CRITICAL PATH

by

Wearmouth & Barnes

CHAPTER ONE

Sacrifice isn’t the end of something; it’s the beginning. Denver knew this before his father, Charlie, gave up his life to bring down the two alien ships. But Denver wasn’t so naïve to believe that the work was done.

On the contrary, the real challenge was still ahead of them.

He wiped sweat from his brow. The salty liquid made his tanned forearm shine in the morning sun. It was no more than 0800. Charlie had taught him how to tell the time from the sun’s position when he was just a child. Over the years, he’d built up an almost unnatural ability to know it instinctively, analyzing the length and direction of shadows.

He stood in a dappled clearing five kilometers north of their new base—Freetown, a repurposed croatoan farm that remained inactivated due to it being farther north than their terraforming operation. The shadows from the crumbled remnants of a wooden hunting shack covered the damp, loamy ground.

Mildew glistened like a silver mist across the tips of the long grass. The place had a fresh scent to it. Since they destroyed most of the root growth, the orange tint to the atmosphere became less visible.

Earth seemed to be healing itself, returning to normal.

Wildlife grew in number—rabbits, squirrels, deer, and varied birds were now more visible and less sickly than before. Despite that, Denver knew it would take years for the damage of the root to the ecosystem to be fully repaired.

The cold dampness seeped into the fabric toes of his boots where the gaffer tape covering had come away during the trek. Thorns had snagged at his boots and jeans as he, Layla, and their new friend, Khan, parked their appropriated hover-bikes and descended on foot further into the woods in search of a downed escape pod.

Layla stood five yards in front of him.

She wore the now-familiar farm outfit: a form-fitting gray and blue cotton one-piece with a zip running at an angle from her right shoulder to her left hip. Her shadow stretched westward, covering a dark, scorched section of earth.

A cool breeze made her ponytail sway and the small hairs on the back of her slender neck shimmer. Despite her real age being somewhere in the fifties, she looked no older than mid-thirties, the root consumption keeping her young, as it did Gregor and Charlie.

Layla lowered to her haunches and inspected the scar in the earth, created by a fallen escape pod.

The scar cut a ridge into the ground some three meters wide and over a dozen long. The interesting feature, however, wasn’t the scar; it was the complete lack of pod. Someone, or something, had taken it away.

While they waited on Khan, a young tracker who had made his home in Freetown before they had re-established it as a base, Denver couldn’t help but think about Layla.

Being at a crash site of one of the pods wasn’t enough to distract his thoughts away from her completely as she made notes on a tablet device—a leftover piece of equipment they had learned to work and reprogram for their own uses.

The aliens on the various farms abandoned their duties and their influence over the human population shortly after the ships crashed to Earth. Denver suspected that when the pods landed they must have sent out a signal across the croatoans’ network.

Within days the aliens left the farms in a great migration to the north.

Since that time, Layla had led a diplomatic program of integration, bringing dozens of farms together, working towards one goal: reuniting humanity into a force that could not only defend themselves and live freely, but also thrive.

From the south, the croatoans still held a great number of farms, and the humans from the northern facilities would often have to defend against them.

The aliens were losing, however, their attacks coming less frequently.

The ‘cattle’ were educated and trained. The men and women subjugated by Augustus and the croatoan council to run the farms were now setting up communications and developing real farms, growing vegetables and more importantly—destroying the vast tracks of root so that the ground wouldn’t be poisoned any longer.

Where Gregor tried to use aggression and intimidation to reunite the various workers, Layla’s use of empathy and understanding brought quicker results.

She’d become their de facto leader almost by accident. Something that didn’t sit well with Gregor, but then he always was an instigator.

“It can’t be far,” Layla said, turning to face him. The golden light of morning reflected off her face, making her eyes glint.

Denver caught himself staring and looked away before casually glancing back as though he too was inspecting the crash site. “Khan’s a good tracker. I’m sure we’ll find it.”

“The implication of it being moved probably suggests that who or whatever was inside is now out in the open.”

“Or already dead,” Denver added, although a part of him hoped that wasn’t the case. He wanted to do that personally. He wouldn’t be happy until every last turtle-looking alien no longer set foot on Earth.

“Perhaps. Though I’m not so sure. One thing I’ve learned is that those at the top of their hierarchy have an uncanny skill in surviving. They’ve been here on this planet for so many thousands of years, waiting, in the ground… I won’t rest until I see them dead with my own eyes.”

Denver readjusted his backpack and shuffled the alien hunter rifle to his left shoulder. “You’re starting to sound like me.” His cheeks warmed with a blush, which made him feel even more ridiculous.

Although out in the wild, he was afraid of nothing and could comfortably survive in almost any conditions, conquering his feelings towards women was something Charlie had never taught him.

“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” Layla said with a smile. “Could be worse. I could end up sounding like Gregor.”

“And we can definitely do without that.”

“One’s bad enough, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“You look better like that, by the way,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The beard, or lack of it.”

One of the men from Eastern Farm Twenty, now renamed to Freetown, had given Denver a cutthroat razor and showed him how to use it.

It was the first time in his adulthood that he was clean-shaven. All the time he ran around with his dad, he’d kept a beard and only trimmed it with a knife when it got too long.

“Thanks,” Denver said, giving her an awkward smile.

He broke eye contact, unsure how to react with the way she was looking at him as though he were one of her subjects of study. He brought his thoughts back to this clearing, noticing how the trees to the south of it were damaged, their branches snapped and their trunks leaning over, wrenched from the ground.

On a tip-off from Khan they had learned of this crash site.

Gregor, being his belligerent self, refused to come, preferring to stay back at one of the facilities with Maria, whose new role was to help reorientate the men and women whom the aliens used for cattle and… food.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Gregor’s motivations were.

Beyond the clearing, a shadow shifted.

A pair of rabbits dashed through the long grass, their khaki-coloured ears flattening against their heads. They hopped over thick redwood roots and disappeared into burrows at the edge of the dilapidated shack.

The wooden posts that made up the stanchions were rotten and jagged, the surface colonized by an empire of white and gray fungus.

For a brief few seconds, Denver shifted his weight to his toes with anticipation. He pursed his lips, readying to whistle for Pip, his dog, but he rocked back on his heels as the realization dawned on him that no, this wasn’t Pip.

She had run off shortly after Charlie had sacrificed himself, and Denver had never forgiven himself for not being able to find her.

The shadow and movement, he knew, was something bigger than a dog.

He crouched to a knee and brought up the rifle, placing the butt into the crook of his shoulder and bringing the sights to his left eye.

Layla had already dashed to the side behind a broken trunk and shot him a glance.

With the movement of a shrub and the twang of a broken branch, a figure moved into the clearing, with another closely following behind.

* * *

He was there—again. This was the third day Maria had felt the bed sink and her body rock inwards to the new weight. The weight created by Gregor.

She clutched the edge of the sheet and tried to pull it up to her chin, but it wouldn’t budge.

Gregor’s hot breath warmed her back, making her whole body shiver with repulsion. She closed her eyes and stifled a scream. She didn’t want to antagonize him. She’d seen and heard a lot of stories about what he’d done to people who got in his way. Despite that, she couldn’t just give in.

Although growing up on the harvester and not knowing a great deal about human reproduction, she was aware of how it worked. They were forbidden to sleep with one another on the ‘generation ship,’ and since she came out into the wider world, she had kept herself away from the increasingly hungry gaze of Gregor.

It didn’t help that Denver had started to spend more time with Layla. With him around, Gregor stayed away. She suspected the latter had a certain fear, or at the very least, trepidation, of the former.

Denver cut an imposing figure with his height, and since the croatoans left to go north and they all started to settle into a decent lifestyle, his previously wiry, skinny frame had bulked out.

Something Gregor clearly envied.

Realizing that he wouldn’t go away, Maria turned around to face him. The bastard was leering at her with a predatory look in his eyes. The bile rose in her stomach at the thought of him touching her.

She kept the sheet tight against her body.

Luckily, the temperature during the night had dropped and she’d put on her uniform for extra warmth, not wanting to waste the energy of firing up the heating generators.

“You’re in my room,” Maria said, trying to make a point without instigating an outburst. “I’d prefer it if you knocked first.”

“We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” Gregor said, leaning his head on an elbow as he stretched out on her bed as though it were his. “Denver and Layla are off on a jolly jaunt. I thought you and I could… well, start the day off in traditional fashion.”

Backing away as much as she could given the tautness of the sheet, she had no other option but to play into his quite obvious trap.

Even though she was new to the world at large, she’d spent the last month at Freetown conversing with other men and women from the other farms who had come here to help get the place up and running. She had learned quickly and picked up a lot of information of how society was before the alien uprising.

She also learned just what kind of man Gregor was.

“And what exactly is this traditional fashion?” she asked, already knowing the likely answer.

Gregor leaned in, grinning, exposing his rotten teeth. His gums had started to recede and turn black at the edges ever since he started to chew the root as though it were a gourmet food. “Back in our day, the elder male—that would be me—was charged with making an adult of the younger women, especially if they were from out of town. It was a popular mating ritual. Since you’re effectively from out of town, being stuck in the harvester all your life, and given you’re younger than me, it’s kind of up to me to bring you into adulthood.”

“No,” she said, tensing. “I’m sure the tradition means a lot to you and your people, but I don’t observe that. I don’t think it would be appropriate to—”

Gregor sat up and grabbed her by the arms. He flung his leg over her waist and sat down on her, pressing her into the bed, pinning her arms to her side. “Now, now,” he said. “No need to be polite around me. We’re all friends here, and friends stay close.”

“You’ve been chewing too much root again. Get off me!” She struggled, but the frenzy in his eyes extended to his determination to dominate her. She tried to kick out and unbalance him, but he just rode her like one of the men she’d seen on a video daring to ride a bull.

Going limp, she turned her head and clenched her jaw, “Okay,” she said with a whisper, waiting.

Through her side vision she saw him grin with satisfaction. He let go of her arms and started to unbutton his gray farm-issue shirt.

Taking the opportunity, she twisted her body to the side and pushed him away with her freed arms.

He fell back onto the bed in a heap.

Thrashing, she kicked out to get loose from the sheets, but he was already on her, laughing, enjoying her struggles.

Just as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back to the bed, a knock came from the door.

A young man burst in and shouted, “They’re dead! They’re all dead!”

CHAPTER TWO

The midday sun beat down on Gregor, warming his head and shoulders amid the breeze generated by the momentum of the hover-bike.

Luckily for him, when the croatoans abandoned the farm and headed north, they did so in such a rush they left a number of their vehicles behind within the human-controlled warehouses.

For the first time in a few weeks, the sky was clear of clouds. Even the familiar orange hue gave way to bright blue skies. A quicksilver flash of memory bubbled up, providing him with a picture of his homeland. He was a child then, standing atop an old crane. He had climbed it in order to gain membership to the gang he would later go on to lead and turn into the biggest crime syndicate in Armenian history.

When he arrived home, his father belted him across the back of the legs. One of the dockers who knew his father—everyone in that old town knew Vladimir Miralos, an infamous drunk and washed-up street thug—tipped him off to his son’s stupid display of bravery and daring.

Vladimir needn’t have required an excuse.

Gregor’s very presence was enough to incur his father’s wrath.

But the fucker was dead and buried now, by Gregor’s own hands. Only so much belting a child will take before he cuts his father’s throat in his sleep.

The whine of the hover-bike’s engine and the touch of Maria’s hands on his hips pulled him back to the current day, and he found himself cheered by the exhilaration of the ride and the prospect of some interesting news from Denver and Layla.

Even after the two-and-a-half-hour journey from Freetown, he felt refreshed. They’d apparently found something that would give everyone renewed focus.

A new threat.

Good. They needed a threat. Everyone had got too lazy, too organized.

They thought they could make a quick change of things, but Gregor knew better. Like any conflict, attrition often won the war.

Besides, he couldn’t stand all the fucking politics and nicey-nicey bullshit.

For too long he found himself bored.

Especially since Layla had taken over proceedings.

But then what did he care anyway? The bitch could do what she wanted; he had someone else to occupy his attentions now. A fitter, younger, more naïve model who wasn’t some damned anthropological expert.

This one didn’t have an answer for everything and would be easier to bring on side. He just needed a little more time with her.

With Denver realizing he had a pair of balls and taking a fancy to Layla, poor little Maria was left abandoned and in need of a friend—a special friend.

Gregor pushed the throttle to three-quarters. The engines whined with power, blasting the hover-bike northwards over the trees. Below him, giant snakes of charred earth cut an east-west trajectory where once harvesters roamed. They had dug it up, burned it all.

A pair of lonely, empty harvesters sat in the middle of a track of blackened ground. One of them had its tracks missing. The people from Freetown and other farms stripped the vehicle for parts.

Charlie’s old friend Mike paid particular attention to this task as he passed on his engineering knowledge to some of the younger farmhands.

God knows what the old fossil was planning to build now. In his seventies, Mike still acted like a fool. He was one of the few who never really took the root. His fault. The old bastard would be dead soon.

Gregor was in his mid-fifties, but with the root, he felt and looked like he was in his early forties. Other drives and motivations, however, were from a much younger man, and he needed those attended to at some point.

With that thought in mind, he nudged the hover-bike so that it pitched violently a few degrees. Maria’s hands grabbed tighter around his waist. Her thighs press against his legs and her body against his back.

A good start.

“Hold steady,” Maria shouted into the wind. “I nearly fell. Are you trying to kill me?”

Looking over his shoulder, he gave her a grin. “I would never try that with you, my darling girl. You just hold tight in case we hit a little turbulence, eh?”

“There’s no turbulence this low, asshole.”

Gregor laughed as he turned back to the controls and pushed the throttle all the way while also bringing the bike lower so that the underside skimmed the branches and leaves of the tallest redwoods.

“How about now?” he said, wobbling the bike side to side, making Maria scream and squeeze him tighter. “That’s the spirit,” he said before raising the bike clear of the trees.

“You’ll kill us both with stunts like that,” Maria screamed.

Chuckling to himself, he looked down as something caught his attention.

He noticed three groups of approximately a dozen ex-cattle. Men and women bred to feed the croatoans.

Layla had created an education program to turn them back into ‘valued members of society.’ Gregor doubted its effectiveness.

Many of them were born simple. Even without the learned cattle-like behavior, he didn’t think they had the brainpower to comprehend language and appropriate behavior, but then this was right up Layla’s street.

The bitch got wet thinking about all the good she could do with these poor stupid creatures, but he knew it was all crap. She wasn’t doing this for their welfare; she was doing it for her own ego and guilty conscience.

Working with Augustus, she was one of humanity’s betrayers. She helped set up the organization for the farms, including the usage of human cattle, not to mention the breeding programs she oversaw and all the ‘efficiencies’ she delivered.

At least Gregor was honest in his views. He didn’t much care for the cattle people and thought they were probably better off dead. They weren’t going to have much of a life.

A Freetown scientist working under Layla’s direction tried to encourage them to forage. He held up a number of berries and edible plants and showed them how to pick them, but most stared back slack-jawed, unable to comprehend him.

Gregor banked the bike to the left as he saw the first farm tower. The main facility lay further on, hidden by the trees. He used the series of observation towers on each corner of the facility to navigate his way in.

“Hold on,” he said over his shoulder, winking at Maria. “It’s going to get a little… rough.”

“Take it easy. No need to be reckless.”

“No need, but it’s more fun!”

Maria screamed something, but her words were snatched away by the rush of the wind in his ears as he dove the bike, pointing its nose through a narrow gap in the treetops.

Branches scratched against the fenders on the side of the bike, but he powered on through, digging his feet into the cups. Maria’s weight slid against him, pushing him further into the bike’s controls.

With a heavy pull, he raised the nose as they flew down between two blocky, flat-roofed buildings. He piloted the bike beneath a gantry, ducking even though he had plenty of space.

A couple of women in the alley dove to the floor, making him laugh out loud.

“Slow down!” Maria screamed, her words barely audible.

Exiting the alley, he took the bike across a paved courtyard.

Someone had planted trees and flowers in various containers and built a set of benches that lined the outside. The placed looked like a damned Zen garden.

Not caring for that, he braked hard and turned the controls, sliding out the back of the bike until it came to a stop while knocking over some of the flower containers.

He took a slap to the back. “You arrogant bastard,” Maria said. “Jenny planted those.”

Maria got off and wobbled on unsteady legs. Gregor just smiled up at her. “Oh, first name terms with the cattle idiots now, eh? How very… Layla of you.”

“That may be so, but at least I’m not an uncaring douche bag.”

With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the double glass doors set into the front of a two-level-high building—the main compartment of the farm complex. Stepping off the bike and ignoring the smashed wooden container and the dead flower crushed underfoot, he strode forward after Maria, admiring the view of her ass as he went.

He liked that she had a spark within her.

In his experience, those girls performed the best.

Perhaps once he had dealt with whatever this news was, he’d get her high on his new root-mix and see if he couldn’t bring out some of that fire in her belly.

* * *

Inside, the complex was bright and clean with that croatoan off-white color on the walls. The plastic-coated wooden floor made Gregor’s shoes clack and squeak as he followed Maria through a wide, deserted reception.

Two uniformed women came out from a door to the left.

“Ladies,” Gregor said, tipping his head in greeting.

They mumbled something and dropped their heads as they took a wide berth around him and out the front doors. Stuck-up bitches. Yet more of Layla’s anthropology team.

It seemed like she was breeding a whole generation of humorless men and women. Soon, the damned planet wouldn’t be worth saving.

Bright sunshine shone through the clear ceiling panels of the passage that led to the main conference room—the location he had been summoned to.

Sitting crossed-legged, Layla leaned into Denver beside her on the beige couch and whispered something. The two conniving swines looked up at him with a distasteful expression—not that that bothered Gregor; he was proud of being distasteful to stuck-up people like them.

If being honest meant he had to be the bad guy, so be it.

When he crossed the threshold, he noticed Maria sitting on a stool by a wooden bar, her back pressed against its edge. She looked to the other side of the room where a large screen hung from the white wall.

There was something else more important standing there, looking on from by the side of that young kid Khan.

A damned alien.

But this one was different. It didn’t wear the helmet and visor that provided them with enriched air, but instead wore a smaller apparatus that fit around its neck, feeding tubes from a small tank into its throat, presumably providing a supply of the root-based gas they mixed with oxygen in order to breathe.

Gregor crouched to one knee and, in a single flowing movement, pulled the pistol from his hip holster and raised it toward the croatoan.

He noted, in a blink of an eye, that it appeared wounded: one of its eyes swelled like a tennis ball, and dark charring burns covered the chest plate of his armor.

Denver launched himself off the couch, screaming, “No!”

Bracing for impact, Gregor squeezed off a shot before Denver landed a stiff right jab to Gregor’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.

The shot went wide, just missing Khan’s right ear.

The boy screamed in shock.

The impact against the floor winded Gregor. He dropped the pistol from his hand and tried to punch Denver in the ribs, but the taller, heavier man had already straddled him and grabbed his throat, squeezing his windpipe.

Denver lifted his right fist high, ready to bring it down.

Gregor didn’t resist. He just smiled at the kid, waiting for him to prove that he had balls like his old man. “Go on, then,” he mocked as he waggled his jaw from side to side. The kid had a decent jab on him; he’d give him that.

“Stop,” came a voice from the edge of the room.

It wasn’t human.

“Stop… fighting.”

Raspy, heavy with bass, and punctuated with weird clicking could mean only one thing. Twisting his head and looking over, Gregor saw the damned alien move closer and place his gnarled hand on Denver’s shoulder.

“No,” it said, shaking its head.

“The damn things speak English now?” Gregor said as Denver reluctantly removed himself and stood back.

The alien loomed over Gregor and extended its hand. “No harm,” it wheezed.

Gregor slapped it away and rolled over onto his front. He got to his feet and rubbed his jaw as he swayed on unsteady feet. Looking at the overly amused Layla, he asked, “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Please, Gregor, take a seat. We’ve something to show you,” Khan said, running a hand through his dark, short hair. He scratched at his black scruff on his cheeks and stared at Gregor with those strangely intense and wild dark eyes of his. Although of a similar age to Denver, being born during the ice age, Gregor noticed an old soul in him.

A tracker and a bit of a wild man, he appealed to Gregor’s sense of self-sufficiency. He even liked how awkward he appeared in this setup.

Whereas Layla and now Maria and Denver were happy writing reports and organizing projects, Khan looked like the kind of guy who was happier stalking prey in the woods.

Tipping his head to the young man, Gregor turned and walked up to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down next to Maria. She didn’t look at him—no one did. All eyes, including his, were on the alien.

“So what do we call it?” Gregor said.

“Her,” Khan replied. “She’s called Venrick, and she was head of croatoan operations in Eastern Farm Twenty. She joined the group when they headed north.”

Venrick nodded her large turtle-like head and blinked her good eye.

Although a croatoan speaking English was new to Gregor, he’d quickly got over the initial shock. It wasn’t entirely surprising. Before the shit hit the fan, Augustus had instigated a new language-learning system. The plan was to teach both croatoans and humans a new combined language based on English.

“Venrick and the others left to follow a distress signal a week after the escape pods landed,” Khan added. “I saw various groups of them firsthand as they headed across the border into Ontario. But when they passed Lake Simcoe, they only got a few kilometers before… well, perhaps you’d like to show your video, Venrick?”

The alien chattered an affirmation and shuffled over to the media screen. She took a data card from a pocket within her armor and placed it in the port of the screen. Turning to face the others, she added, “One pod found, we take, but others… too far. We travelled toward pods, but we met…” She struggled to find the words, her leather lips unable to form the correct shape for the sounds.

Khan filled in. “They met resistance.”

Gregor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; this was starting to sound very interesting indeed.

“Via her helmet cam, Venrick caught the… well, let’s just play it.” Khan and Venrick walked away and sat on a couch next to Denver and Layla’s. Everyone stared up at the screen, waiting for the video to play.

It switched on; the sound of gunfire and excited clicking burst from the hidden wall speakers. Gregor reflexively startled as a gun fired from behind him.

It took him a few split seconds to realize it was just the audio on the film. The images shook and it took a while to work out what he was looking at.

In a field wider than the camera’s angle, hundreds of croatoans wearing the familiar farm-issue armor ran panicked in all directions.

Bodies were falling to the ground by the dozens.

Two pods lay haphazardly in the center of the battle, and it appeared they were the prize for the winners.

To Gregor’s surprise, the opposition were also croatoans. But these ones were entirely different. And not just their dress, which appeared to be adapted human clothes.

Bizarrely, one, a particularly large commander of some type, led the charge while wearing a double-breasted suit. Different colored fabrics were sewn in the elbows, legs and knees in order for it to fit the alien physiology.

Mixed in with these strangely dressed aliens were a ragtag band of humans. Wild-eyed and wearing rags and tatty jeans, they mobbed the farm aliens and cut them down with a mix of crudely made melee weapons and alien rifles.

The sheer numbers of them overran the field.

Venrick must have panicked at that point because the film became wild as she turned and fled into the woods.

“Back up a few seconds,” Gregor said, having spotted something in the battlefield.

Khan did as requested.

“Freeze it.”

There on the screen, in the shadows of the fight, an alien pulled a human from a pod. Venrick zoomed in. It was…

“Charlie goddamned Jackson!”

CHAPTER THREE

Charlie tried to crouch and catch his breath. For the first time in years his limbs felt weak. Sweat coated his clothes and the breeze tickled at the hair on his neck. He squinted against the sun and reached down to grab some root.

The metal cable noose tightened around his neck. He scrambled backwards trying to maintain balance as a croatoan yanked him with the pole he was attached to like some errant dog. The alien dragged him through the sunbaked field of flourishing orange crops.

Charlie tried to reposition his hands underneath the restraint to protect his neck wound. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. “If you want to keep me alive, you’ve a funny way of showing it.”

The croatoan ignored his words and pulled again, crushing Charlie’s blistered fingers.

He couldn’t accept his final act would be screaming as they fed him into a meat-processing machine and turned into silver trays of slop. Not that… anything but that.

For the last five minutes, faint sounds drifted across the breeze. He glanced over his shoulder. The trail of croatoans headed into a massive basin. Half of the ten aliens had already disappeared down it.

The sweet odor of the root field quickly changed to a nostril-invading stench. A mixture of cooking meat and dung wafted up from the basin.

Distant noises became clearer: the repeated clank of metal being struck, a dog barking, a rapid rhythmic sound of sawing wood. And then raised human voices, one laughing. Nothing like any farm he’d previously stalked and attacked.

The croatoan slowed as the ground changed from harvested land to a dirt road on a steep incline. Another alien stalked close with its strange bouncing gait and stopped to have a staccato conversation with Charlie’s captor.

Both of their uniforms were old and tatty. The body armor was faded and stained, their visors lacking their usual trademark sheen.

Charlie reached out and gripped the pole, twisting himself around to try to get a better view of his intended destination.

He fully expected a meat-processing warehouse. But the sight surprised him.

Smoke curled into the sky from at least fifty different places from a small town within the basin at least forty meters deep and a couple of kilometers wide.

Croatoans trudged down the dirt road in procession. It cut to the bottom of the basin in a series of shallow switchbacks and ran through the center of the settlement.

Either side of it, a mixture of two hundred or so small buildings with wooden and canvas roofs formed a cluttered surrounding, some with animal pens attached. A scattering of people moved between the individual places.

In the center, a larger building, perched high on a piece of raised ground, glinted in the sun. Charlie shielded his eyes and gasped. Constructed out of debris stone, it reached three stories high and featured a number of glistening metal turrets, completed by solid-looking wooden doors protecting its arched entrance.

Around the perimeter of the basin, a series of five giant steps were cut into the side. Like a stadium for giants. On the left-hand side, twenty or so buildings with more of a modern look nestled on each level, constructed with a mixture of materials.

Some looked like mini warehouses, others like log cabins or adapted trailers. Nothing seemed quite right with each one. The closest mini warehouse had a brick constructed dwarf wall running around the bottom; a cabin had silver window shutters. Several had washing lines out front. The clothing on them flapped in the breeze.

On the steps running around the right-hand side, root spread across the bottom three levels as far as the eye could see. Wheat and barley gently rippled on the upper sections.

A gaping sinkhole lay between the main settlement area and the basin’s left edge. Bigger than any Charlie had previously seen, a dull silver cone protruded out of the left-hand side. He recognized it as one of the initial invasion vessels.

Beyond the chasm, a high stone wall surrounded an area the size of a football field. Visually sweeping the landscape again, he attempted to assimilate the strange configuration. No frame of reference for the mash-up came to mind.

Whatever it was, it had been for some time.

A bearded man dressed in a filthy white apron walked around the side of the nearest building. After throwing the contents of a bucket into a pigpen, he turned and gazed upwards. Charlie raised his hand. The man shook his head, wiped his hands on his apron-front, and returned inside.

The croatoan tugged at the control pole, pulling Charlie to the ground. His heels slipped against the dusty surface as he tried to gain traction.

The alien increased its speed of descent. Charlie’s legs no longer had the strength to maintain a crab-like walk. He grabbed the pole with both hands, lifting his back off the ground, and scraped to the bottom of the incline on the balls of his feet.

A golden retriever bounded up, tail wagging. It panted in Charlie’s face and walked alongside. The croatoan loudly clicked, waving its dusty black glove at the dog until it scampered away. The alien hauled Charlie to his feet and pushed him forward, jabbing the pole into the back of his neck, encouraging him to walk along the two-hundred-yard road through the settlement and toward the main building.

Charlie shuffled forward, stumbling every time he received a thrust from behind. He glanced into the first building on the right. Different cuts of meat hung from hooks on the ceiling. Behind a wooden table, spattered in blood, the man in the filthy apron glared back at him before slamming a cleaver into a pig’s severed leg.

His guts rumbled. Since these people—and aliens—took him out of stasis from within the pod, he’d barely had anything to eat. Days passed and he grew weaker. The sight of those meats taunted him as he thought he could smell barbecued ribs and sausages.

The next place was little more than a glorified tent. Faded red canvas stretched over a circular wooden frame. Inside, a young woman in a basic blue dress worked a loom. A small boy with a dirty face fed her threads.

They both stopped work as Charlie passed. The boy said something, and the woman put her arm around him and tucked his head against her chest. She turned away. Charlie’s head snapped forward after yet another prod from the pole.

Two men sat under a red plastic awning on stools outside a garden shed, drinking from porcelain mugs. Both wore grimy blue jeans, brown woolen shirts and sturdy black boots. One looked at Charlie while casually chatting. He seemed to be acting as if this was an everyday occurrence.

“What the hell is this place?” Charlie said, his sore throat making his words scratchy and barely audible.

The man picked up a small stone and threw at it Charlie. He winced and twisted his head after the stone bounced off his ear. Both men cackled.

“What the hell?” Charlie said, coming to a stop and glaring at the two old geezers. This brought another push from the alien. Charlie thought about trying to twist out of the noose and ramming the pole down the bastard’s throat, but he was just far too weak. Grudgingly, he carried on moving forward.

Loud clanking came from a large open-fronted shack constructed of thick wooden trunks with a pitched slate roof. When Charlie drew level, two croatoans were busily working inside. Sparks fizzed from pieces of glowing metal as the aliens repeatedly hammered them into shape. Neither wore a helmet or uniform. Both dressed in cream-colored, crumpled linen shirts and trousers. Two tubes ran from their backpacks into each nostril of their disgusting tortoiselike heads.

Humans and croatoans working together like this… all this infrastructure. There was no way this had come about since the mother ship came down a month ago. The established settlement had a much older feel. Charlie knew he’d been taken north, but had no idea of his location.

A large lake, he thought. Given the basin and size of this place, it had to have been one of the many lakes that drained during the uprising. This could put him anywhere from north New York, Chicago or even into Canada, Ottawa perhaps.

One of the aliens raised a hammer in acknowledgement to the croatoan who pushed Charlie along before returning to his work. It interested Charlie to see how they had adapted their breathing apparatus. No more bulky visors and backpacks, the ones these wore were smaller and less prohibitive in their movement.

Root vapor still scented the air, though, so that hadn’t changed—they still relied on it in gaseous form.

Ahead, the main building doors started to slowly open with a low creak.

During his previous career, Charlie often dreamed about traveling back in time to observe a functioning medieval town, as a silent witness. But not like this, not in the future.

He thought about Denver and hoped his son believed him dead. Killed in the explosion that downed the mother ship. If Denver knew he was alive, he’d come, all guns blazing, and run into Charlie’s second worst fear after terraforming—integration.

* * *

Two croatoan guards aimed their rifles at Charlie as he was pushed into a large courtyard. He glanced up. Twenty aliens patrolled the ramparts, weapons pointing out. All of them had tubes up their nostrils, just like the blacksmiths. About half dressed in the standard uniform. One wore a hide jacket with body armor stitched in similar places.

The noose loosened around Charlie’s neck and slipped over his head. A hand firmly grasped his shoulder and shoved him across a cobbled surface toward a large pair of wooden doors.

Charlie rubbed his neck and considered his options. Running or fighting would lead to a swift gunning down. But he wondered why he remained alive.

The croatoans were pragmatic, but they must have known he had a hand in the destruction of both the mother ship and the terraforming ship. His last memory before being taken on a long death-march north was diving into a chamber with Augustus and hurtling to Earth.

Perhaps Augustus didn’t survive the landing… That would mean no one would know who Charlie was or what he did. He decided to play stupid during any interrogation.

If they wanted him dead, he’d have been shitted out by an alien a week ago.

A chill ran down his spine after leaving the warmth of the sun into a gloomy stone building. The alien hustled him along a narrow torchlit corridor into a square room illuminated by chunky candles attached to the wall. Charlie dropped to one knee after being kicked in the back of his leg.

He knelt in front of a raised platform. A polished wooden Glastonbury chair sat in the middle, with a purple cushion on the seat.

A young woman with flowing brown hair breezed in from a side entrance. She lifted her elaborate green dress before sitting on the chair. A brute of a croatoan followed and stood behind her. Stocky, mean looking, it had one of their large, angular rifles slung over its shoulder and a sickle in its left clawed hand.

She tilted her head to one side and sat forward, staring at Charlie. “He’s an old one.”

The stocky croatoan clicked.

“What’s your name?”

Charlie detected a mix of French and perhaps Turkish in her accent. He replied, “Joe Nobody. And you are?”

“My name is Aimee Rivery. Welcome to Unity, this is my town.” She paused for a moment and looked him up and down. “I’m going to give you a choice, old man. Your fate rests on your own decision. Do you understand?”

Charlie frowned. “A choice of what?”

She whispered something to the alien, who left the room. Returning her focus back on Charlie, she said, “We need to increase our crop production, due to our current expansion rate. You can have a place in my town if you’re prepared to work hard. You’ll be fed, have a roof over your head, and no trouble will come your way. What do you say?”

“You want me to farm root?” Charlie said.

“Amongst other things, yes. Is that not clear?”

Charlie squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip. It didn’t help; he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The hopelessness of the situation coupled with the suggestion made him burst out in laughter, which echoed around the room.

Aimee gave him a stern look. The large croatoan returned and stood by her side. She dismissively waved her hand in Charlie’s direction. “Very well. Have it your way. I was prepared to give you a chance, against advice…”

“Whose advice? Why did you bring me here?”

“You were recovered from a pod. That makes you a person of interest. I know more about you than you think.”

“Like what? Who around here knows me?”

“Somebody you’ve been annoying for years.”

Footsteps slapped across the stone floor behind him.

Charlie’s face straightened.

An instantly recognizable voice said, “The little wasp. Did you really think you would get the better of me?”

Augustus walked in front of Charlie. He stopped and removed his right sandal.

“You will fight my champion in the arena,” Aimee said. “Then we shall see who is the one laughing once the festivities are over.”

“May I?” Augustus said, pointing at Charlie.

Aimee nodded. “Do what you will.”

“Hold him steady,” Augustus said to the croatoan restraining Charlie.

He raised his sandal above his head and swept it down, striking it against Charlie’s cheek. Charlie winced with the strike, but refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt him.

The blow stung, but that was the least of Charlie’s worries.

The man who knew what Charlie had done now had control of him. And by the sounds of it, Charlie was set for a public fight.

Augustus knelt down and fastened it back around his foot before straightening his mask and rearranging his robes. At least this answered the question of what happened to him. The pod clearly had protected them both.

But what kind of deal did Augustus strike to have attained such a lofty position so soon?

Aimee stood and pointed down. “I want him alive tomorrow, Augustus. Don’t disappoint me.”

She left by the same side entrance, followed by her burly guard.

Augustus brought his masked face right in front of Charlie’s, close enough that Charlie could feel the Roman’s hot breath. “Did you see that monster with Aimee? He’s your opponent.”

“You saved me so you could watch me fight an alien?”

Augustus grunted. “I didn’t save you. I simply prolonged your miserable life for a few weeks. There’s no way in the world I would allow you an easy death.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll have you flogged every day you aren’t fighting in the arena. History will not remember you. I won’t allow it.”

“You don’t get to write history. If you did, your own wouldn’t be so abysmal.”

“I beg to differ. Future generations will be in awe of me. You… you’re a flea.”

Charlie looked Augustus in the eye. “What does it feel like to lose two empires?”

Augustus stepped back and raised a clenched fist. He slowly lowered his hand by his side and turned to the croatoan. “He’s not worth my effort. Take him to the ludus. Throw him in with our other new arrival.”

Charlie’s camo shirt scrunched around his neck as the alien gripped the back of his collar and dragged him up and shunted him to the door. Charlie glanced back. Augustus licked his fingers and extinguished a candle.

CHAPTER FOUR

A young girl, dressed in a fresh white robe, carried a metal platter piled with pig’s trotters to the dining room table. She carefully placed them in front of Augustus. He pointed at his hammered metal goblet and cleared his throat. She scurried to a side table, grabbed a clay jug and returned, filling the vessel to the brim.

“I remembered from last time,” Aimee said.

She sat at the opposite end of the table, wearing an extravagant blue dress and a pearl necklace. Soft light, radiating from the candles at the center of the table, gave her face a gentle glow. The muscle-bound croatoan behind her provided a stark contrast to her beauty. He hovered close like a bird of prey.

“Thank you for inviting me this evening,” Augustus said. “You don’t mind if I—”

Aimee smiled. “Take off your mask? Please do.”

Augustus unclipped the strap from behind his ear. He placed it on the table and wrapped his fingers around the goblet’s stem. The days of feeling self-conscious were over. The burned, twisted flesh was a reminder to everyone that he was a survivor. He took a large mouthful of sour wine, trying not to show signs of disgust when swallowing.

“Delicious. Did you make this here?”

Aimee sniffed her wine and pushed it to one side. “If you think this is fine wine, then you are less cultured than I previously thought.”

Augustus bowed his head and picked up a trotter. “We don’t need to get into an argument about culture. I know all about yours. While you were in stasis, I read about you and your little cultural diversion. Quite the adventure you had.”

Aimee scoffed. “What do you know of me?”

He detected irritation in her voice. An attitude Aimee never displayed before the downing of the mother ship. The price for Augustus’ silence about the cut-off group in Canada was a ludus, where he could spend leisure time away from the watchful eyes of the croatoan council. Now she knew he couldn’t crush her like a pea, she seemed to be changing, taking advantage.

Augustus swallowed more wine to wash down the overcooked meat. “In history books you have two names. Aimee du Buc de Rivery, a French heiress, and Naksidil Sultan, a reforming queen mother of the Ottoman Empire. I made it my business to know about all stowaways.”

She screwed up her face and hunched forward. “A stowaway? Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard with the pirates.”

“Pirates?”

“Your transition from Aimee to Naksidil. I’m sympathizing. The kidnapping must have been tough. I’ve also had my hardships. I understand—”

Aimee let out a short, sharp laugh. “I thought you meant on the croatoan ship. I went to the empire out of choice. Your book is wrong.”

“It seems the sands of time have wronged both of us.” Augustus sighed. “History is written by the winners. Lies carved in stone that become facts after a few generations. But we can purge that history. Right the wrongs scrawled by the manipulators, who projected their contemporary views onto historical matters that they knew very little about.”

“And what exactly are your wrongs?” An amused smile crept onto her lips.

She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew Augustus’ plans. He knew how to run a real empire, not just a collective of savages, cutthroats and thieves like she had presided over. His would be a place way above the level of a lying harem concubine like her.

Augustus’ hands shook with barely controlled anger as he recalled the lies he’d read in the history books. He clenched his fists. The left corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to smile. “They say I marked the beginning of the Roman Empire’s collapse. How can one man be responsible for that? How? You tell me.”

Aimee raised her goblet. “How does one go from pirate slave to queen? Let us toast to forgotten history and our future making of it.”

