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  Lu Bu thought about his suggestion that they had never truly felt like part of the group when it came to the fraternity of smashball players. If, prior to her joining the Pride of Prometheus, he had suggested that she was somehow apart from the other smashball players she would have scoffed at him. Her camaraderie with the players she had competed with—and against—on the gridiron was far more fulfilling than any aspect of her home life had ever been growing up, except for possibly the short-lived relationship she’d known with her pet dog.

  But after joining the Pride’s crew, and learning a true meaning of family while serving alongside her fellow MSP crewmates—to say nothing of finding a woman who had agreed to be, for all intents and purposes, her mother—Lu Bu knew that Hutch was right. She had always been something of an outsider with her former teammates, but she had never really thought it had been because of her genetic engineering.

  She had always assumed it was because she was a girl.

  “What about Walter Joneson?” she asked.

  “Walt?” Hutch laughed. “He never knew he was like us until I forced the issue a few years into our time as teammates.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  “Well…see, most genies can spot each other,” Hutch said, apparently choosing his words carefully. “We see the relative lack of scars on each other’s bodies, and we can spot the feigned stiffness in each other’s movements intended to mimic the reality that our non-enhanced teammates experience after a red flag day on the practice field. Mostly we keep the truth to ourselves, primarily because the league has a fairly comprehensive equal rights charter and doesn’t want to be seen as discriminating against people with genetic engineering in their background.”

  “I have heard of this,” Lu Bu nodded, having previously taken an interest in the matter of genetic engineering in pro sports for what would likely be obvious reasons. Apparently there had been so much rampant gene-modding prior to the Empire of Man’s dissolution of the old Confederation, via the signing of the Union Treaty, that something like twenty percent of humans in the Spineward Sectors were supposed to have genetic engineering in their immediate family tree within three generations.

  “I always liked Walt,” Hutch continued, “he was a few years older than me, but we played on the same team and worked well together—no, we were historic together,” he corrected. “But one day he made a comment to a reporter who was trying to dig up some dirt on a player from another team. This other player had come under suspicion of using chemical stimulants to enhance his play, or something like that. Walt—who I’d pegged as a genie from day one—went on an uncharacteristic rant about how it wasn’t right that genies should be allowed to play alongside natural humans. In truth, the rant wasn’t all that incendiary,” Hutch admitted, “he was just pointing out how athletics, and other forms of competition, are supposed to demonstrate the beauty of evolutionary selection and the limits to which it can stretch and expand the human capacity for various things. It was actually pretty well-considered, but the reporter cherry-picked some admittedly poor verbiage and, all of a sudden, the league came under fire for promoting bigotry and genetically-charged divisiveness.”

  “Did the league punish him?” Lu Bu asked, finding herself wrapped up in the telling of the story. She had been unable to learn even half as much during her research as he had just relayed, and found her curiosity taking firm control of her tongue.

  “Not exactly,” Hutch said with a shrug, “they made him publicly retract his statement, which he did after some bickering over the particular words he would have to use in the process, and the whole thing blew over when the league office formalized its rules regarding genetic engineering. It was largely viewed as a major political win by the league after turning the potential PR disaster into the drafting of the most significant legislation regarding genetically engineered humans, and their place in society, in the history of the Spine.”

  “But…he still did not know he was genie,” Lu Bu concluded, prompting Hutch to nod.

  “We were out on the town after a particularly energizing win in the playoffs,” Hutch explained, “and, out of the blue, he goes off on the league office’s iron-fisted ruling on how he needed to retract his old statement. Now, normally I would have just let it all slide…but for some reason, on that night, I didn’t. I said, quite bluntly, ‘You honestly don’t know, do you?’ and he just looked at me like I’d spoken in Droid.”

  Lu Bu laughed nervously, having remembered the exact look Hutch was describing. It was a remarkably effective expression which had made her feel like she was five years old, and for a brief moment she was overwhelmed by the memory of her long-dead mentor—who had been the closest thing to a father figure she would ever have.

  “I shook my head,” Hutch continued, “and said, ‘Look…even if you don’t know what you are, I know it perfectly well. So while I don’t mind you having these opinions on genies, I’d prefer if you keep them to yourself when you’re around me so I don’t have to think of you as such a hypocrite. There’s a reason you don’t have to take painkillers, Walt, and it’s got nothing to do with natural selection!’ That was the first time he ever showed me his right cross,” Hutch snickered, rubbing his jaw, “but, magnanimous guy that he was, he paid for the dental work to replace the two teeth he knocked out and apologized a handful of times in the ensuing months.”

  As he retold the encounter, Lu Bu found her hand running along her shoulder as she recalled the memory of the fight she’d had with Sergeant Joneson—the one where he had torn her rotator cuff immediately prior to inducting her into the Pride’s Lancer corps.

  “Still,” Hutch said animatedly, “I wasn’t about to give up. I said, ‘If you’re so sure you’re not what I think you are, we can go to the Medical District and get some confidential tests run. I’ll give you my next year’s salary—tax free!—if I’m wrong, but if I’m right you have to shut up about this crap.’ So we went there, with me holding my bloody teeth in my hand and neither of us speaking a word. Needless to say, the test results came back positive…”

  “What did he do?” she asked after Hutch seemed to become lost in thought.

