Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

There would be no arena fighting for him. No more diplomacy or patience.

There would be only war.

He would retreat for now, regroup, and return with force to take Unity for himself under his sole rule.

He’d put Aimee’s head on a pike first as a warning to others.

Gregor coughed up blood and squirmed beneath Baliska’s great bulk. The alien sat back onto his gut, pinning him in place. It snarled at Gregor, exposing its teeth. Aimee had found a pistol and was checking on Khan. Gregor knew his time was coming to an end.

With Augustus abandoning him—even though Gregor had taken a risk to come here—he knew he had but one option left.

“I give up,” Gregor said, relaxing. “I submit, or whatever it is you lot understand. I’m done; it’s over. I’m in your custody.”

Baliska growled at him and grabbed his throat with one of its massive paws. Aimee appeared by the alien’s side and placed a hand on its shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said. Let him live—for now. We have bigger things to worry about.”

She turned to a group of four aliens who’d rushed in. “Augustus has escaped; we need to find him. I want you to split up, organize two scouting parties. Go. Make sure he’s found. Use deadly force if you have to. I’m tired of taking the slow approach with him.”

Baliska eased the pressure on Gregor’s throat and stood up, turning to Aimee for directions. Gregor, anticipating such a move, grabbed the syringes of poison from a protective case in his pocket, and jabbed through the tough scaly hide of the alien, plunging the full complement of poison into the damned thing’s bloodstream.

The alien howled and bent its head back. It extended its arms as its muscles began to contract against its will. But then it seemed to gain control. It bent down and lifted Gregor by the throat, squeezing his windpipe, making him choke.

Kicking with everything he had, Gregor started to panic. Had Augustus tricked him? Was the poison ineffective? Had he known this and hoped Gregor would die at Hagellan’s hands?

Stars and splotches of colors appeared in his vision as he strained for breath. Tension left his body and he started to close his eyes, fighting the oncoming unconsciousness.

But the alien’s grip weakened.

Gregor heaved in a deep breath, refilling his burning lungs, bringing both pain and much-needed oxygen. He fell to his feet, collapsing against the wall. Aimee looked on in horror as Baliska staggered back, clutching its chest. Like a great redwood, the beast fell, hitting the deck with a thud.

Its arms flopped uselessly by its sides.

Nothing moved. Its chest did not rise. There was no sound from its breathing apparatus. It worked!

Aimee knelt to the alien as she screamed, “No!”

Taking the opportunity, Gregor staggered to the door but jumped back when another pair of guards entered. Human this time. A grizzled-looking woman lifted a gun to his head.

Before Gregor could say anything he felt two sharp points stab into his spine. A bolt of electricity shocked him to the ground, where he lay shaking with muscle spasms as the electricity held him in place. Eventually, Aimee relented. Blood dripped from Gregor’s nose and mouth. Every limb ached with pain.

“Take this bastard to the cells,” Aimee ordered the guards.

Gregor could do nothing to stop them. He had no energy and no control of his limbs. He mumbled something, trying to insult Aimee, but she just watched on as the guards lifted him up.

Stepping forward close to him, Aimee slapped him hard in the face. “You’ll pay for this, newcomer. In Augustus’ place, you’ll fight this afternoon in the arena. But trust me, it won’t be a fight. It’ll be a slaughter. Get him out of my sight and fetch some cleaners to clear this mess,” Aimee said, indicating the blood and bodies in her room.

As they dragged Gregor away, he saw her wipe a tear from her eye. How could she cry over the aliens? If he were to be slaughtered, he’d make sure he’d take out as many as he could before he went.

This place was an abomination.

Hell, the whole world was now.

The thought of leaving it and joining his family in whatever afterlife, if there was such a thing, awaited him brought him a sense of comfort.

He was looking forward to the arena. He was ready to leave this world; he couldn’t change it on his own, and if humans wanted to coexist with the bastards that enslaved them, then more fool them.

They were welcome to reap what they sowed.

Mike’s old back creaked and generally protested his foolhardy maneuvers through the wreckage of the mother ship.

With no time for him to recover a sense of calm after the short battle, his chest heaved under the effort of clambering over twisted hunks of metal and ducking through caved-in tunnels constructed with ship detritus.

The two small aliens led him through, their scaly hands supporting him as he struggled to maintain his balance in the dark of the wreckage. The smallest one, that he had decided to refer to as Blinky due to his rapid blinking when he was thinking about stuff or being spoken to, stopped in a narrow section.

Using his flashlight, Mike swept the tight confines. Blinky and the taller one, whom Mike had decided would be Grumpy on account of his surly shoulder shrugging, pressed against his legs as they struggled to fit.

Blue flashes lit up sections of the ship from somewhere further into the wreckage. A hum permeated the place and was joined by the smell of ozone and something earthy yet metallic.

“What is it?” Mike prompted, wondering why Blinky didn’t go through the hole in the dark. It looked like a doorway had collapsed and the floor of the level above sunk down to join this one, creating a triangular, narrow entry.

Blinky blinked.

Grumpy shrugged.

“Well?” Mike said, pushing forward to see what the fuss was. He twisted sideways and stepped through the confining space as Grumpy eased out of the way. Mike ducked down to Blinky’s level and looked through the small hole into a hallway beyond.

“Oh,” Mike said when he saw the problem.

The hallway must have stretched some five meters long and a couple wide. The roof had caved in at various sections. A group of six aliens, small, like Blinky and Grumpy, lay dead in a heap, the infrastructure having crushed and pierced them to death.

This was the source of the strange smell.

Their corpses were rotting, yet no flies buzzed.

Mike stepped back and placed his hand on Blinky’s shoulder.

In another time he would have shuddered with revulsion, but watching the small alien’s face twist into sadness and seeing the first lot of bodies inside only reminded Mike of what it felt like to lose a loved one.

He remembered seeing the bodies of those who worked on the Roanoke dig site, and later, upon returning to Manhattan, the office workers who had perished in the first raids when the EMPs and the ground force swept through North America, with their chemical and cold fusion bombs.

Despite everything, these small aliens, born long after the initial invasion, were no more to blame for what happened than modern-day Germans were for the Holocaust.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

Sure, he could sympathize. But even now, with Blinky’s obvious sadness, Mike still couldn’t fully trust them.

He still didn’t even think Hagellan was necessarily telling them the truth.

But if Charlie could get onto the ship, and if Mai completed her work on the bomb, then at least they would have some insurance.

Grumpy stepped up behind Blinky and lit up the hallway with his own flashlight. He made a grunting noise followed by a series of clicks and whistles. Blinky nodded and slipped forward, leaving Mike’s hand to drop by his side.