“Indeed.” Augustus raised his goblet. He’d asked himself the same question when gazing at her stasis pod back up on the mother ship with the others. She clearly had some talent, otherwise the town wouldn’t exist, and the croatoans only chose a dozen figures from history, including those they had experimented on at Roanoke, so there was something about her they valued.

The overall terraforming plan earmarked the upper areas of North America as nonessential due to terrain and climate. He’d cut off the northern attachment’s communications and left them to survive or die, and only visited out of curiosity four years later. And there Aimee was, forming a town with everyone in the area, human and croatoan. She could not be underestimated. Or tolerated.

“So tell me. Why were you so eager to keep your little wasp Charlie Jackson alive?” Aimee said.

Augustus chewed on a tough trotter and swallowed with a grimace. “He’s not important, but we do have some unfinished business. He’ll be facing off against your champion tomorrow.”

Jackson would pay for what he had done to the croatoan ships, and ultimately Augustus’ plans, but Augustus wanted to see him suffer rather than a quick easy kill.

Aimee leaned back, touched the croatoan’s muscly left arm, and pompously snorted. “You’re lining up that old man against Halkstan? We want to put on a show, not a slaughter.”

“He’s surprisingly capable. But not enough to avoid what he deserves.” Augustus dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and lowered it over the platter. He raised his hand and clicked his fingers.

The young servant girl didn’t move. She looked at Aimee, who returned a nod.

The girl scurried over, took the platter, and reached for Augustus’ goblet. He held his hand flat over the top of it. “Bring me some root wine.”

Augustus yawned. He needed a fix—another reason why he had to take control of Unity. With the destruction and revolt of the farms and the harvesters, the town provided the only protected source of root he knew of.

Aimee stood. “Join me by the fire. We still have things to discuss.”

She sauntered over to a pair of wooden chairs positioned in front of a stone hearth that was already crackling with flames. Augustus followed and sat down. The croatoan picked up a section of sawn log and clumsily tossed it onto the fire. Red embers shot across the floor around Augustus’ sandals.

“Careful, you stupid…” he trailed off.

The alien let out four raspy clicks. Aimee rubbed its arm again. “You can leave us to it. I’ll join you shortly.”

The thought of her having sex with the creature turned Augustus’ stomach—if that’s what was happening, the rumors were that she had yet to have intercourse with anyone or anything, but she seemed overly fond of this one. Integration had its limits, and fornication crossed his personal line. Besides that, the croatoans were relegated to a minority in his mind, susceptible to a coordinated human attack if the remaining population managed to organize themselves. She was nailing her colors to the wrong mast. Augustus shook his head.

“Is there something wrong?” Aimee said.

“No. I was just thinking about how I could be of best use to your town. I have impeccable administrational and leadership skills. The ludus is… fun, as you would say, but I can offer so much more.”

It felt so low having to sell himself to her, but the hand that wields the knife never wears the crown. Others could do the dirty work; he had to remain clean in the eyes of her supporters.

“You’re planning on staying around after all?” Aimee said.

“This seems to be the best place to start rebuilding our world now the alien council is no more. Together we can regain the glory of our former empires.”

The servant brought two goblets of root wine. Augustus felt a noticeable lift almost immediately after two large gulps. Aimee drank greedily; wine dribbled from the side of her vessel, down her chin, and onto the front of her dress.

Although centuries younger than he, he reckoned she also feared a rapid ageing process without a regular supply of the croatoan root.

“Because of your previous rank, I’m prepared to give you a senior position on the local council—this is something I’ve been considering since you came back to Earth in such a spectacular way last month. You can keep your ludus if you can ensure a regular supply for the arena. We’ll review your status after a couple of months.”

She gave him a condescending smile.

Augustus resisted throwing the contents of his goblet in her face. He couldn’t take much more of her arrogance. He smiled. “Very well. Entertainment is a key part of keeping up morale. Tomorrow, Jackson will be a retiarius. A step up in sophistication from the usual sword-swinging butchery you’ve served up here.”

Aimee shrugged. “What’s a retiarius?”

“It’s normal when facing a heavy opponent like your champion.” Augustus swung his arm around his head. “Jackson will have a weighted net and a three-pointed trident. It’s designed to make him more agile to make up for the lack of armor. We want to at least make it appear like a fair fight.”

Augustus viewed it as a no-lose situation. He knew Jackson bettered the hunter Baliska and heard all of the whining stories from that useless lump of excrement Gregor. If Jackson proved triumphant, he’d get rid of one problem—Aimee’s lethal bodyguard. If he lost, it would still be pleasurable, especially if Jackson remained alive and Augustus could don the robe and mask of Charon and inflict the deathblow with a large sledgehammer to the temple.

Having missed his opportunity on the mother ship, Augustus was eager for another.

“You’re daydreaming, Augustus,” Aimee said. “What do you see in your dreams?”

“A crushed insect,” Augustus said. He clapped his hands together and smiled at the thought of Charlie Jackson being squashed under the foot of his superiors.

“Just remember,” Aimee said. “If you help me, I can make your life in this town comfortable. Our strength is teamwork, living together and sharing resources.”

Augustus slowly nodded and held his goblet toward Aimee. She clinked her vessel against his and smiled. Most of what she said was meaningless to him. Soon, she would find out exactly how efficient he could be.

The last true Roman yielded to no man, or woman.

CHAPTER FIVE

Layla smiled at Venrick as they looked at each other through the window.

Although the croatoans didn’t really have the musculature to smile, there was a kind of eye movement that indicated a show of friendship. Layla picked this up from a number of the smaller engineer-types in the farms.

Venrick was of the combative type, she appeared different to the others, almost as if she worked on a different level of sophistication.

Despite the croaotoans’ ancient life spans, their hierarchy purposely kept those beneath them in distinct castes and responsibilities. They all had a drone-like quality to them in that they only really ever seemed to exist for their jobs.

Layla had seen very few working on their own agency or have interests outside of their roles, but this Venrick had not only taken it upon herself to learn rudimentary English, but had the smarts to know when she faced certain death if she stayed in the battle.

Gregor and Denver would see that as a sign of weakness. She’d seen that when they looked at her, but for Layla, it told her that the aliens had more to them than even she first realized.

Other castes besides the council members had within them the ability to be individuals and work things out independently.

The way Venrick paced the small room while she waited for the others to prepare for their trek north told Layla that she was eager to help—perhaps a willingness to integrate. She’d obviously worked out that everyone, croatoan and human alike, would perhaps be better off if they helped each other.

Writing these notes down, Layla came to the conclusion she would keep this to herself for a while.

She knew she would meet resistance from the others, and with humanity starting to get organized and find a new way of living, she didn’t want to risk throwing a spanner in the works.

Least of all with Denver, who was desperate to find Charlie.

A tap on the door disturbed her from writing her final notes. She looked up as Maria opened the door and walked in.

“Hey, girl,” Layla said, pleased to see her friend.

“Hey,” Maria replied while casting an uneasy eye to Venrick. “Is she okay? She’s got a bit of an intense stare going on. Kind of creeps me out.”

“I think she’s fine. Adjusting to the situation and probably eager to get back out there. What’s up, the prep going okay?”

“Yeah, we’re nearly done. Denver’s doing a final ammo and comms check. Poor guy must be a mess of emotions after finding out his dad’s alive.”

“Pretty much. You look a bit nervous. Are you sure you want to come with us? You could stay back with Mike and the others.”

Maria came and sat down on the stool, her back to the alien, who had lost interest and returned to her pacing in the room.

“I want to come. I want to see more of the world, you know, see how it was before…” Maria shrugged. “Well, before I was born, or created by—them. Is it true the others and I are clones? That all the workers within the stasis units inside the harvesters were the same?”

Layla reached out for her, gripped her arm, and resisted the urge to pull her into a hug. Her face was so innocent and full of confusion. “It’s true, but that doesn’t change that you are you. Even if you are biologically similar to others, none of them are you; none of them are Maria.”

“I suppose so, but how much of me is really me? I mean, am I just a product of the croatoans’ biological experiments? Is my mind really mine or one they designed to be a good, unquestioning worker?”

Although Layla did suspect the alien biologists to have altered the minds of the clones in much the same way they did for their workers, she had learned enough about Maria and now Venrick to know that any cellular manipulation wasn’t finite.

It could be changed through free will.

“No, your mind is all yours,” Layla said despite not being completely sure just how much. Either way it didn’t matter. Layla and the heads of the other farms had agreed to not let any clones still within stasis mix with one another. It just wouldn’t be worth the confusion and fear it would generate.

So each farm now had a bizarre situation in that each one with a recovered harvester had their own Erika, Ben, Ethan, and Maria, amongst the others.

“Do you trust her?” Maria asked, nodding to Venrick. “What if she’s leading us into a trap? What if that video was faked like the ones they showed on the harvester to make us believe we were on a generation ship? What if Charlie really is dead?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Come on, we should get going. Denver’s already tense. I want to keep him focused and on the job.”

“That might be easier said than done,” Maria added with a sigh. “Gregor’s already throwing his weight around with Den and Khan about who should lead the expedition. I’d be more comfortable if he stayed behind.”

“We all would, but sometimes we need people like him.”

“Maybe,” Maria said, standing up and turning away. Her shoulders tensed.

“What is it?” Layla said, recognizing she had something to get off her chest. She joined Maria and placed her arm around her shoulders. “Has something happened?”

“Not yet,” Maria said, turning to face Layla. “But this morning, I woke with him in my bed. He said that back before the uprising that people like him were responsible for bringing adulthood to people like me.”

A surge of anger flowed through Layla. That bastard! “No,” she said forcibly, making Maria step back a few inches. “Don’t you ever let him touch you if you don’t want him to. That goes for anyone, in fact. He’s a damned liar. Trust nothing he says, you hear me?”

With wide eyes, Maria nodded. “I do… thanks, Layla. Don’t leave me with him, will you?”

Hugging her close, Layla forced away the images she had conjured of what she would do to Gregor if ever… “No, girl, I won’t. But keep this on you at all times, even when you’re sleeping.”

Layla handed her a small Taser she and Mike had developed from the high-capacity battery cells from the harvesters. “One blast of that in the right place will do the job.”

Maria pocketed the palm-sized black device and smiled, no doubt the thought of zapping Gregor bringing her happy thoughts. “Come on, let’s go meet the others. It’s time to find out if Venrick is telling the truth.”

CHAPTER SIX

Charlie gritted his teeth and yanked down on the chain attached to his rusty manacles. Specks of mortar dropped in his eyes as the links pulled rigid. It wasn’t coming loose. He decided instead to conserve his energy for the arena and leaned against the cold stone wall and thought about what Augustus had in store for him.

The Roman had mentioned something about a special surprise.

It certainly wasn’t going to be anything good, that’s for sure.

His cellmate, a small croatoan wearing a standard alien dark gray uniform, hung from manacles on the opposite wall. Its legs were too short to reach the dirt floor. It had desperately grunted, clicked and kicked its skinny legs for the past two hours, but now it had given up and dangled limply, letting out a quiet, desperate keening noise.

A key rattled in the cell door’s lock. A bolt screeched across its latch outside. The croatoan raised its helmet. Charlie tensed.

The thick wooden door creaked open and Augustus strode in, flanked by two men dressed in faded blue jeans and brown leather jackets. Both held rifles. Augustus pointed to the alien. “This one’s first. Take it down and get it ready.”

One of the men slung his rifle and pulled out a wrench while the other provided cover, aiming his weapon at the alien. The guard unscrewed the croatoan’s left manacle. It aimed a weak kick. The man punched it in the stomach.

“Save it for outside. You’re going to need everything you’ve got,” the other guard said with a sneer.

The alien wheezed and shook. It dropped to its feet and scampered into a corner after its right wrist was freed. Both men grabbed an arm each and dragged it out of the cell.

Augustus turned to Charlie and placed his hand in a flap down the side of his purple robe, briefly fumbled and produced a dried piece of root. “This might help you. Your only way out of here is to keep winning.”

Charlie turned his head and looked away. “Fuck you. Like I’m going to accept your help after all this. You take me for a fool? Have you learned nothing about humanity in your time?”

Augustus just shrugged as a faint buzz echoed along the corridor: the noise of a crowd, hundreds of chanting voices. Charlie only saw the outside of the arena when being led at gunpoint from Augustus’ ludus to the attached cells. A four-yard-high stone wall surrounded the fighting area with staircases cut in at regular intervals.

An escape plan would have to be winged—if it were at all possible.

Augustus reached forward and pressed the root into Charlie’s hand. “Hate me all you want; the feeling is mutual. But you need to make the crowd love you. They don’t possess the logic of you or me. Most were born in Unity, and this is a normal state of affairs.”

Charlie refused to give Augustus the satisfaction of conversation and gazed at a cockroach scuttling across the floor. He expected the decrepit old fool to strike him, but no blows came.

“Have it your way,” Augustus said. Outside, the crowd roared. “I’m guessing the croatoan didn’t last long. They’ll be coming for you in a minute. Time to show what you’re capable of, little wasp.”

Augustus disappeared from Charlie’s peripheral vision. The cell door slammed shut.

Shifting his manacles up, he stuffed the piece of root into his mouth and chewed. It had the texture of beef jerky, but the effects were as immediate as eating it fresh, like the sudden adrenaline rush of white-water rafting or that moment when you go over the edge while abseiling.

The cell door opened again. A blond-haired man crouched in the corridor and aimed his rifle at Charlie. The other entered and started unscrewing his right manacle. “You try any bullshit and your brains will be decorating the wall. Got it?”

Charlie ignored him, just stared right into his eyes, trying to get the measure of the man, but the other wouldn’t hold his gaze and unfastened the left manacle. He stepped back and gestured toward the corridor. “Move, grandpa. Unless you want to be dragged out like that freak?”

Charlie rubbed his wrists and eyed both men. Emotionless faces. Born and raised as traitors—perfect underlings for the likes of Augustus. He didn’t want anyone around who would think for themselves. It made his stomach turn. “One day I’ll come back for both of you,” he said, pointing at the two men. “You’re a disgrace to humanity.”

The man crouching outside laughed. He jerked his rifle to the left, gesturing along the corridor. “You won’t even see the night. Get moving, fuck-face.”

Charlie shook his head and left his cell, heading toward the light streaming through a low-barred one-meter-tall gate at the end. He felt nimble on his feet. The full invigorating effect of the root had taken hold.

The footsteps behind didn’t get too close.

No chance to take them by surprise. They knew what they were doing.

The noise of the crowd grew louder. Men and women catcalled, croatoans clicked and many spoke in English too. Five meters from the gate, the sandy surface of the fighting arena stretched out, parts of it stained with blood.

He passed a stack of four crudely assembled plywood coffins. One of the men said, “That’s going to be your bed… forever, old man.”

Just before the gate, a number of weapons hung on a wooden rack: short swords, a mace, three battered metal shields. Charlie stooped and looked through the gate’s bars. A shirtless man stood over the little croatoan. He looked upwards for a moment before smashing his mace through the alien’s visor.

The crowd roared with approval and delight. Two more croatoans appeared shortly after with a stretcher and carried the dead remains of the little one away. It didn’t stand a chance. Were Charlie’s odds going to be as short?

“These are your weapons,” the closest man said.

He threw a trident and net at Charlie’s feet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Charlie said.

The man snorted. “Does it look like I am? You don’t get to choose.”

Charlie picked up the trident. It had a wooden pole, three barbed prongs, and felt lighter than it looked. The net had weights around its edge. He remembered seeing films of gladiators waving it around their head, and dismissed trying the technique. Without experience, the thing might prove cumbersome. Charlie wanted to be quick on his feet if he faced the brute he’d seen behind Aimee.

A disheveled woman ducked in front of the gate, twisted a key in the lock, and pulled it open. “Out you come. Just walk to the center and turn to face the dignitaries. Try anything and the armed guards will take you down before you can take a breath.”

“Nice setup you have here.” Charlie didn’t move. The situation seemed bizarre. A foot thrust into the small of his back, and he stumbled into a running crouch and stood in bright sunshine at the edge of the arena.

The gate locked behind him, trapping him inside.

A couple of coughs punctuated the silence inside the arena.

The acre-sized surface was soft under his boots. Dark yellow and purple stains of battle were all over the sand. He wondered how many fights had taken place. Human and croatoan blood spattered the high concrete wall that enclosed the fighting area. On top of the wall, spectators stood on four steps that ran around the full perimeter. The two species mixed together. Although the aliens outnumbered the humans by a ratio of around four to one.

There were only two entrances: his and a larger gate at the opposite end. Winning would be his only way out, he realized. He walked to the middle of the arena and turned to face Aimee. She sat beneath a veranda, probably salvaged from an old house in the local area. She wore a blue dress and wafted a fan in front of her face. Augustus perched to her left; he adjusted his mask and leaned forward. Two other people he didn’t recognize sat either side of them.

Augustus stood and raised an arm. “People of Unity. This is today’s main event. The man standing before you brought down the two croatoan ships, single-handedly. He might look like a pathetic old man, but don’t let his appearance deceive you.”

Raised chatter and clicking filled the arena. A half-eaten apple bounced past Charlie’s feet. Augustus held his finger to his lips and waited for silence. He pointed down. “This man is a threat to Unity. Our Unity. His judgment will come today. I introduce to you, the doom bringer!”

A few people shouted insults, drowning each other out.

Aimee sat expressionless through the Roman’s speech. After Augustus sat down, she leaned over and whispered something to him. He stood again and said, “Please welcome Halkstan. The champion of Unity.”

Charlie heard the gate behind him creak open. He spun to see a large croatoan, dressed in a faded uniform repaired in places with thick stitches, duck out of the gap. Its sword glinted in the sun. At least a meter and a half long, serrated on one side and featuring hollow circles running down the middle. A standard-issue croatoan hunter weapon.

The crowd cheered as Halkstan strode toward Charlie, sword raised.

Charlie dropped the net, knowing he’d be useless with it, and held the trident forward with both hands, focusing on his opponent. He blocked out the shouting above him and the fear of death, and thought about previous croatoan attack patterns. They usually went for a quick kill, wide swings—arrogant and impatient.

Halkstan sprang forward, bouncing in Charlie’s direction at pace. It jumped in the air and swept the sword downwards, its great bulk moving slowly—or perhaps the root’s effects were given Charlie faster reactions. He jumped to his right.

The blade whistled past his ear and thumped into the sand. Charlie backed away, keeping the alien out of sword’s reach by jabbing the trident toward its ugly, snarling face. He kicked sand at the alien, trying to gain an advantage. It shook its head, growled, and leapt in the air again.

Charlie smiled as he staggered back. This was his chance. He planted his feet and thrust the trident at the alien’s torso, using the beast’s weight and momentum against it. But it ignored the wound and arced the sword down, chopping the wooden pole in two.

Frenzied voices rose around the arena. People got to their feet, sensing the battle was reaching a climax point.

Charlie was left with little more than a half-meter-long sharp stick. The beast roared and stalked forward, pushing Charlie until he backed into the wall.

Halkstan chopped down directly at his head. Charlie dived to his left and skidded across the sand. The sword clanked against the concrete wall. Small stone chips sprayed against his back.

Dashing back to the center of the arena, Charlie knew he needed to finish this quickly. Simply trying to avoid Halkstan’s attacks would eventually lead to defeat, the other having much greater stamina.

The alien advanced in typical fashion, building into a bouncing run. It sprang at him and pulled the sword behind its head. An opportunity presented itself.

Charlie waited until the last moment, his muscles tensed.

Halkstan grunted and slashed the sword forward. Charlie dived feet first and slid between the alien’s legs, immediately jumping up behind its back. Using both hands, Charlie rammed the sharp end of the pole into Halkstan’s exposed neck and drove it deep into the alien’s body.

Yellow blood squirted around the pole. Halkstan let out a strange buzzing noise, dropped the sword, and sank to one knee. Charlie grabbed the sword, pressed the point against the back of Halkstan’s head, and looked up to the veranda.

The crowd fell silent.

Aimee remained expressionless and handed her fan to Augustus. She held her thumb out sideways. Charlie knew she probably wanted her champion to fight another day, but he didn’t care and wasn’t waiting for her decision.

He reached around the front of Halkstan and ripped the two tubes away from its face. Hearing a collective gasp gave Charlie a sense of satisfaction. The alien wheezed and toppled onto its side. The only good croatoan was a dead one, and he refused to show mercy.

The two armed men rushed through the gate and positioned themselves either side of Charlie.

“Drop the sword. Now,” the blond one said.

Charlie turned and stared at him. With a shrug, he tossed the sword on the corpse, smiled, and looked up to the veranda.

Aimee and Augustus were in conversation. They both kept glancing over. Eventually she held her thumb out, paused and turned it up. A light ripple of applause quickly died out. Augustus rose from his seat. “Take him back to the ludus. Put him in with our wounded prisoner.”

The crowd filed down the external staircases, and the whole place emptied within a minute—this wasn’t what they had come for or expected. Charlie estimated around two thousand spectators had packed into the arena. He felt satisfaction that he had disappointed them. He wouldn’t be their entertainment, not like this. Of the crowd, he estimated there were perhaps four hundred humans. Most of a younger appearance. The two aiming rifles at him couldn’t have been more than eighteen years of age.

“I take it my bed plans have changed for this evening?” Charlie said to the one aiming his rifle at him.

“Don’t count your chickens just yet,” the blond man said. “Get back through the gate.”

Two croatoans appeared from Halkstan’s entrance, carrying a stretcher made from canvas and poles. They hopped over to their fallen comrade and rolled it onto the stretcher and quickly returned to the gate.

“They don’t seem too bothered,” Charlie said.

“Halkstan was a bully,” the guard said. “He went around kicking their asses. I doubt they give a shit. You probably did them a favor.”

“He? You mean it.”

“Whatever,” the blond man said. “Put your hands on your head and start walking, or you’ll be joining him as crop fertilizer.”

Charlie rolled his eyes and clasped his hands behind his neck. He wished he’d found Unity before he took down the mother ship. The cheeky fucker with the blond hair was crying out to be taught a lesson. They all were here. How could they live alongside the species that all but wiped out the human race? He couldn’t understand that thinking at all. It felt like a betrayal by his own people he fought for. He didn’t go to the lengths he did to rid the world of the croatoan menace to end up living with the damned things.

* * *

The men directed Charlie around the edge of Unity to the ludus. Nearly all the buildings in the central area looked scruffy and medieval, not like the more modern hybrid ones on the steps around the edge of the basin. Despite setting up a new integrated society, it didn’t take them long to build a class system. Some things never change.

The first group that noticed him pass by sat around a barrel, drinking from metal cups. They stared over and whispered to each other.

Just before they came to the ludus, Charlie glanced into what looked like a makeshift bar. The raised chatter stopped as he passed. A man and a woman at a table next to the open entrance glared at him before continuing their drinks.

None of these people appreciated the fact that he saved their lives—they probably didn’t even realize the extent of the threat with hiding up here out of the way. All would have perished without him doing what he did, leaving the croatoans as the sole owners of Earth. And this was how he was thanked.

He passed through the ludus gate into its small courtyard. One of his guards swung it closed behind him. The cells covered three sides of the courtyard, fifteen in all. He stood facing the main building: a two-story structure made from wood.

Augustus walked out of the main entrance. “It’s time we got you reacquainted with an old friend.”

Charlie’s heart raced. He hoped it wasn’t Denver or Maria. Gregor and Layla flipped sides, but they’d spent enough time with the aliens to make their capture more acceptable in his eyes.

Augustus gestured left with his bony index finger. “Put him in number two.”

A rifle muzzle jabbed into Charlie’s back. One of the guards opened the cell door.

He stepped inside and heard chains rattle to his left. A huge familiar-looking croatoan in battle dress thrust toward him but abruptly stopped short, held by its restraints. It had a stomach wound and dried yellow blood on its left leg. The hunter he fought in the forest! He could have sworn he killed the beast.

The cell door slammed behind him. Augustus’ mask appeared in the small window. “This is Baliska. I believe you have history? You’re cellmates now; isn’t that just a wonderful twist of fate? The gods couldn’t have planned it any better.”

Charlie turned to look at the alien. Dust puffed from the wall as it tried to bust out of the chains again, pure hate burned in its eyes.

The feeling was mutual.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The early afternoon sunshine cut through the orange-tinged clouds, bathing the courtyard in a warm glow.

The heat warmed Gregor’s face as he pulled the last rope over the hover-bike’s seat and tied it off, ensuring the pack of ammo and supplies were secure. The movement made his shoulder sore, tweaking the muscle in a way that he hadn’t experienced for years.

Sleeping at Freetown overnight on their hard beds had taken its toll. His back felt every day of his fifty-six years.

Age crept up on him in the night like a thief, stealing his vitality. He needed another shot of root before they left.

The stuff Alex was harvesting back at his original farm wasn’t as good as it was when the croatoans were working with it—the effects just weren’t as long lasting as before, requiring larger, more frequent doses.

The aliens knew its secrets far better than either he or Alex. When they were refining it, the effects were far greater.

But still, with Layla and the other self-appointed assholes deciding to eradicate it and its use, he couldn’t exactly be choosy about it. Besides, even with the inferior human-made product, it put him in a strong position.

He who could control the flow of root would have a lot of power in this new human order. He did it once to build up his crime empire; he could do it again.

One thing he had learned from those days was that there were always customers for the hard-to-get and the addictive.

With a lack of general medical supplies beyond the basics at the farms, when people got sick, or tired, or just wanted to improve themselves, it would be Gregor Miralos they’d come to.

Beside his bike were two others. Each one took two passengers and had space for luggage. He considered sabotaging Denver’s.

Both he and Layla would be travelling together, and it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for him if both of them were to crash into the forest at full speed.

The thought brought a smile to his face.

They were like bloody twins these days—joined at the hip and speaking for one another. In a way, Gregor was disappointed with Denver. After Charlie did his thing with the bomb, it looked like the kid would find his own mind, but no, instead of playing copycat to Charlie, he now did that with Layla.

It didn’t suit him.

Pain still throbbed in Gregor’s jaw from the kid’s jab. The bruise looked ugly in the mirror—a mix of purple and green that hinted at Gregor’s age and inability to fight as well as he could.

A few years ago, he’d never be beaten to the punch like that.

Still, that aside, Denver rarely showed what he was capable of anymore, preferring to wander Freetown after Layla like a lovesick puppy. Ironic considering his own dog had decided to abandon him and run off to the wild.

Sabotage would certainly be an option—if he could only figure out how to do it. The bike’s internals were well sealed off and the tech so advanced compared to the motorcycles Gregor had worked on in the past that he hadn’t the first clue as to how to go about it. Even the throttle mechanism used digital software controls, and hacking into alien computers wasn’t exactly his forte.

As he thought about what to do, double doors swished open from the complex behind him. He turned. Denver approached in his lanky, loping gait of his. With a few strides, he ate up the ground and joined Gregor by the bikes.

He wore his bug-out kit: camo combat trousers and waist jacket with a dozen pockets containing various tools he and his dear old pa had made, walking boots that looked to have been repaired a dozen times with the hides of various animals, and a near-bald shaved head.

Without his beard he looked like the prototypical American US soldier.

“You’re looking shifty,” Denver said as he placed his backpack on the rear end of the bike. “What are you up to now?”

“You’re a suspicious little shit, aren’t you? Just like your old man. Do you even have your own personality?” Gregor leaned back against his bike and folded his arms across his chest.

Brushing his taunt off with a shrug, Denver quickly and efficiently tied his pack down with a length of rope, using a knot system Gregor hadn’t seen before— probably another one of his old man’s little survival tricks he’d learned out of a National Guard manual.

“What are you even doing here?” Denver asked when he had finished securing his supplies. “You can’t stand the sight of me or my dad, let alone the aliens. Why bother coming with us?”

“You know me, Den, I like a bit of an adventure. Besides, your little happy group needs me. You’re getting soft.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

Smiling made Gregor’s face hurt, but he grinned anyway. He always did enjoy a bit of banter, especially when it made Denver angry. “Fancy going another round, kid? It was kind of a cheap shot yesterday. At least your old pa would fight like a real man. Learning how to fight from Layla now, eh? Or perhaps Mike taught you a few things? His wife perhaps? I heard she’s pretty lethal with that tai chi of hers.”

The fist flew half an inch high as Gregor ducked.

Denver’s long reach caught him off guard, but the boy was definitely slower this morning. Gregor shifted his weight on to his right foot and bobbed under a straight left jab.

Noticing Denver had unbalanced, Gregor launched forward and rammed his shoulder into Denver’s ribs, forcing him back against the edge of the bike.

Denver twisted as he fell away and grabbed hold of Gregor’s denim jacket’s lapels, pulling him to the ground.

The two men hit the hard surface with a thud.

Gregor leaned up and slid his legs over Denver’s beneath him, pinning him to the ground. He grabbed his throat and squeezed, making the younger man choke for breath.

Denver’s long arms pushed up against Gregor’s face, but the Armenian knocked them away with his other hand before slapping Denver hard across the side of the head as his face started to turn purple with the lack of air.

“You’re weak,” Gregor taunted. “Don’t you see what Layla’s done to you? You’re pathetic. Where’s your strength now, eh? You need the root, boy, you know it, and I know it. You want to grow old and infirm like Mike?”

Denver kicked out and twisted beneath Gregor, but the older man continued to squeeze his neck until he stopped struggling.

“You’re right,” Denver gurgled as he became limp, giving up. “I’m weak.”

Gregor had him where he wanted him, and despite not feeling great himself, it appeared that Denver had gone quite some time without the root and was far weaker than even he realized.

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.

The root wine made him feel strong. He powered away from Unity, back and forth up the switchbacks until he reached the upper edge of the basin. He rested his hands on hips and surveyed the town. Twinkling lights came from the main cluster of buildings and from the houses built on the five large steps around the east edge.

Glowing pink rings of a hover-bike shot over his head, going in the direction of Aimee’s residence.

Soon, this would all be his. And that would just be the start.

CHAPTER NINE

Denver adjusted the pack’s straps on his shoulders and lifted the rifle to his chest as he led the way through the dense forest with Venrick and Gregor by his side. Khan, Maria and Layla were close behind.

Even though it was real early, approximately 0600 hours if his instincts were correct, he felt wired and alert like his old self again.

They had travelled through the night, following Venrick’s map coordinates on the hover-bike’s computers for over seventeen hours, only stopping twice for short breaks.

The others wanted a longer rest, but Denver pressed on, wanting to get to Charlie as soon as possible.

If Venrick’s version of events were to be believed, Denver didn’t want to wait around. There was no telling what would happen to Charlie if another group of aliens had taken him.

Especially after what he did.

The root in his system helped him blaze forward with no lack of energy.

Even Venrick with her three-toed feet and long limbs had trouble keeping up. The forest this far north, into Canada in what used to be Ontario, had grown dense and thick. They had left their bikes back at an old ruin town, safely hidden in a tumbled-down factory.

Venrick assured them they were just a few kilometers away from the site of the battle.

After an hour of relentless trekking, Layla spoke up. “We need a break, guys. We can’t keep this up; we’ll be exhausted.”

She stopped and leaned on her knees. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto her beige cargo pants. They had torn on thorns, and blood beaded in long scratches.

Maria pulled up next her and sat on the ground while she stretched out her calf muscle. Khan extended her leg, bending her foot forward to relieve the cramp. He didn’t look as tired, being used to long extended forays into the woods, but without the root he certainly wasn’t as fresh as Denver and Gregor.

“Okay,” Denver conceded. “You guys take a rest. I’ll scout ahead with Venrick and Gregor. We’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Update over comms every few minutes,” Khan added, reminding Denver of the alien comm units Mike had given to them.

Before Layla could protest, Denver looked at the alien and nodded before heading off further into the trees.

They passed through a thick canopy of pines.

The sap littered the ground, making their steps sticky and scented as they disturbed the dirt beneath their feet. More than once Denver reached his right arm down to pet his dog only to find his hand dangling in the air.

On excursions like these, Pip made the perfect companion, unlike Gregor and Venrick.

He couldn’t think of a worse pair of travelling partners. What would his dad think? His son allied with a damned alien and Gregor.

These thoughts ran through his head as they came out of a clearing and crested a small grassy hill. Overgrown bushes lined the edge of the trees, making the hill almost perfectly spherical. At the top he looked down and saw it.

Venrick pointed. “Battle there. See pod mark in ground?”

Gregor whistled and put his hands on his hips—clearly his root wasn’t doing as much for him as it was Denver.

Bringing the riflescope to his eye, Denver surveyed the ground below.

A wide expanse of field stretched east to west at least five hundred meters and double that north to south.

Along the sides the tall pines leaned in, their green needles bleeding into the grass and shrubs of the field.

Littered all over the ground were bodies of croatoans and humans—far more of the former than the latter.

The alien bodies were dressed in two distinct styles: those that wore the gray-blue uniforms of the farm-based aliens like Venrick, and then those that wore adapted human dress. Some wore denim while others had suits and track pants and all manner of strangely crafted clothes.

He’d never seen the croatoans fight among themselves like this, and it was clear from the bodies and the video that this other sect was fighting alongside the humans as one group.

“I can see the pod landing spot,” Denver said. “In fact, I see two. With the one Khan found, that makes three. That still leaves another three unaccounted for. Venrick, did you see who or what was in the second pod here?”

With her strange clicking version of English, she said, “No see other pod open.”

“Where were they taken?” Gregor asked as he looked down onto the scene with his hand over his eyes to shield from the low-raking sun on the east side. “The pods are gone too… they must have taken them as well as Charlie and who or whatever was in the other one.”

“I… don’t know,” Venrick clicked and warbled, but then she stepped forward and leaned her turtle-like head forward. Squinting her almost-black eyes, large as crab apples, she stretched out her scaled hand and pointed one of her thick fingers. “There… in sky.”

“What’s that?” Gregor snapped at the alien. “I can’t see anything. What are you playing at?”

“There!” Venrick clicked again.

Denver followed the direction of her arm and finger with his riflescope and zoomed in with the dial on the side, compressing the distance and bringing the background closer.

Above the dark pine green of the tree canopy on the other side of the battleground, he saw faint wisps of smoke curling up into the dawn sky.

It grew thin as it rose up and mixed with the salmon and orange tones of dawn.

These days, without the heavy harvesting, the tint was becoming less pronounced as the weeks went by. Although that was clearly a good thing, it also meant less root for Denver… which also meant he needed Gregor, and that sickened him more than anything.

But perhaps this other group would have stocks if they had a large alien population. The more Denver searched the sky and panned his scopes, the more narrow, swirling columns of smoke he spotted.

The enemy, the pods… Dad! There must be a settlement of some kind over there.

“I see it,” Denver said to Gregor. “Smoke columns. About twenty of them. We should be able to get there within the hour if we move now… shit, wait, what’s that?”

“Hunter,” Venrick said as she stepped back away from the ridge and crouched low to the ground. Gregor and Denver instinctively followed.

Denver recognized this type: it looked similar to the one that had hunted them in Manhattan and followed them to the town hall.

For a brief moment he thought it was the same one, but this one wasn’t wounded and was visibly smaller and wearing an adapted set of army fatigues.

It stepped out of the trees on the far side of the battleground and made its way through the hundreds of bodies, always looking, searching through its visor. It carried a large black rifle very similar to the one Denver carried.

“How many of them patrol this area?” Denver asked Venrick in hushed tones from his prone position.

The alien clicked nonsense in return and blinked a look of confusion.

Holding up his hands and indicating to one finger and then the hunter, he asked again. “More than one?”

“Don’t know. I… stayed not long.”

“Great, so we could be surrounded and we wouldn’t even know until it’s too late. What did I say about trusting these damned things?” Gregor said, getting an intense look from Venrick in response.

“Keep your damned voice down,” Denver whispered. “Here’s the plan. I’ll take out this one; you two flank round through the trees, see if you can spot any other movement. They don’t look like they’re expecting anything by being so out in the open; you’ll likely get the drop on them.”

“Why me?” Gregor said. “You love these aliens so much, you go with it.”

“Her,” Denver said and realized how ridiculous it was that he was defending an alien to Gregor. Clearly the ex-crime lord’s brain wasn’t particularly sharp today.

Denver offered him the perfect opportunity to deal with Venrick.

“Just go with her and deal with the situation in your usual way,” Denver said, giving the other man an obvious wink, knowing the alien wouldn’t likely pick up on it.

Feigning comprehension, Gregor gave Denver a mock salute as he sneered with understanding. “Right you are. I’ll meet you back with the others once we’ve swept round and taken a look. Don’t do anything stupid with that one down there… or do, I don’t really care.”

“I hope you fall into a trap,” Denver said as Gregor and Venrik, still crouching, made their way down the other side of the hill and headed off into the eastern side of the trees.

Gregor flipped him the bird before he disappeared into the forest.

A part of Denver hoped that both of them would kill each other and save him the trouble.

He took out the adapted communicator from his jacket pocket. Mike had done a great job of altering the encryption on these devices.

They had to be careful using the alien tech, as they didn’t want to give away their communications to any croatoans who might be listening in, especially with those from the south posing a threat still.

Although the northern territory farms were devoid of aliens, most of them now dead on the field, the southern farms and those on other continents were still just getting the news of everything that had happened over the last month and were fighting with the aliens in their own way.

Layla helped forward messages to those farms that came online using the inter-facility messaging system that Augustus used from the mother ship. Without the central server, it had taken weeks to hack the system to work on a peer-to-peer basis, but every day they reached more and more facilities, and day by day the humans turned on the aliens, reclaiming the planet once more.

Switching the communicator on with a small thumb button inset into the alien polymer, he brought it up to his ear. “Layla, this is Den. You hear me?”

A few seconds passed, and with zero static, Layla’s voice came to him. “I hear you loud and clear, Den. What’s going on? You find anything?”

Denver filled her in on the situation.

“I’ll bring back a gift. Hold tight, I’ll be there shortly.”

He didn’t expand on it as he clicked the communicator off. Edging forward on his elbows and sighting through the scope, he watched the alien continue to stalk through the field. Occasionally it got distracted by something on a body and stopped to investigate.

This was not the behavior of a trained and lethal hunter.

Bracing the rifle against his shoulder and using a molehill to support the barrel, he waited for the alien to stop and stoop once more before pulling the trigger.

The shot caught the alien in the knee, bending its leg backwards and making it sprawl forward.

It dropped its rifle and clutched its bleeding leg.

The shot, silenced and suppressed with alien technology, made almost no noise. The downed alien looked around in all directions to see where the attack had come from, while letting out a clipped screech.

Definitely not a trained hunter, Denver thought as he crested the hill and in a crouching run, keeping to the side where the trees cast their shadows, headed toward his quarry, rifle up ready to fire if needed.

