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

by Caleb Wachter

  “You got me all wrong,” Lynch said, a hard edge entering his voice. “I’m lookin’ for a man with the vision to see what’s comin’ around the corner. From where I’m sittin’ it looks like the Commodore’s near ready for his endgame, so if he’s gonna be stopped it’s got to be soon.”

  “The Raubachs are positioning themselves to take over the Sector?” Middleton asked, hardly believing that could be true. Even with every possible ship having defected to his Rim Fleet banner—an organization which no longer even remotely resembled its original charter following the Imperial withdrawal, thanks to the Raubach family’s widespread manipulation of the Sector’s various SDF’s—the Raubachs would barely have the military might to forcibly take over three or four Core Worlds in the Spine.

  “Nope,” Lynch shook his head. “That’s the thing; whatever he’s doin’ is top secret, and that ain’t exactly the man’s style.” A sneer spread across the man’s features, “He’s more iron fist than velvet glove, if you get my meaning. For him to keep his operation under wraps this long, without any information leakage…whatever it is, it’s big, and it ain’t gonna be good for the Spine when his pieces are in position and ready to move.”

  “I’m supposed to believe you’d help me out of nothing but civic duty…is that it?” Middleton asked, genuinely curious how the other man would respond.

  Lynch shrugged. “It’s a sight better than handin’ out turkeys come holiday time. Besides, I liked things the way they was before them Raubachs came halfway across the galaxy and started muckin’ up my yard. I gotta rebuild my community, brick by brick, but to do that we gotta get rid of the unsavory elements first.”

  “Supposing I agreed to this,” Middleton gestured to the data slate, “you have to understand that if I come across your people operating in an…” his lips quirked into a dark grin, “unsavory fashion, I’ll treat them the same as I’ve treated every other lowlife I’ve run across in my time out here.”

  Lynch returned Middleton’s grin with a fierce one of his own. “You got me all wrong, Tim. I’m in this for the long haul; only a monkey knocks over a single freighter when he can skim a little bit off every freighter with nobody wisin’ up.”

  Middleton knew that to pursue that particular vein much further would likely queer the deal between them, so he sat in silence for several minutes as the dance beat pulsated through his skull. “I’ll say this,” Middleton finally said, leaning forward and gesturing to the data slate, “if I ever find myself in striking range of Commodore Raubach, I’ll be taking whatever shot I can. And I fully intend to get my shot,” he added darkly. “If that’s what you wanted to hear, fine. If not, we can conclude our business as planned and go our separate ways.”

  Lynch seemed to ponder something during the pregnant pause that seemed to swell until it would burst. Then he cocked a grin and said, “Enjoy the beats, my man. I’ve got some other bidness to conduct; we’ll speak again when my people have gone over your down payment. Until then, enjoy all that the Tenth has to offer.”

  Lynch stood and moved toward the stairway, and Middleton watched as he and his cleverly-disguised bodyguards descended and made their way across the dance floor before passing through a set of doors on the far side of the chamber.

  When they had gone, the Pride’s commanding officer slammed the remainder of his glass’s contents down and only barely managed to keep from sputtering as the drink’s liquid fire made a bee-line for his stomach.

  He definitely needed to get Garibaldi a bottle of the stuff.

  “That is the last of the crates,” Fei Long announced, more than slightly relieved that they had managed to complete their assigned task with time to spare. He had spent a few minutes on the local extranet, and managed to secure some tickets to one of the myriad events leading up to what was, according to the advertisements, the ‘the greatest athletic event in human history.’

  “Good,” Lu Bu said in surprise as she gave Strider a warning look. He had begun to stray from the loading ramp on his way toward their slip’s exit, but he reluctantly returned to the ship muttering something under his breath.

  “Zhen,” Fei Long said in his native language as he turned to face Lancer Chen Zhen, “would you mind watching the ship for the next hour or two? Captain Middleton is not expecting us for at least five more hours, and I have some business I would like to conduct in the city,” he said with a brief but pointed glance toward Lu Bu while her back was turned.

