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

by Caleb Wachter

  “Nothing detected in-system, Primarch Nail,” Kongming said in disappointment. “Planetary orbits are clear of artificial signals of any kind.”

  “It might be saving power…and the brief says they prefer asteroids to planets when extracting raw materials,” Nail mused in his hoarse, wizened voice. “Helm: set course for the outer asteroid belt. Sensors: recalibrate to look for high concentrations of platinum. The file says they use it in the outer layers of their ceramic armor.”

  “Re-calibrating,” Kongming acknowledged, failing to add that he had already done so well before making his initial report to the Primarch.

  The Needle steadily moved into the star system’s interior, but even after completing two thorough sweeps of the outer asteroid belt Kongming found no indication of Magmid activity.

  Hours passed as they methodically scanned the star system, but still no sign was found to indicate that Magmid One was still in-system.

  “This is useless,” Primarch Nail growled. “Helm: take us to the inner belt.”

  “Yes, Primarch,” Hammer replied, and Kongming began to scan the inner asteroid belt.

  Thirty minutes after beginning the much briefer task of scanning the markedly smaller asteroid belt, Kongming was convinced that Magmid One was no longer in this star system. Just as he was contemplating whether or not to say as much to the Primarch, his visual scanners picked up an anomaly.

  “I have something,” he reported, bringing up the anomalous quadrant and examining the sensor feeds as they returned a match for Magmid ship geometry. “It appears to be a Magmid ship,” he explained, transferring the visual feed over to the main viewer.

  The Magmid ship was breathtaking. It was a three dimensional triangle, possessing four equilateral sides which appeared for all intents and purposes to be completely featureless save for the engines mounted at each of the triangular intersections which made up the ship’s four tips.

  It measured almost a kilometer long on each of its six edges, which probably made it the largest, mobile, artificially created structure that Kongming had ever glimpsed.

  “Hail them,” Primarch Nail commanded, but Kongming had already attempted to do so to no avail.

  “There is no response, Primarch,” he said hesitantly as he confirmed his earlier findings. “I believe…it appears that Magmid One is either no longer aboard or it is dead.”

  “Dead?” Primarch Nail repeated incredulously as his eyes hooded. “Magmid ships are weak in battle, but their armor is superb and a Magmid can survive in vacuum for days. I don’t see any damage,” he waved his hand at the image on the viewer. “You must be wrong.”

  “With respect,” Kongming said firmly, “the median temperature within that ship is low enough that, while it would be uncomfortable without an environmental suit, an away team composed of Stalwart and/or humans would be able to examine the bulk of the ship’s interior with relatively little risk.”

  “The EM fields are too strong,” the Primarch shook his head. “Stalwart have frequent heart attacks—and even seizures—when we get too close to Magmids. Humans fare no better.”

  “That is what I am attempting to convey, Primarch,” Kongming said seriously, “there isn’t an EM field aboard that ship. It is dead in space.”

  Nails eyes narrowed further as he stared at the screen. He then turned to Kongming, “This is your mission. What is your plan?”

  “I will lead an away team aboard the Magmid ship,” Kongming said, tapping out a series of orders to Kongming and a select group of the Void Hunters. “I will gather whatever evidence I can while aboard it and then I will return here.”

  “My daughter will pilot the shuttle,” Nail nodded, and Kongming set off to collect his team.

  The corridors within the Magmid ship were little more than an interconnected network of four meter wide tunnels. The atmosphere, if it could be called such, was almost pure nitrogen and the deeper they went into the gravity-less ship, the greater the atmospheric pressure became.

  “How does a ship like this operate?” Kratos asked as his power-armored form clomped down the corridor. The mag-boots built into his armor only occasionally gained purchase on the ceramic surface of the tunnel. Kongming was glad that their boots’ adhesive functions worked at all in such a hot, alien, high-pressure environment.

  “There is very little information available about Magmid technology,” Kongming explained as they came to yet another four-way intersection. “That is no doubt in large part due to only three examples of the species having been recorded. Also, a primary shared trait among them is that they are extremely xenophobic.”