But he wanted this one alive.

* * *

Gregor let Venrick take the lead.

She’d been easy to convince to take point as they slowly made their way through the trees on the eastern side of the field. He really wanted to stop for another shot of root.

The long journey had meant the last dose was already wearing off. He would have preferred to be freshly rooted for this, but he had learned you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and you don’t trust Greeks bearing gifts.

Neither do you let a croatoan walk behind you.

That was Venrick’s mistake. She loped forward, peering into the darkness with her superior eyesight, looking out for more scouts or guards. She had a soft throaty click that at times sounded almost musical.

He supposed it was their version of whistling.

Gregor stepped over a downed log and surprised himself by almost standing on a snake. It was nothing more than a glorified grass snake. Its green head looked up at him, its tongue briefly tasting the air, and deciding it didn’t like the taste of him or the alien, it slithered off into the shadows of the rotting log.

Birds tweeted up in the canopy, warning others about Gregor and the alien as they continued to stalk through the woods.

They eventually came to a bank with a fast-flowing brook. Large boulders provided a way across, but when Venrick stopped and turned to say something to Gregor, he was already lunging forward, knife in hand.

He collided with the alien, sending her collapsing to the bank’s edge.

With a heavy cut he severed her breathing tubes and rolled off while she struggled and gasped for air. Her large hands struggled to deal with the intricate task of rejoining the cut air tubes.

She rolled onto her front so that she could reach to the tanks behind.

Gregor lunged again, driving his knee into the hard scaly area of her lower back. He knew from his ‘experiments’ on the farm that this area protected an important organ of theirs. One he didn’t fully understand the function of, but knew that if it were struck, it would send them into a brief paralysis as some nerve was trapped or overloaded.

Stuck on her front and screeching and clicking, Gregor drove the knife into the back of her neck.

It took three attempts to fully pierce the tough hide, but the last thrust did the job. Severing the brain stem, her body twitched twice before becoming completely still.

Gregor unhooked the two tanks of root-enriched air and strapped them to his back. He pushed her heavy body into the brook and watched as she floated away, banging into rocks and eventually floating out of sight, leaving a trail of blood to dissolve into the water.

“One down,” Gregor said as he cleaned his knife and prepared another shot of root before he headed back.

CHAPTER TEN

Charlie caressed his aching wrists. The effects of the root had worn off, his only dose in a month. His knees creaked as he crouched, and he winced after stretching his left arm, feeling a twinge in his elbow. Payback time for his body after all those active years, and cheating his age, assisted by the alien plant.

The heavy ludus gate creaked open. Raised voices echoed down the passage. Charlie moved gingerly to the cell door and looked through its small barred window out into the sunlit courtyard. Aimee and an armed, helmetless croatoan dressed in blue cotton trousers and shirt stood in the center, facing one of Augustus’ guards.

She prodded her finger into the guard’s chest. “You will take me to them, immediately. I give the orders in Unity.”

“But Augustus said I wasn’t to let—”

Aimee gestured to her croatoan sidekick. It raised its rifle. The guard fumbled on his belt and produced a ring of keys. He turned toward Charlie’s cell.

Charlie dove down and rubbed his hand across the dirt surface, erasing markings that he and Baliska had been using as a way of communication. He glanced at the large alien, who turned away. Both prisoners had come to a basic understanding. They shared a common enemy for now: Augustus.

A key clattered in the lock and the cell door swung open. Aimee stood in the gap, peering down with a neutral expression. Her green dress looked faded and tatty on closer inspection. A rifle pointed over her shoulder in the direction of Charlie’s face.

“Augustus told me that you two have previously met. I’m surprised you haven’t torn each other apart,” she said.

“What would be the point of that?” Charlie said. “My enemy’s enemy is my friend. I don’t suppose that job offer’s still open?”

Charlie didn’t expect any favors from Aimee after killing her champion, but she was clearly here for something. He’d grasp any opportunity that meant getting out of Augustus’ clutches and escaping this damned prison.

“You’re a dangerous man, Charlie Jackson. Augustus was right to call you a doom bringer.”

Aimee glanced around the quiet courtyard and stepped inside the cell—close enough for Charlie to attack. The croatoan guard remained out of striking distance, its weapon trained.

“I’m surprised Augustus allows visitors,” Charlie said.

The two aliens started to have a ticking conversation. Aimee knelt opposite him. “Augustus doesn’t know I’m here. He’s been summoned to chamber and will be tied up all morning. Unity holds its weekly committee meetings today. It’s his first one since he decided to live here permanently.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because of you, the wheels have been set in motion to destroy our planet. Did you think about the consequences when you brought down those ships?”

“Earth was being destroyed. We would have all died in the terraforming, if the croatoans didn’t kill us first. I’d say my group saved it.”

Aimee bitterly laughed. “You’re so naïve. Do you think the Croatoan Empire consisted of those two ships and the farms? They won’t let anyone get away with bringing down a colony and a terraform ship.”

He’d considered the scale of consequences, but speculation took second priority. Focus had been channeled into stamping out the immediate danger of the localized aliens and terraforming process.

“How do you know what they’ll do about it? If they destroy the planet, they’ll be destroying thousands of aliens who are still here,” Charlie said.

“We recovered Hagellan from the first escape pod. He’s just told me what to expect after recovering his galactic tracker.”

Charlie shrugged. “Hagellan? Who the fuck is that, and why should I care?”

“Hagellan ran the Earth program—he was the head of the croatoan council for this planet. There’s a precedent for when things like this happen. All croatoans involved in the operation are seen as guilty as the planet’s inhabitants. The Grand Council does not tolerate failure. They will send a planet destroyer to obliterate Earth. We’re not the first species that they’ve done this to.”

Her nonchalant delivery of the news confused Charlie. Aimee didn’t betray a flicker of emotion and waited for him to respond. “Are you serious?”

“They will smash us into a billion pieces.”

“Why are you telling me? Even if this is real—how the hell do I know you’re telling the truth? It’s not like you’ve done much to earn my trust since you took me from the escape pod. If it’s such a big deal, why can’t Hagellan do anything about it? He’s the head alien, ain’t he?”

“It is real, whether you want to believe or not. But are you willing to take the risk that I’m lying? Hagellan knows a way to stop it. Croatoan ships get to Earth by using a transport gate on a colonized planet in a neighboring galaxy. It’s not croatoan technology. If we destroy the gate, their ships won’t have the range to reach us. We need your help—and expertise.”

“What the hell do you expect me to do about it?”

“We require another bomb like the one you used to destroy the gate,” Aimee said. She leaned closer and touched Charlie’s shoulder. “We can do this, together. But I must warn you. This is a one-way mission. Once the gate is destroyed, there is no way to come back.”

“You want me to take a bomb? How do you propose getting to the gate? We don’t have the means to fly, never mind reach another galaxy.”

“Hagellan has a team of engineers working on an old grounded invasion craft. Their plan is to salvage parts from other downed ships. He thinks some of the internal infrastructure might still be intact. Once they have it working, the craft will fly to the transport area and signal the gate, ready to jump across space.”

“Why can’t one of them take a bomb if I decide to help?”

“This is your payment. The price of freedom. The planet has a similar atmosphere, and you can live out your life in peace.”

Charlie frowned. “You said the croatoans colonized it. What’s to stop them destroying that planet?”

“I don’t know those details. Only that we will be safe. You can discuss it with Hagellan when you meet him.”

“Why can’t his engineers make a bomb?”

Aimee sighed. “You smashed their local capability. Hagellan doesn’t think they can reproduce the kind of power you created. He only has vehicle engineers and those that stayed back in Unity—they just don’t have the expertise. Those that did were killed during the crash of the two ships.”

The irony of the situation dawned on Charlie. The very people who organized the killing of his family, friends and millions of others around the planet were now asking for his assistance. Wanting him to sacrifice himself for their freedom. He felt a sudden surge of anger. “Do you really expect me to help after what they did?” Charlie pointed at the two aliens. “They can die along with us. At least I’ll die having the comfort of knowing the creatures who terrorized Earth will be roasted.”

Aimee stood and took a step back. She glared at Charlie with her piercing blue eyes. “If you refuse to help, you will die in the arena. Augustus may kill you first. He’s already told me that he plans to have your head on a spike displayed outside the tavern.”

By helping the local croatoans—assuming all this wasn’t bullshit—he would at least ensure Denver and the others’ survival. But the thought of working with Hagellan sickened him. Mike would have to be part of the proposed plan. Charlie knew he’d been working on a spare bomb in case the first one malfunctioned. Charlie didn’t want to risk exposing his old friend to the danger of being around aliens or Augustus, but he couldn’t let everyone die. He needed time to think things over. The revelations were too big to come up with a snap decision.

“Will you accept the mission, or do you want to be hacked to death by him?” Aimee said, pointing at Baliska.

“I’ve beaten it once already, so that doesn’t scare me. I need some time. How long have I got?”

“I’ll be back in two hours. If you decide to help, you’ll leave this place with me. If you don’t, well…”

Charlie stood and brushed himself down. “Where does Augustus fit into all of this?”

Aimee rolled her eyes. The mention of Augustus seemed to irritate her. “He doesn’t know about the planet destroyer or that Hagellan survived. Augustus is a schemer and is more trouble than he’s worth. But he kept quiet about this place. Hagellan is furious that Augustus never informed him about Unity. We can’t trust him to be a part of our plan.”

“Why don’t you just kill him?”

“Augustus has his uses. He knows about administration and is gaining popularity because of his ludus. We need to be inclusive here, which means putting up with him—for now. If I went around killing everyone I didn’t like, our society would quickly fall apart.”

“If I agree, and I haven’t decided yet, I assume you wouldn’t let me out of your sight. What’s to stop him sending a couple of goons after me?”

Aimee swished her hand as if brushing away a fly. “I run this town. If I say you’re not to be touched, you won’t be.”

She walked out of the cell.

“Wait,” Charlie said. “Can you bring me some root?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said over her shoulder.

The door slammed shut. Charlie crouched and scraped two circles in the dirt, denoting two planets. He moved his finger from one to the other and drew a cross through the second. Baliska seemed to understand. It reached over and scraped a cross through the first.

He sat back against the wall with his head in his hands. It didn’t matter which way Charlie looked at Aimee’s suggestion. If he refused her offer, anyone left alive who he loved or cared for would end up being destroyed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Denver sipped the hot tea from a metal cup. The campfire crackled, sending glowing sparks spiraling up through the cool morning air. His backside and legs were getting cold from sitting on a fallen tree, its log still damp from the morning dew.

The alien hunter tied to the tree stared on silently, blinking its large black eyes. Like Venrick, this one wore the adapted breathing system with the portable tanks of root-air on its back.

“Good job, Khan,” Denver said after he swallowed the bitter but flavorsome tea. “You’ll have to teach me the recipe. Where did you learn it?”

Khan smiled at the compliment and looked away awkwardly. He was still getting used to being in constant company, having been out here on his own for years.

“I just picked it up, trying out different leaves and combinations until something didn’t taste like dirt,” Khan said, shrugging away his skills.

“Who taught you how to do all this?” Denver said, indicating the fire and general camp setup.

“I found a few books with some pages intact in a burned-out library. That and plenty of experimentation. I had a lot of time on my hands.”

Although they had only stopped for a short while, Khan had created a number of cooking utensils carved from branches, created an efficient fire, and set up a lightweight shelter that protected them from rain and, most importantly, being spotted from above if a croatoan were to fly over.

Layla and Maria were preparing four rabbits Khan had caught at the far end of the camp, using a large flat boulder to prep them for cooking.

Although they brought ration packs and water, it made sense to make use of what was around in the woods while they rested up for a moment.

After Denver had shot the alien, he lashed its hands and legs together and, using a branch system, dragged his quarry back to camp for interrogation.

Throughout the two hours of questioning, it had remained quiet, just clicking softly in response.

Layla had dressed its leg wound, hoping that it would realize it wasn’t in any direct danger and would open up, but after endless attempts at connecting with it, it remained obstinately quiet.

It didn’t even have any means of communications to its tribe or whatever group it was from. From its adapted army fatigues, it was clear to Denver and the others that at some point in its time it had mixed with humans.

“Croatoan hunters, soldiers, or engineers have shown no ability to craft clothes or adapt human materials,” Layla had said when Denver first brought it back.

Finishing his tea, Denver patted Khan on the shoulder. “Thanks for the brew. That hit the spot.”

Khan winked at him. The kid had a very small stash of wild root that he had kept for emergencies and put a little into Denver’s tea after seeing how tired he was after dragging the alien a few K’s back to camp.

“I’m just going to the ladies’ restroom,” Layla said to Denver as he approached. “Could you finish up for me?” She pointed to an unskinned rabbit on the boulder.

“Sure.”

Layla lingered her gaze on him for a moment, words forming on her lips but then melting into a quick smile as she left the camp and headed into the trees.

Denver watched her go, wondering what was on her mind.

Probably concerned about Gregor and Venrick.

They hadn’t been in touch via the comms and still hadn’t returned. Denver hoped they had killed each other.

They didn’t need Venrick to know there was a settlement up ahead, and it was likely that’s where Charlie was.

All this waiting around made him anxious to get on, but with catching the hunter, it made Denver cautious. He wanted some intel first. If he was to save his dad, he needed to know what he was up against.

It stood nearly a foot taller than Denver, but wasn’t as imposing as the one he fought in Manhattan.

This one didn’t have the same kind of musculature. Considering how easy it was for Denver to take down, he knew it wasn’t as well trained either.

“You’re no hunter, are you? I saw your kind on a video, fighting with humans. I know you understand what I’m saying. I see the recognition in your eyes. Your body language gives you away. You think we’ll just let you go? I know you know where those pods are and where the person in the pod went.”

The hunter clicked in response and did that thing with its eyes that Denver recognized from Venrick. The damn thing was amused. Cocky. Arrogant. All very human of it, Denver thought.

“Is he still alive? The one that escaped from the pod?”

No response. Not even a click.

That at least told Denver something: that the thing was withholding.

“I know he is. I saw the smoke in the sky. You’ve got a settlement a few kilometers north of here, haven’t you?”

No response.

“You have others like you waiting for you to return, don’t you? What will they do when they find you dead, eh? Will they care? We’re going regardless of what you tell us, and when I find your family, I won’t spare them like I have with you.”

The creature’s eyes narrowed this time, and a deep rumbling click came from deep in its throat.

Denver smiled. “You understand that, at least. Tell me what I want to know. Tell me about the pod survivor and we’ll take you back home personally. Keep you safe. We can be reasonable about this.”

No response.

Denver thought about the blade on his belt. One cut of the air tubes would encourage the bastard, but Layla had pleaded with Denver not to do anything drastic, convinced that there could be another way to handle this.

Heeding her advice, Denver kept this questioning cat and mouse up for another ten minutes when he decided he had had enough and was going to go get Charlie regardless of what awaited him. That’s when he heard a commotion from the camp.

He dashed back to Khan, Maria and Layla.

They had already gathered behind the trunks, pistols and rifles at the ready. Denver pulled his rifle from behind his back and crouched down with the barrel pointed in the direction of the footsteps.

Through the trees he saw the silhouette of Gregor.

He placed his finger on the trigger, feeling the tension, wondering if he could justify his killing as a mistake.

Before he made up his mind, the crime lord burst through the trees, Venrick’s tanks in one hand, a smoking cigar made from leaves and root paste in the other.

His eyes were wide and dilated. A stupid grin stretched across his face. He threw the root tanks to the ground, knocking over a pot of boiling water.

“For God’s sake, Gregor, what the hell?” Layla said.

“You wanna shoot me, eh, kid?” Gregor said to Denver. “Go for it. You won’t hit me anyway. Go on, I fucking dare you. One shot free.”

Denver paused for a moment, bringing his finger back to the trigger, but Layla stepped in the way, causing him to raise the rifle clear and free. He stood up and joined the others.

“Where’s the alien?” Khan asked as he looked at the tanks. It was pretty damned obvious.

“Yes, Gregor, where is she?” Layla asked, getting close to him. “You killed her, didn’t you? You couldn’t keep your damned hands off her for one moment, could you! She was important to us, to finding Charlie.”

Sneering, Gregor looked past Layla at Denver. “I shouldn’t be the only one you’re pissed at. Little Den here ain’t so innocent. Isn’t that right, Jackson Jr?”

Layla turned to Denver. “What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing. Look at him, the fool’s off his face on root. We can’t trust a damned word he says.”

“Gregor!” Layla said. “Tell me what happened. What did you do to her?”

Turning on Layla, pointing the glowing end of his cigar toward her, he shouted back, “You want to preserve the fucking aliens again, eh? What side you on, Layla? One minute you’re helping the bastards farm humans, the next you’re rebelling against them, and now you’re back defending them. You should be siding with us, damnit.”

As he jabbed the cigar in her direction, the glowing tip struck her in the face, burning her just below her eye. She screamed and turned away, clutching the burn with her hands.

Denver exploded forward.

He dropped the rifle and pulled his right arm back, ready to deliver a right hook to Gregor’s face.

The older man, high on root, saw it coming, though, and managed to sidestep out of the way. He bundled Maria over as he dodged Denver’s attack. Khan reached out to help Maria out of the way as the two men tangled and wrestled to the ground.

Gregor managed to get the upper hand, driving Denver’s back onto the tanks. The impact winded the younger man as Gregor reached for his head and tried to push him into the fire.

The heat burned Denver’s face as he fought against Gregor’s root-enhanced strength. His eyes felt like they were melting in the heat. Gregor screamed with effort, but Denver wasn’t yet done.

Feeling stronger from drinking Khan’s tea, he managed to twist away, breaking the older man’s grip.

Denver slipped out from beneath, got to his feet, and lashed out a kick to the Armenian’s exposed ribs. Gregor curled into a ball with the impact but held onto Denver’s foot and twisted, trying to snap his ankle.

Grabbing his knife from his belt, Denver fell onto Gregor, bringing the point to his throat. But Khan had grabbed him by the shoulders as Layla and Maria tried to hold Gregor down.

“Stop it!” Layla screamed.

“What did you do with Venrick?” Khan asked.

“Venrick?” the alien said, finally speaking. The words stopped everyone as they all turned toward it.

Denver let Khan lift him off Gregor.

Stalking closer, Denver approached the alien. “You’ve got something to say now, eh?”

“Venrick… my… sister.”

Gregor grabbed the knife from Denver’s hand and brought it to the alien’s throat where the air tubes entered its system. “You better start speaking. Tell us everything you know unless you want to join your sister in whatever Godforsaken afterlife you scumbags believe in.”

Under Gregor’s continued threats, the alien told them everything they wanted.

After twenty minutes of questioning, Gregor turned to the others.

“That’s how you get information from these bastards. Pack up; we’ve got a house party to go to. Oh, and, Den, thanks for the blade. I think I’ll keep this for when we meet up with your old man.”

Khan and Layla grabbed him before he could react, but he just sneered at Gregor, satisfied to leave his comeuppance for another day.

At the very least, they knew Charlie was still alive and where the aliens kept him.

“I’ll enjoy ending your miserable life,” Denver said.

“Likewise, Junior.”

With that, Denver turned his back and prepared to leave.

He’d given everyone enough time to rest and do things their way. From this point on, it was his show regardless of who wanted to go with him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two hours passed. Charlie peered out of the cell, hoping Aimee would return. He decided to go with her and at least hear Hagellan out. Since she left, he couldn’t get the image of Earth exploding and shattering out of his head.

The alternative appeared bleak, but Aimee probably knew it and guessed he’d figure it out too. Augustus would find out about her visit as soon as he got back from his meetings. Things might advance at a swift rate from there, and not in Charlie’s favor. He’d be dragged to the arena or murdered by Augustus’ cronies. If that happened, there would be no bomb, no second chance.

Somebody thumped the gate three times. A guard slid across a large iron bolt, pushed the gate ajar and looked through the gap. Aimee hustled past him, wearing a full-length, brown monk’s robe with a black woven rope belt secured around her waist. A croatoan followed her, rifle slung, carrying a bundle of brown clothing.

“Open the cell,” she said.

The guard rapidly nodded, jogged over and twisted a key in the lock. Charlie edged back as the guard shoved open the door.

Aimee stood at the entrance. “Have you made your decision?”

“I’ll speak to Hagellan. But I need some guarantees. My son and friends—”

“They are not in Unity; I can’t give you any guarantees on them. Use whatever resources you need. We’re all in the same fight.” She waved the guard forward. It dumped a robe and belt next to Charlie’s feet. “Put these on. Quickly.”

Charlie picked up the damp, heavy robe. “I thought you ran this town? Who or what are you hiding from?”

“It’s more for Hagellan’s protection. Some of the older croatoans are wary of any senior officer that comes to Unity. His integration will be gradual. There’s also Augustus. I need to explain to him that he’s slipped a place down in the pecking order. I suspect he won’t like it.”

“No shit. He only likes power and causing pain.”

He slipped the robe over his head. It had a musty smell that reminded him of time spent with Pippa. They had gone away for a weekend to evaluate a dig site in 2012. Charlie had left wet clothes in the washing machine to fester for three days. When they got back, the clothes smelled exactly the same as the robe he shuffled over his body. Pippa laughed and said it was his usual odor.

These small connections kept Charlie grounded, reinforcing exactly what he lost, thanks to the aliens and their charlatan human helpers.

“We need to go,” Aimee said. “When I return, I’m taking Baliska as my new champion. You can stay with Hagellan or return and fight him.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the converted barracks at the bottom of the invasion tunnel. There’s a croatoan temple. Most humans don’t go down there, and nearly all croatoans stopped worshipping a few years ago. It’s safe.”

Charlie pointed at Baliska. “You can bring him with us. Besides you, he’s the only other friend I’ve got around here.”

He hated himself for saying it, but after hours of drawing in the dirt, they’d struck an alliance. Baliska loudly clicked and held out a gloved hand when Charlie scrawled a man in a mask and punched it with his fist.

Aimee eyed both of them with a look of suspicion. She briefly left the cell and spoke with the croatoan outside before calling to the guard, “Release the prisoners into my custody.”

Charlie walked out of the cell into the morning sunshine bathing the courtyard. He wondered if Augustus left him out of manacles because he wanted Charlie to fight, taunt or kill Baliska. Whatever the reason, the crazy old fucker wouldn’t be deciding his fate for the moment.

A guard scuttled into the cell, and Charlie heard the clanking of chains. Shortly after, Baliska’s helmet scraped on the underside of the door as it stooped outside in its dusty graphite uniform. The giant croatoan stood in front of Aimee, gently ticking. It flexed its arms and turned to the other alien who accompanied her to the ludus.

After a brief conversation in their mother tongue, the smaller alien pulled out its thigh sword and handed it to Baliska. It swished the blade through the air, practicing two swings before turning to face Charlie and Aimee.

Charlie tensed. A moment of truth arrived for their flimsy pact.

Baliska stood for a couple of seconds, towering over them, and then slid the sword into the scabbard attached to its thigh.

It took a brown robe from the other croatoan and held it up. The thing would never fit. Baliska tore it down one side, as easy as if it were made out of paper, and then extravagantly wafted the robe around its wide shoulders before placing the hood over its helmet.

Aimee raised her hood over the top of her head. “It will do for now.” She turned to the red-faced guard. “You can tell Augustus that Charlie Jackson is under my control.”

He pulled the gate open. “Don’t expect him to be happy about this.”

Aimee ignored him and headed toward the cramped streets of Unity.

“You seem to trust the aliens,” Charlie said, moving alongside her.

“Most of them are sons and daughters of the conscripts sent to far-flung planets to carry out a dirty job. Unity is their home. They have no loyalty to their supposed empire.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know they’d been breeding here. What about Baliska? It’s no stranded son or daughter.”

“He, Jackson, is pure croatoan blood, but has a relative here.” She smiled at Charlie. “I’m taking you to meet him.”

“Hallagen? I take it Augustus doesn’t know?”

“Augustus probably doesn’t care. He thinks Hallagen’s dead. When you and I chatted earlier today, Baliska told my temporary protection that he respects you as a human warrior. He asked to be freed to help in any way he can. Baliska knows what the Grand Council will be planning—he’s seen it all before.”

They continued along a side street leading around the edge of town. To their left was a long row of smartly constructed pens filled with sheep, pigs and cows looking healthier than Charlie had seen in the last twenty years. Beyond the animals, crops wavered on the distant steps cut into the basin’s side. Small rickety wooden houses, glorified sheds with washed clothing hanging off the frames, lined the right side. The place stank of shit.

“Did you get me some root?” Charlie said.

She produced a fresh orange piece from underneath her robe. “Take this. There’s plenty more where that came from—if you continue to cooperate.”

Charlie didn’t hesitate. He crammed it into his mouth and chewed hard in order to get the juices flowing down his throat, injecting life into his tired limbs. He’d dismissed escaping after thinking of the planet destroyer heading toward Earth, but he still didn’t trust any of these people or aliens.

The minute he sniffed bullshit or the plan looked like failing, he’d run, get away, and spend his final time on Earth under his terms.

Aimee gestured to her left, and they approached the sinkhole, or attack tunnel as she called it. The dull silver nose cone of a croatoan attack vessel rose from the chasm, slumped to one side, covered in a thin layer of dirt. A gap the size of a door had been cut into the bottom of the giant cone at ground level.

Charlie thought back to when he saw his first one, when he dangled at the bottom of a rope in a sinkhole near Roanoke Sound. It came from directly below him, smoothly rising out of a cloud of electricity-filled smoke. He managed to scramble up the rope and run, along with the rest of the people, before it sent out a pulse jarring through his body and killing anything electronic in the area as the croatoan soldiers spilled out to take control. Shock and awe. Nobody was prepared.

“Don’t be frightened. They mean you no harm,” Aimee said.

She entered the vessel and disappeared to the left. Charlie took a deep breath and followed. Inside, he immediately looked down. In the center, a hundred-meter drop to the bottom of the structure. Several torches were burning at the bottom, providing dull lighting for the off-white interior. A two-meter-wide shallow spiraled platform curled around the edge all the way down.

Aimee didn’t wait and started her descent. The platform’s coarse surface scraped against Charlie’s boots, providing decent grip. As he made his way down, his eyes became used to the light.

Seats ran around the wall, hundreds if not thousands of them, with a raised bar above each, probably used for securing croatoan soldiers as they rose to the surface, like they were on a theme park ride. Below one of the seats, a rusting alien rifle and dusty helmet were secured to the floor with a black plastic strap.

Charlie imagined what it was like thirty years ago. Rumbling upwards, crammed with armed aliens, ready to attack. It sent a chill down his spine.

Only Baliska followed and passed Charlie halfway down. It ran a gloved hand along the wall, touching and feeling various devices, seats and bars. Its clicks increasingly echoed through the vessel as they went deeper.

Near the bottom, two people in brown robes were waiting by the torches. Aimee hurried round the last two circuits of the ship, jumped from the platform, and approached them.

Charlie reached the lower end of the vessel and noticed a jagged edge where the bottom had been cut away. He leapt down the remaining meter drop and landed in a crouching position. Peering around the side of the hulk, he noticed the lower ends of the platform extended out until it disappeared into the Earth. It must have risen like a corkscrew.

“They’re expecting us. Come this way,” Aimee said.

Baliska walked with her through a torchlit cave. Charlie glanced at the two humans Aimee had been talking to and froze.

He instantly recognized one of them. Ben. He grabbed him by the shoulder. “Ben? I thought you were dead. What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

Ben wrestled with Charlie’s arm. “I don’t know who you are. Get the hell off me.”

Aimee turned and strode back. “What are you doing? This is no time to start a fight. Let go of him.”

Charlie kept a tight grip on Ben’s robe and pulled him close. “I’m not letting him go until he tells me what happened to my son and friends.”

“He’s not the Ben you know. This one’s been with us for twenty years,” Aimee said.

“This one? Bullshit. He was with us a month ago. I never forget a face.” Charlie raised his fist. “Tell me now or I’ll beat the living crap out of you.”

Ben leaned away and raised a hand over his face. He shook as he cowered.

“Who is this guy? Aimee, please,” Ben said.

Aimee pulled Charlie’s arm away. “He’s a harvester clone. This is not the Ben you know. There’s hundreds of his type on Earth.”

Charlie didn’t want to believe it. It ripped away the glimmering hope of finding out what happened at the farm after he left in the shuttle. If Denver survived.

Charlie looked for recognition in this Ben’s eyes, but found none.

“It’s the truth,” Aimee said. “I swear on my own life. Let me explain once we’ve met Hagellan. We don’t have time for this.”

Charlie shoved Ben away, and he scuttled into a dark corner.

“Let me see the other one,” Charlie said, pointing at the other person in a robe who had retreated behind the torches.

“Take off your hood,” Aimee said.

The man slowly peeled it back around his shoulders. Charlie squinted through the flames. Ethan. The young man he’d seen getting his head blown off in Manhattan by Baliska.

“I don’t understand. I’ve seen other crews. They’re not all the same,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been told there’s five different versions of a crew. All replicated and deployed to each farm so no harvesters working an area will have duplicated personnel onboard, in case they meet each other or need to transfer a crew member.”

Charlie bit his lip and shook his head. By seeing the vessel and clones, he had found out more in the last five minutes than the last five years. It made him hate the croatoans even more.

“Come now. We need to get back to Unity before midday,” Aimee said.

She continued through the torchlit cave toward a bright opening. Strange carvings spread around the cave’s wall. Images of croatoans, symbols, one of a ship over Earth and an alien helmet with stars around it.

Aimee led Baliska and Charlie into a tall cavernous area. It wasn’t naturally created; large horizontal scrapes lined the ceiling and walls. A blue carpet led along the center of the smooth rock floor to three chairs at the end. The middle of which looked like a throne. Croatoan containers stacked around the side of the room in neat piles of three. Like the ones Charlie had seen shuttles bring down to a farm when observing through trees. He slowly gazed around the room, open-mouthed. All of this going on underneath the world’s feet while people worried about paying bills…

“This place used to be one of their barracks. There’s a whole cave system down here, with supplies that would last you hundreds of lifetimes,” Aimee said.

Clicks echoed at the end of the room. Baliska walked away and met another large croatoan by the throne, this one wearing tubes up its nostrils, revealing its ugly reptilian face. They held their hands toward each other and touched.

“Is that Hagellan?” Charlie said.

“Yes. He has hundreds of sons. Baliska is one of them.”

Charlie watched as both continued to press their hands against each other while engaging in staccato conversation. Eventually Hagellan sat on the throne and his son perched by his side on a smaller chair.

“Come forward,” Baliska croaked in a rough voice.

“It speaks English?” Charlie whispered.

“He speaks English. It’s not unusual. He’s been around this planet centuries longer than you,” Aimee said.

She hurried along the blue carpet and stopped five yards short of the throne. Charlie stopped a couple of yards behind. He wanted to at least give himself a chance of escape, to run if things turned nasty. Not that he expected to get away.

“You are the human that brought down my ship,” Hagellan said. “You also nearly killed my son.”

“What would you do in my shoes? You can’t expect to invade a place and not come across resistance.”

Hagellan laughed. “You are right, Aimee. He is naïve.”

“Can we discuss the plan?” Aimee said. “We don’t have much time.”

“No. Wait a damned minute,” Charlie said. “We aren’t the ones trying to take out a civilization. What’s so naïve about fighting back? I bet you weren’t laughing when your ship plunged to Earth.”

Hagellan leaned forward, his leather-like blue uniform creaking around his body. “I’ve watched your planet for many centuries. You’re no different to the rest of the galaxy.”

“You’ll have to explain that one to me,” Charlie said.

Aimee turned and glared at him. “We have not come here for history lessons—”

“Let me explain to Charlie Jackson. It might shake him out of his provincial beliefs. Your planet is but a smaller version of what’s happening in the wider universe. On Earth, throughout the centuries, rival factions have fought for territory and resources. Stamping over each other to gain power and possessions. Warfare drives technology, but you are not at the level of advancement where you can take the fight into deep space.”

“You’re using wars on Earth to justify your invasion? Where are all the other aliens if what you say is true?” Charlie said.

Hagellan scratched his head and grunted. “In universal terms, Earth is a backwater, a tiny irrelevant speck in a faraway galaxy. More powerful forces constantly battle for superiority. Earth has so far gone unscathed because of its remote location. Until we captured the transport gate, it wasn’t worth bothering with; you were not a threat but have rich land for farming.”

Charlie scoffed. “Rich land for farming? Is that the real reason you came here?”

“I don’t mean to patronize you, Jackson, but you need to understand the scale and power that you’re facing. Twenty other planets have resisted and managed to bring down a croatoan ship. All twenty were destroyed within two of your months. The empire’s network spans three hundred planets. They don’t have the patience to give second chances. You know about our race now; they won’t leave you to plan revenge.”

“Now you want me to save your ass because you screwed up,” Charlie said. Rage bubbled up inside him. Despite the threat, the ugly bastard in front of him was the alien who commanded the attack. He gave the orders that led to the death of so many people close to Charlie—and of the wider world.

“I can understand your anger,” Hagellan said. “But it’s not just me you will be saving. Millions of humans still roam the planet. I can get a craft working with my team. We need your team to build a bomb and help deploy it.”

Charlie couldn’t hold the thin veneer of civility any longer. “And all of you alien scumbags live happily ever after on Earth while I suffer a lonely death on a faraway planet. You can have my answer now. Fu—”

Aimee cut in. “Don’t do this, Charlie. It’s the only way out for all of us.”

“We need coordination to save our planet. Please, stop and think before opening your mouth again,” Hagellan said. “Let me show you something.”

It grabbed a black tablet from behind the throne, flicked up a chunky antenna on the side of it, and motioned to the screen. A green hologram rose from the tablet, showing a map of planets and stars. Tiny red spheres spread around them, with a code below each.

“What the hell is that?” Charlie said.

“A croatoan galactic tracker.” It pointed to the left edge. “This is the destroyer’s last reported decision. It will reach Tredeya in five days.”

Charlie shrugged. “Could be bullshit.”

“You stupid human.”

Charlie took a couple of paces forward. Baliska rose from its chair in response. Aimee quickly moved between them. “Baliska, accompany Charlie back to the cells inside my residence. We need to give him more time to think—away from Augustus.”

Hagellan stood. “Don’t make a mistake that you’ll regret for the rest of your short life.” He turned to Aimee. “I want his answer by nightfall.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Augustus pushed a sliver of ham through the hole in his mask—anything to take his mind off the inane drivel of the committee meeting. All morning he’d sat around a table in Aimee’s main chamber, listening to cretins discussing trivialities. He glanced back at his Doctore lurking by the entrance. He acknowledged Augustus with a slow blink.

One of the council members, Paul, who wouldn’t shut up, passed yet another piece of paper around the room, plastered in his scruffy handwriting. “Next item on the agenda is rebalancing trade due to recent increases and shortages of items.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Augustus stood up. “Just send me the meeting minutes. I haven’t got time to sit around discussing the value of milk.”

“This is your first meeting,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair. He looked over his half-eye spectacles. The four others nodded their approval. “You need to be aware of all issues that impact on Unity. Aimee instructed me that you were to stay for the duration.”

Augustus flopped back down and groaned. “Carry on. But make it snappy. We really should have junior members to decide on such pointless matters.”

Paul cleared his throat in an obnoxious way, as if demanding silence, although others could hardly get a word in. “Our harvest is becoming more successful. Stores are full of root, wheat, and barley. Livestock remains steady, although we’re not getting a sufficient yield from the breeding program. My first proposal is doubling the amount of crop required in exchange—”

Augustus blocked out Paul’s voice and swirled his wine. He could only concentrate on events happening outside the meeting. Aimee might already be dead. As soon as word filtered through, he could end the pointless debate and take control of the town.

“Augustus, do you agree?” Paul said.

“Agree with what?”

The officious fool ruffled his paper and frowned. “My proposal about balancing the cost of food.” Paul had a huge dose of self-importance. A strange thing to see from a greasy-haired cretin dressed in a filthy old shirt. To be an effective leader, you had to at least look the part. “Yes, whatever. Next.”

“You could at least pretend you want to be here,” the woman next to Paul said. Augustus had already forgotten her name, but it didn’t matter.

“We still haven’t assessed the impact of clothing and tools compared to crops and meat,” Paul said. “It’s crucial that we keep a balanced economy.”

Augustus sat up in his chair and straightened his mask. “Please, continue with this important work. I’m all ears.”

“Maybe we could move on to the next item on the agenda,” Paul said. “We would appreciate your input into the discussion. The local militia suffered losses while recovering the pods from the croatoan ship. Your pod included.”

“I’ve already thanked Aimee for that. She gave the order, not you.”

An awkward silence followed his response. The committee members leered at him and scribbled notes.

“We’re thinking of expanding our recruitment area to beef up numbers. In the last years, we only searched in surrounding areas, careful not to encroach on colonized land.”

Augustus cackled. “Colonized land? What do you think this is? There’s going to be plenty of humans and croatoans without homes after Jackson pulled his little stunt. We’ll be able to press-gang hundreds if we want.”

“The idea isn’t to press-gang,” the woman said. “We will offer them a place to live, work, and provide food, safety and a community.”

Augustus leaned forward. He could swallow playing the game with these people up to a point while he waited, but they were starting to cross the line in terms of respect. He refused to let pious peasants run rings around him. “What do you know about organizing an army? Do you have any idea of what is currently available in terms of resources? What’s your military background?”

Paul opened his mouth to speak, but Augustus raised his finger toward him. “Two thousand farms exist worldwide. Seventy thousand croatoans on the ground, ten thousand harvesters with over fifty thousand crew. This is the resource we need to tap as a first priority.”

“We can’t travel worldwide,” Paul said. “Why are they the best option?”

Augustus rolled his eyes. Trying to discuss matters with people who clearly operated on a lower level was as painful as pulling his own teeth out. “The croatoans have nothing. No ship, no shuttle runs, no guidance from me. We give them direction. The same goes for the brainwashed harvester crews. The livestock are thick as pig shit, but we can train them, give them easy jobs. I can tell none of you have run as much as a damned whorehouse before.”

“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.

The leaves had tiny curled hairs that worked like hooks, snagging against his clothes with every movement. It was how the plant attracted and retained microbes and small insects in the air for an energy supply.

He’d make quicker progress trying to swim through sand, but it remained a preferable approach than being obvious about it and walking straight into trouble. He’d leave the reckless bullshit to Gregor.

A further twenty minutes later he dared to lift his head and the riflescope above the crop.

Just a hundred meters away now, he spied on the two closest sentry towers.

They resembled pictures of medieval towers with their wooden tree trunk infrastructure.