  “Of course,” Chen replied with a knowing look. “Strider,” the Lancer said, switching to Confederation Standard, “we will lock down the ship. Return inside.”

  “What kinda dung is this, man?” Strider blurted incredulously. “The kiddies get to cruise ‘round town but I gotta stay in the ride?”

  “Do not argue, Navigator,” Lu Bu growled as Fei Long approached and stood a respectful distance from her. She turned to give him a withering look, “Kongming, if you must go to the city then you may go. I have no orders to keep you in sight—unlike Mr. Strider.”

  “I was hoping we might take in the city together,” Fei Long said hopefully.

  “I am in no mood,” she quipped.

  “Indulge me,” he urged.

  She gave him a discerning look before sighing, “Very well. Chen—” she turned, but the Lancer had already begun to close the airlock door. The door closed not long after she had begun to address him, and she turned to scowl at Fei Long, who maintained his most pleasant expression. “Let’s go,” she muttered in their native tongue, and together the two teenagers set out on the streets of Capital.

  They strolled out of the starport in relative silence and Fei Long quickly hailed a taxi. “Where to?” the driver asked in his strangely accented voice.

  “The Market District,” Fei Long replied.

  The cab driver wordlessly complied and Fei Long searched for the right words to say. He looked at Lu Bu briefly and was still deeply unsettled by her physical appearance following the near-fatal missions aboard the Dämmerung and the Droid corvette. Her face was a blotchy mess, at least to his eye, and she was still not walking properly on her surgically-repaired leg.

  “Fengxian,” he said, looking out the window at a nearby sign advertising the same event which had consumed the attention of Capital’s capitol city, “I wanted to say something.”

  She turned to face him, and he felt another pang of anger at the fact that he had very nearly lost her just a few short weeks earlier. “I…” he struggled to find the right words, but they simply would not come and the silence became deafening so he said, “I cannot convey to you how much you mean to me.”

  Her expression was unreadable, but Fei Long knew that he needed to express the feelings he had wrestled with during the past few weeks.

  “I do not ever wish for us to fight again,” he said simply, finding no clever segue or parable to tell. “I know that is likely impossible, but I have realized that—“

  He found his mouth suddenly pressed against hers, and though it must have caused her at least some discomfort to do so, he returned her kiss and it was as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  They spent the rest of the taxi ride in each other’s arms, and Fei Long was almost upset when the driver pulled the vehicle to the side of the thoroughfare and declared, “South Market District concourse.”

  Unfortunately, their destination was indeed on the southern edge of the Market District, so Fei Long produced a data link and made the requisite payment prior to exiting the vehicle.

  “Where did you get Capital currency?” Lu Bu asked in a tone that made Fei Long grin. The fact that he had falsified a series of identity records and applied for a provisional line of credit had almost slipped his mind entirely. He fully intended to repay the debt at some point in the future, even going so far as to record the information—after it had been encrypted—in his quarters.

  “No talk of details,” he said as he urged her toward one of the nearby structures. It was a flat, dome-sh
aped building which clearly served as some sort of event center, and when they passed through the doors even Fei Long’s breath was taken away.

  The building’s exterior was largely made of concrete which blended in with the surrounding construction, but the interior appeared to be carved from pink marble with the most exquisite designs carved into the many columns which supported the structure’s roof.

  The building’s name actually escaped Fei Long as he marveled at the vast, open space in the center of the arena-like structure. The arena itself was not large, measuring no more than fifty meters across, but the stone columns and the roof it supported were like nothing he had ever seen with his own eyes.

  “Impressive,” Lu Bu said, and though she was clearly trying to undersell the impact of walking into the structure, Fei Long knew her well enough that he was certain she was just as amazed as he was. “There is nothing like this on our home world.”

