“Then I should be going,” Kongming said, hesitating before asking, “what about…what about my use of the Sight?”
“We have removed the veil from you, Kongming,” the Seer said, and Kongming wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful or angry as the apparition continued, “though we caution you against employing the Sight for personal reasons. We cannot remember another like you having succeeded in passing the trials without being properly initiated. As such, the act of Seeing will be dangerous for you, and it will often be difficult for you to understand. Your mind is a stormy sea of emotion, Kongming, and the Sight is best view as a reflection upon more placid waters.”
“Are you telling me not to use it?”
“No, for we are convinced it will be necessary for you to employ the Sight during your task,” the Seer said gravely. “But we advise caution, moderation, and above all that you not focus your Sight on events which you know to be directly related to the people, places, or things with which you are familiar. To do so could be…fatal.”
Kongming nodded slowly, knowing just as well as the Seer that it would be impossible for him to actually abide by such a restriction. But he saw no gain to be had by saying as much, so he changed subjects, “Is the other ship in the docking port accessible?”
“It has been released,” the Seer said, gesturing with an outstretched hand toward the corridor through which Kongming had entered the dome-shaped chamber. “And with it we urge you to release the Crafter to pursue an important role in what is yet to come.”
“You’re saying I should let the Crafter go?”
“Indeed,” the Seer nodded, “but not before you retrieve important information from the Crafter’s ship—information which will guide you on the next step of your journey. That is all the help we can give you, Kongming. When you depart the Eye, you will be unable to return since the access codes which the Crafter used have been deactivated. We hope you will understand when we say that we hope never to see you again.”
“Trust me,” Kongming said as reality began to slowly resume itself all around him, “the feeling is mutual.”
A moment later he was back in the dome-shaped chamber, and with a last look at the towering crystal pillar in the dome’s center he turned his back on the mountain of Ancient neural tissue and re-entered the corridor.
He had taken only a pair of steps before hearing Kratos’ voice behind him, “Where did you go?!”
The power-armored Tracto-an clomped up to Kongming, who shook his head in genuine uncertainty, “I do not know. But it is time we leave this place.”
“I agree,” the Crafter said from Kongming’s back.
“How do we leave this infernal place?” Kratos growled.
“I think the way is open,” Kongming gestured behind the Crafter, where the corridor now appeared unobstructed. Surprisingly—or maybe it should have been unsurprisingly—it took them only a few minutes of walking to return to the junction adjoining the two docking ports. When they arrived, Kongming turned to Kratos and said, “Return to the shuttle. I will be there soon, but first I need to go to the Crafter’s ship and retrieve some sensitive information.”
The power-armored Tracto-an’s eyes—one organic and one cybernetic—narrowed, but thankfully he nodded and did as Kongming had requested.
Without speaking, Kongming went to the previously barred passage which would lead to the Crafter’s ship and made his way down the crystalline corridor. The Crafter followed close behind, and they eventually arrived at a docking collar identical to the one which had connected their own shuttle to its present moorings.
But unlike their shuttle, the hull of this other ship seemed to be made of solid gold and was in immaculate condition. The door around which the docking collar was affixed was nearly featureless, and Kongming gestured invitingly for the Crafter to open the way.
The Crafter eyed him before placing a hand on the door’s center, and the panel depressed into the hull before sliding off to the side and making the way open to them.
The Crafter entered the craft, and Kongming followed close behind, but before they had even cleared the airlock the Crafter held up a hand haltingly and pointed to a data slate resting a nearby panel.
“Is that what you came for?” the Crafter asked.
“I honestly don’t know,” Kongming shook his head, “but if it is then its presence here suggests I am not meant to enter your ship.”
“I concur,” the Crafter nodded, plucking the slate from its resting place and handing it to Kongming. “I suppose this is ‘goodbye’?”
“Perhaps,” Kongming nodded, attempting to access the slate and failing to do so.
“If I am correct,” the Crafter said, “there is a proximity lock which will not permit you to access its contents until it is out of the range of my ship’s transponder.”
“Who are you?” Kongming asked, his suspicions as to the Crafter’s identity growing stronger by the minute.
The Crafter cast a hard look toward the inner airlock door, “I suspect I am about to discover the answer to that question for myself. What I know for certain,” the Crafter fixed Kongming with a steely-eyed stare, “is that I wish that those who live in these ‘Gorgon Sectors’ could live peacefully and without fear of being consumed by the coming conflict. As far as I know, that is all I have ever wanted.”
“If that is true,” Kongming allowed, “then I wish you good fortune.”
“Likewise, Kongming,” the Crafter half-bowed, half-curtsied, and Kongming made his way back to his own ship.
Once aboard, he fired up the shuttle’s engines and carefully pulled away from the docking port. A few seconds later the Crafter’s ship—which was no larger than the Prejudice and probably almost a class smaller—did likewise and the two vessels carefully and silently picked their way through the myriad layers of the ‘Eye.’
Twenty hours later, and no sooner than they had exited through the invisible outer layer of the Eye—which the Crafter apparently navigated without concern, and whose lead Kongming gratefully followed—than the Crafter’s ship point transferred to parts unknown.