From his position he noticed great wide steps cut into what looked like a large canyon. The steps went all the way down, below his vision.

More root and other vegetables thrived growing on these steps, and in among them, with both hand tools and much smaller versions of croatoan harvesters, he spotted a mix of human and alien workers.

The more he panned round, the more he saw a populated township.

Dozens of buildings and dwellings arranged in streets, all made from wood and sheet material, gave the place a rustic look.

Moving in closer, he magnified the scope and started to scan the faces of the various people, human and alien, busying themselves with varied tasks, in the hope of seeing his father.

He couldn’t. If they did have him here, Denver doubted he’d be a free man.

But in the east end of the settlement, he saw a trio of people dressed from head to foot in roughly made brown robes.

The hoods obscured their faces and the length hid their feet, giving them a strange floating quality as they kept to the shadows and moved through the narrow alleyways, disappearing and then reappearing in view.

Something about the way they walked, cautious yet with a steely confidence, caught his imagination.

Who were they? Where were they going?

He tracked them for a minute or so until they came out of one narrow street and headed into an alley where he couldn’t see them. He panned to where he thought they may come out and didn’t see them.

On that side, though, leaning up against the wall of a dwelling of some kind, was a small band of thuggish-looking humans. They wore tatty clothes and carried rudimentary weapons: clubs and what looked like handmade knives.

For a moment he felt like shouting out to the robed people in warning, but as he lifted his scope again, he heard a heavy, solid footstep behind him, quickly followed by an urgent click and then a blinding pain on the back of his head as he slumped forward into the dirt, slipping into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Baliska shadowed Charlie, occasionally shoving him in the back as they ascended the vessel’s staircase. Charlie thought about grabbing one of the few rifles still attached below the seats, but dismissed the idea as an unnecessary risk. They were probably left with good reason and would have been taken by now if they still worked. Charlie remembered the strength and weight of Baliska from their previous fight in the forest. Attempting to throw it off the platform might mean him going in the same direction.

Rounding the last three circuits before reaching ground level, Charlie tried to rationalize the guilt gnawing at his mind.

If what Hagellan said was true, it meant that his actions had triggered the deployment of a destroyer, but also put a stop to the terraforming. He caused the current mess, but only by stopping the previous threat. Either way he looked at it, the responsibility to assist was his.

Aimee disappeared through the gap at the top. Charlie followed, exiting the vessel into the midday sun. Aimee’s smaller croatoan guard appeared by his side and nudged his rifle sideways, prompting Charlie to move.

“You need to swallow your pride, Jackson,” Aimee said. “How many people do you think have spoken to Hagellan like that and lived to tell the tale?”

“Do you seriously believe I was motivated by pride? Did you even witness our recent history?”

She walked alongside Charlie and grasped his arm, pulling him away from the thoroughfare. “We need to keep to the back streets and alleys. Remember what I said about protecting Hagellan.”

“How could I forget? You want me to save his ass for the cost of mine. I’ll ask again, did you witness recent history? Because if you did, you should have more understanding.”

Aimee tutted and brushed her long silky brown hair over her shoulder. “I’ve witnessed more history than you’ll ever know. Plantations in the New World, prerevolution France and the Ottoman Empire near the height of its powers. They put me in stasis, then transferred me to the vessel you’ve just seen. Since coming back into the world, I’ve worked hard to form the safe community you see.”

“Very impressive. But I’m more concerned about the future.”

Aimee dug her nails into Charlie’s bicep. “If you are, you’ll help with the plan.”

Charlie sighed. Aimee had no idea about his current mental battle. He knew she spoke the truth, and the right course of action seemed obvious. But she hadn’t spent years fighting aliens or lost loved ones during the attack. He just couldn’t bring himself to agree with their proposal. Not yet.

Aimee dropped back, and the smaller croatoan bounced with a loping gait to his side. Charlie pointed to a painted sign over the entrance of a bar. “No croatoans. Are you living in unity or denial?”

“Fool,” the alien croaked.

The alien prompted Charlie left. They cut down a narrow back alley barely more than a meter wide. Houses backed around the edge, giving the place a dirty claustrophobic feel. A few buckets filled with human waste sat outside rear entrances.

A few animal hides hung across the alley, drying in the sun. Charlie ducked and swiped his way underneath one. Ten meters in front of him, a man with a gray beard sat on the steps outside a property. He glanced at Charlie and straightened.

The man slowly reached by his side. Something about him didn’t seem right. The look in his eye, his cautious movement… Perhaps he wasn’t used to strangers walking down his alley. Behind him, Aimee and Baliska brushed the hide to one side and approached.

Charlie glimpsed movement behind them before the hide dropped. Somebody exited a house and pressed against a wall. He crouched down to get a better look. Two sets of feet coming up the alley.

“What are you doing?” Aimee said.

The croatoan jabbed its rifle into Charlie’s side. “Move.”

“We’re being followed.”

“Now,” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

The hide flew to one side and two men appeared just a few meters away. One with a short sword, the other held a baseball bat with nails hammered through the end.

Footsteps slapped across the dirt behind him. Charlie jumped back against a wall. The man with a gray beard leapt at the smaller croatoan and plunged a hunting knife into its eye before quickly sawing the tubes running from its nose with the serrated edge of his blade.

The alien clutched its throat, wheezed, and sank to its knees.

The man pointed his knife at Charlie. “You. Monk. Run. We only want the woman.”

Charlie had to make a quick decision. He had his chance to escape. Unity would probably hunt him, but he had evaded his enemy for years. He could find Denver, the others. The image of Earth exploding in a huge ball of flames flashed through his mind. Charlie had a responsibility, whether he liked it or not.

He kept focused on the attacker and hunched. The old man stood opposite Charlie in an open-legged stance, rocking from side to side, exchanging his weight from one foot to the other, and circling his knife.

Baliska roared behind him. Charlie heard the swish of the alien’s sword. It thudded against something wooden, like an axe burying into a tree stump.

“You’ve got no dog in this hunt,” the old man said to Charlie. “I’ll give you two seconds to move.”

Aimee scuttled behind Charlie. Baliska forced the other two men back down the alley with looping, rapid swings of his sword.

Charlie reached for a metal bucket of waste by a door and grabbed the handle. “I’ll give you two seconds to run.”

“It’s your funeral,” the old man replied. He lunged forward, thrusting the knife toward Charlie’s chest.

Charlie swerved to his left and threw the contents of the bucket in the man’s face, splattering him with waste.

The old man frantically wiped at his eyes. Charlie backhanded the bucket into the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the side.

Baliska had successfully beaten one man back and hacked in his direction. The other lay in the alley with a deep wound in his neck. Charlie positioned himself between Aimee and the old man again. “Give it up. You’re not going to win this.”

The old man edged back. His hunting knife shook in his hand. Charlie raised the bucket over his head and stepped forward.

“Kill him, Charlie,” Aimee said, her voice cold.

Charlie hesitated.

The old man took the opportunity to run. He stumbled along the alley, banging into walls as he groggily fled. At the end of the alley he turned left and disappeared.

Aimee sniffed. “Forget about him. Let him run. I’ll have him hunted down like a dog.”

Baliska dragged two corpses up the alley by their necks. Its sword was back in the thigh scabbard. Blood dribbled from the top, along its suit. It dumped the bodies by Aimee’s feet and wiped its gloves on the side of a house. Charlie threw his bucket to one side. Both victims looked like preinvasion survivors and residents of Unity judging by their crudely manufactured shirts.

Aimee smiled. “Well done, my champion.” She turned to Charlie. “I always knew you were a good man, Charlie Jackson. I assume by your actions that we’re fighting on the same side?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Charlie said.

“I’ll be keeping you in my cells until you make a final decision. It’s for your own protection. You’ll be fed and watered.”

“You make me sound like a dog. But I’d rather be there than the ludus. Do you get attacked often?”

“This is the first time in years. I think I know who planned it, but I need confirmation before acting. To keep the peace in Unity, we must have evidence to convict.”

“You don’t need evidence to throw strangers into the arena.”

“Strangers are not citizens of Unity, but they have a choice. The rules of the modern cities you remember have vanished, and you have to adapt.”

“No shit. Is your number one suspect Augustus?”

Aimee turned to Baliska. “When we get back, take Charlie to the cells. Ask one of the guards in my courtyard to show you the way.”

All three walked back to Aimee’s residence together. Charlie didn’t feel under threat despite Baliska having the rifle over its shoulder. He felt a strange connection with the creature. From a desperate fight in the forest a month ago to sharing a cell and fighting together… strange times.

Aimee quickened her pace around the side of town, perhaps conscious that another attack might take place. They passed the pens and rickety houses again. This time, a few people tended the animals. All shot casual glances at the three of them as they walked by. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least for Unity.

The main gate of Aimee’s residence creaked open as the three of them approached. A bald man dressed in filthy khaki shorts burst out, throwing up puffs of dust from the ground as he staggered straight toward them, waving a black tablet in the air.

Baliska rapidly clicked and reached for its sword. Aimee held an arm across the alien, nudging it back. “He’s one of our coordinators. Unless we’re attacked like before, wait for my order.”

Charlie wondered if Baliska could speak English or just understand it. It seemed to be reacting to Aimee’s commands, but didn’t really show any signs of recognition in the cell. Perhaps it felt like Charlie. They were forced together in an inconvenient marriage due to circumstance. Charlie’s only two vows were to not to try to kill it, and to serve up justice to Augustus.

The man stopped short of Aimee and thrust his tablet forward. “One of the patrol…” He gasped for air. “They… they…”

“Calm down, catch your breath, and tell me,” Aimee said.

The man gasped for air and squinted. “One of the patrols in the field is acting strangely. They haven’t reported back, and their position has barely moved in the last hour or two. Do you want me to send part of the northern ring to assist?”

He jabbed his finger against the screen showing a map of the surrounding area, circled with moving dots, apart from the one that he indicated. Charlie had forgotten about the tracking beads, but using them to assist in Unity’s defense made sense if the croatoans weren’t bothered by it.

“Dead, captured or asleep on duty?” Aimee said.

The man swallowed hard. “We don’t know. He’s the only one in zone four. We thought we’d give him a chance to come back.”

“Coordinate a team and scramble the hover-bikes. If it’s a threat, we need to crush it.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mike Strauss yawned as he sank into the old armchair Layla had brought to his office. Situated in the engineering department of Freetown, Mike and his wife had free rein over a group of fifteen eager young students—men and women from the various farms that had either previous engineering skills or showed some proficiency for the craft during their time working under the croatoans’ influence.

Tiredness lurked at the fringes of every muscle and, of course, his brain, which now that he was into his seventies was beginning to slow and lose stamina. He let his body relax into the chair, and he reached over to a small side table, crafted from the pinewood of the nearby forest, and gripped the mug of steaming green tea.

Mai’s perfect blend, his wife called it. She, along with Khan and some of the other trackers, had identified a blend of plants and leaves that when mulched and dried made for a surprisingly pleasant flavor.

It was made even sweeter for the added drop of rum from his own reserves—which sadly were running lower than he anticipated. While he and Mai were still in Manhattan, working in the basement of his and Charlie’s old workplace, Quartanary Productions, they had ventured out into the ruins of the city and managed to salvage a few dozen bottles of choice beverages.

Even diluting it and keeping it to a few drops a day, they’d got through it quicker than they realized, but then Mike rationalized it away, thinking that due to his insistence on not taking the root and thus ageing like a normal human, that he’d likely meet his end before he would take the last sip of rum.

He still believed that despite being down to just three bottles.

It was now a turtle racing a tortoise: rum or life, which would run out first?

Not being the sort to dwell on such matters, he took a deep gulp of the tea and exhaled with satisfaction as the hot soothing drink warmed his belly. The clock on the wall of his office ticked and tocked, reminding him that his lunch break would soon be over and he’d have to return to the job at hand.

Not that his students were paying much attention today. The news of Charlie’s possible survival had quickly got around soon after Layla, Denver, and the others had left. It sent a ripple of excitement and distraction throughout the facility.

Mike couldn’t blame them. Charlie was a legend, living or not, for what he had done. Even Mike and Mai were treated like some kind of rebellion heroes, when all they did was solve an engineering problem.

Watching the time run down, signaling the end of his break, he fussed with the myriad piles of paper towering over his desk and floor. Bits of croatoan technology pulled from the wreckages of hover-bikes and harvesters littered the office, turning it into some kind of alien scrap yard, yet for all the criticism he received because of his so-called chaotic ways, he knew where everything was and could get to it in an instant.

That’s just how he and Mai liked to work.

Everything everywhere and available.

No mucking about hunting through drawers and cabinets, or moving from one room to another like his students preferred. They’d been brought up on the farm under the croatoan idea of organization and knew nothing better—until now—but getting them to change their ways was proving harder than either he or Mai first realized. Their minds weren’t so malleable anymore, and it took them a great deal of time to teach them about human engineering history and what could or couldn’t be done with materials and technology at hand.

Most of them weren’t even born before the apocalypse, so they had no real idea about large-scale infrastructure, architecture, bridge building, or smaller stuff like vehicle design and engine mechanics.

Still, some were brighter than others and had shown promise—especially with the alien tech. It felt odd to him that they were more comfortable working on that than they were human technology.

The door to his office flew open, sending the piles of paper flying, sheets flapping about the densely packed room like large confetti.

“Come in,” Mike said, not hiding the sarcasm.

“Mr. Strauss, I—”

“Evangeline, how many times? Call me Mike. What’s up? You look flustered.”

The woman, in her late twenties, wore her blonde hair down to her shoulders. It flew in all directions, obscuring her soft Italian features. The collar to her white lab coat was up, and the tails flapped around her jeans. Perspiration covered her forehead and she panted as if she had been running.

“Come quick,” she said. “I’ve got something to show you. It worked!”

“The bead?” Mike asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, your idea was right.”

Of course it was right. He’d only been working on it since the day dear Pippa brought it into the office all those years ago.

* * *

Mike strode across the workshop and closed down the bulletproof glass door of the six-foot-tall cabinet and locked the latch.

Within the cabinet, sitting on a single shelf, was one of the croatoan blue beads. When the aliens had deserted the farms to go north, they had made sure that all the humans left behind had their beads removed.

Not only did it keep them same from any potential hidden alien threat, but it also gave Mike, Evangeline, and the others plenty of samples to test his theories. It had taken two weeks of trial and error and tweaking of his prototype, but if what his assistant said was true, they had finally got it right.

“Okay, stand back,” Mike said to Evangeline, bringing her to the rear of the room where the workbenches lined the walls. They were some twenty feet away from what he called the bomb cabinet. The glass of which showed hundreds of scratches and abrasions from his various experiments over the weeks.

It was designed to withhold the blast of half a pound of C4 so would be more than enough protection for this experiment.

“I did as you suggested,” Evangeline said, handing him the pistol as she took it out of a box on the workbench. Much like Mike’s personal office, the surface of the bench was overflowing with tools and parts. “The croatoan battery is wired to your specification, but I stripped away some of the damping material.”

“Huh,” Mike said as he weighed the pistol in his hand, admiring her work. The weapon itself resembled the familiar triangular, matte-black alien pistol, but with a few extra modifications. At the end of the barrel, a six-inch-diameter dish focused a highly charged, low-frequency wave generated from a modified croatoan energy cell. Using an amplification circuit that Mike and Mai had spent the last few decades perfecting, the beam focused on the resonant frequencies of the beads.

He originally got the idea after dismantling one of their tracking devices. The circuitry would generate a low-powered beam that would fire in a wide arc, searching for a return response from the tracking bead. But without sufficient power, his weapon couldn’t work.

There was one benefit of having people like Evangeline, just twenty-seven years old, brought up on the croatoan farm and working with their engineers: she knew about their power cells.

On the side of the pistol, a dial indicated three settings. Evangeline had set it to full power, which would dump the charge in the power cell within just a few seconds. Not ideal, but if the effect worked, it was something they could probably work on and improve the efficiency of the power transfer.

The grip of the pistol bulged to fit his palm where they had modified the original gun’s chassis to accommodate the larger cell. Wires ran from the grip, along the barrel, and finally into the contacts of the tiny dish. Four thin rods extended to join at a point three inches beyond the dish. This aiming arrangement would help focus the beam.

Mike would have preferred to have it arc like the alien tracking device, but to send a strong enough signal they had to really focus it down. Again, it was just a matter of working on developing a more powerful energy source.

He raised the pistol, stretching out his arms to aim it at the bead behind the glass. “Okay,” Mike said. “Stand back. I’m firing in one, two, three…”

The pull on the trigger activated the power dump, sending the full energy allocation through its circuitry and then through the focusing rods. For a second nothing seemed to happen beyond the wires glowing and the pistol grip growing hot with the sudden discharge.

But then a cloud of dark smoke billowed thickly behind the glass. Mike kept the trigger pressed, draining the last dregs of the battery.

The bead exploded with a loud crack, making Mike jump. The glass window shuddered with the impact, and fragments of the bead smashed against the surface, adding to the network of chips, scratches and gouges.

A smile crept on to Mike’s lips as he waited a few moments before moving forward to investigate. Once satisfied that the effects of the weapon were done, he opened the latch on the window, opening it a crack. The heady stench of smoke came out. It mixed with a metallic oily smell: the melted remnants of the alien tech. Pieces of blue bead littered the cabinet on all sides. Nothing of the bead remained intact.

Turning to Evangeline, he widened his smile and fought the urge to rush to her and hug her close with the satisfaction of a successful test. He and Mai had worked on this for so long now. He couldn’t wait to share the good news with her when she returned from her tutoring duties.

“It’s good, no?” Evangeline said, returning Mike’s smile as she moved a stray lock of hair from her face.

“It is,” Mike responded, looking down at the gun in his hand. “It’s perfect. With some further testing and some improvements, I think we could roll this out to everyone—especially to those in the farms in the south who are dealing with those scumbag aliens.”

“If only we had these earlier, we could have maybe stopped—”

Mike stepped forward to her and placed the pistol on the large heavy desk in a rare empty spot. “Listen,” he said, cutting off her words. “There was nothing anyone could have done. They came too quickly. They had planned it for thousands of years as we were evolving—they saw it all: the technology, the rise and fall of empires and cultures, our wars, and our complete and utter failure to ever learn from our mistakes. That’s how they got us so quickly.”

Evangeline looked away, hiding her embarrassment as her cheeks reddened. He didn’t mean to embarrass her; she wasn’t even alive when it all happened, and she had no real concept of what it was like. None of these kids do, and Mike had to remind himself of that before he went off on one.

There was simply no way they could truly understand. It would be like modern civilization trying to understand how ancient cultures worked. Sure, we had artifacts and artworks that depicted how things were, and even some documented material, but we would never truly know. There was too much distance.

And this was the case now.

“No one really talks about it. How it happened, I mean. You talk of learning from mistakes, is there something we, right now, can learn from what happened when the aliens took over? What if they try it again? How can we be sure there aren’t more of them in the Earth’s crust waiting to come up for a second attempt? And if they do, can we stop them—maybe this is a start?” She pointed to the gun.

Mike nodded as he thought of his response. He didn’t believe there were any more still underground. With the way Charlie had brought down the two ships, he would have expected the aliens to have mounted a retaliatory attack by now.

“We don’t talk about it because there’s so few of us left, and not many people want to know. But to your other question, yes, these guns will help—to a degree. With the ability to overload the beads they all carry inside of them, we’ll be able to pop their heads like an overripe melon, but if they come at us in great numbers, we’ll need something else. These are really good for one-to-one. We need something bigger.”

Looking sheepish, Evangeline fidgeted from one foot to the other and avoided his gaze before eventually saying, “I… erm… was in your office earlier looking for some parts when I… found your designs. For the bomb. Do you really think it’s possible?”

At first, Mike wanted to explode at the intrusion of his privacy, but the hopeful look on her face reminded him of when he first met Mai during the ice age. Evangeline had that same infectious curiosity—something that proved rare among the post-apoc-born people.

Patting her hand, Mike said, “My sweet girl, if I didn’t think it possible, I wouldn’t still be here working today. But we’re not at that level yet. We need more parts, more tech, and to learn the alien science. It will come in time, and that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? I need people like you to carry on with my ideas long after I’ve bitten the dust.”

The young engineer blushed fully as her shoulders eased with relief. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “In the meantime, will you tell me how it all happened—the attack, I mean. How they managed to overwhelm us in such a short amount of time.”

This is what Mike wanted to hear. Hardly any of her generation truly wanted to know, being so wrapped up in their time in the sun that they didn’t want to look back into the shadows of time. If he were to have a successor, then yes, Evangeline would need to know everything—but not today.

An unmistakable rumble from one of the gigantic harvesters made the walls vibrate and the tools rattle on their hooks. Mike moved to the window that overlooked the courtyard. “It’ll have to wait for now,” he said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new project.”

The harvester stopped, taking up almost the entire courtyard and blocking out the sun. A door a few levels up opened and the tiny figure of Mai, dressed in her usual gray overalls, stepped out onto the ladders. She descended slowly, step by step, as her three-person crew followed behind. When she touched down on the gravel, she turned to the facility and saw Mike standing at the window.

She had a wide grin on her face as she waved at him.

He knew she had found something interesting, he could see it in her very body language as she quickly scampered across the courtyard to the facility’s entrance. Mike turned and left the workshop, eager to find out what Mai had found. Evangeline followed closely behind.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maria accepted a cup of tea from Khan and blew the steam away. The sweet scent of herbs and plants cleared her head and made her shiver. Gooseflesh rippled on her bare arms. She clutched the cup tighter, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward closer to the campfire.

Khan and Layla sat opposite. They checked through the contents of the gear, making sure their weapons were in place and all other supplies were appropriately stored away.

“I’m not sure we should leave just yet,” Maria said. “We should wait for Gregor to return before making any plans.”

“We’re not making plans,” Khan said, giving her a kind smile. “Just making sure we can move quickly if we need to. Everything will be all right.”

Maria sipped her hot tea. She tried to be optimistic these days, but since they’d found the pods and now these aliens, it felt like she was right back there at day one again when she and the others first left the harvester—or generation ship as they had thought of it. That sense of panic, fear and confusion remained in the past, but essences of it started to flutter about the edges of her consciousness like the hiding of a lie. Not having any programed tasks to carry out or a schedule that she had to stick to like before bred a horrible feeling of being lost.

Layla must have seen the concern on her face. She finished packing her backpack and came around the fire to sit next to her. Khan remained on the other side, but like Maria, he leaned into the fire. Warming his hands.

Despite the bright sunshine beyond the canopy, the trees insulated the woods, keeping it cool. Without trekking through the dense growth, it seemed everyone was starting to feel the cold.

“He’ll be fine,” Layla said. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

“Oh? I’m not worried about Gregor. He’ll do whatever he wants.”

Layla shook her head. “I meant Denver.”

A heat, not from the fire, warmed her face. She’d totally forgotten about Denver. How could she forget about him?

“Sorry,” Maria said. “I was just deep in thought and misunderstood. I’m just not handling this whole situation too well. I thought—before the revelation about the pods—that things were getting settled, that we were finding our way. But now…”

Layla put her arm across Maria’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “We’ll still find our way, Maria. You just need to have a little faith.”

“It’s the not knowing how things will turn out that worries me.”

“There’s just, I don’t know. I’m used to things being more… linear, to use one of Mike’s words. I had tasks, and I knew what I was doing back on the harvester.”

“But you had no freedom. No choice,” Khan said. “Out here, we’ve got it all to ourselves mostly.”

“I’m not like you, Khan. I can’t just live off the land like you and be on my own. I’m too used to being with a tight-knit group of people. It just feels like our group is fracturing.”

“Evolving,” Khan added. “That’s the worst thing about humans. They’re too adaptable, always changing and evolving from one generation to the next.”

Layla screwed up her face. “What? How do you arrive at that?” she said, with a hint of incredulity to her voice. “That we evolve and adapt is the reason why we’re still here. Otherwise we would have all perished in the ice age.”

“The croatoans don’t evolve,” Khan said. “They just wait, always staying the same, remaining focused on what they’re good at. Crocodiles and sharks too. Both of those have been around since the dinosaurs and have barely changed. When you have a good design, it makes sense to stick to it.”

“What about snakes?” Layla said. “They’ve evolved to adapt to almost every climate the world over. If they didn’t evolve, they’d likely not have survived for as long as they have.”

Khan took a sip of his tea and thought about her point. “For humans,” he said, steam billowing from his mouth, “they evolved to forget who and what they were. It’s how the croatoans managed to nearly wipe us all out. We were too focused internally and not paying enough attention to the signs out there.”

“Look,” Maria said. “All this doesn’t change anything, does it? Evolve, adapt or not, it doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is that Charlie could be alive and we have a rogue community of aliens and humans to deal with. We have to manage the threat.”

“Do we?” Khan said. “This is partly what I’m talking about. Though don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to come along to help, but at some point humanity has to come to terms with the fact that it’s a flawed species, seeing wars and conflict ahead of an alternative approach.”

“And what would that be?” Layla asked. Though from her expression, Maria could see she’d heard this argument plenty of times before.

“Coexist. Live and let live.”

“You’re unreal,” Layla said. “Were you even around when the aliens first came up? They weren’t exactly bringing chocolates and sweets with them in an act of peace.”

“Maybe not,” Khan said. “But they’d spent tens of thousands of years observing us. You have to wonder what they learned about us during all that time.”

“Guys, let’s not argue. This situation is bad enough already without us bickering over stuff in the past,” Maria said. She stood and poured the tea onto the ground and walked off, wanting to get some space before tensions got any higher.

She stepped past the fire and Khan and headed for the trees. She got to a few meters before the small camp finished and the dense trees started when the sound of twig and branch displacement made her stop in her tracks.

The alien they had caught earlier came through first. Ropes and shackles around its wrists and ankles led back into the gloom—until Gregor appeared. He grinned wide when he saw Maria.

“Ah, how sweet. A welcoming committee.”

Great, that’s all she needed—another instigator. “Where’s Denver?” she asked, trying to absolve the guilt of forgetting about him earlier.

“Fuck knows,” Gregor said. “But our friend here decided to start talking. We’ve got plans to make.”

* * *

A long, slow hour passed. Maria stood with her back against a tree, not wanting to be within the group right now, with Gregor staring at her at every possible opportunity. His leering grin made her skin crawl now that Layla had explained the truth about Gregor and he’d failed to convince her with regards to his position as an elder.

The farther she could be away from him, the better. Even more so when he was crowing about his achievements with the alien and the possible demise of Denver. The radio silenced bothered her greatly.

Even if Denver had gone off on his own, he wouldn’t stay in complete silence like this just for the sake of it. At the very least he would keep in touch with Layla. She’d tried the radio every few minutes since Gregor got back and received no answer.

“I’m telling you,” Gregor said, pointing a finger at Layla, “if we act now and stick to the plan, we’ll be able to take out key positions of the settlement. Meglain here would be perfect bait for this. They have a community now. These aliens aren’t just mindless resources, they have a free will and a desire for survival—we can use that to our advantage.”

Khan remained passive throughout Gregor’s frenzied plan-making and grand ideas of overwhelming a settlement. It was as if he was trying to convince himself it was doable, perhaps remembering his old days when he used to have power and influence.

But at this precise moment, Maria saw a sad old man trying to relive his youth at the expense of everyone else. Maybe Khan had a point about humanity? Being so new to the world outside of the harvester, Maria didn’t have the history like Layla to disprove his hypothesis.

It put her in a strange situation as she looked upon the others from both a metaphorical and literal outside position. Who were these people, really? Who were humans, and what did they stand for? She couldn’t imagine they were all like Gregor, or even all like Layla, for that matter.

From Mike to Denver to Charlie and Layla, everyone she had come across so far were so driven, so sure of themselves—until Khan. She questioned her role in all this. Was she really a part of this group? At times she felt she had more in common with the croatoans than the humans, despite her actual biological race.

Gregor stood up and kicked dirt onto the fire. “Right, everyone, get your gear ready, and check your weapons. We move out in five.”

Was that a smile she saw on Meglain’s face? It was hard to tell, but Maria was sure she saw the alien’s expression changed for a moment. It looked away into the woods before slowly raising its head to stare above.

Maria traced his gaze up.

She saw them before she heard them. And she heard them too late.

A group of five hover-bikes flew overhead. Gregor, Layla and Khan jumped up, but it was too late to do anything. The bikes descended like stones, moving agilely under the controls of a mixed group of human and croatoans. Within seconds, they were surrounded. Gregor struggled to reach his rifle propped up by a tree.

Two croatoans wearing rags and denims fired over his head with their triangular pistols. The rounds splintered the trunk, making Gregor freeze on the spot. He raised his hands and turned around with a sneer on his face.

“No one move,” a female human said. She held a long spearlike weapon. A metal prong on the end crackled with electricity. Eight others, mixed species, circled them, aiming their weapons. Two young men untied Meglain and checked him over. They said something to each other using words Maria didn’t understand.

“In the middle,” a croatoan behind her said, pressing a rifle barrel against her back.

Gregor and the others were encouraged into the middle of the circle until they were standing back to back.

“Well?” Gregor said to the woman with the crackling spear. “What now, eh? Gonna butcher us like you did the others?”

“No,” she said. “We’re taking you to speak with Aimee. You’ve kidnapped one of our kind. You’ve some explaining to do. Take them away,” she said.

“Wait,” Maria cried out. “We can explain. Let’s talk about this.”

The barrel pushed harder into her spine. The woman, a blonde with piercing green eyes and wearing a patched-up set of army fatigues, stepped to her. “You should have thought about that before you sent a spy. Say another word and you all die right here, right now.”

Maria pressed her lips together and tried to stop herself from shaking with fear.

“Tie ’em up and take ’em,” the blonde said. “Shoot ’em if they speak again.”

With that, the group reversed the roles on them. Maria and the others became the captured and shackled as they were led onto the hover-bikes, their legs cuffed to steel rods on the sides of the bikes and their hands tied down to small handlebars, pinning them in place.

Maria strained her neck to look to her right to see Layla. Layla gave her an encouraging smile, but it didn’t help, Maria could still see the fear in her eyes. Her legs shook as she gripped the bike tight. The rider in front fired the engines, and they lifted up into the air with a sudden jolt. Her stomach knotted with the sudden movement. She closed her eyes and held on as they sped off toward the settlement. Maria thought this was likely it. She doubted they would keep them alive if the video of that battle was anything to go by.

She tried to make peace with the situation, that her life was rapidly coming to an end, but she couldn’t do it. She wanted to live. She wanted to survive, and that’s when she realized that it was this thinking that made her human—and vulnerable.

And she didn’t like it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The swelling on the back of Denver’s head throbbed and made him feel sick. He looked around the prison cell in which he was thrown. For what seemed like an hour he’d been left there to stew about how stupid he was in letting someone come up behind him like that.

He wondered if it wasn’t because of the lack of root dulling his senses, taking the edge off his mind. He sat back on the filthy mattress, leaning his back against the cold stone. The walls were rough-hewn lumps piled on top of each other to make a room no larger than three meters in any direction.

Raw, damp dirt lay beneath his feet. He coughed, the stench of carrion wafting through the bars of the door from somewhere off down the corridor. The groans of other prisoners echoed down the narrow passage.

At least he wasn’t the only one here. Maybe one of the other cells contained his father. Looking at the door, he wished he still had his weapons on him. The bastards had even found the bush knife strapped to his calf. With that, he could have hacked away the wooden frame and door and got to the hinges, but with nothing but his clothes and bare hands, he was stuck.

Checking the mattress and the dark corners of the room, Denver sought anything at all that could prove useful, but he came up blank. Nothing but dirt and worms and the frayed fragments of someone’s old clothes.

They probably died in here, he thought.

Through the cracks where the wooden beams of the ceiling were crudely cemented into the stone walls, a beam of light filtered through, shining against the iron bars within the door.

No way of telling what the exact time was or how long he had been out. Could have been an hour, could’ve been a day. Without the root in his system, the unconsciousness mixed with his general tiredness could have lasted a lot longer than usual.

Either way, it didn’t help him out much.

Standing to stretch his legs and help clear his head, he paced the small cell, walking off the cramp that had set in to his calves and thighs. The swelling on the back of his head felt like a tennis ball.

Whoever it was, human or croatoan, really went to town with the blow.

Remembering the others, he searched the pockets of his fatigues in vain to find the communicator, but as was expected, they, whoever his captors were, had already taken it. That probably spelled danger to Layla and the others if they gave anything away over the comm line before they realized who was on the other end.

But nothing he could do about that.

At least they had Gregor with them. As despicable as he was, he afforded them a certain level of protection. Assuming he hadn’t got them to do anything stupid like storm the settlement.

Of course! The settlement… Denver moved to the far end of the cell and, on tiptoes, lifted his face to the crack. Although the aperture only gave him a narrow angle of view, he could see the rooftops of other buildings and in the distance a building on top of a landmass.

Beyond that, and surrounding his view, he saw the steps cut into the high sides of the town. He wondered if this wasn’t once a quarry or a lake given the bowl shape of it with the high sides. A shadow cut the beam of light. A man, or woman perhaps, in robes walked across his vision. He made to shout out, but something about it made him stop. Something familiar…

The way they walked and held themselves prickled at the edge of his recognition, but with his head throbbing with pain he couldn’t quite place it. He did, however, recall seeing the group of robed people through his scope before he was knocked out, but that wasn’t what was ringing bells for him, there was something more fundamental with their body language that screamed at him to remember.

He’d have to leave it for when his head cleared a little.

Whenever that might be. His captors hadn’t even provided him with any water or food. Even an interrogation would be better than nothing. At least then he’d have an opportunity to gather some information on what was happening.

Frustrated, he strode across the cell and battered the flats of his fists against the door and bellowed through the bars, “Hey, anyone out there? What the hell is this? You want to just leave me here for nothing? Hey! Answer me, you bastards.”

No response apart from a derisive howl from what sounded like a croatoan somewhere at the end of the passageway. He carried on yelling until, finally, his throat became sore. He turned his back, resigned to rotting in the cell with no answers, when a metallic noise rattled from the darkness.

A screech of a hinge sounded, followed by soft footsteps and the jangle of keys. Weak light glowed in the corridor and grew brighter as it came closer. A silhouette of a heavyset human from behind the light blocked out Denver’s view completely.

“Stand back. Don’t try anything, or it will be your last action,” came the voice, deep and gravelly. Definitely a male human with an accent he couldn’t quite make out due to its almost tonal neutrality.

Denver did as he was asked and stepped back, but bounced on his haunches and balled his fists, ready to attack the person as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

The door opened.

Denver tensed, ready to pounce.

A barrel of a gun pressed against his chest, freezing him in place.

“Turn around,” the voice commanded. “You say a thing and I empty this magazine into you, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Denver said, turning around slowly. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Shut up,” the voice said. “You’ll know everything later if you don’t do anything stupid. Hands behind your back and get on your knees.”

For a brief moment, Denver considered hitting a crouch and spinning, driving into the guard, but he couldn’t be entirely sure he didn’t have backup. Not wanting to risk anything, he did as he suggested. His time would come; he just needed to be patient and wait it out.

A pair of cold iron shackles bound his wrists. The guard pulled a sack over his head, obscuring his vision. It stank of rotting vegetables and sweat. How many other prisoners had this thing been stuck on? How many people’s last breaths had coated the inside of the material? However many there were, Denver didn’t intend to add his to them.

“Get up. We’re going for a walk. Same rules apply. You do anything stupid, I gun you down. Pretty easy rules to follow unless you’re a suicidal maniac. Are you?”

“I wasn’t,” Denver said. “Can’t guarantee anything now, though. Where are we going?”

No response, just the press of the barrel into the back of his head. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, imagining the violence he would enact on this asshole if and when he got his chance. He stood up and waited for further instruction. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and aimed him toward the door.

“You just keep walking. I’ll tell you when to stop,” the voice said.

Denver gingerly stepped forward, trying to get his balance. He initially made to dart away, but he soon realized that his shackles were tethered to a chain. The guard yanked him back as a subtle reminder.

“Go on,” the guard said, and Denver did as he was told, stepping forward, trying to analyze this location from the surface of the ground. So far all he could tell was that he was still in the prison with its soft dirt floor. After a few minutes of doors opening and closing, he felt chilled air on his hands. His clothes flapped against his skin as a gentle wind breezed against him.

Through the sackcloth, the lightness of day bled through, but he couldn’t make out any detail. The surface underfoot had changed to gravel. And then back to dirt, but harder this time, compacted like a well-trodden path.

Probing him in the back with the gun barrel, the guard urged Denver on through a number of twisting, turning roads and pathways until finally they came to a section of stone steps. One by one, Denver climbed. He counted twenty-three steps in total as they reached the top.

“Wait,” the voice said. The chain rattled as the guard moved out from behind him and knocked on a door a few meters away. It creaked open and the sound of hushed voices followed. A tug on the chain made Denver stumble forward, but he managed to regain his balance as he followed the unsubtle direction inside to a larger building. He was pulled further in and made to kneel.

“Take it off,” a female voice said.

The hood came off with a single movement.

Denver found himself kneeling in the middle of a room in front of a raised platform. Sitting on a chair, drinking wine and looking at him as though he were some kind of hunting trophy, a woman smiled at him. She looked up beyond him and nodded an order.

The guard dropped the chain and exited the room. By the time Denver turned his head, the guard had already left and closed the door. Turning back to the woman, Denver stood up and thought about rushing her with a shoulder charge, but her serenity and body language told him she wasn’t a threat—yet.

“Who are you?” Denver asked.

“Call me Aimee,” she responded, turning in her chair to face him directly. “I’m sorry that we’ve had to meet like this. Usually we don’t take outsiders prisoner, but you were spying on us, and quite heavily armed. You have to understand that I take the safety of my people seriously.”

“And who are your people exactly? And where the hell am I?”

Aimee stood and held her arms wide and aloft. “You, my intriguing spy, are in Unity. A safe settlement built by humans and croatoans alike. My people have lived here, quite separately and happily, for generations. When we were cut off from the main fighting before the ice age started, we, that is humans and croatoans, realized we didn’t need to fight each other when we could live together.”

Denver curled his lip in a sneer at the thought of any alien helping humans to survive. He had to admit, though, that she was incredibly sincere in her words, but then he had met many a psycho who truly believed their own bullshit. He rattled the shackles. “Are you going to let me go? What is it you want from me?”

“That depends on you.”

“How so?”

Aimee sat back down and crossed her legs as she sipped from her wineglass. Denver noticed the table had recently hosted a feast of sorts. Plates of bread and vegetables and meat adorned the surface among the candlesticks.

“If you answer my questions truthfully, I’ll let you go—if you want to, that is.”

