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

by Caleb Wachter

  Kongming scanned the visual feeds of surrounding mountain passes, plugging in an array of pattern-recognition algorithms to the Needle’s computer. After just a few seconds, another ruin appeared on the visual feeds. It was less distinctive than the first but it was clearly man-made and had been built in similarly defensible, mountainous terrain.

  A third ruin also appeared on the feed, displaying remarkably similar characteristics to its predecessors. Then a fourth appeared—followed quickly by a fifth. By the time the sixth showed up on Kongming’s screen, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “You were right, Kongming,” Kratos said, laying a massive, gnarled hand on Kongming’s shoulder after the tenth ruined citadel appeared on the screen, “this is no coincidence. I am meant to go to that planet.”

  Kongming wanted to argue with the towering Tracto-an, but he knew it would be fruitless to do so. Kratos was not the only member of the Needle’s crew whose curiosity demanded an investigation of the planet below, but Kongming could not dismiss the warning his vision had given him.

  “If you go there, Kratos…” he trailed off pointedly.

  “I understand,” Kratos nodded curtly, “but we both know I have no choice. Give me a shuttle,” he turned to Primarch Nail, “and I will spare your crew undue danger by delivering Abyss to the Hive Mothership. After that, I will land on the planet…” his lone organic eye fixed on the rotating images of ruined citadels on the ship’s main screen, “and meet whatever fate awaits me there.”

  “You can pilot a shuttle?” Nail asked skeptically.

  Kratos snorted as he turned to make his way off the bridge, and after he had gone Kongming said, “Kratos is…remarkable, Primarch. We would be well-served by granting his request, and I have every confidence he will succeed in his task.”

  Nail grumbled, “Seems a waste of a perfectly good shuttle…but fine.”

  “I am not one for dramatic goodbyes, Kongming,” Kratos said after helping Abyss onto the Needle’s small, six person shuttlecraft that served as a backup to the larger, twenty-seater.

  “I am not one for goodbyes of any stripe, Kratos,” Kongming replied as the power-armored Kratos hefted a crate of munitions onto the shuttle.

  “Then let me leave you with a word of advice,” Kratos grunted after securing the crate.

  “I would be honored,” Kongming said with genuine feeling.

  The towering Tracto-an—who somehow seemed smaller in this particular suit of power armor—cocked his head contemplatively before saying, “Never be ashamed of your thoughts or your gifts, for they are a part of who you are. To deny them, or apologize for them, is to reject what the rest of us have come to respect. Denying your own value is insulting not only to you but, perhaps more importantly, to your brothers and sisters in arms.”

  Kongming was uncertain how to respond, “I…I will do my best to heed your advice, Kratos.”

  “That is all an advisor can ask for,” Kratos said, removing his gauntlet and proffering his bare, massive hand. “It has been an honor to serve with you, Kongming.”

  Kongming accepted the other man’s massive hand, feeling like a child as he did his best to return Kratos’ crushing grip, “I will not forget you, Kratos.”

  Kratos chuckled as he replaced his gauntlet, “Then perhaps I have achieved immortality after all?”

  With that, the burly Tracto-an closed the shuttle’s lone hatch and powered the small craft’s engines. Kongming left the shuttle bay and returned to the bridge, where he watched the shuttle embark on a direct intercept course with the Hive Mothership.

  As the shuttle landed on, and then departed from the Mothership’s hull, Kongming silently cursed himself for not shedding a single tear on Kratos’ behalf.

  His attention was soon fixed on a sensor reading of the smaller ships in the Hive Fleet, and after a quick examination of the data he reported, “The Scout Marauders are powering their drive units. It appears they will reach functional output in thirty minutes.”

  “That’s our cue,” Nail grunted. “Helm, get us out of this bug nest—now!”

  An hour later, and before the Bug ships could give anything resembling a genuine chase, the Unthreadable Needle point transferred out of the system and resumed its return course to the AG Fleet’s designated rendezvous point.

  Chapter XL: The Art of the Deal

  “Our munitions supply is exhausted,” Chancellor Foles reiterated, “as such, we must receive primacy in any and all salvage priority.”

  “Chancellor, we’ve been over this,” Middleton said as calmly as he could manage after three hours of incessant bickering between the various heads of state, “the contribution of your Independence missiles was vital to the expedient conclusion of the battle, but others contributed even more significant measures of their own blood and treasure to secure your star system’s independence.”

  “I am no fool, Commander,” she said archly, “my people demand primacy pursuant to the AG’s own articles governing salvage in situations like this one.”

  “The AG Charter does indeed address this situation,” Prichtac said serenely from her position at Middleton’s elbow, “however, there is significant overlap between three separate clauses which could arguably govern this dispute.”

  “This is our sovereign star system,” Foles insisted, “which means that the clause deferring to local salvage rights applies.”

  “Surely, Madam Chancellor,” Chairman Lewis interjected, “you are aware that the deference of which you speak quite plainly refers to vested members of the Alliance Gorgonus, and not to every star system which provisionally agrees to an MDP like the one you stipulated to?”

