Critical Path

Mike’s body compressed with the sudden change in g-force. He gritted his jaw and clutched the arms of his chair until his knuckles were white. It felt like someone was trying to push his organs out through his back.

And it kept speeding up until Mike grunted with pain.

Hagellan looked over, his massively muscled neck coping with the force as though it wasn’t there. The look in its eye sent a chill up Mike’s spine and reminded him once more that these creatures were just so utterly alien. It looked at Mike as though he was an experimental mouse.

Mike’s eyes grew wide, and blood dripped from his nose. He gurgled, trying to form words to tell the bastard creature to slow down. A sharp pain in his brain started out as a small ball behind his forehead, and soon black and red shapes appeared in his vision.

When he thought he was about to pass out, Hagellan turned away and eased back on the throttle to a slow coast. Mike slumped forward in his chair and instantly vomited and coughed up blood.

“Your species is weak,” Hagellan said, but with no tone of accusation, rather an objective observation.

Mike wiped his mouth and nose and waited a moment to compose himself. He breathed hard for a minute until his heart stopped trying to claw its way out of his chest. When the adrenaline wore off, he looked up wearily to Hagellan.

“You bastard. You brought me here to test me like some goddamned lab rat.”

“We needed to know for sure. You survived. This bodes well.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Hagellan didn’t respond and turned away.

Mike looked up at the screens. Outside he saw vast tracks of ocean.

“Where are we? How fast did we just travel?”

“We travelled five hundred and fifty-three of your human miles in five of your seconds. Now we return.”

“Wait,” Mike said, shocked at the numbers and wanting to prepare himself, but it was too late. Hagellan flipped the craft nose over tail and barrel rolled on its axis until they were pointing the other way, almost as if defying the laws of momentum.

Mike couldn’t handle it a second time. Before they were fully leveled out, he passed out in his chair, the blur of the world on the displays the last thing he saw.

When he came around, the craft was cruising low over a dense patch of forest.

“You’re still alive?” Hagellan said.

“I guess so,” Mike said, squinting against the light and the throbbing in his head. For a brief moment he had forgotten where he was, but the display screens brought it all back.

Hagellan grunted and returned his attentions to the control, sending the craft down through a wide clearing in the trees until they were flying over Unity. Once they reached the edge of the dried-out lake basin, he spun the craft and lowered it.

But the landing didn’t go quite to plan. The craft seemed to lose its balance and rocked to and fro and finally hit the ground hard, sending up a shudder that jolted Mike’s spine and clattered his teeth together.

“Soft landing much?” he said, rubbing his jaw. “What the hell was that?”

A stream of data flowed down the central screen.

The two aliens approached Hagellan, and they all huddled around the tablet and scanned the screen.

“What’s wrong? Did the new parts fail?”

“Small calibration issue,” Hagellan said. “It will delay us, unfortunately.”

“We’ve still got time for that, though, right?”

Now Mike could definitely tell the alien was worried. There was no hiding that even on an unfamiliar face. Seeing concern in something so ancient and powerful brought a new kind of unease to Mike. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The jump gate,” Hagellan said. “We received a response.”

“And? Are your friends there? Are we too late?”

“Worse,” Hagellan said. “The gate is compromised. I only received emergency codes, which are sent automatically from the system.”

“Compromised? How exactly? What does this mean for the mission?”

“It means we have no time to waste. We have to go now. Get your friends; we leave within the hour.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

High on the east side of town, a cool wind nipped at the edges of Denver’s ears. He pulled up the collar of his coat and trudged through the field until he finally saw his father. Charlie was standing with his back to Denver. Maria and Layla flanked him, their heads bent low.

A small mound of dirt lay at their feet. Charlie leaned against a shovel, sweat creating a sheen on his stubbled face. He wore a tired expression like one of the many old buildings that had crumbled and become a gray artifact in the undergrowth.

“What happened?” Denver asked after a while, keeping his voice low so as not to break the somber mood.

Charlie grunt-sighed. “It’s Gregor.”

“Oh,” Denver said. A mix of emotions battled for supremacy. Relief, joy, justice, a hint of remorse. But mostly an acceptance that the world was lighter of one less psychopathic nut-job. “How’d it happen.”