Denver noticed the sly smile on her face. She was clearly hiding something.

“What does that mean? If I want to?”

“I’ll have an offer for you that you might well take,” Aimee said, placing the wineglass back and standing up from the chair. She paced the room as she continued. “But let’s start with some basics, shall we? What’s your name, and where are you from?”

“Denver, from around.”

“Around, eh? You seem well equipped for coming from ‘around.’ Who’s on the other end of your communication device?”

Denver didn’t answer.

Aimee smiled and inclined her head to him. “I understand. So, Denver, what were you doing spying on us?”

“Just having a look. I’m curious like that.”

“So you didn’t happen to come across a croatoan on your travels?”

“I see them occasionally,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Aimee sighed and turned to him. “Okay, let’s stop all this nonsense, shall we? Baliska, release him from the shackles.”

From behind him the shadows shifted and a large croatoan figure stepped out and loomed over Denver. It unclasped the shackles and sidestepped away. Denver turned to face it and thought he was looking at a ghost.

Could that be… was that…

“You know him?” Aimee said, but Denver wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

The croatoan leaned forward and snarled.

It was him! The bastard hunter from Manhattan… but Charlie had killed him, how… Denver noticed the healed wound across its body. Somehow, it had survived. Denver balled his fists and took up a defensive stance.

Baliska did the same. The two squared up to each other. Even with Denver’s height he had to look up to see into the creature’s eyes. The stared at each other, both flaring their nostrils, waiting for the other to back down.

The situation ended when Denver heard a crackle of energy from behind him.

“You two, calm down; otherwise you’re both going back to your cells.”

Denver turned his head. Aimee held a pole with a black box on the end. Two extended prongs crackled with an arc of electricity. She wielded it like a spear. “Baliska, back off,” she ordered.

Reluctantly, the croatoan nodded its head slightly and did as she commanded, slinking back into the shadows to the side of the room. Stepping forward, Aimee brought the makeshift spear up to Denver’s chest. “You know him?” she asked, pointing her head to the alien.

“Yeah, kinda. We have history. I thought my father had killed it.”

“Him,” Aimee corrected. “He has a name. Who is your father?”

“The guy who defeated… him, and took down the bastards’ ship. The guy who your lot here took from the escape pods after you slaughtered the other aliens. How did that sit with your croatoan population?”

Aimee backed off and a confused expression came over her face. “Wait… Charlie Jackson is your father?”

“Yes,” Denver said. “That’s why I was spying on this place. I came to bring him home.”

“He was responsible for bringing down the alien ships?”

“Damn right he was.”

“This changes everything. Baliska, fetch Charlie Jackson and bring him here, immediately.”

* * *

Denver stood from his chair and stared in surprise as the door opened and his dad walked in, escorted by Baliska. He rushed toward him, not caring about the alien or what Aimee would do, and hugged his dad tight. Charlie wrapped his arms around Denver and lifted him up.

They stared at each other, both clearly not believing they had been reunited, especially in these circumstances. The alien skulked around the table, where it sat with its great arms crossed over its chest, like some kind of sentinel waiting to do Aimee’s bidding.

“Please,” Aimee said to them both, “come and sit. We’ve much to discuss.”

Ignoring her, Denver released his father and stepped back to get a good look at him. “You’re looking a bit beat up, but you’re still here, still breathing.”

“Takes more than one of Mike’s bombs to end me, son. Besides, I knew I was gonna miss this place. It’s great to see you again. I never thought I would… not with, well, let’s not get carried away here. You’re safe, I’m safe, that’s all that matters. How are the others?”

Aimee cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Speed is of the essence.”

Before Charlie could answer, the door flew open, smashing against the stone wall. Augustus, flanked by two thuggish men armed with small scythes, stormed in.

“I demand to know what’s happening,” Augustus said.

Charlie, Denver and Baliska stood up from the table and prepared for a fight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aimee smiled at Augustus. He returned a glare and straightened his mask. The lying whore had escaped his assassination attempt. His team from the local tavern screwed up. Worse still, she probably had assistance from his stolen property, Jackson and Baliska. Both stood at the far end of the table in Aimee’s chamber, ready for action. Another fool, tall with red hair, completed the cabal of snakes.

He clenched both fists. He raised his quivering right hand toward Aimee and extended a bony finger. “I demand to know what’s going on. Who gave you permission to take my prisoners?”

Aimee let out a long sigh. “Your prisoners, Augustus? This is my town. I own every prisoner. You’re only welcome as long as you understand that.”

He leaned forward on the table. “Jackson is my property.”

“We’re not in ancient Rome, and your mother ship is gone,” she said, looking down her nose. If they were alone in the room, he wouldn’t think twice about slitting the bitch’s throat. “Unity has no slaves, only prisoners.”

Aimee backed away and stood behind the two men and large creature at the end of the room. Baliska hopped a couple of steps forward. Jackson scowled at Augustus. They would pay for this contempt.

“Who’s the freak?” the man with the red hair asked Charlie.

Augustus smashed his fist on the table and pointed at the newcomer. “Who is this cretin?”

“I’m Denver Jackson. Who are you?”

“Jackson… you must be Charlie’s bastard.” Feeling betrayed and out of the loop, he couldn’t contain a sudden surge of extra anger.

He picked up a wine cup and threw it against the wall.

Orange wine splashed everywhere as the goblet bounced off and landed by his feet. “His son!? Why wasn’t I informed of his presence?”

The conniving went way deeper than Augustus expected. These people would pay with their lives.

Charlie put his arm around Denver. “Son, meet Augustus. A supposed Roman emperor, chief croatoan ass kisser and loser of empires.”

Augustus thought about picking up a china plate and throwing it at Charlie’s face, but decided against it. He brought muscle with him, no need to get his hands dirty by fighting the peasants. “Is he really your son, Charlie? Gregor told me he’s a bastard. The red hair leads me to believe that lazy piece of shit told the truth.”

Denver made to launch forward, but Charlie held him back.

“You’re testing my patience,” Aimee said. “Do you know anything about an attack on me this morning?”

Augustus sneered. She had already tested his patience to its limit. “I can think of at least a hundred people who would like you dead. You may not realize it, but you’re not as universally liked as you think you are, nor half as clever. The underclass listen to me. I keep them content instead of letting them revolt.”

Aimee’s brow furrowed. “How is that even possible? You’ve only lived here for a few weeks. Before that, you were just an occasional visitor. Most have never even mentioned your name. I think you’re letting your ego get to you again.”

He may have exaggerated his position, but he would convince more of the population of her meddling and duplicity.

After the failed attempt on her life, he needed more time and leverage.

Charlie Jackson would do for now. If she had any respect for ancient law, Aimee would not resist. “I’m taking my prisoners back to their cells. You know it’s my right to do so.”

Aimee said, “If you want them so much, I will allow you to fight for them in the arena. You versus Charlie or Baliska.”

If she had any noble blood, she would fight him in the arena. Her suggestion proved her low breeding.

Augustus snapped his fingers and pointed at Charlie. “Take him back to the ludus. He’s my property, and I claim him back.”

His two guards moved forward, either side of Augustus, their sickles raised.

“This is your final warning,” Aimee said. “How dare you come in here with armed men and threaten my authority, especially after your little stunt earlier.”

“You threaten authority by dismissing tradition and respect. Do the right thing and make me an offer for your new ally. Until then, he remains under my control.”

Both Jacksons picked up pieces of cutlery from the table and hunched in anticipation. Baliska reached for his thigh.

“Grab him,” Augustus said.

His men slowly approached Charlie.

“Baliska, now,” Aimee said.

Baliska drew his sword from his thigh and leapt forward, raising the blade. Augustus fumbled under his robe for his dagger while backing away.

Doctore lifted his sickle to meet the blow. The weapons clanked against each other. Baliska reacted first, taking another quick swing before Augustus’ man could raise his weapon. The sword buried deep into the side of his neck and he fell sideways.

Doctore briefly gurgled and twitched while a dark red pool quickly formed around his top half.

One of the ludus guards staggered back and looked at Augustus with a blood-freckled face and fear in his eyes. “What now?”

Baliska advanced.

Augustus pushed the guard forward and fell back. His heel caught the bottom of his own robe and he lost his balance. He gasped for air after his back slammed against the stone surface.

The dagger slipped from his hand and skidded away.

The guard cowered behind his sickle as Baliska hacked at his leg. He screamed, dropped his weapon, and crumpled to the floor, clutching his calf. The alien strode over to him, held up its sword with both hands, and thrust it down into his chest, killing him instantly.

“Enough,” Aimee shouted. Baliska returned to his position behind her.

Augustus scrambled to his feet and repositioned his mask. He edged in the direction of the entrance. “I never meant for this to happen. The weapons were just for show. I gave my men strict orders not to use their weapons. This wasn’t my fault.”

“Baliska, take Augustus to the courtyard cells,” Aimee said. “I’m sick of hearing his bullshit.”

Augustus stood up straight. No matter what happened, he vowed to keep his dignity. “There’s no need for this. Think of what I’ve done for Unity. I protected it. I’ve provided entertainment. What has Charlie Jackson ever done?”

Aimee encouraged Baliska forward with a casual wave of her hand. “He’s going to do more than you ever could. You’ll appear in the arena tomorrow against three croatoan harvester drivers. They came in fresh today.”

The alien bounded over and grabbed Augustus by the shoulder. He briefly struggled against the revolting beast until a glove clamped around his other shoulder, holding him firmly in a vice-like grip.

“If you aimed to humiliate me, it’s worked,” Augustus said, still hoping he could talk his way out of it. “Can we put an end to this silliness?”

“Do you mind if I walk with them to the cells?” Charlie said. “I’ve got a bit of unfinished business with him.”

“Be my guest,” Aimee said.

Baliska ripped Augustus off his feet and dragged him out of the room. He couldn’t believe how they treated him. The oldest surviving member of the human race, a former emperor, no less!

If he got out of this in one piece, Aimee, the Jacksons and Baliska would end up in several pieces and tossed into the garbage dump behind his ludus.

As his feet scraped along the stone, one of his sandals fell off.

Charlie, strutting close behind, picked it up and smiled down at him. “What was it you said? Did you really think you’d get the better of me?”

Augustus attempted to spit through the mouth hole in his mask. “They’ll see you for exactly what you are, and I’ll be waiting. Birds will peck out—”

Aimee and Denver left her chamber and followed along the corridor.

Baliska dragged him into the courtyard.

The croatoans on the rampart looked down and clicked with excitement. A man opened a door to one of Aimee’s cells. Baliska shoved Augustus toward it.

“Wait,” Charlie said. “Put him on his knees.”

The creature forced him down. He winced after his knees buckled and slammed against the cobbles. Charlie approached in front of him and held out his sandal. “Here’s your sandal back.”

For a terrible moment, Augustus thought the bastard would inflict the humiliation on him that he carried out during their first meeting in Unity. He slipped the sandal around his foot, nodded and said through gritted teeth, “Thank you, I suppose.”

“I haven’t finished yet,” Charlie said. He dropped to one knee and started unlacing his boot.

Augustus looked at Aimee. “You can’t let him do this. You can’t.”

She raised an eyebrow and flapped a paper fan in front of her face.

Charlie took off his boot. A gut-wrenching odor attacked Augustus’ nostrils, like sickly sweet garbage, coming from the fetid sock. He tried to recoil away, but Baliska wedged his body against his back.

Charlie stood and turned to Aimee. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” she said.

He grinned and raised his boot. “Hold him steady.”

“Please, you can’t do this to me. I—”

Jackson swiped his boot across Augustus’ jaw. A bolt of pain spread across his face, but more worryingly, his mask split down the middle. He could no longer see as the eyepieces dropped to either side.

Charlie ripped the mask away and inspected it. His bastard son stood behind him, watching with indifference. Charlie threw it against the cobbles and stamped his other boot on it, smashing it to pieces.

Augustus lowered his head. A tear of anger and frustration hung from his eye and dropped to the cobblestone ground. The humiliation was complete. He let out a deep breath. “Take me to the cell. I’ve had enough.”

“Raise your head,” Aimee said.

Augustus groaned. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough degradation for one day? You can have more fun watching me in the arena tomorrow.”

Aimee lifted his chin with two fingers. “I give every citizen of Unity a second chance. You still might have your uses yet.”

“I can’t believe you’re—” Charlie started to say.

Aimee raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks. “You play by my rules. You’ll be under house arrest at your ludus for the foreseeable future until I decide what role you’re to play—if any. In the meantime, one more screw-up, one bad report, anything, and I’ll have you executed. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Augustus said, feeling relief wash over him. “I’m sorry for any misunderstanding.”

“Have the guards escort him to his ludus,” she said to Baliska.

The extraterrestrial oaf released his grip.

Augustus rolled his shoulders and went to cover his face with his hands, but stopped. He didn’t want to show any signs of weakness, now he had another chance. He defiantly gazed around the courtyard. Nobody reacted.

“Take Charlie and Denver to Augustus’ cabin on the third step. That’s their new home. I want a permanent watch on their door,” Aimee said to a guard.

“We don’t need one,” Charlie Jackson said.

“It’s not just for your benefit. I need to know if you run. There’s too much at stake.”

“We don’t run,” the bastard son said.

“Be ready for our meeting tomorrow,” Aimee said. “We’ve a lot to go through.”

The main gate swung open and the Jacksons left with the guard. Jackson senior glanced back at Augustus as he walked away. His time would come.

Taking his cabin just rubbed salt into his wounds. Charlie Jackson sleeping in his bed, eating his supplies. “I’d put two guards outside. You can’t trust them.”

Aimee spun to face him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Your new home is the ludus, and you’re lucky I’m even giving you that. Get out of my sight.”

She flounced away like a peacock. Baliska followed without question, transformed from hunter to pathetic lapdog in the space of a day.

Augustus wondered about the meeting tomorrow. He needed to know exactly what the Jacksons and Aimee were planning.

Once he knew, he could act accordingly.

For the moment, he had a house arrest to circumvent.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Gregor scowled at the two croatoan and three human guards who had led him, Layla, Khan and Maria through the town to an open square in front of what he assumed was the head honcho’s residence.

The shackles on his wrist and ankles bit into his skin.

Ignoring the moans of the others, he squinted in the afternoon light and noticed a scuffle outside the large building in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Gregor said to a female human guard by his side.

“Unity business,” she said. “That’s Aimee. She runs the place. I’m sure she’ll be here to deal with you lot shortly.”

“And what’s that mean?” Layla said, shuffling forward until a grizzled-looking croatoan stepped in her way and placed his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from leaving the group.

Gregor thought about trying to escape, but the guards had them surrounded and had taken their weapons.

They’d even taken his concealed combat knife.

No real option now but to just wait for an opportunity. In the meantime, he scanned the community, noting how it seemed to have gone back to medieval times.

Within the twisting and turning run of brick and stone dwellings, he saw blacksmiths, carpenters, and even a seamstress making and adapting clothes for human and alien alike.

Farmers tilled the steps surrounding the place, gathering root as well as more familiar vegetables. They even had their own farm—with actual cows and sheep as opposed to human cattle.

He had to give them at least some credit for coexisting like this and making a new life for themselves away from the croatoans’ influence on the root farms to the south.

Still, the thought of working and living with the aliens in such a collaborative way made his skin crawl. Although not as much as the sight of Augustus.

At first he couldn’t believe it was him.

Up the steps and out the front of the building, he saw him led away by a couple of guards. He was holding his deformed face as if he had been struck.

They caught each other’s gaze. Augustus pointed to Gregor and said something to the other group of people just out of Gregor’s view.

“They’re coming now,” a guard said.

“Who?” Layla asked.

“Aimee. She’ll deal with this situation.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Gregor asked, lifting both of his arms and pointing his shackled hands toward Augustus.

“He’s a council member,” the woman guard said.

Gregor couldn’t believe it. He must have only been in this place for a few weeks, having been in one of the escape pods, and already he was involved in running the damn place.

Although given the look on his mangled face, it seemed there was some difference of opinion going on.

Despite that, a woman, backed up by a large croatoan who looked familiar, joined Augustus and came down the steps to stand in front of the group.

She certainly had a noble, or perhaps royal, air to her with the way she stood with her head up and shoulders back.

Augustus still looked like a self-important prick as always, although without his mask his usual air of authority was somewhat diminished.

Sneering, Augustus addressed Gregor first. “I should have known you’d come sniffing around at some point. You always were a little rat.”

Gregor spat at his feet. “At least I don’t look like I’ve been chewed by one.” Turning to Aimee, he added, “You do know who and what this freak is, right? You should have had him killed when your force butchered the other aliens.”

Augustus just smiled and ignored the taunt, turning his attentions to Layla. “Nice to see you survived, Layla. We could use someone with your skills here.”

“Go to hell,” Layla retorted.

“Please,” Aimee said, holding her hands up, “there’s no need for hostility here.”

“Then why treat us like prisoners,” Maria added as Khan just looked on with his passive but focused expression.

“You’re not prisoners,” Aimee said. “But we had to take careful measures. We guard our safety and privacy here at Unity greatly. Which brings me to today’s business.”

“Before you start,” Layla said, “I want to know if you found anyone else, a young man, tall—”

“Don’t worry,” Augustus said, cutting her off. “Your precious Denver—and Charlie—are quite safe, though perhaps not for much longer.”

“Enough,” Aimee said. The huge familiar alien stepped closer to Augustus, cutting him off and making him shrink away with a leery eye on his guard.

Then it came to Gregor. He remembered where he had seen the alien before. “You’re the freak that attacked us in the town hall,” he said, pointing to the alien. “We thought you were dead. Charlie said he’d killed you.”

“His name is Baliska,” Augustus said. “And no, clearly, your little hero Charlie failed, just as he failed killing me.”

“Yeah, shame that,” Gregor said.

“Okay,” Aimee said, raising her voice. “Enough. Here’s the deal. You’re welcome to stay, but if so, you need to work. If you leave and we find you snooping around again, the penalty will be death.”

“You can’t trust him,” Augustus said, indicating Gregor. “He and this group were the ones who helped Charlie Jackson to do what he did. You can’t just let them go. I won’t allow it.”

“Oh, won’t you?” Aimee said with a laugh. “You’re under arrest, or did you forget that already?”

Augustus ignored her and said, “Execution. Snuff out the threat now.”

Aimee seemed to think on this idea for a moment. “Get on your knees and swear allegiance to Unity and you’ll be able to make the choice of working with us or leaving and never coming back,” she said to the group.

Layla and Maria looked at each other and shrugged. Khan fell to his knees almost instantly, sickening Gregor with his lack of backbone.

“Well?” Layla said, catching Gregor’s eye.

Ignoring her, Gregor spoke directly to Aimee. “I will never kneel to the likes of you. Screw you and your town of inbreds and crossbreeds. I’ll see to it that this place burns to the ground like the damned alien ships.”

Layla and Maria sighed.

Without showing her irritation, Aimee simply said, “Fine. Augustus, you can have some company under your house arrest. Consider this one your pet. Now get out of my sight, both of you.”

Baliska seized Augustus by the shoulders and pushed him away from the steps and toward the maze of streets. A human and two croatoans pulled Gregor away from the others and dragged him kicking and screaming in the same direction.

Gregor yelled a string of obscenities at Aimee and struggled to escape, but the aliens and humans were too strong for him.

His heart pounded with a furious, impotent rage. But after a moment of realization, he just let them drag him away as he watched Layla and Maria drop to one knee.

“Cowards!” he yelled. “Treacherous cowards!”

The guards hauled him through the streets until he could no longer see the others.

Five minutes more struggle and he found himself taken through a dark basement-like room and thrown into what looked like an office. Two of the guards shackled him with manacles before Augustus was thrown into the room also.

“What?” Gregor asked. “He doesn’t get manacles?”

Augustus and one of the human guards smiled before the guard closed and locked the door.

“He’s one of mine,” Augustus said, nodding to the door. “You don’t think I wouldn’t have a contingency, do you?”

* * *

Maria looked up from her kneeled position at this woman who seemed to hold all the power in this town. Aimee approached her and Layla.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “for the way things had to happen just then. We’ve worked hard to build this sanctuary and coexist. I’m sure you can understand my desire for it to remain a safe and secure place for its residents.”

“I can,” Maria said.

“Please, both of you stand; we can work something out,” Aimee said, indicating for the two of them to stand.

Khan behind them also stood and remained quiet, observing the scene around him. Maria wondered what he was thinking.

Since they were captured, he’d barely said a word, making Maria think that he was having second thoughts about allying himself with Maria, Layla and the others. He never really seemed to gel with the group.

“So what now?” Layla prompted.

“For newcomers, I always give them two choices,” Aimee said. “You’re welcome to stay with us and take up a job. We’ll discuss your skills and what you can offer, and we’ll find you a place within our home. If that doesn’t appeal, then I’m afraid we don’t tolerate tourists. You’ll be escorted away and will not be welcomed back in the future. We value our safety here highly.”

Maria didn’t need to be reminded of that after seeing the video of the battle with the other croatoans.

The Unity fighters defended themselves with a rabid fervor.

Maria turned to Layla. “I don’t know about you, but I have no desire to stay.”

“Me neither,” Layla said, adding, “but a part of me is fascinated by this place. The dynamics between the humans and croatoans is something I’d love to study, but I understand the situation.”

“But what about Charlie and Denver?” Maria said to Aimee. “The men who—”

“I know who they are,” Aimee replied. “They’ve… decided to stay for a while. They’re helping me, well, all of us, with an engineering problem. They’re perfectly safe, I can assure you.”

“I want to see them before we leave,” Layla added with a steely tone to her voice. “I’m sure you can understand my concern for my friends.”

Aimee inclined her head in agreement.

She turned to a pair of croatoan guards behind the group and requested that they escort Maria and Layla to Charlie and Denver’s new accommodation.

Before they were taken away, Aimee added, “Perhaps once you’ve spoken to your friends, you will change your mind about your decision and decide to stay after all.”

Maria just nodded, sure she didn’t want to stay, but now intrigued as to what she had promised Charlie and Denver. She couldn’t imagine those two being happy to stay behind in a town full of aliens. They’d shown no liking of them in the past, nor was tolerance high on their agenda.

Layla looked equally confused as they were led away. She shot Maria a quizzical look. Maria just shrugged her shoulders.

As the aliens led them across the settlement, Maria looked back to see Khan step close to Aimee. “I wonder what he’s decided?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out,” Layla replied. “He’s difficult to read.”

“Perhaps he’s just spent too much time surviving on his own. This might be strange for him.”

“Perhaps,” Layla said.

They fell quiet and continued their march through the narrow streets, heading for a series of shanty huts perched on the steps of the settlement’s high sides.

* * *

Khan waited until Maria and Layla were out of earshot.

He stepped forward to Aimee. Two human guards and a remaining alien gathered around him, protecting their leader, but she waved them off and encouraged him closer.

“You heard the offer,” she said.

“I did.”

“And what’s your answer? Do you want to stay with us or leave us?”

“It depends,” Khan said, leaning a little closer. “It depends on what jobs you have. I have a unique set of skills that I’ve trained over the years as I’ve survived in the woods, watching all this fighting going on, avoiding the attentions of both human and alien alike. If I stay, I don’t want to be a farmer or a blacksmith or some other dull job.”

Aimee raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So what is it you would like to do for us here?”

“For you,” he corrected. “It seems to me a woman in your position is likely to have a number of enemies. All human colonies have people with differing ideas. That can cause a number of resentments and plots.”

“I’m well stocked in the protection area,” she said.

“I’m not talking specifically about protection,” Khan said. “I’m talking about offense. You must have opposition or detractors who you would like to see… neutralized. I can do that. I have a way of going unseen. It’s surprising how much information one is privy too when people only see an average man.”

Leaning in closer and bringing her voice down so only Khan could hear, she said, “You’re hired. You start work this evening. I have an objective for you.”

“Very well,” Khan said with a smile on his face.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Thick gray clouds conspired to smudge away most of the sky’s orange tint.

A rumble of thunder cracked overhead. Charlie stood under Augustus’ cabin porch, hands on hips, and surveyed the rooftops of Unity.

For the first time in weeks, rain started to fall. A good sign the planet was starting its recovery from the croatoans’ early stages of terraforming .

From the elevated position of the third step, he could see the whole town: the arena where he fought, the ludus, Aimee’s imposing residence, and the maze of scruffy houses and workshops crowding around the main dirt road.

Charlie gazed at the croatoan vessel poking out of the sinkhole between the steps and the town and thought about the plan. He felt responsible. Not for this vile hybrid place, but for the remaining human survivors and the planet destroyer perhaps already on course for Earth with orders for its destruction.

He had sacrificed himself once and felt this was a kind of a blessing. He had another chance to help his people, his planet.

Denver leaned on a wooden fence surrounding the porch. He stared toward the crops and root on the opposite steps with a look of disbelief.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” Charlie said.

“They should be at a safe distance. I might slip away tonight to warn them off, and yeah, Gregor survived.”

“That’s a shame about Gregor, but they’ll figure something out. We need to stay here for now. If we try to leave, we’ll have to fight our way out. We can’t destabilize things as they are right now.”

“I know,” Denver said with resignation in his voice. Charlie could tell he was holding something back. Growing up, Charlie hadn’t really taught him how to express his emotions—mostly because Charlie couldn’t do that either. When he found Pippa’s body, her head smashed with a rock, he retreated within himself because if he let out what he felt, he knew he would crumble, and he had to be strong, for Denver, Mike, Mai, and the other survivors from that time.

It didn’t stop him from hurting inside, though. Didn’t stop him from wanting to confide in someone that even he, the great survivor Charlie Jackson, was tired and scared.

Charlie sidled up to his side and gripped his shoulder, squeezing understanding and love into him, knowing the kid was hurting and scared but too stubborn to show it.

Denver gave Charlie a quick nod and a smile, and suddenly the hurt on his face was no longer buried deep somewhere inside. “I still can’t believe we’re going in one of their ships. Are you sure Aimee’s telling the truth?” Denver said, changing the unspoken subject.

“I’m almost certain. Hagellan, the creature who ran the Earth program, gave her the information—”

Denver’s features twisted into a grimace. “Seriously? We should kill him for what he’s done. Why are you even considering helping?”

Charlie sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t been tempted, son. But bigger things are at stake. It appears that the croatoan standard mode of operation for troublesome planets is to annihilate them. If the alien bastard is lying and tries to contact its fleet or whatever, remember, we’ll be the ones with the bomb. We just watch our backs. I don’t trust them, but we can’t risk not doing it.”

“You’re right. There’s no way we can trust them alone with a working craft and a bomb,” Denver said. “We have to go—even if it is some kind of trap.”

Denver’s quick logic impressed Charlie. Charlie had wrestled with the decision, letting history cloud his own judgment, but Denver saw it as instantly black or white. Charlie wondered if complacency had slipped into his own thinking. Stripping all emotion out of the decision made the choice obvious. Den had a knack of doing that—but was that healthy? Sometimes decisions needed that nuance, the third choice from the gray area. Although in this situation, he and his son were on the same page. He just hoped the others, wherever they were, would understand.

The rain pelted down, drumming loudly against the porch roof and forming puddles on the muddy ground outside. The guard who accompanied them dropped his root cigarette and twisted it into the mud with his boot. He turned and approached the cabin.

Charlie lowered his voice. “Don’t talk about this to anyone. Not even the guard. There’s division in this town, and we don’t know who might take an exception.”

The guard thumped up the three wooden steps leading to the porch and stood facing Charlie. He ruffled his mousy hair and wiped his hands on his dark blue woolly sweater. “I saw your fight in the arena. Nice move. He wasn’t expecting that.”

“Fight in the arena?” Denver said, looking slightly confused.

“Long story, son. I’ll tell you later,” Charlie replied. He turned to the guard. “You mean it wasn’t expecting that?”

The guard gripped his rifle, still slung, as if in warning. “Listen, old man. We’re an integrated community. If you know of anything better out there, with food, water and security, why don’t you tell me? Because I sure as shit haven’t seen anything else. In this town the aliens are he and she, not it. There’s mutual respect here.”

Charlie stepped forward. “If you call me old man again, you’ll be picking up your teeth with a broken arm. Now, let’s do this the civil way, shall we, since you’re all about respect. I’m Charlie Jackson, and this is my son, Denver. What’s your name, boy?”

“Ryan, and I’m not a boy,” he said, eyeing Charlie up and down for a brief moment before his grip relaxed away from his rifle. “Is it true about the alien ships, that they were gonna change Earth’s atmosphere? One of the guys at the tavern reckons Augustus made it up for dramatic effect.”

The mention of Augustus made Charlie’s skin crawl. “It’s true about the ships, and Augustus was well involved, trying to change our planet and kill every human, including you. If your town wants long-term security, you should make killing that bastard your number one priority.”

“Most of the town hates him.” Ryan shrugged. “But he pays people off with stuff that we don’t have access to. Preinvasion alcohol, equipment brought from the south, books, stuff like that.”

“He’s just scavenging on a hover-bike. You can find that stuff in most of the cities,” Denver said. “There’s a lot out there—it’s a big world outside of this place.”

“I’ve never been out of Unity,” Ryan said with a hint of melancholy.

“What about your parents?” Charlie said. “Didn’t they teach you anything?”

Ryan shook his head. “They died when I was young. A cholera outbreak wiped out fifty percent of Unity in its early days when we were first cut off from all the fighting.”

Charlie tried to imagine Ryan’s mentality. Everything here would seem normal. The arena, ghosts from the past, running the town and croatoans. Charlie’s old world would be like an alien world to him. Ryan had never surfed the net, played on a computer, or spoke on a cell. His idea of working technology would be hover-bikes, tracking beads, and that damned alien rifle he slung over his shoulder, rather than the broken old parts of Charlie’s former world.

A metal wind chime attached to the porch’s roof tinkled in the growing wind.

“I’m starving. Are you two coming in?” Charlie said.

“My orders are to stay outside,” Ryan said “You could always bring me something… if that’s okay? We’re on rations these days while the council agrees on new crop yields.”

“Suit yourself,” Denver said. “I’ll see if I can rustle you up a hot drink.”

Denver disappeared inside, and Charlie followed him into the living area. The place smelled like a rabbit hutch.

“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.”

Augustus winced at the jibe, now suddenly self-conscious about the burns and scars on his face. At least he had a spare mask in his cabin.

Despite his desire to not care, he thought about getting the mask later. “There’s no need to get personal. I didn’t give the order.”

“Bullshit,” Gregor said. He looked around the sparse, whitewashed walls of the ludus office and cackled. “How the mighty have fallen. From running over two thousand farms to being stuck in a shitty little office, under the thumb of a woman in a frilly dress.”

Augustus clenched his dagger and stood up before relaxing back in his chair. There was no need for a giant stag to lock horns with an insect like Gregor. “I am under no thumb, especially not Aimee Rivery’s, or whatever she calls herself nowadays. I can make you or break you. The decision is yours. Do you want to work for me or fight a monster in the arena?”

Gregor narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you just go fu—”

The guard knocked on the office door four times, slow and deliberate—the signal that one of his spies had news.

“One moment,” Augustus said.

He sprang up and shuffled to the door. He opened it ajar, peeping out of the gap. The barwoman stood next to Augustus’ guard. He nodded at him, and she handed him a rolled-up piece of paper. “Your report on the cult. You might want to read it straight away.”

“Thank you. Have a guard give you a leg of ham. You can also choose an item from my storeroom.”

He closed the door and returned to his chair. Every time he’d visited Unity before Jackson wrecked the ships, Augustus would bring items along with him and stockpile them in the storeroom.

Things like shampoo, knives, cutlery sets and coffee. Usually confiscated from workers on farms. Normal items in the previous world, but now few and far between in Unity and excellent for bribing purposes.

“You have people delivering reports?” Gregor said.

Augustus sat back and unrolled the paper. “I’m a lot more powerful than you probably realize. A house arrest won’t stop me. Unity owes its very existence…”

He leaned toward the paper. Read through the text again. Squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath and mentally counted to five.

Hagellan was alive! Hiding underground and conspiring with Aimee! She kept it all a secret. They were both probably planning against him.

Augustus screwed the paper into a tight ball and crushed it in his fist.

“The backstabbing whore,” he muttered under his breath.

“Not good news I take it?” Gregor said.

Augustus roared, reached under the desk, and flipped it over. Root wine splashed over the floor. The jug smashed on the stone surface, shattering into pieces. His cup bounced with a clink and rolled, stopping by Gregor’s feet. The spiteful gangster kicked it away.

“I’m going to watch vultures feed on Aimee’s rotting corpse!”

He kicked his chair with the bottom of his sandal. It slammed against the wall.

Gregor’s eyes shot to the dagger. Augustus leapt around the table and picked it up. He pressed it to the gangster’s cheek with just enough force to draw blood. “Thinking of using this against me? Do not mock me or I’ll slice your throat from ear to ear.”

Gregor leaned away from the knife, looking at Augustus from the corner of his beady eye. “We want the same thing. What do I get in return for helping you?”

Augustus took a few deep breaths and smoothed his robe. He scraped his chair across the room and positioned it in front of Gregor. Not close enough to be in the filthy rogue’s reach. “I keep you out of the arena, and you work for me.”

“Not good enough,” Gregor said. “If I help you, I want to control the supply of root in Unity and have my own gang. If we’re taking over, we’ll do it properly.”

Augustus maintained eye contact while considering the suggestion.

With root fields being burned, it would become a precious commodity. Although the steps running around the left-hand side of the basin provided Unity a plentiful supply—for now.

Croatoans would die without it; humans would suffer due to the lack of any proper health care or medicines. If he controlled the root supply, he controlled the population of both species.

“You maintained discipline well on the farm,” Augustus said. “I could see you doing the same here after we’ve taken the town. You could act as my number two, making sure people are brought into line and the root supply is managed efficiently.”

“And when you get sick of me again? How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’ll have my guard remove those manacles right away if you agree to one condition.”

“Which is?”

“There’s a large croatoan living underground, close to here, called Hagellan. Find the exact location and ascertain what’s being planned behind my back. After you furnish me with those details, I want you to kill him.”

The gangster broke eye contact and slowly nodded. “I can do that. What about the others?”

“You mean the Jackson group?” Augustus flipped the desk back on all fours and perched on the edge. He had a flashback to Jackson hitting him in the face and stamping on his mask. “They will end up being collateral damage. Does that bother you? I know you were with them in one of their farm complexes. I need to know if they’re going to be an issue for you.”

Gregor relaxed against the wall and grunted. “Fuck ’em. I don’t care.”

Augustus smiled. It was proving easier to recruit him for the second time. Though he still didn’t trust him. Gregor would need to earn Augustus’ trust like everyone else. With pain and sacrifice.

“Fine,” Augustus said. “But you will need more than a blade to kill Hagellan.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and removed a wooden box. He flipped the lid and checked the contents inside. The two vials were still intact, full of chemicals that he had stolen while living on the mother ship.

The croatoan council had used these for executing only the most powerful of croatoans who committed a crime against their race, or in the case of Hagellan, wiping out the opposition who threatened his position within the hierarchy.

The older aliens, like Hagellan, were far too old and ancient to simply be killed by a flesh wound. Their physiology would easily cope and adapt, but a shot of this poison, or whatever it was, brought them a swift death.

The guard called from outside, “Do you need help in there?”

“Give me a minute.”

“What’s this?” Gregor asked. “A new kind of drug?”

“An accurate observation. You can’t take him out with conventional weapons. At least, not easily. He’s a pure-blood croatoan and thus extremely difficult to kill. He’ll be on top of you before you know it. We have to be sure he dies from your first attack.”

“What do you suggest?”

Augustus gently tapped the tube on the table and smiled. “They use this stuff for executions. When a pure blood steps out of line. An injection anywhere in the body is fatal.”

“Will covering a blade and stabbing him work?”

“Should do,” Augustus said. He fumbled in the drawer and placed a syringe on the table. “Or you can use this. Either way’s good with me. He doesn’t know who you are. You shouldn’t have a problem getting close. I have a disguise for you.”

“I’ll approach as a friend and kill him.”

Augustus smiled. “Et tu, Brute.”

“Pardon?”

He closed his desk drawer and sighed. “Just another incorrect quote from history. Don’t worry about it.”

Gregor wasn’t worried. He felt butterflies of excitement.

“Guard, I need your help,” Augustus said.

“Yes, Augustus?” the swarthy man said after entering the office.

“Do you still have that friend at the tavern? The one who was handy in the arena.”

“Yes. He’ll be there now,” the guard said.

“Do you think he’ll make an attempt on Aimee if we pay him enough?”

“He’d kill his own mother for a joint of beef and refined root.”

“Go and make the offer. I just hope he’s better than the ones I hired.”

“He’s never let us down before.”

“Good. Release Gregor from his manacles and speak with your friend.”

The guard did as he was told and left the office, locking the door behind him in order to keep Augustus’ cover up.

“Seems you’ve got quite a little network here,” Gregor said, rubbing his wrists and ankles.

“It’s called being a natural leader.” He handed over the box of syringes.

Gregor reached out and took them.

“You will be my tool of vengeance and justice. You will bathe in the blood of my enemies and rise with me as we remake this world in my vision. But know this. I will not tolerate failure. For now, my guard will get you out of here and will give you directions to Hagellan’s hideout. This is your chance to be someone.”

Gregor smiled and followed the guard who had entered the room.

“We’ll go out the secret exit. Just be quiet and follow me,” he said to Gregor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Mike heard birdsong from beyond the farm facility. In the past, he’d hear a single bird whistling a solo, but a chorus joined the individual this time.

He leaned back in his repaired Adirondack lounger and took a sip of tea and rum as the cool evening breeze brought the scent of pinesap. The air no longer had that metallic tang of the root in it.

For a moment, with Mai sitting by his side, both enjoying the silence and stillness, he felt like the world was getting back to normal. But the colossal harvester parked just out of view in the courtyard reminded him just how different things were.

Even the revelation that Charlie was still alive didn’t change matters. If anything, it added to their woes. There was no way they could leave them out there with those others. Everyone owed Charlie a debt of gratitude for what he did. Sighing, and realizing he had ruined his own moment of relaxation, he leaned over to his wife lounging next to him.

“Mai,” he began.

“I know,” she said without opening her eyes. “We should get to work. It’s been all of what… five minutes? We can’t laze around all day, love.” A smile crept onto her thin lips. She turned to face him, opening her eyes, the wrinkles gathering by their edges.

“Aye, we ought to get back to it. We don’t want to be accused of slacking when Charlie’s out there, needing our help.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mai said, sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the lounger. Her farm uniform, in gray and orange, hung loose on her frame. “We’re old; we’re not like the others. We won’t be any use to them working ourselves into exhaustion.”

