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

by Caleb Wachter

  “The MDP states, quite clearly,” she explained, “that any organization which actively engages in the mutual defense of the League against her enemies will be recognized by the SLL’s member states. For the time being, that means that the AG—of which you are Supreme Military Commander—would be officially recognized by President Chow’s delegation, which includes the two most populous groups within the SLL in the uprooted colonists aboard those settler ships out there. I suspect that, even as we speak, President Chow is attempting to convince the colonial governors to support a motion to unrecognize the Alliance Gorgonus. That would give them all the legal footing they would need in order to immediately terminate this dialogue. After that, they would call for a popular vote against any official arrangement with the AG…” she said leadingly, and finally Middleton took her meaning.

  “Which would pass with overwhelming support due to the size of their constituency,” he mused.

  Chairman Lewis leaned forward, her steely grey eyes burning with rare intensity, “I do not know you, Captain Middleton, but I do know that the League cannot survive on its present trajectory. Even if we were not running low on trillium—and we are—I am convinced that President Chow would tear it apart one piece at a time if she had her way. Though my life is drawing to its natural conclusion, and I would very much like to surrender to the tranquility of the abyss, I cannot allow her to succeed in that particular endeavor.”

  “You would trust a complete stranger over a known ally?” Middleton arched a brow.

  “I would trust simple probability,” Lewis riposted, “the odds of the League’s constituents surviving the coming maelstrom are effectively zero if President Chow continues her ascent within our political system. I have held her off thus far, but she is tenacious and surprisingly well-informed. I admit that I am far from convinced that you are a paragon to be endowed with supreme authority over us all. But if presented with the choice between blissful but certain annihilation or an infinitesimally slim chance of survival with a necessary degree of attendant chaos, I will choose the chaos every, single, time.”

  Middleton smiled wryly, remembering a similar conversation he’d had with Prichtac regarding the Host’s survival probability, “Madam Chairman, I think we can work together.”

  Lewis leaned back in her chair as the footfalls of the returning delegates echoed through the adjoining corridor, “As do I.”

  President Rosalind Chow’s face was so red at the meeting’s conclusion that, by Middleton’s estimation, she looked ready to explode.

  By a vote of three to three, Chairman Lewis had successfully fended off the Unbordered representative’s effort to unrecognized the Alliance Gorgonus, and was therefore severely restricted in her ability to shape public opinion while Middleton took the next few days to examine the SLL’s Mutual Defense Pact, or MDP.

  The Chairman had also managed to present a motion which, if Captain Middleton agreed to the MDP, would officially recognize the Alliance Gorgonus as a single entity with whom the SLL could engage in formal relations.

  It was all very tedious stuff as far as Middleton was concerned, but at the end of the day he had taken the first steps toward an alliance which would significantly add to the military power of the Alliance Gorgonus.

  Middleton kept his features studious as the delegates departed via the same shuttle which Commodore Cartwright had arrived aboard earlier. After they had left, he exhaled and handed the data slate containing the SLL’s MDP to Kongming, “Go over this and find the sticky points. I need to take a shower after all that politicking.”

  “Understood, sir,” Kongming acknowledged after accepting the slate.

  “Prepare a report for the start of Third Shift,” Middleton instructed before heading off to shower, shave, and hit the sack.

  Chapter XII: Memories and Premonitions

  “I think I can successfully extrapolate your genetic memory with this device, Prichtac,” Kongming finally declared. He had gone over the blessedly truncated MDP with Captain Middleton a few hours earlier, and his CO seemed as convinced as Kongming that there was very little in the way of objectionable material contained therein. That had freed Kongming up to put the finishing touches on the genetic extractor which he had designed to examine Prichtac’s genetic memory.

  “We are well pleased with your efforts, Kongming,” Prichtac said agreeably. “How many memory nuclei do you require to ensure the validity of the results?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Kongming said with a frown. “I would say at least a few dozen, and assuming the process doesn’t cause significant damage during the unpacking a third would serve as a valuable reference point?”

  “Very well,” Prichtac replied, “We will expel three of Our incomplete spawn.”

  “Wait,” Kongming said hesitantly, “does that mean you’re going to…kill them?”

  “Your concern is appreciated,” Prichtac assured him, “but you must understand that Our sole recourse during this process, assuming you are unable to ascertain the validity of the Host’s collective memory, is to expel all of the spawn and begin the process anew. We would have already done so except Our resources are regrettably limited and We do not wish to place the future of the Host in unnecessary peril.”

  That last bit struck Kongming as especially dumbfounding given the fact that the Prichtac had torched their entire home world just so they could cover the escape of a single, solitary member of the species: the same member with whom Kongming now conversed.

  “Ok,” Kongming allowed, “but…I’m not comfortable with this part of it.”

  “That is understandable,” Prichtac agreed, “but you may be comforted by the fact that We ceased the physiological development of Our offspring as soon as this anomaly was discovered. Our spawn are presently unable to process sensory stimuli, therefore there is no risk of suffering.”

  Kongming felt only fractionally reassured by that, but at least it was something. “Ok…I guess I’m ready when you are.”

