The way the women moved suggested they were more than pleasant-looking accessories, and the way their eyes swept across the dance floor was decidedly predatory. Even the outrageous curve of their bodies—which appeared to be identical, Fei Long quickly noted, deducing that if they had not been born twins then they had been made twins at the hand of a skilled surgeon—was not enough to distract him from the fact that they were clearly intended to serve as some sort of security.
The man ascended the stairs with the women following behind, and Strider stood up to greet him with a broad, beaming grin on his face. “Marcus! You be lookin’ thicker than last we spake. It’s good to be seein’ you,” he declared as he held his arms out for an embrace.
The thickly-built man removed his helmet and Strider froze mid-step as the man handed the helmet to the woman on his left. He shook his dreadlocks out almost lazily before making eye contact with Strider and drawling, “That ain’t the look of a man glad to see me.”
Sergeant Gnuko tensed, and even Fei Lon was unable to keep his nerves completely in check. The meeting had taken an unexpected turn, but Fei Long did his best to keep a calm exterior as he gripped his crane feather fan tightly.
“L-L-Lynch,” Strider eventually stammered as he took a slow, cautious step backward, “fancy meetin’ you in the Tenth.”
“Things changed since you was here last,” the thickly-built man said as he looked out on the dance floor. “There’s new management in the Tenth.”
“Tell us who your friend is, Marcus,” the woman holding the helmet purred, and Fei Long had to resist the urge to gulp as she took a step forward and let her eyes lick Strider’s body from his toes to his top.
“Marcus?” Strider repeated in obvious confusion.
The dreadlock-sporting man shrugged. “Ain’t but a few people seen the man since he moved up here; my keepin’ his name was the girls’ idea of facilitating a….what’d you call it, girls? Oh yeah,” he snapped his fingers as though in revelation, “a ‘smooth transition’.”
“So…” Strider began hesitantly in a tremulous voice, “what do I call you now, Marcus or Deshawn?”
“You can call me Marshawn if it makes you happy,” Lynch replied casually before taking a deliberate step toward Strider. “Now where’s my money?”
“Look…Lynch,” Strider stammered as he backed away from the advancing man, and Sergeant Gnuko stood slowly from the table but said nothing as the Pride’s Navigator stammered, “there was problems, see? We be doggin’ it out on the Rim, just like I told you was planned—“
“You ain’t been on the Rim in two years,” Lynch interrupted as he cracked his knuckles. “Little bird told me you got hooked into that bidness over in 25 with the Blood Lord. You wanna try lyin’ to me one…more…time?” he asked, punctuated the last words with a menacing step which saw Strider back into the balcony’s waist-high rail.
“Lynch, don’t be like that, man,” Strider said, his voice very nearly a plea as he held his hands up defensively. “I be gettin’ the money—“
“You mean you don’t got it?” Lynch interrupted, and Sergeant Gnuko took a step toward the pair. Without looking, Lynch wagged a finger in Gnuko’s direction and said, “Tsk tsk tsk, don’t be steppin’ to me in my own house lest you want to do the man dance.” Lynch cocked his head, as though he had just realized something, and turned to face Gnuko, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Sergeant Gnuko shook his head. “We’ve never met…I’d remember.”
Lynch narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger in Strider’s face. “Nah…I know him from somewhere. Where do I know him from, Percy?”
“Percy?” Fei Long repeated in surprise, unable to hold his tongue at hearing Lynch refer to Strider by that name.
Lynch furrowed his brow in confusion before a knowing, lopsided grin spread across his face. “Ah, you’re goin’ by that stupid-ass name again. That it?”
Strider looked ready to argue, but his shoulders slumped slightly and he nodded.
Lynch burst into laughter and took several steps back from Strider as the woman with her hands free brought him a drink. He eyed Gnuko thoughtfully, without an apparent care in the world as he down the glass in one shot. “Nah…I know you from somewhere,” he said as he squinted before slamming the glass down on the table in apparent frustration. “I never forget a face…”
“The name’s Russell Gnuko,” the Lancer Sergeant said tightly.
