Critical Path (The Critical Series Book2) (19 page)

“There’s a kitchen here,” Denver said, wandering through an open entrance to his right. An old brown leather couch sat in the middle of the room, with a glass table in front of it. On the table, surrounded by dry orange rings, lay an open encyclopedia.

Charlie flicked through the pages covering the Roman Empire.

Entire sections had been crossed out, with revisions neatly written along the margin—no doubt Augustus’ work. Charlie smiled. “What an idiot.”

To his left, a cream mask hung on the wall—Augustus’ spare. Charlie walked over a threadbare Persian rug partially covering the room’s exposed floorboards and took the mask off a nail. Disgusted with it, he moved to the open door and tossed the mask out like a Frisbee. Ryan glanced at him and then at the mask spinning through the air. It shattered after crashing into the back of the house on the first step.

Denver called from the kitchen, “We’re in business in here.”

Ignoring Ryan’s confused expression, Charlie strode back into the house and joined Denver. The kitchen consisted of a stainless steel sink and drainer with cupboards below. Tatty cardboard boxes were stacked at the end of the room, along with five large water cooler tanks. They brought back memories of the ones in his office. Of how he and Pippa used to stand around it, chatting, Charlie trying to keep a cool line between casual work colleagues, good friends, and potential lovers—and failing; Mike laughing at his latest gaff as Pippa ordered him back to work with a smirk on her face.

It didn’t even feel like a lifetime ago. It felt like an eternity. Was he even that person anymore, deep down? He didn’t recognize himself in these memories, the carefree thrill-seeker… there was little joy and humor and excitement in his life now. He had dedicated so much of his time and mental energies to survival that he had forgot who he was.

Denver sat amongst the emptied contents of a box on the floor, surrounded by plastic bags of dried pasta, rusting cans with no labels, and an open box of tea bags. He leaned over a camping stove, heating a pot of water. “See if you can find any mugs, Dad. There’s none here.”

“Will do,” Charlie said. He turned and headed for an entrance on the other side of the living area. Inside, he swelled with pride. Denver survived and got on with the immediate jobs at hand without whining or asking questions. The boy was the toughest son of a gun he’d ever known—including his old Guard buddies.

Which brought him to his current issue: the mission.

Charlie wanted to speak again with Hagellan, get more details about this gate world. If the supposed ‘one-way trip’ turned out to be a suicide mission, he’d go alone. However, if the planet proved livable for humans or a glimmer of hope existed for a return to Earth, he couldn’t deny his son a second time. Charlie knew Den wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer after last time.

He opened the blinds and window in Augustus’ bedroom.

Three purple robes hung on a rail in the corner. Below them were two pairs of cream leather sandals.

On the other side of a scruffily made bed, a cardboard box with a faded picture of a microwave oven on the side captured Charlie’s interest. He rushed over to confirm the contents. It was stuffed to the brim with refined root—at least a few months’ supply.

Charlie picked it up and hurried back to the kitchen, dumping it next to Denver. “Forget the tea bags,” he said with a wide grin. “We’ve got something a little stronger.”

“Now you’re talking!” Denver picked out four generously sized pieces and dropped them into the pot of bubbling water.

Ryan poked his head around the door. “There’s two women heading this way, neither are local.”

Denver jumped to his feet and ran for the door, bumping into Charlie as he hurried past. Charlie quickly followed him out and watched Denver scramble down the porch’s steps and run across to meet the approaching visitors.

A guard from Aimee’s residence led Maria and Layla toward the cabin. Denver stopped short of Layla for a moment before they embraced. She closed her eyes tightly as she gave him an enthusiastic hug.

Layla opened her eyes and smiled at Charlie. He could see the look of relief in her face. Maria fidgeted with her sleeve and looked away until Denver wrapped his young powerful arms around her, pulling her into the hug.

Charlie smiled at the sight.

It seemed Denver had started building relationships. He often wondered if his son would ever meet a woman and fall in love, and worried it may never happen in this world. Although, if Charlie had to pick a partner for Den, it wouldn’t be Layla, a woman over twenty years his senior, who used to work on a farm.

