The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7)

by Caleb Wachter

  “Kongming,” Captain Middleton made a ‘hurry up’ gesture, and Kongming had to shake himself to reset his train of thought.

  “My apologies. It seems that this particular Director, Abyss, was grievously wounded during the collision with the Imperial yacht. He awoke after a period likely lasting several weeks to find that the other wounded survivors were all that remained of the Hive’s population aboard the Harvester. It seems that salvaging the vessel was deemed inefficient, so the unharmed Bugs managed to use their equivalent of escape pods to transfer to another Harvester while the rest of the fleet continued on to their original destination. After a time, Abyss was able to coordinate the efforts of these ‘walking wounded’ in order to make repairs to their ship. It soon became clear, however, that doing so to the Harvester was a losing battle and so he transferred them to the yacht where he believed they would have a greater chance to survive.”

  “How did they manage to make repairs to the yacht?” Middleton asked, obviously intrigued by the possibility that the Bugs had done so.

  “Several of the stronger, soldier-type Bugs were still capable of bending relatively thin sheets of duralloy with simple, brute strength,” Kongming explained. “Coupled with Abyss’s naturally adhesive secretions—expelled near the mandibles and generally used to repair sensitive portions of a Bug ship’s inner bulkheads—they were able to create effective pressure seals all along the yacht’s compromised hull sections.”

  Captain Middleton drummed his fingers for several silent moments before gesturing for Kongming to continue.

  “After the other Bugs died, one by one, Abyss took it upon himself to examine whatever contents of the yacht’s databanks which he could access. Most of it was off-limits since it was code-locked, but the sections on philosophy and religion were accessible. Eventually Abyss discovered the emergency jump sequence connected to the hyper drive, and it seems…” Kongming trailed off hesitantly.

  Middleton leaned forward, “Yes?”

  Kongming sighed, knowing this next bit was unlikely to encourage Captain Middleton in the least, “It seems that Abyss came to regard the experience of a point transfer to be existentially transcendental. He then came to believe that whatever device was capable of producing this experience was…erm…divine.”

  Captain Middleton blinked. “You’re saying…it worshipped the hyper drive?”

  “In so many words…” Kongming winced, “yes.”

  Kongming had previously calculated the probability of Captain Middleton ordering Abyss’s destruction at just under twenty percent, but after seeing his commanding officer’s expression in that moment he felt compelled to move that number closer to thirty percent—or perhaps even above that mark.

  Thankfully, Captain Middleton displayed the same sagacity which had initially impressed Kongming back aboard the Pride of Prometheus. “It sounds like you’ve established a genuine dialog with this…Abyss. Since that was what you set out to do, I can’t say that any of this information is unwelcome. But, again, I can’t honestly say that any of this information makes me feel any less uncomfortable having this ‘Director Bug’ on my ship.”

  “I understand,” Kongming said gravely.

  “However,” Captain Middleton continued, “at the very least, this ‘Abyss’ represents a potentially unique source of information. I can’t in good conscience pass up the opportunity to advantage ourselves of that source…but I also can’t allow such an obviously dangerous creature to move freely about this ship.”

  “Abyss is content to remain shackled and restrained in whatever manner you deem necessary,” Kongming assured him before his thoughts turned to a dark, deeply personal matter. “In fact, he has provided me with several ideas as to how we might install…devices which would ensure us of his continued obedience.”

  “Kill switches?” Middleton asked with an arched brow, and Kongming nodded as he remembered the reality of living under the perpetual cloud of such a device.

  At first the concept had been horrifying, but after a while he had come to depend on it since his own ‘kill pill’ would not permit him to tell lies. In truth, it had been liberating being ‘forced’ to speak only the truth given Kongming’s—or, rather, Fei Long’s—propensity for deception. But when he had learned his kill pill no longer functioned, it had irrevocably changed the way he viewed morality, ethics, and even the nature of his own existence.

