, but once they’ve done so you need to let them have it, understood?”

Ensign Sarkozy had a faint look of confusion. “I doubt I can understand your meaning entirely just now, Captain,” she said before nodding, “but I’ll remember it and do my best to apply your advice in the future.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Middleton said with a nod of his own. “Now, let’s talk about these security measures we’ve drafted.”

“Yes, Captain,” Sarkozy replied before sitting back down in her chair. “The first droid boarders we dealt with were easy enough to spot on our internal sensors, but we’ve since encountered a pair of the twelve-sided, fighter-sized vessels which our sensors were completely unable to spot. This old ship’s proven to be tough as nails, but its sensor suite hasn’t been updated in nearly a century,” she said bitterly.

“It’s on my list, XO,” Middleton said grudgingly. “What about War Leader Atticus’ disposal teams?”

“They’ve been able to contain the threats before the ship took any serious damage, Captain,” she replied. “It seems that these stealthed vessels carry twelve individual droid units each, and they don’t appear to be primarily concerned with damaging our systems so much as gaining to access our databases. Mr. Fei Long assures me the databases are now secured against such attempted breaches, but the truth is we don’t have anyone on board who can verify his work; it’s just too far over our heads,” she said with obvious displeasure.

Middleton allowed himself a smile as he remembered a report of just a few days earlier, authored by the newly-titled ‘War Leader’ Atticus, who had been performing routine security sweeps and found the aforementioned Fei Long in a…post-coital state, along with a rather surprising companion from the Lancer contingent. They had apparently locked themselves into an airlock and fallen asleep afterward, where they had remained for nearly an hour before the sweep found them.
Youth
, he thought to himself with a shake of his head,
good for them
.

“I’m fairly certain we’ll never have anyone aboard this ship who can keep up with Mr. Fei,” he said before adding, “who, I understand, has requested an official name change.”

Sarkozy cocked an eyebrow. “That makes at least three dozen of his countrymen who have done likewise since joining the ship.”