Kratos glared at Kongming from the corner of his eye before relenting, “I believe you are correct. Bind it, Rucker,” he commanded, keeping his own rifle trained on the crippled creature. “If it resists, kill it.”
Chapter IV: Great…
“Are you certain it was the Bug that sent the distress signal?” Middleton asked after wrapping his mind around the fact that Kratos’ away team had brought back one of the rarest Bug types known to humanity.
“I am confident of that assertion, Captain,” Kongming demurred, “but that confidence falls well short of certainty.”
“What makes you so confident?”
Kongming seemed to squirm in his chair, “I…for some reason which I insufficiently understand, I am able to communicate with it—or, more precisely, I am able to understand it.”
“How is that possible?” Middleton pressed. “The translators and suit HUD’s didn’t record any communication issuing from the creature, but Kratos seems convinced that you can in fact understand this…thing.”
“It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you,” Kongming slumped his shoulders in resignation. “There appears to be an olfactory component to the Bugs’ communicative capabilities. I had an inexplicable urge to remove my helmet, and after confirming there were no toxins in the air I—“
“You removed your helmet?” Middleton deadpanned, finding he was less than surprised at Kongming’s blatant disregard for protocol during an away mission in an unknown environment.
“Yes…sir,” Kongming nodded sheepishly.
Middleton wanted to be angry with the young man, but he had come to a new opinion of his com-tech in the recent weeks. It was clear that Kongming would never be a well-formed member of a military outfit, but it was also clear that without his contributions many of the things they had accomplished would have been impossible.
And there was something decidedly different about Kongming since the battle against Commodore Paganini’s fleet. He was less self-assured than before—which Middleton would have previously guessed to be a welcome change to the often arrogant young man’s personality, but was now less than convinced of that notion—and he seemed to be suffering from some form of psychological fatigue.
In truth, Middleton had seen similar signs among the rest of his people, though none seemed as affected by recent events—chief among them their unthinkably vast remove from the Spineward Sectors—as Kongming was.
So he bit his tongue in lieu of issuing a formal reprimand to the young man, deciding it would be more productive to learn what his talented young crewman had discovered.
“What did this Bug have to say?” Middleton eventually asked.
“Initially, it seemed only to convey that it meant us no harm,” Kongming explained tentatively, but with each passing word he seemed to gain vigor and enthusiasm, “but it soon became apparent to it that I could understand what it was saying…or smelling,” Kongming amended uncertainly. “It somehow accessed portions of the Imperial yacht’s database, though I am unable to ascertain precisely how it did so at this time. I have plans to devise a translation device similar to the one which I used to communicate with the first Prichtac we encountered, and with luck it should only require minor modifications to—“
“Mr. Fei,” Middleton cut him off, wincing when he realized he had used the young man’s discarded name. “I meant, Kongming,” he corrected, “what did it say?”
“My apologies, Captain,” Kongming gushed before resuming, “somehow it accessed portions of the yacht’s database and was able to discover a written form of language—Imperial calligraphy—which it modified in order to reliably reproduce it in spite of its physical limitations. The Bug was unable to create either calligraphic dots or hard, right angles due to the extensive damage it suffered following the ramming event its ship suffered when the Imperial yacht collided with them.”
“Why did the yacht ram them?”
“I am unable to determine that at this time,” Kongming said with evident frustration. “It seems, however, that the yacht point transferred so close to the Bug Harvester that the simple process of clearing its inertial sump was enough to cause the collision. All humans were killed on impact, and the majority of the Bugs aboard the Harvester were likewise killed. Those which survived were collected by their fellow ships and continued on to whatever purpose the greater Hive intended—“
“Wait,” Middleton said haltingly, feeling the back of his neck begin to crawl, “there’s a Hive Fleet out here somewhere?”
“There was thirty two years ago,” Kongming affirmed.
“What was their course?” Middleton asked.
