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

by Caleb Wachter

  “Most of it is mine,” she cut in, and he was surprised to hear her say it, “but you haven’t exactly made an effort to deal with it.”

  But he decided not to belabor the point, nodding silently for several seconds before continuing, “I guess I have only one question to which I’d like the answer, and I promise I’ll move on from this recent…animosity to the best of my ability.”

  She stiffened visibly but, to her credit, she kept her voice controlled as she said, “I won’t lie to you.”

  Middleton drew a deep breath, which he held for several seconds before asking, “What was our daughter like?”

  The brave façade which Jo had built up crumbled instantly and tears began to well in her eyes. Middleton felt his own eyes begin to water, and they sat in complete silence for what seemed like an eternity before she finally answered, “She was just like her father: smart, inquisitive, calculating,” she said, her voice trembling between sobs, “and when we fought…she never once forgave me for it.”

  Middleton shook his head as her sobs intensified. “Then we’re different in that regard, at least,” he said, making eye contact with her and holding her gaze with as much compassion in his visage as he could muster. She seemed to take as much comfort at hearing his words as he took in saying them, so he added, “Tell me more about her.”

  And she did.

  Chapter XLVII: Cocked, Locked…

  Middleton looked around the bridge and felt a measure of pride at seeing his crew working together. Just a few months earlier they had been brought together, and the majority of the newcomers were the MSP’s castoffs and rejects.

  Helmsman Marcos had locked down the First Shift helmsman post, and Middleton had been so impressed with her performance—and sobriety—to that point that he had called her in that morning to inform her that the mandatory drug screenings to which she had been subjected would be relaxed significantly.

  She had been resistant at first, suggesting that the system was working for her, but Middleton knew that that old adage, ‘If you’re not moving forward, you’re moving backward,’ applied in every facet of life. If she was going to continue to advance her career, she would need to continue her own journey and he intended to help her do so.

  Sarkozi had also grown immensely during the Pride’s deployments, and Middleton no longer felt the urge to double check her tactical projections or other sensitive input. She still had a long way to go before she could command her own vessel, but Middleton himself had been wholly unprepared for the responsibilities of command.

  And Fei Long, around whom it often seemed the ship’s entire mission orbited, sat at his station with his combat drone control glove active while Winters managed the ship’s Comm. system while Mr. Fei directed his so-called attack dogs, and Middleton waited patiently for the young man’s report.

  Winters gave Fei Long a nod, and the younger man stood from his chair with a look of relief on his face, “The program has been uploaded to this ComStat hub, Captain. The propagation process will require several hours, during which time I advise we move to a distance of ten million kilometers for safety reasons. If the propagation is successful, we will gain Sector-wide access to the lower-bandwidth functions of the ComStat network.”

  “Helm,” Middleton turned to Marcos, “make our distance ten million kilometers from the hub.”

  “Ten million kilometers, aye,” she acknowledged, and the Pride began to pull away. Their engines were still operating at half their rated power, but Chief Garibaldi was confident that the remaining heat sinks would be installed in three days’ time, after which his teams could begin installing their heavy lasers.

  “XO,” Middleton said, standing from his chair, “you have the bridge. Notify me if the situation changes.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Sarkozi acknowledged with a nod as she moved to the low dais on which the command chair sat.

  Middleton made his way to the doors and found himself hoping that Lynch was wrong.

  Upon entering the brig, Middleton was met by Lancer Vali Funar. He was about to push past him after returning the man’s silent salute, but he decided now was as good of a time as any to address the proverbial elephant in the room.

  “I’m curious,” Middleton said as he turned to face the man, “what were your orders, exactly?”

