Toto lashed out with his feet, pushing the Commander back nearly a meter with his stocky lower half. But the Commander was enraged, and launched himself at Toto with a frightening display of speed and power. He buried his knee into Toto’s gut before raining several powerful blows down on Toto’s partially-metal head.
Toto thundered a pair of hooks into the Commander’s ribs, prompting the Commander to grab Toto’s left arm with his right foot. His grip was short-lived, but it was enough to send a cracking right hand into Toto’s cheek—a blow which briefly robbed Toto, and his POV visual feed, of any coherent imagery.
Middleton watched on the Deathbacker’s nose-cam as the Commander thundered blow after blow into Toto’s head, with the noticeably smaller silverback unable to effectively defend himself for eight consecutive strikes.
Thumping his chest victoriously, the Commander grabbed Toto’s arm with both hands and slammed his knee into Toto’s elbow. The joint gave out with a stomach-turning crack, but Toto never cried out as he reached around with his good arm and grabbed the Commander by the hips. He somehow managed to lift the Commander from the ground before driving him into a nearby metal crate, opening a large gash across the Commander’s back as he did so.
The Commander bellowed in anger and grabbed Toto’s head with both hands, slamming his own forehead into Toto’s reinforced skull four times before dropping the older Sundered to the floor.
Toto’s vision had returned, judging from the visual feeds, but it was clear from his uncoordinated movements that he was badly wounded.
“Now you die, traitor,” the Commander snarled, raising his fists high above his head.
“If my death saves Stalwart lives,” Toto spat defiantly as blood gushed from his nose and mouth, “then kill me!”
The Commander raised his fists another few inches, and Middleton winced in preparation for the killing blow. Then one of the Commander’s guards barked something from off-pickup, and the Commander paused mid-motion.
One of the guards approached the Commander and pointed toward the Deathbacker’s nose-cam, which caused the Commander’s brow to lower thunderously as he looked down at the fallen Toto.
“You are a fool,” the Commander seethed after realizing that the fight had been broadcast throughout the fleet. “You have only killed Stalwart today, and I will not do you the honor of taking your life. Live with your shame, Sundered,” he spat, turning to his guards. “Put him on his shuttle and eject it from my hold. He is now dead to us, as are all other traitors.”
Middleton watched as the guards dragged Toto’s limp form onto the Deathbacker, and a few minutes later the craft was ejected from the Burden’s hold.
“Mikey,” Middleton called over the link, “I need you at the helm. We’ve got to retrieve—“
“Captain,” Hephaestion said in alarm, “several Stalwart ships are moving toward the Glorious Burden. They are charging their emitters and their power plants are going to combat output.”
“Battle stations,” Middleton snapped. “Chief, I need you at the Helm—now!”
At its present range the Prejudice would be an easy target for the Glorious Burden alone, forgetting about the dozen warships which now moved to flank it.
Mikey jogged onto the bridge and quickly sat down at the Helm as he asked, “What’s the situation?”
“Toto followed the Stalwart Commander over to the Burden,” Middleton explained, “and he broadcast the ‘exchange’ over the hailing frequencies.”
“Is he alive?” Garibaldi asked as the Prejudice’s engines flared to life.
“That doesn’t matter right now,” Middleton said as he scanned the tactical feeds. “Put some distance between us and the—“
“Captain,” Hephaestion interrupted, “I am picking up comm. chatter between the Stalwart ships…they seem to be arguing.”
“Arguing,” Middleton repeated, “about what?”
“The channels are full of competing transmissions,” Hephaestion said dubiously, “I cannot determine specifics yet, but it seems several of the Stalwart ship commanders are challenging the Commander’s authority.”
Middleton piped into the comm. traffic feeds and saw the translated messages streaming across the void between the converging Stalwart warships. He read through six different exchanges before realizing what was happening. “Toto seems to have convinced some of them to stay with the Alliance,” he said, deciding that what was needed in this exact moment was a show of solidarity with these ‘true’ Stalwart. “Mikey, take the Prejudice in to retrieve the Deathbacker. Move at one eighth acceleration only; keep our posture neutral but don’t delay in reaching Toto.”
“You got it,” Mikey acknowledged, and the Prejudice quickly slid to the shuttle’s position—where eight Prichtac-built warships had congregated in an unexpected display of solidarity with Toto.
“The Burden is falling back,” Hephaestion reported, “along with four Destroyers and four Corvettes. Three Cruisers are also moving to support the Commander’s flag.”
“We can’t let this escalate,” Middleton growled, switching to the hangar channel, “Chan, can you retrieve the Deathbacker in the next thirty seconds?”
“Yes sir,” Julian acknowledged.
“Do it,” Middleton instructed. He turned to Hephaestion, “Put me on the hailing frequencies—full power to the transmitter. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“You’re on, Captain,” Hephaestion said a few seconds later.
“This is Supreme Commander Middleton to the Stalwart Commander,” he said as the Void Hunter warships several light seconds away began to stir anxiously. “There is no need for hostility in this star system. Power down your reactors and withdraw to beyond weapons range and we can discuss this after tempers have cooled.”
