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  Against The Middle

  (Spineward Sectors: Middleton’s Pride, Book Three)

  by

  Caleb Wachter

  Copyright © 2014 by Caleb Wachter

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect our electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book we can't afford to write for you tomorrow.

  As a matter of principle, I refuse to employ any DRM not expressly required by my e-publisher, Amazon.com, since my own experience with such measures as a consumer has been nothing short of disastrous. I’m here to tell stories to eager readers, not frustrate them with ineffective, obtrusive copyright mechanisms.

  Other Books by Caleb Wachter

  As of 02-27-2015

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON’S PRIDE

  No Middle Ground

  Up The Middle

  Against The Middle

  SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES

  Joined at the Hilt: Union

  SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS

  Between White and Grey

  SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES

  Revelation

  Reunion

  COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS

  Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire

  Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood

  Books by my Brother: Luke Sky Wachter

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES

  Admiral Who?

  Admiral’s Gambit

  Admiral’s Tribulation

  Admiral’s Trial

  Admiral’s Revenge

  Admiral’s Spine

  Admiral Invincible

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES

  The Blooding

  The Painting

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS

  The Boar Knife

  Join the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet on Facebook!

  Follow my other series’ at Seeds of Humanity, Imperium Cicernus, Sphereworld, and Seeds of Humanity, all on Facebook!

  Join www.PacificCrestPublishing.com for the opportunity to beta read future installments in these series and others!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: One Last Stop

  Chapter I: New Days, Same Ways

  Chapter II: Data Mining

  Chapter III: Shedding the Past

  Chapter IV: Picking up the Scent

  Chapter V: Advantage: Pride

  Chapter VI: Cracking the Code

  Chapter VII: First Contact

  Chapter VIII: Clues

  Chapter IX: Taking a Page from the Little Admiral’s Book

  Chapter X: Departure

  Chapter XI: Patience is the Plan

  Chapter XII: The Seed is Planted

  Chapter XIII: Phase Two

  Chapter XIV: The Bulwark

  Chapter XV: Preamble

  Chapter XVI: Middleton’s Run

  Chapter XVII: Pass Protection 101

  Chapter XVIII: Moving in the Pocket

  Chapter XIX: Behind the Line

  Chapter XX: Slipping In

  Chapter XXI: Coming To

  Chapter XXII: Changing the Plan

  Chapter XXIII: With Old Friends Like These…

  Chapter XXIV: Bare Bones

  Chapter XXV: Old Flames Burn Hot

  Chapter XXVI: Every Gift Has Its Price

  Chapter XXVII: The Coiling Serpent

  Chapter XXVIII: A Rude Surprise

  Chapter XXIX: A Job Not Done

  Chapter XXX: Middleton’s Pride

  Chapter XXXI: One Last Duty

  Chapter XXXII: An Eternal Funeral Pyre

  Epilogue I: McKnight’s Mission

  Epilogue II: ?????????’? ?????????

  Afterword

  Prologue: One Last Stop

  “That appears to be the last of the supplies,” Fei Long said, and Lu Bu nodded in satisfaction. Her boyfriend, while brilliant and capable of things most could only dream of, did have an incredibly annoying habit of stating the obvious — and occasionally restating it, using different words.

  “Good,” she replied as she checked the cargo-securing brackets which had been welded to their new shuttle’s floor. The craft was a far cry from the luxurious yacht which had previously brought them to Capital, but Lu Bu felt considerably less conspicuous when she had stepped out of the boxy, heavily-armored assault craft than she had when arriving aboard the smooth, shiny, overly graceful-looking yacht.

  “What is this?” Fei Long said in mock surprise as he checked his data slate. “It would seem you have received a message, Fengxian,” he said cheekily, referring to her by her style name, Fengxian, while turning the slate so that she could see it.

  “If this is another of your surprises, Kongming…” she growled as she snatched the slate from his fingers.

  “It might be,” he replied playfully, which only made her scowl as she examined the contents of the slate. It seemed that she had received a message from Steve Inson, a retired smashball player who had known Lancer Sergeant Walter Joneson—her former mentor and the closest thing to a father figure Lu Bu had ever known. Fei Long had arranged for her to meet with Mr. Inson during their previous trip to Capital, and it seemed that he had somehow initiated contact with the man again during this particular trip to the planet.

  The message itself was brief, but there was a virtual address listed along with a request that she contact him at the earliest convenience. While she had disliked the circumstances surrounding their meeting, she had in fact achieved some measure of comfort, or camaraderie, after speaking with the man for just a few minutes. She knew that she had more to learn from her departed mentor, Walter Joneson, and Mr. Inson—or ‘Hutch,’ as he preferred to be called by friends—was the closest connection she could find to her departed Sergeant. Sergeant Gnuko, Joneson’s replacement, had also known the man but Sergeant Joneson had specifically given Lu Bu a picture of himself and Mr. Inson which had been taken during a championship celebration several years earlier. After speaking with Hutch about that picture, Lu Bu had come to realize that the posthumous gift from her mentor had held a more significant meaning than she had initially realized.

