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

  The Middle Road

  (Spineward Sectors: Middleton’s Pride, Book Seven)

  by

  Caleb Wachter

  Copyright © 2017 by Caleb Wachter

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.

  Other Books by Caleb Wachter

  As of 01-09-2017

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON’S PRIDE

  No Middle Ground

  Up The Middle

  Against The Middle

  McKnight’s Mission (A House Divided)

  Middleton’s Prejudice

  Lynch’s Legacy

  The Middle Road

  SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES

  Joined at the Hilt: Union

  Joined at the Hilt 2: Dross

  SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS

  Between White and Grey

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: A TRACTO TALE

  The Forge of Men

  SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES

  Revelation

  Reunion

  IMPERIUM CICERNUS SERIES

  Ure Infectus

  Sic Semper Tyrannis

  Books by my Brother: Luke Sky Wachter

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES

  Admiral Who?

  Admiral’s Gambit

  Admiral’s Tribulation

  Admiral’s Trial

  Admiral’s Revenge

  Admiral’s Spine

  Admiral Invincible

  Admiral's Challenge

  Admiral’s War - Part One

  Admiral’s War - Part Two

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES

  The Blooding

  The Painting

  The Channeling

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS

  The Boar Knife

  COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS

  Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire

  Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood

  Join www.PacificCrestPublishing.com for future beta reading opportunities.

  Be sure to stop by the blog at blog.PacificCrestPublishing.com for updates.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue I: Undoing the Crafter

  Prologue II: A New Assignment

  Chapter I: The Crafter

  Chapter II: A Glimpse of the Eye

  Chapter III: Bugs…Out Here?!

  Chapter IV: Great…

  Chapter V: Fleet Politics

  Chapter VI: A Bug’s Life

  Chapter VII: A Phantom’s Grace

  Chapter VIII: Puzzle Pieces

  Chapter IX: In The Bull’s Eye

  Chapter X: An Untapped Mind

  Chapter XI: The Secularists

  Chapter XII: Memories and Premonitions

  Chapter XIII: The Cooling Trail

  Chapter XIV: A New Perspective

  Chapter XV: New Orders

  Chapter XVI: The Dotted Line

  Chapter XVII: The Advance—and Drills, Drills, Drills…

  Chapter XVIII: The Mysterious Fate of Magmid One

  Chapter XIX: An Unanticipated Exchange

  Chapter XX: The Slavers’ Code

  Chapter XXI: Mr. Six

  Chapter XXII: The Eye Opens

  Chapter XXIII: The Watchful Eye

  Chapter XXIV: The Maligned Middle

  Chapter XXV: Battle Lines

  Chapter XXVI: First Strike

  Chapter XXVII: Counterpunching

  Chapter XXVIII: Clarification

  Chapter XXIX: The Map

  Chapter XXX: Silent Echoes

  Chapter XXXI: Reinforcements

  Chapter XXXII: A Stalwart Defense

  Chapter XXXIII: Fresh Meat!

  Chapter XXXIV: Lance-tip Diplomacy

  Chapter XXXV: Willpower vs. Ferocity

  Chapter XXXVI: A Proper Duel

  Chapter XXXVII: The Last Signature

  Chapter XXXVIII: Of Sterner Stuff than I

  Chapter XXXIX: The Lost Swarm

  Chapter XL: The Art of the Deal

  Chapter XLI: Striking Accord

  Chapter XLII: The Prodigal Son Returns

  Chapter XLIII: An Errant Hornet’s Journey Home

  Epilogue: The Round-Up

  Alliance Gorgonus Fleet Breakdown, prepared by Kongming—for authorized eyes only.

  Per Supreme Commander Middleton’s instructions I have conducted a breakdown of our fleet’s hardware. After reviewing the technical specifications provided for all ships in the fleet, I employed the simplistic ‘Tech Level’ (TL) system, as instructed by the Supreme Commander, to better facilitate communication between the various commanders within the fleet when determining the tactical values of their respective platforms.

  For clarification, top-of-the-line non-Imperial military technology is considered to be roughly ‘7’ on this 1-10 tech scale, while more aged warships would be closer to a ‘6’ on the same scale. Native Imperial tech would be an ‘8’ on the scale, and after witnessing the Prejudice’s performance I am confident in asserting it is functionally superior to Imperial grade technology. Though the Prejudice is the most advanced ship we have yet encountered, I have a philosophical objection to handing out maximum grades and so I have marked it as a ‘9.’

  As you may be aware, this particular TL paradigm is useful in determining the relative one-on-one capacity of a given warship by examining that warship’s class. In general, a warship two steps higher than another on the TL scale will be able to ‘fight up’ at least one ship class (a TL 8 Cutter, in theory, should fight a TL 6 Corvette to a standstill, or a TL 8 Destroyer could match a TL 6 Cruiser), though it should be emphasized that this is only useful in the broad sense and when dealing with one-on-one engagements. The scale tends to break down when applied extremely or inflexibly, or when fleet coordination minimizes specific shortcomings while maximizing specific advantages (greater range, heavier armor, stronger shields, faster engines, etc..)

