The Admiral’s eyes narrowed as the countdown to missile firing range reached six minutes to go. “What if I scuttle my ships rather than let them fall into your hands?”
“Then I would regretfully be forced to focus on recovering your people after I’ve recovered my own,” Middleton explained. “And given your present course toward the fifth planet, even if you adjusted course now—as I see you attempting to do—your escape pods would run the risk of falling into that gas giant before they could be retrieved.”
“That is cold, Middleton,” the Admiral said disapprovingly, “and rather less than civilized.”
“Maybe,” Middleton shrugged, “but it’s where we are. Understand, however, that I can only rescind my fire orders for another ninety seconds—after that, my missiles will have to carry out their programmed firing packages. And Admiral,” Middleton said, “I’m no fool: I know your ships’ specs as well as you do. Either you eject all of the fusion cores from all of your ships in the next seventy five seconds, or I’ll be forced to act as though this offer has been rejected by every member of your fleet. The choice is yours: die as martyrs to deny your enemies the chance to salvage your gear, or live to re-join the Imperial Navy and eventually return to the field in search of revenge, retribution, and even redemption. Either way you’ll have earned even more of my respect than you already have—and that’s not an easy thing to do. You have sixty seconds to eject your fusion cores and signal your total surrender under the Imperial Uniform Military Code governing ships and their crews—which I’ll agree to abide by in spite of certain conflicting rules found in the Alliance Gorgonus’ charter, which it is my sworn duty to uphold.”
“The Uniform Code only applies to intra-Empire conflicts,” the Admiral shook her head. “If I agree to employ it here I’d be ending my career and the careers of my family—and, quite possibly, their lives.”
“I understand that but it’s the best I can do, Admiral,” Middleton said with finality, knowing that he would have at least as much difficulty convincing the AG’s primaries to extend the generous Imperial Uniform Military Code to the Admiral and her people. “And we’re all out of time to negotiate. Either way, in forty seconds I’ll have your answer. Middleton out.”
The clock ticked down while Middleton’s finger hovered over the button which would send the de-activation signal to the plague of Independence missiles bearing down on the remnants of the still-fleeing Imperial task force.
The clock reached twenty seconds to go and still not a single ship had ejected its fusion core. At fifteen seconds Middleton felt the pit of his stomach plummet, and at ten seconds he began to steel his mind for what was about to happen.
Then, in utterly perfect synchronicity, every remaining fusion core was ejected and its parent ship switched over to backup power. Their engines cut out, and with only three seconds left on the clock Middleton sent the deactivation code to the incoming plague of missiles.
The missiles continued to burn toward the vulnerable Imperial ships, and Middleton felt his heart clench when one of them actually fired. It lanced into the forward hull of the undamaged Battleship, where it left a blackened scar a dozen meters long, but the rest of the missiles remained silent.
“Put me back on,” Middleton instructed, and Hephaestion complied by piping the Admiral’s image back over to Middleton’s station. “I apologize for that misfire, Admiral,” he said, actually feeling himself go red-faced as he spoke.
“It’s understandable,” she said, her mouth a tight line which belied her easy tone. “But we need to talk, Supreme Commander, as soon as possible.”
Something in her tone evoked a strong sense of foreboding in Middleton, who nodded slowly, “I’ll prepare to transfer your flag to my ship as soon as your ships have been secured.”
“As a gesture of goodwill on your part,” she said before he could cut the line, “I would appreciate if you retrieved the crews of those scuttled warships. They were only acting on my orders, after all, and should not suffer unnecessarily for it.”
“Of course,” Middleton nodded curtly, “I’ll coordinate the recovery efforts at once. You’ll understand, however, that securing your ships is presently my top priority.”
“Of course,” she agreed frostily, “dela Gaultierre out.”
She cut the line, and in that moment Tim Middleton realized just how significant this particular battle had been.
By stopping this task force in its tracks, he had bought months—perhaps even an entire year—for the still-reforming Alliance Gorgonus to consolidate its strength and present a genuine defense to these Imperial invaders.
He watched as the two Destroyers which had peeled off from their attack on the League Corvettes burned for the hyper limit, and in truth he couldn’t fault them for disobeying the surrender order from their Admiral. Someone needed to escape this star system to inform the Imperial Fleet Command of what had transpired, and there was nothing Middleton could do—or, even if given the chance to stop them, would do—to slow those two Destroyers from that particular task.
Once the rest of the Imperial Fleet knew that the AG was back in play, and that it was ready for action, it would cause them to halt their advance which would buy him plenty of time to regroup and deal with the ever-growing mountain of post-battle fallout.
He sighed as the elation of victory disappeared at that particular thought. “Comm.,” he turned to Hephaestion, “signal the Void Hunters: tell them to begin securing the surrendered warships, starting with the remains of Imperial One.”
“The Stalwart will object,” Hephaestion said stoically, and Middleton snorted in derision. “They will likely demand the right to board those vessels first.”
“They might,” he allowed, “but if they do, remind them that they’re not the only ones who bled for this victory—and if that’s not enough, tell them that I’ll be having Chief Garibaldi directly oversee the reinstallation of each and every fusion core, which we are about to go collect.”
