Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

It seemed neither species were entirely comfortable with this setup.

Despite that, the two engineers continued to lead Mike through the wreckage.

As he squeezed and pushed himself through narrow corridors and crouched beneath broken crossbeams, Mike couldn’t but help focus on the details.

He wanted to stop and examine everything, but knew the clock was ticking.

Alien metals, new elements, technology that came from an ideology so different to humans, it all appealed to his sense of wonder and a desire to learn.

Just what secrets could he uncover if he had more time to analyze the pink-glowing lights within the crushed, transparent cabinet. Rings of these lights thrummed quietly up and down a tube, creating an effect that Mike couldn’t discern.

Could be a power supply; could be a processor of sorts, who knew?

The walls of the ship were made from a multilayered honeycomb of what looked like woven tungsten.

Through his journey into the center of the wreckage, heading for the central power unit where the parts Hagellan required were to be found, he saw more of this construction.

In places it had held firm, supporting a number of levels above. In other places it had collapsed into what he guessed were planned crumple zones, for the walls and ceilings had rarely crashed into areas of mechanical significance.

Given the number of bodies in the ship’s wreckage—much lower than he anticipated, it seemed the alien engineers had developed a ship that could withstand a lot of damage before it killed those inside—or at least those that were important.

“Hey, wait up,” Mike called.

They led him into a small dark room.

A sliver of a doorway, on its side to his left, indicated where they’d gone, but Mike stepped forward cautiously.

Each footstep made the structure creak and groan under his weight.

It shifted violently as he neared the doorway, forcing him to throw out his arms in front of him as the momentum pushed him forward. He struck the doorframe with his shoulder; the impact made him wince and suck in his breath. He collapsed to the floor, dropping his flashlight. It fell through a gap into a level below.

Smoke drifted up through a holed section, carrying the stench of burning oil of some kind. He coughed and reached to grip the doorframe of the narrow entry point and hauled himself to his feet.

The low roof collapsed behind him, pinning him to the wall.

“Help!” Mike called out, pressing his face through the half-meter-wide gap.

A pair of shadows moved out of sight.

“Hey, I’m stuck. Help me!”

No response.

The skin on his neck and face prickled with the dawning that they’d abandoned him. Had they led him here on purpose?

The smoke continued to fill the tiny space, making his lungs burn with every breath.

More creaking and rending of metal screeched just beyond the fallen ceiling that pressed Mike against the wall. It sounded like the whole thing would collapse on him, entombing him in alien metal. And he couldn’t even reach his radio, his arms pressed through the gap and the radio crushed behind him, attached to his belt.

Spots began to flash in his vision.

His tight chest made it difficult to breathe, and even then, with each lungful of inhalation, he brought with it the cloying, choking smoke.

“Fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he tried in vain to push back and make some room for himself.

He didn’t know how long he remained in that position, having given up hope he would get out. He thought of Mai and the time they’d spent together. He thought of Charlie and Pippa and their time during the ice age. He saw her face, bright and smiling even though they lived through hell.

A welling-up of grief and sadness made him cough and thrash out his hand through the gap.

He touched something, recoiled his hand and opened his eyes.

“Blinky… help me,” he said as the small engineer looked up at him with wide eyes. For a moment the useless thing just stood there watching, but then, as though finally getting the situation, turned and waved Grumpy back while he ducked out of view. He returned with a pole and passed the end through the bottom of the narrow doorway. He and Grumpy pulled on the other end while Mike leaned his shoulder into the door in an attempt to help.

Nothing budged, despite their efforts.

From just behind the fallen ceiling piece a loud crash came, and the whole ship rocked, jolting the structure. It proved to be useful, however, as with another pull on the pole, the two engineers shifted the door open another foot.

Mike screamed out as he pushed with all he had, driving his shoulder into the door. Something in the mechanism gave, and it finally sprang open, sending Mike crashing forward to the floor with the momentum of his efforts.

The two aliens dropped the pole and dragged him forward.

He spun over just in time to see the door smash closed, just inches from crushing his ankles.

With their help, he managed to stand and regain his balance.

“Thanks, little guys,” Mike said.

They did their blinking and inclined their heads, clicking to each other in short bursts.

With no more exchange of pleasantries, they turned their backs and headed off, consulting a small screen attached to their wrists. They were reading Hagellan’s directions of how to reach the main engine bay’s maintenance section.

Through a dozen more tunnels and levels, twists and tight turns, Mike felt every year of his age in his bones and muscles.

Sweat dripped from his face, and he breathed heavily, wishing he hadn’t volunteered to come along.

Because the engineers were born in Unity, they hadn’t been trained in the proper way of the aliens brought over from their home planet or ones born on the ship. In truth, they weren’t even engineers, Mike just used that term to classify them due to their smaller size compared to the soldiers and the larger still hunters.

With their claw-like hands, they didn’t have the delicate dexterity of humans, especially as they weren’t trained to use the croatoan tools like the original engineers who had perished in the crash and subsequent battles.

Mike’s own tool kit hung around his front in a makeshift sling.

He had no idea if what he had brought would be enough for the task at hand, but if Charlie needed this part to get the ship airborne and stop the threat—if it were real—then Mike would do his best to deal with the situation.

The two aliens stopped in a dark passageway in front of a sheer surface at least two meters high with a meter-high gap at the top.

“Through there?” Mike said, pointing to the gap.

Blink, blink, nod.

Grumpy showed him his screen. A high-res image of a corridor leading to the maintenance room corresponded to what they were looking at now, only this was on an angle and the obstacle in the way appeared to have fallen through the ceiling, blocking access to the tunnel.

“I’ll lift you up,” Mike said, pointing to them and raising his arms.

Blink, blink, nod.

“Right then. Blinky, you first.”

Mike approached cautiously and held back his revulsion as he grabbed the four-foot-tall alien by the waist and lifted it up until it reached out its hands and dragged itself into the gap. “Now you, Grumpy.”

Mike repeated the movement.

Lifting the aliens reminded him of lifting Denver as a toddler when Charlie first brought him back to their shelter in the cave system. This was just before Pippa was killed. Despite everything they had lost at the time, having Denver with them renewed their hope and desire to carry on, if not for themselves, then for the next generation.

And Mike realized this was exactly the same situation.

He wasn’t doing this just for the immediate threat, but to help ensure the safety of the next generation.