  “How did the Alliance Gorgonus persuade them to join?” Kratos asked as they moved ever further toward the heart of the ship.

  “That is also something of a mystery,” Kongming said, stopping to examine a small deposit of minerals which stood out from the rest of the tunnel’s smooth, slightly corrugated interior. “All three Magmids apparently arrived at an early gathering of the AG, and after considerable difficulty were able to express their desire to join.”

  Kongming produced a handheld scanner and swept it across the foot-long lump of mineral, and a moment later his concern was validated, “It contains significant concentrations of the Magmid equivalent for genetic material: silica-based chains of information arranged in base pairs much as our own, but capable of surviving—or possibly even requiring—significant heat and pressure in order to remain stable.”

  “This is a Magmid corpse?” Kratos asked after clomping his way back to stand beside Kongming. The two Void Hunters who had accompanied the away team covered the rear of their approach to the vessel’s interior, but they crept closer to examine the lump of material for themselves.

  “Not precisely,” Kongming corrected, “this is more like…a finger, or more appropriately a fingernail. If what the Prichtac believe about the Magmids is correct, they are not a species which relies on individual identity but rather they are more akin to a fungal colony. Each portion of the colony shares an almost perfectly-matched genetic makeup as every other portion, and it behaves with a common purpose. Obviously not many examples of fungi are known for their intelligence, but it is a reasonable enough metaphor to employ when attempting to understand such a truly alien species.”

  “So…” Kratos mused, “Magmids are capable of extending their bodies, and also retracting them?”

  “Yes,” Kongming agreed, “it would seem they rely heavily on electromagnetism not only for communication, but also for locomotion—which can occur both within molten streams of ferrous minerals and can manipulate those minerals on the macro scale.”

  “It seems like that would violate laws of conservation,” Kratos unexpectedly said.

  Kongming looked up at the hulking Tracto-an, surprised only that he was still surprised by anything that Kratos did or said. “It does,” he agreed, “which is why they are never far from their power generators: they require immense amounts of electromagnetic energy in order to manipulate iron and other minerals during combat situations.”

  “Good at defending,” Kratos mused, “and poor at attacking.”

  “Precisely,” Kongming nodded as he retrieved a small sample of the chalky, semi-solid lump of minerals and stored it in a secure container. “But whatever happened aboard this ship, they were unable to defend against it. After examining the ship’s lack of EM signature, the nature of this residue, as well as noting the heightened radiation on the hull which suggests a weapon strike of some kind, I believe I have gathered the information we sought,” he said as sweat rolled down his nose. Even within the EVA suit he was extremely hot, and he decided it was time to return to the shuttle before any of them suffered the ill effects of exposure to such suffocating heat. “We should return to the Needle.”

  “A sound theory,” the Crafter mused after Kongming had laid out his impression of the available evidence. “You believe that someone—probably the Imperials—deployed a specialized EMP which killed Magmid One outright while
leaving its ship intact.”

  “I do,” Kongming nodded.

  “Why would they leave the ship?” Kratos asked.

  “It seems obvious that humans could never manipulate Magmid technology effectively,” Kongming explained, “and it is agreed by the Alliance Gorgonus’ constituent members that Magmid ships are less than enviable in terms of combat performance. What I think happened is that whoever deployed this EMP,” he pointed to the slate with the image of the strike point on the Magmid ship’s otherwise pristine hull, “did so in order to study the Magmids’ technology. Once they got the information they had come for, they left.”

  “Why not destroy the ship?” Kratos asked.

  “I am uncertain,” Kongming admitted, “though it is possible that whoever killed Magmid One did not wish to be detected and therefore decided that firing on such a large vessel for the amount of time necessary to destroy it posed too great a risk of discovery.”

  “Possible,” Kratos allowed, “but uncharacteristic. The Empire is methodical and efficient; it seems contrary to their nature to leave something behind which their enemies could use against them.”

