“Yes, Mr. Black?”
“You realize what it will mean if your hypothesis is correct,” Mr. Black asked ominously behind fingers steepled in contemplation.
“I do, Mr. Black,” Sarkozi affirmed grimly.
“Then we have not a moment to lose.”
“You’ll have that proposal in twelve hours, Mr. Black,” Sarkozi assured him before heading to the tiny, cramped workstation which doubled as his quarters aboard the mysterious, crystal-hulled ship.
If Sarkozi was right, this ‘Locust’ issue was one which went well past the 90th percentile threat projections of Imperial Intelligence.
In fact, it probably shot past the 99th.
Chapter XIV: A New Perspective
“Awaken, Qaz,” the minotaur heard the oddly soothing voice urge. “You have much yet to do and our time together draws to an end.”
He eventually recognized the voice as belonging to the Crafter, but for some reason it sounded…different to him. It was almost as though, for a moment during his groggy stupor, he was hearing his own voice.
His eyes opened and he gazed up at the row of lights which ringed the joint between bulkhead and ceiling. The union of the black, almost impossible-to-focus-on hull skin of the Prejudice with the blunt, metal frame of the ceiling invoked a memory which he could not immediately place. But the moment passed, just as any other bout of déjà vu, when he turned to see the Crafter seated beside him.
“You are all I wished you to be,” the Crafter said with what seemed like genuine feeling. “Asterion’s Heir is truly worthy of his legacy.”
“How long?” Qaz asked, slowly sitting and placing his hooves against the hard metal deck.
“Two days,” the Crafter replied, searching Qaz’s features intently. When the Crafter had examined him in a similar fashion in the past, Qaz had always rightly felt like the subject of an experiment whose sole purpose to the Crafter was to provide intriguing data.
But in this moment there was something decidedly different about how he interpreted the Crafter’s cold, dead eyes—which no longer seemed quite as dead as before—as they pored over every millimeter of his being.
“Captain Middleton has decided upon a new task for me,” the Crafter said without a trace of surprise. “By this time tomorrow you and I will be separated and, in all probability, it will be for the last time.”
“Good,” Qaz grunted, but deep down he felt a twinge of regret after saying that. It was not as if he no longer harbored resentment for his creator, but now in addition to a lifetime of antagonistic thoughts and memories of the Crafter he felt some sort of kinship, or bond, which somehow seemed more important than anything else.
“I do not blame you for feeling thus,” the Crafter said as an image flitted through Qaz’s mind before receding too quickly for him to focus on it, “but I do so hope that, as my final gifts to you are revealed, you will come to understand the important purpose for which you exist.”
The image flashed into his mind again, and Qaz was able to focus on it for a fleeting moment before it once again vanished: it was constellation in a night sky, where a pair of moons could be seen just above the horizon. A great, glittering ring arced across the sky, eclipsing even the twin moons with its awe-inspiring image. Qaz realized just as the image vanished that he had just been given a location in the form of a ‘memory’—one which he had never experienced.
“As these memories come to you,” the Crafter said though unexpectedly watery eyes, “I only ask that you do with them as you see fit. Do not feel compelled to oblige anyone—not even me—who asks after them. They are your birthright and, I suppose, they are some small recompense for what might have been unnecessary torment at my hands. Had I known another way—a kinder way, perhaps—I would have taken it gladly. But there is too much at stake to permit sentiment to stand in the way of our great work.”
The Crafter stood as the image returned to Qaz’s mind’s eye, and this time Qaz thought he could make out a structure near the horizon beneath the twin moons. The structure was largely a blur, but it stood in stark contrast to the rocky ground around it as it defiantly rose higher into the sky than anything he had previously seen with his own eyes.
“I wish I could have given you more, Qaz, 37th Heir to the Line of Asterion,” the Crafter said solemnly before knocking on the door, which opened to reveal a power-armored Lancer beyond. “May the stars themselves tremble at your passing,” the Crafter said, bowing with deep reverence before exiting the room and leaving the minotaur more confused—and more alive—than at any other point in his life.
