Critical Path (The Critical Series Book2) (7 page)

Standing up and helping Denver to his feet, Gregor pulled from his jacket pocket a leather wallet with a couple of steel cigar tubes inside. He unscrewed the lid on one and pulled out a syringe full of refined root oil.

Gregor looked over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being watched and, satisfied, turned to face Denver, whose attention was now squarely on the syringe.

The kid’s hands trembled, and Gregor knew it wasn’t just through anger. He’d seen those trembles before in his own hands—the tremble of anticipation.

“You want this, don’t you?” Gregor said, holding the syringe toward Denver, but not giving it up completely.

Denver looked away, rubbing his neck. His eyes flickered to gaze upon the complex over Gregor’s shoulder before focusing back on the root.

“What do you want from me?” Denver asked, his voice raspy, but with the edge of desperation that Gregor had heard so many times before from junkies.

“I want you to remember who you are and what you do. You’re a killer, Denver. The aliens’ worst nightmare. You promised to kill every single one in your path, remember? And here you are letting one lead us into God knows what. Listen to me. I’ll give you all the root you need to be who you are again, but first you’ve got to work with me to take out Venrick. Once we know the location of the battle and your old man’s pod, you and I will… dispose of her services.”

Denver reached for the root, but Gregor pulled it away. “Are you clear on what you have to do for this?”

He wanted the kid to say it.

After a moment of thought, the trembles now more visible in his hands, Denver nodded once. “I got it. Give me the root and I’ll kill the damned alien myself.”

He only had to sow the seed and offer the promise of the drug, and junkies would do almost anything. For Denver, this was just the start; he didn’t have a clue as to what Gregor would lead him to do for more root.

Smiling a satisfied grin, Gregor handed Denver the syringe and leaned back, watching him shoot the root into a vein in his wrist.

You’re mine now, son.

“Look smart,” Gregor said as he hid the leather wallet in his jacket. Khan, along with Maria, Layla, and the soon-to-be-dead Venrick, approached with their gear, ready to head north into Canada.

Denver’s eyelids drooped for a few moments as the root took effect.

When the others turned up, he was back to his old self, helping out with the packs, being the go-to guy, but Gregor noticed the way he looked at Venrick as the alien approached on her back-to-front legs.

Her greenish-brown scales shimmered in the sun, and her tubes made a sucking sound as she breathed in the root-enriched air from the tanks on her back.

Gregor noticed that Denver eyed them, no doubt wondering how to get to the root inside.

But the kid wouldn’t have a chance.

Not if Gregor could help it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Augustus peered into the gloomy cell, checking on his two most valuable inmates. Jackson sat cross-legged opposite Baliska, who quietly clicked.

They would meet in the arena. The Doombringer versus the hunter.

Another fight to boost Augustus’ personal popularity. He would be observing as Unity’s sole ruler. No stupid council, no lying prostitute, just him on a single chair.

A new Earth-uniting emperor.

Augustus clinked a dagger across the window’s thin iron bars.

“Shame about your champion. Is that the best you’ve got?” Jackson said.

“You did me a favor. But you won’t last forever. I’ll certainly not be awarding you a rudis.”

“A what?”

“A wooden freedom sword. My Doctore owns one. They’re given to a gladiator who wins his freedom. Didn’t you learn anything from your studies?”

“I specialized in American history. Unlike you, we were not a group of barbarians before the invasion.”

Augustus jabbed his dagger between the bars, in Charlie’s direction. “The Roman Empire had great buildings, baths and villas with heated rooms and tiled floors while people on this continent lived in tipis. Don’t you dare lecture me about history. Save your venom for your next fight.”

He gestured to the guard to open the gates and headed out, concealing his dagger under his robe. An essential weapon for nighttime excursions around Unity.

Moonlight radiated through the wispy clouds, illuminating with streaks of silver the rooftops of the tatty buildings that lined the twisting dirt roads.

Weak light from lanterns and candles shone from windows and doorframes.

Raised voices came from the tavern at the end of the road. The destination for his meeting. Augustus hated mixing with these low-ranking people. Although he knew he required the respect of the bottom-feeders in order to manipulate them.