  “Walt?” Hutch asked incredulously. “What do you think he did? He marched straight into the league office and tendered his resignation the very next morning! Not only that, but he liquidated his entire net worth—aside from the stipend funds he had set up for his wife and kids, which would provide them with better-than-average lifestyle for the rest of their lives—and tried to give every blasted credit back to the league!”

  “The league would not accept,” Lu Bu shook her head, knowing even from her own limited political knowledge that such a gesture made by a player of Walter Joneson’s profile would be a deathblow to their political agenda as it pertained to genetic engineering.

  “Of course not,” Hutch scoffed, “what’s more, they called in a dozen lawyers to explain, in no uncertain terms, that he would be imprisoned and his family’s wealth confiscated if he ever made public what he had learned about himself, or if he pursued an anti-genie political agenda. His contract, just like every other player’s, was clear that players had no business commenting on active political issues and could face criminal charges for contravening that particular clause. The league had already known he was a genie, of course, since they perform annual physicals for all players and keep those results confidential unless the player asked to see them privately. They had been more surprised than anything that he hadn’t known until that day; they’d just assumed he was playing along like the rest of us.”

  “This is the Walter Joneson I know,” Lu Bu chuckled, “he is bold, decisive, and unconcerned with risk.”

  “He threatened to not play out the rest of the season,” Hutch continued with a hint of admiration, “but was convinced that doing so might jeopardize his family. So he talked it over with his wife and kids before deciding to play out the rest of the year, and then he retired the day after the playo
ffs were over. He left half of the money to his family, donated the other half to various charities, and ran off to join the Commandos before winding up on the Pride of Prometheus.” Hutch sighed, “I think he was actually ashamed of himself and wanted to find some sort of redemption out here in the stars.”

  “I think he found it,” Lu Bu said confidently.

  “I think you’re right,” Hutch nodded. “I tried talking him out of leaving…I told him it was stupid and self-centered, but he looked me in the eye and said, ‘I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.’ That was the last thing he ever said to me…and I’ll never forget the determination I saw in his eyes when he said it.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes as Lu Bu processed what he had said. “It was a mistake,” she finally concluded.

  “A mistake?” Hutch repeated with surprise. “Why?”

  “As smashball player, he could earn more money than one hundred Lancers,” Lu Bu explained as the thought formed itself mere nanoseconds before leaping from her tongue, “he should have stayed as player, saved his money, and used it to support what he believed in.”

  “Maybe,” Hutch allowed thoughtfully, “but if he had done that, would either of us be here today?”

  Lu Bu wanted to argue, but she knew he had a point. Eventually she shook her head and said, “I am not worth one hundred Lancers.”

  “Your Captain might argue with you on that point,” Hutch chided before shrugging, “but the truth is that whatever choice he made, it was the right one for him—just like your choices will be right for you. I’m grateful he made the choice he did, because I would have never come to know any of this,” he waved his hand to encompass the Mode’s interior, “and I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.”

  Lu Bu nodded, but before they could continue with the conversation the alarm went off and they both leapt to their feet and made their way to the Mode’s cockpit—with Lu Bu’s gait significantly hampered by her bloated, pregnant body. She counted the days until the babies were out; it was simply unacceptable for her body to be so terribly limited, to say nothing of the seemingly endless pain!

  Chapter VII: A Lucky Shot…

  “We are detecting a possible vessel lurking nearby,” Yide explained as Lu Bu entered the cockpit.

  “What do you mean ‘possible’?” she pressed as she strapped into her customary chair on the left side of the compartment.

  “The readings are faint, ma’am,” Traian explained as he manipulated the craft’s sensor controls, “but I think we’re being shadowed by a stealth ship.”

  “Show me,” she said, knowing that the ship’s operations were best handled by Yide and Traian but also knowing that she still had operational command of the mission, so it was her responsibility to contribute to any and all decisions which might compromise their mission.

  “What is happening?” Shiyuan asked in Qin as he stumbled into the cockpit, followed closely by Fengxiao and Yuanzhi who appeared equally bleary-eyed and uncoordinated.

  “Go back to your bunks,” Lu Bu snapped as the press of bodies in the craft’s cramped cockpit became oppressive.

  “There it is,” Traian said in a raised voice, calling Lu Bu’s attention back to the primary sensor readout. “And again,” he said, just as a blip appeared on the virtual representation of the nearly empty star system.

  “How are you seeing it?” Yuanzhi asked in Standard after slapping his own face several times in rapid succession.

  “I was running through a comm. band normally reserved for ComStat carrier frequencies,” Traian explained as he continued to manipulate the controls. “I guess you could say I had a hunch,” he added before the signal on the readout solidified and he declared, “I’ve isolated it, ma’am.”

  Lu Bu was impressed with Traian’s sensor expertise, but knew that congratulations would have to wait until they were in the clear. “What ship is it?” she asked, feeling a knot form in the pit of her stomach.