After several minutes of solitude, he finally was able to recall the image of the blurry structure into the fore of his mind. It was then that he decided to inform Captain Middleton of what he had found.
For the first time in his memory—his real memory—Qaz felt a measure of purpose which had been lacking until this strange awakening.
Chapter XV: New Orders
“Your orders stand, Kongming,” Captain Middleton said at the foot of the Deathbacker’s boarding ramp. “I’m holding the other two teams back for now since Qaz has already begun to provide us with actionable intel, but your priority package remains unmodified.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Kongming said, casting a meaningful look at his fellow transferees.
“Your deployment will take eighty or ninety days,” Middleton said before quirking a lopsided grin, “barring anything unexpected, that is. Primarch Nail is in command of the Unthreadable Needle in combat situations, but as the project leader the Needle is at your disposal the rest of the time.”
“I understand, sir,” Kongming replied.
“Good hunting,” Captain Middleton nodded to each of the departing crew in turn before slapping the ramp control panel, causing the Deathbacker’s cargo ramp to slowly rise from the hangar deck until it locked into the sealed position.
The shuttle lifted off, and almost immediately Kongming was able to glimpse the Unthreadable Needle through the Deathbacker’s cockpit window.
The ship was larger than the Prejudice, primarily in its girth, and unlike the insect-like Prejudice the Needle’s design made it appear to be more akin to a marine mammal than a warship.
Its hull was a pale green color, and its design featured several gently flowing curves which wrapped around a pair of engines straddling a bulbous, arched main hull. Several angular weapon mounts jutted from that hull’s spine, standing in stark contrast from the rounded hull on which they sat.
The Needle’s port shuttle bay was open for them, and the Deathbacker slid through the oval-shaped bay doors before coming to a stop on the greenish deck of their new ship’s hangar.
“Touchdown,” the pilot reported, prompting the shuttle’s cargo ramp to open with a pressure-equalizing hiss before gently descending to the deck.
“Move out,” Kratos growled, prompting the twenty Void Hunters to slowly—and carefully—move Abyss out of his spot near the stern of the shuttle and down the cargo ramp.
The Director Bug complied without incident, and to Kongming’s eye Abyss seemed to be significantly healthier than he had been during their first encounter. His carapace was smoother—and even appeared glossy in patches—and his remaining legs seemed almost capable of moving his massive bulk around without too much distress.
After offloading the Bug—and seeing only a single Stalwart crewman in the hangar—Kongming oversaw the rest of their equipment be transferred to the storage area adjoining the hangar bay.
He had brought along several personal effects, including the system he was using to analyze the Prichtac’s genetic memory nuclei. It had already experienced several glitches—none of which had corrupted the data, thankfully—so he had decided to bring it along in order to nurture it through the rest of the apparently delicate process.
“Offload complete,” the pilot declared from the top of the loading ramp. “Have you got it from here?”
“Yes,” Kongming replied, “thank you.”
<
br /> The pilot nodded in acknowledgment and closed the Deathbacker’s rear door, prompting Kongming and his twenty four fellow transfers to make their way to the inner airlock so that the Prejudice’s lone shuttle could disembark.
“We should find Primarch Nail,” Kongming said, suspecting that the Stalwart in command of the Unthreadable Needle was making a none-too-subtle point by not meeting them upon their arrival.
“We should,” Kratos agreed, “and we should teach him proper respect for the chain of command.”
“This is his ship, Kratos,” Kongming chided. “We are merely guests aboard it.”
“This is a Prichtac ship, Kongming,” Kratos retorted. “And he commands it at the pleasure of Captain Middleton.”
“In matters of style, swim with the current,” Kongming sighed.
“And in matters of principle,” Kratos continued, much to Kongming’s surprise as the hulking Tracto-an ad-libbed his own version of the final line from one of history’s greatest quotes, “swing early and often.”
Middleton watched as the Unthreadable Needle pulled away from the AG Fleet and burned for the hyper limit. In the long run, it was a single ship out of a fleet of dozens and its mission would only contribute a tiny fraction of the progress he needed to secure in order to mount a proper defense of the Gorgon Sectors—or what remained of them by the time he had all of his pieces arranged to do so.
