Darren Wearmouth - Critical Path

“Okay,” Mike said, looking weary as though he’d been up all night going through the installation process with his alien counterpart. “Proof is in the pudding and all that. Let’s hope all this works out.”

“With you on the case, Mike, I have no doubt,” Denver said, clapping the man he thought of as his uncle on the shoulder. If anyone had the ability to do this, it was Mike. Growing up, Denver had seen him do some spectacular things with the remnants of human technology and engineering.

The alien stepped outside, and Mike followed, carrying the bundle of parts. The guard escorted them. Denver watched from the open door as they descended the steps and headed for Hagellan’s craft. Apparently they’d towed it to Unity with a harvester last night. They weren’t messing around either.

Aimee approached from the direction of town, flanked by two shotgun-wielding croatoans.

“Great, what’s this?” Denver said.

Charlie stepped in front of him and met Aimee before she reached the porch.

“We got the parts,” Charlie said. “And the bomb. All is going to plan.”

“Good to hear,” Aimee replied, stopping a few feet away. Her guards hung back and covered their flanks and rear, their body language showing a high level of alertness. “I need to speak with you for a moment, in private.”

“I take it this is non-negotiable.”

“Quite.”

Charlie hesitated for a moment before Aimee stepped forward and gripped his arm with her elegant hand. “It’s okay, nothing serious, but I do need you to come with me for a moment. You’ll be back on the job in no time, I promise.”

Charlie turned back to face Denver in the doorway.

“You two okay staying here for a while?”

“Sure,” Denver said. It’d give him and Maria time to talk after all. “But I’ll come find you if you’re not back soon.”

He aimed that at Aimee as a warning. She inclined her head as if to understand the threat.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Charlie said. “I’ll see you kids later.”

Aimee turned and encouraged Charlie to her side. The two guards led them away.

Denver knew she and the guards wouldn’t know he was carrying a pistol in a lower back holster, or that he had two knives below his trousers strapped around his calves.

Once they were out of sight among the sprawl of the town, Denver closed the door behind him and sat opposite Maria.

She had a pot of root tea on the table and filled two mugs. She handed one to Denver with a smile.

“Thanks, I could really do with this with the exertion yesterday,” Denver said, knowing how lame that sounded, but needing a way into the conversation without being his usual blunt self.

The two of them sipped the root tea for a moment, sharing an easy silence as the root helped calm them, rejuvenating their tired muscles.

“So,” Maria said, looking down into her now-empty mug. “I think I know who I’m cloned from.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been having flashbacks for the last few days, and dreams… so real I thought none of this was real and the dreams were my actual reality. With meeting another clone, I think it’s shaken something loose up here.” She tapped her head.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s all connected. We’re connected, through time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Roanoke,” she said. “I was there.”

“You what?”

Maria leaned forward, placing the mug on the table. “The real Maria, the one I’m cloned from, was there at Roanoke—and the aliens.”

“One thing at a time, tell me what you’ve seen.”

Roanoke, 1589

Maria lifted her skirts and stepped over a muddy puddle. The heat in this infernal place was thick and humid, making her sweat uncomfortably. The dense trees made it hard going. Up ahead, Franklin and Edgar slashed at the trees with their machetes, beating a path through the woods.

Behind her, she could just about see the mast of their ship, now wrecked against the rocks of the island.

With the local Croatoan tribe of Indians forcing them from their garrison, they had little choice but to carry on north. The plan was to meet and seek sanctuary with the rival Chowanoke tribe, offering their knowledge of the Old World in return for safety.

If only Walter Raleigh’s imbecilic friend John White had returned with more men and supplies when he had promised, they could have avoided all this.

If the earlier colonists hadn’t antagonized the local tribes over a missing silver cup, then negotiations of cohabitation could have been an option. One cannot sack and burn a village and not expect reprisals.

Now there was only certain death or become a slave to the Croatoan Indians if their appeal to the Chowanoke leader failed, which it seemed certain to do.

Only one hundred and fifteen of Maria’s fellow colonists were left to fend off the tribes. Hungry and under resourced, they were unable to resist.

This New World was not worth the blood and sacrifice. She regretted ever having agreed to come here. All the promises of wealth and riches were now nothing more than lies.

Maria stepped forward into the clearing to join Franklin and Edgar.

“I see smoke,” Franklin said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. His dark hair was slick with sweat and humidity. He’d removed his shirt. His muscles looked knotted between his bones.

They were getting weaker. She had seen it herself, her ribs showing through her sagging skin. Potatoes and the odd crab caught on the coast were not enough to sustain them since the destruction of their colony.

Those who weren’t killed by the tribes had agreed to integrate.

As slaves.

But Maria’s best friend, Elizabeth, had escaped, telling her tales of devil worship and satanic beasts. The rest of the colonists were taken away to Roanoke Island, across the sound.

Sometimes, at night, Maria heard screams and cries on the wind and couldn’t entirely rationalize them as coming from the local fauna or the tribespeople.

“This is madness,” Maria said. “No good can come of this. We should seek a place far from here, seek out a trader or privateer and get word back to England.”

“It’s far too late for that now,” Edgar said, his jowls wobbling. His fever was getting worse. Hair slicked against his face, which had taken on a grave pallor.

“Someone’s coming,” Franklin said, backing away.

Across the clearing the trees were swaying.

Footsteps and snapping branches came from all around them.

“The Croatoans,” Maria said. “They must have found Elizabeth’s body and tracked us here.”

Spinning around with panic, Maria realized they were trapped, entirely surrounded and no way out. This was it, then—the end of this infernal adventure. Despite her heart racing, a part of her welcomed this. It had been such a struggle for so long. White wasn’t returning. Raleigh had forsaken them.

Ahead of the clearing, the trees parted and four figures stepped out.

“The devils!” Maria screamed when she saw them.

They weren’t human. The figures walked upright but with satyr legs. Their faces were large and resembled turtles. They made strange clicking noises and were armed with weapons that only vaguely resembled dueling pistols, only much larger and carried with two arms.

Before Maria could run, a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind.

Franklin and Edgar too were caught, and no amount of screaming or thrashing could dissuade the beasts from dragging them away.

Maria wiped the tears from her eyes and sat back on the sofa. Denver moved to sit next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not you, even if you have the memories.”