Critical Path

Mike nodded to the sling around his chest. “It was right where Hagellan said it was. But man, inside that place… if I had some time… Mai would have a field day with the tech in there.”

“Not enough time,” Charlie said. “We’re heading back right away.”

Denver backed away from the three croatoan fighters as Maria and Charlie helped Mike into the back of the harvester. Once inside, Mike took a seat and Maria fetched a first-aid box from a locker within the vehicle. She moved about the place with ease, having grown up in one very similar. She attended to his wounds and wrapped his ankle with a bandage.

“Thanks,” Mike said.

“The painkillers should kick in, in a few minutes. It’s badly swollen, but it doesn’t feel broken.”

“I have him to thank for that.” Mike nodded in the direction of Blinky. The alien sat on his own in a dark corner of the harvester’s mess area. He stared out of a small porthole toward the three fighters.

“What about them?” Mike said. “Shouldn’t we take them with us? Let Unity deal with them?”

“No,” Charlie said. “They stay with the wreck.”

Mike saw that rigid determination in his eye again. There was no talking him out of it. And Mike had to remember just what these aliens did. Sure, Blinky helped him out, but they were still the race that nearly wiped out all of humanity. One small gesture of kindness could never make up for that.

But still—with so little left, for both sides, and a common threat, at some point a line in the sand had to be drawn. But Mike knew Charlie—and Denver—could never do that in their hearts. They’d been too damaged. Suffered too much.

The harvester’s engines came online, and the great vehicle shuddered and shook. They headed back toward Unity, their bounty safely secured.

“Light them up,” Charlie said.

He and Denver stood at the rear of the vehicle, watching out of a window.

Maria squeezed Mike’s hand and gave him an expression of wanting him to do something or say something for those croatoans left behind. Mike shook his head. It was too late for them now.

Denver pressed the button on the remote trigger.

Two explosions roared out, sending a huge ball of flame into the sky. Pieces of shipwreck rained down among the black smoke. Within the smoke, a huge fire burned.

Maria looked away, unable to watch the croatoans.

A tense silence developed in the mess area. Denver and Charlie joined the others.

“It had to be done,” Charlie said.

Maria turned her back and said nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Augustus feared the worst as he approached a third farm on the western side of the continent. Smoke belched from a breeding warehouse, and flames licked the edges of its roof. His search for a functioning operation had so far been unsuccessful. The previous two were ransacked and deserted, although this one was still surrounded by flourishing fields of root.

He slowed the hover-bike, drifted over a fenced paddock toward the back of a meat processing unit, and cupped his hand over his nose. Human bodies in an advanced state of decomposition scattered around the grassed area, mostly livestock.

A gust of wind blew from east to west. Something moved on the ground in front of him. He abruptly brought the bike to a halt and hung over a building.

Smoke cleared from the central main square. Two croatoans stood next to six hover-bikes parked in a formal line along the middle. One raised its rifle toward Augustus. Another one bounced out of a barracks building.

He held up and arm and waved, accidentally nudging the bike into a tilt with his other hand. Feeling unsteady, Augustus quickly gripped the handlebars, steadied the bike, and twisted it toward them. He never did like these weird machines. Life was so much simpler during his time as emperor, more streamlined, although he could take the credit for that.

The croatoan lowered its weapon, and all three creatures watched Augustus make his descent. He lowered to the dirt square and peered around. The barracks, production, engineering and surveying buildings looked intact.

The surveyor building’s door creaked open. A gray-haired woman, dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit, squinted through the light smoke toward him. Zoe. The performance improvement manager he’d recruited thirty years ago in one of the ubiquitous concrete jungles spread along the eastern coast. A reliable worker who never questioned his authority.

She took two paces forward. “Is that you, Augustus?”

He turned and shielded his face with his robe. Half because the smoke stung his eyes, half because he still felt embarrassed about losing his mask. “It’s me. What the hell happened here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Come inside. The croatoans are going to put out the fire after they’ve finished chasing off another attack.”

“Bit of a slaughter in the paddocks?”