  “I am well aware of that, Chairman Lewis,” Foles acknowledged stiffly. “But the language of the other two clauses does not address pertinent details of our present situation, which means—“

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Middleton held up his hands in an effort to bring things back into focus, “can we all pause for a moment?” When the bickering blessedly ended—or, rather, took a brief respiratory pause at his urging—he nodded agreeably and gestured to the salvage breakdown, “The issue before us is three-fold: first, we need to establish the official relationship of this star system to the Alliance Gorgonus; second, we need to determine a fair compensation package for each involved organization that contributed to the battle which took place here; and third, we need to establish a mechanism by which we can prioritize and make repairs to the damaged assets still drifting in this system, since without those repairs we are literally arguing over floating junk. I suggest we take these items in the order I have presented them. Is there any objection?” he asked, fixing Chancellor Foles with a firm look.

  Foles seemed ready to argue, but her aide—a tall, thin man of dark complexion with myriad piercings adorning his face—jogged her elbow and whispered something into her ear. After hearing his private suggestion, she shook her head, “We have no objection to addressing these items comprehensively and in the order you propose.”

  “Good,” Middleton nodded, knowing she was basically telling him that if the whole package didn’t meet with her approval then she would retract her ‘agreement’ to every other item they now discussed. “The first matter is one of involvement in the Alliance Gorgonus. Does your star system wish to enter into the Alliance Gorgonus after it has been formally reconstituted?”

  Foles exchanged whispers with her aide before nodding, “My people have expressed significant interest in joining the AG, but such a decision must be put to a set of repeating votes in order to enact.”

  “How long of a time frame are we talking about?” Middleton asked.

  “Our inclusion can be ratified no sooner than nine weeks from now,” she replied, “with the first vote coming in three weeks, a second three weeks after that, and the final vote three weeks after the second.”

  “Your local weeks are approximately eight standard days,” Middleton mused, “but I don’t see this being a problem so long as the first vote
is held as quickly as possible and successive votes are also put forth in the minimum time involved.” He looked to the SLL representatives, including President Chow, before sweeping Mrr’shan, the Stalwart Commander—who bore an intimidating facial scar following his successful boarding action of the Imperial Cruiser—and finally Prichtac. “Is there any objection to proceeding with the assumption that such votes will be called and, ultimately, ratified in favor of AG membership?”

  “We are agreeable to this stipulation,” Prichtac nodded. Mrr’shan and the Stalwart Commander, however, seemed less than pleased.

  “Our people bled and died for this system,” Mrr’shan hissed, flashing her claws before scraping them across the metal conference table. “We must be given primacy!”

  The Stalwart Commander thumped his chest proudly, “We suffered the most severe losses. We must—“

  “Please, people,” Middleton interrupted in a raised voice, “we need to stay on track. Does any member of the AG or its MDP allies object to Chancellor Foles, representing the sovereign star system Mercy’s End, stipulating to advance an induction vote as quickly as local law permits?”

  A chorus of muted grumbles echoed throughout the room, but none of them seemed in the negative.

  “The ayes have it,” Middleton nodded, “which brings us to the second issue: determining fair compensation for the losses incurred by each member of the defense effort. The Chancellor’s people did, indeed, contribute significantly to the effort,” Middleton said deferentially, “but her people are not numbered among the casualties. There are provisions in the AG Charter,” Middleton tapped a nearby data slate containing that particular document, “which address this, but obviously there are several variables which will require ratification prior to an agreement being reached. I propose that each member state selects three specialists to participate in this round of negotiations, which must begin immediately—as in the day after tomorrow,” he added pointedly, “and can take no more than five days from start to finish. If agreement can’t be reached in that time, the AG Charter clearly states that it will be up to the Supreme Military Commander to make a ruling. I hope you all understand that I mean it when I say,” he clasped his hands before himself and swept the assemblage with a piercing look, “that I would very much prefer you all to come to an agreement on such an important issue. I’ll distribute the assets if that’s what you all want, but it would be better for everyone involved if such a momentous decision wasn’t made by one person.”

  “The Supreme Commander speaks well,” Chairman Lewis nodded approvingly, but to Middleton’s eye it was clear she had lost a significant portion of the vigor she had possessed at the meeting’s outset, “I am confident that the League can successfully host these proceedings, as we have mediated similar disputes in the past—though never of such scale, of course.”

  “That’s a generous offer, Madam Chairman,” Middleton nodded approvingly. “All in favor of the negotiations beginning in two days’ time aboard Chairman Lewis’ flagship?”

  Another chorus of grunts—this one significantly less irritable and more unified—echoed through the room.

  “Good,” Middleton nodded, “which leaves the third and final item of business for today: establishing a fair and comprehensive mechanism for making repairs in a timely manner. Obviously none of these negotiations will do anyone any good,” he said pointedly with a short look in Chancellor Foles’ way, “if the local industry is incapable of coping with such a massive repair project. As such, Chairman Lewis’ corporation has generously offered the services of their Constructor, which can begin operations immediately but which I have ordered to stand by until this first round of negotiations is concluded. What are your thoughts, Chancellor Foles?”

