Nail slowly grinned, “You have a wicked tongue, boy. I like it.”
“Excellent,” Kongming nodded deferentially before turning to Kratos, “lead the Void Hunters in assisting Primarch Nail’s family in recovering the listed articles, along with whatever other equipment might be of value. We are budgeted three days of our itinerary to remain here, and if I cannot locate the source of the gravitational disturbance which wrecked that ship,” he tilted his head toward the broke-backed image on the viewer, “we must proceed to the third and final destination on our schedule.”
“Understood,” Kratos acknowledged before setting off to carry out Kongming’s orders.
After that, Kongming cracked his knuckles and redoubled his efforts to locate the mysterious source of the gravitational disturbance he had been sent to investigate.
“It has been three days,” Primarch Nail said unhappily. “The ship has been stripped, its bones scuttled, and it’s time to go to our next target.”
“I am on to something, Primarch,” Kongming said as he continued to refine the sensors in an effort to isolate the faint, almost phantasmal disturbances which he had only briefly glimpsed during his time in this star system.
That the Unbordered ship had been affected by such brief, random and infrequent gravitational distortions was as statistically unlikely as a man being struck by lightning while aboard a ship in deep space…well, perhaps not quite that unlikely, but the odds were in the billions to one against a ship experiencing a severe enough gravity ‘ripple’ of the kind which Kongming had detected since arriving in this system.
“My fuel is burning, boy,” Nail grunted.
“It is within my authority to—“ Kongming began to argue in defense of holding position. Thankfully, before he could finish pleading his case, his sensors detected another ripple—and this time his adjustments had allowed him to isolate the direction of the source. “There,” he declared triumphantly, extrapolating the information into a rough course and forwarding it to Primarch Nail’s chair, “I have isolated another ripple and determined a possible point of origin.”
Nail peered at his station’s readout, and he quickly began to glare at it, “That is nearly three days’ travel from here at sub-light.”
“We cannot risk a short jump, Primarch,” Kongming asserted. “These gravity waves are clearly emanating from something in that direction, and our sensors detect absolutely nothing out there. No light, no heat, no lensing, no x-rays—not even gravimetric disturbances, aside from these infrequent and seemingly random gravity ripples. Something is there, but it is concealed.”
Primarch Nail scowled at Kongming for several seconds before turning his chair toward the Helm, “Plot a new course, Hammer. Take us to this great nothing that has seized our passengers’ attention.”
Hammer grumbled, “Yes, Father.”
Kongming rubbed his eyes wearily. He had only slept infrequently since coming aboard the Unthreadable Needle, and it had been even worse in the last three days since he had been focused on discovering the source of these gravitational disturbances.
He stood from his station and said, “I think it would be best if I took a meal and slept, Primarch.”
Nail nodded, “You are relieved.”
Kongming bowed deferentially and made his way to the ship’s galley, where the Primarch’s fourth wife, Beni, was working over a pot of her surprisingly tasty—if terribly smelling—stew. “Kongming,” she greeted in broken Imperial, handing him a bowl, “you are first eater!”
Kongming accepted the bowl graciously and quickly shoveled it into his mouth. He had not realized just how hungry he had become, and after a second helping he returned the bowl and spoke in Imperial, “Thank you, Beni. It was delicious as always.”
“Dee-lish-us,” Beni repeated, having worked hard on her Imperial pronunciation of late with Kongming acting as a part-time tutor. “You mostly welcome,” she beamed.
Kongming returned the smile and made his way to his quarters, but decided at the last moment to engage Abyss. The Director Bug had been utterly consumed with reading the vast library of philosophical literature which Kongming had provided via the Prejudice’s database of such literature. As such, Kongming had largely left Abyss alone. But he thought now would be a good time to approach the Director Bug for a possible conversation on deeply philosophical matters.
In a way, it was refreshing—and even invigorating—for Kongming having someone who was significantly more intelligent available for discussion. There were numerous, often confounding differences between Kongming’s and Abyss’s shared reference points and, by extension, their respective abilities to understand each other on deeper issues. But this, too, was fascinating to explore since, for the first time in his life, Kongming had met someone who could out-think him at every common corner.
It was a gift he knew he was unlikely to receive twice, and so he decided to forego a few hours of sleep in order to avail himself of Abyss’s powerful mind.
He opened the door to Abyss’s quarters—which were obviously located in the ship’s brig—and the Director Bug looked up at him with his multi-faceted eyes as soon as Kongming glimpsed him through the duralloy bars.
“Kongming,” Abyss greeted, and even though the smell of ‘communicating’ with the Director Bug was no less unpleasant than it had previously been, Kongming felt less repulsed by it than he had initially. “These gifts are most appreciated,” Abyss said, gesturing to the handful of data slates neatly arrayed before him. “There is much wisdom which has been provided.”
“It is my pleasure, Abyss,” Kongming said, sitting down into his usual, cross-legged position on this side of the bars, while the Director Bug plucked one of the slates up into his ruined arm. “Have you completed all of the entries?”