Hephaestion flashed a knowing grin and nodded.
“Now comes the fun part,” Middleton drawled as they set about the work of cleaning up after such a large-scale battle.
Chapter XXXVII: The Last Signature
“Then I trust we have an agreement?” Kongming asked after nearly eight hours of negotiations with the Extra-Orbital Cooperative, or EOC, which had been surprisingly receptive to his overtures on behalf of the reconstituted Alliance Gorgonus.
“All we require,” the lead representative reiterated, “is the chance to transparently compete for any and all extra-orbital infrastructural or manufacturing jobs. We left the Empire because of the cronyism,” he said, jabbing his finger down on the Unthreadable Needle’s conference room table, “and we’re not about to uproot our operation so we can willingly put ourselves beneath that same boot—even if it’s worn on a new foot. We’re good at what we do, Mr. Kongming,” he said passionately as the heads of his dozen fellow representatives bobbed up and down in agreement, “and we’re confident we can not only do it better and cheaper, but cleaner and safer than anyone else. Give us your word that there won’t be economic protectionism—in any form—that excludes or hampers our ability to compete with local labor and we’ll send a contingent with our mobile assets to the designated rendezvous point right now.”
“That is remarkably forthright of you, Mr. Gauss, which I greatly appreciate,” Kongming inclined his head respectfully, “so I will do my best to reciprocate: the Alliance Gorgonus’ charter does allow some measure of economic enclosure to its constituent members, but my understanding is that such enclosures are confined to the maintenance of high-security assets and locations. I have gathered records of several examples of inter-state commerce and industrial overlap, which I have provided in good faith in an effort to directly address your concerns,” he gestured to the bevy of data slates which now rested on the table in front of the representatives. “Providing that information, along with the AG’s charter itself, is unfortunately the
extent of my ability to speak to this particular issue. If there are further details for which you require further clarification, I would invite you or a small contingent of your fellow representatives to accompany me on my return to AG Fleet Command.”
Gauss’ lips twisted in displeasure before he and the nearest of his fellow representatives leaned together to whisper amongst themselves. The whispering continued for nearly a minute before finally Gauss nodded, “This is good enough for us. We never wanted to leave the AG in the first place, but by unleashing nuclear fire on civilian targets the uplifts crossed lines we were uncomfortable with them crossing. If not for that act, we doubt the AG would have ever fractured in the first place.”
Kongming kept his features neutral as he nodded agreeably. He had long considered the issue of the Stalwarts’ WMD deployment to be shockingly uncharacteristic for the Alliance Gorgonus’ previously established modus operandi, which made his normally inquisitive—and skeptical—mind turn its formerly unparalleled power onto examining why the Stalwart would have done what they did.
None of the answers he had found led him anywhere remotely pleasant, but the Alliance Gorgonus was too frail at this point for him to share his concerns with the EOC reps.
“I will not lie,” he said with feeling, “your Constructor, Octopus, and multiple freighters will no doubt provide a significant boost to our infrastructure and industrial capacity. You will doubtless be greeted with open arms upon your arrival.”
Gauss waved a hand dismissively, “The Octopus was built to build, and she’s ready to move at a moment’s notice—but we’re short on trillium. I can’t in good conscience agree to uproot the centerpiece of our industry without receiving a significant down payment in advance.”
“That was anticipated,” Kongming nodded agreeably, “and I have been authorized to provide the full measure of trillium required for your journey—not only to the rendezvous with Fleet Command, but also enough for you to return this precious vessel to this star system if you decide against re-joining.”
Several eyebrows around the table lifted in surprise, but Gauss kept his cool and nodded as he led the others in standing from the table, “That’s as much good faith as we could ask for. We’ll finish out the shift and begin to bring her tentacles back in; the Octopus should be ready to point transfer in thirty hours.”
“Then you may retrieve the trillium from this ship’s engineering crew,” Kongming stood, accepting Gauss’s outstretched hand before taking the hands of the other representatives in turn. “I suppose that, for security reasons, you will prefer to make the journey on your own and without sharing your itinerary,” he said after shaking all of their hands, “which is perfectly understandable. I have one final stop to make before returning to Fleet HQ’s predetermined rendezvous point, but I anticipate we will arrive there several days ahead of your contingent. Until then,” he clasped his hands and bowed deeply, “I thank you for your preliminary agreement to rejoin the Alliance Gorgonus.”
“We’re cogs, Mr. Kongming,” Gauss said, and Kongming’s eyes briefly flitted down to the cog-shaped emblem on the Belter’s sleeve, “and cogs aren’t built to spin alone. The AG is a machine that could use cogs like us, so it’s natural for us to rejoin it—especially since your Captain Middleton has taken such a hard-line stance on the WMD issue that caused us to leave in the first place.”
“Again,” Kongming bowed deeply, “you have my gratitude.”
“Until our orbits re-align, Mr. Kongming,” Gauss returned the bow fractionally before leading his people toward the shuttle bay.
Kongming was impressed with the fact that the negotiations had gone so smoothly and been concluded so quickly. He ascribed none of that success or expediency to himself, since it genuinely seemed as though the Belters had already been willing—or possibly eager—to uproot.