“That is…an uninformed question,” Kongming said hesitantly, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Middleton as the young man continued. “The yacht’s hyper drive log records no fewer than thirty nine point transfers conducted in the last thirty years, sir.”
“But you said that all the humans were dead,” Middleton reminded.
“They were,” Kongming nodded, his eyes briefly alight as they had been on so many previous occasions, “it seems that the Bug managed to interface with the hyper drive computer and conducted the point transfers itself.”
“That’s impossible,” Middleton said flatly, realizing that this discovery had just gone from ‘probably bad’ to ‘catastrophic’ in its connotations. Bugs that could use hyper drives?! One of the few reasons why Bugs weren’t an unstoppable scourge was because their methods of travel were constrained by the sub-light drives. If they could learn how to operate FTL drive systems…
“Had I not seen the evidence for myself, I would agree,” Kongming said excitedly, snapping Middleton from his reverie. “And it is no small wonder that this Bug succeeded in extending the hyper drive’s field around the remainder of the Harvester, let alone that he navigated the inertial sump. Much of the damage the Harvester shows was in fact inflicted during point transfers; it did not receive fire from the yacht, though when the yacht accidentally rammed it the Harvester’s drive section was destroyed. This appears to have been sufficient cause for the rest of the Hive to abandon the Harvester entirely.”
“I’m sorry,” Middleton said dubiously, “you’re going to have to go over this again: a Bug not only figured out how to read Imperial, but it also managed to make incredibly complex modifications to a hyper drive and then, singlehandedly, managed to guide that hybrid hulk out there through thirty nine point transfers?”
“That appears to be correct, Captain.”
Middleton leaned back in his chair, completely flummoxed. “The nav plotting alone should have been beyond its ability,” he said, unable to resist the urge to deny the possibility of what he was hearing.
“It did not make any nav plots, Captain,” Kongming explained. “The yacht was equipped with a ‘void space’ emergency jump algorithm which the Bug somehow managed to use for each of those point transfers.”
That bit of information at least brought the probability up from ‘no way in the Saint’s Workshop’ to ‘Infinite Monkey’ territory.
“How did the Bug get so badly injured?” Middleton asked.
“All I know is that it refers to its wounds as ‘the price of enlightenment’,” Kongming replied. “If I was to hazard a guess, it would be that the collision with the yacht caused the majority of its wounds. Thus wounded, it was somehow forgotten when the other Bugs were evacuated from the ruined Harvester.”
“And it managed to maintain the life support systems on the yacht?” Middleton asked skeptically.
“No,” Kongming shook his head, “Mr. Garibaldi says that the yacht’s life support systems are largely maintenance-free. Even so, thirty years of continuous use had nearly overcome the scrubbers’ ability to keep the air breathable for humans—though we have no idea at this point what that would mean for this particular Bug.”
Middleton felt a powerful urge to groan. When he had sent the away team to the strange hulk he had not thought it would be possible to acquire such an absurd
dilemma.
Bugs were generally in the ‘shoot on sight’ category in Middleton’s professional experience, but here he was giving genuine consideration to keeping one aboard his ship—not only that, he was considering opening a dialogue with it! Kongming’s insistence that he could somehow communicate with this creature was almost enough for Middleton to disregard his mountain of concerns with the prospect—almost, but not quite.
“Frankly, Kongming, I think we need to give serious consideration to putting this thing back on that hulk,” Middleton said after a lengthy silence.
“That would be no different than executing it, Captain,” Kongming shook his head. “If we are to do that, we should do so without hiding behind such a façade.”
Middleton bristled at that, “Some CO’s would consider those words to be insubordinate.”
Kongming cringed slightly, “I meant no offense, Captain.”
Middleton believed him, and thankfully the meeting was a private one so the young man’s less-than-proper conduct would remain out of the crew’s sight. Middleton knew that Kongming was valuable—invaluable, even—but military discipline was the most valuable commodity aboard a ship of war.