  “I have no interest, Kongming,” she snapped, thrusting the slate into his chest as she prepared to disembark the shuttle.

  “Please, Fengxian,” he said in an uncharacteristically pleading tone, “Captain Middleton does not require us to return for at least another three hours. The Pride will remain in orbit for another day even after that deadline; we have time to contact this man, and I urge you to do so.”

  She felt like smacking her boyfriend upside the head for his insistence on interfering in the matter, but before she could do so she realized that if there was any kind of grand design to the universe—be in divine will, fate, karma, or even Murphy’s Law—then Fei Long was most certainly a part of that design.

  “Fine,” she said grudgingly as she yanked the slate from his fingers again, “I will have him meet us here. Whatever he has to say can be said, and then we can return to our duties.”

  Fei Long was clearly disappointed, but he sighed reluctantly as he nodded in agreement.

  Lu Bu called up the screen which would initiate a connection with Mr. Inson, but when she reached the menu which required her to input her personal identification she realized she did not know what information Fei Long had used to set up her local account.

  She thrust the slate into his chest—again—and said, “Send him a text-only message telling him where we are, and that if he wishes to meet us then he should do so now. We return to orbit in one hour.”

&n
bsp; Fei Long nodded as his fingers flew across the interface for several seconds until he declared, “It is done.”

  “Good,” she huffed, “now assist me in securing the rest of this gear.”

  Almost exactly an hour later, Fei Long saw a hulking man who he would have assumed was a Tracto-an bodybuilder. The lines on his face spoke of at least four decades of life, but he moved as easily as any twenty year old Fei Long had seen.

  It was clear even before this man’s eyes found Lu Bu that he was Steve Inson, and he was surprisingly carrying a duffle bag which he had slung over his shoulder.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” Inson said as he moved toward Lu Bu, and Fei Long felt himself unconsciously doing likewise. He marveled at how thick the man’s neck was; when viewed from the front it looked as though it was nearly half again as wide as his head. His torso was improbably as thick as Kratos’, though this man was several inches shorter than the one-eyed Tracto-an.

  “You wish to speak?” Lu Bu asked as she finished inspecting the shuttle’s landing gear.

  “I do,” Inson replied with a short nod, “but I was hoping we could do it aboard the ship. I brought everything I’ll need,” he hefted the duffle bag demonstratively.

  “We do not return here,” Lu Bu said with an unyielding nod. “My Captain does not command passenger ship—“

  “But he is always on the lookout for talented individuals,” Fei Long cut in smoothly, knowing that despite Lu Bu’s protestations, she had been deeply consumed with thoughts of her departed mentor, Walter Joneson. This man was the closest thing Fei Long had managed to find to a legitimate connection to Sergeant Joneson, and there was no way he would allow the opportunity which fate had bestowed upon them to pass them by.

  “Kongming…” Lu Bu began threateningly, but he ignored her and thrust his hand out toward Mr. Inson.

  “I am Fei Long,” he said, feeling more than a little awkward at proffering his hand when his usual custom was to bow. He had learned that his standard gesture of respect put most of his crewmates ill at ease, so he had attempted to adopt new mannerisms as often as he was able. “I am the one who arranged for your initial meeting,” he added when Inson cocked his head in mild confusion.

  The larger man’s eyes lit with realization, “Ah, so you’re her boyfriend. We’re lucky you arranged for the meeting, Mr…” he trailed off, apparently having forgotten Fei Long’s name.

  Pushing his irritation far from his affect, Fei Long repeated, “My name is Fei Long.”

  “Good to meet you, Long,” Inson said with a curt nod as he gripped Fei Long’s hand in his much larger one. The man made no attempt to display physical superiority, which was a positive as far as Fei Long was concerned. He was also surprised that the man knew the order of names in Fei Long’s culture, evidenced by Inson’s use of his given name rather than his family name. At least half of the non-Asiatics aboard the Pride of Prometheus still erred in that particular regard.

  “There is not room on our ship for passengers—“ Lu Bu began again but Fei Long placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing a hot look from his girlfriend.

  “We are not scheduled to leave orbit for another twenty four hours,” Fei Long said diplomatically. “Mr. Inson knows we serve aboard a warship; I think we should allow Captain Middleton to meet with him. At the very least,” he added smoothly, “you can share two trips in a shuttle, which will certainly prove superior to a few minutes on this landing pad—and it will have the benefit of allowing us to keep to our itinerary.” He gave her a pointed look before glancing up at the main chronometer built into the arch through which Mr. Inson had just entered.

  Lu Bu’s ears turned red, and Fei Long knew he would sustain some form of physical sanction for having outmaneuvered her using logic and reason, but he also knew that he was glad to suffer her irritation if it allowed her to find some degree of peace regarding Walter Joneson’s death.

  “Fine,” she snapped before turning on her heel and ascending the shuttle’s cargo ramp in open irritation.

