Critical Path (The Critical Series Book2) (12 page)

“None of us have lost one either,” the woman said.

A couple of the committee stifled chuckles. Little did they realize that little insolent comment followed by their reaction had just guaranteed their public executions. The woman would look good on a crucifix in front of the ludus. Paul deserved to be stoned to death in the arena, tied to a pole facing Augustus’ chair. The rest would be hung on the edge of town. Their bodies left to rot, serving as a warning for what happens to insubordinate citizens. It worked before; Augustus would make it work again.

“There are still millions of humans alive, whether that’s as former livestock or survivors in the forests and broken cities,” Augustus said. “These people have no appetite to mix with croatoans. It’ll be a harder sell to convince them.”

Paul pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and scribbled some notes. “I’ll speak to Aimee about your suggestions. We’ll move on to discussing the cult.”

“You mean the people who live down the hole?” Augustus said. “Now, this is something I’m interested in. What’s your proposal?”

A thin, balding man at the end of the table, who had so far barely spoken, interjected. “They requested more fresh supplies last week. With our improved productivity, I forward a motion that we give them what they want.”

“Do we have any objections to the motion?” Paul said.

Augustus thumped his fist on the table. “Yes. I have a fucking objection. What do they give to Unity? Do you even know what they’re doing down there? I certainly don’t. They could be planning an attack. I say we take action.”

Paul smiled in a patronizing way. Augustus clenched his dagger under the table. “They’ve been here for years and caused no problems. We happily coexist. That’s what Unity is all about.”

“The croatoans lived under ground for thousands of years, but that didn’t stop them from rising and ruining this planet,” Augustus said. “We need to snuff this cult out before they start gaining influence in the town. Send down the militia. It’s the only solution.”

Augustus had passed them off as crackpots and losers until he found out about Aimee’s clandestine visits. One of his spies would investigate tonight and find out the details of the grubby little underground secret. They’d be dealt with once he successfully imposed martial law in Unity.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about how Unity operates,” the woman said. “Perhaps we can take a break from town affairs and spend a few minutes to go through our ethos?”

“I’ve been visiting here for years,” Augustus said as he stood and walked to the entrance. “I know what this place is all about. And don’t forget, its very survival is down to me, and me alone. Talk all you want, I’m done here.” He turned to leave. Two croatoans stood outside, blocking his path. “Get out of my way.”

“They won’t let us go until we finish town business,” Paul said. “Come back and sit down. The faster we get through this, the quicker we can all leave.”

Augustus gritted his teeth. They were keeping him like a prisoner to go through a list of pointless tripe. He resisted the temptation to order his Doctore to attack. Things could get messy with aliens outside. He reluctantly sat down with a sigh.

“Next on the agenda is sanitation,” Paul said. “We currently have no planned systems in place, and if we’re to improve hygiene standards in Unity, we need to start thinking longer term about the infrastructure.”

Augustus drank from his goblet and sat back. He decided to keep his mouth closed and wait it out. Besides, Aimee would be dead soon. Quickly followed by these pathetic amateur politicians and, of course, Charlie Jackson.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Having left Khan back with Maria and Layla, Gregor and Denver took the shackled alien on a walk through the woods until they approached the edge of the tree line, after following the croatoan’s hand signals for directions.

They moved with slow and deliberate footsteps so as not to snap a twig or get caught in a trap.

The alien had guided them through the woods for over an hour; all the while Gregor had to remain in control of his desire to send it to whatever afterlife it believed in.

But of course, the group wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt, all because they wanted to find Charlie.

For Gregor, though, he couldn’t care less; he was just interested in finding the aliens’ settlement so he could arrange for its eradication.

The others might want to take their time, build things up, but if there was one thing he had learned from the alien’s first uprising, it was that they weren’t to be underestimated, and if there was an opportunity to get rid of them, it had to be taken right there and then at any cost.