“I would like the opportunity to study this creature, Captain Middleton,” Kongming said with an approximation of genuine respect. “There is much we can learn from it, and it is clearly suffering. If I can ease its suffering somewhat while learning as much as possible from it, I would have little objection to ending its life personally if that is what you deem appropriate. I am not blind to the dangers of Bugs, sir,” Kongming said heavily, “but I am also not blind to the unique opportunity this situation presents.”
Middleton sighed, feeling as though this was one of those much-maligned ‘first steps’ down the so-called primrose path. But he could find no fault with Kongming’s plan, and he grudgingly agreed that this was a potentially momentous discovery. “Fine. I’ll have the Chief rig up one of the unoccupied starboard compartments. We’ll need physical restraints and constant surveillance on this…thing if I’m going to allow it to stay on my ship.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Kongming said graciously. “I will inform Trixie so she might assist me in studying this sentient.”
“Sentient?” Middleton repeated unthinkingly, realizing only after he had done so that his own prejudices regarding Bugs had been the cause for his utterance.
“Indeed, Captain,” Kongming nodded excitedly. “I firmly believe that this specimen, once studied, will forever disprove the notion that Bugs are without sentience. It is a potentially historic occasion, and I am eager to do my part in it.”
Middleton resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Very well. But no one goes near that thing until it’s restrained to the satisfaction of Chief Garibaldi and Kratos, who is now Acting Security Chief aboard the Prejudice. Is that clear?”
Kongming nodded, “It is. Thank you, Captain.”
After the young man left, Middleton gave the order for the fleet to continue on its previous course. Of course, before that happened he needed to sit down with the heads of state for the so-called Alliance Gorgonus.
Needless to say, such meetings were far from Middleton’s favorite occasions.
Chapter V: Fleet Politics
“The protein re-sequencers have been most appreciated, Supreme Commander,” Mrr’shan purred mid-way through their latest Fleet Command meeting. “Morale among my people is near an all-time high.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Middleton nodded before gesturing to the massive ape man known only as ‘Stalwart Commander,’ “but it was the Commander’s people who supplied those re-sequencers. Your thanks should be directed to him.”
The Commander flashed his teeth, “We only surrendered the re-sequencers because you demanded we do so.”
“I don’t ‘demand’ anything of this fleet or its officers,” Middleton said pointedly, “I only issue ‘commands,’ is that clear?”
“Semantics,” the Stalwart Commander huffed.
“Far from it,” Middleton riposted, and the two engaged in a short-lived test of wills before Middleton turned his focus to the Prichtac. “Is the Prichtac delegation satisfied with the reports filed by the Void Hunter Clans and the Stalwart fleet?”
“We are most satisfied,” Prichtac agreed. “Our initial estimates of fleet efficiency have been surpassed by nearly twelve percent—though We feel obliged to remark on the fatal altercations recorded throughout the fleet recently. Our understanding of social hierarchical structures suggests that one hundred and fifty three fatalities during this interval is far higher than optimal.”
Middleton nodded, “The Void Hunter Clans have undergone significant social upheaval in the last few weeks. Two thirds of the deaths you refer to were the product of what is essentially tribal violence—and that violence needs to come to an end, Mrr’shan.”
Mrr’shan flexed her claws as her slitted pupils narrowed, “We require compliance from the survivors of those Clans which feel…disenfranchised by the recent shift in power in our fleet.”
“Enforcing discipline is one thing,” Middleton shook his head, “but most of these deaths took place during fights between groups of one or two Void Hunters and packs of five or six. That’s not discipline, Mrr’shan—that’s persecution and it has to stop.”
Mrr’shan’s tail flicked rhythmically at her side. “My people are not like yours, Captain Middleton,” she said, flicking her eyes over to the Stalwart Commander, “nor yours, Commander. Among my people, what you would call ‘morale’ is little more than the fear of one’s own destruction outweighing the urge to take what she can see.”