A small price to pay to satisfy his ambitions. A crucifixion or two would bring them in line later.

A painted white plank with black lettering hung above the door, saying No Croatoans. The perfect attitude for him to exploit. Divide and conquer. Augustus checked the straightness of his mask and pushed open the door.

Conversations immediately stopped as patrons turned to identify the new arrival. Augustus glanced at the ten tables spread around the plain rectangular room.

“Good evening,” he said.

He received a murmured response. The patrons resumed their conversations. The place stank with a mixture of stale, beer-soaked floorboards and root smoke—the latter clouding the room. Augustus headed to the bar at the far end of the tavern.

A man and woman ascended a set of wooden stairs halfway along the room. She slapped his backside. He could be trading intercourse for food or vice versa. They might have just had a drink and decided to rut.

A young woman behind the bar, one of Augustus’ spies, placed a porcelain cup filled with root wine in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Anytime, darling,” the spy said with a smile before she rushed off to continue serving other patrons.

Most things were free for him in Unity. His payment came in the form of providing entertainment. A steady stream of fighters, usually human strays, but more recently, croatoans from harvesters or farms in a state of confusion after the ship crashed.

Three preinvasion men sat around a table in the corner of the room. Augustus had had them under observation for weeks. Pragmatic survivors, never mixing with croatoans, probably living in Unity for the safety and food it provided. He walked over and placed his cup on the table. “Mind if I join you?”

One of them men, sporting a wiry gray beard, glanced around the tavern. He nodded and shuffled along the bench, creating room for Augustus. “Quite a show at the arena today. Is it true what you said about him?”

Augustus sat down. The two on the other side of the table glared at him. Their weather-beaten faces from working the land, scruffy shirts and unkempt beards gave them a thuggish quality.

“It’s all true,” Augustus said. “But he’s in desperate need of some attitude realignment.”

“He should be given a medal. From what I hear, this could be the end for the croatoans,” Gray-beard said.

“Given half a chance, Jackson would destroy our town. But you’re right about the croatoans. Which is why I’m here.” He lowered his voice. “I have a proposition.”

One of the men sitting opposite, with a scar running along the side of his face, regarded Augustus. “Why should we trust you? We know you’ve been in bed with them. You used to come here in a shuttle.”

Augustus shrugged and sipped his wine. “I protected this place. What do you think would have happened if the croatoan council knew about Unity? I worked from the inside to cut the best deal possible for humanity.”

Gray-beard grunted. “Some deal. I’ve been south and seen the farms. We’re nothing but animals to them.”

“Keep your voice down,” Augustus said. “That bitch has spies everywhere. You’ll end up with a wooden jacket if she hears about our conversation. And the correct phrase is: were nothing but animals. That’s all over now.”

“Bitch? You mean Aimee? She’s okay. There can’t be many other places running like this around the world. As strange as Unity is, it works,” Gray-beard said.

“Without the mother ship, we can reclaim the planet, using Unity as a new base for an empire,” Augustus said. “There’s around seventy thousand croatoans on Earth, probably a lot less after people realized what Jackson did. Millions of humans are still alive on farms or living rough. The problem is coordination. Getting people together to successfully and easily wipe out the aliens.”

Gray-beard lit a root cigarette and took a deep drag. He leaned further in. “You want us to join your rebellion? Why should we risk our lives? We’re in no danger here.”

“Coordination will eventually happen. History teaches us that. When an army sweeps through this town, do you think they’ll show you or your family mercy? You’ll be seen as croatoan collaborators. I’m saying we take the lead. Free our planet. We start by taking out the biggest local problem. Aimee.”

Scar-face signaled to the barwoman to bring over more drinks. He turned to Augustus. “Aimee commands loyalty. The fallout could be messy.”

“Why don’t you do your own dirty work?” Gray-beard said.

“I need to appear clean. After she’s been dispatched, as the most senior person in Unity, I’ll call a parade in the arena to brief the croatoans on our next moves. We’ll arrange a force to massacre them once and for all.”

“Not a chance. It’s way too risky,” Gray-beard said. “You won’t be able to convince them to leave their weapons outside.”