  “I am forced to concede that point,” Kongming deferred, “while noting that we are very, very far from the Imperial Fleet’s main body. Any vessel operating out here must be doing so for the purposes of information-gathering or possibly more active forms of espionage.”

  “What if,” the Crafter leaned forward intently, “it was not your Imperial nemeses that authored this attack, but someone else—perhaps even someone with whom you are already familiar?”

  “What are you saying?” Kongming asked.

  The Crafter sighed, “The timing of these seemingly unconnected events concerning the Magmids is suspicious, to say the least. First they attack a human colony for no apparent reason, then after mysteriously vanishing from that planet with their task half-finished we discover that another Magmid was killed by an unknown weapon—one which was apparently purpose-built to kill this unique life form—several months later?”

  The Crafter leaned back and Kongming silently cursed himself for not seeing the now-obvious connection.

  Kratos nodded slowly, “There is another force at work here—one which does not wish to be revealed.”

  Kongming silently considered the matter for several seconds before, suddenly, a string of memories appeared in his mind’s eye. Each one featured the Seer as the milky-eyed apparition repeatedly spoke a phrase which Kongming then repeated, “The Dark.”

  “The Dark?” Kratos repeated while the Crafter’s eyes remained studiously fixed on Kongming.

  Kongming shook his head, lying, “It was something from an old holo-vid. I do not know why I said it just now.”

  “Of course,” Kratos agreed, though the Crafter appeared unconvinced.

  “Regardless,” Kongming stood from the table in the Needle’s sickbay, where the only decent conference table could be found, “we should proceed to our next POI. Time is of the essence.”

  “Indeed,” the Crafter said as Kongming stood and made his way to the bridge to inform the Primarch of their next destination.

  Chapter XIX: An Unanticipated Exchange

  “I’m surprised you came back,” Middleton admitted after closing the door to Lieutenant Commander Christine Ricci’s ‘cell,’ which was in actuality nothing but a mildly-secure crew berth of the same type that Middleton himself slept in. “When you didn’t request a transfer in the timeframe we discussed, I assumed you had withdrawn your interest in furthering our dialogue.”

  “Some of my more…zealous fellow officers required convincing,” Ricci replied, gesturing to the chair positioned opposite hers. “But I did manage to talk them into conducting an exchange of sorts.”

  “Exchange?” Middleton repeated as he sat in the chair.

  “Yes,” Ricci nodded, “my people want to get home, but they’re not willing to compromise their duties as Imperial Officers.”

  “I can respect that,” Middleton allowed. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me.”

  “Information,” Ricci said simply. “I’ll tell you some of what I know—or at least of what I’ve been told—and you tell me some of what you know.”

  “That’s a little vague,” Middleton said with measured disappointment.

  “Not all of us are blind, Captain Middleton,” she said shortly. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize that not everything is adding up out here. Why would the Fleet want to bring such a distant, barren region of space under compliance? Why would an alien species—even one unblessed by Man’s benevolence, like the Prichtac—choose to destroy their own world rather than stand and fight to defend it? And why did a two year action of reprisal against the uplifts for their barbaric use of WMD’s stretch into a five year campaign with no end in sight, and which saw us prosecute five human settlements for every uplift colony?”

  Middleton kept his features neutral, but his mind’s gears were turning as fast as they could. He had not expected her to come out with so many revelations so quickly—revelations like drooping morale among Paganini’s Task Force, the initially-declared duration and motivation for the Imperial invasion of the Gorgon Sectors, and the fact that Ricci knew about the Prichtac. All told, it was a remarkable olive branch she was extending—assuming any of it was true.

  “I assume you’d like me to begin by helping you answer those questions?” Middleton asked after a pregnant pause.

  “I think it would be a good faith gesture on your part,” Ricci agreed.

  “Fine,” Middleton nodded, “but you have to understand that if I give you any information along those lines, you’ll have to remain under arrest here so I can maintain operational compartmentalization.”