  The Lancer’s visage hardened and he shook his head, “I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

  “Come on,” Middleton sighed irritably, “this isn’t my first dance, Funar. The Admiral sent you here with orders to what…observe us and report on our actions when we eventually rejoin the fleet? What else would he say…” Middleton mused, cocking his head slightly, “something about looking for evidence of collusion with the Raubachs—or maybe even the Asiatics, now that I’m thinking about it—and being ready to disembark the ship at the earliest convenience so you could bring him word, I’d wager. I’d also guess that he ordered you to kill me if you thought you could get away with it, but he wouldn’t have needed to give you that order now would he?”

  Funar’s eyes snapped back and forth between Middleton’s during the tense silence, but the other man wilted visibly as he shook his head, “No, sir, he wouldn’t have needed to give me that particular order.”

  Middleton nodded agreeably. “Good,” he said, “because if he had, I’d space you right now. I know about your covert op on Capria but you’re on my ship now, Lancer,” he said, stepping toward the man until their noses nearly touched, “and I don’t have time for any more games—no matter who ordered them. Where we’re going we’ve got to watch each other’s backs, not wait for an opportunity to put a shank into them. If you can’t deal with that, I’ll put you off the ship at the next populated world we come to and you can make your report to the Admiral.”

  Funar bristled and clasped his hands behind his back, “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

  “It had better be good,” Middleton quipped.

  “You aren’t the only one who’s fighting for what’s right,” he said hotly. “If the Admiral doubted your loyalty, even you have to admit that your story didn’t exactly pass the sniff test.”

  “My ‘story’?” Middleton repeated icily, feeling his hackles rise at the man’s insinuation. “You mean the one where this crew singlehandedly rescued thousands of colonists aboard a settler ship? Or the one where they uncovered and neutralized a bio-weapons production facility? Or how about the best one of all,” he growled, “the one where they fought—and died in droves!—on the orders of a man who holds them in such low regard that he places spies in their midst?”

  “That’s not how it is, sir—“ he began.

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me how it is, Lancer,” Middleton snapped. “You weren’t here—they were!” he snapped, pointing toward the doorway leading to the adjoining corridor. “And more than half of the men and women that have boarded this ship to carry out Admiral Montagne’s mission will never go home, never see their loved ones, and never pursue the dreams each of them brought aboard this vessel.” Middleton straightened himself and lowered his voice, “You can take a shot at me if you like—you wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last,” he said, knowing the last was truer than he would have liked, “but you will respect the men and women who serve aboard this ship. Don’t think I’m unaware of your role in the near-mutiny we had on our hands,” he said, casting a look toward the cell in which Kratos presently resided. “Intentional or not, your ‘method of inquiry’ nearly sunk this ship and everyone on it.”

  Middleton had known about Funar’s questioning of those crewmembers which had been aboard during the Pride’s first tour in Sectors 23 & 24. He had tolerated it because he thought it was important to provide transparency, but he now realized it had been a mistake to let men with an agenda that wasn’t his—the Captain’s—pursue that agenda, no matter how harmless or even beneficial it might seem. He was overstating the case since Funar and Traian had largely left the Tracto-ans alone,
but they had definitely contributed to the formation of divides among the crew.

  Funar gritted his teeth and said, “I’m aware of that, sir. But I’m also aware of who my commanding officer is.” He straightened and said, “My orders were as you say, but the Admiral also said that if I found nothing untoward within three weeks that I was to consider that particular mission accomplished and to integrate into the crew—your crew,” he added pointedly. “You’re my C.O., Captain Middleton.”

  “And Traian?” Middleton pressed, not entirely satisfied with the man’s answer but hearing the ring of truth in it.

  “Tray?” Funar said incredulously. “He’s a good man, sir, but this was a one-man op.”

  “You like working special ops, Funar?” Middleton asked neutrally.

  The man hesitated before nodding, “I do, sir. The mission on Capria was an eye-opener for me.”

  “Good,” Middleton grudged, “I’ll see to it that you’re transferred to the Recon Team immediately.” The man’s expression remained stony, which Middleton had to credit him for at the very least. “Report to Corporal Lu after this shift is complete; I hear she’s still looking for Lancers who can keep up with her. Think you can do that, Funar?” he asked with more than a hint of challenge in his voice.