In fact, some of his passive scans suggested that much of the Constructor, Octopus, had already been retracted into its primary hull in preparation for departure from the star system. Half of the industrial facilities within the star system were similarly in varying states of disassembly, with only a few having apparently been abandoned entirely.
Something had spooked the EOC, but Kongming wasn’t about to queer the deal by asking after it at this stage in the negotiations—nothing could be gained from such an inquiry while much could be lost, so it made no sense to pursue it.
The Belters departed some thirty minutes later, after inspecting the trillium storage container and verifying the quantity within—which was closer to three times as much as they needed for a one-way trip than it was to twice the amount like he had suggested.
“That seemed to have gone well,” Kratos said, having propped himself up in the shuttle bay’s doorway after the Belters had departed.
“As well as we could hope for,” Kongming agreed. “But something has them scared.”
“Even a one-eyed barbarian could see that,” Kratos snorted.
“You are not a barbarian, nor are you one-eyed,” Kongming chided, glancing at Kratos’ prosthetic eye.
“That doesn’t change the meaning of the statement,” Kratos retorted.
“No,” Kongming shook his head, “it doesn’t.”
“Fear is a powerful motivator,” Kratos shrugged. “Often it is enough all of itself to drive people to do great things.”
“But rarely does it produce anything of lasting worth,” Kongming said grimly before changing the subject. “We have one more stop to make before we return to Fleet Command, and I have a suspicion you will play an integral role.”
“Along with the Bug,” Kratos said, rather than asked.
“Yes,” Kongming nodded, “I…I cannot explain why, but—“
“You may keep your words, Kongming,” Kratos stood from his relaxed, leaning posture. “I have never believed in magic, but I do believe that I cannot understand everything there is to understand. I have also learned during my life that trust is a precious thing,” he said, his brow lowering darkly as he spoke, “and that it is not to be given lightly. You have earned my trust, and though I do not understand your methods I do respect your results.”
“To my mind you are a true empiricist, Kratos,” Kongming said after several moments of silence after being surprised—yet again—by Kratos’ philosophical nature.
“And that might be the finest compliment anyone has ever paid me, Kongming,” Kratos said with a fractional incline of his head. “What would you have of me?”
“I do not know,” Kongming said hesitantly, “but I suspect…”
“What?”
Kongming sighed, “I…I cannot explain it, but I suspect I will have to leave you behind. I will…meditate on the matter after Nail maneuvers the ship to the hyper limit,” he explained, wishing to avoid describing the true nature of the inquest he would soon initiate.
Kratos shrugged, “I have lived my entire life in a fight to preserve what I thought was important. Fear does not dissuade me.”
“You actually experience fear?” Kongming asked disbelievingly.
“Rarely,” Kratos admitted as he turned to make his way in the direction of his quarters, “but I can honestly say that it has never stayed my hand.”
During their time aboard the Unthreadable Needle, Kongming had come to better respect and understand Kratos than at any other time in their service together. Far from the low-brow, brutish persona Kratos seemed content to project in most circumstances, Kongming had found the Tracto-an to be a surprisingly—almost shockingly—contemplative and introspective person.
Kongming cleared his head as he made his way back to his own quarters. He had already given Primarch Nail an itinerary which would take them to one of the destinations which Kongming had gleaned from the Crafter’s cryptic message.
This new destination would require no major adjustments to their return course, which would aim for the first of three key systems Kongming had assisted Captain Middleton in identifying prior to his embarkation aboard the Unthreada
ble Needle. At most the new itinerary would add two days onto their travel time, plus whatever time they spent investigating the mysterious location itself.
The good news was that this new target was less than a week from where Kongming had encountered the EOC. But the bad news was that Kongming had all but convinced himself he would need to employ the so-called ‘Sight’ which the Seer had told him would now be available for his use.
His outstretched hand halted in mid-air as a chill ran down his spine. Thoughts of his previous ‘Sight’ filled his mind and it took him several seconds to steel his nerves and open the door to his quarters.
He had a job to do and thousands—perhaps even millions—of people were depending on him to do it. He could not disappoint them.
He would not disappoint them.
Kongming arranged his meditative aids including a small mat, some incense trays with fresh incense sticks, and a lone candle which he had secured prior to leaving the Prejudice.
And for the next several hours, he did his best to empty his mind in preparation to repeat one of the most harrowing experiences he could imagine—and that was saying quite a lot, given the scope and breadth of Kongming’s imagination.
After four hours of meditation, Kongming was finally in a state of mind where he felt confident he could attempt to employ the ‘Sight’—which, at least theoretically and as far as he was concerned, was not unlike accessing a tactical simulator—without undue impediments such as emotion, memory, perspective, or even self.
He had finally reached the elusive center and, without so much as a fully-formed thought, he plunged his consciousness into the Sight.
Just like on the Ancient world at Cagnzyz, Kongming’s conscious mind was flooded by a stream of images so fast and so numerous that he reeled from the experience. But there was nothing akin to the dark sense of dread and foreboding this time, and the serpentine impression he had associated with the first flash of the ‘threads of probability’ was nowhere in his thoughts.
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 36