Lynch shook his head briefly before recognition dawned in his eyes. “Arake Shielding Technology,” he said triumphantly as he leveled an accusing finger. “You’re the Peregrines’ right tackle who quit the league before his endorsement deal with Arake went through!”
Gnuko grimaced before nodding wordlessly.
“Now that right there’s amazing,” Lynch grinned. He gestured for one of the women to pour a drink, and she obliged. He then handed it to Gnuko and shook his head, “I lost thirty grand on you during the Sub-Sector round your last season.”
“I didn’t allow a sack all game,” Gnuko bit out as he accepted the drink but, pointedly, did not partake.
“I know, I know,” Lynch said as he grabbed another glass and poured himself a drink. “I was bettin’ on Peters beatin’ you for a sack in the fourth. You always did tire as the game went on,” he snickered. “But that game, that night, you was straight-up boss of the field. Wasn’t that your nickname…‘boss’ somethin’ or other?”
“Sorry I had to disappoint you,” Gnuko nonplussed. “But maybe we can get down to business?”
“Bidness?” Lynch repeated in his strange accent. He shrugged indifferently as he cast a brief look at Strider, “Only bidness I see is the matter of an outstanding debt which I fully intend to collect—with two years’ worth of interest.”
“How much does he owe you?” Gnuko asked, slicing an annoyed look at Strider.
“It ain’t your problem,” Lynch said dismissively as he gestured to the dance floor. “Why don’t y’all head down to the dance floor, bump and grind awhile, and let me do my thing up here. After that’s taken care of,” he said with a hard look at Strider before cracking his neck, “we might could talk some bidness.”
“Lynch, I—“ Strider began.
“Not another peep, Percy,” Lynch snapped, his eyes and nostrils flaring in unison. “Or I’ll take more than your precious ship, feel me?”
Sergeant Gnuko began to chuckle, and Fei Long could not help but think that all of this would seem perfectly normal in a cheap rate holo-vid. Except the drama unfolding in front of him was really happening, yet Sergeant Gnuko somehow managed to maintain his calm throughout.
“What’s so funny, boss man?” Lynch asked, his eyes seeming to twinkle with amusement.
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Gnuko turned and asked Strider pointedly.
Strider, who had been a virtual chatterbox during the mission to that point, was speechless as he looked back and forth between Gnuko and Lynch.
“Tell me what?” Lynch asked, the twinkle disappearing from his eye.
“It seems your collateral was captured during a recent scuffle,” Gnuko said, folding his arms across his chest and shrugging. “It couldn’t be helped, apparently.”
Lynch narrowed his eyes and looked between Gnuko and Strider for several seconds before saying, “You better not be joking me, boss man.”
“No joke,” he said with an emphatic shake of his head. “Strider—or Percy,” he corrected with a sideways glance at Strider, “is currently paying off another debt—one he owes to me.”
For a moment Lynch seemed ready to explode, but he threw his head back and laughed as he reached down for a handful of nuts, or some other form of snack, and popped a few crunchy bits in his mouth. “How much he owe you?” he asked playfully.
“More than he’s likely to repay,” Gnuko said with a dire look at the former pirate captain. “But I’m not letting him out of my sight until he does.”
“Well then,” Lynch said,
popping the rest of the snack in his mouth and swallowing it without chewing, “looks like we got ourselves a dilemma. See, ol’ Percy over there took a loan from me in the amount of half a mil. That number, plus interest—and takin’ into consideration my currently generous mood—comes to just over a million, and he gets to keep most of his body parts. You gonna stand for it?”
“No,” Gnuko replied simply, and the female companions, or guards, or whatever they were took up flanking positions to either side of Lynch.
“See?” Lynch said with a dramatic sigh. “Now you tell me how we’re gonna work our way outta this mess, ‘cause my only idea ain’t likely to be fun for any of us.”
“Lynch—“ Strider took a step forward.
“You just cost yourself a pinky,” Lynch said, pointing a finger at the former pirate without breaking eye contact with Gnuko. “Keep flappin’ them gums and I’ll take the whole hand.” Lynch then reared back slightly as he asked Gnuko, “You ain’t got a problem with that, do you?”
