“Like us?” she repeated in confusion. “What does that mean?”
He shook his head slowly, “I hope I get the chance to answer that sometime…but not here, and not now.”
With that, he turned and went back to his seat, prompting Lu Bu to exit past the increasingly annoyed docent. She looked around and quickly found Fei Long, who she walked up to and slugged in the shoulder as gently as she could while still communicating that she was displeased with being surprised. But the truth was that she was not altogether unhappy with the outcome of the event.
“I assume that means it went well?” Fei Long asked hopefully, rubbing his shoulder in a clearly-exaggerated display of dramatics.
“I believe so,” she replied uncertainly. For some reason, Walter Joneson had told her to meet with Steve ‘Hutch’ Inson but she still did not know what that reason was. But no matter what that reason might have been, she knew that the time for self-indulgence was over. “We must return to the ship and rendezvous with Captain Middleton.
Fei Long searched her features but she kept them stony and unreadable, which made his self-satisfied expression all the more infuriating. To give vent to her annoyance, she slugged him again—this time in the other shoulder—before taking his hand in her own and beginning the trek back to the starport.
Chapter XLIII: Security Deposits
“You’re early,” Middleton said as Fei Long, Lu Bu and Strider approached the table. He had sat alone at the booth for nearly eight hours without so much as standing up to stretch following Lynch’s exit.
“We have secured the rest of the medical supplies, Captain,” Fei Long said after his customary bow.
“And the other matter?” Middleton asked, referring to a secretive project he had assigned to Mr. Fei regarding the establishment of a usable communications network based on Capital in the event the Pride ever got out and actually finished its mission to seize control of the ComStat network.
Fei Long nodded easily, “I am pleased to report success on that front as well, Captain.”
“Good,” Middleton said, no longer surprised at Mr. Fei’s ability to do what he did best, “then I suppose we can expect our host to make an entrance any time now.”
Precisely three minutes passed before Lynch appeared at the same door through which he had exited. He was no longer flanked by the two women, and he strode purposefully toward the stairs as the dancing crowd parted before him without requiring instruction to do so.
There was something different about his demeanor, but the arms dealer was extraordinarily cool and collected—even in Middleton’s opinion, and he was a man who had been accused on several occasions of possessing sub-human emotional responses.
“Here’s how this works,” Lynch said, getting straight to business as he approached the table with a data slate in his hand. “Your goods check out, so we’re square on that front. But I’ve got a fully-crewed salvage ship set to rendezvous with you at these coordinates,” he waved the slate before handing it to Middleton. “Y’all should meet up with it in thirty hours; if you’s late by one hour, you lose your deposit and this deal is off. We clear?”
Middleton shook his head, “Not good enough. For all I know there’s an ambush waiting for me out there, and I’ve had my fill of those.”
Lynch snorted and splayed his arms out wide. “That’s why I’m comin’ along. Think of it as a gesture of good faith,” he added when even Middleton’s eyebrow arched. “Besides, them’s just the rules of this game. I’m all about developing long-term relationships, and I expect we’ll be doin’ plenty of future business.”
“Don’t count on it,” Middleton said shortly, which only served to make Lynch grin.
“You worry ‘bout your ledger,” he said dismissively, “and let me worry ‘bout mine. I’ve made a fine living makin’ bets on people like y’all. We set?”
Middleton wanted to argue with the man’s insistence on returning to the Pride with him, but he knew that in the end it was the best guarantee they were likely to get from him. “All right,” he stood from the booth, prompting his people to do likewise, “we’ll see to it that you’re comfortable during the trip.”
True to his word, Lynch’s people arrived at the rendezvous point precisely on schedule. The salvage vessel was a converted bulk freighter of some kind which had clearly seen better days, but Middleton knew that a full crew complement for the former cargo hauler would be well over three hundred souls.
