Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2)

by Caleb Wachter

  Silence hung over them for several minutes until Gnuko said, “Permission to speak, Captain?”

  Middleton was tempted to deny the request, but he knew that would be unfair so he opened his eyes and nodded, “I wish you had been this concerned with my permission before this unfortunate event, but I guess that’s no reason to deny you the opportunity to do so now.”

  Sergeant Gnuko fixed Middleton with the look he had been hoping to see: resolute, steadfast and, for lack of a better term, righteous. “You’re more important to this ship—and this fleet—than I could ever be.”

  “You don’t know—“

  “Yes I do,” Gnuko interrupted, much to Middleton’s surprise. “I am a former smashball player, Captain—and I was a blasted good one. Do you know why I quit?”

  “I don’t see how this is relevant, Sergeant,” Middleton sighed bitterly.

  “I’ll tell you why it’s relevant,” Gnuko said, his eyes flaring, “because I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I could never fill my predecessor’s shoes. I tried—blast me to the Pit, I tried,” he cursed, “but the simple fact was that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be as good. I’d be living in another man’s shadow, and no matter what I did that shadow would never go away. Do you know who that man was?”

  Middleton felt his eyebrows rise as he began to understand. “You played for the Peregrines,” he said matter-of-factly, even though he had never actually seen that information. Apparently the Sergeant’s records were incomplete for some reason or another, and they had been unable to update them without the ComStat network—or a trip to Gnuko’s home world.

  “That’s right, sir,” Gnuko replied, “but more to the point it was—and will always be—Walter Joneson’s team.”

  Captain Middleton leaned back until he was half-sitting on his desk. “And what does that have to do with this, Sergeant?”

  “I heard he had joined the service…some sort of specialized Commando unit, naturally,” he snorted, his voice slightly tremulous as he explained, “so I decided to do the same thing. I’d already made enough money to set my family up for life, so I thought…” He took a deep breath and clenched his teeth, “I thought that if I joined up I could maybe beat him at soldiering, sir, even if I’d never live up to him on the gridiron. But it’s pretty clear I’ve failed to clear even that bar,” he said bitterly before fixing Middleton with a piercing stare. “His shadow is even larger here than it was under the bright lights; the Pride has gone along just fine without him, and he’s twice the…well, twice the anything that I’ll ever be. There’s no chance I’ll be missed, sir.”

  Middleton stepped toward the Lancer Sergeant, matching his stare with an unyielding one of his own. “If any of us believed that, you’d have been off my ship long before now. Do you think this ship is full of has-beens and rejects?”

  “Sir?” Gnuko asked in unmasked confusion.

  “You heard me,” Middleton said coldly, knowing it was time to be a commanding officer rather than a sympathetic ear, “because if that’s your opinion then maybe you should get off this ship.”

  Gnuko bristled and squared his shoulders to Middleton, “This is the best ship in the fleet, sir. We’ve done things that others could only dream of, and overcome odds that would make any bookie blow his brains out.”

  “I don’t think you believe that,” Middleton challenged, but it was all for show. He just hoped that Sergeant Gnuko’s roiling emotions would prevent him from seeing that just now.

  “Of course I do, sir!” Gnuko protested hotly. “I’ve stood beside these people in the Demon’s own fire and would gladly give my life for any one of them.”

  “Then shape up, Sergeant,” Middleton snapped. “You’re the C.O. of the Lancers on this ship because there is no one I would rather have—trust me, I had options.” He actually had been presented with several options which, at least on paper, had been superior to Russell Gnuko in several ways. But Captain Middleton was a firm believer in cohesiveness, and Sergeant Gnuko had proven himself to be an invaluable member of the Pride’s crew time and time again. “So either you respect my command decisions—including who I place in charge of my most critical departments, like the Lancer contingent—or you don’t, but I suggest you take forty eight hours in solitary confinement to think it over. We can talk again after you’ve done so. You’re dismissed.”