“This is Kongming to the Unthreadable Needle,” Kongming declared on the hailing frequencies, “we are prepared to rendezvous and continue with our mission.”
“We read you,” Wojchouski replied after nearly an hour’s delay, “we’re en route to collect you. ETA: three hours.”
Chapter XXV: Battle Lines
“Multiple ships detected in-system, Captain,” Hephaestion reported after the Prejudice, in advance of the main fleet, jumped in to the first strategically-placed star system which Middleton had previously identified.
As the count, makeup and disposition of those ships appeared on Middleton’s Tactical plotter he confirmed that the majority of the detected ships were of Imperial design—and that they had completely surrounded the second and third planets of the system.
“Four Battleships, ten Cruisers and twenty two Destroyers in all, Captain,” Hephaestion called out after the Prejudice’s sensors finished their initial sweep of the system.
This group was overly heavy on capital ships—the Cruisers and Battleships—but thankfully Middleton’s detailed perusal of the feeds showed no evidence of the most powerful warship ever to ply the space-ways: an Imperial Command Carrier. The capital-heavy formation presented interesting challenges—and equally interesting opportunities.
“The original plan called for the rest of our fleet to arrive in eight hours,” Middleton said as he drew up an approach vector that would see them get much more personal with the Imperials before the AG and SLL ships arrived. “The PNR for our Battleships’ jump engines is in six hours. That gives us five hours to dive in, gather as much intelligence as possible, and point transfer back to the fleet with our findings. Helm: take us in on the vector I just forwarded to you. The stealth suite is at maximum so execute maneuvers accordingly.”
“Yes sir,” Toto acknowledged, and the Prejudice continued its stealthy approach to
the system’s interior.
“The local ships—fourteen in all, with ten Corvettes and four Destroyers—appear to have struck their reactors several days ago and are in stable orbit of the second planet,” Hephaestion reported.
“Which means their six Cutters fled when the Imperials arrived,” Middleton nodded approvingly, having reviewed the League’s reports of this star system’s military assets. “But the Corvettes and Destroyers were hemmed in due to their slower speed.”
“Some of them might have surrendered outright—or worse, betrayed their duties by declaring for the Empire,” Hephaestion offered.
“It’s possible,” Middleton allowed, “but whatever happened here, this will be where we draw the first line against this invasion.”
“Their active sensor sweeps are too well-coordinated,” Hephaestion said after examining the Imperials’ behavior. “Approaching any closer would risk detection.”
Middleton nodded in agreement, “We’re still outside of turbo-laser range, but not by much. This task force’s commander is good,” he said with grudging respect. “We probably won’t get a cheap win here.”
“Our forces significantly outnumber the enemy’s,” Hephaestion said pointedly while Middleton drew up a handful of rough battle plans on his plotter.
“A victory here doesn’t do us any good if it costs us more than we gain,” Middleton chided. “Even if we acquire all of this system’s SDF, that wouldn’t overcome the losses projected by these simulations,” he gestured to the log of failed battle plans he had fed into the Prejudice’s robust cogitators. “And that says nothing of the fact that the Imperials are already aware of this star system and will be immediately alerted to any deviation from their scheduled advance.”
“I have not detected any ComStat carrier frequencies, Captain,” Hephaestion said pointedly.
“Even without FTL communication,” Middleton explained as patiently as he could muster, “a fleet like the one this task force came from—a real fleet, unlike Commodore Paganini’s ramshackle group—will have every single minute of deployment time budgeted before orders are handed off and the first point transfers are made. If these ships are the rearguard, which seems unlikely given that they’re deeper into the Gorgon Sectors than our projections suggested they’d be, the odds are low they’ll be reinforced any time soon. But if they are part of the vanguard,” he added heavily, “as I suspect them to be, that means the rest of the enemy fleet will be arriving here at some point in the near future. The only reason those SDF ships are still powered down is because they haven’t had Imperial crews assigned to them.”
“What are your orders, sir?” Hephaestion asked.
Middleton considered the situation for several minutes as he scanned through the sensor logs, hoping to find something he might have missed. But he was unable to spot any glaring omissions from the information packet he had acquired.
“We make for the hyper limit,” he commanded, “we rendezvous with the fleet and coordinate our assault on this star system. Mr. Garibaldi,” he continued after establishing a connection with his Chief Engineer, “clear as much space from the hangar as possible. I think it’s going to get a little tight in there.”
“My people approve of this plan,” Mrr’shan said as she rhythmically flexed her claws. “We will have eight of our best hunt packs transferred to your shuttle bay immediately.”
“Good,” Middleton acknowledged, glad to have the first phase of the plan drawn up and accepted. “I’d take more but I’m afraid eight is the upper limit for my hangar’s capacity.”
“I dislike this plan,” the Stalwart Commander objected. “The projected losses—even if the Void Hunters succeed in their mission—are simply too great to ignore. We should pick a more favorable target.”
“This is as favorable of a target as we’re going to get, Commander,” Middleton said flatly. “The inhabitants of this system are charter members of the Alliance Gorgonus and they have significant infrastructure which they could lend to our cause. This star system,” Middleton pointed emphatically to the hologram representing the star system they were planning to assault, “is a key location in our proposed advance—and obviously the Imperials recognize its value just as well as we do.”