  Fei Long bristled at her last words, but decided to ignore them for the time being as he scanned the nearby area until finding a map which detailed the various booths set up in the arena floor below.

  “This way,” he said once he had determined an efficient route to their destination.

  “Where are we going?” Lu Bu asked, a note of irritation creeping into her voice.

  “Please,” Fei Long said as he made a dramatic show of dragging her along, “we are nearly there.”

  They arrived at the back of a very long line, and Lu Bu gave Fei Long a stern look which he politely ignored as he quickly counted thirty six people in line before them.

  “Now what?” she demanded irritably.

  “Now,” he said as he threw an arm around her broad shoulders, “we wait.”

  Nearly an hour later, Fei Long and Lu Bu reached the head of the line and he was quite certain that his shoulder would not survive another ten minutes of waiting in line alongside Lu Bu. She had slugged him no fewer than a dozen times, and while he wanted very much to act like a man and ‘tough it out,’ he was genuinely concerned for his arm’s well-being.

  “Next,” the docent called, and Fei Long produced an object he had kept carefully hidden throughout their diversionary trip. He placed it in Lu Bu’s hands, and she looked down in confusion at the rolled up sheet of polymer paper.

  “I will wait outside,” he said, pointing to a nearby sign that said ‘one at a time.’

  “Long,” she said in a warning tone as she began to unroll the sheet, but he stopped her by gently placing his hands on hers and meeting her eyes.

  “Go inside,” he said, tilting his head toward the doorway. “You may punch me again after you have finished, if you wish,” he added, wishing the words had come out in a more playful, and less fearful, tone.

  She glared at him. “I do not like surprises,” she growled, but thankfully she did as he suggested and he stood off to the side at a respectful distance from the door.

  The booth was a three meter square, with canvas walls dividing it from its neighboring booths which were apparently also occupied. Lu Bu saw another docent standing just inside the canvas flap through which she had passed, and the woman held her hand out, “Official merchandise only.”

  At first Lu Bu was confused, then she realized the woman was referring to the rolled up sheet of polymer in her hands. She handed it to the woman, who unrolled it and nodded before snapping a picture of it via her monocle.

  “This was prepaid,” the woman said, handing the sheet of polymer back to Lu Bu along with a paper receipt of some kind, “you have five minutes.”

  Lu Bu was still very much confused as to what she was doing, but when she looked up she saw a thickly-built man with a flat top haircut sitting behind a table with a pen in hand. He grinned when their eyes met and he gestured for her to approach, which she did as she slowly realized what she held in her hands—and she knew she was going to have to take Fei Long up on his offer when she was finished.

  “Your receipt, please,” the man said in a deep voice, and Lu Bu approached the table before handing it to him. “Let’s see…” he mused before nodding his head, “a gift? Someone must like you,” he said with a knowing grin. “Looks like you can have an autograph, three pictures, and a—“

  “You are Steve Inson,” she interrupted.

  The man’s grin widened. “That’s me,” he said in amusement.

  “You…played for Pe-re-grines,” she fought the last word’s pronunciation as she looked around the booth and saw neat stacks of picture, magazines, uniforms, and every other manner of memorabilia which were associated with a famous smashball player.

  “Yes,” he cocked his head, his amusement turning to mild confusion. “Are you ok?” he asked.

  “You knew Walter Joneson,” she said as she looked down at the sheet of polymer in her hands. On it was a picture of Joneson and Inson, standing side-by-side on a smashball field as victory confetti the color of their uniforms streamed down all around them. She stared at the picture for several seconds before handing it to him.

  Inson stood slowly and his eyes narrowed. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “Only two of these were ever printed,” Inson said, his eye boring into hers, “and the other one was given to my ex-wife in our divorce. Now where did you get it?”

  “From Walter Joneson,” she replied stiffly, bristling at the suggestion that it had come into her possession dishonestly.

  Inson furrowed his brow. “Did he send you here?” he asked, the anger of a moment earlier replace with confusion.