  A few moments later, a trio of three inch diameter, round, translucent protrusions appeared on the Prichtac’s back. One by one, they were disconnected from the Prichtac’s body until they rested motionless on its back. “You may commence with the examination,” she said firmly.

  Carefully, and with a measure of reverence he felt certain was inadequate considering the nature of the task before him, Kongming loaded two of the samples into the analyzer and placed the third in a preservative container which would, according to Prichtac, maintain the integrity of the memory nuclei contained therein.

  The painfully slow process initiated, and after several minutes the system returned a completion estimate of nine hundred uninterrupted hours.

  “The extraction is underway,” Kongming said.

  “We are most grateful for your assistance in this matter, Kongming,” Prichtac said fervently.

  Just then Kongming’s link chimed and he accepted the inbound call from Captain Middleton, “Yes Captain?”

  “I’ve got a new assignment for you,” the Captain said. “Come to my office and we can go over the particulars.”

  Kongming felt a knot form in his throat as he said, “On my way, Captain.”

  “We will return to Our regeneration chamber,” Prichtac said as she made her way to the door of Kongming’s quarters, where he would leave the scanning equipment running in his absence.

  “Thank you, Prichtac,” he said.

  “No, Kongming,” Prichtac replied as she slithered out the door, “it is We who must thank you.”

  “We need to break several ships out from the fleet,” Middleton explained. “We have a list of POI to investigate in hand, and when Qaz wakes up it’s possible we’ll need to revise that list. But as of this moment I’m tasking the ship you’ll be assigned to with investigating these three points,” he gestured to a data slate which listed the indicated POI.

  Kongming examined the listings, with the first being the last known location of the entity they were now calling �
��Magmid One.’

  “We need to make contact with the Magmids,” Middleton explained, “and given your…peculiar skills, I thought you would be the ideal person to open a dialogue with them. The Prichtac have some information on how to communicate with the Magmids, but I anticipate that your technical skills will come into play before a genuine line of dialogue can commence. See if you can pick up the trail from that star system—which the Crafter seems to think harbored Magmid One as recently as three months ago—but if you are unable to do so then you should proceed to POI number two.”

  Kongming scanned the second entry and his brow furrowed, “A derelict ship?”

  Middleton nodded, “The Unbordered grudgingly reported that they encountered some sort of gravitational disturbance in the area of that POI during their sojourn to link up with the rest of the SLL. It cost them one of their ships when it failed to clear the sump without destroying its hyper drive. They’d like us to retrieve some of the equipment and logs they were forced to leave aboard that ship, if we can, before scuttling it. Also see if you can figure out what caused the gravitational disturbance while you’re in the area, but I don’t want you lingering there any longer than necessary.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Kongming agreed.

  “The last point on your itinerary will be a subterranean lunar colony which is part of a multi-system conglomerate of Belters who, quite literally, went below ground when the shooting started a few years ago,” Captain Middleton continued. “They were originally a charter member of the Alliance Gorgonus and, while they only numbered around thirty thousand at last count and possessed precious little in the way of military hardware, we’ll need their political support if we’re going to re-establish the AG as a force to be reckoned with in this region of space.”

  “To which ship will I be transferred?” Kongming asked after reviewing the orders.

  “The 2nd Gen Corvette, Unthreadable Needle, commanded by Primarch Nail will be your posting for the duration of this mission,” Middleton explained. “I’ve assigned three gunships to accompany you, along with a hunt pack from Clan Green Eyes, and one of the Prejudice’s engineers, Mr. Wojchouski.”

  Kongming recalled the Seer’s insistence that he bring Kratos, the Crafter, and Abyss when his path was made clear. He had no premonitions or intuitive leanings on the subject, but cognitively he knew it was unlikely that the Seer would have been referring to anything but this precise moment.

  “Do you have something to add?” Middleton asked, apparently noticing Kongming’s hesitation.

  “I do,” Kongming nodded, leaning forward without knowing exactly where to begin. Eventually, he just decided to speak and let the chips fall where they may, “Captain, ever since Cagnzyz I have been…changed.”

  “I’m aware of the injuries you suffered,” Captain Middleton nodded knowingly, but Kongming shook his head.

  “It is more than that, sir,” he insisted. “I…I am changed. My mind is not as powerful as it once was and I…”

  “We all suffer wounds in combat, Kongming,” Middleton said in a reassuring tone. “You wear yours where they’re harder to see, but there’s a good reason why men like Kratos treat you as an equal: you’ve proven yourself to be an invaluable member of this crew. We would have failed a dozen times over without your unique contributions, and everyone here recognizes your value. Even if you’re…diminished, you’ve still earned your spot and I have every confidence you’ll continue to do so.”

  “I appreciate that, Captain,” Kongming said, unexpectedly overcome by a profound sense of loss as Vali Funar’s last moments flitted across his mind’s eye. “But recently I have received a…premonition.”

  “A premonition?” Middleton repeated neutrally.

  “Yes,” Kongming nodded, “but until now I doubted whether it truly meant anything or if it was simply part of my new reality inflicted by my wounds. I…my mind was damaged after Cagnzyz, and I fear it may still be damaged in ways I do not understand. But if it is not damaged, and if what I suspect to be true is in fact true, I believe it is important to heed this premonition.”