Augustus tried to avoid irritation creeping into his voice. Gone were the days when he could just issue orders, and people would obey. He needed to offer an incentive. “I want to make you three my senators. You’ll hold senior positions and have access to the finest things in our new human-only society. But to get there, I need you to be my prefects first.”

The youngest-looking of the three, staring intensely at Augustus, spoke for the first time. “You talk big, but we’re the ones with the most to lose. I don’t even know what you mean by prefects…”

“Senior officers in my new army. Once in control of Unity, we build a force that will sweep the country. We won’t struggle for volunteers once people realize that momentum is on our side.”

“We’re simple farmers. Why don’t you get your people at the ludus to kill Aimee?”

The barwoman brought over a ceramic jug and topped up all of their cups. Augustus pretended to drink before saying, “My staff already have jobs. I keep my ear to the ground and know about your extracurricular black market activities. You know what Aimee will do if she finds out?”

Gray-beard scowled. “Are you trying to blackmail us?”

“No. To me it’s a normal state of affairs. But I’m easygoing compared to the alien-loving, deceitful whore.” Augustus paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. These three had already sealed their own fates, whether they decided to help or not. “We all know what the world was like before the invasion. Wouldn’t you like a slice of that back? You’ll be remembered by future generations as heroes. The men who took a stand and liberated Earth from tyranny.”

All three looked at each other. Scar-face nodded to the others and returned his attention to Augustus. “Give us a few minutes to discuss it.”

Augustus sighed. “Very well. I’ll be at the bar. Let me know when you’ve made your decision.”

He swiped his cup off the table and returned to the bar. People shot glances at him as he passed. Under his robe, he slipped his dagger out of its sheath and gripped the handle, ready to stab any potential attacker. People often went missing in Unity, usually after a night at the tavern. His spy, the barwoman, told him that men or women who spent time socializing with croatoans would usually be the target.

Augustus leaned over the bar, keeping his voice low. “Make sure those three are watched like a hawk. I want to know who they talk to and where they go. If they head for Aimee’s building, inform me immediately.”

“I’ll put one of my girls on them. We can trust her,” she said.

“Very good. There’s a leg of ham waiting for you at my ludus. Collect it at your leisure.”

Augustus observed the three men still in discussion. If they successfully managed to carry out their job, all would be charged with murder and have a public bastinado, a foot whipping, before being marched to the arena to be stoned to death. It would be an excellent way of showing Unity’s population that they could rely on him for swift justice.

Gray-beard looked over at him. Augustus returned a nod, held up his cup, and said to the barwoman, “Send them some more drinks, with my compliments.”

She headed over to the men, but Gray-beard gestured her away. He trudged over to the bar like a Neanderthal.

“Have you come to a decision?”

The old man cupped a hand around his mouth. “We’ll kill Aimee. Then we talk again. I’m not convinced you’ll get the response you’re looking for. There’s plenty in the town who like her. God knows how the croatoans will react.”

Augustus grinned. “Things will fall into place. You can trust me that you’ll get everything you deserve. When can you do it?”

“Tomorrow. We’ve noticed that she’s been going down the sinkhole every day for the last couple of weeks. We’ll ambush her when she’s coming back through town.”

“Interesting. This activity within the sinkhole hasn’t been reported to me.”

Augustus knew a strange and small alien-worshipping cult lived in the tunnels and caverns constructed below the sinkhole, the previous barracks of the croatoans before they sprang the invasion. But the harmless fools were generally left alone. They didn’t bother Unity citizens and kept to themselves, only appearing to trade items. Aimee was up to something, and he wanted to know what.

“She dresses in one of their brown cloaks and avoids the main track through town,” Gray-beard said.

“Useful information, thanks. Report to my ludus after you’ve ended her—bring proof, and we’ll discuss our next moves and your remuneration.”

Gray-beard nodded and returned to his allies.

Not wanting to spend a minute longer than necessary in the shithole tavern, Augustus pushed open the rickety door and walked along a dirt road toward the edge of town. As the buildings thinned out, he enjoyed the fresh air while thinking about his future.