Delaying things would only give them time, and time was their greatest weapon, having lain in wait for thousands of years in their pods and war machines.

Gregor wouldn’t let that happen if he could help it.

He’d been in plenty of turf wars over the years to know you don’t give your enemy a moment’s rest or a chance to recover.

You drive them out, killing as many as possible.

A dead enemy is your friend.

With the effects of the root still fresh in his blood, Gregor stepped beyond Denver and pushed his way through the tightly packed pines, using his croatoan rifle to ease the branches away and clear his view.

Under the midday sun, he saw a huge field of fresh root. Like an orange blanket, it stretched for at least a kilometer in every direction.

The sun dazzled him initially, but as his eyes adapted to the sudden brightness, he saw beyond the crop a number of ramshackle, wooden towers. At least three on this side. The hazy sky obscured what might be beyond the rising land in front of him.

Must be sentry towers, he thought.

Through the scope on his rifle, he noted they were constructed with repurposed pallets, old sheets of plywood, and what looked like corrugated metal roofing material.

Interestingly, though, the bottoms of the towers extended below ground level, indicating that there would likely be more buildings there out of sight.

He turned back into the trees. “Feels like a trap to me. If we go on foot, we’ll be seen long before we get there. I told you we should have taken the bikes.”

Denver brushed past him to look for himself while the alien stared on, blinking its stupid dumb eyes.

“You think we’re going to walk straight into your little settlement without some security?” Gregor said to it, not expecting a response.

Denver stepped back into the woods. “I’m going in. You can stay behind if you want, but I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Fine, kid, do whatever you want. Don’t expect me to come save your sorry ass. But perhaps it’s worth us coming up with at least some kind of strategy. We have collateral to use,” he said, nodding toward the alien.

“Kill it, I don’t care,” Denver said. “Tell the others I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

With that, Denver spun on his heel and left the security of the woods.

Gregor picked up the rope, untied it from the tree, and dragged the alien back to the others.

He decided they could babysit while Gregor planned his assault on the settlement.

On the way back, the alien spoke, stopping Gregor in his tracks, making him spin round. “What did you say?”

“You… kill Venrick.”

Gregor sighed. “What of it?”

“Sister.”

“Yeah? Good. I hope it hurts. Do you know how many of my friends and family died because of you bastards? Hundreds of them. Even my wife. You think I give a rat’s ass about you and your sister? I won’t be happy until every last one of you is rotting in the ground.”

“No,” the alien said, narrowing its eyes as it struggled to manipulate its mouth to orate English words.

Gregor got a hint of frustration from it as though it couldn’t communicate its thoughts properly. He was about to turn away and continue his trek when it finally found the words.

“Sister, me. Different. I kill no humans. Lost… commu… communi…”

“Community?” Gregor added. The alien nodded. “You’re from a lost community, is that what you’re saying? And your sister wasn’t?”

The creature bobbed its head and flickered its eyelids, indicating he had it right.

“So? I still don’t see how I should care.”

“No kill human. Live with human.”

It raised its restrained arms, the ropes tied tightly around its wrists, and gestured to itself and then, looking back to Denver’s location, said, “Human and… us. Community.” It whistle-clicked the last syllable, unable to accurately reproduce the sound, but it was clear to Gregor what it was saying: humans and croatoans living together in a lost community.

Given that Venrick was part of the invading force and a farm worker, it seemed that there were two distinct groups of aliens.

Which explained the battle, but it still didn’t explain why or how they were now living with humans or how they split off from the core group.

“How were you lost?” Gregor asked, trying to illustrate the groups splitting by placing his hands together, then pulling them apart and indicating one to the alien.

“Meglain,” it said, pointing to itself. “I, Meglain.”

“Good for you, Meglain. So, what happened? How did you become separate from the main group?”

Meglain took a moment to digest and think about the question.

Although he wasn’t exactly fluent, he did seem to have a higher than average level of understanding and intelligence compared to the other aliens that Gregor had worked with.

