Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“Go,” Blinky said, pointing to the exit. “We go.”

“Yeah, we do, thanks, little guy.”

Using the pole as a walking stick to take the weight off his leg, Mike and Blinky made their way back through the maze of the wreckage. This time, Mike didn’t take much notice of the alien tech, the materials, or even the dead.

With the ship creaking and groaning, pieces falling, and fires raging, all that mattered was getting out alive.

Together, they helped each other through tight corridors and up and over obstacles. A good fifteen minutes later, Mike saw an exit point to the outside. The sounds of gunfire had stopped.

Walking out of the shipwreck, Mike squinted against the noon sun. Maria and Charlie rushed over to him, propping him up. The little alien just scampered for the harvester. At least they managed to bring it over and he wouldn’t have to walk back through the forest. Mike noticed three croatoan fighters tied up outside of the shipwreck. Denver stood over them, pointing his alien rifle down.

“Bit of extra resistance?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, something like that,” Charlie said. “What happened to your leg?”

“Ankle got trapped under a beam. Grumpy didn’t make it, but Blinky, surprisingly, saved the day. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

Charlie looked back at the alien climbing inside the harvester.

“Gives us some hope, eh?” Mike added as Charlie and Maria helped him toward the vehicle.

“What do you mean?” Maria asked.

“That they could potentially be trusted.”

Denver overheard and shook his head. “Like these, you mean?”

“I don’t know, buddy, all I know is that Blinky saved my ass. He didn’t have to. He could have taken the part from me and left me to die in there like his pal.”

“You got the part okay?” Charlie asked.

Mike nodded to the sling around his chest. “It was right where Hagellan said it was. But man, inside that place… if I had some time… Mai would have a field day with the tech in there.”

“Not enough time,” Charlie said. “We’re heading back right away.”

Denver backed away from the three croatoan fighters as Maria and Charlie helped Mike into the back of the harvester. Once inside, Mike took a seat and Maria fetched a first-aid box from a locker within the vehicle. She moved about the place with ease, having grown up in one very similar. She attended to his wounds and wrapped his ankle with a bandage.

“Thanks,” Mike said.

“The painkillers should kick in, in a few minutes. It’s badly swollen, but it doesn’t feel broken.”

“I have him to thank for that.” Mike nodded in the direction of Blinky. The alien sat on his own in a dark corner of the harvester’s mess area. He stared out of a small porthole toward the three fighters.

“What about them?” Mike said. “Shouldn’t we take them with us? Let Unity deal with them?”

“No,” Charlie said. “They stay with the wreck.”

Mike saw that rigid determination in his eye again. There was no talking him out of it. And Mike had to remember just what these aliens did. Sure, Blinky helped him out, but they were still the race that nearly wiped out all of humanity. One small gesture of kindness could never make up for that.

But still—with so little left, for both sides, and a common threat, at some point a line in the sand had to be drawn. But Mike knew Charlie—and Denver—could never do that in their hearts. They’d been too damaged. Suffered too much.

The harvester’s engines came online, and the great vehicle shuddered and shook. They headed back toward Unity, their bounty safely secured.

“Light them up,” Charlie said.

He and Denver stood at the rear of the vehicle, watching out of a window.

Maria squeezed Mike’s hand and gave him an expression of wanting him to do something or say something for those croatoans left behind. Mike shook his head. It was too late for them now.

Denver pressed the button on the remote trigger.

Two explosions roared out, sending a huge ball of flame into the sky. Pieces of shipwreck rained down among the black smoke. Within the smoke, a huge fire burned.

Maria looked away, unable to watch the croatoans.

A tense silence developed in the mess area. Denver and Charlie joined the others.

“It had to be done,” Charlie said.

Maria turned her back and said nothing.

Augustus feared the worst as he approached a third farm on the western side of the continent. Smoke belched from a breeding warehouse, and flames licked the edges of its roof. His search for a functioning operation had so far been unsuccessful. The previous two were ransacked and deserted, although this one was still surrounded by flourishing fields of root.

He slowed the hover-bike, drifted over a fenced paddock toward the back of a meat processing unit, and cupped his hand over his nose. Human bodies in an advanced state of decomposition scattered around the grassed area, mostly livestock.

A gust of wind blew from east to west. Something moved on the ground in front of him. He abruptly brought the bike to a halt and hung over a building.

Smoke cleared from the central main square. Two croatoans stood next to six hover-bikes parked in a formal line along the middle. One raised its rifle toward Augustus. Another one bounced out of a barracks building.

He held up and arm and waved, accidentally nudging the bike into a tilt with his other hand. Feeling unsteady, Augustus quickly gripped the handlebars, steadied the bike, and twisted it toward them. He never did like these weird machines. Life was so much simpler during his time as emperor, more streamlined, although he could take the credit for that.

The croatoan lowered its weapon, and all three creatures watched Augustus make his descent. He lowered to the dirt square and peered around. The barracks, production, engineering and surveying buildings looked intact.

The surveyor building’s door creaked open. A gray-haired woman, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit, squinted through the light smoke toward him. Zoe. The performance improvement manager he’d recruited thirty years ago in one of the ubiquitous concrete jungles spread along the eastern coast. A reliable worker who never questioned his authority.

She took two paces forward. “Is that you, Augustus?”

He turned and shielded his face with his robe. Half because the smoke stung his eyes, half because he still felt embarrassed about losing his mask. “It’s me. What the hell happened here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Come inside. The croatoans are going to put out the fire after they’ve finished chasing off another attack.”

“Bit of a slaughter in the paddocks?”

“The croatoans panicked after we lost comms, and killed the livestock. We were attacked this morning, again.” She pointed to the warehouse crackling with flames. “And they torched it. We killed most and are sweeping the forest for any others.”

The team sounded organized and still had fight in them. A good thing if he was to serve a generous portion of future justice to Unity. Augustus removed the robe from his face, turned to Zoe and smiled, flashing his yellow teeth. She opened her mouth and took a step back.

He strode across to the surveyor building, the one that childish fool Gregor used to call the chocolate factory, as purposefully as his old limbs would allow. “I’m here to discuss reorganization and future strategy. Open the door.”

Zoe’s expression softened, as if a wave of relief had just washed over her. She pressed against the handle, and Augustus entered into the gloom.

Eight surveyors and a driver sat around a large pile of root at the back of the building. Not the slick operation that this building used to be. Normally, they busied themselves around the front table, checking samples, punching things into their computers, and studying readings. He didn’t blame them for sheltering; the arena proved how useless they were at fighting.