The Commander’s massive, scarred face filled the secondary viewer, “You and your people have condemned too many of us already, Captain Middleton. I will not stand by while you convince more of my brothers and sisters to sacrifice their lives for a cause which is not their own. They deserve better than that—and I will give it to them.”
“I trust each and every Stalwart in this star system to make the right decision for his or herself, Commander,” Middleton said firmly. “Whatever that decision may be, I will respect it—but I will not respect acts of aggression or intimidation which are clearly intended to coerce compliance from people who would choose dissent. Stand down and let your people decide for themselves,” he said, gritting his teeth as he finished, “or, Murphy help me, I will end you.”
The Commander’s nostrils flared murderously, “Your bold words will be of little comfort when you lead my brothers and sisters to their deaths, Captain.”
His image disappeared from the screen, and Middleton soon saw the two Stalwart Factions clarify on the tactical plotter. It seemed that the Commander’s faction had one Battleship, the Glorious Burden; four Cruisers of Prichtac make; four Destroyers, also of Prichtac design; and six mixed Corvettes in all.
But those ships eventually retreated to a standoff position, and the cross-chatter slowly subsided on the local comm. channels.
“Set Condition Two throughout the ship—and the fleet,” Middleton ordered, “and raise the Chancellor on a secure channel. I want to get those Stalwart out of this star system as soon as possible, and if that means making minor concessions on the salvage front then so be it.” He ground his teeth while glaring at the fifteen warships which seemed determined to leave the Alliance Gorgonus fleet, “The longer they stay here, the worse things will go—for all of us.”
“We find this acceptable,” Prichtac agreed after reviewing the Stalwart Commander’s proposed salvage exchange.
Middleton agreed; in fact, the Commander had been eminently reasonable in his requests for fair compensation. With almost exactly half of the Stalwart crew and ships which were still space-worthy, establishing his negotiating position was simple when consulting to the mutually agreed upon exchange rates for salvage claims.
So the Commander was taking all twenty one gunships, the Battleship Glorious Burden, four Cruisers of Prichtac design, four Destroyers of Prichtac design, and one Cruiser of Imperial make.
The truth was that the Stalwart Commander had convinced the majority of the working capital ships’ commanders to join his cause while largely eschewing those ships whose commanders were incapable of joining him in his exodus. Along with the gunships, Middleton calculated this new ‘Stalwart’ Fleet had nearly fifty percent greater tactical value than the one which had contributed to the battle with Commodore Paganini’s task force, with the bulk of the increase represented by the Glorious Burden.
The main sticking point had been the Prichtac’s release of the Glorious Burden, which at this particular moment was the only functional Battleship in the entire star system. But once she had agreed to that term, the rest of the deal fell into place in less than an hour. The Stalwart could have opted to exchange their relatively undamaged hulls for a greater number of damaged ones, but everyone involved in the negotiations understood that there was little chance they could make effective repairs to so many warships without access to proper infrastructure—infrastructure like that which was currently being built by the League’s Constructor in orbit of the fourth planet.
Several hours after the initially tense standoff, and without a single word transmitted over the hails, the Stalwart fleet departed the star system as soon as they had exchanged the ships as they had agreed to do.
When the last Stalwart ship point transferred out, Middleton knew he had lost something important—a battle, a mandate, or possibly even a relatively inconsequential piece of himself. But try as he might, he could find no fault with any of his decisions along the way. He had known the Stalwart situation was a ticking time bomb, and he had done everything in his power to appease the increasingly belligerent Commander without surrendering the authority of his office.
“Get me Mrr’shan on a secure line,” he said, “and let’s see if the Stalwart who stayed with the Fleet have a chain of command worked out. The last thing we need is more infighting right now.”
All told, the Commander’s exodus had cost the AG Fleet less than Middleton had feared it would—but that didn’t mean he liked it.
He supposed that was the mark of a good deal: when everyone involved felt dissatisfied with the outcome, it had to have been close to fair. And right now Middleton was definitely dissatisfied.
Chapter XLII: The Prodigal Son Returns
“Hyper footprints detected, Captain,” Hephaestion reported precisely on schedule. The Unthreadable Needle had made contact with the Cutters assigned to the rendezvous point, and Kongming’s report had suggested his efforts met with categorical success.
“I’m reading thirty footprints,” Middleton scanned the plotter, “including the Needle, a dozen Corvettes belonging to the Belters…and a Constructor?” he finished in surprise.
“There are also four large freighters and what appears to be a mobile gas harvester among them, Captain,” Hephaestion said in surprise. “The rest of the ships appear to be modular habitats clustered around large jump drives—there seem to be enough habitats present to house over fifty thousand people, Captain.”
“Well done, Kongming,” Middleton muttered approvingly. “These EOC ships represent a thirty percent increase to the industrial sector in this star system, and their warships are a welcome addition as well. Send the standard handshake greetings and, if they check out, coordinate with the Needle. I want Kongming transferred back to this ship ASAP for a debriefing.”