“You’re right, as ever, my love,” Mike said, returning the smile.

He knew he was truly blessed to have found Mai during the ice age. They had hit it off immediately. She had an infectious curiosity and sharp mind that attracted Mike like iron filings to a magnet. Without her, he doubted he would have survived this long.

Mai stood and held out her hand to him. “Come on. Let’s get back to analyzing that video I found in the harvester.”

Taking her hand, Mike stood and brought her in for a hug. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. The harvester they had found was of an old design. Only Mai had noticed that when she and her group of engineer students came upon it abandoned in one of the northern harvesting territories.

On initial inspection it appeared similar to all the other harvesters, but Mai had spotted that some of the construction and layout had a different design. When they entered and checked the computers for power, she knew instantly that this one was an old design. Whereas all the others had alien encryption on the systems that so far Mike and the others hadn’t been able to crack, this one didn’t. Mai got into the system and managed to access the solid state drives.

The drives stored petabytes of data and information on the harvester’s operations. Everything from maintenance reports to harvesting quotas and GPS locations, but that wasn’t all. Mai had found hours upon hours of video footage both from the external cameras and the internal ones used to monitor the staff inside.

After copying over the data, they wanted to wait for it to be backed up before they started to analyze the video.

Mike and Mai gathered their flasks and cups and turned back toward the Freetown lab. Before they could reach the doors, they turned at the sudden cessation of bird song. The whine of a hover-bike’s engine soon followed. Squinting into the low evening sun, Mike held his hand above his eyes to see who was coming. Mai’s body stiffened beside him. He pulled her close as they waited for the bike to come into view.

The hover-bike descended into the clearing from above the tree line in a graceful arc. There were two people on there. Was that…? Mike’s eyesight wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, but he recognized the driver and rider.

“Layla, Maria!” he called. “You have news?”

The two women waved back as they got off the bike and hurried over to him, their hair wild and swept back. The two of them looked like they’d been dragged backwards through a hedge. He couldn’t tell if they were scared or excited, but they rushed over and eventually, gathering her breath, Layla informed them of what had happened. For a full ten minutes, she and Maria told him about Gregor, Denver, Khan, the aliens, the town, Aimee, and finally the mission.

A tense hush descended among the group as Mike fell quiet after hearing the news. It was so much to take in; not because of it being surprising—nothing really surprised him anymore, but the fact they had come so far and Charlie had done so well to survive that he was not committed to this one-way trip to God knows where.

“He’s a brave boy,” Mai said, her face neutral.

She had come to love Charlie almost like a son, having never had a child of her own. When he took the bomb and took out the aliens, Mike had consoled her for weeks. With the news that he survived the event, she had brightened immeasurably, and now this.

“So what exactly happens now?” Mike asked.

“Let’s go inside to your lab,” Layla said, “where we can talk privately. We need to start making plans.”

Mike didn’t like the grim expression on her face. It never meant anything good.

“And we’ve got something to show you that might be of interest to Charlie if he’s going to one of their worlds,” Mai said.

Mike opened the door and held it open as Mai, Maria, and Layla headed inside. Mike ignored the nervous feeling in his guts.

* * *

Mike cleared some space in his and Mai’s lab and pulled a pair of stools out from beneath his workbench. The bench’s surface was littered with parts, mechanical and electrical, and numerous sheets of paper with his notes scrawled on with scratchy biros. Of all the stationary to have survived the apocalypse, it had to be crappy gel biros. What he would do for a decent, working fountain pen…

The computer screen was covered in dust. Mai must have noticed Maria’s and Layla’s expressions and grabbed a rag to wipe it clean. One of the solid state drives from the harvester lay by the side of the screen, a convoluted set of cables connecting the two devices. The drive itself resembled a power brick—solid, black and incased in the alien polymer material.

“Before we get to the details of Charlie and Denver’s new mission,” Mike said, “I think you ought to see this. It might prove useful, or at least help prepare them for what they might encounter on the alien world.”

“Where did you get this?” Maria asked.

Mai pointed out the window to the harvester. “It’s an older model than we usually find. The system was easier to hack into. We’ve found all kinds of information.”

“Like what?” Layla said, leaning forward as Mike fussed with the cables.

“It appears that this particular harvester has quite the travel history,” Mai said. “From the data we managed to pull, we found at least a dozen unique locations. I can’t tell what or where they are, as they use a croatoan system of identification, but one thing that is clear is that most of those locations are from planets in our solar system.”

“We were hoping you could help us decode the identification system,” Mike said to Layla. While she worked at the farm with Gregor, she had picked up a good amount of the croatoan language and writing. “But that can wait, for now. Let’s watch a movie.”

Mike finished connecting the drive and the screen. Using his custom-made operating system, he entered a series of commands that would decode and play the film clips he and Mai had taken off the drive earlier.

“Sorry we don’t have any popcorn,” Mai said as she switched off the lights and joined the others, sitting on a free stool. Mike finished his setup and sat beside Mai as the first video clip played.

It was from the external camera situated on the front of the harvester. Mike and Mai hadn’t yet been able to transpose the audio tracks, so in silence they watched a trembling image as the harvester ploughed through a dirt track.

At first, it would be easy to think it was taken on Earth, but as the video continued to play, Mike watched Layla and Maria lean closer to the screen and their eyes widen as they saw it for the first time: three moons in the sky. In a triangular pattern, they dominated the horizon.

Each moon was a different size; the one closest to the planet had clear markings on it.

“A base of some kind,” Mai added.

“We zoomed in and noticed a regularity to the shapes. It seems like some large infrastructure was built there. Given the scale and shape, they resemble the design cues of the farm facilities, making us believe that that particular moon is host to a considerable croatoan infrastructure.”

The two women nodded and remained silent as they continued to watch the footage.

From the edge of the frame, shadows shifted at the line of large alien vegetation. Almost prehistoric-looking palms stood what must have been hundreds of feet tall. Their trunks sprouted numerous spiked woody branches. The shadows continued to shift as the camera began to pan the horizon, finally coming to a stop on the left side of the frame.

It zoomed in and held steady, the harvester apparently having stopped. From within the tall, alien trees, a group of five figures exited.

Maria and Layla gasped.

The figures, at Mike’s estimation, stood approximately twenty feet tall. Although bipedal, they hunched over and used their massively muscled upper limbs to propel them forward, not unlike a great ape.

Their heads were triangular and heavily scaled. In the blue atmosphere of the planet the aliens’ scales and body fur appeared to be purple with gray accents. As a group they stopped just outside the edge of the trees and lifted their strange heads into the sky. They trembled and raised their arms.

“I think they’re howling or something similar,” Mai said. “We’re working on the audio track encoding and will confirm at a later date.”

“It’s… incredible,” Maria said.

“Truly,” Layla replied. “It’s not like it’s surprising; the croatoans have done the same on our planet, and we’ve come to terms with them being aliens to us, but to see another world, another species… that’s just… I’m lost for words.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Mike said. “It took me a good few minutes to compose my thoughts.”

“The most amazing thing, though, is that this is just one location of many. We don’t know where it is yet, but it seems we’re not unique in our treatment by the croatoans; they’ve done this to hundreds of other planets,” Mai said.

“Also worth noting,” Mike added, “is how close to Earth this place is. It seems that the croatoans have identified a criteria not just for their harvesting, but also planets that support life, with an atmosphere not too dissimilar to Earth’s.”

“So you’re saying the croatoans have done the very thing we’ve been trying for so long?” Layla added.

“Yup,” Mai said. “But this is just the start. We’ve got a lot of video to filter through, but we’ll compile the most interesting footage and put in a drive with a portable player for you to take back to Charlie and Denver in case any of it will help them prepare for their mission.”

As the footage turned to black, Mike switched off the system and leaned against the workbench to face Maria and Layla. He recognized the look of wonder and fear in their eyes. It was quite the experience to see proof of a new alien world, let alone a species. Sure, it wasn’t especially new after the croatoans rose up, but it confirmed something humankind has searched for hundreds of years for: that there are many Earth-like planets out there populated by intelligent species.

And like those species, they had one thing in common.

The damned croatoans.

Destroying their gate world wouldn’t just keep Earth safe, but if that’s what the bastards use to travel throughout the galaxy to other planets, then perhaps they could help keep other species safe from their voracious root appetite.

“So,” Maria said, clearly anxious about something, “about this mission. We didn’t quite tell you everything.”

“Oh?” Mike said, crossing his arms across his chest. “What else is there?”

Maria hesitated, unable to find the words. Layla stepped in, placing her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder as if to absolve her of the guilt. “Basically, we need you and Mai. They have a ship in Unity, but it’s damaged. When they first rose up and joined the fight, they were cut off just before the ice age after suffering huge losses to their engineers and leaders. The remaining aliens worked with the humans and thus settled Unity. Over time as they lost people during the ice age, they also lost the knowledge of their ship.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Mai said.

“Go on,” Mike said.

Taking a breath, Layla continued. “When the pods landed, they captured the council members from the mother ship: only one survived. One they call Hagellan. Quite the head honcho, by all accounts. Now, he knows what’s wrong with the ship and how to fly it and engage the jump engine back to the gate world, but…”

“But he needs someone to get the parts necessary and help fix it?” Mike finished for her, clearly seeing where this was going.

“Yes,” Maria said. “But that’s not quite all.”

Mai rolled her eyes, losing her patience. “Just get on with it, girl. What is it you want from us?”

Maria seemed to shrink away from Mai’s tone. Despite her age, Mai could be quiet fierce, not that she meant it personally; she just wasn’t one for wasting time. People of his and Mai’s age didn’t have the time to waste with nonsense.

“It’s Charlie,” Maria said. “He’s agreed to the mission, but he doesn’t trust them and wants a backup plan. He wants you to build him another bomb in case they try anything once they’re airborne.”

Mike looked to his wife. It was like looking in a mirror sometimes. Her eyes glinted and a smile stretched on her lips. At the same time, they said, “Count us in.”

“And as it happens, we had already started on another,” Mai said. “We like contingencies.”

“We can have it ready within a few days,” Mike said.

“They sent us to bring you back to them tonight,” Layla said. “Hagellan wants to speak with you personally to help get the engineering team set up and to brief you on the parts he needs from the wreckage of the others ships.”

“It’s okay,” Mai said before Mike could protest. “You go with them, love, and I’ll stay behind to finish the bomb. Our time is short; it makes sense for us to use it as best we can.”

Of course she would say that. It’s one of the qualities he had come to love about her. She would always see the logical path even if it meant personal pain. Since they met, they’d never spent a single day apart. Even now, the thought of leaving her behind while he went with the others gripped him with a paralyzing fear. But he knew she was right. If what Layla was saying was true and he could help, then he couldn’t say no, even if it meant spending time apart from Mai.

Time he would never get back, and time that could be his last.

“Okay,” Mike said reluctantly, keeping his eyes locked with Mai’s. “I’ll go. Give me an hour or so first; I need to make plans.”

“Sure,” Layla said, standing and urging Maria to follow her. “We’ll fetch you at 1900.”

Mike just nodded to her as they left the lab. He approached Mai and brought her in close for a hug.

“I’d rather not leave you behind,” he said, whispering into her ear.

“I know, but they need you. And you’ll be fine. It’s just an engineering problem. You’ll be back here in no time.”

Mike wasn’t so sure. He didn’t trust the croatoans as far as he could throw them. Working on their behalf felt like a betrayal of everything they had done to survive, but if Charlie needed him, then he couldn’t say no, especially after the sacrifice the boy was prepared to make for them before.

For now, though, he would enjoy Mai’s company until he had to go, knowing this might be the last time he saw her. He hugged her tight and tried not to suggest they run off together. The world was bigger than them. Sacrifices had to be made.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too. Now, let’s go over the final plans for the bomb. There’s a few snags I’d like to put past you before you head off.”

“Always the practical one,” Mike said, releasing his hug.

“One of us has to be,” she said with her mischievous grin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Shadows moved in unnatural ways, catching Denver’s attention as he himself stood shrouded in the darkness that haunted the corners of the room.

For an hour or more Denver had paced the living area of their new, guarded abode. From his position, he watched through the plastic-sheet windows out into Unity from approximately halfway up the steps carved into the basin of the drained lake.

Charlie snored from the other room, the tiredness caused by days of struggle and uncertainty expressed in the sound of a man who probably hadn’t slept as deeply for weeks. Even when they were in one of their shelters, Charlie always slept light, alert, and ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Just like Denver. Which was why, as the sun came up to the east of the settlement, and the low-raking light cast its shadows, Denver spotted deliberately concealed movement; someone was stalking through the shacks and light-constructed dwellings. From one alley to another, this robed figure wove a maze-like pattern of progress, double-backing on themselves, checking for followers, but always heading to the north of the basin—to Charlie and Denver’s new prison by another name.

Definitely human, he thought, spying them through the window from his dark corner. The robes reminded him of the people he saw when observing from the root field. The swollen lump on the back of his head throbbed a reminder. This time, he kept his back to the wall of the chalet.

Warm light, fractured by tall pines on Unity’s perimeter, gave the living room more character than it deserved. Built from old reclaimed sheets of plywood, the interior wasn’t exactly plush. With no soft furnishings or furniture beyond a wooden bench and a rickety table, the place felt more like a cell than it did a home.

The human guards outside didn’t give it that homely feel either. They were relieved by a new shift three or so hours ago in the predawn. For someone who said she trusted and needed Denver and Charlie, this Aimee woman certainly had a funny way of showing it.

A dripping tap was at the end of the open-plan room. A basin, made from a bucket fixed to a wooden cabinet, echoed with each drop from the hosepipe. It snaked its way out of the chalet to a water tank he had spotted on the roof that caught and stored rainwater.

The stale taste was still in Denver’s mouth. They had assured him it was filtered, but he had tasted fresher from the root-infested rivers and brooks he and his dad frequented.

At least those had some active root compound in them.

Denver’s muscles protested with tiredness as he slid closer to the window for a closer look. His body ached to their bones. Root withdrawal. Layla would be so pleased for him, but he just felt like a weak puppy. Like Pip. That was the reason he took care of her. The runt of the litter, she didn’t get what she needed from her mother—she needed Denver.

And now, apparently, so did the world—if Aimee were to be believed.

This time, however, if there was a sacrifice to be made, then his dad wouldn’t have to do it alone. Denver was more than happy to accompany him. Layla aside, he felt no real connection with anyone else to stay behind.

There were the three M’s of course: Maria, Mike and Mai, but he knew they would be fine without him. He liked them, thought of them as a kind of extended family, but they weren’t close to him like his dad—or Layla, but even then, he wondered if he was just imagining things with her…

Not really the time to think about all that, he chided himself, sliding back into the gloom so the guards outside by the door didn’t notice him.

The figure had climbed the fifteen steps up to this current level. Its brown hood appeared above the edge of the step. Crude stairs were carved into the rock, allowing farmers and dwellers alike to easily ascend and descend between levels. A few seconds later the figure approached the guards. From the movement and silhouette he guessed it was a young woman. She held each hand in the opposite sleeve, reminding him of pictures of monks he’d once seen in a magazine.

The guards, two human men with severe buzz cuts and tatty army uniforms patched with a seemingly random collection of fabrics, approached her but without pulling their truncheons from their belt loops.

They must be expecting her.

Their bodies obscured the woman’s face and their voices were too low to hear, but after a few moments, they stood aside and let her approach the door. Denver couldn’t see her from this position, as the window was a couple of meters to the door’s left. Before the robed woman could try the handle, Denver dashed low under the window and across to the right wall beside the door.

A squeak of metal followed a rattle. The handle turned, hinges protested, and then the door opened, flooding the cell-like living quarters with the warm glow of morning. The silhouette of the visitor stretched out to fill the angular shaft of light on the bare wooden floor.

She waited, perhaps sensing Denver was there, behind the door, crouching, waiting, his breath held in his lungs with anticipation. The voices of the guards blew in on the breeze, words that were unimportant, jocular. A laugh or two followed, preceding a pair of footsteps creating barely audible thuds on the floor.

When the figure closed the door behind her, Denver launched forward. He grabbed her by the arms, pinning them to her body, and pushed her back across the living room until her back hit the wall separating the sleeping quarters.

She gapsed with the impact. Denver continued to press with his arms outstretched. “Who are you?” he said with a low growl, not wanting to alert the guards and hoping she wouldn’t scream.

“Let go,” she whimpered.

Denver released her right arm but only to push her hood back and reveal her identity. He staggered back, confused. Words tripped on his lips before he finally got a grip of himself.

“Maria? What the hell are you doing? How did you get past…” He trailed off as a blank expression stared at him, clearly not understanding something. “What? What is it? Maria, talk to me.”

She turned away from him as a shadow moved out from the sleeping quarters.

“Leave her, son; that’s not Maria,” Charlie said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Come,” she said, tugging at his arm. “We need to talk in there. I’ll explain everything.”

“Do as she says,” Charlie said. “It’s a wild story, but it’ll make sense.” Charlie gripped his son by the shoulder and urged him away from the woman. She slipped out, smiling nervously at Charlie, and headed into the sleeping quarters. His dad led him in after her.

Once inside, they closed the door and the woman explained who she was.

“I don’t believe it,” Denver said. Clones! How could he even know if ‘his’ Maria was even the same one he initially met? “This is fucked up. Are you even still called Maria?”

She nodded, her cheeks blushing. The poor woman looked scared out of her wits. He realized he was looming over her, his body tense. He relaxed his shoulders and stood back, trying to be less intimidating. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I get it,” she said, reaching out for him and patting him on the arm in an awkward means of friendship. “I’ve known I’m a clone from the day I was activated. They told me everything. It must be confusing for you, but please, let me assure you I’m here to help—and very much my own person.”

Denver shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “This world gets more bizarre by the day, but hey, it’s not as weird as aliens coming to use the planet as a giant drug farm, so sure, I’ll go with it. But why are you here? Is it to do with the plan?”

Charlie remained quiet as Clone-Maria brought Denver up to speed on Charlie’s interaction with Hagellan and the general plan.

“What does he want with us now?” Charlie said.

Stepping closer to both men and lowering her voice, she said in hushed tones, “He’s happy you two have agreed to help. He said he understood how difficult a decision it was for you considering what your people have gone through.”

The way she said it made Denver want to correct her to include her within that statement but realized she was as much croatoan as she was human in mind if not body. Charlie snorted with derision, but Denver remained quiet. He nodded to urge her to continue.

“He’s liaised with a number of our engineers.”

‘Our’ wasn’t lost on Denver—it was clear who this clone’s loyalties were with.

She continued, “Lord Hagellan wants to speak with you, go over the plan. He has new information for you and wants to meet you.” She pointedly looked at Denver. “In the spirit of peace and cooperation.”

Both Charlie and Denver laughed at that.

Bad enough she referred to the turtle-looking bastard as a lord, but hilarious to think he could get away with the bullshit of peace and cooperation.

“Where was that when he and his generals nearly wiped out our race?” Denver asked.

“I… erm…” Clone-Maria looked away.

“Son, leave it,” Charlie said. “She doesn’t know all about that.”

“When were you activated?” Denver asked.

It appeared that was a sore subject. Clone-Maria sat down on the bed and scowled. “That’s not really important right now. I’m here as an emissary to—”

“Lord Hagellan,” Charlie filled in. “We get it, girl. We’ll go. But I hope he doesn’t expect us to do cartwheels and sing ‘Kumbaya’ around the campfire. Let me make this clear—we are not his kind’s friends. Never were, never will be.”

“We’re closer than you think,” she said.

“And how would you know?” Denver said, keeping his tone respectful. He admired her for coming here and didn’t see any point in escalating an argument.

She tapped the side of her head. “We all have it in here—parcels of croatoan knowledge. We weren’t cloned just for working in the harvesters.”

“Oh?” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. “What else?”

“My group are, as I said, emissaries, but we hold within us the church edicts. We observe the rituals of the Elder Gods—the first croatoans to establish a home world and the revered Mother and Father.”

“Their idea of creation, eh?” Charlie said.

It appeared to Denver that this was at least something he could recognize as something they had in common: religion and belief in a supernatural origin story. From what Denver had read, it made absolutely no sense at all. All throughout the ice age he saw people of varied faiths praying, ritualizing, and praising God.

They all perished.

If there was a god, an Elder or not, it seemed his or her line was busy.

“No,” Clone-Maria said, standing up, “not their idea—the truth. Within every one of us we carry the DNA of those original mothers and fathers.”

“Us?” Denver shook his head. “You’re human, genetically and fundamentally. Your DNA is no different to ours. You’re not one of them. They use you like a tool to do their bidding—just like they used humans in their farm facilities. Just how much free will do you clones actually have?”

He thought about his Maria—did she also have this so-called knowledge in her mind just waiting to be ‘activated’? How much of Maria was the Maria he had come to know, and how much was some preprogrammed meat-puppet?

Clone-Maria ignored his questions. “Are you coming with me or not?” she said as she pushed her way between the two men. “I wouldn’t say no if I were you. Lord Hagellan is a fair leader but not one to cross.”

“A little too late for that,” Charlie said. “I kind of messed up his plans a bit.”

“I heard,” she said. “You’re quite the hero.”

Denver couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. Either way he didn’t like this clone one bit. Didn’t trust her. But then that wasn’t surprising since she considered herself one of them.

His curiosity won out over any resistance. “We going, then, Dad?” he asked.

“Yeah, son. Let’s go see what the old bastard is planning.”

From within her robes, Clone-Maria produced two carbon-copy outfits. She handed one to each of them. “We go out the back. Stay close and keep your hoods up. I’ll take you through the tunnel system so as not to be seen, but don’t remove your hoods until we’re in Lord Hagellan’s room—we can’t be too careful these days.”

“What do you mean?” Denver asked.

“Nothing major. Just a few… integration problems. We can talk on the way. Come on.”

With that, Clone-Maria opened a closet door and depressed a hidden button. A panel came loose to reveal a carved opening that led to a tunnel within the actual rock of the lake walls. A series of unlit candles in carved nooks led the way down the dark aperture. The clone stepped inside and encouraged them to follow.

Denver really wished he still had his rifle. All he had for a weapon was a shank he had made from an old spoon found in the kitchenette area. It wasn’t perfect, but at a push, it’d take out someone’s eye and buy him time.

“After you,” Charlie said, urging his son forward. “It’ll be all right.”

“I don’t believe that,” Denver said as he stepped in. “But there’s only one way to know for sure, right?”

* * *

The journey through the tunnels had taken at the very least half an hour. All the while Clone-Maria fielded his questions in the most vague ways. It seemed to him she was more of a robot in spirit than a free-minded clone.

At least his Maria had opinions and emotions.

Eventually they arrived at Hagellan’s room deep within the ground. Back to the beginning, Denver thought. The irony of fixing up one of their ships for them to rise up from out of the ground wasn’t lost on him.

Stepping through the doorway, Charlie stepped to the left while Denver stepped to the right—almost as though they were preparing to flank a target. Habits die hard, it seemed. But for all Denver knew, Hagellan would one day be a target.

The alien in question stepped out from a small antechamber and sat down on its grand throne. The damned thing looked even uglier than the regular reptilian bastards. Age wasn’t kind to this one. It seemed ingesting root compounds would only do so much.

“You came,” he said, clicking with the alien staccato sound Denver had got so used to hearing, usually from the shadows or camouflaged as he took one out with his rifle. He dipped his head and closed his eyes. Layla had told Denver this was a peaceful sign of respect.

Denver did not give one shit. Neither did Charlie. Both of them stood, their arms crossed, waiting for it to get on with it. When Hagellan brought his head back up, he spoke something in croatoan, and Clone-Maria bowed before leaving. She touched Denver on the elbow and whispered, “Thank you for trusting me.”

He didn’t have time to respond as she scuffled off into the tunnels.

“First question,” Charlie said. “How do you expect us to go to a planet when we haven’t got space suits?”

“The atmosphere is similar to here. It’s easier for us to use our apparatus on the ships because we can’t make you a suit. We have little more than two days, and I need to talk about the plan.”

“I get the urgency,” Charlie said, easing up a little. “The plan seemed pretty clear-cut to me. I get Mike over here to work with your engineers, fix up your ship, then go blow the shit out of one of your jump gates. What else is there to discuss?”

“The team,” Hagellan replied, rasping out the words. “This ship was designed for surveillance—it doesn’t have a large capacity.”

Denver was taken aback by its ability to speak perfect English. But given the damned thing was ancient, it wasn’t entirely surprising. And it showed just how much interest they took in human affairs while they waited. The thought gave Denver a cold shiver. To think that the human race had been spied upon by these entities for thousands of years… how much influence had they had on history?

The question blurted out before he knew what he was saying. “How much did you lot meddle with human affairs while you waited to slaughter us?”

The room fell quiet. Hagellan did the eye-close thing and then focused on Denver solely. “Almost zero interaction. Apart from taking a few opportunities to… acquire certain resources for the cause. I won’t even dare apologize for what we did. Firstly, it was the plan and the Elder Gods dictate our course of action, and secondly, it wouldn’t bring back those you lost.”

“And likewise, don’t ever expect us to apologize for those of yours we took,” Charlie said. “And what did you mean, acquire resources? Are you referring to that fool Augustus and Aimee?”

“Among others, yes,” Hagellan said.

“Wait, how many of these people did you take, and how the hell did you keep them alive until now—don’t say the root, because although it has some effects on us, I know for a fact no one could live that long on it,” Denver said.

Charlie gave him a quizzical look at the last sentence. Denver would have to get him up to speed about Layla’s research on the root, but he knew his father wouldn’t like it.

“It’s not important right now,” Hagellan said, addressing Denver’s question. “We’ll have time during the trip to discuss Earth matters. Right now, we need to address a more immediate question.”

“And that is?” Charlie asked.

“The ship holds six. Four of those positions are accounted for. We need to decide who makes up the final two.”

Denver assumed he, Charlie, and Hagellan made up three. “Who’s the fourth?”

“Baliska,” Hagellan responded. “In the spirit of peace and cooperation, I’d suggest we keep the team split evenly human and croatoan. Who is your third choice?”

Charlie and Denver came together.

“Who do you think?” Denver said, whispering. “Gregor and Augustus can go to hell. Mike and Mai are too old and we can’t split them up. One of Layla or Maria?”

Scratching his chin, Charlie seemed to think on it. “Layla would be best. She knows these fuckers well from her time studying them.”

“That’s a fair point,” Denver said. “But on the other hand, Maria is a clone—what if she has the croatoan knowledge hidden away that could be activated. Wouldn’t that be of great importance to us? Imagine the advantage we would have.”

“But we don’t know what we’re flying into on this gate world of theirs—and this activation thing might not be something we can do, if Maria would be at all happy to even contemplate it.”

Denver sighed and realized he was viewing Maria in the same way as the croatoans viewed most of humanity—as tools and resources. “Okay, Layla it is—if she wants to go.”

He didn’t really like the idea. He would have preferred for her to stay behind where it was safer. But it would be her choice, not his.

Turning to face Hagellan, Charlie said, “We’ve someone in mind for our third choice. What about you? Who are you taking along on this merry little jaunt of ours?”

“I will decide in due time. For now, though, I wanted to share with you information given to me by my junior engineers about the state of the ship and what is required to repair it. They have given me a list of parts needed. When your engineer friend arrives, I’d like for you to present him with this. We don’t have the skills here to complete the project. If we’re to get to the gate world, we’re going to need to work—”

“Peace and cooperation,” Denver said, cutting him off. “We get it.”

Charlie took the datapad of information from the alien. For a blink of an eye with each of them holding one end of the pad, Denver expected a confrontation to take place, as they paused, each not willing to give in to the other.

Finally, Hagellan let go and Charlie took the pad.

“We’ll be in touch,” Charlie said, leading Denver out of the tunnel as Hagellan stared on impassively. When they got into the tunnels Denver noticed one of the emissaries in their robes skulking away into the shadows as though they had been just outside, listening in.

Something about the way they moved bothered Denver. It was familiar, and not at all like how he’d seen the other robed figures moving, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He put it down to the effects of root-withdrawal and followed his father up through the tunnels as they headed back to their chalet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Gregor, wearing a long robe to disguise himself, dashed along a muddy street, following Augustus’ directions to the croatoans’ underground entrance.

He was to scout out the area and make sure that Hagellan was indeed where the spy’s report suggested. Once located, Gregor could plan for his assassination.

An attack ship poked out of a sinkhole on the edge of town.

Two peasant men approached in the opposite direction. He pulled the robe’s hood further over his face, looked down, and squeezed the handle of his concealed dagger. People in town didn’t know him yet, and an unfamiliar face might arouse suspicion.

Looking at the houses and dirty workshops, he realized the potential of Unity. It had the feel of his village just outside Yerevan, where he was raised on a pig farm.

From there, he rose to lead his gang in the city from nothing. They called him Pig Boy when he first arrived.

A few severed tongues put an end to that nickname. Here, he already had an advantage in the form of Augustus. As much as Gregor hated the man, he had given him a chance to run something again, and to get revenge on the croatoans.

“Morning,” one of the men said, his breath vapor visible in the chilly morning air. Gregor grunted a response and stepped to the other side of the road.

“One of the weird cultists,” he heard the other one say as they continued past without issue.

Once clear of the cluttered, dung-filled urban area, Gregor stopped and stared through the increasing dawn light at the root growing along the lower steps of the basin.

There was tons of the stuff, half of it ready to harvest.

He’d need twenty men to police an area that size. They would have to start growing it in a smaller protected space and keep the seeds locked away.

Create more demand and control the supply. Back to the good old days.

No more running around, putting up with Denver and his smug ideals. Once powerful enough, Augustus wouldn’t control him either. Others had made the mistake of thinking Gregor would be satisfied with scraps off the table.

He smiled to himself and headed for the sinkhole.

Gregor ducked behind a small sheep pen after hearing faint voices. He squinted through a gap in the planks. People headed to the entrance of the croatoan ship. Three of them: two tall and one small.

One had the recognizable strut of Charlie Jackson. Denver walked by his side. The other was dressed in a robe. Possibly Maria. They must be in cahoots with the croatoans.

This was too good to be true.

It seemed everything had come full circle, and it played perfectly into Gregor’s hands. He would lead the resistance and end up owning a town for his troubles.

They slipped through a small door in the side of the vessel.

Gregor waited, needing to give them a head start before following and finding out exactly what those shit-rats were up to.

A hundred feet above him, a hover-bike sliced through the air. Probably an early morning patrol. He watched it slow and drift down into the main building in town. The home of Aimee. Her time was coming.

He checked his watch again. Three minutes. Enough of a head start.

Gregor tried to move carefully through the squelching mud. Augustus told him that his disguise would work like a charm. He’d find out soon enough.

The interior of the vessel appeared pitch black from outside. A few wisps of smoke curled out of the entrance. Gregor poked his head in the gap and looked down.

Light radiated from the bottom. A fire. Gregor smelled burning wood and heard a faint crackle. The footsteps were louder, clanking down a spiral ramp. Three dark shapes appeared around the light and disappeared off to one side.

He followed, creeping down the circular structure. Soft footsteps. Not the carefree stomping of the Jacksons. Gregor wondered just how comfortable they were with the croatoans.

The last three feet required a small jump, away from the fire. Gregor landed with a soft crunch onto the gravelly surface and swiftly moved into the shadows.

Pressing his back against the cold stone wall, he inched his way along.

Whispers echoed around the cave. Distant voices. Weak light shone through the main tunnel. He sneaked in that direction, not quite seeing the end.

Footsteps approached and they came around a sharp turn. Like him, they were dressed in a robe. Gregor decided to change tactics and act natural. No point in trying to stay hidden now. He bent down to tie his bootlace.

The person, a male, shuffled past him. Gregor watched him turn left through a smaller side tunnel. He could be a source of information if Gregor couldn’t establish what the Jacksons were planning with the aliens.

Moving on, Gregor reached the end of the cave. It opened up into a larger cavern. Two flaming torches lit up his target: the bloated figure of Hagellan sitting on a throne. The Jacksons stood in front of it. They may as well have gotten down and licked its boots.

Gregor strained to hear their words.

The alien spoke English with surprising skill and articulation. They talked about a mission. Blowing up a jump gate. Fixing a craft, taking a mixed crew, and some shit about peace and harmony. Also saying that they just had a few days left. It seems things were on a tight deadline.

After a few more minutes, the conversation abruptly stopped and the Jacksons turned in unison. Gregor dashed back into the main tunnel and started walking.

The last thing he wanted was for them to see him before he delivered his information to Augustus. He would demand proper weapons—guns, grenades, and men.

He continued to stalk the shadows. The Jacksons were behind him, their boots thumping against the ground only a few meters to his rear. They must have been moving quickly for some reason.

Gregor remembered the robed man and found the side entrance. He decided to move out of the Jacksons’ path and go get himself some more information on Hagellan and the operation going on down here.

He ducked through the gap and scraped his shoulder against a sharp piece of overhanging rock. He winced and sucked a breath through his teeth. The Jacksons didn’t follow.

The tunnel led to a small chamber. In the middle, a chunky candle sat burning on a three-legged stool. The robed man sat on a wooden bed to the left, thumbing through a book.

Gregor entered the chamber. The man glanced up. “Welcome, brother. What can I do for you?”

Ben. The Judas from the harvester! The others told Gregor he had died at the farm during their attack before Charlie detonated his bomb. They must have sneaked him here—the treacherous pig. Which also meant they probably already knew about this place. That’s why the Jacksons were so comfortable with the alien. They were double agents and in on all of this from the start!

Gregor grabbed the candle from the stool and lurched forward.

Ben dropped his book and flinched away. “What are you doing?”

Gregor pushed him back on the bed and knelt on his chest, pinning him to the mattress. “Well, well, well. Look who has risen from the dead…” Ben struggled against Gregor’s leg. He increased the downward force. “It’s time you and me had another chat.”

He gasped as Gregor’s knee slipped up to his chin. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Gregor reached down and grabbed Ben’s mouth, clamping it shut. “This might encourage you to talk.”

He pulled up Ben’s wrist and held the candle below it. Ben tried to thrash free, but Gregor’s grip held him in place. Nobody would hear his muffled screams. “I’m going to let go of you now. If you shout, I will do this to you for hours. Do you understand?”

Ben mumbled something, nodded, and took a few rapid breaths.

“Start talking.”

“I don’t know who you are. Honestly.”

Remembering Ben’s former history as Charlie’s spy, Gregor felt a sudden surge of anger. “You’re going to continue denying it?”

“Seriously. I don’t know you—”

Gregor clamped his hands around Ben’s throat and squeezed with as much force as he could muster.

Spittle sprayed into Ben’s reddening face through the gaps in Gregor’s clenched rotten teeth. He dropped the candle to the dirt floor and pulled out the dagger.

This would have to be quick.

He didn’t want to get caught down here and needed to get back to the ludus with the new information—but he’d have enough time for a little fun.

* * *

Gregor thumped his fist against the ludus gate. A small hatch swung open, and Augustus’ spy appeared in the gap and led him through.

Augustus turned a black prism around in his hands and appeared deep in thought. “Did you do the deed? The guard said you have information for me?”

“No, the Jacksons were there. Talking with Hagellan. The freak was sitting on a damned throne.”

Augustus snorted. “That’s about right. Delusions of grandeur. Thought he’d rule the galaxy, you know? How little he truly knows.”

Gregor shrugged and started to tell him about what he had heard during the conversation, and what little information he could get out of that Ben lookalike.

“They talked about a jump gate?” Augustus said as he listened, all the while running his fingers over his little prism stone, presumably some good luck charm from Roman times.

“Something about a mission to blow up a jump gate in a repaired ship. The rest was just some bullshit about peace and cooperation.”

Augustus sat back in his chair. “You know what this is, Gregor? All this talk of other worlds and jump gates?”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“It’s a trap. They’ll take the Jacksons up and drop them out of the sky. Revenge for their antics. They want every capable person out of the way so they can take me and my supporters out.”

“What do you want me to do now?”

“Hagellan still needs to die, but I need to decide on the right time. But it’ll be soon, Gregor, soon.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Denver reclined into the chair and sipped at the steaming mug of tea as Charlie paced back and forth across the living room of the cabin.

“What’s up?” Denver asked.

Charlie stopped and turned to face his son. His face taut with tension. “I just don’t trust Hagellan. Who the hell is he going to put in as his third choice? If it’s Augustus…”

“I don’t know, I just can’t see Hagellan taking him along. The guy’s a liability, from what you’ve been telling me. And it’s not like he’s going down well with the locals if what Ryan is saying is true.”

Charlie scratched at the straggly stubble on his chin. “That’s a fair point. But I hate having to have faith in these alien bastards. It’s such a risk to believe them like this.”

Denver stood and faced his father. “What’s the alternative? Disbelieve them, stay here, and then what? What if there is a chance that they’re telling the truth about this destroyer ship? Could you, or I, for that matter, live with ourselves knowing we had a chance to do something and didn’t take it?”

Smiling, Charlie shook his head. “You’re a good kid. You’ve grown a lot, you know, since I left. I think it did you good to be without me for a while.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d rather you hadn’t had to go.”

“Still, the time brought you closer to Layla and the others. Much better to have other people to talk to than your crazy old man.”

Denver laughed and sipped his tea. “You ain’t crazy. It’s this whole world that is.”

“Well, if Hagellan can be trusted, it seems we’ll be having the opportunity to try out a new world. And you know, I have to be honest, that does appeal to me. I’m intrigued to see what this other place is like, see exactly how the alien bastards live.”

“Will we even be able to breathe there?”

“They’ve got us breathing apparatus. The atmosphere isn’t too different to Earth,” Charlie said. “The croatoans aren’t dissimilar to us in regards to what kind of planets they can survive on. Apparently, all their planets are Earthlike to some degree or another.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. Want a brew?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Denver thought about the challenges they would face as he headed into the kitchen. Even if they could destroy this jump gate or whatever it was and stop the destroyer—and other ships—from coming to Earth, what of the gate world itself? They’d be trapped there with a destroyer, presumably full of croatoans, not to mention the aliens on the planet already. They’d likely be fugitives—even if Hagellan didn’t conspire to kill them after the deed was done.

Unless he killed Hagellan first.

And Baliska.

He’d talk with Mike about taking some other concealed weapons along for the ride. If he had the opportunity, he’d have to take it.

When Denver returned to the living room with a fresh mug of tea, Charlie approached the window and placed his palm over his eyes to block out the glare from the afternoon sun.

“What is it?” Denver asked.

Charlie turned and grinned before opening the door. “It’s them; Mike and the others are here.”