  “No,” she replied, casting her eyes to the floor, “he is dead.”

  “What?” Inson blurted. “How?” he asked after a brief silence.

  Lu Bu was about to explain the particulars, but before a sound passed her lips she remembered the secretive nature of the mission and silently cursed herself for very nearly compromising mission security. “It…is complicated,” she said hesitantly. “He was soldier—like me,” she explained, hoping he would not press the issue.

  “Ah,” Inson said after a momentary pause, “I get it. I heard he joined up some kind of commando unit…he must have gone out on a top secret mission and never came back. Is that it?”

  “He was Lancer, not commando,” she corrected him, feeling her ears turn red at her fractured grammar which seemed to worsen with stress, “but…yes, he died in mission.”

  “Were you…” he trailed off before standing and walking around the table, “were you there when it happened?” Lu Bu nodded, and Steve Inson’s serious expression softened as he began to chuckle. She gave him a curious look and he gestured to her face. “I was worried you were a burn victim or something here on a charity trip. Truth be told,” he said as he looked up and down her body briefly, “I even thought you were a man when you came in.”

  Lu Bu bristled and Inson held up his hands in apology.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, smacking himself lightly on the side of the head, “my mouth gets me into trouble sometimes. But still…” he said haltingly, his eyes seeming to search hers as he looked at her, “I’ve never seen a woman like you.”

  “I am smashball player,” she said with equal parts resentment and pride.

  “I’m sure you are,” he acknowledged approvingly. “What do you weigh…a hundred kilos? You must be a smashback.”

  “Yes,” Lu Bu nodded sharply, “and lastbacker.”

  “A two-way player?” he said appreciatively before sighing. “I wish we could have played together…but I don’t think that’s why you’re here.”

  “I…” she began to reply before realizing that explaining why she was there would likely take a considerable amount of time. “My boyfriend gives me this…gift?” she looked around the room, and Inson laughed boisterously.

  “Well, he obviously knows what you like,” he said agreeably. “It sounds like he’s a keeper, if you ask me.”

  The docent poked her head in past the canvas flap, “You have thirty seconds, Mr.
Inson.”

  The man scowled, but before he could reply the woman had withdrawn herself from the flap and he sighed in disappointment. “I’m afraid I’m on the clock,” he said with a shrug, “contractual obligations and such. Although I’m not entirely sure why I come to these things any more,” he added thoughtfully. “My ex-wife ends up with half of the proceeds off the top, and I’m left with delinquent bills that we ran up before the divorce.”

  Lu Bu arched an eyebrow, having understood roughly half of what he had just said. “I should go,” she said, turning to leave the booth.

  “Wait a second,” Inson said, and she turned to see him holding out the picture she had brought, “you forgot this.”

  Lu Bu shook her head, “You should keep it.”

  Inson shook his own head, “No, I lost mine fair and square…according to the judge, anyway. If Walt wanted you to have this then so do I.” He proffered the picture, and Lu Bu reluctantly accepted it.

  “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

  “How long are you here?” he asked just before the docent pulled back the canvas flap and gave him an annoyed look.

  “We leave in three hours,” Lu Bu replied. “This one—“ she stopped herself and cursed in her native tongue before restarting, “I am glad to meet you, Mr. Inson.”

  Steve Inson held up a halting hand, “My friends call me Hutch, and I’d appreciate if you did the same. Anyone who stood beside Big Walt, especially in real combat, deserves more than just respect. He wasn’t exactly known for low standards,” he added with a pointed look. “I’d like to swap stories sometime; how can I reach you?”

  “I do not know,” she replied. “But this—my name is Lu Bu, and I am pleased to have met you.” A question popped into her head, which she asked without thinking, “Why would Walter Joneson give me this picture? He must know I would try to find you.”

  Hutch smiled, but it was a false expression which hid something Lu Bu did not recognize. “I think I know why he did it,” he said distantly, “he knew that people like us need each other.”