“Captain Middleton,” Kongming greeted with his customary bow, and to Middleton’s eye the young man looked significantly refreshed compared to when he had embarked on the Unthreadable Needle. “I have heard of your great victory here in Mercy’s End. I regret that I was unable to contribute to the effort.”
“Your contributions were no less important,” Middleton assured him as he clasped the young man’s hand. “You brought enough mobile infrastructure back with you to speed up our repair schedule by three months; we might actually be able to get all of these hulls back online before the Empire returns.”
“I cannot claim credit for the EOC’s eagerness to rejoin the AG, Captain,” Kongming said seriously, “it seems that something had them sufficiently anxious to contemplate evacuation of their former home even before we arrived with our offer.”
Middleton nodded, “I read that in your report. What I didn’t read is what happened to Kratos, Abyss, and the Crafter.”
Middleton had expected Kongming to hesitate, or display some degree of uncertainty—possibly even remorse—over whatever it was that happened to the three specifically-requested members of the Unthreadable Needle’s crew. When Kongming had suggested that their inclusion was somehow necessary to his mission’s success, Middleton had been put in a difficult position. Too many plans had been put in motion to deny Kongming’s request, especially since such a denial would have potentially undermined the young man’s ability to complete his other assigned tasks. But now Middleton needed answers regarding the young man’s cryptic statements prior to embarking on his mission.
Instead of hesitation, uncertainty, or remorse, Kongming’s visage hardened as he said, “I am fully convinced that they filled their roles in this conflict, Captain, and that they were only able to do so because you granted my request that they accompany the Needle on its mission.”
“I expect you have some details to back up those assertions?” Middleton challenged, uncertain whether he liked this newfound confidence in Kongming.
“I do,” Kongming nodded gravely, “but I expect you would be well-served to assume a seated position before I reveal them—and that such a revelation should take place in private.”
Middleton narrowed his eyes before gesturing toward the conference room, “After you.”
“That is everything, Captain,” Kongming finished after describing every single event which took place during his deployment aboard the Unthreadable Needle. He left absolutely nothing out, even going so far as to replay every message left by the Crafter after describing the ‘Eye’ in excruciating detail. He even did his best to recall the conversations which had taken place between himself and the Seer, though those conversations had surprisingly faded with the passage of time.
Captain Middleton drummed his fingers on the conference table for several long, silent seconds before finally speaking, “Your story is…incredible, Kongming.”
“I am aware of that, sir,” Kongming agreed. “I am also aware that certain details will likely require significant contemplation on your part before they are of any practical value.”
“This ‘Eye’,” Middleton said, gesturing to the sensor logs taken from the Needle’s databanks, “who built it?”
“I do not know,” Kongming shook his head. “But I do know that it was there even before the so-called Masters—who we call the Ancients—ascended to power.”
“And you’re able to access it because you were, essentially, infected with this…neural tissue,” Middleton said deliberately.
“Yes,” Kongming nodded, knowing full well that this particular conversation might be the end of his service under Captain Middleton.
“And this somehow allows you to see the future?”
“No,” Kongming said before hesitating and amending, “perhaps. It is difficult to describe, Captain, but this ‘Sight’ as the Seer called it allows me to view pre-calculated threads of probability, much as a tactical simulator
allows you to view pre-rendered scenarios after inputting a number of variables and conditions.”
Middleton nodded slowly, “And has this ‘Sight’ ever been wrong?”
“I have only employed it twice,” Kongming said grimly, “but neither of those instances has resulted in errors of which I am aware. As far as I can tell, it does not appear to have misrepresented what eventually took place.”
“And that’s why you left Abyss on this Bug Mothership, and why you let the Crafter go, and why you left Kratos to fend for himself on a frozen world which may—may,” he repeated emphatically, “have harbored iron age humans before it was bombed into nuclear winter?”
“It is,” Kongming nodded firmly, knowing precisely how insane all of this sounded. A year ago he would not have believed any of it himself, but after what he had seen he could no longer deny any of it. He only hoped that Captain Middleton proved as sagacious and broad-minded as he had always been.
Minutes passed in total silence as Captain Middleton kept his eyes fixed on Kongming, who felt no measure of discomfort from the expected—and completely justified—scrutiny.
“You might actually be insane, Kongming,” Middleton finally said.
“I am aware of that, sir,” Kongming replied grimly.
Middleton thumbed the data crystal containing the information Kongming had compiled for his perusal, “Do you think you’re insane?”
“I may be,” Kongming allowed, “but I cannot deny what I have seen, sir. I am also unable to deny the severity of our situation here. This entire region of space and everything in it seems balanced on a knife’s edge. On one side is an Imperial armada the likes of which has rarely—if ever—been assembled, and on the other is an unspeakably vast and…dark,” he said, the word sounding bitter as it passed his lips, “cloud of the unknown. We, and the other members of the AG, are caught between these titanic forces. I fear that when the balance between these forces is lost we will be at the mercy of the unknown.”
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 42