Most of the time, they rarely did anything to learn or expand their knowledge. They just carried out whatever task had been assigned to them. This one, and presumably the rest of its community, was independent.

“I sit?” Meglain asked, pointing to a tree stump.

“Sure.” Gregor gave him some slack so that he could sit down.

The alien folded his backward knees as he sank to the tree trunk.

Keeping his rifle trained on Meglain, Gregor used his free hand to wrap the rope around the alien twice before tying it off around a nearby pine tree.

Checking the knot was sturdy, Gregor walked back to stand opposite. He leaned against a tree and kept his gun aimed. Though the damned thing was talking now, a little extra persuasion wouldn’t hurt.

“You’re sitting, now start talking.”

Looking out toward the tree line, Meglain’s gaze focused on something far away as he started talking in his strange staccato voice. “Early days,” it began, always searching for the right translation, “we came up with others. We fought and… split from group. Human army drove us there.”

He extended a gnarled finger to the settlement.

Gregor thought back to his maps of the farms.

His territory was on a latitude that cut east-west through New York at its northernmost edge. Other than Freetown, further north into Canada—and that wasn’t activated—he knew of no farm facilities this far north.

They had already passed Toronto and Newmarket. Canada and the northern latitudes of the globe weren’t on the radar for cultivation for at least another fifteen years, the ground not yet ripe enough for large-scale root farming.

Although it seemed from that field beyond that they had done a decent job by hand to get things growing.

“How long have you been split?” Gregor asked.

Meglain did something so human it caught Gregor off guard. The thing shrugged with a very clear ‘I don’t know’ expression. It made him wonder if what he was saying was true after all.

Even though he was no anthropologist, Gregor could tell the difference between Meglain and Venrick—the latter hadn’t shown any such human-like traits as her brother.

“Before Ice?” Gregor asked.

It nodded, half-closing its lids.

Gregor felt like he was playing a child’s guessing game.

“During Ice?”

“Yes. All time,” Meglain responded. “Human and us. Together.”

“As a community,” Gregor filled in. “I get it. How many?”

The shrug. It was apparent the alien hadn’t quite mastered the concept of communicating numbers, but that was okay. With Denver being foolhardy, they’d likely soon find out.

Watching Meglain closely, Gregor got one of Mike’s communicators out of his jacket pocket and requested an update from Denver.

No response.

“Denver, come in. It’s Gregor. What do you see?”

Still nothing.

“Gregor? It’s Layla. What’s happening? Where’s Denver?”

He smiled at the tinge of panic to Layla’s voice. Seemed she cared for him more than she was letting on.

“Little Denny boy decided to go for a walk. We’ve spotted the settlement. I’m on my way back so we can make plans, especially as now we’re getting somewhere with Mr. Talkative here. Over.”

“You can explain more on our way back,” Gregor said. “Play things right, Meglain, and you might just survive this.”

Gregor untethered the alien and pushed it forward through the trees, toward the others. He thought about their next move. It depended on what happened with Denver. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Charlie’s little boy came to a final end.

Gregor could quite happily work around that particular result.

***

Crawling forward on his elbows and knees like his dad had shown him, Denver remained deeply hidden within the three-foot-tall root crop.

The smell made his heart pound and sweat pour from him. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to stop his progress to the settlement and dig up and consume a massive chunk of root. The muscles in his arms and legs grew heavy and fatigued with the day’s efforts.

Fighting with Gregor didn’t help either.

He’d have to do something about him at some point. It was becoming an increasingly distracting problem.

And the way he tried to manipulate Denver with the supply of root only made it clear Gregor had no place in this new society.

Once a leech, always a leech.

Still, the thought of finding Charlie alive kept him moving forward, pushing through the alien vegetation. The long purple base to the leafy stem resembled rhubarb, but as the tip continued up, purple changed to orange, making it seem like a stick on fire from a distance.