  “Yes sir,” Gnuko said without flinching before snapping off a salute and turning to leave.

  “And Gnuko,” Middleton said as though it was an afterthought, prompting Sergeant Gnuko to turn just before the door, “you made a hard call down there—and in the end it was probably the right one. The issue is one of trust, Russell; I already knew I could trust your judgment…but I need you to trust mine if this is going to work.”

  Sergeant Gnuko hesitated before walking up to Captain Middleton and presenting his hand, “I understand, Captain…thank you.”

  Middleton accepted his hand and nodded. “Now, report to the brig…but make sure things are still stable among the Tracto-ans first.”

  “Of course, sir,” Gnuko said before repeating a formal salute and exiting the captain’s ready room.

  Middleton sat down in his chair and briefly held his head in his hands, knowing that Kratos had quite possibly saved the ship by taking Atticus out of the picture the way he had.

  But what Sergeant Gnuko didn’t know—what nobody outside of a pair of Environmental technicians knew—was that Middleton had recorded the entire scene unfold live via a concealed camera he’d had placed in the shuttle bay in anticipation of this very situation.

  The only reason he had not intervened directly was because he had been reviewing shift reports when Fei Long had made his move, and by the time he saw what was happening Kratos had already stepped into the ring in preparation for the fight with Atticus.

  He was genuinely disappointed that Gnuko had not called him, but he was also proud of the man for making what amounted to a command decision and standing by it. He knew that a proper military tribunal should have been convened to address the situation, but he also knew that he had more pressing matters to attend to than following the Murphy-blasted rules every time the book said he should.

  He had a mission to complete, and he was going to complete it before he started second-guessing himself.

  Too many lives depended on it.

  Chapter XLI: Shopping

  “The Captain says if you’ve been cleared for light duty then you may accompany Mr. Fei and Strider,” Sarkozi said, and Lu Bu felt a wave of relief.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she said, raising her hand in salute.

  “You’ll need to check a vibro-knife out of the armory,” Sarkozi said as she signed off on Lu Bu’s request form.

  Lu Bu shook her head, careful not to do so too quickly as she had been instructed by Doctor Middleton. “This one has a knife,” she explained, having completed the repairs to Sergeant Joneson’s old weapon during her recent period of convalescence. Doctor Middleton had tried to stop her from doing even that, but Lu Bu was mortally certain that she would spontaneously explode if she did not do something of value while lying in bed for nearly every waking minute.

  “Ok,” Sarkozi said with a nod. “I’ve assigned two additional Lancers—Li and Chen—to the mission as well. Li is rated on the yacht’s piloting interface, so he’ll stay with the ship at all times.”

  Lu Bu quirked an eyebrow in surprise, “Should we expect conflict?”

  Sarkozi shook her head. “No, but with Sergeant Gnuko temporarily suspended and tensions aboard the ship ratcheting down after the,” her lip curled contemptuously, “event in the shuttle bay, the captain thought it prudent to provide additional security for your cargo.”

  “I understand,” Lu Bu said, although she could not quite understand why the XO seemed to revile the ‘event’ in the shuttle bay. Lu Bu had been surprised when she had heard of them, and foremost among the surprises was hearing that Fei Long had managed to subdue Atticus—
even if he had used underhanded methods in doing so.

  But hearing that Atticus had met his death at the hands of another Tracto-an—specifically, one of those who Atticus and his people had held in open contempt—was no great surprise to her. Atticus had been an overbearing bigot and a fool, and history showed that men like him—including Lu Bu’s own namesake from ancient history—did not generally see old age, and their ends were categorically unpleasant.

  “Good luck, Corporal,” Sarkozi said as she handed the data slate bearing Lu Bu’s orders back to her.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Lu Bu said as she accepted the slate.

  Finally, she could return to duty!

  Fei Long looked at Lu Bu’s still purple-and-brown face and sighed, knowing better than to suggest that she should have remained aboard the Pride of Prometheus. In truth he was glad for the opportunity to spend some time with her; Doctor Middleton had guarded her like a hen guards her eggs ever since she had returned from the suicide missions.