“Scrappin’ the stuff you need off the Temperance ought to take ‘bout six days,” Lynch explained. “The salvage ship is big enough to carry it all in one go if you’re the nervous type,” he said with a self-amused smile, “but if you’re cool we can have it make a few trips so your people can get to work as soon as possible. It’s your call, Tim,” Lynch said, turning to face Middleton. “Either way, y’all should probably keep me locked in a closet somewhere. I’ve got what you might call a ‘wandering eye’,” he said as he looked around the yacht’s interior pointedly, “and I’d hate for my base nature to queer this deal at the eleventh hour.”
Middleton suspected Lynch was hinting at something, but whatever it might have been eluded him—and he was more than happy to see the man secured for the duration of their trip. “We’ll find you suitable accommodations,” Middleton assured him. “You said the wreck is that of the Temperance; would that be the Eleyna’s Temperance, out of Capria?”
“Sure enough,” Lynch replied with a nod, “and before you go pointin’ fingers, she wandered across a Bug trail a few systems over fifteen years ago. I ain’t never brought down a single ship in my life that wasn’t clearin’ her guns at me, but I’ve got what some would call an uncanny habit of bein’ first on the scene after a tragedy like what happened to the Temperance.”
“Imagine that,” Middleton said dryly as Li maneuvered the yacht into position to provide them with a better view of the hulk which a decade and a half earlier had practically been the Pride’s twin.
“One man’s loss, more often than not, is my gain,” Lynch shrugged. “I ain’t losin’ no sleep over it and neither should you, seein’ as your ship needs the gear more than the old crew does.”
“So that’s it?” Middleton asked. “What happens after they tear down the equipment?”
Lynch shrugged, “Then you give ‘em the coordinates you want ‘em to take the stuff to and they’ll transfer it over to your ship. But the salvage captain’s a bit on the tight side; he’ll only give you two days to transfer everything. You want him to hang around longer than that and it’ll cost you more than you could pay.”
“Is that a threat?” Middleton asked mildly.
“Nah,” Lynch scoffed. “It’s just the way the world works. A man loses stomach lining carryin’ so much hot gear in his hold for too long at a stretch—even one that’s been doin’ it nonstop for near thirty years.”
Deciding to push past that particular point, Middleton thought the matter through before nodding to himself. “We’ll have your people make one delivery,” he concluded. “You say the removal will take six days, so six days from now I’ll send someone with coordinates and they can rendezvous with my ship.”
“Works for me,” Lynch agreed. “Now…” he stepped forward casually, “I’ve been told something that I didn’t believe at first, but thought you might be able to clear up for me.”
Middleton made no reply, prompting the other man to snicker softly.
“You cool, you cool,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, “but this is just too good to pass up. A couple of my…you might call them ‘scouts,’ came across some wreckage a few jumps from here. It was from a Soyuz-class Heavy Destroyer,” he said, his light tone at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “At first I thought it was a trick of some kind, and that someone out there thought I was stupid enough to go out lookin’ for a tempting haul like that. But after seein’ your shinies,” he looked around the yacht appraisingly, “I’m thinkin’ there might have been something to it.”<
br />
Middleton could not think of any reason to deny it, so he shrugged. “You’ve got good intelligence—and it’s awfully prompt,” he added with a dark look.
Lynch shook his head. “I don’t need no embedded operatives, Tim,” he said, matching Middleton’s gaze unwaveringly. “That’s not how I do things. But any man that could take down a Soyuz—especially one captained by James Raubach IV—while commanding a bucket like that,” he tilted his head toward the wreck of the Temperance off their port bow, “would know that the commander was worth more than the ship…”
Silence hung over the compartment as Middleton’s people looked back and forth between he and Lynch. For Middleton’s part, he knew that Lynch was offering to purchase Captain Raubach for purposes which were most certainly illegal, and almost certainly unethical. “If such a man existed,” he allowed, “he would probably take offense at his ship being referred to as a ‘bucket.’ But even if he didn’t, he would have had reasons beyond the acquisition of personal wealth for capturing an enemy commander—especially if that commander’s organization had wronged our hypothetical captain in the not-so-distant past.”