But love works in mysterious ways, and it wasn’t for him to question.

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the happy group.

Maria saw Charlie first and gave him a generous smile. “I couldn’t believe it when we first saw you on the video. How did you survive?”

She gave Charlie a running hug, nearly knocking him back. He felt awkward but closed his arms around her and gently squeezed. “Takes more than an exploding mother ship to kill me. How have you been? Have you got used to your new life?”

“I’m… getting there slowly. I’ve been helping Layla turn things around with the farms, helping other people. We all came looking for you as soon as we found out.”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourself,” Charlie said. “But, thank you, it means a lot to me.” He extended a hand to Layla, feeling like there was too much of a barrier, too much of a connection with Gregor for him to embrace her as Denver had.

She took his hand courteously. “Nice to see you alive, Charlie.”

A crack of thunder broke up the get-together as the rain continued to lash down. “We’ve got some root tea boiling inside. Let’s get out of the rain. We’ve got some dire business to discuss.”

***

Charlie brought four goblets of tea to the others sitting around the table.

“Denver said this place belonged to Augustus,” Layla said.

“Yeah, apparently so. Though it seems he’s been relegated to house arrest at his ludus.”

“Is he a problem?” Maria asked.

“You could say that,” Charlie said with a laugh. “I fought with him on the mother ship—Layla can attest to his egomania. He’s definitely a threat, whatever we decide to do next.”

“Gregor acted like a dick when we spoke to Aimee,” Layla said. “She let Augustus take him prisoner.”

“Good,” Charlie and Denver said at the same time before they laughed together. “He won’t exactly be missed.”

Charlie still wasn’t convinced about Gregor’s innocence in the death of Pippa—when he had found her body, Gregor was the first one on the scene, looking ruffled with a scratch on his face as though he had been in a struggle.

The next day, he and the rest of his Armenian gang fled south.

Charlie could put their differences aside to stop the terraforming, but going forward—there was no need for scum like him.

Denver shifted uneasily on his knees and scratched the back of his neck. He looked away from both women.

Maria reached out for him. “What is it, Den? What’s the matter?”

“We need you both to go,” he said. “It’s not safe for you two here.”

Maria said, “Wait, are you staying?”

“What exactly is this place?” Layla said. “What’s happened?”

Charlie knelt by the table. “I’ll keep this brief, as it’s complicated right now. If Aimee is to be believed, because of my actions, a croatoan ship, a planet destroyer, is heading for Earth. We need you to leave immediately and bring back Mike. Tell him we need another bomb. If they’re telling the truth, and I have to be honest, right now I see no reason for them to lie about this, then we’re in serious trouble, and I need to act.”

Both women stared at him for a few seconds before Layla spoke. “Wait, what? You want to take a bomb on a ship that has the ability to destroy a planet, that isn’t even here yet? What the hell…”

“There’s a transport gate on an alien planet,” Charlie added. “We need to destroy that gate. Without it the croatoan ships don’t have the ability to get here. We’ll be safe for the foreseeable future. Some local croatoans are trying to fix a craft for us to transport the bomb. It’s a one-way mission.”

“And we’re both going,” Denver said.

“Local croatoans, a planet with a transport gate, you’re insane,” Layla said. “You believe all this? Where’s all this coming from, Aimee, Augustus?”

“Hagellan,” Charlie said. The name had a neutralizing effect on Layla. Her mouth hung open and she flopped back on the couch.

“So, you know this creature?” Denver asked.

“Augustus mentioned Hagellan a couple of times, usually when threatening us. The main council didn’t interact with me and those like me in stasis; that privilege was left to Augustus. Is Hagellan here?”

“Yeah, he’s overseeing this crashed ship’s repairs and planning the mission, apparently,” Denver said.

“What about this other planet? Does one-way mission mean suicide mission?” Maria asked, her face pale.

