She turned and made her way out of the galley, leaving Kongming alone with his half-eaten meal tray and thoughts of Vali Funar’s final moments to keep him company.
“You begin to understand,” a familiar voice said from where Trixie had just sat, and Kongming looked up abruptly to see the Seer sitting opposite him.
But unlike previous instances of this apparition’s appearance, this time the Seer’s body seemed ephemeral—thin, faded and disjointed from the very air which surrounded it.
“Understand?” Kongming repeated angrily. “What is there to understand?”
“Everything,” the Seer replied with maddening serenity. “But there will be time for that; for now you must listen carefully.”
For a moment Kongming wanted to dismiss the apparition. He almost closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but after a precarious moment on the razor’s edge of indecision he grudgingly surrendered to his reality.
He remembered the promise he had made this same Seer—or who was apparently this same Seer—back on Cagnzyz before it had gifted him with the accursed ‘Sight’ which he had then used to save Fengxian’s life…at the price of the valiant, innocent Vali Funar’s. That promise bound him to the Seer’s will, and he would not go back on their agreement.
“What must I do?” he asked as he met the Seer’s empty, milk-white eyes with new resolve.
“You will know where to go when the path is made open to you,” the Seer said confidently, “but you must not come alone. Bring Kratos, Abyss, and the one you call ‘Crafter.’ There is much work to do and you cannot do it alone.”
“Isn’t that more cryptic than it needs to be?” Kongming asked bitterly.
“It is as it must be,” the Seer said as he slowly began to recede from reality. “Bring those three and those three only.”
Before Kongming could ask after that particularly dire warning, the Seer receded entirely. It was not as though he faded from reality; he simply fell away from it without moving a centimeter from the stool on which he had ‘sat.’
“Cryptic nonsense,” Kongming growled, noticing the eyes of Julian, the engineer, who looked at him with a mixture of concern and alarm.
“Who were you talking to?” Julian asked.
Kongming actually stopped to wonder about whether or not he was somehow obliged to silence on the matter of the Seer. He could not remember ever receiving such a directive, but just the same he thought it would be best if he kept it to himself—at least until he found a way to explain his situation to Captain Middleton.
He forced a smile as he stood from the table. “I was merely holding a discussion with the most talented conversationalist I know,” he explained, “which, naturally, would be myself.”
Julian seemed less than fully convinced, but he returned the smile and went about the work of breaking down the buffet while Kongming returned to his quarters for some much-needed sleep.
Chapter VIII: Puzzle Pieces
“Point transferring in five,” Toto declared from the Helm, “four…three…two…one…transferring.”
The Prejudice slid through the infinitesimally short-lived transposition of space-time as Middleton watched the Tactical plotter with hawkish eyes.
He had decided it was a waste to have Toto man the Tactical station when he was just as capable of operating the Prejudice’s limited—albeit potent—weaponry from the Helm. It had taken some minor modifications of the Helm station itself, which included a link for the direct neural interface which the silver-backed uplift had previously used to control his gunships. With them complete, Toto was now uniquely capable of both flying and fighting the nimble ship at least as capably as any team which Middleton had arranged.
The change meant that Middleton now stood at Tactical during combat conditions. When commanding the much larger Pride of Prometheus, it had been necessary for Middleton to sit in the command chair and manage his various department heads. But the Prejudice was a far smaller, sleeker ship which could—at least theoretically—be operated by just a single person if the ship’s various control systems were slaved to a single workstation.
He watched as the Tactical plotter filled with icons representing the various planetary bodies in this particular star system, and felt a mixture of relief and wariness when no ships appeared in orbit of the one habitable planet in orbit of the yellow dwarf which was the system primary.
“No contacts, Captain,” Hephaestion reported.
“Comm. chatter?” Middleton asked.
“None, sir,” Kongming said promptly. “I am reading faint radio emissions from the planet’s surface, but I cannot discern their purpose or content at this time.”
The rest of the Alliance Fleet began to appear at the edge of the hyper limit near the Prejudice. When all ships were present and accounted for, Middleton ordered, “Establish point-to-point links with the Void Hunter and Stalwart flagships. Order them to adopt formation Gorgon Prime and follow us into the system’s interior.”
“Gorgon Prime, yes sir,” Kongming acknowledged, and a few seconds later added, “orders received and acknowledged by their recipients.”
“Good,” Middleton nodded. “Toto, take us in.”
“The radio emissions I detected appear to be originating from a series of residential buildings which stand in various states of disrepair and dereliction,” Kongming reported after the fleet had taken up orbit of the apparently twice-abandoned colony. “The signals seem to be automated intercommunications between the various buildings’ internal monitoring devices.”
“Can you tap into them?” Middleton asked.
“I have already done so, Captain,” Kongming replied matter-of-factly, and a moment later the central screen’s image of the blue-green orb beneath them was replaced by a four-way split screen of camera feeds. The video feeds overlooked ferro-crete structures of the type generally seen on start-up colonies.
Middleton examined the raw feeds on his station while Kongming manually rotated the main screen’s quartet of feeds in order to cycle through the nearly two hundred automated cameras which were still operable on the planet’s surface.