Lynch sighed. “If that captain was hopin’ to get some information out of his prisoner, he’s gonna be disappointed,” he said matter-of-factly. “It don’t matter how persuasive you is; them highborn noble types know that the only thing separating them from us is their name. None of it—money, weapons, ships, or even intelligence—matters as much as that family name, you feel me?”
Middleton had not thought of the situation in exactly those terms, but now that Lynch had laid it out he thought it was possible the arms dealer was right.
“If someone was to ask me,” Lynch continued into the silence, “I’d suggest goin’ after his crew instead. They won’t know as much, but all it would take is for our hypothetical captain to make them understand he’s not a man to be trifled with and they’ll chirp till their throats are dry.”
“Wouldn’t blowing up their ship already qualify our captain in that fashion?” Middleton asked neutrally.
Lynch shook his head. “These highborns do things differently,” he explained. “I’d bet you credits to cream puffs that every single crewman on the Dämmerung was an orphan that got raised by the Raubach consortium. As long as they see their captain’s standing tall, they will too.”
“You just said he wouldn’t break,” Middleton said pointedly.
“I did,” Lynch agreed. “That’s why a man would do well to…well, I’ve said enough already,” he finished before turning his gaze away from Middleton and looking around the yacht’s now-stripped interior.
Middleton took the other man’s meaning plainly enough, but he disliked the idea of following his advice in this particular matter. Not only was he a criminal with extensive ties to the Spine’s black market, but he was one of the few men who Middleton had actually met and considered absolutely untrustworthy.
Still, when he presented the situation in the way he had, it was a compelling argument to say the least. Tim Middleton knew he would need to think on it for some time before arriving at a decision.
“We’ll take a quick look around the Temperance,” Middleton decided, “and then we’ll leave your salvage ship to do its work. You’ll come with us to my ship.”
“Fine by me,” Lynch shrugged before a smirk flashed briefly across his features, “I cleared my schedule for this, after all. Just be sure to bring me up to the bridge when my boys arrive; they’ll want to take their orders from me, if you get my meaning.”
Chapter XLIV: A Fresh Coat of Paint
Much to Middleton’s surprise, the crime lord was a model guest during his stay aboard the Pride of Prometheus. He made no objection to staying in a brig cell—having in fact suggested the possibility of such early in the process, which had set Middleton ill at ease.
A man like Lynch would know how to break out of any jail cell where such was possible, so Captain Middleton had tripled security on the brig for the week following their ‘guest’s’ arrival.
Kratos was also cooling his heels in the brig, and Middleton knew that he would need to address that particular situation before long but he also knew that he needed to put his ship to rights before doing so.
The yacht had departed twenty hours earlier, and the countdown timer on the main viewer showed that twelve minutes had elapsed since the sleek vessel could have made its fastest return jump when Hephaestion reported, “I am detecting a point transfer, Captain.”
Middleton awaited the confirmation of the ship’s identity, knowing that if it was anyone but the yacht that even Garibaldi’s diligent patch jobs to the ship’s power grid would ultimately prove useless against a determined foe.
“It is the yacht,” Hephaestion reported, followed by, “I am detecting a second point transfer, sir.” A moment later he confirmed, “It matches the ship profile you outlined, Captain Middleton.”
“Good,” Middleton acknowledged levelly. Just because they were in the system on time, and appeared to be who they said they were, did not exactly put Middleton at ease. He switched his chair’s com-link to a direct connection with the brig, “Bring our guest up, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Captain,” Gnuko replied promptly. He had been released on schedule not long after Middleton had returned from Capital, and the Pride’s commander saw no reason to belabor the matter of Atticus’ death any further. The truth was that Gnuko had served the Pride with distinction throughout his time aboard ship, and Middleton felt fortunate to have him in charge of the Lancer contingent.