  They had not spoken about Fei Long’s involvement in the incident which took place in the shuttle bay, but Fei Long knew that Lu Bu would not be swayed by his words. She had her own opinion of the situation, and would reveal it in good time if she desired to do so.

  “Three minutes until touchdown,” Lancer Li reported in Confederation Standard. Strider was the only member of the crew who did not speak the native language of Shèhuì Héxié, but the Asiatics had decided to stick to the Pride’s primary language during the mission.

  The port looked far busier than it had during the yacht’s previous trip to the planet, and Fei Long suspected it was due to the arrival of off-world dignitaries in preparation for the athletic event scheduled to take place in ten days’ time on the planet’s surface.

  The remainder of the trip passed in silence, until the airlock opened and the ramp descended from the craft’s hull. “We have landed, Corporal Lu,” Li reported, and though he was well over twice the age of Fei Long’s girlfriend, his tone bespoke a measure of respect which Fei Long had never heard given to him.

  “Good work, Li,” she replied, and Fei Long marveled at how much her Standard diction and cadence had improved since he had met her on their first shuttle ride. “Li stays with yacht,” she instructed, and the older man nodded his acknowledgment. “Chen,” she turned to the smaller, wiry-looking man who Fei Long would have never suspected had been convicted of a quadruple homicide—an event involving a quartet of invaders who had apparently broken into his house and attempted violence against his family—using nothing but his bare hands, “you are assigned to Strider—you must not leave his side.”

  “Understood, Corporal,” Chen replied evenly, and Strider visibly wilted at the prospect of being chaperoned around.

  “Fei and I will meet docking agent to pay fees,” she continued. “Our meeting with Lynch scheduled to nineteen hundred, which gives six hours to purchase medical supplies. Li remains with ship and seals airlock while Fei, Strider, Chen and I make purchases and meet Lynch.”

  “Yes, Corporal,” the two Lancers replied in unison while Strider rolled his eyes.

  “Good,” she said smartly, “Mr. Strider, lead the way.”

  Four hours later they had managed to secure nearly every item found on Doctor Middleton’s list, and the prices had even been reasonable. They had been forced to shop for some of the harder-to-find items—such as auto-suture packs, thoracic trauma kits, genuine combat heal, and anti-radiation medications—but had eventually brought in 90% of the items on the captain’s approved acquisitions list.

  “This has been fortuitous,” Fei Long said as he saw yet another sign advertising the upcoming athletic event. A massive screen on the side of a nearby skyscraper—a screen fully a hundred feet tall and nearly as wide—showed some sort of press conference under way, with representatives for that event answering questions from the media.

  The panel of event representatives was comprised primarily of former players, who each took turns answering questions and providing predictable, formulaic answers each time. The affair was essentially scripted, and Fei Long wondered how people could waste their time watching such things when they could simply wait until its conclusion to peruse the transcripts, which took infinitely less time.

  “We have succeeded in securing medical supplies,” Lu Bu agreed neutrally. “But we still must meet Lynch.”

  “Of course,” Fei Long allowed, “but I did not expect us to purchase so many supplies in such a short period of time.

  Lu Bu seemed distracted by the image on the massive screen, and Fei Long believed he could understand why. But there was something intent, or perhaps frustrated, in her expression and he felt it prudent to inquire.

  “I thought you would be pleased at the timing,” he said, gesturing to the screen. The image panned across the bank of former players and Lu Bu’s stride stuttered briefly, and Fei Long unthinkingly reached out to steady her.

  She glared at him as she shrugged off his hands, “I am fine.” Her gaze returned to the image and she shook her head, “But there is something…” she began in clear frustration before switching to their native dialect, “there is something…or someone…who is familiar there, Kongming.”

  Her use of his style name was a good sign, as she had barely said more than five words to him outside of their professional requirements since disembarking the yacht. He looked up at the screen and scanned the faces, unable to find anything familiar about any of them. I recognize none of them,” he said slowly.