But Middleton had already found a handful of images which began to explain why the planet was abandoned, “Impact craters…this place was bombarded from orbit.”
“Ambient radiation is minimally above the planet’s base-line,” Hephaestion noted from Sensors, “but it is consistent with directed energy strikes authored from low orbit sometime in the last four to six months.”
“Agreed,” Middleton mused as he noted that none of the buildings appeared to have been struck directly. Two of the buildings had collapsed, but the nearest strike points were hundreds of meters distant. A quick examination of the subterranean topography showed that the colony was sitting on an alarmingly porous shelf of igneous rock.
After zooming in on that bedrock’s many holes, it quickly became apparent that those holes were not natural. Someone—or something—had tunneled extensively beneath the colony.
“They were trying to repel them by firing on their own colony from orbit,” Middleton said grimly, “which means they didn’t detect the diggers’ presence until the tunnels were already dug.”
“One of the strikes exposed an intact tunnel,” Hephaestion observed, and a moment later Middleton spotted the feed which the Tracto-an Sensor operator meant.
“Three meters in diameter…” Middleton mused.
“A standard colonial TBM digs tunnels of that size,” Garibaldi offered. “Start-up colonists sometimes use them to reach subterranean water sources, hydrocarbon deposits, or even precious minerals in the upper crust.”
“True,” Kongming opined, “but a standard colonial TBM would have set off any standardized seismic sensor—sensors like that one,” he added as the image of just such a sensor came into view on one of the video feeds, “long before they reached the surface.
“He’s right,” Middleton agreed. “And while Imperial technology is better than Confederation tech, it’s
generally not that much better—especially not when it comes to producing cheap, modular systems like those used by start-up colonies.”
“Agreed,” Kongming nodded. “It would seem that these tunnels were dug with the intention of making it appear as though they were dug with standard colonial equipment, but at some point the diggers were discovered and the Unbordered retaliated with orbital strikes while attempting to preserve the colony.”
“Which they seemingly accomplished,” Middleton said, confirming that only two of the hundred and fifty ferro-crete buildings had collapsed and the rest stood silent, ominous vigil over the empty grid of intersecting streets which connected them.
“Could the diggers have abducted the colonists?” Hephaestion asked after a momentary lull in the discussion.
“It seems unlikely,” Kongming replied, “given that the buildings appear to be have been evacuated and the orbital bombardment was clearly truncated and failed to collapse the tunnels sufficiently to remove the possibility of them being used against the colonists.”
Middleton’s com-link chimed, and a glance showed it was Kratos who had initiated the call. “This is the Captain,” he acknowledged after accepting the call.
“Captain,” Kratos replied irritably, “the Prichtac wishes to enter the bridge.”
Middleton was not exactly surprised that the Prichtac was interested in the Unbordered’s planet, but he was surprised by the alien’s timing. The Prichtac was generally passive and mild-mannered and had only twice asked to set foot—or, rather, to slither—onto the bridge.
“Request granted,” Middleton acknowledged.
The starboard iris receded, and the Prichtac moved onto the bridge with its ponderous, oddly graceful movements. “Captain Middleton,” its feminine voice spoke through the translator, “have you made contact with the Unbordered?”
“No, Prichtac,” Middleton replied, gesturing to the slowly-cycling video feeds showing the ghost colony below. “It seems that someone—or something—gave them cause to evacuate several months ago.”
Prichtac’s rhythmic, peristaltic motions of its ‘foot’ brought the slug-like creature just inside the iris through which it had entered. Its trio of eyes locked onto the images on the screen for several seconds before its skin took on a sickly brown hue as it said, “We are familiar with this pattern of subterranean erosion.”
“What causes it?” Middleton asked.
“The species responsible for this aggression does not have a name which any other recorded life form could reproduce,” Prichtac replied as its skin slowly returned to its translucent, yellowish norm, “but they were once a formidable member of the Alliance Gorgonus.”
Middleton thought back to a limited breakdown of member races which Prichtac had supplied some weeks earlier. His eyes narrowed as he realized which species must have been responsible, “It looks like we’ll need to come up with a name for these ‘rock people’.”
“They do not possess individuality in any way which you, or even the Host, could comprehend,” Prichtac explained. “So referring to them as ‘people’ is highly inaccurate. Their organizational model more closely resembles that of an independently mobile fungal or bacterial colony.”
Middleton recalled the brief notes which Prichtac had provided on these silicon-based life forms. Incredibly, it seemed that these things were capable of mobilizing massive segments of rock—some pieces weighing as much as two tons!—as what amounted to temporary extensions of their own ‘bodies.’
There were serious limitations to their ability to control such extensions, but this form of life was at least as different from humanity in its basic psychological makeup as it was in its physical makeup.
“How would a species like this ever develop high technology?” Middleton wondered aloud.
“That is something of a mystery to Us as well,” Prichtac admitted. “However, We found this species to be most resourceful in repelling the initial Imperial incursions. Their ability to defend fortified planetary positions was unrivaled, though their ships were relatively crude and unsuited for combat. As you can clearly see, they are also capable of making unorthodox approaches to planetary fortifications.”