  Lancer Funar nodded briskly as he snapped to attention. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Carry on,” Middleton said before turning to the cell holding Captain Raubach. “Open this cell.”

  The doors slid open and Middleton stepped inside. James Raubach IV, whose features were sharp, dark, and far paler than any of the Pride’s crew outside the Tracto-ans, looked up lazily from his cot. “Oh, good,” he muttered, and Middleton immediately found the man’s accent insufferable. “Captain Middleton,” he said as he sat up, “you have finally graced me with your presence. To what do I owe this inestimable honor?”

  “I’d think a prisoner, especially one raised with a silver spoon in his mouth like you, would have a little better sense than to begin a conversation by patronizing his jailor,” Middleton said levelly.

  “Am I supposed to feel threatened here, Middleton?” Raubach asked blandly. “We both know the score so let’s just cut through the detritus and get down to brass tacks: what are you after?”

  “Excuse me?” Middleton asked, genuinely curious what the other man was on about. He couldn’t believe that Raubach would actually volunteer the information he wanted, but for a moment he had to admit that he entertained the idea with more than a modicum of hope.

  “My ransom,” Raubach replied in his insufferable, arrogant tone that told the story of a lifetime spent talking down to people like they were little better than house pets. “That is what all of this was about, right? I have to assume you’ve already ransacked my yacht, but my family will pay ten times that amount to see me returned safely to them. You just need to figure out what form you’d like the payment to take: cash; a colonial governorship somewhere out on the Rim; or a real ship to command instead of this old…thing,” he looked around with a sour expression.

  Of all the subjects Middleton had considered during his contemplations of how this particular conversation would go, the idea of ransom was one he had never fully explored. “You seem confident your father still wants you back,” he said, trying to buy time for his mind to wrap itself around the subject matter, “but he didn’t exactly send the cavalry out after you, did he?”

  Raubach’s sour expression intensified before he expertly wiped it from his face, replacing it with a courtly mask like Middleton was used to seeing in holo-vids about royal intrigue. “You have no idea what’s going on out here, Middleton,” Raubach said playfully. “You’re like a three-legged dog hopping around in search of a bone you’ll never find, digging here and there with mortal certainty that you’re getting closer. But you couldn’t be farther from the truth if you tried, and every hole you dig takes you further from your goal.” He shook his head in mock sympathy, “I’m offering you a way out of that, Middleton. If you play your cards right, in two weeks’ time you’ll be one of the most powerful men in the entire Sector. You still want to come after me then? Fine,” he shrugged indifferently, “but a man like you understands that he’s going to need more than a ship like this to make a dent in my family’s operation…whatever it may be.”

  Middleton knew that he had no business verbally sparring with someone of Rabuach’s stature, so he pushed aside the subject and cut right to the point, as the Imperial Captain had suggested at the outset, “Where is your family’s base of operations on the Rim?”

  Raubach’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he even chuckled before regaining control. “Well…that is direct, I’ll give you that much,” he said as he shook his head in bewilderment that may very well have been genuine.

  “I’m a busy man,” Middleton shrugged, taking some measure of satisfaction in wrong-footing the other man as effectively as Raubach had done to him a few minutes earlier. “I don’t have a lot of time games.”

  “So…” Raubach stood from his cot as a cat-like smile crept across his features, “what’s your plan? You’ll ride up, knock on the front door and tell them they’re all under arrest?”

  “It does have the virtue of simplicity,” Middleton allowed.

  “And what happens when they refuse your generous offer?” he asked with open amusement.

  “I don’t know exactly,” the Pride’s captain said lightly, “but in my time out here I’ve learned that I’m more persuasive than people tend to expect.”