  Captain Middleton leaned back in his chair and regarded Kongming in silence for several long, taut moments before gesturing, “Go on.”

  Kongming knew after years of service with Captain Middleton that if his CO wanted specifics, he would ask for them. That he had not explicitly requested such meant that he wanted Kongming to speak freely, which he proceeded to do.

  “I cannot explain how, or what specific purposes will be served by them individually, but I absolutely and unwaveringly believe that it is imperative that Kratos, Abyss, and the Crafter accompany me on this mission,” he tapped his finger pointedly on the data slate.

  Captain Middleton’s cheeks bunched rhythmically beneath the metal plate which, to this day, remained firmly fixed to his certainly healed jawbone after being installed during the Battle of Cagnzyz. Minutes passed in total silence before, finally, Captain Middleton leaned forward and asked, “Are you equal to the tasks I’ve put before you?”

  Kongming nodded with solemn conviction, “I am, Captain.”

  Captain Middleton took the slate from his hands, eyed the young man intently for another long moment, and tapped out a series of commands on the slate. He then returned it to Kongming, “I’ve made the necessary adjustments to the Needle’s duty roster. Abyss’s freedom will remain restricted during the mission, unless or until you have specific cause,” he said pointedly, “to restore it, and even if you choose to do so it must be a temporary restoration. Is that understood?”

  “It is, sir,” Kongming agreed. “I have no doubt that Abyss will be compliant and will contribute to the success of this mission.”

  The Captain nodded, but it would have been clear to a blind person that he had unspoken reservations about Kongming’s personnel requests. “You’re scheduled to transfer in seventy two hours, barring POI revisions based on whatever intel we might get from Qaz in the interim.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Dismissed.”

  After Kongming left the conference room, Middleton released a pent-up breath of frustration. Kongming had been the first team leader who he had planned to deploy—with the others being Trixie and CPO Bogart, who would take the majority of the ‘expendable’ skilled crew from the Prejudice when they departed.

  The diminished manpower aboard his ship was a concern, but it was nowhere near that of the revelation which Kongming had just made regarding his potential unfitness for duty.

  Middleton had thought long and hard about whether to replace Kongming aboard the Unthreadable Needle, but every scenario he could envision was less palatable than the previous one.

  As it had been on so many previous occasions, Middleton needed his brilliant young com-tech in order to accomplish his goals. Without him contributing as only he could, there was simply no realistic scenario which would see them succeed in the monumental task put before them.

  “Good hunting, Kongming,” he whispered before turning to the necessary revisions he now needed to make to the rest of his teams’ rosters.

  Chapter XIII: The Cooling Trail

  “It seems we arrived too late,” Mr. Black sighed after Sarkozi entered the conference room.

  “But the algorithms predicted a seventy two percent chance of their recent presence?” Sarkozi said, disappointed that the twenty third algorithmically-predicted star system on their list failed to pay off—just like the previous twenty two.

  “It seems as though we are missing a crucial variable,” Mr. Black mused, calling up the holographic display of the Gorgon Sectors and the galactic rim beyond it. They had traversed the breadth of the long, banana-shaped Gorgon Sectors and were already several thousand light years deep into the Outer Rim—well beyond the Gorgon Sectors themselves.

  Sarkozi nodded in agreement, having hypothesized several scenarios where a single such variable would account for the fact that, try as they might, they had yet to encounter these myster
ious ‘Locusts.’ According to their working theory, the Locusts had strip-mined every last ounce of trillium out of the Gorgon Sectors.

  “What if we’re wrong about the trillium,” Sarkozi broke the silence, and Mr. Black gestured for him to continue. “What if they’re not just strip-mining it as a resource-denial strategy?”

  Mr. Black cocked his head dubiously, “We have considered those scenarios, but they are unlikely in the extreme for a variety of reasons with which you are no doubt familiar.”

  “I know,” Sarkozi allowed, certain that he was no more enthusiastic about his hypothesis than Mr. Black was, “but think about it: what if the trillium-stripping wasn’t originally intended to be a scorched earth strategy? Even if that’s what it’s now become, what if they actually needed such vast quantities to power their society that they developed the technology necessary to efficiently exhaust every single accessible repository of it?”

  Mr. Black nodded slowly, his eyes snapping back and forth contemplatively as he spoke, “Your thesis is sound, though it requires several…alarming presuppositions in order to withstand scrutiny, Mr. Scarlet.”

  “I’m aware of that, Mr. Black,” Sarkozi acknowledged.

  Mr. Black drummed his fingers methodically on the command console built into the conference table. “Very well,” he decided, “I am apportioning you ten percent of this ship’s runtimes and core processing function. Come up with a workable proposal in twelve hours and, if it meets with my approval, we will re-task this ship to investigate your theory—at least until a better one reveals itself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Black,” Mr. Scarlet—make that, Sarkozi—said, standing from the table and making for the door so he could begin his new task.

  “And Mr. Scarlet,” Mr. Black called after him before he had cleared the open door.