Critical Path

She sat at the opposite end of the table, wearing an extravagant blue dress and a pearl necklace. Soft light, radiating from the candles at the center of the table, gave her face a gentle glow. The muscle-bound croatoan behind her provided a stark contrast to her beauty. He hovered close like a bird of prey.

“Thank you for inviting me this evening,” Augustus said. “You don’t mind if I—”

Aimee smiled. “Take off your mask? Please do.”

Augustus unclipped the strap from behind his ear. He placed it on the table and wrapped his fingers around the goblet’s stem. The days of feeling self-conscious were over. The burned, twisted flesh was a reminder to everyone that he was a survivor. He took a large mouthful of sour wine, trying not to show signs of disgust when swallowing.

“Delicious. Did you make this here?”

Aimee sniffed her wine and pushed it to one side. “If you think this is fine wine, then you are less cultured than I previously thought.”

Augustus bowed his head and picked up a trotter. “We don’t need to get into an argument about culture. I know all about yours. While you were in stasis, I read about you and your little cultural diversion. Quite the adventure you had.”

Aimee scoffed. “What do you know of me?”

He detected irritation in her voice. An attitude Aimee never displayed before the downing of the mother ship. The price for Augustus’ silence about the cut-off group in Canada was a ludus, where he could spend leisure time away from the watchful eyes of the croatoan council. Now she knew he couldn’t crush her like a pea, she seemed to be changing, taking advantage.

Augustus swallowed more wine to wash down the overcooked meat. “In history books you have two names. Aimee du Buc de Rivery, a French heiress, and Naksidil Sultan, a reforming queen mother of the Ottoman Empire. I made it my business to know about all stowaways.”

She screwed up her face and hunched forward. “A stowaway? Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard with the pirates.”

“Pirates?”

“Your transition from Aimee to Naksidil. I’m sympathizing. The kidnapping must have been tough. I’ve also had my hardships. I understand—”

Aimee let out a short, sharp laugh. “I thought you meant on the croatoan ship. I went to the empire out of choice. Your book is wrong.”

“It seems the sands of time have wronged both of us.” Augustus sighed. “History is written by the winners. Lies carved in stone that become facts after a few generations. But we can purge that history. Right the wrongs scrawled by the manipulators, who projected their contemporary views onto historical matters that they knew very little about.”

“And what exactly are your wrongs?” An amused smile crept onto her lips.

She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew Augustus’ plans. He knew how to run a real empire, not just a collective of savages, cutthroats and thieves like she had presided over. His would be a place way above the level of a lying harem concubine like her.

Augustus’ hands shook with barely controlled anger as he recalled the lies he’d read in the history books. He clenched his fists. The left corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to smile. “They say I marked the beginning of the Roman Empire’s collapse. How can one man be responsible for that? How? You tell me.”

Aimee raised her goblet. “How does one go from pirate slave to queen? Let us toast to forgotten history and our future making of it.”

“Indeed.” Augustus raised his goblet. He’d asked himself the same question when gazing at her stasis pod back up on the mother ship with the others. She clearly had some talent, otherwise the town wouldn’t exist, and the croatoans only chose a dozen figures from history, including those they had experimented on at Roanoke, so there was something about her they valued.

The overall terraforming plan earmarked the upper areas of North America as nonessential due to terrain and climate. He’d cut off the northern attachment’s communications and left them to survive or die, and only visited out of curiosity four years later. And there Aimee was, forming a town with everyone in the area, human and croatoan. She could not be underestimated. Or tolerated.

“So tell me. Why were you so eager to keep your little wasp Charlie Jackson alive?” Aimee said.

Augustus chewed on a tough trotter and swallowed with a grimace. “He’s not important, but we do have some unfinished business. He’ll be facing off against your champion tomorrow.”

Jackson would pay for what he had done to the croatoan ships, and ultimately Augustus’ plans, but Augustus wanted to see him suffer rather than a quick easy kill.

Aimee leaned back, touched the croatoan’s muscly left arm, and pompously snorted. “You’re lining up that old man against Halkstan? We want to put on a show, not a slaughter.”

“He’s surprisingly capable. But not enough to avoid what he deserves.” Augustus dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and lowered it over the platter. He raised his hand and clicked his fingers.