  “That’s true,” Raubach said thoughtfully as his face scrunched up as though in thought. “But you’re also lucky,” he said pointedly, “that battleship saved you during our first encounter, and my…overextension of resources led to an unlikely sequence of events culminating in that little bitch and her gene-slaves catching a lucky break against me on the corvette.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her she made an impression,” Middleton said dryly. “She usually just blends into the crowd; I’ve taken to where I hardly even notice her.”

  Raubach’s expression turned grim, and all pretense of cordiality vanished immediately. “Cut the act, Middleton,” he spat. “You know, and I know, that this is as far as you go. Take the win for what it is and move on to greener pastures while you still have the chance.”

  Middleton smirked, finding the man’s arrogance and presumption to be more than he had believed possible. Even Admiral Montagne didn’t come across half this cocky!

  “I’m going to ask you again,” Middleton said matter-of-factly, “where is your family’s base of operations out on the Rim?”

  “Are you really that stupid?” Raubach asked, blinking as though in shocked disbelief—which, Middleton supposed, it was possible was also genuine. “You have a chance to actually make something of yourself here, and you’d throw it away…for what?”

  “I take it that’s a refusal to answer the question?” Middleton asked expectantly.

  “You could say that,” Raubach replied with a piteous shake of his head.

  “Ok,” Middleton said agreeably. “But the next time I ask you that question, I need you to understand—and truly believe, if for nothing other than purely selfish reasons—that it will be the last time. You’ve read my dossier,” he said, knowing it was certainly true, “am I the kind of man who makes idle threats?”

  Raubach made no reply but his eyes narrowed in silent calculation as he searched Middleton’s features for some sign, or tell, from which he could divine something useful.

  “Think about that,” Middleton said before stepping out of the cell and gesturing for the door to be closed behind him. When it had done so, he stopped in front of Kratos’ cell and gave very real consideration to making the trip a hat trick of meetings with problematic people aboard his ship.

  But he decided to put it off, and headed to the shuttle bay instead.

  Chapter XLVIII: …and Ready to Rock

  “Chief,” Middleton greeted his Chief Engineer upon entering
the shuttle bay, “how go the repairs?”

  Garibaldi nodded agreeably, “Well we won’t be putting in any vacuum time until we jump out of here, but we’ve got most of the new lasers refurbished and ready for installation.”

  “That was quick,” Middleton said in surprise.

  “They were in more or less pristine shape,” Garibaldi shrugged. “With six of these babies on each broadside we’re going to pack a heck of a surprise for anyone who thinks they can outmaneuver us. Not to mention those,” he said with a pointed look at a pair of massive objects which were nearly as large as their new shuttle. “I’ve got to say,” he sighed as they approached them, “just looking at ‘em gives me the creeps. But I’m guessing that they’ll end up causing someone else an even worse day than they did me and my people when we brought them aboard.”

  Middleton nodded, knowing that just having the weapons on board the Pride was a violation of at least a dozen interstellar treaties. “I ordered you to bring them aboard, Chief,” Middleton said sternly. “I’m the only one on the hook here.”

  Garibaldi looked genuinely offended. “Tim, so long as these things get used on the people I think they’re going to get used on, I’ll stand right beside you when the firing squad lines up,” he said grimly. “Someone’s got to stop these people, and I don’t see help arriving any time soon.”

  “Neither do I,” Middleton admitted as he knelt beside the awesome weapons.

  He had never before seen a Liberator torpedo up close—he had, of course, studied them extensively over the past several months for what should be obvious reasons—and even he got a chill when looking at the merciless weapons.

  The casing was nearly two meters thick, comprised of overlapping duralloy plates constructed in such a way that they would actually shape the charge of the fusion warhead within, making it capable of penetrating any known man-made structure. Duralloy was supposedly incapable of serving this particular function, which made the construction of these terrible weapons highly secretive—their creator mysteriously died not long after the first Liberators were used against Imperial warships fifty years earlier, suggesting that even the Empire understood the awesome power of these weapons and wanted no part in a galaxy armed with them.