Darren Wearmouth: Critical Dawn

The shadow retreated.

Charlie moved his aching body to the side and peered round the container into the dark corridor. He thought he was hallucinating. Outside the elevator, beyond the short corridor, was a room styled like a Roman court.

A colonnade of columns stretched into the distance like disciplined soldiers. The fluting was a perfect replica or Roman composite design. They’d even got the ornate, floral capital correct.

Marble surfaces adorned the floors, supporting lush, terracotta-colored rugs. A mist of pale air billowed out of the elevator, the alien atmosphere leaking into an artificial human one.

Even with the mask, Charlie knew he was human on the inside.

Augustus was wearing a red toga with a large, golden broach. He reached the end of the colonnade and turned. He waved at Charlie, beckoned him in. His mask glinted in the candlelight as he turned and disappeared into the gloom. Hallucination or not, Charlie couldn’t wait any longer. He crawled out of the elevator and pulled his legs free in time for the door to shut behind and the car to descend.

Fresh, sustaining air flooded his lungs when he inhaled. His eyes watered, clearing the stinging alien atmosphere. Everything told him to just lie where he was and breathe, give into the pain and wait it out. But no, he couldn’t afford to do that; this was bigger than him.

The bomb weighed heavily on his back despite its small and potent stature.

He got to his feet and walked after Augustus, small grenades of pain exploding in his muscles, but with every movement, he felt looser, stronger. The root compound continued to tingle on his chest, the soreness of which had reduced to barely a mild irritant.

With knife in one hand and pistol in the other, Charlie continued down between the columns until he came to the end. To his right, he saw more firelight flickering in the darkness.

He squinted, trying to make out more details, but the darkness and shadows were too encompassing. He had no choice but to go further into the space. His boots echoed on the marble surface. He stayed to the left-hand wall, using the torches in the sconces to navigate his way forward.

Unable to stand the quiet, he called out, “So what now, Augustus? You change Earth for good. Where does that leave you? Trapped up here in your little ode to a dead empire? You must know what happened to the Romans when the Visigoths came to town.”

A flash of brilliant white light made him stumble to a stop and bring his arm up to his eyes. He heard the shuffle of feet too late. Something metallic struck out of the whiteness against his forearm, making him drop the pistol.

Charlie dashed back and hunched into a defensive stance, holding his knife out in front of him, ready to strike back. Through squinted eyes, he saw a sandaled foot kick the pistol away further into the wide white expanse.

“You’re no Goth,” Augustus said, the voice coming from behind Charlie. “At least they put up a real fight.”

He spun round and slashed out with his knife, but no one was there. He realized his mistake too late.

A foot crunched into his back, sending him flying forward. He hit the marble floor; the side of his head cracked against the unforgiving surface, making his vision bleed with blotches of color.

Weight pressed down him, pushing the hard case of the bomb into his lower back. A blade cut the straps, and the bomb was taken away. Charlie spun onto his back, bringing his fists up, ready to protect himself, but Augustus casually tossed the bomb away, clearly thinking it was nothing more than a backpack of supplies.

Returning to Charlie, Augustus held a broadsword by his side. The man’s silhouette blocked some of the glaring light. Charlie could now make out that they were in a large, open, office-like space. A desk sat centrally, and a large screen wall separated the space to its right. But more importantly, to the far right, thirty or so feet away, Charlie saw a porthole through which he saw the underside of the terraform ship just a few feet above.

He was near the top and, crucially, near the edge.

Charlie smiled and began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Augustus said, bringing the point of the sword forward until it touched Charlie’s throat.

“Just funny how things turn out. You spend so much energy worrying about something, worrying about how to achieve something, and yet if you just let go, life will often put you in the right place.”

“Huh. Who thought you would be so philosophically minded? That you survived the confrontation with Baliska made me think you were just a savage. You see, I’ve seen lots like you in my time.”

Augustus arranged the mask on his face where it had slipped slightly, exposing the knotted scar tissue beneath.

“Time’s another funny thing, isn’t it?” Charlie said, inching back away from the sword’s point. He got a good look at it now and the hilt and recognized it as Roman design. “Funny how you’re here in this advanced space craft, and yet you’ve had your quarters decorated in such an old style. Have a thing for the Roman Empire, do you? Fancy yourself as an emperor?”

Augustus laughed now, throaty and genuine. He lowered to his haunches, staring at Charlie with his one good eye. It was then that Charlie noticed how old he looked. Though his visible skin appeared in good condition, that eye was something else. It contained the years of someone who had seen so much more than they should have.

“Fancy myself? You fool, Jackson. I am one. Was one. Will be one again. But you’re right about time. There was a time when I thought my time was over. Time, however, isn’t linear like we think. Oh no, Mr. Jackson, it’s pliable if you’re willing to wait.”

“And what exactly have you been waiting for?” Charlie said, wondering whether he was pushing things too quickly, the tip of the blade still within striking distance of his throat. The bomb lay just ten feet away. All he needed to do was open the flap on the bag and press his finger to the touchscreen.

Ten seconds later, and it’d all be over.

A tiny flicker in time is all it would take.

“I’ve waited for this moment, Mr. Jackson. This point in time when I slay the rebellion and make amends for the collapse of one empire and start another.”

Augustus turned his face to regard something on the display wall, exposing his side profile. Charlie’s mind itched with recognition. There was something familiar about him. Someone he had seen or read about. “Just who are you?” Charlie asked as Augustus looked back at him with a smile.

“If I told you, you would think me a madman.”

“I already do.”

Augustus inclined his head and brought the sword back to his side, unable to keep the weighty weapon in place. “I am Flavius Julius Valens Augustus, eastern Roman Emperor, Last True Roman.”

Charlie let it sink in for a moment as he scrambled away, putting his back against the wall and bringing his knees up to his chest. Augustus, or Valens, stepped forward, blocking off his routes. Looking around the exacting detail of the place, the sword, and that recognizable face, Charlie wondered if the croatoans had perhaps cloned him or brainwashed him into thinking this, but for what reason? What purpose would that serve?

But beneath all that was the history. Charlie had studied the Roman Empire and knew full well who Emperor Valens was: the brother of his co-emperor Valentinian—the pair who signaled the collapse of the Empire. His body was never recovered at the battle of Adrianople. Many scholars assumed he had died in battle after removing his imperial robe and running headlong into combat, while others suggested he was burned by the barbarians at the behest of their leader Fritigern.

Charlie had his own theory.