  Again, this is merely a simplistic tool which the Supreme Commander hopes will foster improved communications between the various heads of this fleet’s factions in order that we might formulate the most efficient battle strategies.

  Supreme Commander’s Personal Warships: 1 (TL: 9)

  1 Corvette, Prejudice

  Total Void Hunter Clans warships: 26 (with 500 shuttles for boarding actions)

  Void Hunter Clans original warships (TL: 6):

  12 Corvettes

  1 Light Cruiser

  Void Hunter Clans non-Imperial tech Captures (TL: 6):

  7 Corvettes

  2 Destroyers

  1 Light Cruiser

  Void Hunter Clans Native Imperial Captures (TL: 8)

  2 Imperial Destroyers

  Void Hunter Clans Unknown Specifications (TL: 7?)

  1 ‘Mothership’ (heavily-modified bulk freighter)

  Void Hunter Clans Small Craft Breakdown:

  500 various small craft

  Total Stalwart-crewed Warships: 44

  Stalwart Original Ships (TL: 5-6)

  4 Corvettes

  1 Destroyer

  1 Medium Cruiser

  1 Heavy Cruiser

  2nd gen Prichtac Warships (TL: 6)

  8 Corvettes

  1st gen Prichtac Warships (TL: 7)

  8 Corvettes

  8 Destroyers

  6 Light Cruisers

 
4 Heavy Cruisers

  3 Battleships

  Stalwart Small Craft:

  30 gunships

  50 shuttles

  This completes the present fleet breakdown. You are urged to review these numbers and, again, to remember that this is not a comparison of a given faction’s relative strength within the Alliance Gorgonus. This information is intended to improve cohesion and harmony within the fleet.

  If you have questions regarding this memo, please direct them to my office.

  Kongming

  Prologue I: Undoing the Crafter

  Qaz snorted great blasts of hot air through his broad, bovine nostrils, surveying the floor of the open sky arena with a visage gifted to him by his genetic lineage. All who had stood before him lay ruined on the battlefield, their gore and lifeblood proving testament to his skill with his weapon of choice—the chain axe—which he gripped in his massive hands which, like most of his physique save his head and lower legs, were perfect approximations of human anatomy.

  A dozen foes lay in ruins around him, most of them prisoners or failed experiments of his creator—the same twisted human who profited from the suffering of Qaz and his fellow abominations of genetic manipulation. Only one foe had even required a second move on Qaz’ part, which was typical for a warm-up round like this one.

  Stamping his hooved feet and pawing at the blood-soaked dirt theatrically, he heard a chime sound from the arena’s main entrance. Unlike a proper arena, there were no spectators in attendance; in their stead was a nearly continuous bank of recording devices which ringed the fifty meter diameter fighting pit, covering every conceivable angle in perfect detail so that the fights might be recorded in their entirety. No cries of jubilation or bloodlust filled the bowl-shaped arena when Qaz’ axe claimed another life—only the occasional chime sounded to signal the entrance of a new challenger.

  Qaz turned to face the newcomer who the chime had heralded and gripped his axe tensely as the new challenger emerged.

  “Inzigar, Successor to Axlotl,” Qaz acknowledged as the red-skinned, seven foot tall, humanoid reptilian stepped into the arena. The lizard man bore dual blades of the khopesh style with the straight blade giving way to a sharp, crescent shape midway from the hilt to the tip of the three foot long blade.

  “Qaz, Successor to Asterion,” Inzigar hissed, drawing out the ‘s’s in every word which passed his lips while spinning the hook-shaped blades over in his hands. “We have known this day would come, and now we must fight as our master demands.”

  “I am no slave, Inzigar,” Qaz growled, shaking his horned head defiantly. “I will not die for another’s greed.”

  “So said your predecessors,” Inzigar quipped. “What fate met them?”

  “I will destroy you, lizard,” Qaz grunted, dropping into a crouch as the lizard man approached. Inzigar stood a full head shorter than Qaz, but possessed a truly formidable combination of raw power and quickness which few could hope to match.

  In a contest of brute strength, Qaz was unparalleled among the denizens of the Crafter’s arena pits. Of all the quirks and freaks of ‘nature’ to be found in the myriad cages where those denizens resided, the Asterion lineage had repeatedly distinguished itself as the most potent warriors ever to rise from the Crafter’s labs.

  “Bold words, cow-man,” Inzigar seethed as he drew to melee range. “They will be your last!”

  The lizard lunged at Qaz, sweeping his dual blades in an intricate pattern as he went low, then high, then low again in an effort to unbalance the Heir of Asterion. Qaz saw the moves for what they were, and used his supreme reflexes to completely avoid all but the third of the six rapid attacks. That third blow was easily deflected by the head of his axe, and after they disengaged Qaz began to circle the overgrown reptile.

  Qaz felt no malice toward his opponent—indeed, Inzigar had long been something of a friend inasmuch as one could call an acquaintance in the pits a ‘friend.’

  But life was sacred, and Qaz would not surrender his for any cause—especially not the Crafter’s greed.