  “I understood that before I came,” Ricci nodded, “and so did my people.”

  “Good,” Middleton mused. “Then let’s get started…”

  He proceeded to tell her about the Prichtac—omitting the detail that one was presently about the Prejudice—as well as giving her the Stalwarts’ side of the WMD situation at their long-since abandoned Home.

  He did not, however, tell her about the Magmids, the Secular Liberation League, or Kongming’s theory regarding the presence of a technologically advanced human faction operating somewhere in the vicinity.

  He needed to keep that particular powder dry for when it might do him the most good.

  “Multiple contacts detected,” Hephaestion reported after the Prejudice point transferred into a star system which would serve as the fourth round of tests for the Stalwart capital ships.

  “Battle stations—full power to the stealth systems,” Middleton declared. Even though the stealth system controls had been re-routed to his station at Tactical, the rest of the crew’s actions would necessarily be restricted while the Prejudice was under maximum concealment from its advanced suite of stealth equipment. “Is it the Stalwart?” Middleton asked suspiciously. It was possible, however improbable, that the Stalwart Commander had managed to squeeze every last second out of his point transfers and had arrived just within the theoretically minimum amount of time required to reach this system. By his estimate they should not have arrived for another forty minutes.

  “Negative, Captain,” Hephaestion said hesitantly, “I am reading fifteen ships: eight Cutters, four Corvettes, a Destroyer and two Cruisers.”

  Middleton checked the sensor feeds streaming into his Tactical console and confirmed Hephaestion’s count. None of the ships was of Imperial design…in fact, only three of them were of configurations which the Prejudice’s data banks identified.

  “Helm: make an oblique approach offset ten degrees laterally from the starboard-most ship in their formation,” Middleton instructed.

  “Approaching,” Toto grunted, and the Prejudice surged forward on the Tactical plotter.

  “Do you have anything on those hull markings, Sensors?” Middleton pressed as he focused his attentions on maintaining the stealth systems, rather than processin
g the sensor feeds.

  “I believe so, sir,” Hephaestion replied grimly. “It appears to be a known slaver operation named ‘Green from Red,’ though the majority of their ships are of an unknown design. The Cruisers and Destroyer are of familiar configurations, however, and should not present a significant threat to the Prejudice so long as we remain at long range or greater.”

  “Assuming they detect us at all,” Middleton muttered.

  “Correct,” Hephaestion allowed.

  “All right,” Middleton mused, “we’ve been testing the Stalwart to keep them on their toes. If they arrive where they’re supposed to, and if they arrive together, we ought to be able to corral these pirates into a kill box for our capital guns to clear into. Chief,” Middleton called over his shoulder after hearing the familiar sound of Garibaldi’s cybernetic foot clanging against the deck, “how many of those Imperial-spec grav-mines have you rigged up?”

  “Twelve, Cap,” Mikey replied immediately.

  “Looks like we’ll be dropping all of them in our wake starting in about thirty minutes,” Middleton said.

  “You want me to use the Backer?” Garibaldi asked.

  “No,” Middleton shook his head, deciding that this was as good of a chance as they would get for testing their new gear, “let’s try your new launcher instead.”

  Mikey grinned, “You got it, Cap.”

  “We’re ready back here, Cap,” Garibaldi reported via the com-link just as the Prejudice drew into position to begin stealthily deploying the grav-mines.

  “Set the mines for a fifteen second delay before the attractors go to work,” Middleton instructed.

  A moment later Mikey replied, “Fifteen seconds, aye.”

  “Bombs away,” Middleton deadpanned.

  “First mine is launched,” Garibaldi acknowledged.

  “Good; hold while we drift to the next target,” Middleton said, having already gone over the flight plan with Toto. The Prejudice cut acceleration and, just as they had drawn up, she drifted into the path of the next target—this one a Corvette, unlike the previous Cutter—and after less than a minute reached the launch point for the next two mines, “Launch mines two and three.”