“Wisdom is never complete,” Abyss chided, eliciting a grin from Kongming, “but exposure to this information has been achieved. Repeated exposures are occasionally necessary to enhance enlightenment. For example,” he waved the data slate in his lone, ruined arm, “the collected works of ‘Dr. Seuss’ required seven hundred and eighty two exposures before ideological continuity and internal consistency was established.”
Kongming grinned, “Those are children’s books. They’re not supposed to be internally consistent or ideologically continuous. They’re sort of primers for…well for social graces, I suppose, along with mnemonic devices which refer to generally superficial existential matters to which a developing mind can relate.”
“That appears to be the correct conclusion,” Abyss admitted, sending out a wave of almost fruity scents as his ‘voice’ filled Kongming’s head. “However, while such could have been communicated via annotations or external commentary, it was fascinating and, indeed, enlightening for this perspective to discover these apparent truths independently.”
“I’m glad you liked them,” Kongming said, deciding to move on to an issue he had not yet broached with Abyss. “How is it that I can communicate with you, Abyss?”
“The translation device is crude, but effective at conveying information,” Abyss gestured to the translator which had been installed near the barred door.
“That is not my meaning,” Kongming shook his head.
“Meaning is the harvest of a lifetime a-sowing,” Abyss said serenely.
Kongming cocked his head, “I am unfamiliar with that axiom.”
“That is to be expected,” Abyss inclined his head. “For it was not found within any of the informational sources provided.”
“It is an original Abyss?” Kongming asked with amusement.
“That would appear to be accurate,” Abyss agreed.
Kongming sighed in both wonderment and frustration. “What I meant to ask was—“
“The answer remains hidden until the proper question is asked,” Abyss interrupted. “Knowledge is not a destination any more than learning is a journey. They are both a state of being, over which there is ultimately little control. Embrace the abyss, Kongming, for it
is there that you will find your question.”
Kongming chuckled, “I came here for clarity, but I think I have lost more of it than I have gained.”
“Then your sphere of inquiry has expanded,” Abyss said with what sounded like a faint note of amusement in his ‘voice’ within Kongming’s head, “which may ultimately prove to be the true purpose of sentient perspective: to ask ever more complex questions after discovering them to be the answers to their simpler, less meaningful predecessors.”
Kongming sighed as he stood from the floor, “I should sleep. Good night, Abyss.”
“Boundless reciprocity, Kongming.”
“We’re here…now what?” Primarch Nail demanded three days after Kongming had identified the apparent source of the gravitational waves.
“I do not understand,” Kongming said in frustration. “The gravitational ripples have all pointed to this location—we are less than a light minute from the source.”
“It’s empty space, boy,” Nail waved a hand irritably at the main viewer. “Not even the usual amount of trace gases are floating around out there. This is a wasteland and investigating it has consumed three days of our time, supplies, and—most importantly of all—my patience!”
“Primarch,” Kratos’ deep, rumbling voice came from the rear of the bridge as he approached the Primarch’s chair, which swiveled to face the towering Tracto-an, “I know Kongming. His ability is unrivaled among the stars, and he has never failed to discover the answers he has sought. With respect, I suggest you display the proper courtesy and patience.”
Nail seemed equally surprised and angered by Kratos’ words, but Kongming realized something that Nail had said almost certainly would help him—a phrase which Kongming quickly blurted, “Space dust!”
“What?” Nail barked, glaring at Kongming—who barely even noticed as he began re-calibrating the Needle’s sensors.
“There is an abnormally low concentration of space dust out here,” Kongming explained as his suspicions were confirmed by the first round of sensor reports on the local trace gases, “and the dispersal of what is floating around out here is arranged in concentric spheres—like ripples on a pond,” he explained, horribly disappointed with himself for failing to see it earlier but too excited to be weighed down by that disappointment just yet. “The gravity ripples are both pushing and pulling the space dust in extremely subtle ways…and by comparing the dispersal of gases with the expected interstellar mix…”
His eyes widened as he realized that less than a light second off their bow was a reading which showed trace gases which were completely unaffected by the gravitational waves—which, to Kongming’s mind, could mean only one thing.
“Primarch, reverse course at maximum speed!” he yelled.
“What?” Nail asked.
“Do as he says!” Kratos bellowed.
After throwing a heated glare in Kratos’ direction, the Primarch turned back to his son at the Helm, “Come about—full astern!”
“Full astern, aye,” Hammer acknowledged, and the ship pivoted—hard—before max-burning its engines and drastically slowing its already greatly diminished momentum. After several seconds, the ship was at a relative standstill—at least according to the instruments, which continued to insist that there was nothing out there except oddly-distributed space dust.
“Would someone mind telling me what that was about?!” Nail barked.
Kratos gave Kongming a pointed look as the young man continued to refine his sensor data. “I do not understand,” he growled, forwarding his sensor readings to the main viewer, “it is obvious that there is something out there—and whatever it is, it is both attracting and repelling nearby trace gases but does not appear to be influencing the gases within the anomalous zone. There is an object out there, but we cannot yet see it.”