Gnuko shrugged. “He doesn’t need all his fingers to do what I need him for.”
“Smart man,” Lynch said as he took out what appeared to be a pair of pruning shears and stepped toward Strider. “Now, before I forget, best I collect this one before you run off again.”
Strider blanched but strangely, at least to Fei Long, he made no attempt to stop Lynch from taking his left pinky finger and putting it in the shears.
“Of course,” Gnuko said casually, “I might have to take my business elsewhere if you harm him too much. Like everyone, I’ve got a reputation to protect and my people know that Percy belongs to me. It wouldn’t look good if he showed up missing a digit and I wasn’t the one that took it.”
“Not my problem,” Lynch said as he gripped the shears in his right hand and prepared to remove Strider’s finger.
“You’re probably right; you look like you’re doing well here,” Gnuko said lazily, but Fei Long could clearly see the tension in the Sergeant’s eyes. “With the Bowl coming to Capital, I’m sure it’s been easier than ever to move your merchandise.”
Lynch cocked his head and looked toward Gnuko with an interested expression. “Best spit it out, boss man,” he said shortly. “I ain’t one for so many words. What you lookin’ for?”
Gnuko hesitated briefly, and Fei Long decided it was his turn so he stepped forward and said, “We heard you might be in possession of class four shield generators, fifteen thousand meters of military-grade power relays, large-scale atmospheric recyclers, capital class heat sinks no smaller than tier four—“
Lynch snorted derisively. “What’d y’all do, find a salvage project that needs more than a fresh coat of paint?”
“—and a dozen Artemis-class lasers, complete with turrets,” Fei Long continued when Lynch had finished, “as well as a look at any other naval weaponry you might be willing to part with.”
“And an assault shuttle with a cargo compartment no smaller than one hundred cubic meters,” Gnuko added pointedly. “It doesn’t have to be cute, just fast and able to take a punch.”
Lynch narrowed his eyes and looked at Strider, who had managed to remain conscious—and to keep from soiling himself. “That’s a tall order, boss,” he said after a pregnant pause during which Fei Long’s heart rate doubled.
“That’s why we came to you,” Gnuko countered easily.
“Oh, I’m good for the stuff,” he said thoughtfully, “but y’all ain’t given me nothin’ but words yet. I’m gonna need some action before I decide against dropping y’all out the nearest airlock.” Too quick for Fei Long to see, Lynch picked Strider up off the floor with such ease that he concluded it likely that Lynch had extensive cybernetic augmentation.
Gnuko produced a handful of credit chits, “Does a hundred thousand get your attention?”
Lynch easily held Strider by the wrist with his left hand while his right still held the pruning shears. “It’s enough to keep me from killin’ y’all,” he allowed casually, and much to Fei Long’s surprise the people dancing below seemed hardly to notice the scene unfolding before him. “But Percy’s still gotta pay.”
“You cut off his finger and we don’t have a deal,” Gnuko said, and the two engaged in a silent contest of wills in which Fei Long was glad not to have found himself included, “leave the fingers alone and we can transact.”
Lynch’s eyes briefly wavered as he looked at the credit chits and shrugged, “That’s fair.”
He let go of Strider’s wrist, and only when he had done so did the former pirate captain scream as he fell to the dance floor below. Fei Long ran to the rail and looked down to see Strider had fallen nearly twenty feet, and was rolling on the ground in agony. It seemed that he had broken his left leg, but he was quite clearly alive.
Lynch approached Gnuko, put the shears away and then reached out for the credit chits. Gnuko relinquished them, and the thickly-built Lynch appraised them quickly before nodding in approval.
“Best get your friend outta here,” he tilted his head toward the dance floor as he pocketed the credit chits. “My customers don’t exactly appreciate that kind of ruckus.”
“And the merchandise?” Gnuko pressed.
Lynch cracked a grin, “I’ll contact you, boss.”
Gnuko narrowed his eyes briefly before nodding. “There’s one thing I’m curious about,” he said.
“What’s that?” Lynch asked.
