Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“I’ve already thanked Aimee for that. She gave the order, not you.”

An awkward silence followed his response. The committee members leered at him and scribbled notes.

“We’re thinking of expanding our recruitment area to beef up numbers. In the last years, we only searched in surrounding areas, careful not to encroach on colonized land.”

Augustus cackled. “Colonized land? What do you think this is? There’s going to be plenty of humans and croatoans without homes after Jackson pulled his little stunt. We’ll be able to press-gang hundreds if we want.”

“The idea isn’t to press-gang,” the woman said. “We will offer them a place to live, work, and provide food, safety and a community.”

Augustus leaned forward. He could swallow playing the game with these people up to a point while he waited, but they were starting to cross the line in terms of respect. He refused to let pious peasants run rings around him. “What do you know about organizing an army? Do you have any idea of what is currently available in terms of resources? What’s your military background?”

Paul opened his mouth to speak, but Augustus raised his finger toward him. “Two thousand farms exist worldwide. Seventy thousand croatoans on the ground, ten thousand harvesters with over fifty thousand crew. This is the resource we need to tap as a first priority.”

“We can’t travel worldwide,” Paul said. “Why are they the best option?”

Augustus rolled his eyes. Trying to discuss matters with people who clearly operated on a lower level was as painful as pulling his own teeth out. “The croatoans have nothing. No ship, no shuttle runs, no guidance from me. We give them direction. The same goes for the brainwashed harvester crews. The livestock are thick as pig shit, but we can train them, give them easy jobs. I can tell none of you have run as much as a damned whorehouse before.”

“None of us have lost one either,” the woman said.

A couple of the committee stifled chuckles. Little did they realize that little insolent comment followed by their reaction had just guaranteed their public executions. The woman would look good on a crucifix in front of the ludus. Paul deserved to be stoned to death in the arena, tied to a pole facing Augustus’ chair. The rest would be hung on the edge of town. Their bodies left to rot, serving as a warning for what happens to insubordinate citizens. It worked before; Augustus would make it work again.

“There are still millions of humans alive, whether that’s as former livestock or survivors in the forests and broken cities,” Augustus said. “These people have no appetite to mix with croatoans. It’ll be a harder sell to convince them.”

Paul pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and scribbled some notes. “I’ll speak to Aimee about your suggestions. We’ll move on to discussing the cult.”

“You mean the people who live down the hole?” Augustus said. “Now, this is something I’m interested in. What’s your proposal?”

A thin, balding man at the end of the table, who had so far barely spoken, interjected. “They requested more fresh supplies last week. With our improved productivity, I forward a motion that we give them what they want.”

“Do we have any objections to the motion?” Paul said.

Augustus thumped his fist on the table. “Yes. I have a fucking objection. What do they give to Unity? Do you even know what they’re doing down there? I certainly don’t. They could be planning an attack. I say we take action.”

Paul smiled in a patronizing way. Augustus clenched his dagger under the table. “They’ve been here for years and caused no problems. We happily coexist. That’s what Unity is all about.”

“The croatoans lived under ground for thousands of years, but that didn’t stop them from rising and ruining this planet,” Augustus said. “We need to snuff this cult out before they start gaining influence in the town. Send down the militia. It’s the only solution.”

Augustus had passed them off as crackpots and losers until he found out about Aimee’s clandestine visits. One of his spies would investigate tonight and find out the details of the grubby little underground secret. They’d be dealt with once he successfully imposed martial law in Unity.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about how Unity operates,” the woman said. “Perhaps we can take a break from town affairs and spend a few minutes to go through our ethos?”

“I’ve been visiting here for years,” Augustus said as he stood and walked to the entrance. “I know what this place is all about. And don’t forget, its very survival is down to me, and me alone. Talk all you want, I’m done here.” He turned to leave. Two croatoans stood outside, blocking his path. “Get out of my way.”

“They won’t let us go until we finish town business,” Paul said. “Come back and sit down. The faster we get through this, the quicker we can all leave.”

Augustus gritted his teeth. They were keeping him like a prisoner to go through a list of pointless tripe. He resisted the temptation to order his Doctore to attack. Things could get messy with aliens outside. He reluctantly sat down with a sigh.

“Next on the agenda is sanitation,” Paul said. “We currently have no planned systems in place, and if we’re to improve hygiene standards in Unity, we need to start thinking longer term about the infrastructure.”

Augustus drank from his goblet and sat back. He decided to keep his mouth closed and wait it out. Besides, Aimee would be dead soon. Quickly followed by these pathetic amateur politicians and, of course, Charlie Jackson.

Having left Khan back with Maria and Layla, Gregor and Denver took the shackled alien on a walk through the woods until they approached the edge of the tree line, after following the croatoan’s hand signals for directions.

They moved with slow and deliberate footsteps so as not to snap a twig or get caught in a trap.

The alien had guided them through the woods for over an hour; all the while Gregor had to remain in control of his desire to send it to whatever afterlife it believed in.

But of course, the group wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt, all because they wanted to find Charlie.

For Gregor, though, he couldn’t care less; he was just interested in finding the aliens’ settlement so he could arrange for its eradication.

The others might want to take their time, build things up, but if there was one thing he had learned from the alien’s first uprising, it was that they weren’t to be underestimated, and if there was an opportunity to get rid of them, it had to be taken right there and then at any cost.

Delaying things would only give them time, and time was their greatest weapon, having lain in wait for thousands of years in their pods and war machines.

Gregor wouldn’t let that happen if he could help it.

He’d been in plenty of turf wars over the years to know you don’t give your enemy a moment’s rest or a chance to recover.

You drive them out, killing as many as possible.

A dead enemy is your friend.

With the effects of the root still fresh in his blood, Gregor stepped beyond Denver and pushed his way through the tightly packed pines, using his croatoan rifle to ease the branches away and clear his view.

Under the midday sun, he saw a huge field of fresh root. Like an orange blanket, it stretched for at least a kilometer in every direction.

The sun dazzled him initially, but as his eyes adapted to the sudden brightness, he saw beyond the crop a number of ramshackle, wooden towers. At least three on this side. The hazy sky obscured what might be beyond the rising land in front of him.