Denver placed the tea on the table and rushed to the door. Down the three tiers and in the courtyard area he watched as an adapted harvester and three hover-bikes landed. Mike and Mai got out of the harvester and whirled around, taking in the sight of Unity with their usual curious expressions of wonder and awe.

Ryan, their guard, had made his way down the steps toward them. When he got to them, he turned and pointed up at the cabin. Denver and Charlie waved down at the others. Layla, Maria, Mike and Mai set off, escorted by Ryan, and joined the others in the cabin.

As they all made their greetings, Charlie and Mike and Mai were especially pleased to see each other. They arranged the furniture around the small table so that everyone could sit down as they discussed the plans and what was needed.

“So this is what they need, eh?” Mike said, scanning the datapad of parts and blueprints Hagellan had given to them. He read the details, humming and nodding his head as he took in the information. “As alien as they are, their power sources still work with our known physics, and it’s quite self-explanatory why this ship of theirs won’t work.”

“It might need calibration, assuming we can recover the parts from the wreckage,” Charlie added.

“They’re providing some of their junior engineers to help,” Denver said.

“Good, good,” Mike responded as he tapped a finger against his lips, thinking over what was required.

As he and Charlie got further into the discussions of how the repairs to the Unity ship would happen, Denver caught Maria staring at him. He got up and joined her and Layla on a beaten-up old sofa. “You okay?” Denver asked.

“Yeah, just nervous about all of this,” Maria said. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

Denver looked to Layla. She gave him the tiniest of nods. “Okay,” he said, “let me give you the tour of the place.” He stood and held his hand out for Maria. She took it and helped herself up. She carried a shoulder bag as Denver led her into the bedroom. Closing the door behind him and leaning against it, he bent down to Maria and whispered, “What is it?”

She lifted the bag from her shoulder, placing it on the floor. From within she pulled out a modified croatoan pistol and pushed it to Denver. “Here, Mike wanted you or Charlie to have this,” she said with barely a whisper.

“What is it?”

“It overpowers the alien beads—blows them up. It works in short range and has to be directed, but he assures me if you need to kill a croatoan quickly, this will do the job.”

Denver weighed it in his hands. It appeared as though Mike had lightened it, as it felt at least half the weight of a regular pistol. But then, the barrel had a small dish shape on the end, so it appeared there was no need for a magazine. “Thanks,” he said, hiding it under the bed, covering it over with a blanket.

Maria remained in place, poised but seemingly unable to get whatever it was off her chest.

“Was there something else?”

Maria sighed. “I don’t know. It’s this whole thing. It just feels so… overwhelming. Mike and Mai discovered some video from an old harvester. It showed another planet being harvested. There are hundreds of them out there—all branched off from this gate world. It just seems this mission isn’t just about Earth anymore, you know? I can’t help but think of all those other worlds that would benefit if the croatoans couldn’t get there anymore.”

Denver saw the weight of her argument press upon her and heard it in her voice. This extra news, to him, only made him more motivated to do all he could.

“I understand,” Denver said. “But you don’t have to worry. We’ll do the best we can.”

“It’s not just that,” Maria said, coming closer to him.

“It’s what, then?”

“I want to help, but I just feel so useless. I don’t feel like I belong anymore. I don’t even know who I am… there’s these clones, you see, and I—”

“I know,” Denver said, hugging her. She clutched him tight and buried her face into his chest. From over her shoulder he saw the closet door open a few inches and the face of Maria’s clone, the one in the robes, look out. Denver shook his head slightly and mouthed, “go.”

The clone stepped back into the shadows and closed the door.

“I ought to get back to the others,” Maria said. “You do what you have to do,” she said, looking to where he had stashed the weapon.

“I will. I appreciate it, really.”

Denver opened the door to let her out and followed her into the living room. A couple of small croatoans, the engineers working for Hagellan, had arrived. Ryan stood guard by the door, his hands on his rifle as the group discussed the plans.

“So what’s next?” Denver asked.

Mike stood up and clutched the datapad and a number of loose sheets of paper. “A road trip,” he said.

“We’re heading out to get the parts,” Charlie added. He eyed the croatoans with suspicion. These were a pair of small engineer types. Perhaps because of their size, and maybe because of their role, they didn’t generate the same levels of hate, and Mike seemed to be getting on well with them, swapping notes and discussing engineering ideas.

“Make sure our place stays empty, would you, Ryan?” Denver said. “I’ve grown quite comfortable here and wouldn’t want people coming and going.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Right then, let’s go,” Charlie said. “We’ve got a wreckage to plunder.”

“I’ll be right there,” Denver said. “I’ll just grab a book for the journey.”

He headed back into the room, concerned the Maria clone might have snuck in, but when he checked, the weapon was still there. Packing it beneath an old T-shirt he had found in one of the drawers, he hid the weapon at the bottom of his backpack. Although they took his rifle and other weapons when they caught him spying, they did give him back his backpack and general supplies.

Not feeling confident about leaving the weapon behind, he put his backpack on and left the room, wondering just how long, or frequently, the Maria clone had spied on them.

Denver joined the others outside, climbing into the back of the adapted harvester. He sat next to Layla and Maria, who had agreed to come along to help with the search. Charlie sat up front with Mike and the two alien engineers.

The engine roared and the harvester vibrated as they pulled out of the courtyard and headed for the ramp that led out of Unity’s basin. Denver was pleased to have left his house-prison, but he worried what the clone was up to.

Either way, he would find out, and he was now armed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Augustus finished annotating another history book with his corrections and sat back in his chair. Sighing, he reached out for a goblet of wine. He needed something to take the edge off his growing anxiety.

Although Gregor seemed loyal and appeared to be satisfied to carry out his new task, Augustus had been on Earth long enough to know that treachery and cowardice were the two halves of many men’s hearts.

The only factor that guaranteed a degree of virtuousness was the promise of power and the belief in a higher creation. The latter, however, had diminished greatly in humanity’s consideration.

Extraterrestrials blew apart many of the religions and myths, leaving humankind wandering in the darkness of their own unexplained existence. Which for Augustus presented an opportunity. Those seeking answers to questions that had none would accept anything with the right delivery of rhetoric.

All it took was for someone to grasp the fate of humankind in his fist and mold it in his vision. All it took was an emperor with strength and the vision to lead humanity once more to cultural and technological new heights. A new republic inclusive of all those who sought the answers that he could deliver would start right here in Unity.

It would just take a little time.

Augustus was used to waiting.

Thanks to the croatoans’ technology and root compound, he had learned to cheat fate of its whims. He would defy the memory of the dead gods and be Earth’s immortal leader.

Unlike the aliens, however, he would not hide in stasis underground for thousands of years, waiting for the moment.

Carpe diem.

The time was now. Once Hagellan was out of the picture, he would unite the disparate groups within the settlement and drive out any dissenters to his rule—including their ally Aimee Rivery.

He could not afford any threads of subversion to remain in his new world to take hold and undermine him.

He drank deeply from the goblet. The wine tasted unrefined and agricultural. Nothing like the superior grapes from Italy and France when he was in Rome, but he wasn’t a man to hanker too much for the past.

The past remained a vacuum of potential.

Memories were but an illusion of things that may or may not have existed in reality. One only had to read the history books that had survived to see how time distorts reality. No, the past held no answers for him. It held no guidance in a world changed far beyond the imagination of anyone from that era.

He looked forward only.

Without the council managing resources on the ground, the remaining croatoans would soon learn independent thought, just as those within Unity had.

But they would still look for direction.

They weren’t bred for agency; they were bred as tools for their superiors to use to achieve their goals. Just as Augustus would use them to achieve his.

With no croatoan ground army left on the planet after they had left before the ice age, there was nothing or no one who could stop him once he had enough resources, once he had collected enough tools.

Having survived that little irritant, Charlie Jackson’s bomb, Augustus knew he had to seize this opportunity.

Free of the croatoan council’s domination, the potential for molding the world to his vision came to him as though it were a gift from the gods he once worshipped.

By now, he knew Jupiter wasn’t a deity, but a discounted destination many miles away in the solar system. None of those celestial bodies truly mattered anymore. They were just one handful of spinning rocks in a universe of infinite numbers.

Earth, however, was the prized gem.

Augustus finished the last of the wine and opened another book that had been salvaged from a destroyed library in one of the nearby towns.

This one was advertised as a ‘science fiction’ novel. He retrieved the scratchy pen and prepared to make his annotations. When he became emperor, the first thing he would do would be to train scribes to rewrite the history books so they were correct, and write fiction that furthered his vision.

Manipulation presented as entertainment was humankind’s greatest discovery, and he was not fool enough to ignore its uses.

Fewer than five pages into this turgid tale of star travelers, Augustus sat up in surprise as one of his spies from the ludus burst in, breathing heavily and attempting to say something.

“What is it?” August snapped, closing the book and standing up. He leaned forward on the desk to peer down at the boy.

“I… saw… Baliska coming this… way.” The boy pointed out of the side window of Augustus’ office.

“When?”

“A… minute or so ago… sir.”

“Stall him. And if you get a chance, kill him.”

The boy just nodded, his eyes wide.

“Actually, no, you won’t stand a chance. Cause a distraction so I can escape. They won’t be expecting me to attack.”

The boy just blinked, trying to get his breath.

“Well, go, then!” Augustus said, shooing the boy out of his office. When he left, Augustus slid the latch across the door and dashed behind the desk. He retrieved one of the croatoans’ pistols from a drawer and waited.

Five minutes later an explosion roared out from the back of the ludus compound. Good!

The boy opened the door and stepped inside. “Baliska’s down, the place is in chaos, go!” He ushered Augustus out and led him through a narrow, twisting corridor and down some steps. A secret passage was hidden behind a locked door resembling a storeroom.

“You did well,” Augustus said. “Lock up behind me.”

The boy nodded and followed the order.

With Baliska out of the picture, that left Aimee vulnerable up there in her manse.

Pulling the hood of his robe over his head to shadow his face, Augustus made his way through the maze of dirt roads and alleys, following a route he had devised that would allow him to reach her stronghold without being seen until he was at the door.

A teenage girl sprang out from a dark doorway of a decrepit shelter, forcing Augustus to sidestep a puddle of crap, and he reached out for her shoulders to stop himself from tripping over.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snapped.

The girl recoiled and stepped back, her face twisting with revulsion.

He reached up and touched his face, forgetting that he no longer wore the mask. He sneered at the girl until she ran off crying. Yes, little girl, you run from monsters, but it will do you no good.

Pulling his hood lower, he set off at a quicker pace, hiding the pistol within the folds of his robe. A few minutes later, his heart rate quickening with effort and anticipation of his next move, he arrived at the doors of Aimee’s stronghold.

A human guard stepped out from the door.

Augustus struck from the shadows.

The single strike on the back of the guard’s head with the solid alien pistol knocked him out with ease. Augustus snuck a look around him. The town was busy as usual. Everyone hurried about their chores.

Above him, two bored aliens leaned over the ramparts, looking down into the town on either side of the stronghold. Neither saw him from their position.

Satisfied he was clear, Augustus dragged the unconscious guard beneath the arch. He opened the heavy doors and stepped into the dark, candlelit interior, hand firmly on the pistol’s grip.

He stayed in the shadows for a moment for his vision to adapt to the drastic differences of light.

The stale air inside carried a chill, due to the thick stone walls, and a pleasant scent of burning incense. The dining area was empty, as was the main meeting hall.

Like a trained dog, he followed the scent of incense, skulking silently through the shadows until he came to Aimee’s bedroom.

Through a gap between the door and the frame, he saw her standing with her back to the door as she put on a dress.

She stopped for a brief moment, her muscles tightening.

Did she know? Could she tell he waited there like a reaper come to claim her soul? Not taking any chances, he barged through the door and dashed across the stone floor.

Aimee spun round, holding her dress to her chest, her eyes wide with surprise and no little revulsion.

Augustus raised his pistol, the barrel just inches from her face.

“Not so confident of your position now, are you, Madam Rivery?”

“What… what is this? What are you playing at?” Aimee looked to the corners of the room.

Augustus didn’t follow her gaze, knowing her enforcers were not here to save her this time.

The rumor among the dissenters within Unity was that Aimee had never had a single person in her bed in all the time she’d been here.

“Your role in this little tragedy has come to an end,” Augustus said. “Don’t feel disappointed, sweet child, this was inevitable. Those in power always become targets—which given your time with the Ottomans, if the books are to be believed, you knew full well.”

Aimee dropped her hands to her sides. Her dress faltered but stayed on. She sighed. “You’re right, of course, Emperor. You would know this firsthand, having lost two empires now.”

“And yet here I am,” he said, sneering, “on the cusp of my third. This is nothing personal; remember that as you take your last breath.”

“You think you’ll be able to rule Unity?” Aimee laughed. “You know nothing about these people. I know all about you and your plans. You think you can hide secrets here? For a former emperor, you still haven’t learned the most valuable of all lessons.”

“Oh? I’ve learned your secrets,” Augustus said, placing his finger on the trigger. “I’ve learned all about you and Hagellan and your pathetic little plans. Didn’t include me in that revelation, did you? You thought you could keep me in the dark and manipulate me? No, I’m afraid not. Your time here is over.”

Before Augustus could pull the trigger, a dark shape darted from his left.

He didn’t get a good look before something solid struck him on the side of the head. He dropped the pistol and fell to the ground. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Charlie gazed out of the harvester’s front window as they rumbled toward the crash site. He had long since gotten bored of watching the croatoan engineer smoothly operating the vehicle. Mike maintained a keen interest, scribbling notes on a pad and talking under his breath. They crossed a parched root field and crashed through woodland with surprising ease.

He wondered if these two aliens thought they shared something in common with him, besides their impending doom at the hands of a planet destroyer. Both croatoans dressed in handmade cotton trousers and sweaters and had tubes running from their nostrils to their backpacks. He would only put up with them for the sake of necessity.

Charlie had a new issue with them. They stank of a mix between rotten fish and cat shit. Hardly a crime, but it was the first time he had been in an enclosed space with them for any extended period of time and received a strong blast of the odor. More than once he searched for a button that might be an electric window. Wishful thinking.

The croatoan co-driver caught his attention. It swished a glove across a shiny panel. A bright blue screen burst into life.

It extended a finger toward a cluster of red dots. “Signals.”

“You mean more croatoans?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

Charlie leaned forward for a closer look. “Are they at the ship? How many?”

“Twenty. Yes.”

The Unity-raised driver spoke better English. One of the reasons it came along. It also knew croatoan tactics and culture. “They will have sentries in circular formation. Outer defense ring. Not many. We proceed on foot.”

“Why have they returned to the wreck?” Mike said.

“Familiar,” the co-driver said.

Charlie glanced out of the window again. A faint shape appeared on the horizon, unclear through the haze. The harvester juddered to a halt.

Doors on both sides of the harvester’s cabin punched open with a pneumatic hiss. “Looks like you’ve made the choice for us,” Charlie said.

“On foot,” the driver said.

Charlie clambered down the ladder and watched Mike unsteadily grunt his way after him. “You’re getting a bit old for this.”

Mike looked over his shoulder. “My body is a naturally created temple, Charlie. It’ll all catch up with you one day.”

Charlie didn’t want to imagine what kind of state he would be in without a supply of root. He’d suffered for a short period after his capture, and Mike was right. He’d felt every twinge of a body that had been worked hard for three decades way beyond its natural ability. Packing the repaired ship with a healthy supply would be a priority. He had no idea of how long they’d be away, or what trouble would be waiting for them.

The rest of the squad exited the back. They walked around the side and circled the group at the front. They numbered seven oddly dressed croatoans, Charlie, Mike, Denver and both Marias.

Denver wandered up with his rifle over his shoulder. “What’s the plan, Dad?”

“It’s over there.” Charlie pointed over the trees, no longer able to see the shape from their current position. “We proceed on foot. There’s twenty croatoans around it.”

“Twenty against twelve,” Denver said. “I like those odds.”

Mike stepped between them. “We’re outnumbered. Are you sure about this?”

“We’ve been outnumbered for years,” Charlie said. “Besides, we’ve come to fight. They might be a bunch of those little surveyors or drivers. Stay behind me and you’ll be fine.”

Clone-Maria tugged at Denver’s arm. “I didn’t come to fight.”

Denver whispered to her, giving her assurances. Charlie felt sure she would be in good hands with Denver looking out for the newbies.

The croatoans grabbed alien rifles from a side compartment of the harvester. The driver approached Charlie. “I will lead. When the ship crashed, it left a wake of debris and destruction. We will—”

At first Charlie put the pause down to the croatoan trying to think of the right word to use, until he heard a distant whine.

It grew louder. Closer. An approaching hover-bike.

Trees rustled ahead of them with the downdraft.

“Take cover,” Charlie shouted.

The group split, humans and aliens scattering in all directions. Charlie shouldered his rifle, aimed skyward, and noticed two aliens in his peripheral vision doing the same.

A hover-bike thrust over them. Charlie fired. Croatoan rifles snapped to his side. A shot thumped into the forest floor, just to his right, creating a spray of mud and pine needles.

He peered through a gap in the trees. The hover-bike banked around and approached for a second run, approaching at pace, ridden by two croatoan riders.

The forest filled with the bangs and snaps of hybrid gunfire. A tracer round slammed into the rear rider and it gripped its chest. Great shot by Denver.

Charlie repositioned himself around the trunk, aimed and fired.

The bike slowed. Its engine cut in and out. It plunged nose first toward their general location, plowing through branches above Charlie’s head.

Red engine coolant spilled around him.

Somebody screamed. Human.

Charlie spun at the same time as the bike crashed into the forest, smashing between trees and dropping around forty meters away.

Two Unity croatoans bounced from their locations to the downed bike and fired at the other aliens from point-blank range.

Denver jumped through the undergrowth. Six Unity croatoans surrounded the bike, excitedly clicking.

Charlie turned to Mike. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. You realize this means they can probably track our group, as we located them?”

“Good point,” Charlie said, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

He weaved through the trees, bounding toward the group. Maria backed away from the wreckage with her hand over her mouth. She propped against a tree and vomited. Denver looked at Charlie and shook his head.

“What is it?” Charlie said.

A croatoan pointed to the front of the wreckage.

Charlie barged between two aliens to get a better view. Mike pounded up behind them and said, “Oh my God.”

The front half of Clone-Maria, dressed in her brown robe, protruded from beneath the hover-bike wreckage. A Unity croatoan lay next to her, tubes snapped from its face, skin shriveled.

Charlie knelt down and closed Clone-Maria’s eyes. He shut his eyes for a few seconds and swallowed hard. A life spent under oppression had ended.

Behind him, real Maria sobbed. Denver put his arm around her. The croatoans stood in a line, clutching their rifles against their chests. The driver, who seemed to assume the role of their leader, said, “Kill them all.”

Mike sighed. “They don’t waste any time.”

“They’re right,” Charlie said. “If they know we’re here, others might come. We can’t give them a chance to properly organize.”

“Approach through debris field,” the driver said. “Change angle of attack.”

“Will they be expecting us to approach from here?” Mike said.

“Croatoans like to take threats head-on,” the driver croaked. “Will be lining up forces in this direction.”

That gave Charlie an idea. “If they funnel toward the perceived threat, and it makes sense thinking about previous skirmishes, let’s flank them by heading in that direction and double back.”

The aliens didn’t reply.

Denver led Maria back to the group and said, “I’ll move in from here. Draw them in this direction. You attack from the side when they’re not expecting it.”

The driver turned to his group and clicked. One replied, “Will work if you see a sentry first and he communicates to the others.”

“Cunning human,” an alien in a tatty croatoan uniform said.

Denver rolled his eyes and reloaded his magazine. Maria knelt next to her body double and attempted to cover her face, using pine needles scooped from the ground.

Charlie said to the driver, “Which way to the debris field?”

It pointed to the right.

“Okay, let’s move out.” He turned to Denver. “We’ll be on your right flank and will stay back until we hear gunfire. Don’t get too close.”

Maria sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “We should give her some dignity.”

Charlie lowered his rifle and stooped next to Maria. “Dignity left us in 2014. Remember the human casualties from the initial invasion, piled into a sinkhole?”

Denver reached under Maria’s arm and hauled her up. “Come with me. We can’t wait to be attacked. We’ll help her later.”

The driver moved off with the remaining five croatoans in an extended line. Charlie exchanged a knowing glance with Denver before following. They understood each other perfectly. Good luck, see you on the other side.

“Stay behind me, Mike. We need you alive,” Charlie said.

Mike smiled, although it lacked his usual enthusiasm. “It’s nice to be wanted at my age.”

* * *

After twenty minutes of picking their way through the undergrowth, a bright light streamed into the trees ahead.

Charlie kept glancing to his left, checking to ensure they didn’t get too far away from Denver, otherwise the plan would prove pointless. In the distance, his son darted between trees, making swift progress.

Charlie paused as he reached the edge of a giant, six-hundred-meter-wide gouge through the forest. Trees flattened in the same direction, interspersed with twisted pieces of metal. Shattered white plastic and other mangled parts of the ship spread across the debris field.

He looked to his left and lowered his rifle and gasped. The cluttered debris trail led half a mile to the downed ship. The rough, dark gray, semi-circular shape punched into the clear blue sky hundreds of feet above the trees at a forty-five-degree angle.

“We move along the edge. Come,” the driver said.

Charlie nodded and turned to Mike. “Not a bad team effort.”

Mike stared open-mouthed at the carnage. He dabbed his brow with a folded white handkerchief. “Seeing it like this…”

“You’ll get a closer look. Come on.”

The lead croatoan returned to just under the canopy and bounced toward the ship. Once the eight of them fanned out over a distance of one hundred meters, they stopped and turned back to face the forest, waiting and watching.

Dark figures moved between the trees, heading toward their former location in the unnatural croatoan way.

“Stay here, Mike.”

“I can help—”

A shot rang out through the forest.

Alien rifles started to snap.

Charlie trusted his son would fire at range before the aliens were on top of him. He looked along the line. All eyes were on him. Charlie took control and crisply indicated forward with a flat hand.

Mike tried to stand. Charlie gripped his shoulder and eased him back down. “Stay. This isn’t your part of the plan.”

The group, minus Mike, collectively advanced. The sound of enemy fire masked their movement.

The enemy croatoans ducked behind trees and took potshots in Denver’s direction. He returned fire and provided a good enough distraction.

Charlie reached within fifty meters before the first alien noticed him. Too late for that one. Charlie’s round smashed through its visor, and it fell to the ground with a twist, dropping its rifle and clutching its throat.

He counted another nine, all in standard uniform. Fired at the closest. Orange vapor hissed from its pack after taking a hit. Charlie’s next round sparked off an armor plate on its uniform, but the thing was already on its way to the ground. He pumped another round into the helmet, just to make sure.

The Unity croatoans screamed and charged, initially surprising Charlie. They ran at speed, bouncing directly at the enemy, firing from their hips.

They must have surprised the aliens attacking Denver. They collectively turned and froze. The Unity croatoans showed little mercy. They fired relentlessly, dropping their opponents, howling, and swarming individuals until the forest fell silent. They collected weapons and piled them in a small clearing.

It was over in a flash.

Charlie scrambled up to the group. They surrounded one of the ship’s croatoans that had taken a hit in the stomach area. It whimpered and tried to shuffle away.

“Need to make sure,” the driver said. It picked up a rock and smashed it into the casualty’s visor.

Other Unity croatoans followed suit. Like a medieval army slitting throats on a battlefield. Charlie had never seen them act like this before and felt pleased they were on his side. If the standard guard acted with such coordinated ferocity, his and Denver’s effort would have probably been extinguished a long time ago.

* * *

Mike moved through the forest and joined Charlie. He mopped his brow again and muttered while taking in the scene. Denver appeared from the other direction, vigilantly aiming from side to side, Maria trailing behind him.

“Only small ones now,” the driver said.

“Excuse me?” Charlie said.

“Surveyors. Drivers. Processors. No threat. Only had nine guard signals. All dead.”

“What about the defensive formation?”

“Converged.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s talking about?” Denver said.

“It’s saying that we’ve done the hard work. They form a defensive ring and gather toward any threat,” Charlie said. He turned to the driver. “Isn’t that right?”

It raised a digit, more like a talon than a thumb. Probably a gesture it learned in Unity. Charlie tried not to feel repulsed.

Denver approached the driver. “Two of you bring the harvester up and meet us at the base of the ship. I’m sure that thing can get close enough.”

The driver clicked instructions to a couple of his team.

* * *

The ship cast a large shadow over the forest as they approached. They were close; Charlie saw it through the trees. The aliens wanted to go via the debris field and collect anything useful. Charlie refused. Aliens might be able to hop through it with ease, but it would have taken a human all day to tackle the large chunks of ship mixed with smashed trunks and branches.

Maria walked alongside Charlie as Denver scouted ahead. He refused to take a diversionary role again on this mission. Her shoulders slumped and she gazed into the distance.

“You okay, Maria?”

“I don’t belong here. None of this…”

“You’re gonna have to explain. We all belong here.”

“I don’t feel like a real person.”

“Don’t be silly,” Charlie said, although he could see her logic. “You’re as real as Den or me.”

“Do you have a Charlie clone? Imagine seeing another Charlie killed in front of you.”

Charlie vaulted over a large metal beam wedged between two trees and held his hand out to Maria. “Never thought of it like that. At least there’s only one of you now.”

She clambered over and dropped to the other side. “There’s probably hundreds of me. I don’t want to go through this anymore. I can’t offer anything.”

“From what I hear, you’ve already offered a lot. Helping Layla on the farm, coming all the way to Unity with Den. Don’t undersell yourself. None of us find this easy.”

“I mean it, Charlie. I feel useless. Not real.”

Charlie shook his head. “We can talk about this back at Unity. You’ve had a lot to take in recently. I don’t blame you for having doubts.”

She stared over Charlie’s shoulder. He took a few steps ahead of her and gazed at the ship. A section at the bottom peeled to one side, like it had been sliced open by a large can opener. Inside was a scruffy mesh of twisted wreckage. Sparks fizzed from a swinging cable, hanging over the open section. The main hull of the ship rose into the sky, formerly smooth, now dented, charred and imposing.

Denver returned from the front. “It looks all clear.”

“Take the driver back and bring the harvester while the techies do their thing. Every minute we waste, that destroyer gets closer.”

They both instinctively ducked as the structure trembled and groaned like a giant foghorn.

Charlie turned to Mike. “It’s all yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Augustus’ head throbbed. He vomited onto the floor. A pair of hands grabbed him by the robe and pulled him. His arms were trapped behind his back. Blinking his vision clear, he saw Aimee stand over him, a pair of iron shackles in her hand.

She tossed them and they clattered against the stone floor next to him.

“For all your years, you still haven’t gained control of your temper,” Aimee said. “You don’t think things through enough, Augustus, but you know that, don’t you. You didn’t think enough about the Goths, and you didn’t think enough about Charlie Jackson. Your arrogance and hubris will always be your doom.”

Augustus spat at her and tried to wrench his arms free, but whoever it was behind him—definitely human by the feel of their hands—yanked his arms further back, making his spine and shoulders crack. He yelled out and dropped his head.

“What do you want?” he said, spittle flying from his mouth. “You want to kill me? Get on with it, then, bitch.”

“Kill you? Perhaps, but seeing as we no longer have Charlie Jackson as a main draw, we are light on special entertainment. I think, all things considered, the people of Unity deserve to behold the last Roman as he fights in the arena. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

Despite the life-extending stasis procedures of the croatoans and his root use, it was clear to anyone that his days of combat were over. He hadn’t fought since the last days of the empire. But faced with the alternative of being killed right here and now, he would take the chance—there could be an opportunity to escape before he had to fight for survival. He still had the loyalty of a number of humans working in the ludus and other aspects of the arena to call upon.

“I will accept,” Augustus said. “I will show you and your fucking peasants what I’m capable of.”

“I’m sure you will, Augustus, I’m sure you will.” She then referred to the person behind him. “Shackle him, Khan.” She picked up the croatoan pistol and aimed it at Augustus’ head as this Khan person let go of his hands and picked up the shackles. “You move an inch, and I won’t hesitate for a moment to deprive Unity of seeing the last Roman in action. You understand me?”

“Perfectly.”

Khan, a dark-eyed, passive-faced man, stepped round to face Augustus, but didn’t look up at him. He bent down and began to place the shackles around Augustus’ ankles. The thought of kicking the young man in the face crossed his mind, but he knew Aimee would kill him there and then if he tried.

He’d seen that focused look on her face before—at the arena. Despite her appearances to the contrary, she was as bloodthirsty as any warlord Augustus had met, including those in the croatoan council during the uprising.

You’d look at the remaining aliens now and wonder how they took over the planet so quickly. Meek and bred to follow orders, they had little agency or thoughts of their own, but the combat species were an entirely different beast.

They travelled from planet to planet, wiping out resistances and laying the groundwork for a council-controlled mother ship to oversee the farming and terraforming.

Compared to them, Khan and Aimee were sickly kittens.

But even a sickly kitten with a weapon was something to be wary of.

“I assume I’ll be facing Baliska in the arena?” Augustus said as he shuffled slightly, making sure Khan couldn’t yet attach the shackles. A noise from outside had caught Augustus’ ear—a brief sound of struggle and the squeak of a rusted hinge. From Aimee’s position near her crackling fire, it didn’t seem as if she had heard it, and Khan was too busy trying to work out how the arcane mechanism of the shackles worked.

“Stay still,” Aimee said, stepping forward. “And yes, you’ll be facing Baliska… among others.”

Augustus smiled. “Not a fair fight, then?”

“You don’t deserve one.”

“That makes two of us.”

“A little late for threats,” Aimee said.

Khan finally unlocked the shackles and placed the iron rings over Augustus’ left ankle. Augustus kicked out, catching the young man in the throat and knocking him over as the former emperor dived to his right.

The door to Aimee’s room burst open. Gregor and three human thugs piled in, catching Aimee off guard. Her shot went high and wide. Gregor saw Khan on the floor with the shackles.

“Kill him!” Augustus screamed. Gregor raised his croatoan-made rifle and fired once into Khan’s ribs, sending him flat against the floor with a screech. Before Aimee could recover, the thugs had pulled their pistols—a combination of croatoan and human weapons—and pointed them at the Unity leader.

Gregor stepped forward, looked around to assess the situation, and spoke to Augustus. “I talked with your little helper at the ludus. Thought you might need a hand.”

For a moment, Augustus believed the ex-farm manager would see this as an opportunity to seize power for himself and rid this world of Augustus, but he turned back to Aimee, ignoring the emperor.

He stepped forward. Aimee stepped back. She looked over his shoulder. At first, Augustus, from his position to the right-hand side of the room, thought she was simply looking at Khan or the three thugs, but a large shadow entered, quickly followed by the bulky, threatening shape of Baliska.

The large hunter drove his sword into the first thug’s back, killing him instantly. His mate next to him turned only to have a dagger thrust into his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling.

Gregor and the remaining thug turned and fired, but Baliska was already on the move, ducking and rolling down the left side of the room. As he came back up to his feet, he pulled an angular croatoan pistol from a compartment in his black armor and fired twice. The remaining thug’s head snapped back on the first shot and broke apart on the second.

Gregor fired twice. The first directed at Aimee, the second at Baliska. Aimee twitched out of the way, just missing the shot, but she dropped her pistol to the ground between her and Gregor.

Augustus considered trying to make a grab for it, but when Baliska launched himself at Gregor, knocking the rifle from his hands and driving him down to the floor, Augustus climbed to his feet and snuck out the door as the melee continued and all attention was on the fight in the now-crowded room.

Once he slipped outside, he took a quick look back.

Aimee dodged Gregor’s thrashing legs as she tried to wrestle free of the large croatoan. She slipped and fell to the ground, cracking her head against the corner of her bed. Baliska reared up and delivered two mighty punches to Gregor’s chest, knocking the fight out of him.

Before they realized he had left, Augustus sprinted down the short corridor to the dining hall and turned right into a small archway that led to a tunnel he knew would take him out through the back of the stronghold.

The sound of rushing feet from a steel staircase on the other side of the dining room told him those guarding the ramparts had heard the commotion and were now on their way to deal with the aftermath.

Augustus made sure he wouldn’t be around when they arrived.

Through the twisting tunnel he ran, dodging low as the access became ever tighter. Eventually, scraping through, he kicked open a wooden covering and opened the iron gate. He stepped out into the morning air. The smell of roasting bacon and the sounds of the town waking up gave him the cover to sprint to the steps at the rear of the basin.

With no guards on the ramparts, and unable to be seen by the observation towers due to being blocked by the stronghold, Augustus commandeered Aimee’s personal hover-bike and sped off deep into the canopy.

There would be no arena fighting for him. No more diplomacy or patience.

There would be only war.

He would retreat for now, regroup, and return with force to take Unity for himself under his sole rule.

He’d put Aimee’s head on a pike first as a warning to others.

* * *

Gregor coughed up blood and squirmed beneath Baliska’s great bulk. The alien sat back onto his gut, pinning him in place. It snarled at Gregor, exposing its teeth. Aimee had found a pistol and was checking on Khan. Gregor knew his time was coming to an end.

With Augustus abandoning him—even though Gregor had taken a risk to come here—he knew he had but one option left.

“I give up,” Gregor said, relaxing. “I submit, or whatever it is you lot understand. I’m done; it’s over. I’m in your custody.”

Baliska growled at him and grabbed his throat with one of its massive paws. Aimee appeared by the alien’s side and placed a hand on its shoulders. “It’s okay,” she said. Let him live—for now. We have bigger things to worry about.”

She turned to a group of four aliens who’d rushed in. “Augustus has escaped; we need to find him. I want you to split up, organize two scouting parties. Go. Make sure he’s found. Use deadly force if you have to. I’m tired of taking the slow approach with him.”

Baliska eased the pressure on Gregor’s throat and stood up, turning to Aimee for directions. Gregor, anticipating such a move, grabbed the syringes of poison from a protective case in his pocket, and jabbed through the tough scaly hide of the alien, plunging the full complement of poison into the damned thing’s bloodstream.

The alien howled and bent its head back. It extended its arms as its muscles began to contract against its will. But then it seemed to gain control. It bent down and lifted Gregor by the throat, squeezing his windpipe, making him choke.

Kicking with everything he had, Gregor started to panic. Had Augustus tricked him? Was the poison ineffective? Had he known this and hoped Gregor would die at Hagellan’s hands?

Stars and splotches of colors appeared in his vision as he strained for breath. Tension left his body and he started to close his eyes, fighting the oncoming unconsciousness.

But the alien’s grip weakened.

Gregor heaved in a deep breath, refilling his burning lungs, bringing both pain and much-needed oxygen. He fell to his feet, collapsing against the wall. Aimee looked on in horror as Baliska staggered back, clutching its chest. Like a great redwood, the beast fell, hitting the deck with a thud.

Its arms flopped uselessly by its sides.

Nothing moved. Its chest did not rise. There was no sound from its breathing apparatus. It worked!

Aimee knelt to the alien as she screamed, “No!”

Taking the opportunity, Gregor staggered to the door but jumped back when another pair of guards entered. Human this time. A grizzled-looking woman lifted a gun to his head.

Before Gregor could say anything he felt two sharp points stab into his spine. A bolt of electricity shocked him to the ground, where he lay shaking with muscle spasms as the electricity held him in place. Eventually, Aimee relented. Blood dripped from Gregor’s nose and mouth. Every limb ached with pain.

“Take this bastard to the cells,” Aimee ordered the guards.

Gregor could do nothing to stop them. He had no energy and no control of his limbs. He mumbled something, trying to insult Aimee, but she just watched on as the guards lifted him up.

Stepping forward close to him, Aimee slapped him hard in the face. “You’ll pay for this, newcomer. In Augustus’ place, you’ll fight this afternoon in the arena. But trust me, it won’t be a fight. It’ll be a slaughter. Get him out of my sight and fetch some cleaners to clear this mess,” Aimee said, indicating the blood and bodies in her room.

As they dragged Gregor away, he saw her wipe a tear from her eye. How could she cry over the aliens? If he were to be slaughtered, he’d make sure he’d take out as many as he could before he went.

This place was an abomination.

Hell, the whole world was now.

The thought of leaving it and joining his family in whatever afterlife, if there was such a thing, awaited him brought him a sense of comfort.

He was looking forward to the arena. He was ready to leave this world; he couldn’t change it on his own, and if humans wanted to coexist with the bastards that enslaved them, then more fool them.

They were welcome to reap what they sowed.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mike’s old back creaked and generally protested his foolhardy maneuvers through the wreckage of the mother ship.

With no time for him to recover a sense of calm after the short battle, his chest heaved under the effort of clambering over twisted hunks of metal and ducking through caved-in tunnels constructed with ship detritus.

The two small aliens led him through, their scaly hands supporting him as he struggled to maintain his balance in the dark of the wreckage. The smallest one, that he had decided to refer to as Blinky due to his rapid blinking when he was thinking about stuff or being spoken to, stopped in a narrow section.

Using his flashlight, Mike swept the tight confines. Blinky and the taller one, whom Mike had decided would be Grumpy on account of his surly shoulder shrugging, pressed against his legs as they struggled to fit.

Blue flashes lit up sections of the ship from somewhere further into the wreckage. A hum permeated the place and was joined by the smell of ozone and something earthy yet metallic.

“What is it?” Mike prompted, wondering why Blinky didn’t go through the hole in the dark. It looked like a doorway had collapsed and the floor of the level above sunk down to join this one, creating a triangular, narrow entry.

Blinky blinked.

Grumpy shrugged.

“Well?” Mike said, pushing forward to see what the fuss was. He twisted sideways and stepped through the confining space as Grumpy eased out of the way. Mike ducked down to Blinky’s level and looked through the small hole into a hallway beyond.

“Oh,” Mike said when he saw the problem.

The hallway must have stretched some five meters long and a couple wide. The roof had caved in at various sections. A group of six aliens, small, like Blinky and Grumpy, lay dead in a heap, the infrastructure having crushed and pierced them to death.

This was the source of the strange smell.

Their corpses were rotting, yet no flies buzzed.

Mike stepped back and placed his hand on Blinky’s shoulder.

In another time he would have shuddered with revulsion, but watching the small alien’s face twist into sadness and seeing the first lot of bodies inside only reminded Mike of what it felt like to lose a loved one.

He remembered seeing the bodies of those who worked on the Roanoke dig site, and later, upon returning to Manhattan, the office workers who had perished in the first raids when the EMPs and the ground force swept through North America, with their chemical and cold fusion bombs.

Despite everything, these small aliens, born long after the initial invasion, were no more to blame for what happened than modern-day Germans were for the Holocaust.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

Sure, he could sympathize. But even now, with Blinky’s obvious sadness, Mike still couldn’t fully trust them.

