Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“Take a seat. I’ll bring you some wine,” Zoe said.

Augustus perched behind a small desk in one of the side offices. He pulled the black prism from his chest and rolled it in his fingers. There was no chance that Hagellan poisoned this place. The fat toad sounded too busy trying to achieve the impossible with a bunch of dregs.

Zoe placed a plastic cup of orange wine in front of him and sat opposite.

He took three large gulps and groaned at the tingly feeling in his extremities. “As you may be aware, the ships went down four weeks ago—”

“An alien came here three weeks ago and told us. It went to join a larger force in the south.”

Augustus raised his eyebrows. “Larger force? Any idea of the exact location?”

She shook her head. “No. But we planned to leave in a couple of days. Supplies are running out, and the attacks are coming more frequently. They want to secure a large area of root, create a stronghold, and wait for instruction from the council.”

His pulse quickened. That council member could be him. He could pick up a readymade army and conquer Unity.

The doors flew open and two croatoan guards hopped into the building. They headed straight for the office and stood at the door. One, with human blood spattered on its visor, excitedly clicked and held its weapon forward. Not aiming at Augustus, but loosely enough in his direction to unnerve him. They were all probably in a state of total confusion.

“Augustus,” it croaked.

He rose from the chair and straightened his robe. An air of authority would be needed to pull things into shape, and only one man on the planet could do it. He turned to Zoe. “Do either of these speak English?”

“Not very well. One of the surveyors does.”

“It can act as my translator. Assemble the team around the table. I need to address the group.”

Augustus didn’t want anything to get lost in his message. His croatoan was basic. Zoe disappeared through the door, and he heard her barking instructions outside.

He moved to the front of the building, found a sturdy chair next to the front table, and stood on top of it. The surveyors and driver surrounded him in a semicircle. Three more guards entered, and the five of them stood behind the rest. Zoe joined the end of the line with a scruffy urchin dressed in filthy blue jeans and vest and sporting an unkempt beard. Sixteen witnesses in all would hear a speech that would signal the beginning of an empire. One that would travel through the centuries as a watershed moment.

The small surveyor waddled forward and stood next to his chair.

Augustus cleared his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen and croatoans. A town in the north threatens our very existence. They want all resources for themselves and will kill us all to make their dreams come true.”

He paused and the surveyor translated. The warehouse echoed with quiet clicks. The urchin whispered something to Zoe.

“They place humans and croatoans in an arena to fight for their own entertainment,” he continued. “Species isn’t important. They only crave seeing yellow or red blood spilled on the dirt.”

The surveyor clicked more rapidly, waving a gloved hand above its helmet.

“With the ships gone, we have to rebuild with what we have. Create a society where we can live together without the fear of attack. A society with law and order, where crimes will not go unpunished. To do this, we must head south, gather an army, and destroy the danger in the north.”

After the translation, the guards talked amongst themselves for a brief moment before looking back at Augustus. He peered along the line of helmets, smiling, nodding his head. “You are the chosen few. The ones that will be remembered in history books. If a croatoan ship returns, they will thank us. If one doesn’t, we will create a new golden era for this planet.”

The little surveyor relayed the final part of his great speech. One alien at the end of the line replied. Augustus leaned down. “What did he say?”

“They’re with you,” the surveyor said.

Augustus took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and smiled. “We have no time to waste. Prepare for travel.”

He jumped from his chair and headed for the pile of root. The wheels were set in motion. Unity would be crushed, and no pompous old woman or ragtag force would stop his well-drilled army.

Denver yawned. Golden dawn light warmed his eyelids. He turned over and rolled into the warm body of… he opened his eyes.

Maria.

Of course. She’d stayed here when they had returned from the shipwreck.

Temporary amnesia faded. Memories, obscured by sleep and nebulous dreams, sharpened into focus.

They were in their shack on the hills of Unity. Beside his bed was the dark case containing the bomb they’d picked up from Mai late yesterday evening.

Muted snoring susurrated through the thin walls. He knew that particular sleep-song belonged to his dad—the soundtrack of fatigue and a day’s good work.

Maria’s breathing came in steady lapping tides, warming his shoulder. She had her knees up to her chest, her arms around the sagging pillow.

A stray lock of hair had fallen across her face and flittered with each exhalation.

The filtered glow of the room brought vitality to her face.

For such a long time she had appeared, on the surface, to be at peace.

Lately, over the last few weeks, she had seemed to be struggling with some inner torment.

Denver had tried a few times to ask her what was going on, but she wouldn’t open up, and he didn’t have the words or skill to pick that particular lock.

Because she had just gotten on with things, he supposed they had all taken for granted how well she was coping.

Beneath the exterior of strength, there lay an insidious weakness. He reached a hand over to draw the hair from her face.

She stirred and brought her hand up touching Denver’s. She opened her eyes lazily and froze as their gazes locked onto each other.

Her body stiffened. She eased away. “Oh, hey,” she said. “Um, morning.”

Denver pulled his hand away and sat up in the bed, letting the blanket fall. Maria clutched it to her body.

“I’m sorry,” Denver said. “I didn’t mean to wake you… I just, well, how are you feeling?”

Maria yawned. “Weird… I need to talk to you. It’s about Hagellan. He can’t be trusted.”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted them. “Come on, kiddos, we got work to do.”

“Be right there, Dad,” said Denver. Then to Maria: “Sorry, we’ll talk, let’s just get this out of the way first.”

“Okay,” Maria said. “But it’s important.”

Mike and Charlie sat around the rickety coffee table, the salvaged parts spread out on the surface. A croatoan engineer garbled in broken English as it and Mike discussed the next stage of the operation.

Maria stepped out from behind Denver and greeted the others, the veneer of calm now fully in place. A practiced phenotype designed to act as camouflage.

Charlie gave Denver a knowing look with a micro-expression raise of his eyebrow. Denver shook his head a few millimeters, indicating that, no, he didn’t sleep with Maria. He caught a hint of disappointment in his father’s face. Denver wasn’t stupid; he knew his dad would prefer him to be with Maria instead of Layla, but right now, that issue wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

Mike stood and gathered the parts. “So this is it. If these work as well as my new friend here thinks, we should be good to go later today.”

“We go,” the alien said, tugging on Mike’s sleeve.

“We’ll catch up with your progress later,” Charlie said, striding across the room and opening the door for him. The guard outside gave a curt nod.