  “I won’t condone the use of anything like that,” Middleton said grimly. “But I also won’t remove its shackles. If ‘Abyss’ steps out of line, or does anything which gives me reason to question my decision to keep it aboard the Prejudice, I’ll end it myself—or, if I’m unavailable, I’ll leave orders with Kratos to deal with it. This is an unprecedented situation, Kongming,” he said, fixing the younger man with a soul-shrinking gaze, “I trust you understand that and, unlike in past circumstances of a similar sort, that you will act in accordance with my will on this matter?”

  Kongming nodded, gulping down the sudden knot in his throat, “I will, Captain.”

  “Then Abyss’s well-being and security will be your responsibility for the time being,” Captain Middleton said, tapping out orders on a nearby data slate and handing that slate to Kongming, “give that to Kratos so he can log it in his records. Is there anything else?”

  “No, Captain,” Kongming said, glad to have escaped the meeting without an order in hand to kill Abyss. There was so much more he could learn from it!

  “Good,” Middleton nodded. “Dismissed.”

  Chapter VII: A Phantom’s Grace

  “This is so exciting!” Trixie declared after setting her food tray down beside Kongming’s in the Prejudice’s makeshift galley. “We’ve almost completely catalogued Abyss’s physiology, and it looks like with the proper food intake he’s starting to heal.”

  “Indeed,” Kongming nodded, taking a bite of the soft, flat-tasting protein paste which they had recently received from the Battleship, Stalwart Duty, which held the Imperial Prisoners. Apparently it was the only ship in the fleet with a protein synthesizer that produced foodstuffs that were digestible by humans. Though ‘digestible’ was as far as Kongming would go in describing the stuff’s compatibility with the human alimentary tract.

  Still, their progress with Abyss these past three weeks had been nothing short of groundbreaking. Abyss had assisted them in understanding several key components of Bug ‘society,’ if it could be called such, chief among them the role that the olfactory system played in Bug communication.

  Kongming’s mind had sprung alive with thoughts of designing handheld devices which could—theoretically at least—endow their wielder with some degree of short-range control over Bug behavior. But try as he might, he had been unable to design any such device as yet. There were eccentricities within the peculiar pheromone makeup of each particular Hive, and even within a greater Hive Fleet there was significant difference from ship to ship. In a way, the system paralleled the human chain of command which had been adopted by every military in human history.

  But he was far from awestruck by just how similarly life tended to behave even with such gross, fundamental differences in biology between the many examples of organic life to be found throughout the cosmos. Instead, he was focused on an inescapable fact:

  Kongming was not Fei Long’s equal in terms of overall brainpower, creativity, or technical expertise.

  He had managed to adapt his original translator design, first used to communicate with the Prichtac, so that it could allow him to converse with Abyss. But he held no illusions that if he was tasked with designing a similar device he would be unable to succeed. He had simply lost too much.

  “I had no idea that Bug Queens had completely separate reproductive tracts for the various castes in a Hive,” Trixie continued, oblivious to Kongming’s bitter ruminations. “That explains a lot, but I’m still not clear on how Abyss’s ‘Director’ line gets propagated.”

  Kongming sighed after swallowing his latest bite of prot
ein paste, “The Director line appears to be unique in that its base genetics are, essentially, identical from one member to another—even across Hives. It seems to me, after examining Abyss’s genome and comparing it to other Bug genetic material we have on hand, that this was a deliberate adaptation made at the engineering level.”

  “Are you saying that humans did make the Bugs?” Trixie asked with wide eyes.

  “No,” he said shortly before sighing again, “maybe…I cannot say with any degree of confidence. But it is apparent to me that the adaptation of the Director line was not a naturally-occurring phenomenon. There are examples of species’ with multiple specialized reproductive tracts, but the Director tract appears to be some sort of commodification of that system rather than a natural product of its existence. It is entirely possible that the Bugs did this to themselves, or as you say it may be that external forces were exerted upon them—possibly by humans, possibly by AI’s, or possibly even by a race as old and powerful as the Ancients, who clearly possessed a mastery of biotechnology which far exceeds anything displayed by humanity.”