  “It’s hard to tell,” he said hesitantly, “but it can’t be much bigger than us, judging by its visual profile.”

  “You are using active transmission equipment to pinpoint its location?” Yuanzhi asked in alarm, and Lu Bu turned to see Fengxiao nodding with a look of disapproval on his face.

  “No,” Traian said tersely, “I’m using the star field and system primary for backlighting and extrapolating the craft’s course using best available information and as visual backdrops so I can see it passively.”

  Lu Bu genuinely had no idea what he meant by any of that, but the looks on her three tech experts’ faces were of muted approval. Fengxiao pushed past his fellow coders and said, “I have some experience with this type of equipment, as well as with this interface; may I assist?”

  Traian shot a glare at the oldest of the three virtual experts before giving Lu Bu a querying look. Lu Bu nodded, silently affirming that she trusted—or, rather, that Fei Long had trusted—these men to help them.

  “Please,” Traian nodded, gesturing to the sensors and moving to a standing position beside Yide.

  Fengxiao slid into the seat, cracked his knuckles, and began to re-tune the equipment wordlessly for several seconds before a profile appeared on a nearby display. As he continued working, Lu Bu leaned forward to examine the vessel’s profile more closely.

  It seemed it was an old-style gunship—one which carried four times as much armament as the Sundered gunships Toto’s family had brought to the Pride of Prometheus—and at first glance Lu Bu thought that the Mode still carried slightly more firepower.

  “Can we fight them?” she asked tightly, knowing that apparent strength was often far from a reliable indicator of fighting power.

  “Probably,” Traian said with less confidence than she would have liked, “but they’ve already closed to medium range so they’ll get a full salvo off. The problem is that this ship’s systems are so finely-tuned that it might not take too much damage to disable our key equipment.”

  “Like hyper drive?” Lu Bu asked, expecting a reply in the affirmative.

  She received such a reply when Traian silently nodded and continued working through some of the Mode’s weapon system controls.

  “These gunships have no hyper drive; they require a mother ship for interstellar travel,” Yide said pointedly, prompting Shiyuan to nod in agreement but Lu Bu did not understand what he meant for several seconds.

  But then she caught on to what he was saying and thought aloud, “If they disable our hyper drive, their mother ship can come while we are disabled.”

  “Right,” Traian nodded, “but I’ve got a plan…it’s risky, but it just might let us take out their engines—hopefully without killing them—so we can slip past this system and, with any luck, past the rest of what is probably their makeshift detection net.”

  Lu Bu nodded as she considered what he said. If there was a stealth gunship sitting here in this system, and if it was pursuing them as this one clearly was, then it stood to reason it was part of a defensive formation of some kind just like in smashball. “There may be more of them,” she mused, “but if we can break through first line—“

  “We can pick our way through the second level on our terms,” Hutch finished for her with an approving nod. “You seem reluctant to open fire on them; don’t interstellar laws provide for pro-active self-defense in situations like this?” he asked of Traian.

  “They do,” Traian allowed, “we’re legally permitted to open fire on stealthed or otherwise undeclared vessels that have closed to this range. All the same,” he added pointedly, “I don’t see what we could gain by destroying them. They’re actively transmitting on the ComStat network—which is the only reason I was able to find them—so their sudden comm. silence would be just as effective at calling in support as a formal request for reinforcements. If there’s even a chance we can spare human life while covering our escape then that would be my preference—but it’s up to you, of course, ma’am,” he finished with a look of acknowledgment in Lu
Bu’s direction.

  Lu Bu had fewer qualms with disposing of people who were clearly their enemies, but in this case she found herself almost agreeing with him. For some reason or other she was feeling less confrontational than usual, so she nodded decisively, “What is your plan?”

  “Yide can bank the Mode hard over,” Traian explained, “just a few seconds before they enter optimal firing range for their weaponry. Those old gunships had enough acceleration to keep them within medium range for long enough to exchange a half dozen volleys. That much firepower would give most Corvettes trouble, and while the Mode is fast that speed comes at the price of protection.”

  “You’re talking about taking one shot?” Hutch asked in apparent surprise.

  “I am,” Traian nodded as he continued to work up what looked like a firing solution.

  Shiyuan leaned forward, prompting Lu Bu to glare at him, but his attention was so fixed on what Traian was doing—and his fellow, Fengxiao, had already proven more than passingly capable of contributing in the immediate situation—that she grudgingly permitted him to take her place.

  The truth was that, aside from providing some sort of leadership, Lu Bu was nearly useless in the cockpit of the Mode. She had learned how to pilot the various shuttlecraft which the Pride, and later the Slice of Life, had kept in their hangars but the Mode’s controls were completely unfamiliar to her. So if Shiyuan might possibly contribute to the situation, she knew it was best for her to step back and observe.

  “His firing solution is sub-optimal,” Shiyuan declared in Qin after examining Traian’s work. “It presumes the enemy vessel will respond in one specific way to our maneuver; the better choice is to modify the targeting algorithms to encompass all possible responses.”