Middleton shuddered to think just how inept this rocky life form’s warships must have been for the Prichtac to condemn them as ‘crude and unsuited for combat.’ The Prichtac had taken a perfectly good set of warship designs and done nothing but reduce their overall tactical value with each set of ‘improvements’ made to them with each subsequent generation of modifications.
“Are these ‘living rocks’ native to this system?” Kongming asked.
“No,” Prichtac replied, “their planet was among the first to be wholly conquered by the Imperial forces on the far side of the ‘Gorgon Sectors.’ In fact, at last contact there were only three surviving members of this particular species.”
“Three members?” Middleton repeated skeptically.
“Yes,” Prichtac explained, “and at that time they were ill-inclined to cooperate with each other, let alone with Us or the rest of the Alliance Gorgonus.”
“What caused the break?”
“That is difficult for Us to ascertain,” Prichtac said hesitantly. “But the three surviving members of this species were uniquely unified in their determination to leave the Alliance Gorgonus.”
“You seem to suggest that this was unexpected,” Kongming pressed.
“We calculated the probability of the joint withdrawal of two members to be less than two percent,” Prichtac explained. “But the simultaneous withdrawal of all three was calculated to be approximately zero point zero three percent.”
“You suspect foul play?” Middleton mused, suspecting that if he could find sufficient evidence that some of that evidence would point to Imperial involvement.
“We are ill-equipped to draw conclusions of that nature,” Prichtac said regretfully. “That particular limitation is a significant contributing factor which led to your installation as Supreme Military Commander of the Alliance Gorgonus.”
Middleton still disliked being referred to by that title, but he understood the value of centralized authority in a dire situation like the so-called Alliance Gorgonus was presently in.
“Ready an away team,” Middleton ordered Kongming, “Kratos will command, and if the scene is deemed secure by his team then the Crafter will come down to supervise the retrieval of the technology we came here for.”
A few seconds later Kongming reported, “The Deathbacker will be ready to launch in three minutes.”
Chapter IX: In The Bull’s Eye
Qaz sat on the bench in the Deathbacker’s cargo hold as the shuttle descended toward the planet’s surface. The Heir of Asterion’s Legacy kept his eyes focused on the bulkhead before him as every fiber of his being urged him to do something he had longed to do for nearly his entire life: tear the head from the body of the person who now sat opposite him.
“Will you not speak with me?” the Crafter asked several minutes after the shuttle had launched from the Prejudice.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Qaz snorted, refusing to meet his creator’s—his Crafter’s—eyes.
“Then will you at least listen to what I would say to you?” the Crafter asked in that maddening tone which was at once both masculine and feminine.
Qaz ignored the plea, instead focusing on his breathing as the shuttle continued its descent to the planet’s surface. Only a handful of the Crafter’s ‘children’ had joined with the Alliance Gorgonus Fleet, though all of Qaz’s fellow ‘specimens’ were presently aboard various ships within that fleet.
“In my own way,” the Crafter began, “I loved you all more deeply than you will ever think possible. I confess that statement is as much a comment on what many would consider to be my unique brand of psychopathy as it is an expression of a genuine emotional bond. Nevertheless I am content to express my perspective to you who, despite what you may be inclined to think, will always be my favorite.”
&
nbsp; Qaz snorted again, “You watched my forebears fall, one by one, and would have done the same to me.”
“That is true,” the Crafter agreed, “but what is also true is that I gave rise to each of your line in turn—and would have continued to do so long after the dusk of your dying day.”
“You created us,” Qaz gripped the haft of his chain axe, “so that somehow gives you the right to destroy us?”
The Crafter laughed, “I did not destroy your predecessors, Qaz, 37th Scion of Asterion’s Line. I improved upon them—just as I would have improved upon you.”
“Where you see improvement, I see only death,” Qaz growled.
“Perspective is…odd that way,” the Crafter sighed.
“It is,” Qaz seethed as the familiar feeling of all-encompassing bloodlust filled his senses. “I wonder what you would say to Inzigar, Axlotl, Krichna, Valfor or any of the other uncounted thousands who bled for your perverse pleasure if they sat where I now sit?”
“Four thousand three hundred and ninety two,” the Crafter said coldly, taking Qaz by surprise.
“What?” Qaz demanded.
“They were not ‘uncounted’,” the Crafter explained. “I felt the loss of each of my four thousand three hundred and ninety two children as acutely as I am capable of feeling any loss. Each one’s passing diminished me in its own unique way, just as their passing diminished the universe entire.”
“You…you would dare seek my pity?” Qaz growled, the urge to leap across the narrow space between them becoming nearly uncontrollable.
The Crafter’s piercing eyes met Qaz’s and, inexplicably, Qaz felt the rising tide of hatred begin to recede in the face of those cold, dead orbs through which his creator had witnessed a lifetime of vile deeds for which there could be no forgiveness.
“I do not expect you to understand me, Qaz, 37th Scion of Asterion’s Line,” the Crafter said with deadly precision assigned to each and every syllable, “but you will attempt to understand me, or my work—including the deaths of my four thousand three hundred and ninety three children—will have been for nothing.”
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 10