Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“Is that Hagellan?” Charlie said.

“Yes. He has hundreds of sons. Baliska is one of them.”

Charlie watched as both continued to press their hands against each other while engaging in staccato conversation. Eventually Hagellan sat on the throne and his son perched by his side on a smaller chair.

“Come forward,” Baliska croaked in a rough voice.

“It speaks English?” Charlie whispered.

“He speaks English. It’s not unusual. He’s been around this planet centuries longer than you,” Aimee said.

She hurried along the blue carpet and stopped five yards short of the throne. Charlie stopped a couple of yards behind. He wanted to at least give himself a chance of escape, to run if things turned nasty. Not that he expected to get away.

“You are the human that brought down my ship,” Hagellan said. “You also nearly killed my son.”

“What would you do in my shoes? You can’t expect to invade a place and not come across resistance.”

Hagellan laughed. “You are right, Aimee. He is naïve.”

“Can we discuss the plan?” Aimee said. “We don’t have much time.”

“No. Wait a damned minute,” Charlie said. “We aren’t the ones trying to take out a civilization. What’s so naïve about fighting back? I bet you weren’t laughing when your ship plunged to Earth.”

Hagellan leaned forward, his leather-like blue uniform creaking around his body. “I’ve watched your planet for many centuries. You’re no different to the rest of the galaxy.”

“You’ll have to explain that one to me,” Charlie said.

Aimee turned and glared at him. “We have not come here for history lessons—”

“Let me explain to Charlie Jackson. It might shake him out of his provincial beliefs. Your planet is but a smaller version of what’s happening in the wider universe. On Earth, throughout the centuries, rival factions have fought for territory and resources. Stamping over each other to gain power and possessions. Warfare drives technology, but you are not at the level of advancement where you can take the fight into deep space.”

“You’re using wars on Earth to justify your invasion? Where are all the other aliens if what you say is true?” Charlie said.

Hagellan scratched his head and grunted. “In universal terms, Earth is a backwater, a tiny irrelevant speck in a faraway galaxy. More powerful forces constantly battle for superiority. Earth has so far gone unscathed because of its remote location. Until we captured the transport gate, it wasn’t worth bothering with; you were not a threat but have rich land for farming.”

Charlie scoffed. “Rich land for farming? Is that the real reason you came here?”

“I don’t mean to patronize you, Jackson, but you need to understand the scale and power that you’re facing. Twenty other planets have resisted and managed to bring down a croatoan ship. All twenty were destroyed within two of your months. The empire’s network spans three hundred planets. They don’t have the patience to give second chances. You know about our race now; they won’t leave you to plan revenge.”

“Now you want me to save your ass because you screwed up,” Charlie said. Rage bubbled up inside him. Despite the threat, the ugly bastard in front of him was the alien who commanded the attack. He gave the orders that led to the death of so many people close to Charlie—and of the wider world.

“I can understand your anger,” Hagellan said. “But it’s not just me you will be saving. Millions of humans still roam the planet. I can get a craft working with my team. We need your team to build a bomb and help deploy it.”

Charlie couldn’t hold the thin veneer of civility any longer. “And all of you alien scumbags live happily ever after on Earth while I suffer a lonely death on a faraway planet. You can have my answer now. Fu—”

Aimee cut in. “Don’t do this, Charlie. It’s the only way out for all of us.”

“We need coordination to save our planet. Please, stop and think before opening your mouth again,” Hagellan said. “Let me show you something.”

It grabbed a black tablet from behind the throne, flicked up a chunky antenna on the side of it, and motioned to the screen. A green hologram rose from the tablet, showing a map of planets and stars. Tiny red spheres spread around them, with a code below each.

“What the hell is that?” Charlie said.

“A croatoan galactic tracker.” It pointed to the left edge. “This is the destroyer’s last reported decision. It will reach Tredeya in five days.”

Charlie shrugged. “Could be bullshit.”

“You stupid human.”

Charlie took a couple of paces forward. Baliska rose from its chair in response. Aimee quickly moved between them. “Baliska, accompany Charlie back to the cells inside my residence. We need to give him more time to think—away from Augustus.”

Hagellan stood. “Don’t make a mistake that you’ll regret for the rest of your short life.” He turned to Aimee. “I want his answer by nightfall.”

Augustus pushed a sliver of ham through the hole in his mask—anything to take his mind off the inane drivel of the committee meeting. All morning he’d sat around a table in Aimee’s main chamber, listening to cretins discussing trivialities. He glanced back at his Doctore lurking by the entrance. He acknowledged Augustus with a slow blink.

One of the council members, Paul, who wouldn’t shut up, passed yet another piece of paper around the room, plastered in his scruffy handwriting. “Next item on the agenda is rebalancing trade due to recent increases and shortages of items.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Augustus stood up. “Just send me the meeting minutes. I haven’t got time to sit around discussing the value of milk.”

“This is your first meeting,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair. He looked over his half-eye spectacles. The four others nodded their approval. “You need to be aware of all issues that impact on Unity. Aimee instructed me that you were to stay for the duration.”

Augustus flopped back down and groaned. “Carry on. But make it snappy. We really should have junior members to decide on such pointless matters.”

Paul cleared his throat in an obnoxious way, as if demanding silence, although others could hardly get a word in. “Our harvest is becoming more successful. Stores are full of root, wheat, and barley. Livestock remains steady, although we’re not getting a sufficient yield from the breeding program. My first proposal is doubling the amount of crop required in exchange—”

Augustus blocked out Paul’s voice and swirled his wine. He could only concentrate on events happening outside the meeting. Aimee might already be dead. As soon as word filtered through, he could end the pointless debate and take control of the town.

“Augustus, do you agree?” Paul said.

“Agree with what?”

The officious fool ruffled his paper and frowned. “My proposal about balancing the cost of food.” Paul had a huge dose of self-importance. A strange thing to see from a greasy-haired cretin dressed in a filthy old shirt. To be an effective leader, you had to at least look the part. “Yes, whatever. Next.”

“You could at least pretend you want to be here,” the woman next to Paul said. Augustus had already forgotten her name, but it didn’t matter.

“We still haven’t assessed the impact of clothing and tools compared to crops and meat,” Paul said. “It’s crucial that we keep a balanced economy.”

Augustus sat up in his chair and straightened his mask. “Please, continue with this important work. I’m all ears.”

“Maybe we could move on to the next item on the agenda,” Paul said. “We would appreciate your input into the discussion. The local militia suffered losses while recovering the pods from the croatoan ship. Your pod included.”