But he could not avoid the sense that something unexpected would befall his talented com-tech, so he watched with more than passing interest as the Needle made its way to the first leg of its mission.
“Call a meeting of the League’s representatives,” Middleton commanded Bogart, his soon-to-be-transferred stand-in at Comm. “It’s time we left this system in our wake.”
“The berths are satisfactory,” Kongming said after meeting with Primarch Nail and receiving their assigned bunks from the ship’s quartermaster.
The Stalwart Primarch sat on a clearly out-of-place command chair which was bolted to the center of the Needle’s bridge. His heavily-scarred face and throat told the unspoken story of a lifetime of brutal conflict, and his lips peeled back to reveal several missing and broken teeth as he spoke, “You must forgive my absence during your arrival. My people work hard to prepare the ship for our mission.”
Kratos stepped forward and gestured to the uplifted ape’s chair, “It is understandable. A Primarch in your condition should not exert himself overly much, lest he hasten his already severe physical decline.”
“What did you say?” Nail growled, his eyes suddenly alight with anger.
“I said the elderly and infirm must naturally be afforded special dispensations,” Kratos repeated matter-of-factly. “Otherwise they would go the way of all flesh—as some argue that they should.”
“You dare to insult the Primarch?!” roared a large, powerfully-built Stalwart who bounded over on all fours, flashing his teeth menacingly as he did so.
“Not at all,” Kratos said laconically as he looked at the newcomer with patent disinterest, “on the contrary, I am paying him every last grain of respect he deserves.”
The younger, powerfully-built Stalwart bellowed and thumped his chest before leaping toward Kratos with clearly murderous intent. The Tracto-an easily sidestepped the attack and caught the young uplift with a sharp, cracking left cross that sent the ape man crashing to the deck in a motionless heap.
Kratos rolled his neck from left to right, eliciting several audible pops—which were loud enough to be heard over the unconscious Stalwart’s snoring—as he turned back to face the Primarch, “I sincerely hope that was not the best you have to offer.”
Primarch Nail’s eyes narrowed and he began to laugh. He thumped the arm of his chair several times before lowering himself to the deck and drawing himself up to his full, bent-backed height. “You are most welcome here, Kratos—we have heard much about you and how you humbled the Commander.”
“You would do well to pay homage to my commanding officer,” Kratos said, gesturing to Kongming.
“My apologies, Master Kongming,” Nail said, bowing deeply in what seemed like genuine deference, “but I had to take the chance to kill two birds with one stone. Hammer,” he gestured to the stirring uplift on the deck, “is my youngest son, but he is impetuous and brash. I would have disciplined him myself, but I also wanted to see if the rumors about your prowess were true,” he said, finishing with a nod to Kratos.
“You named your son ‘Hammer’?” Kongming asked, naturally dubious that a father called ‘Nail’ would ever do so.
“Not at first,” Nail shrugged as he went over to the Stalwart youth, “but he was so blunt and unwieldy, even as a child, that I thought it a good choice for more reasons than one.”
“I approve,” Kratos grunted. “I, myself, have no sons.”
“Then I have you bested there, at least,” Nail thumped his chest, “for I have eight sons by five wives.”
Kratos chuckled, “My experience of women would suggest that it is I who has you bested, Primarch Nail.”
Nail grinned and laughed, “Come—it is tradition among my clan to make formal introductions over dinner. You must meet my family.”
“We would be honored,” Kongming bowed respectfully as Kratos wordlessly helped Hammer up from the floor.
All in all, Kongming could not have hoped for a smoother beginning.
Chapter XVI: The Dotted Line
“I am compelled to repeat my objection to this motion, Madam Chairman,” President Chow insisted. “The MDP was not designed to incorporate foreign militaries—especially not militaries of this scale!”
