Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“He, Jackson, is pure croatoan blood, but has a relative here.” She smiled at Charlie. “I’m taking you to meet him.”

“Hallagen? I take it Augustus doesn’t know?”

“Augustus probably doesn’t care. He thinks Hallagen’s dead. When you and I chatted earlier today, Baliska told my temporary protection that he respects you as a human warrior. He asked to be freed to help in any way he can. Baliska knows what the Grand Council will be planning—he’s seen it all before.”

They continued along a side street leading around the edge of town. To their left was a long row of smartly constructed pens filled with sheep, pigs and cows looking healthier than Charlie had seen in the last twenty years. Beyond the animals, crops wavered on the distant steps cut into the basin’s side. Small rickety wooden houses, glorified sheds with washed clothing hanging off the frames, lined the right side. The place stank of shit.

“Did you get me some root?” Charlie said.

She produced a fresh orange piece from underneath her robe. “Take this. There’s plenty more where that came from—if you continue to cooperate.”

Charlie didn’t hesitate. He crammed it into his mouth and chewed hard in order to get the juices flowing down his throat, injecting life into his tired limbs. He’d dismissed escaping after thinking of the planet destroyer heading toward Earth, but he still didn’t trust any of these people or aliens.

The minute he sniffed bullshit or the plan looked like failing, he’d run, get away, and spend his final time on Earth under his terms.

Aimee gestured to her left, and they approached the sinkhole, or attack tunnel as she called it. The dull silver nose cone of a croatoan attack vessel rose from the chasm, slumped to one side, covered in a thin layer of dirt. A gap the size of a door had been cut into the bottom of the giant cone at ground level.

Charlie thought back to when he saw his first one, when he dangled at the bottom of a rope in a sinkhole near Roanoke Sound. It came from directly below him, smoothly rising out of a cloud of electricity-filled smoke. He managed to scramble up the rope and run, along with the rest of the people, before it sent out a pulse jarring through his body and killing anything electronic in the area as the croatoan soldiers spilled out to take control. Shock and awe. Nobody was prepared.

“Don’t be frightened. They mean you no harm,” Aimee said.

She entered the vessel and disappeared to the left. Charlie took a deep breath and followed. Inside, he immediately looked down. In the center, a hundred-meter drop to the bottom of the structure. Several torches were burning at the bottom, providing dull lighting for the off-white interior. A two-meter-wide shallow spiraled platform curled around the edge all the way down.

Aimee didn’t wait and started her descent. The platform’s coarse surface scraped against Charlie’s boots, providing decent grip. As he made his way down, his eyes became used to the light.

Seats ran around the wall, hundreds if not thousands of them, with a raised bar above each, probably used for securing croatoan soldiers as they rose to the surface, like they were on a theme park ride. Below one of the seats, a rusting alien rifle and dusty helmet were secured to the floor with a black plastic strap.

Charlie imagined what it was like thirty years ago. Rumbling upwards, crammed with armed aliens, ready to attack. It sent a chill down his spine.

Only Baliska followed and passed Charlie halfway down. It ran a gloved hand along the wall, touching and feeling various devices, seats and bars. Its clicks increasingly echoed through the vessel as they went deeper.

Near the bottom, two people in brown robes were waiting by the torches. Aimee hurried round the last two circuits of the ship, jumped from the platform, and approached them.

Charlie reached the lower end of the vessel and noticed a jagged edge where the bottom had been cut away. He leapt down the remaining meter drop and landed in a crouching position. Peering around the side of the hulk, he noticed the lower ends of the platform extended out until it disappeared into the Earth. It must have risen like a corkscrew.

“They’re expecting us. Come this way,” Aimee said.

Baliska walked with her through a torchlit cave. Charlie glanced at the two humans Aimee had been talking to and froze.

He instantly recognized one of them. Ben. He grabbed him by the shoulder. “Ben? I thought you were dead. What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

Ben wrestled with Charlie’s arm. “I don’t know who you are. Get the hell off me.”

Aimee turned and strode back. “What are you doing? This is no time to start a fight. Let go of him.”

Charlie kept a tight grip on Ben’s robe and pulled him close. “I’m not letting him go until he tells me what happened to my son and friends.”

“He’s not the Ben you know. This one’s been with us for twenty years,” Aimee said.

“This one? Bullshit. He was with us a month ago. I never forget a face.” Charlie raised his fist. “Tell me now or I’ll beat the living crap out of you.”

Ben leaned away and raised a hand over his face. He shook as he cowered.

“Who is this guy? Aimee, please,” Ben said.

Aimee pulled Charlie’s arm away. “He’s a harvester clone. This is not the Ben you know. There’s hundreds of his type on Earth.”

Charlie didn’t want to believe it. It ripped away the glimmering hope of finding out what happened at the farm after he left in the shuttle. If Denver survived.

Charlie looked for recognition in this Ben’s eyes, but found none.

“It’s the truth,” Aimee said. “I swear on my own life. Let me explain once we’ve met Hagellan. We don’t have time for this.”

Charlie shoved Ben away, and he scuttled into a dark corner.

“Let me see the other one,” Charlie said, pointing at the other person in a robe who had retreated behind the torches.

“Take off your hood,” Aimee said.

The man slowly peeled it back around his shoulders. Charlie squinted through the flames. Ethan. The young man he’d seen getting his head blown off in Manhattan by Baliska.

“I don’t understand. I’ve seen other crews. They’re not all the same,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been told there’s five different versions of a crew. All replicated and deployed to each farm so no harvesters working an area will have duplicated personnel onboard, in case they meet each other or need to transfer a crew member.”

Charlie bit his lip and shook his head. By seeing the vessel and clones, he had found out more in the last five minutes than the last five years. It made him hate the croatoans even more.

“Come now. We need to get back to Unity before midday,” Aimee said.

She continued through the torchlit cave toward a bright opening. Strange carvings spread around the cave’s wall. Images of croatoans, symbols, one of a ship over Earth and an alien helmet with stars around it.

Aimee led Baliska and Charlie into a tall cavernous area. It wasn’t naturally created; large horizontal scrapes lined the ceiling and walls. A blue carpet led along the center of the smooth rock floor to three chairs at the end. The middle of which looked like a throne. Croatoan containers stacked around the side of the room in neat piles of three. Like the ones Charlie had seen shuttles bring down to a farm when observing through trees. He slowly gazed around the room, open-mouthed. All of this going on underneath the world’s feet while people worried about paying bills…

“This place used to be one of their barracks. There’s a whole cave system down here, with supplies that would last you hundreds of lifetimes,” Aimee said.

Clicks echoed at the end of the room. Baliska walked away and met another large croatoan by the throne, this one wearing tubes up its nostrils, revealing its ugly reptilian face. They held their hands toward each other and touched.