“With respect,” interjected Commodore Cartwright, the Secular Liberation League’s lone representative at the military council, “we have the advantage of terrain, we have surprise, and we have numbers. We will certainly emerge victorious from a conflict with this task force, but is it necessary to engage them?”
“What are you suggesting?” Middleton asked, knowing very well where the Commodore was going with this line of inquiry but also knowing it was a subject that needed to be broached publicly—hopefully just once and never again.
“We could parlay with them,” Commodore Cartwright replied officiously, “we could entreat them to recognize the sovereignty of the League and the AG,” he gestured to the Stalwart Commander, Mrr’shan, and the Prichtac deferentially, “and to cease their hostilities against us.”
“That is a most favorable proposal,” Prichtac said before Middleton could reply, and Middleton found himself momentarily taken aback by the alien’s suggestion. “Unfortunately, it is one which We also believed would be beneficial in previous engagements. The result of Our previous attempts to engage in a peaceful dialogue with the Empire of Man, while initially appearing to be conducive to harmony and consensus between the Alliance Gorgonus and the Empire of Man, culminated in the attack on Our home world which regrettably reduced the Host to this single member.”
Middleton was surprised by Prichtac’s candor, and the Commodore seemed equally moved as he stammered, “I…I was unaware of that event…erm, Ambassador.”
“We are content to be referred to as ‘Prichtac’ during communion with entities not directly affiliated with the Host,” Prichtac said serenely.
“Fine,” the Commodore seemed to re-gather his wits, “Prichtac, surely you can see the value in at least attempting diplomacy?”
“Naturally,” Prichtac replied smoothly, “however, it is Our consensus after considerable observation of hierarchically-arranged life forms such as yourselves and the Stalwart,” she gestured to the uplift Commander with a pseudopod, “that doing so encourages aggression with such alarming frequency that, statistically, the Alliance Gorgonus and its allies would be better served not to engage in such diplomacy with the Empire of Man and proceed directly to the phase humans refer to as a ‘shooting war.’ Deception appears to be a highly-valued trait among the Empire’s representatives, and We would prefer not to have such deceptions result in unnecessary loss of Our allies’ lives.”
Cartwright snickered, splaying his hands, “You’ve got me there. I just think the option needs to be considered before we charge headlong into a battle with an Imperial task force.”
“You’re a little behind the times, Commodore,” Middleton chided respectfully, “we’ve already gone to war with an Imperial task force—one that was considerably larger than this one.”
“Larger? Sure,” Cartwright countered. “But it was a hodgepodge strike fleet composed primarily of pressed colonial or pirate gear. This is an Imperial task force made entirely of Imperial warships and it’s part of a fleet that dwarfs our combined forces in every measurable way.”
“Is the League withdrawing its support from this engagement?” Middleton decided to press straight to the heart of the matter.
Cartwright ground his teeth, “I am authorized to do so, Captain Middleton, if I deem this battle to unnecessarily endanger the League’s constituents.” He proceeded to engage in a test of wills with Middleton—a test in which Middleton was content to declare he had not failed—before relenting, “But this does appear to be as significant of a chance as we will have to push back against these invaders and buy ourselves some breathing room. The League will contribute its support, but only after I am convinced that our ships and their crews are not going to be overrepresented in the eventual casua
lty reports.”
Middleton nodded slowly, disliking several bits of the Commodore’s declaration—among them his use of Middleton’s rank ‘Captain’ rather than his selection as the AG’s Supreme Military Commander.
Personally, Middleton didn’t care about whether someone made that particular distinction. But Cartwright, and even Chairman Lewis, had both pointedly referred to Middleton by his Captain’s rank during official gatherings. That meant that they thought the distinction was an important one—which meant that now Middleton needed to consider it to be equally important.
“I’m not going to show favoritism to anyone in this fleet, Commodore,” Middleton said levelly, “and as Supreme Military Commander of the Alliance Gorgonus’ armed forces I insist that any operation carried out under the AG flag will recognize and respect my authority within that organization. Do we understand each other?”
Cartwright’s eyes narrowed, “We understand each other: this is an AG operation.”
“As Security Head for the League,” Middleton continued, despising the fact that he had to play politics when he should be planning strategy and tactical maneuvers for the upcoming battle, “do you recognize my authority as superseding yours in this coming battle?”
The Stalwart Commander and Mrr’shan watched with barely-concealed amusement as the Commodore grudgingly nodded, “In this battle, I do.”
“Good,” Middleton said, glad to be done with that bit of politics. “Then let’s get to work.”
Chapter XXVI: First Strike
“The hunt packs are ready for deployment, Captain,” Garibaldi reported over the com-link.
“We’ll begin dropping them off in twelve minutes, Chief,” Middleton acknowledged.
“We are in medium weapons range of the nearest formation, Captain,” Hephaestion said as the Prejudice continued her silent approach to the Imperial formation. “There is no indication that their active sensors have detected us.”
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 23
