Free No Middle Ground (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride) by Caleb Wachter

of the Pride ’s ability for a month in a ‘wave the flag’ operation, and he had encouraged Middleton to craft his command team according to his own preferences. That included the responsibility of handing out field promotions to those officers that had proven worthy, and those promotions would be respected and upheld by the MSP’s sole remaining Flag Officer, Admiral Montagne himself.
    But Tim Middleton knew that in order for a crew to function properly, it needed strong leadership and part of that leadership was setting a proper example. He simply could not excuse Sarkozi’s attempt to cover for him, forgetting about the fact that she was incriminating herself by falsifying a report of that nature.
    “Blast,” he repeated, his plans for establishing a coherent command structure aboard the ship having been dealt a major setback. But, firmly believing in the philosophy of ‘what’s done is done,’ he cleared his head and went back to his chair.
    Once seated, he activated the console built into the desk and punched up the comm. channel for sickbay. An irritably long interval later, the screen was filled with a familiar woman’s features.
    “Doctor,” Captain Middleton said evenly, “how are your patients?”
    The woman shook her head. “We’ve still got six in serious condition who should survive but one more in critical who likely won’t survive the night,” she replied coolly. “I’m doing what I can for him but I’m afraid there’s just too much lung damage. I’d need a Crimson grade trauma facility to save him, and even then we’re talking total neurological stasis along with a complete cardiopulmonary bypass and replacement, which given his age is far from a certain path to recovery.”
    “What about the healing tanks?” Middleton pressed, knowing very little of how they actually worked but knowing they were capable of working what were to his mind out-and-out miracles.
    The woman shook her head. “The tanks would only address the pulmonary failure while ignoring the neurological decay, while cryo-stasis would halt both but the process is incompatible with resuscitation due to this virus’s peculiar qualities. If we freeze him, there’s no way to unfreeze him.”
    Middleton slumped slightly in his chair. He had desperately hoped that Jo, a civilian but currently the only licensed Medical Doctor aboard the Pride of Prometheus, would have been able to save Doctor Milton’s life. But it seemed that was not to be.
    “I’m sorry, Tim,” she said with more empathy in her voice than he could ever remember hearing from the woman who broke his heart weeks before their college graduation.
    Middleton bristled and unconsciously straightened himself at hearing her utter his first name. “Is he awake?”
    Jo shook her head. “No, he’s been out for nearly four hours. I seriously doubt he regains consciousness at this point.”
    “Then, as the Captain of this ship, I must formally request that you continue to care for the wounded, seeing as we no longer have a medical officer fit for active duty,” Middleton said officiously.
    She shook her head fractionally before saying, “You know how I feel about the military, Tim.”
    “I do indeed, Doctor,” he replied stiffly. It had, ostensibly, been her dislike of the military—and his choice to join it—which had led to their divorce mere weeks prior to his shipping out. “But I, and my crew, would be greatly appreciative if you would stay on and assist us until we can find a suitable replacement for Doctor Milton.”
    Jo bit her lip hesitantly, and her eyes flashed back and forth for several seconds before nodding abruptly. “All right, Tim. I’ll stay on until you’ve had a chance to find a qualified replacement,” she said grudgingly before leaning toward the pickup and lowering her voice, “but I’m a civilian, not a military officer, and I hope you remember it. I expect my civil rights to be upheld while I’m aboard this ship.”
    “I