“We’ll find out when we meet him tomorrow,” Charlie said.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie, why can’t the goddamned aliens just—”

“Layla,” Charlie said, raising his voice. “We could talk for hours about this, but it won’t help. I’ve considered every angle. You need to trust me on this. Take Maria and bring back Mike. Tell him we need a bomb. I simply can’t take the risk of them lying or telling the truth. If they’re setting me up, then fine, but if not and I choose to do nothing, then it won’t just be me that loses out.”

Maria gazed into her goblet, sloshing her tea round in a circular motion. Denver leaned forward and held her wrist. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head and sighed. “I hardly understood a word of what you were discussing. In Freetown, I had purpose and felt like I made a difference. I’m out of my depth here.”

“Which is why we want you to go back. All we ask is you bring Mike to us; we don’t want to get you in any deeper,” Denver said, his voice low and caring.

“Thank you,” she said, “I’m sorry I’m of no more use. I’m better at Freetown, helping those people rebuild their lives—kind of how I’m trying to rebuild mine.”

Charlie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Another good person screwed up by the croatoans. The moment Maria had a glimmer of hope and aspiration, after spending most of her existence as a slave, the aliens threatened to violently rip it away. But staying at Freetown would be best for her. He didn’t want her bumping into a clone of herself—the poor girl had enough confusion to deal with already.

“You’re making the right decision,” Charlie said. “Go back and do some good. Layla, I think you should do the same.”

Layla stood and walked to Denver’s side. She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Charlie. If he’s going, I’m going. I won’t let you both do this without me—and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Denver looked up to her. She rested her hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. Layla had made a pleasing transformation since being a croatoan patsy—though whether she could be completely trusted, only time would tell.

“It all depends on what Hagellan has got to say,” Charlie said. “We can’t make any concrete plans until we’ve got all the facts. If there’s no chance of coming back, not even a glimmer, and we can’t survive on the planet, then neither of you are going.”

Denver sprang up and started to say something.

Charlie cut him off. “My word is final. You two,” he said, pointing to Maria and Layla, “can you please return to Freetown and bring Mike to us? The quicker we get moving on this, the better.”

In the tense silence, Maria and Layla both nodded their agreement.

“Good. Hopefully this will all work out.”

Hopefully.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Augustus paced around his office, fuming about being under house arrest.

An armed guard remained outside the door and two more outside the ludus. But what Aimee didn’t know was that particular guard by the door was one of Augustus’ trusted spies.

He thought about his future strategy. He needed to move quickly.

After the two incompetent idiots failed him in Aimee’s chamber, she allowed him to be humiliated. He had more class in his little toe than that self-important whore. He wouldn’t make her go through the same indignity, though; a swift death would be more appropriate.

Gregor sat on a bench opposite his desk and fumbled with the manacles attached around his wrists. Augustus squatted in a chair behind his maple desk and tipped a terracotta jug filled with root wine into his metal cup.

His need for it had become greater since losing the ability to take the root intravenously. He took a large mouthful and gazed at his useless former employee, who pointlessly struggled with the secured bolt.

“You’re wasting your time,” Augustus said. “Stop messing around and let me concentrate for a minute.”

He sliced the end of a pencil with his dagger, shaving off thin strips of wood until he produced a sharp point of lead, and began sketching a map of Unity on a mottled piece of paper.

Gregor’s chains continued to clink.

Augustus applied more pressure as he drew Aimee’s residence.

The pencil lead snapped.

“Jupiter’s cock! Be still, you fucking cretin,” Augustus shouted.

“If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with,” Gregor said with a stern expression of defiance that made Augustus remember why he’d recruited him all those years ago in Vladikavkaz.

Gregor’s gang had put up stiff resistance against the croatoan onslaught, and he’d run a section of the city like his own little empire. He’d proved effective at keeping discipline on a farm, but ended up being useless with anything more complicated, like managing harvester quotas or attempting to crush Jackson.

However, Gregor hated Jackson even more so than Augustus. He would use that—channel the imbecilic oaf to do his bidding.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Augustus said. “That evil bitch wants you to fight in the arena, but I can spare you. How do you feel about joining my team again?”

Gregor sniffed, cleared his throat, and spat on the floor. “You’re forgetting that you ordered my execution, you mutated freak.”