“This is not a simple military induction,” Chairman Lewis said with her usual degree of dignity and comportment—neither of which Middleton would have been able to match after four long hours of ‘debate’ over whether or not to call a vote on the Alliance Gorgonus Fleet’s legitimacy for inclusion via the MDP. “If signed by the Supreme Military Commander of the AG Fleet, the MDP would represent precisely what it was intended to represent: a recognition of the SLL’s right to exist by a sympathetic party. The importance and meaning of this gesture cannot be understated.”
“The Governors share my concerns,” President Chow said, gesturing to the pair of colonial governors whose constituents were apparently packed aboard the settler ships. Those massive, heavily-retooled ships were the same ones on which their forebears had traversed the length of the Gorgon Sectors in the hope of finding a new home, and now their descendants—and, in some cases, the settlers themselves—used them to flee the wrath of the ever-advancing Imperial Fleet. “Since it is my three votes against yours, this is not an issue on which you can unilaterally impose your will, Madam Chairman—which I am certain is an unfamiliar position for you to find yourself in.”
Middleton leaned forward, “Ladies, if I may?”
“The Chair recognizes Captain Tyrone Middleton,” Lewis acknowledged.
“I’ve read over the League’s Mutual Defense Pact,” Middleton gestured to the data slate in the middle of the table, “and I can understand President Chow’s stated concerns,” he said, having chosen those last few words as carefully as he could, “but even considering those concerns, I have to stress just how dire the situation is becoming out here—“
“The first resort of tyrants is to spread fear,” Chow interrupted coldly, causing Middleton to pause mid-sentence while his eyes remained firmly fixed on the data slate so as not to betray any emotion.
“Fear is a perfectly natural response to what is happening out here, President Chow,” he finally said after a lengthy silence, “but you shouldn’t take my word for it. Here,” he tapped a command into the conference table’s newly-installed holographic projector control panel, “see for yourselves.”
The lights in the room dimmed and the holo-projector produced the image of one of the warships which the Void Hunters had captured during the battle with Commodore Paganini. Its hull markings were magnified and represented beneath the
slowly-rotating image of the Corvette.
“This warship, the Emelda’s Shoe, was commissioned thirty two years ago and served for seventeen years as an escort to high-value transports operating on the Imperial periphery,” Middleton explained. “After seventeen years of escort duty it was sold to the colonial venture corporation Broad Horizons and was assigned to the settler ship, Breathless Anticipation—“
“Do we really need a history lesson on the origins of this warship?” Chow interrupted—again—but this time Middleton had been prepared for her to do so.
“I’m sure you’ll find the next line of great interest, Madam President,” Middleton said with a hard look which didn’t seem to inconvenience her in the slightest. He continued, repeating, “It was assigned to the settler ship, Breathless Anticipation, which brought its colonists from the Imperial Core here, to the Gorgon Sectors, where they settled fourteen years ago.”
“On which planet did they settle?” asked the nearest colonial governor—a portly, hairy man no taller than five feet but seemingly as wide.
“The Imperial records indicate they settled TMD-55793,” Middleton tapped the holographic control, causing the Gorgon Sectors’ overlay of the local galactic arm to appear before zooming in on a point roughly halfway between the ‘proximal’ end—the end closest to Imperial space—of the banana-shaped Gorgon Sectors and the ‘distal’ end where a flashing green icon appeared, “which is here.”
“Most of the warships out here were assigned to colony defense at one point or another,” President Chow said dismissively. “I fail to see the point of this ‘history lesson’.”
Middleton tapped another command, causing the holograph to zoom out and encompass the distal half of the Gorgon Sectors. “The colony at our present location—the same one which was attacked by Magmid One and abandoned by the Unbordered—is here,” he said with a nod to Chow as a new icon began to flash, indicating their present location near the tip of the proximal end of the Gorgon Sectors. “As you can see, these two colonies are separated by roughly half of the length of the Gorgon Sectors—a region of space nearly as large, spatially, as the entire Imperial Core. Now,” he clasped his hands together and pointed with both index fingers at the graphic rotating before them, “as a military man who has spent his life studying war, I read this data as clearly as any of you might read the morning smashball scores.”
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 14