Several minutes later, Sergeant Gnuko—flanked by a pair of power-armored Lancers—entered the bridge. They were accompanied by Lynch, who looked around the bridge and shook his head. “These old girls never was pretty, but they sure is tough.”
“Your salvage vessel has entered the system,” Middleton said, gesturing to the station beside Fei Long which had been set up with a headset already connected to the hailing frequencies.
Lynch approached the station and deftly manipulated the controls, prompting Fei Long to quirk an eyebrow as the man reset the channel to a seemingly random series of three, separate, frequencies before holding the microphone up to his lips, “Make ready for the transfer, but come in slow; the disc is too dense for your usual speed, Lockette.”
There was an intense wave of static which crashed over the speakers, and Fei Long quickly examined his controls in confusion.
A moment later the static stopped and Lynch said, in a markedly different accent and cadence, “You’ll do as I say, Ricky boy; don’t forget who brought you into this business.”
Another burst of static came over the speakers, and Lynch nodded.
“That’s what I thought,” he quipped in his former accent before setting the headset down and turning to Middleton. “We good.”
“Was that a polyphonic cypher?” Fei Long asked in open amazement. “How are you able to—“
Middleton’s withering look was enough to cut the young man off mid-sentence, but Lynch chuckled as he turned to the young man. “You know, you ain’t as dumb as you look.”
Fei Long was clearly offended, but he masked it reasonably well as the arms dealer turned to face Middleton once again. “We can either ferry loads back and forth, or we can have my boys splash the cargo all at once a few hundred kilometers from here and then leave the system. It’s your call.”
“Let’s ferry,” Middleton said, “starting with the high value gear first so my people can look over it.”
Lynch looked genuinely offended. “It’s packed in the way it’s packed in, but y’all can keep them heavy lasers trained on Ricky’s boat for all I care,” he waved at the screen. “Your goods is all in working order—I’d kill anyone that tried to smear my reputation that way, feel me?”
“All the same,” Middleton allowed, actually believing Lynch, which was more than a little surprising to him, “let’s ferry.”
“Suit yourself,” Lynch shrugged as he reached into his poc
ket and withdrew a handful of small, round, multi-colored candies which he popped into his mouth. “Mind if we have a word in private, Captain?” he asked after chewing on the candies for a few seconds.
Middleton saw Gnuko step forward, but he waved the Lancer Sergeant off. “After you,” he gestured to his ready room’s door, and the two entered the chamber and assumed their respective seats. “What is it you wanted to discuss?” Middleton asked.
“We ain’t yet concluded our first transaction,” Lynch said, “but I thought now was a good time to talk about that second matter?”
Middleton leaned back in his chair and shook his head, “I won’t give up my prisoner, Lynch.”
The burly man chuckled, “I wasn’t askin’ you to. You and I done talked that matter out; I only got a request to make along those lines. Your…acquiescence might could sway my decision-makin’ process regarding that other deal we discussed.”
“I’m still not certain what that ‘other thing’ might be,” Middleton said, leaning forward and placing his forearms on his desk. “I understand you’re being purposefully vague, but that yacht’s essentially irreplaceable.”
“I know, I know,” Lynch agreed, “but a man like me could make better use of it than you. And besides, when the fur starts to fly it ain’t gonna do you one bit of good…whereas fifty Starfire missiles might.”
“That’s your offer?” Middleton asked, surprised at hearing that even Lynch had fifty Starfire missiles in his possession.
“For the yacht? Yeah,” Lynch replied confidently. “And don’t you pretend it’s a lowball offer, neither; we both know fifty of those beauties will do you more good than a slow-cycle pleasure craft ever will.”
It was true, much as Middleton would have liked to argue the point. The Pride had enough missile launchers mounted on its hull, after their refit at Gambit Station, to stow nearly that many without compromising the shuttle bay. “All right,” he allowed, “after my people have scrubbed its computers clean and gone over it for any evidence they might have missed, you can have the yacht if you deliver fifty Starfires.”
Up The Middle (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 2) Page 46