  Trixie nodded, forking bite after bite of the foul-tasting paste into her mouth and swallowing it with seemingly reckless abandon. Between ravenous bites she paused, gulping and lowering her voice as she asked, “Are you sure about what he meant by the ‘contribution’ he was expected to make to the next generation of Directors?”

  Kongming nodded, “Abyss was quite precise on that point.”

  “On what point?” the deep, glacier-esque voice of Kratos asked from behind them. Kongming turned to see the towering Tracto-an holding a platter with triple portions of the same meal which Kongming and Trixie were midway through.

  “Kratos,” Kongming gestured to the lone empty seat at their table, “join us.”

  “Thank you,” the formerly one-eyed Tracto-an nodded, and Kongming was at once fascinated by the small, relatively featureless ocular implant which the Tracto-an now wore. At Captain Middleton’s command, Kratos had used that implant to entrap Agent Patterson into revealing herself as an Imperial spy. Kongming had played his own role in that particular drama, and at its conclusion he had been profoundly impressed with his commanding officer’s foresight and strategic thinking.

  By exposing Patterson publicly—and in front of the Stalwart Commander, no less—and then executing her in accordance with every recorded military doctrine of relevance, Captain Middleton had greatly strengthened the morale of the Alliance Gorgonus Fleet. The Stalwart Commander had previously sought any viable escape from his obligations, even going so far as to threaten to take the Prejudice for himself—ostensibly to ‘liberate’ the lone remaining Prichtac which resided aboard the sleek warship.

  But after Captain Middleton’s long con finally concluded, the Stalwart Commander’s hand had been forced—and, more importantly, Captain Middleton had demonstrated in the strongest possible terms who he stood against in this conflict and who he stood with.

  Kongming would have been tempted to integrate Agent Patterson into the fleet somehow. She was obviously a capable asset and could have done great things if Middleton had managed to recruit her, but Captain Middleton had correctly estimated the role which morale played in an organization like the Alliance Fleet. One operative, no matter how skilled, could never equal the thirty thousand veteran Stalwart who now crewed dozens of Prichtac-built warships—many of which warships would have been scuttled for lack of crew without the Stalwart to crew them.

  “You speak of the Bugs’ reproductive mechanisms,” Kratos asked after sitting down at the table.

  Kongming chuckled, “Your hearing is as superb as your other physical attributes, Kratos.”

  “Sheath your silver tongue, boy. The only Tracto-an aboard this ship who would encourage such advances is Hephaestion,” Kratos grunted, prompting Trixie to break out in laughter with Kongming quickly following suit. Even Kratos cracked a rare grin as the moment of mirth came and passed, “What did Abyss say about his line’s reproduction?”

  “Well,” Kongming explained, “the Director line is, in essence, a combination of what some would call ‘middle management’ and ‘primary thinkers.’ They fill the day-to-day functions of carrying out the Hive’s will—which largely means they carry out their Queen’s will, though they do so at some significant remove. This remove requires an extraordinary measure of discernment to take place during the selection process; if a Director who is focused, for example, on administrative duties when combat is imminent would not be ideal. The same can be true in reverse, with a tactically-minded combat specialist type of Director being largely useless during an interstellar voyage when battle is highly improbable.”

  “How does the Queen select for the desired attributes?” Kratos asked, shoveling bites into his massive, square-jawed mouth which would have easily choked Kongming with their size.

  “That is what is fascinating—“ Kongming began, only to be interrupted by Trixie.

  “And grotesque,” she muttered.