“What the…” Nail muttered, leaning forward in his chair to examine the virtual display which Kongming had forwarded—a display which included a spherical description of the mysterious, unthinkably large zone before them. “That’s impossible. The size of it…”
Kongming shared Nail’s concerns, having already run the calculations and finding that the ‘gas-free-but-apparently-empty’ region of space before them was two light minutes across.
“How large is it?” Kratos asked.
“The region of space which our sensors show as containing normally-distributed trace gases is a sphere in excess of one light minute in diameter,” Kongming explained as he continued to refine his instruments.
“If it is so vast,” Kratos said skeptically, “why can we not see it?”
“It is a riddle, Kratos,” Kongming said as he worked intently at his station, “and I happen to be very good at solving riddles.”
Thirty hours later, Kongming was no closer to finding an answer to the riddle before him than he had been upon discovering it. He had even consulted with Abyss, whose bizarre musings failed to stir any unexplored corners of Kongming’s mind.
Kongming was running out of options.
“I would rather not do this,” he muttered as he approached the brig cell opposite Abyss’s. He tapped out a command sequence and the solid door—which stood in contrast to the barred door of Abyss’s cell—receded to reveal the Crafter’s confinement.
“Kongming,” the Crafter greeted, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I am in need of assistance,” Kongming said, “and I have nowhere else to turn.”
“I am your last resort?” the Crafter asked in unvarnished amusement.
“It would seem so,” Kongming nodded.
“How may I be of service?”
Kongming considered his next words carefully before pulling a stool into the room from just outside the door. He sat down on the stool and, after considerable silent debate, said, “I will not claim to know who you are, but I do know something of you.”
“Oh?” the Crafter demurred. “And what is it that you think you know?”
Kongming produced a data slate which contained a medical scan he had conducted while aboard the Unthreadable Needle. Until he had been transferred to the fully-equipped Prichtac ship, Kongming had been unable to confirm his lingering suspicions regarding the Ancient neural tissue which had infected him prior to the Battle of Cagnzyz. But now, after thoroughly reviewing the contents of the data slate, he knew there was no more room for doubt.
“What is this?” the Crafter asked after studying the slate’s contents.
“It is a highly advanced, bio-technological data transmission and processing system,” Kongming explained, “and it was developed and produced before humanity had ever wondered at the stars.”
The Crafter’s lips spread in a serpentine smile, “You have quite the way with words, young man.”
Ignoring the Crafter’s jab, Kongming continued, “That same type of bio-tech was present in the craft we retrieved from the Unbordered colony, which I assume played some part in your decision to destroy it before we could thoroughly examine it.”
“Indeed?” the Crafter arched a brow. “Would it surprise you to learn that such a decision was never mine to make—well, at least, not in the sense you seem to imply.”
“It wouldn’t,” Kongming shook his head. “In fact, I anticipated as much.”
“You are truly clever,” the Crafter mused. “I find myself thoroughly intrigued by you, Kongming.”
“In any case,” Kongming pressed on, “we both know how you came into possession of that small craft—what I do not know is why you chose to surrender to us?”
“You captured me,” the Crafter said, as though it was obvious, “I had a simple choice: confinement or death.”
“You summoned us,” Kongming leaned forward purposefully, remembering the Seer’s last words to him some weeks earlier in the Prejudice’s galley, “and, if I am right, it is because someone told you to do so.”
The Crafter’s playful demeanor hardened fractionally, “Why would you think so?”
“Because,” Ko
ngming reached for the slate, and after accepting it from the Crafter he pulled up the virtual reconstruction of the Seer who had appeared to him, first at Cagnzyz, then upon Kongming’s realization that Zhongda had been a hallucination, and finally in the Prejudice’s galley some weeks earlier, “you are not the only one to whom he has spoken.”
The Crafter accepted the slate and was unable to suppress a look of genuine surprise. “You…” the Crafter said with quickly-narrowed eyes, “then that means…”
“I don’t know what he told you,” Kongming said, “but if I’m right, and if this man did indeed appear to you, then you need to tell it to me what he said—and you need to do so now before it’s too late.”
The Crafter’s demeanor changed so greatly that, for a second, Kongming thought he was looking at an entirely different person as the seemingly genderless prisoner stood purposefully, “We should go to the bridge.”
Kongming nodded, and the two set off for the Needle’s control center.
They moved in silence, but it was clear to Kongming that he had been correct in his deductions regarding the Crafter’s role in this mysterious drama—or, at least, he had been right about some portion of the Crafter’s role.
“What are you doing?” Nail demanded. “Put the prisoner back in her cell!”
“A moment, if you will, Primarch,” Kongming insisted as he led the Crafter to the Comm. station.
“I am a Primarch and commander of this ship,” Nail growled. “You will obey my orders!”
“We are not in combat,” Kongming reminded him, “which means my authority overrides yours. The Crafter is here to assist us in identifying the mysterious object in front of us.”
The Primarch seemed fit to burst with anger, and Hammer stood from his station at the Helm. Thankfully, Kratos interdicted the young Stalwart and said, “The last time we crossed, I showed restraint and compassion for your youthful ignorance. I will not be so gentle a second time.”
Hammer hesitated, and thankfully the Crafter completed inputting a string of information into the Needle’s comm. system.
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 20