  A counterattack with his axe swept through the air above Inzigar’s head, which the lizard quickly ducked. Qaz brought his knee—one of the few armored portions of his statuesque body—up into the lizard’s midsection while his blades were briefly out of position.

  Inzigar whipped his tail at Qaz’s feet and the minotaur easily sidestepped. The lizard man followed up with a series of short, diagonal, chopping blows aimed at Qaz’s midsection, but Qaz saw the ploy for what it was.

  Rather than swaying to the side opposite the probing blows, Qaz authored a sweeping blow at Inzigar’s legs with his chain axe. The axe was blocked with the lizard’s left khopesh, which lost several large chips to the serrated, sawing weapon when the blades met.

  Surprisingly, Inzigar retained his grip on the blade and authored a counter with his free weapon. Qaz’s left thigh flared in pain but he kept his focus—as always—and parried the follow-up with the butt of his axe.

  The two parted and Qaz spared a look at his thigh. The gash was deep but not crippling, and after he defeated the lizard man he suspected the wound would heal in a matter of days.

  “This ends now,” Qaz snarled, leaping toward the lizard man with ferocity known only to the line of Asterion.

  The lizard attempted to riposte but was thwarted by the sheer, brute force of Qaz’s chain axe. The khopesh was turned aside by the blow and the lizard man fought to regain the initiative during a sequence of savagely fierce blows rained down by the minotaur.

  Back and back the lizard was driven toward the arena’s wall. To near the wall was a potentially deadly mistake, but Qaz had lived all of his adult life in the arena—he knew its patterns and sequences better than any other living being.

  Inzigar flattened his body and attempted to lunge in a single, swift motion but Qaz was prepared for such a counter. He lashed out with his hooved foot and struck the lizard square in the jaw. The snap of bone was wholly satisfying to the peerless gladiator, and before Inzigar could recover from the kick to the head the fight was all but over.

  Dropping his axe, Qaz grabbed the lizard’s forearms and the two engaged in a brief contest of raw power. The lizard was surprisingly strong, but he was no match for Qaz.

  Ligaments popped, muscles shredded, and bones finally sundered as Qaz tore the lizard’s forelimbs nearly off his torso. To his credit, Inzigar made no outcry—not even when Qaz hurled his wreckage of a body into the suddenly electrified arena wall.

  The energy coursed through Inzigar’s body for several seconds, causing wisps of smoke to roll from his ears as his eyes rolled back into his head.

  Reaching down and grasping one of the khopesh blades, Qaz drew it back and hurled it into the lizard’s chest where it buried halfway up the crescent portion of the oddly-shaped blade.

  The electrical current abated and Inzigar’s bleeding, broken, smoking body fell to the sandy floor of the arena. Qaz threw his head back and bellowed a primal roar, attesting to the undeniable might of his forebears.

  The lights dimmed after his ululations ceased, and the door through which Inzigar had come once again opened and an unfamiliar, old-style assault droid appeared. The Crafter employed dozens of such droids to police his creations, but this particular unit was unfamiliar to Qaz. It had a squat, broad torso with a heavily-customized weapon arm to either side, and its multi-jointed legs were in many respects similar to Qaz’s own. Its armor was pitted and had clearly been replaced with a patchwork of barely-compatible pieces over the course of what had to have been decades of hard use—and hard use was the only proper way for such a pure engine of violence to be deployed, as Qaz knew only too well.

  “This way, slave,” the animalistic, snarling voice of the droid commanded.

  Qaz complied, leaving his weapons and proceeding back toward the pits. He looked for the Crafter’s heraldry on the droid’s chassis, but could not find it in the usual places. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was meant to battl
e the droid—the scion of the 34th Batch of Asterion’s line had met his end under similar circumstances.

  But when the droid’s rotary cannon whirred menacingly, Qaz decided to comply with its stated commands. As they walked down the tunnel, the minotaur felt no measure of pride in his recent victories in the arena. He had fought for three years in the underground gladiatorial pit, and he knew that his time was nearly at an end. None but the 25th and 28th scions of Asterion had survived past their fourth year of ‘service’ in the arena, and while Qaz believed himself to be their equal he knew that he would soon be usurped by one of the Crafter’s latest abominations.

  They made their way through the long, winding tunnel which led deeper and deeper into the Crafter’s lair. The distance between the cages and the arena was nearly a kilometer, and he knew every inch of the tunnel which connected those two areas.

  In a bizarre way which continued to surprise him, Qaz was content with a life of endless strife and conflict. He knew he was functionally enslaved to the Crafter, but his nature was such that while he yearned for what most would call ‘freedom,’ he also knew that no matter where he was or how much ‘freedom’ he had, he would inevitably return to a life much like the one he now lived. It was that paradox which had stayed his hand when the urge to rebel grew strong enough that it cried out for address.

  This is not to say that he was wholly satisfied with a life of bloodletting in the arena—bloodletting which he knew, after speaking with the Crafter following his first year of victories in the arena, was viewed as abhorrent and was completely illegal in the so-called ‘Empire of Man.’ But as with all dark stains upon the very nature of life, there was a secret thirst shared by all living predators to see the beautiful barbarism of life play out with the highest stakes imaginable.