  Inson leaned toward Fei Long conspiratorially and muttered, “She’s a handful, eh?”

  Fei Long flashed a lopsided grin, “A flawed diamond is worth far more than a perfect river pebble.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Captain,” the hulking man said as he sat down in the chair opposite Middleton’s own. Middleton had been apprised of Mr. Inson’s arrival when the shuttle had been en route, and the truth was that the Pride’s Captain found himself more than a little curious what could bring the smashball star to his ship.

  “I’m not going to lie; your request to meet with me got my attention,” Middleton said as he set down a data slate containing the latest repair updates from Chief Garibaldi’s teams. Ever since Kratos had dealt with the mounting morale crisis—using what could be charitably called ‘unconventional methods’—the Tracto-an crewmembers had rounded into fine form. As a group they still lacked a strong fundamental knowledge of technology which the Starborn—the Tracto-an term for anyone who had been raised in spacefaring cultures—possessed, but their work ethic and efficiency were truly remarkable. And the impact had spread far beyond just the Assault Team, over which Kratos had been given command, with even those Tracto-ans in other departments having displayed a marked uptick in overall performance following Atticus’ death.

  “I appreciate your agreeing to that request,” Inson said with what was clearly an awkward attempt at humility. Judging from the man’s bearing, demeanor, and absurd physique—which rivaled all but the largest Tracto-an aboard the Pride of Prometheus—he was unaccustomed to deferring to anyone or anything. Middleton had always admired men cut from that cloth, which was part of why he had counted Walter Joneson as one of his few genuine friends. “The truth, Captain Middleton, is that I was hoping to join up.”

  Middleton arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I didn’t authorize my away team to engage in recruiting activities—” he began.

  Inson shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “Long and Bu didn’t know that was why I asked to come up here.”

  “I’m surprised you heard anything about our presence,” Middleton said, fighting the urge to narrow his eyes. “I was under the impression I had secured a not-insignificant measure of discretion from our current hosts—at an also-not-insignificant price in credits.”

  Inson chuckled, “I just got lucky, is all. The owner of this station is a friend of mine,” he tilted his head toward the ready room’s lone viewing portal, through which the multi-armed space station could be seen. It resembled nothing so much as three octopuses piled on top of each other, with each tentacle ending in a docking clamp like the one which the Pride of Prometheus presently occupied.

  Middleton had decided to pull into the docking space when Garibaldi had suggested that a six day stay would afford them the requisite time to make the majority of the external modifications to the Pride’s hull—foremost among said modifications being the installation of a whole host of new weaponry which Middleton knew they would need the next time they ran into Commodore Raubach’s Rim Fleet. For all its flaws, Capital was true to its core tenets; Middleton’s ship and people had been completely unmolested during their time at the old starbase.

  “When Bu and Long showed up and returned my message, I put two and two together as to which ship they belonged to,” Inson continued. “So once I knew they were assigned to a proper warship, I decided I’d give enlistment the old ‘college try’.”

  “I’m at something of a loss,” Middleton admitted after a brief silence. “You’re one of the most recognizable smashball players of your generation. Why would you want to join the crew of a warship you know next to nothing about?”

  Inson shrugged lightly, but Middleton could tell he was holding something back. When he had first assumed command of the aged cruiser, he had been terrible at reading body language. But nearly a year on the job had taught him, through hundreds of face-to-face meetings with his department heads, how to pick up on things
which had previously been opaque to him. “I needed a change,” the big man replied.

  “That’s not even close to good enough,” Middleton said with a shake of his head. “And frankly, my time here isn’t exactly cheap; give it to me straight or I’m going to have to ask you to get off my ship so we can prepare to continue our mission.”

  Inson’s jaw flexed tightly, which somehow made his absurdly thick neck seem even more impressive, but the large man sighed and as he exhaled he seemed to wilt. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

  “That’s not exactly the best way to start a conversation with a prospective employer, Mr. Inson,” Middleton chided, but he had to admit to himself that he was intrigued.

  Inson nodded for several seconds before shrugging, “I have Kepral’s Syndrome.”

  Middleton felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord before he forced them back into a neutral position. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said after a pregnant pause. Kepral’s Syndrome was a debilitating neurological disorder which afflicted only a tiny fraction of humanity—specifically, those with extensive genetic modifications to the peripheral nervous system, like those intended to improve reaction times. “But a ship of war is hardly the place for someone in your…condition.”

  Inson snorted bitterly as he shook his head. “It’s still in the early stages; I’ve got at least six months before symptoms begin to manifest, and even then I should have another year before I would fail a military physical. If you think you guys are tough on the talent,” he added dryly, “you haven’t seen a smashball free agent’s medical review process.” He drew himself up in his chair, and Middleton saw the metal armrests of the seat bow outward as he did so. “I know what I’ve got left in the tank, Captain Middleton,” he said stiffly. “And frankly I’d rather spend it here, on this ship, than anywhere else in the universe.”