Critical Path

“What… what is this? What are you playing at?” Aimee looked to the corners of the room.

Augustus didn’t follow her gaze, knowing her enforcers were not here to save her this time.

The rumor among the dissenters within Unity was that Aimee had never had a single person in her bed in all the time she’d been here.

“Your role in this little tragedy has come to an end,” Augustus said. “Don’t feel disappointed, sweet child, this was inevitable. Those in power always become targets—which given your time with the Ottomans, if the books are to be believed, you knew full well.”

Aimee dropped her hands to her sides. Her dress faltered but stayed on. She sighed. “You’re right, of course, Emperor. You would know this firsthand, having lost two empires now.”

“And yet here I am,” he said, sneering, “on the cusp of my third. This is nothing personal; remember that as you take your last breath.”

“You think you’ll be able to rule Unity?” Aimee laughed. “You know nothing about these people. I know all about you and your plans. You think you can hide secrets here? For a former emperor, you still haven’t learned the most valuable of all lessons.”

“Oh? I’ve learned your secrets,” Augustus said, placing his finger on the trigger. “I’ve learned all about you and Hagellan and your pathetic little plans. Didn’t include me in that revelation, did you? You thought you could keep me in the dark and manipulate me? No, I’m afraid not. Your time here is over.”

Before Augustus could pull the trigger, a dark shape darted from his left.

He didn’t get a good look before something solid struck him on the side of the head. He dropped the pistol and fell to the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Charlie gazed out of the harvester’s front window as they rumbled toward the crash site. He had long since gotten bored of watching the croatoan engineer smoothly operating the vehicle. Mike maintained a keen interest, scribbling notes on a pad and talking under his breath. They crossed a parched root field and crashed through woodland with surprising ease.

He wondered if these two aliens thought they shared something in common with him, besides their impending doom at the hands of a planet destroyer. Both croatoans dressed in handmade cotton trousers and sweaters and had tubes running from their nostrils to their backpacks. He would only put up with them for the sake of necessity.

Charlie had a new issue with them. They stank of a mix between rotten fish and cat shit. Hardly a crime, but it was the first time he had been in an enclosed space with them for any extended period of time and received a strong blast of the odor. More than once he searched for a button that might be an electric window. Wishful thinking.

The croatoan co-driver caught his attention. It swished a glove across a shiny panel. A bright blue screen burst into life.

It extended a finger toward a cluster of red dots. “Signals.”

“You mean more croatoans?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

Charlie leaned forward for a closer look. “Are they at the ship? How many?”

“Twenty. Yes.”

The Unity-raised driver spoke better English. One of the reasons it came along. It also knew croatoan tactics and culture. “They will have sentries in circular formation. Outer defense ring. Not many. We proceed on foot.”

“Why have they returned to the wreck?” Mike said.

“Familiar,” the co-driver said.

Charlie glanced out of the window again. A faint shape appeared on the horizon, unclear through the haze. The harvester juddered to a halt.

Doors on both sides of the harvester’s cabin punched open with a pneumatic hiss. “Looks like you’ve made the choice for us,” Charlie said.

“On foot,” the driver said.

Charlie clambered down the ladder and watched Mike unsteadily grunt his way after him. “You’re getting a bit old for this.”

Mike looked over his shoulder. “My body is a naturally created temple, Charlie. It’ll all catch up with you one day.”

Charlie didn’t want to imagine what kind of state he would be in without a supply of root. He’d suffered for a short period after his capture, and Mike was right. He’d felt every twinge of a body that had been worked hard for three decades way beyond its natural ability. Packing the repaired ship with a healthy supply would be a priority. He had no idea of how long they’d be away, or what trouble would be waiting for them.

The rest of the squad exited the back. They walked around the side and circled the group at the front. They numbered seven oddly dressed croatoans, Charlie, Mike, Denver and both Marias.

Denver wandered up with his rifle over his shoulder. “What’s the plan, Dad?”

“It’s over there.” Charlie pointed over the trees, no longer able to see the shape from their current position. “We proceed on foot. There’s twenty croatoans around it.”

“Twenty against twelve,” Denver said. “I like those odds.”

Mike stepped between them. “We’re outnumbered. Are you sure about this?”