  The camera focused in on an absurdly thick-thewed man sporting a flat top haircut and Lu Bu’s eyes widened. “I know him,” she said as the man answered a question in his deep, thick voice. “He is from the picture.”

  The group had come to a stop, and Strider was giving them an interested look before he, too, focused on the image of the player.

  “The picture?” Fei Long asked, having no idea what she meant.

  The man’s name flashed beneath his image and Lu Bu nodded as she mouthed, “Steve Inson.” She resumed her course down the sidewalk toward the nearby cargo loading zone where their goods would be readied for transport to the ship. “Come, we load the cargo onto yacht,” she said in Confederation Standard, her interest in the press conference seemingly forgotten.

  “Not that I disapprove the change,” Lynch said as he looked up and down Lu Bu with a clinically appraising eye, “but where’s the boss man? I was gonna get his signature,” he said, holding up a stack of polymer sheets with Sergeant Gnuko’s youthful image printed on them above the words ‘Arake Shield Tech: Protecting Your Future.’

  “He will not be joining us,” Fei Long replied as the man began to circle Lu Bu and continue his appraisal of her physique. Surprisingly, Fei Long saw nothing lascivious in the man’s demeanor; his attentions seemed to be more akin to those of a man inspecting a high-performance vehicle than to one looking at a young woman.

  “Now that’s a shame,” Lynch sighed. “You got the stacks?” he asked, turning to Fei Long.

  Fei Long nodded. “As agreed we have placed the objects, constituting half of the total transaction’s value, in escrow at the Capital Prime Bank,” he explained, producing a small paper strip with the confirmation number encoded. “You will receive the access codes as soon as we have taken receipt of the shipment.”

  “Shipment?” Lynch repeated with open amusement. “Ain’t no warehouse cool enough to store that much jack, son—not even on Capital. Nah,” he shook his head, “if you want the gear then we goin’ for a ride.”

  “That was not the agreem—“ Fei Long began.

  “Circumstances change, son,” Lynch cut in as he finally tore his eyes from Lu Bu to look at Fei Long. “All the preparations planet-side have made my kind of bidness a touch more hectic than usual. But don’t worry,” he said, flicking a brief look at the identical twin-looking women who likely doubled as visual distractions and bodyguards, “we’ll take my ride. Y’all can be my guests.”

  Fei Long
gave Strider a look, and the former pirate shrugged lightly but his expression seemed to suggest that they had nothing to fear from the black marketer. He knew it might be a trap of some kind, but Fei Long also knew that the four of them were almost certainly more valuable to Lynch alive and unharmed so that he could receive his payment.

  “Very well,” Fei Long said with a courteous nod. “Lead the way.”

  “Now y’all might not think this is exactly stylin’,” Lynch said as they passed through his vessel’s airlock, “but this ship’s taken me from one end of this galaxy to the other. Sure, she might be a bit worn down,” he admitted as they passed a section of scorched bulkhead which could have only been scored in that particular fashion by blaster fire—recent blaster fire, “but sometimes the devil you know…” he trailed off as though there was no need to finish his thought.

  The ship was not exactly small, but after arriving in the cockpit Fei Long finally recognized the layout as a Hornet-class Cutter. They were popular with SDF’s because of their modular design, relatively robust shields, and most importantly, incredibly fast engines. For obvious reasons, they were also favored by pirates throughout the Spineward Sectors. The most curious aspect of the craft was that the last of its kind had been built nearly two hundred years earlier.

  “Now strap in and sit back,” Lynch instructed, and Fei Long noted that his female companions had not decided to accompany them on the trip.

  The quartet did as instructed, and the ship detached from the ring station before lurching forward with enough force to snap their heads back into their headrests.

  “Is it wise to accelerate so greatly?” Fei Long asked, remembering that there was a limit to overall velocity within Capital’s Zone of Control—which they were still well within.