  “It is true,” Kongming allowed, using his fingers to trace a rough diagram of Abyss’s head. “It seems that Directors possess eight neural lobes, which are in many respects wholly independent brains that are capable of interconnecting via a complex bundle of neural fibers. Each of these lobes is independently capable of serving as a primary cogitator, but each is also dedicated to a certain type of higher brain function. One lobe might be dedicated to spatial awareness, for example, while another focuses more on logic. There are generally predictable ‘personalities’ which each of these ‘templates’ is associated with—personalities like that of a warrior, a diplomat, an administrator, etc..—and when the Queen decides to spawn a new generation of Directors she…” he trailed off, looking down at his meal tray where a small mound of protein paste caught and held his gaze.

  “She cuts these neural bundles off of the old generation of Directors,” Trixie said with unexpected gusto, gesticulating a cutting motion with both hands, “and she implants them into the new Directors!”

  Kratos’ eyebrows rose in surprise, “What happens to the old Directors?”

  “They are…consumed by the process,” Kongming explained, pushing his half-eaten meal tray away in disgust at the thought of such a barbaric practice.

  “And yet,” Kratos mused between bites, “in this way they pass on everything they were to the next generation.”

  “Not everything,” Kongming chided. “Whichever lobes express desirable traits are transplanted into the new generation of Directors, it is true. But those lobes which express traits which are deemed undesirable for one reason or another are either sequestered by placing the Director which possesses them into a deep, nearly cryogenic stasis, or that Director is killed and its lobes are lost forever.”

  Kratos scowled, “No man can choose what fraction or combination of his genes and ideas is effectively passed on to the next generation…to give that power solely to a Queen is tyrannical.”

  “We’re not talking about genes, Kratos,” Trixie explained. “We’re talking about brain lobes—“

  “Which possess experiences stored as neuro-chemical information, yes?” Kratos interrupted.

  “Well…yes,” Trixie allowed.

  Kratos shrugged, “Then there is no difference. A mind contains much of the accumulated experience and perspective acquired during its existence. It is the same with genes: superior genes are passed on to future generations while inferior genes are discarded by environmental—or social—selective processes. Genes are simply information which tell our bodies how to assemble by looking back through the genetic record and seeing what worked well and attempting to increase the prevalence of this successful information by passing it on to future generations. What is the fundamental difference between indirectly acquired experiences like that found in our genes, and directly acquired experience such as knowledge and perspective? No one person should have the power to decide what information is promulgated, regardless of how that information is stored—such
power would certainly constitute tyranny, no?”

  Trixie’s jaw fell open to reply, but she snapped it shut after clearly being dumbstruck by Kratos’ philosophical query.

  Kongming took a moment to snicker, “See, Trixie? Captain Middleton has an uncanny knack for enlisting truly exceptional individuals to his cause.”

  “I told you, Kongming,” Kratos pushed up from the table, having finished his meal during the conversation, “your honeyed words are wasted on me.”

  Again Trixie and Kongming broke out in laughter, and Kratos nodded respectfully before depositing his tray on the collection rack.

  “He is amazing,” Trixie said wistfully, her eyes tracking Kratos’ muscular body before he finally left the galley.

  “He is a great man,” Kongming nodded.

  “He’s not the only one,” Trixie said under her breath, and Kongming once again nodded.

  “Captain Middleton has accomplished impossible deeds several times over,” he agreed. “We are fortunate to have a leader of his caliber.”

  “Captain Middleton is also a great man,” Trixie allowed, standing from the table, “but he’s not who I was talking about.”

  Kongming’s brow furrowed in confusion until he finally took her meaning. “I am not a great man, Trixie,” he objected sourly.

  “You’re not exactly in the best position to make that determination, are you?” she riposted easily.

  “You do not understand,” he lowered his eyes as thoughts of Vali Funar’s final moments filled his mind’s eye. Maddening as it was to admit, he still felt absolutely nothing when he thought about pulling the trigger and ending that valiant, good man’s life. “I…I have done terrible things,” he said hesitantly.

  “There’s a difference between being a great man and being a good man, Kongming,” she said pointedly. “Usually the two are mutually exclusive; don’t be ashamed of what you are. The world needs great men just as much as it needs good men. Besides,” she said with forced lightheartedness, “you haven’t done anything that bad.”