Gnuko turned to face the bouncer, who had observed the scene with barely-concealed amusement. The Lancer Sergeant then turned back to Lynch and asked, “Where did you get your nickname?”
“What can I say?” Lynch shrugged, and his female companions resumed their flanking positions with each draping herself over one of his arms. “I’m just ‘bout that action, boss.”
Chapter XXXVIII: Patching Holes
“No, no, no,” Garibaldi shouted from across the hangar deck. “You can’t twist them like that. The thermostats in these things are delicate. Get it? De-li-cate,” he repeated the word with unnecessary emphasis on each syllable. The Tracto-an operating the heavy work suit did not seem overly concerned, prompting the Chief to gesture to the hastily-constructed heat sink. “I know the thing looks big and strong, but it won’t be worth its weight in scrap if you keep jerking it around like that.”
“Problems, Chief?” Middleton asked after work had resumed on the sink.
“Oh, no, Captain,” Garibaldi quipped, “we’re smooth as silk here. Give us another week and we’ll put Thermo-Plex out of business.”
Middleton suppressed a sigh, knowing there was no way in Saint Murphy’s Blessed Bowl that the slapped together heat sinks could perform even half as well as a properly-built unit produced by a company like Thermo-Plex. “We don’t need much out of them,” he said reassuringly.
“Well, that’s good,” the Chief snapped, “because the way things are looking we might not get anything out of this junk.”
“Chief,” Middleton said, stepping toward his long-time friend with an unyielding look, “I understand this is difficult. But we have to do what we can with what we have.”
Garibaldi shot Middleton a warning look, but the Captain had no intention of backing down—especially in front of the crewmembers currently working to assemble the patchwork heat sink.
The Chief Engineer held his tongue but moved toward Middleton and lowered his voice, “Have you ever tried to take your own advice, Tim?”
Middleton was surprised at the query, and its tone, but thought it best to indulge his long-time friend. “If you’ve got something to say, Chief, now is as good a time as any.”
Garibaldi shook his head sourly. “You know that this crew’s running up against the ragged edge. Most of them are either kids, or primitives, or both,” he said with a pointed look at the seventeen year old girl operating the heavy lift suit. She was Tracto-an, and her name was Elsa; Captain Middleton had familiarized himself with each of his crew’s personnel files. “They aren’t hardened military personnel, and
they need to see their Captain is in control.”
“Nobody forced them to come here,” Middleton countered. “And they know that they’re free to disembark as soon as the ship’s put to rights and we reach a safe port.”
“See, that’s not enough,” Garibaldi said strictly, and Tim Middleton was more than a little surprised to hear his friend speak to him in such a fashion. “Bah, forget it,” he grumbled as he turned to walk away.
“Spit it out, Chief,” Middleton said before the other man could walk away.
Garibaldi whirled around, and Middleton saw unpolished anger in his old friend’s eyes. “I’ve stood by without speaking for too long already: it’s time you made up with the doc, Tim.”
Captain Middleton blinked once…then twice…then a third time as he attempted to process Mikey’s declaration. “Chief, my private life—“
“Look around you, Tim!” Mikey waved his hand angrily to encompass the shuttle bay. Half of the lights were flickering, and of the forty crewmen and women working inside the compartment were only there to patch up battle damage incurred during the fight with the Dämmerung. “Nobody on this ship has a private life any more, least of all you!”
Garibaldi’s face had turned red, and Middleton suspected his own features were very nearly a matching shade. He stepped forward and said coldly, “I’m your commanding officer, Chief. If you’ve got personal matters you wish to discuss—“
“There’s nothing more personal than placing your faith and trust in your leaders,” Garibaldi snapped. “Especially when those leaders make decisions that could cost you your life. You’ve asked a lot from this crew, Captain, and we’ve given everything we have. It’s time for you to give something back.”
Middleton took another pair of steps toward his friend, but Garibaldi wasn’t backing down and soon the two men stood nearly nose to nose. “You don’t know the first thing about what happened between us, Chief. Don’t go poking your nose into places it doesn’t belong.”
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