  Foles leaned forward, easily projecting the commanding presence of a stellar statesman. “A vote will need to be called for this as well, but I have already reviewed this matter with our cabinet members, top economists, and captains of related industry. We are confident that these terms will be agreeable to all involved parties, and that our people can provide the attached resources in the indicated delivery schedules,” she proffered a data slate, which Middleton accepted and began to peruse as she continued. “While there is some room for negotiation over specifics, the broad terms of compensation must conform to this general pattern and scope.”

  Middleton was overwhelmed by the immensity of the document she had just handed to him. It contained two thousand pages of direct information and another six thousand pages of reference material. Even if he was inclined to do so—which he most definitely wasn’t—he knew that such a document was well beyond his ability to examine in anything remotely resembling a comprehensive manner.

  “Madam Chairman?” Middleton handed the slate to Chairman Lewis.

  “We will be happy to review this proposal,” Lewis assured him as she handed the slate to the SLL’s Head of Security, Commodore Cartwright, “and can provide a preliminary summary for the group’s review by tomorrow morning.”

  “Good,” Middleton nodded, “then I think we can adjourn this particular meeting until two days from now, during which interval the Chairman will provide copies of her summary to all non-Mercy’s End attendees and we’ll revisit the repairs issue at that time. It goes without saying,” Middleton held up a halting hand before Chancellor Foles could interject, “that these are all provisional agreements—except the one in which Mercy’s End begins the local process for ratifying inclusion in the Alliance Gorgonus. Should the AG induction proposal fail, we’ll have to hammer out a new agreement but for now we’ll proceed as though it will pass. Agreed?” he asked, and all heads—save that of the Stalwart Commander—bobbed up and down agreeably. “Then this meeting is adjourned.”

  The attendees filed out one by one, until only Prichtac and Mrr’shan remained.

  Middleton turned to Prichtac first, “I don’t know how much more we could have accomplished.”

  “We are satisfied with the limited consensus achieved here,” Prichtac assured him in her serene, unflappable translated voice. “Though We are concerned with the Stalwart Commander’s pheromones and biorhythmic data, which are indicative of pending conflict.”

  “I got the same impression,” Middleton assured her. “But for now we’ll just have to hope everyone keeps a level head until the next round of negotiations commences.”

  “Agreed,” Prichtac nodded before sliding-slash-slithering her way out of the conference room.

  “I think it’s time I made that inspection of your Mothership, Mrr’shan,” Middleton urged, and the Void Hunter matriarch flashed a cunning grin.

  “I agree.”

  As Middleton walked the corridors of the massive, kilometer long Mothership he was struck by just how few Void Hunters he encountered. Those felines that he did encounter were all clothed in some form of what looked like ceremonial garb, with elaborate headdresses and nearly all-covering, draping, one-piece garments with the green eyes of the Void Hunter flag emblazoned on the chest and back.

  “How many people live on the Mothership?” Middleton asked as they passed through the fifth junction since boarding the strangely-constructed vessel. Its design seemed somewhat similar to Droid construction, as he had previously suspected, with odd angles and strangely-shaped passages. But some parts of it had clearly been renovated to accommodate the felines’ statures.

  “That is a difficult question to answer in words,” Mrr’shan said steadily, “but soon you will see the answer for yourself.”

  Middleton disliked the cryptic nature of her reply, and exchanged muted looks of irritation with Garibaldi who followed a few paces behind.

  They came to a large iris—an improbably vertical iris, no less—in front of which a quartet of armored Void Hunter warriors stood. They wore the looks of seasoned warriors who would just as soon kill Middleton as converse with him, and Mrr’shan led him past them where she opened the iris with what looked like a combination blood sample and retinal scan.


  The iris receded and Mrr’shan stepped into the red-lit room beyond, with Middleton and Garibaldi close behind. One of the guardsmen growled menacingly, to which Mrr’shan quipped something in their feral language. Seemingly chastised, the armored guardsman ceased his threatening utterance and allowed Middleton and Garibaldi to pass.

  “This is the Womb,” Mrr’shan explained reverently as the iris closed behind them.

  “The Womb?” Garibaldi repeated in confusion as Middleton’s eyes fought to adjust to the dark, red-lit chamber.

  “Yes,” Mrr’shan replied before softly snarling a series of commands. The light in the room slowly intensified until Middleton could make out their surroundings.

  “Murphy’s sake…” Garibaldi breathed as the scope of the chamber became apparent.

  Stacked row upon row, and layer upon layer, were what could have only been artificial wombs. Middleton examined the nearest one and saw that it held no fewer than eight wriggling occupants, each one bearing tiny feline characteristics as even in their artificial womb they struggled with each other for dominance by pushing, writhing, and pressing against each other.

  “How many of these are there?” Middleton asked after finally realizing some measure of why the Void Hunters behaved as they did.

  “We have two thousand separate chambers in the Great Womb,” Mrr’shan explained. “Clan Green Eyes, prior to the formation of the Void Hunter Clans, held the rights to three hundred of them. Now, however, gene stock is selected by a meritorious system—a system which has doubled my gene lines’ representation in the Womb.”