“That worked for you in the past,” Middleton allowed, sliding a data slate toward Mrr’shan, “but we’re going to have to re-structure a few things while you’re in this fleet. I’m not talking about re-writing your entire social compact; I’m talking about imposing a few rules that absolutely, unequivocally cannot be violated. For now, I’m content to let the various constituent members of this fleet conduct shipboard discipline as they see fit—but that discipline excludes gang executions of the type we’ve seen aboard your ships of late.”
“You would restrict summary execution?” the Stalwart Commander asked gruffly. “That is odd, considering that you yourself have employed such in the past,” he said with a note of triumph.
Middleton had scarcely given Imperial Secret Agent Patterson’s execution a second thought since watching her float lifelessly out of the Prejudice’s airlock. But the Stalwart Commander was determined to undermine Middleton’s authority, and frankly that presented a challenge which Middleton had come to appreciate.
“These rules,” Middleton slid a second slate to the Stalwart Commander, “simply state that all executions must be carried out in the physical presence, and under the explicit order, of the faction’s top-ranking officer—meaning one of the three of us,” he said, looking between Mrr’shan, the Commander, and finally pointing both of his thumbs at himself. “If either of you deems a subordinate’s infractions worthy of execution, you’re well within your rights to execute them as you see fit—barring the extreme methods described in that document.”
Mrr’shan’s eyes scanned to the portion of the document which described those methods and immediately bared her teeth, “You would remove vivisection from the permitted execution methods? That is the time-honored tradition of our people when dealing with traitors!”
“No vivisection,” Middleton said firmly before switching his gaze over to the Commander, “and no cannibalizing the corpses as a show of dominance.”
“We rarely practice those Old Ways,” the Commander stiffened.
“Well good,” Middleton retorted, “because the distance between ‘rarely’ and ‘never’ is a lot easier to traverse than the distance between ‘time-honored tradition’ and ‘immediately-banned-on-pain-of-expulsion.’ So you’ll be able to set a good example for the Void Hunters in the interests of fleet solidarity.”
The Commande
r scowled, “This is nothing but your attempt to exert your authority.”
“That’s right,” Middleton nodded. “And if you and your people are unwilling to comply, you’re free to leave. But if you remain then these rules will be obeyed. Is that clear?”
Surprisingly, Mrr’shan was the next to speak, “The Void Hunter Clans will accept these…restrictions.”
Middleton’s eyes never wavered from the Stalwart Commander’s, and the ape eventually relented, “We will not be outdone by the cats. We will comply—under protest.”
“Then that’s settled,” Middleton said firmly. “Now, as to this fleet’s next destination: I told you both that our information-gathering operation with the so-called ‘Crafter’ was successful, and by using that information we’ve identified several potentially high-value destinations we need to investigate. The trouble is that most of them will take us several months to reach, so I thought we could sit down and discuss how to approach this next phase of the mission.”
Prichtac leaned forward in a reasonable approximation of the human gesture, “We must reconstitute the Alliance Gorgonus prior to engaging in secondary agendas, Supreme Commander.”
“I agree,” Middleton nodded, “which is why we need to talk about how to best investigate all of these locations.”
He activated the table’s built-in holographic display, prompting a long, roughly banana-shaped region of local space to appear. That region was easily as large as the Spineward Sectors where he had been born—and, in fact, it was essentially the ‘spineward sectors’ of this particular galactic arm.
“We are here,” he gestured to a flashing red icon near the distal end of the banana-shaped region which represented the ‘Gorgon Sectors.’ The proximal end—the end nearest to the galactic core—was just a few thousand light years from Imperial territory, and Middleton took no small measure of relief that such distance separated them from their longtime adversaries. “The points of interest, or POI, which the Crafter identified are here,” Middleton continued, prompting a series of eleven blue icons to appear throughout the Gorgon Sectors, with all but one of those icons appearing in the nearest half of the banana-shaped region of space.
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 6
