Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

Augustus’ head throbbed. He vomited onto the floor. A pair of hands grabbed him by the robe and pulled him. His arms were trapped behind his back. Blinking his vision clear, he saw Aimee stand over him, a pair of iron shackles in her hand.

She tossed them and they clattered against the stone floor next to him.

“For all your years, you still haven’t gained control of your temper,” Aimee said. “You don’t think things through enough, Augustus, but you know that, don’t you. You didn’t think enough about the Goths, and you didn’t think enough about Charlie Jackson. Your arrogance and hubris will always be your doom.”

Augustus spat at her and tried to wrench his arms free, but whoever it was behind him—definitely human by the feel of their hands—yanked his arms further back, making his spine and shoulders crack. He yelled out and dropped his head.

“What do you want?” he said, spittle flying from his mouth. “You want to kill me? Get on with it, then, bitch.”

“Kill you? Perhaps, but seeing as we no longer have Charlie Jackson as a main draw, we are light on special entertainment. I think, all things considered, the people of Unity deserve to behold the last Roman as he fights in the arena. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

Despite the life-extending stasis procedures of the croatoans and his root use, it was clear to anyone that his days of combat were over. He hadn’t fought since the last days of the empire. But faced with the alternative of being killed right here and now, he would take the chance—there could be an opportunity to escape before he had to fight for survival. He still had the loyalty of a number of humans working in the ludus and other aspects of the arena to call upon.

“I will accept,” Augustus said. “I will show you and your fucking peasants what I’m capable of.”

“I’m sure you will, Augustus, I’m sure you will.” She then referred to the person behind him. “Shackle him, Khan.” She picked up the croatoan pistol and aimed it at Augustus’ head as this Khan person let go of his hands and picked up the shackles. “You move an inch, and I won’t hesitate for a moment to deprive Unity of seeing the last Roman in action. You understand me?”

“Perfectly.”

Khan, a dark-eyed, passive-faced man, stepped round to face Augustus, but didn’t look up at him. He bent down and began to place the shackles around Augustus’ ankles. The thought of kicking the young man in the face crossed his mind, but he knew Aimee would kill him there and then if he tried.

He’d seen that focused look on her face before—at the arena. Despite her appearances to the contrary, she was as bloodthirsty as any warlord Augustus had met, including those in the croatoan council during the uprising.

You’d look at the remaining aliens now and wonder how they took over the planet so quickly. Meek and bred to follow orders, they had little agency or thoughts of their own, but the combat species were an entirely different beast.

They travelled from planet to planet, wiping out resistances and laying the groundwork for a council-controlled mother ship to oversee the farming and terraforming.

Compared to them, Khan and Aimee were sickly kittens.

But even a sickly kitten with a weapon was something to be wary of.

“I assume I’ll be facing Baliska in the arena?” Augustus said as he shuffled slightly, making sure Khan couldn’t yet attach the shackles. A noise from outside had caught Augustus’ ear—a brief sound of struggle and the squeak of a rusted hinge. From Aimee’s position near her crackling fire, it didn’t seem as if she had heard it, and Khan was too busy trying to work out how the arcane mechanism of the shackles worked.

“Stay still,” Aimee said, stepping forward. “And yes, you’ll be facing Baliska… among others.”

Augustus smiled. “Not a fair fight, then?”

“You don’t deserve one.”

“That makes two of us.”

“A little late for threats,” Aimee said.

Khan finally unlocked the shackles and placed the iron rings over Augustus’ left ankle. Augustus kicked out, catching the young man in the throat and knocking him over as the former emperor dived to his right.

The door to Aimee’s room burst open. Gregor and three human thugs piled in, catching Aimee off guard. Her shot went high and wide. Gregor saw Khan on the floor with the shackles.

“Kill him!” Augustus screamed. Gregor raised his croatoan-made rifle and fired once into Khan’s ribs, sending him flat against the floor with a screech. Before Aimee could recover, the thugs had pulled their pistols—a combination of croatoan and human weapons—and pointed them at the Unity leader.

Gregor stepped forward, looked around to assess the situation, and spoke to Augustus. “I talked with your little helper at the ludus. Thought you might need a hand.”

For a moment, Augustus believed the ex-farm manager would see this as an opportunity to seize power for himself and rid this world of Augustus, but he turned back to Aimee, ignoring the emperor.

He stepped forward. Aimee stepped back. She looked over his shoulder. At first, Augustus, from his position to the right-hand side of the room, thought she was simply looking at Khan or the three thugs, but a large shadow entered, quickly followed by the bulky, threatening shape of Baliska.

The large hunter drove his sword into the first thug’s back, killing him instantly. His mate next to him turned only to have a dagger thrust into his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling.

Gregor and the remaining thug turned and fired, but Baliska was already on the move, ducking and rolling down the left side of the room. As he came back up to his feet, he pulled an angular croatoan pistol from a compartment in his black armor and fired twice. The remaining thug’s head snapped back on the first shot and broke apart on the second.

Gregor fired twice. The first directed at Aimee, the second at Baliska. Aimee twitched out of the way, just missing the shot, but she dropped her pistol to the ground between her and Gregor.

Augustus considered trying to make a grab for it, but when Baliska launched himself at Gregor, knocking the rifle from his hands and driving him down to the floor, Augustus climbed to his feet and snuck out the door as the melee continued and all attention was on the fight in the now-crowded room.

Once he slipped outside, he took a quick look back.

Aimee dodged Gregor’s thrashing legs as she tried to wrestle free of the large croatoan. She slipped and fell to the ground, cracking her head against the corner of her bed. Baliska reared up and delivered two mighty punches to Gregor’s chest, knocking the fight out of him.

Before they realized he had left, Augustus sprinted down the short corridor to the dining hall and turned right into a small archway that led to a tunnel he knew would take him out through the back of the stronghold.

The sound of rushing feet from a steel staircase on the other side of the dining room told him those guarding the ramparts had heard the commotion and were now on their way to deal with the aftermath.

Augustus made sure he wouldn’t be around when they arrived.

Through the twisting tunnel he ran, dodging low as the access became ever tighter. Eventually, scraping through, he kicked open a wooden covering and opened the iron gate. He stepped out into the morning air. The smell of roasting bacon and the sounds of the town waking up gave him the cover to sprint to the steps at the rear of the basin.

With no guards on the ramparts, and unable to be seen by the observation towers due to being blocked by the stronghold, Augustus commandeered Aimee’s personal hover-bike and sped off deep into the canopy.