He still didn’t even think Hagellan was necessarily telling them the truth.

But if Charlie could get onto the ship, and if Mai completed her work on the bomb, then at least they would have some insurance.

Grumpy stepped up behind Blinky and lit up the hallway with his own flashlight. He made a grunting noise followed by a series of clicks and whistles. Blinky nodded and slipped forward, leaving Mike’s hand to drop by his side.

It seemed neither species were entirely comfortable with this setup.

Despite that, the two engineers continued to lead Mike through the wreckage.

As he squeezed and pushed himself through narrow corridors and crouched beneath broken crossbeams, Mike couldn’t but help focus on the details.

He wanted to stop and examine everything, but knew the clock was ticking.

Alien metals, new elements, technology that came from an ideology so different to humans, it all appealed to his sense of wonder and a desire to learn.

Just what secrets could he uncover if he had more time to analyze the pink-glowing lights within the crushed, transparent cabinet. Rings of these lights thrummed quietly up and down a tube, creating an effect that Mike couldn’t discern.

Could be a power supply; could be a processor of sorts, who knew?

The walls of the ship were made from a multilayered honeycomb of what looked like woven tungsten.

Through his journey into the center of the wreckage, heading for the central power unit where the parts Hagellan required were to be found, he saw more of this construction.

In places it had held firm, supporting a number of levels above. In other places it had collapsed into what he guessed were planned crumple zones, for the walls and ceilings had rarely crashed into areas of mechanical significance.

Given the number of bodies in the ship’s wreckage—much lower than he anticipated, it seemed the alien engineers had developed a ship that could withstand a lot of damage before it killed those inside—or at least those that were important.

“Hey, wait up,” Mike called.

They led him into a small dark room.

A sliver of a doorway, on its side to his left, indicated where they’d gone, but Mike stepped forward cautiously.

Each footstep made the structure creak and groan under his weight.

It shifted violently as he neared the doorway, forcing him to throw out his arms in front of him as the momentum pushed him forward. He struck the doorframe with his shoulder; the impact made him wince and suck in his breath. He collapsed to the floor, dropping his flashlight. It fell through a gap into a level below.

Smoke drifted up through a holed section, carrying the stench of burning oil of some kind. He coughed and reached to grip the doorframe of the narrow entry point and hauled himself to his feet.

The low roof collapsed behind him, pinning him to the wall.

“Help!” Mike called out, pressing his face through the half-meter-wide gap.

A pair of shadows moved out of sight.

“Hey, I’m stuck. Help me!”

No response.

The skin on his neck and face prickled with the dawning that they’d abandoned him. Had they led him here on purpose?

The smoke continued to fill the tiny space, making his lungs burn with every breath.

More creaking and rending of metal screeched just beyond the fallen ceiling that pressed Mike against the wall. It sounded like the whole thing would collapse on him, entombing him in alien metal. And he couldn’t even reach his radio, his arms pressed through the gap and the radio crushed behind him, attached to his belt.

Spots began to flash in his vision.

His tight chest made it difficult to breathe, and even then, with each lungful of inhalation, he brought with it the cloying, choking smoke.

“Fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he tried in vain to push back and make some room for himself.

He didn’t know how long he remained in that position, having given up hope he would get out. He thought of Mai and the time they’d spent together. He thought of Charlie and Pippa and their time during the ice age. He saw her face, bright and smiling even though they lived through hell.

A welling-up of grief and sadness made him cough and thrash out his hand through the gap.

He touched something, recoiled his hand and opened his eyes.

“Blinky… help me,” he said as the small engineer looked up at him with wide eyes. For a moment the useless thing just stood there watching, but then, as though finally getting the situation, turned and waved Grumpy back while he ducked out of view. He returned with a pole and passed the end through the bottom of the narrow doorway. He and Grumpy pulled on the other end while Mike leaned his shoulder into the door in an attempt to help.

Nothing budged, despite their efforts.

From just behind the fallen ceiling piece a loud crash came, and the whole ship rocked, jolting the structure. It proved to be useful, however, as with another pull on the pole, the two engineers shifted the door open another foot.

Mike screamed out as he pushed with all he had, driving his shoulder into the door. Something in the mechanism gave, and it finally sprang open, sending Mike crashing forward to the floor with the momentum of his efforts.

The two aliens dropped the pole and dragged him forward.

He spun over just in time to see the door smash closed, just inches from crushing his ankles.

With their help, he managed to stand and regain his balance.

“Thanks, little guys,” Mike said.

They did their blinking and inclined their heads, clicking to each other in short bursts.

With no more exchange of pleasantries, they turned their backs and headed off, consulting a small screen attached to their wrists. They were reading Hagellan’s directions of how to reach the main engine bay’s maintenance section.

Through a dozen more tunnels and levels, twists and tight turns, Mike felt every year of his age in his bones and muscles.

Sweat dripped from his face, and he breathed heavily, wishing he hadn’t volunteered to come along.

Because the engineers were born in Unity, they hadn’t been trained in the proper way of the aliens brought over from their home planet or ones born on the ship. In truth, they weren’t even engineers, Mike just used that term to classify them due to their smaller size compared to the soldiers and the larger still hunters.

With their claw-like hands, they didn’t have the delicate dexterity of humans, especially as they weren’t trained to use the croatoan tools like the original engineers who had perished in the crash and subsequent battles.

Mike’s own tool kit hung around his front in a makeshift sling.

He had no idea if what he had brought would be enough for the task at hand, but if Charlie needed this part to get the ship airborne and stop the threat—if it were real—then Mike would do his best to deal with the situation.

The two aliens stopped in a dark passageway in front of a sheer surface at least two meters high with a meter-high gap at the top.

“Through there?” Mike said, pointing to the gap.

Blink, blink, nod.

Grumpy showed him his screen. A high-res image of a corridor leading to the maintenance room corresponded to what they were looking at now, only this was on an angle and the obstacle in the way appeared to have fallen through the ceiling, blocking access to the tunnel.

“I’ll lift you up,” Mike said, pointing to them and raising his arms.

Blink, blink, nod.

“Right then. Blinky, you first.”

Mike approached cautiously and held back his revulsion as he grabbed the four-foot-tall alien by the waist and lifted it up until it reached out its hands and dragged itself into the gap. “Now you, Grumpy.”

Mike repeated the movement.

Lifting the aliens reminded him of lifting Denver as a toddler when Charlie first brought him back to their shelter in the cave system. This was just before Pippa was killed. Despite everything they had lost at the time, having Denver with them renewed their hope and desire to carry on, if not for themselves, then for the next generation.

And Mike realized this was exactly the same situation.

He wasn’t doing this just for the immediate threat, but to help ensure the safety of the next generation.

Turning his attention back to the obstacle, Mike scanned the surface and found a number of foot and handholds where railings and other pieces of infrastructure had been ripped off this particular bulkhead or whatever purpose it had served in its original location.

He climbed until his head poked up into the darkness.

Muscles screaming, he reached a hand into the darkness in order to find something to pull himself up with but found nothing and began to slip. “Shit, shit…”

The two engineers peered above again, each one grabbing his hand.

Despite being tiny, they had enough strength to stop him from falling and helped to drag him up.

They managed to crouch in the narrow gap, but Mike had to stay on his arms and knees and shuffle through the darkness as they led, their screens bathing the tight passage with blue light.

Another twenty or so meters later and Mike found himself dropping out of the passage into the center of the maintenance room.

Clean, off-white, smooth surfaces surrounded the three-meter-square room. The walls must have been strengthened, as the ceiling, just a few centimeters above Mike’s head, hadn’t collapsed.

Blinky showed Mike the screen.

A diagram showed that the part they needed was behind one of the wall panels. Mike located it and reached forward with his arm to open the panel, but quickly pulled it back as something touched his skin and sizzled with a burn.

“Jesus, what the…”

A sizzling noise came from all around him. He looked up.

Through holes in the ceiling, a clear, acidic liquid dripped into pools on the floor. The two aliens backed off. “Oh, this is just great.”

The liquid, fuel or some kind of coolant, Mike guessed, was burning through the metal. The spot on his skin continued to burn.

Just great. If it wasn’t hard enough to get here, he now had to extricate a delicate part while avoiding multiple streams of acid.

“Well, best I get on with it, then, eh? Don’t look like you two care to help out much…” He shook his head and pulled the sling around his chest. He fished out a flat-tipped screwdriver and leaned carefully forward to the panel.

A stray drip bounced off the edge of his shoe, instantly melting through the leather and making him wince.

“Goddammit.”

Making himself as small as possible, he pried the panel open.

“Is this it?” Mike called out, pointing to a glowing green cylinder the size of a soda can. Wires and tubes connected to a lid on its top.

Blinky clicked his affirmation.

There didn’t appear to be any obvious way of removing it without damaging the metal cap that took the wires and tubes.

Taking a small multimeter, Mike checked it. The voltage and current were off the scale. Have to be careful with this baby, he thought.

As Mike thought how best to remove the device without breaking it, a terrible crack boomed from above him. He managed to duck out of the way as a crossbeam gave way and fell down. It struck Grumpy on the head, knocking him to the ground.

Mike couldn’t move away in time, frightened of stepping into the acid stream. The beam fell onto his ankle, trapping him in place.

The new hole above, with metal sheeting pointing down, funneled more acid into the tight room.

Mike looked away as a pool of it splashed onto the unmoving form of Grumpy.

He hated that he felt something for the poor bastard, but…

“Hey, where are you going?” Blinky had climbed the beam and disappeared back out of the passage into the gloom. “Come back here, you little…”

Damn this bullshit!

Mike tried his leg, but the beam was too heavy across his foot and ankle. It had probably broken it, if the pain was anything to go by.

With the acid filling the room with bitter, sharp fumes, Mike had no other option but to get to work. If he couldn’t get out of here and someone came for him after he had died, at least he’d get the part out of the system for them.

Fishing through his sling of tools, Mike took a shallow breath and set to work, all the while the sizzling of the dead croatoan’s body reminded him what awaited him if he didn’t get free.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Mike yelled with triumph; the part came free and he hadn’t shocked himself with the full power of a piece of alien tech. Score one for Mike, but the sizzling of the acid had grown in volume.

The stench of hot metal and liquidized alien corpse made him want to retch.

Keeping his cool, Mike placed the part safely into a fabric wrap in the sling around his chest. Job one done; now how the hell to get out? He tried his ankle, but any movement sent a piercing stab of pain up his leg, and it remained well and truly stuck beneath the metal beam.

Looking over his shoulder, Mike saw that the acid had pooled in the far corner. He doubted it’d be long before whatever it was had filled to such an extent that it’d cover the entire floor and burn through his leg.

Might be one way out, he thought grimly.

He bent down carefully and tried to heave the beam up, gripping it by the edges, but it was too heavy for him to move. Then it occurred to him… of course, the radio! He pulled it free of the belt pouch and pressed the transmitter button, bringing the receiver to his lips… nothing. No squelch, no sound, not even static. He shook it and heard parts rattle inside. The case had cracked when he got trapped earlier.

“Seriously? Can I catch at least one damned break today?”

The mother ship rattled as something struck the hull, sending a loud booming noise throughout. It came again, this time making him reach out to grab the panel in order to keep his balance.

Two more booms and the shaking of the hull and he realized what it was: gunfire. There must have been reinforcements turn up.

Debris and fragments of metal sheeting fell through the hole above as the onslaught continued. Mike gritted his teeth and heaved again, trying to free his left leg. The pain gripped his throat. His body tried to shut down in order to deal with the agony. But still the beam wouldn’t budge.

“Help!” Mike yelled at the top of his voice, hoping someone would hear, but with the sound of another battle going on outside, he doubted it, and if that damned alien hadn’t betrayed him and ran off, he might be able to help.

Seeing his friend crushed with the beam was probably the last straw.

This was why no one should trust the aliens—even the ones that appeared friendly. Integrated into Unity or not, this proved they cared not one bit about humanity.

Slumping against the wall, he resigned himself once again that this was perhaps his last action.

But like last time, the shadows from the access point shifted, and there was Blinky, crawling out of the narrow space and carrying… what was that? A pole.

“Hey,” Mike said, pointing to his leg. “Help me? I have the part. We need to go before the ceiling caves in.”

Blinky blinked, taking in the scene. A sad expression came over his face when he looked upon his fallen friend. But as quickly as the look came, it faded away, replaced by one that Mike thought was determination.

The little alien scrambled off the ledge, being careful not to stand in a pool of acid or walk into one of the falling streams. He dragged a piece of debris, a meter cubed or so, and used it as a pivot for the two-meter-long pole. Jamming it into a space beneath the beam, the alien heaved.

At first it didn’t budge.

Mike secured the part, bent down, and helped to lift the beam as Blinky pushed down on the lever. The beam shifted. A rush of hope and relief flooded Mike as he pulled his leg out. He shouted with triumph, but it was clear the ankle was badly sprained, if not broken. He could barely put his weight on it.

“Go,” Blinky said, pointing to the exit. “We go.”

“Yeah, we do, thanks, little guy.”

Using the pole as a walking stick to take the weight off his leg, Mike and Blinky made their way back through the maze of the wreckage. This time, Mike didn’t take much notice of the alien tech, the materials, or even the dead.

With the ship creaking and groaning, pieces falling, and fires raging, all that mattered was getting out alive.

Together, they helped each other through tight corridors and up and over obstacles. A good fifteen minutes later, Mike saw an exit point to the outside. The sounds of gunfire had stopped.

Walking out of the shipwreck, Mike squinted against the noon sun. Maria and Charlie rushed over to him, propping him up. The little alien just scampered for the harvester. At least they managed to bring it over and he wouldn’t have to walk back through the forest. Mike noticed three croatoan fighters tied up outside of the shipwreck. Denver stood over them, pointing his alien rifle down.

“Bit of extra resistance?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, something like that,” Charlie said. “What happened to your leg?”

“Ankle got trapped under a beam. Grumpy didn’t make it, but Blinky, surprisingly, saved the day. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

Charlie looked back at the alien climbing inside the harvester.

“Gives us some hope, eh?” Mike added as Charlie and Maria helped him toward the vehicle.

“What do you mean?” Maria asked.

“That they could potentially be trusted.”

Denver overheard and shook his head. “Like these, you mean?”

“I don’t know, buddy, all I know is that Blinky saved my ass. He didn’t have to. He could have taken the part from me and left me to die in there like his pal.”

“You got the part okay?” Charlie asked.

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?”

“The croatoans panicked after we lost comms, and killed the livestock. We were attacked this morning, again.” She pointed to the warehouse crackling with flames. “And they torched it. We killed most and are sweeping the forest for any others.”

The team sounded organized and still had fight in them. A good thing if he was to serve a generous portion of future justice to Unity. Augustus removed the robe from his face, turned to Zoe and smiled, flashing his yellow teeth. She opened her mouth and took a step back.

He strode across to the surveyor building, the one that childish fool Gregor used to call the chocolate factory, as purposefully as his old limbs would allow. “I’m here to discuss reorganization and future strategy. Open the door.”

Zoe’s expression softened, as if a wave of relief had just washed over her. She pressed against the handle, and Augustus entered into the gloom.

Eight surveyors and a driver sat around a large pile of root at the back of the building. Not the slick operation that this building used to be. Normally, they busied themselves around the front table, checking samples, punching things into their computers, and studying readings. He didn’t blame them for sheltering; the arena proved how useless they were at fighting.

“Take a seat. I’ll bring you some wine,” Zoe said.

Augustus perched behind a small desk in one of the side offices. He pulled the black prism from his chest and rolled it in his fingers. There was no chance that Hagellan poisoned this place. The fat toad sounded too busy trying to achieve the impossible with a bunch of dregs.

Zoe placed a plastic cup of orange wine in front of him and sat opposite.

He took three large gulps and groaned at the tingly feeling in his extremities. “As you may be aware, the ships went down four weeks ago—”

“An alien came here three weeks ago and told us. It went to join a larger force in the south.”

Augustus raised his eyebrows. “Larger force? Any idea of the exact location?”

She shook her head. “No. But we planned to leave in a couple of days. Supplies are running out, and the attacks are coming more frequently. They want to secure a large area of root, create a stronghold, and wait for instruction from the council.”

His pulse quickened. That council member could be him. He could pick up a readymade army and conquer Unity.

The doors flew open and two croatoan guards hopped into the building. They headed straight for the office and stood at the door. One, with human blood spattered on its visor, excitedly clicked and held its weapon forward. Not aiming at Augustus, but loosely enough in his direction to unnerve him. They were all probably in a state of total confusion.

“Augustus,” it croaked.

He rose from the chair and straightened his robe. An air of authority would be needed to pull things into shape, and only one man on the planet could do it. He turned to Zoe. “Do either of these speak English?”

“Not very well. One of the surveyors does.”

“It can act as my translator. Assemble the team around the table. I need to address the group.”

Augustus didn’t want anything to get lost in his message. His croatoan was basic. Zoe disappeared through the door, and he heard her barking instructions outside.

He moved to the front of the building, found a sturdy chair next to the front table, and stood on top of it. The surveyors and driver surrounded him in a semicircle. Three more guards entered, and the five of them stood behind the rest. Zoe joined the end of the line with a scruffy urchin dressed in filthy blue jeans and vest and sporting an unkempt beard. Sixteen witnesses in all would hear a speech that would signal the beginning of an empire. One that would travel through the centuries as a watershed moment.

The small surveyor waddled forward and stood next to his chair.

Augustus cleared his throat. “Ladies, gentlemen and croatoans. A town in the north threatens our very existence. They want all resources for themselves and will kill us all to make their dreams come true.”

He paused and the surveyor translated. The warehouse echoed with quiet clicks. The urchin whispered something to Zoe.

“They place humans and croatoans in an arena to fight for their own entertainment,” he continued. “Species isn’t important. They only crave seeing yellow or red blood spilled on the dirt.”

The surveyor clicked more rapidly, waving a gloved hand above its helmet.

“With the ships gone, we have to rebuild with what we have. Create a society where we can live together without the fear of attack. A society with law and order, where crimes will not go unpunished. To do this, we must head south, gather an army, and destroy the danger in the north.”

After the translation, the guards talked amongst themselves for a brief moment before looking back at Augustus. He peered along the line of helmets, smiling, nodding his head. “You are the chosen few. The ones that will be remembered in history books. If a croatoan ship returns, they will thank us. If one doesn’t, we will create a new golden era for this planet.”

The little surveyor relayed the final part of his great speech. One alien at the end of the line replied. Augustus leaned down. “What did he say?”

“They’re with you,” the surveyor said.

Augustus took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and smiled. “We have no time to waste. Prepare for travel.”

He jumped from his chair and headed for the pile of root. The wheels were set in motion. Unity would be crushed, and no pompous old woman or ragtag force would stop his well-drilled army.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Denver yawned. Golden dawn light warmed his eyelids. He turned over and rolled into the warm body of… he opened his eyes.

Maria.

Of course. She’d stayed here when they had returned from the shipwreck.

Temporary amnesia faded. Memories, obscured by sleep and nebulous dreams, sharpened into focus.

They were in their shack on the hills of Unity. Beside his bed was the dark case containing the bomb they’d picked up from Mai late yesterday evening.

Muted snoring susurrated through the thin walls. He knew that particular sleep-song belonged to his dad—the soundtrack of fatigue and a day’s good work.

Maria’s breathing came in steady lapping tides, warming his shoulder. She had her knees up to her chest, her arms around the sagging pillow.

A stray lock of hair had fallen across her face and flittered with each exhalation.

The filtered glow of the room brought vitality to her face.

For such a long time she had appeared, on the surface, to be at peace.

Lately, over the last few weeks, she had seemed to be struggling with some inner torment.

Denver had tried a few times to ask her what was going on, but she wouldn’t open up, and he didn’t have the words or skill to pick that particular lock.

Because she had just gotten on with things, he supposed they had all taken for granted how well she was coping.

Beneath the exterior of strength, there lay an insidious weakness. He reached a hand over to draw the hair from her face.

She stirred and brought her hand up touching Denver’s. She opened her eyes lazily and froze as their gazes locked onto each other.

Her body stiffened. She eased away. “Oh, hey,” she said. “Um, morning.”

Denver pulled his hand away and sat up in the bed, letting the blanket fall. Maria clutched it to her body.

“I’m sorry,” Denver said. “I didn’t mean to wake you… I just, well, how are you feeling?”

Maria yawned. “Weird… I need to talk to you. It’s about Hagellan. He can’t be trusted.”

A sharp rap on the door interrupted them. “Come on, kiddos, we got work to do.”

“Be right there, Dad,” said Denver. Then to Maria: “Sorry, we’ll talk, let’s just get this out of the way first.”

“Okay,” Maria said. “But it’s important.”

* * *

Mike and Charlie sat around the rickety coffee table, the salvaged parts spread out on the surface. A croatoan engineer garbled in broken English as it and Mike discussed the next stage of the operation.

Maria stepped out from behind Denver and greeted the others, the veneer of calm now fully in place. A practiced phenotype designed to act as camouflage.

Charlie gave Denver a knowing look with a micro-expression raise of his eyebrow. Denver shook his head a few millimeters, indicating that, no, he didn’t sleep with Maria. He caught a hint of disappointment in his father’s face. Denver wasn’t stupid; he knew his dad would prefer him to be with Maria instead of Layla, but right now, that issue wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

Mike stood and gathered the parts. “So this is it. If these work as well as my new friend here thinks, we should be good to go later today.”

“We go,” the alien said, tugging on Mike’s sleeve.

“We’ll catch up with your progress later,” Charlie said, striding across the room and opening the door for him. The guard outside gave a curt nod.

“Okay,” Mike said, looking weary as though he’d been up all night going through the installation process with his alien counterpart. “Proof is in the pudding and all that. Let’s hope all this works out.”

“With you on the case, Mike, I have no doubt,” Denver said, clapping the man he thought of as his uncle on the shoulder. If anyone had the ability to do this, it was Mike. Growing up, Denver had seen him do some spectacular things with the remnants of human technology and engineering.

The alien stepped outside, and Mike followed, carrying the bundle of parts. The guard escorted them. Denver watched from the open door as they descended the steps and headed for Hagellan’s craft. Apparently they’d towed it to Unity with a harvester last night. They weren’t messing around either.

Aimee approached from the direction of town, flanked by two shotgun-wielding croatoans.

“Great, what’s this?” Denver said.

Charlie stepped in front of him and met Aimee before she reached the porch.

“We got the parts,” Charlie said. “And the bomb. All is going to plan.”

“Good to hear,” Aimee replied, stopping a few feet away. Her guards hung back and covered their flanks and rear, their body language showing a high level of alertness. “I need to speak with you for a moment, in private.”

“I take it this is non-negotiable.”

“Quite.”

Charlie hesitated for a moment before Aimee stepped forward and gripped his arm with her elegant hand. “It’s okay, nothing serious, but I do need you to come with me for a moment. You’ll be back on the job in no time, I promise.”

Charlie turned back to face Denver in the doorway.

“You two okay staying here for a while?”

“Sure,” Denver said. It’d give him and Maria time to talk after all. “But I’ll come find you if you’re not back soon.”

He aimed that at Aimee as a warning. She inclined her head as if to understand the threat.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Charlie said. “I’ll see you kids later.”

Aimee turned and encouraged Charlie to her side. The two guards led them away.

Denver knew she and the guards wouldn’t know he was carrying a pistol in a lower back holster, or that he had two knives below his trousers strapped around his calves.

Once they were out of sight among the sprawl of the town, Denver closed the door behind him and sat opposite Maria.

She had a pot of root tea on the table and filled two mugs. She handed one to Denver with a smile.

“Thanks, I could really do with this with the exertion yesterday,” Denver said, knowing how lame that sounded, but needing a way into the conversation without being his usual blunt self.

The two of them sipped the root tea for a moment, sharing an easy silence as the root helped calm them, rejuvenating their tired muscles.

“So,” Maria said, looking down into her now-empty mug. “I think I know who I’m cloned from.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been having flashbacks for the last few days, and dreams… so real I thought none of this was real and the dreams were my actual reality. With meeting another clone, I think it’s shaken something loose up here.” She tapped her head.

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s all connected. We’re connected, through time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Roanoke,” she said. “I was there.”

“You what?”

Maria leaned forward, placing the mug on the table. “The real Maria, the one I’m cloned from, was there at Roanoke—and the aliens.”

“One thing at a time, tell me what you’ve seen.”

* * *

Roanoke, 1589

Maria lifted her skirts and stepped over a muddy puddle. The heat in this infernal place was thick and humid, making her sweat uncomfortably. The dense trees made it hard going. Up ahead, Franklin and Edgar slashed at the trees with their machetes, beating a path through the woods.

Behind her, she could just about see the mast of their ship, now wrecked against the rocks of the island.

With the local Croatoan tribe of Indians forcing them from their garrison, they had little choice but to carry on north. The plan was to meet and seek sanctuary with the rival Chowanoke tribe, offering their knowledge of the Old World in return for safety.

If only Walter Raleigh’s imbecilic friend John White had returned with more men and supplies when he had promised, they could have avoided all this.

If the earlier colonists hadn’t antagonized the local tribes over a missing silver cup, then negotiations of cohabitation could have been an option. One cannot sack and burn a village and not expect reprisals.

Now there was only certain death or become a slave to the Croatoan Indians if their appeal to the Chowanoke leader failed, which it seemed certain to do.

Only one hundred and fifteen of Maria’s fellow colonists were left to fend off the tribes. Hungry and under resourced, they were unable to resist.

This New World was not worth the blood and sacrifice. She regretted ever having agreed to come here. All the promises of wealth and riches were now nothing more than lies.

Maria stepped forward into the clearing to join Franklin and Edgar.

“I see smoke,” Franklin said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. His dark hair was slick with sweat and humidity. He’d removed his shirt. His muscles looked knotted between his bones.

They were getting weaker. She had seen it herself, her ribs showing through her sagging skin. Potatoes and the odd crab caught on the coast were not enough to sustain them since the destruction of their colony.

Those who weren’t killed by the tribes had agreed to integrate.

As slaves.

But Maria’s best friend, Elizabeth, had escaped, telling her tales of devil worship and satanic beasts. The rest of the colonists were taken away to Roanoke Island, across the sound.

Sometimes, at night, Maria heard screams and cries on the wind and couldn’t entirely rationalize them as coming from the local fauna or the tribespeople.

“This is madness,” Maria said. “No good can come of this. We should seek a place far from here, seek out a trader or privateer and get word back to England.”

“It’s far too late for that now,” Edgar said, his jowls wobbling. His fever was getting worse. Hair slicked against his face, which had taken on a grave pallor.

“Someone’s coming,” Franklin said, backing away.

Across the clearing the trees were swaying.

Footsteps and snapping branches came from all around them.

“The Croatoans,” Maria said. “They must have found Elizabeth’s body and tracked us here.”

Spinning around with panic, Maria realized they were trapped, entirely surrounded and no way out. This was it, then—the end of this infernal adventure. Despite her heart racing, a part of her welcomed this. It had been such a struggle for so long. White wasn’t returning. Raleigh had forsaken them.

Ahead of the clearing, the trees parted and four figures stepped out.

“The devils!” Maria screamed when she saw them.

They weren’t human. The figures walked upright but with satyr legs. Their faces were large and resembled turtles. They made strange clicking noises and were armed with weapons that only vaguely resembled dueling pistols, only much larger and carried with two arms.

Before Maria could run, a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind.

Franklin and Edgar too were caught, and no amount of screaming or thrashing could dissuade the beasts from dragging them away.

* * *

Maria wiped the tears from her eyes and sat back on the sofa. Denver moved to sit next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not you, even if you have the memories.”

“They… did things to them. Once they were taken to Roanoke Island,” Maria said, gathering her composure. “The tribespeople known as the Croatoans were just simple Indians. They didn’t understand what was happening. They thought the aliens were gods.”

“At least we now know what happened to all those poor colonists,” Denver said. “My dad will want to know this.”

“Of course,” Maria said, “I want him to know all this. There were a dozen of us colonists strapped to their operating tables, their engineers prodding and testing us, pumping us full of drugs.”

Maria leaned into Denver, resting her face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. “I promise,” he said. “They’ll pay for everything they’ve done.”

“You can’t trust them,” Maria said. “No matter what they say or try to prove, they cannot be trusted. They’re evil, Den, truly.”

“Which is all the more reason I have to see this through.”

He had the bomb and he had his dad. Whatever plan Hagellan had in mind, they were two factors that would be beyond his reckoning.

Maria looked up at him. “Promise me you’ll come back. Somehow… just come back.”

He couldn’t mean it, as he didn’t believe he would be coming back, but he promised anyway, wanting to give her something to believe in. They sat there together in each other’s arms as they waited for Charlie’s return and the start of the end.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Aimee walked by Charlie’s side. She moved gracefully along the main dirt road through Unity, her green silk dress gently flapping in the cool breeze.

Two miserable-looking men guarded their flanks, carrying bolt-action rifles with wooden stocks.

The stalls lining the main route were a hive of activity, just like when he was first dragged through by his neck.

Aimee gently grabbed his arm and pulled him to the left. “We’re going to the arena. This way.”

She led him around the thick stone wall that surrounded and protected her residence, toward the concrete-constructed stadium.

A few people and croatoans stood around a stall outside, trading items for cooked meat. The faint buzz of a crowd noise drifted over.

Charlie frowned. “What the hell’s going on? I’m not interested in seeing your entertainment.” He had other things to worry about, like the ship’s preparation. All this was just getting in the way of the plans, but at least Mike was there handling things.

“You might be when you see who’s fighting.”

“And who might that be?”

“Your treacherous friend Gregor. He came to attack me and killed Baliska. He’s also the reason Augustus escaped.”

Charlie stopped.

Unity had its own strange laws and practices, but he wouldn’t be a party to them. As much as he hated Gregor, and still suspected him of killing Pippa, he did help bring down the mother and terraform ships and was one of only a few pre-apocalypse survivors left on the ground.

“Let me talk to him. I’ll tell him to leave and never return,” Charlie said, not quite believing that he was standing up for Gregor. “He deserves a chance.”

Aimee let out a deep breath. “How many chances does that man need? I have already given him one that he didn’t deserve, and look how he repaid me? He has fallen foul of our laws and will be judged in the arena.”

“Just do this favor for me, please?”

“You can’t stop it, Charlie. This is one of the most serious offences we have seen in Unity. People have been put to death for far less. What kind of message do you think I will be sending out if I give him clemency?”

She raised her dress a couple of inches and splashed through a shallow muddy puddle. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his temples.

The gangster’s actions had sealed his fate, and Charlie couldn’t risk his life and compromise the mission by trying anything heroically and pointlessly stupid. He sighed and resigned himself to the fact that this was the world he now lived in, but he wouldn’t be one of the bawling voyeurs on the arena steps.

He just wanted to get it over with and then help with the ship.

A guard jabbed his muzzle into Charlie’s shoulder. “This isn’t an invite you can refuse. Pass on what you see to the other new arrivals. Let them know the price of disloyalty.”

Aimee turned and gestured him forward. “It’s politics. The town will see that you and your friends are with me and not aligned to his actions.”

Charlie slammed his heel into the wall, shook his head, and followed Aimee toward the bloodthirsty congregation.

* * *

Gregor’s eyes fluttered open. Cold water dripped from his head, joining the dry specks of his own blood on the stone floor. A guard stood over him, holding a metal bucket. The bastard laughed and threw it into the corner of the cell.

He grabbed a clump of Gregor’s hair and ripped his head back. “Showtime in three minutes. Say your prayers, fuck-face.”

Gregor gathered the little saliva he had and spat. The guard grimaced and wiped his cheek. He leaned forward and swung his fist into Gregor’s ribs.

Inwardly, his whole body bloomed with pain. He sucked in a breath and coughed out spittle and blood. He refused to show signs of pain and smiled. “That the best you’ve got?”

Another guard entered and aimed a double-barreled shotgun at his face. The sound of a crowd cheering echoed along the corridor. He had seen the fighting area while being dragged to the cell.

They would not be entertained at his expense. He refused to go out on the terms of this shitty town.

Bucket guard unfastened his manacles and shoved him against the wall.

The other jerked his shotgun toward the arena. “You fuck around and I’ll blow your head off. This way.”

A sharp pain shot through Gregor’s right thigh as he tried to walk. He dropped to one knee, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. They would not get to see him like this.

He steadily rose, trying to push away the agony, and walked slowly toward the entrance of the fighting area, but couldn’t hide his limp.

Bucket guard followed. “Looks like he’s shit himself.”

The other laughed.

If Gregor got out of this alive, he would mash both of their faces with a jackhammer and have a great deal of pleasure doing it.

He reached the gate and clung to the bars. He didn’t have much energy left, and the effects of his last shot of root had evaporated a couple of hours ago.

One uniformed croatoan lay on the sandy surface outside. Another stood above it, holding a spear. Yellow blood dripped off the pointed head. It thrust the weapon down into its opponent’s chest, sending the crowd into a pleased rapture.

Two men appeared and carried the dead alien away. The winner looked up. Its cobalt blue visor glinted in the sun. The crowd fell silent, and a high-pitched voice addressed the alien before a guard led it away to a ripple of applause.

A broadsword and buckler landed at Gregor’s feet. He shook his head and looked outside.

Something sharp poked in his back. “Pick it up.”

Gregor looked to his side. “Fuck you.”

A boot slammed into his bad leg. He sank to the ground, hissed through his teeth, and clutched his thigh.

“I said, pick it up.”

Gregor grabbed the sword and spun. The blade sliced through the air and clanked against the stone wall to his side.

Both guards had retreated several yards. One aimed the shotgun at his face.

Bucket laughed. “You must think we were born yesterday?”

Gregor jabbed a finger at him. “When I get out of this, I promise you one thing—”

A bolt screeched along its latch. The gate behind him yawned open.

“You’re up next,” a croaky voice said. “Come out nice and slow and face Aimee.”

Gregor kept his focus on the two internal guards. Both needed to be taught a lesson.

Powerful hands grabbed both of his shoulders and dragged him back, threw him down on the filthy surface and dropped the sword next to him.

He scrambled to a crouch, shielded his eyes from the sun, and looked around.

Hundreds of people and aliens stood on steps above a wall surrounding the fighting surface. Watching him. Aimee sat on a high chair in a sectioned-off area. She casually wafted a fan in front of her face.

Charlie Jackson sat next to her. He looked away when Gregor attempted eye contact. Coward.

A squat man dressed in a brown jumpsuit rose from his chair. The crowd’s buzz of anticipation fell silent.

Gregor used the sword to haul himself up. He limped to below the sectioned-off area and pointed the tip of the blade at Aimee, then Charlie. “You’re next, bitch. Then you, Judas Jackson. I’ll cut your throat from ear to ear.”

The collective gasp that followed provided some small comfort. Aimee covered her face with the fan; Jackson continued to look away. Gregor considered throwing the sword at him. How could he sit there and watch him being butchered by an alien?

“People of Unity,” the squat man said, “for thirty years our town has been a beating heart of human and croatoan peace and friendship. We have become the shining beacon in this dark world.”

Gregor laughed as loudly as he could. Defiance welled up inside him. They would not dictate proceedings. “You idiots.”

The squat man turned to Aimee. She relaxed back in her chair and casually gestured for him to continue.

“This man wanted to kill our leader and destroy Unity. He does Augustus the traitor’s bidding. We will crush our foes to maintain our freedom.”

A quiet round of applause and clicks followed.

If they wanted a show, Gregor would give them one. He pointed his sword at Charlie. “Did I ever tell you how much I enjoyed strangling your beloved Pippa?”

Charlie’s head snapped around, and he focused on Gregor.

Gregor smiled. “That’s right. Now I’ve got your attention. I squeezed the life out of her with my bare hands and loved every minute of it. You should have seen her face.”

Jackson’s face contorted into a grimace, and he bolted up from his chair.

* * *

Charlie felt a surge of anger and balled his fists. Gregor confirmed what he’d suspected for nearly three decades. He’d killed Charlie’s ray of light, Pippa.

The woman who had nurtured him at Quatenary Productions all those years ago and survived with him during the early part of the invasion.

He’d found her dead in a cave, with marks around her neck, leaving him alone and heartbroken until he found Denver. Gregor’s gang had already hooked up with the aliens, although they didn’t tell Charlie back then. They’d pretended to be survivors until their farm had been constructed. Gregor had been the prime suspect. He’d constantly had his eye on Pippa.

Charlie swiped the fan away from Aimee’s face. Two guards stepped toward him and aimed at point-blank range. “Let me fight him to get both of us justice.”

“I’m not risking the mission. You stay here and watch. We’ve brought out a retired champion to deal with Gregor. He hasn’t got a chance.”

“No, he’s mine.” Charlie’s body trembled, and he took a couple of breaths. “Screw the mission.” The others would just have to wait a short while for him. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Before Aimee could respond, he leapt across to the edge of the viewing platform, slid down the rough wall to the fighting area, and briefly dangled to weigh up the size of the drop.

Two yards.

Charlie’s boots thudded against the dirt, and he turned to face Gregor.

“Guards, guards!” he heard Aimee shout.

Gregor limped toward him, using the sword as a walking stick. “We always knew it would come to this, Charlie. Get armed and let’s do it.”

Charlie scowled at him. “I always knew it. You piece of shit.”

The internal gate creaked open and two men ran out. One aimed at Gregor; the other reached within five yards of Charlie. “You need to come with me.”

“Tell your boss that all bets are off unless she lets me do this.”

The guard jerked his rifle toward the gate. “Get moving or I shoot.”

Charlie groaned. “If you shoot, you’ll end up in here fighting a turtle. I’m too important to your boss.”

“Move your ass. Now.”

“No,” Charlie said and firmly waved him away.

The guard glanced up at Aimee and returned through the gate. A hushed silence filled the arena, only punctuated with an occasional cough or click.

He eyeballed Gregor again. Blood crusted the gangster’s light blue shirt, and he winced with every movement. They must have given him a beating in the cells, and he would also be starved of root.

“About time you showed balls again,” Gregor said.

Charlie narrowed his eyes. “You bastard.”

He remembered Pippa running into their office, bursting with excitement about finding a strange blue bead. Nothing would take the smile off her face. He thought he would spend the rest of his life with her. Gregor took her away.

“Very well,” Aimee called down. “You have your wish, but don’t be surprised if we shoot him.”

A guard next to her threw down a broadsword. It spun in the air and landed in the dirt with a thump, close to Charlie’s boots. He picked it up in a two-handed grip and raised it in front of his chest. The thing felt heavy but manageable, especially against a man in Gregor’s state.

Gregor screwed up his face and held his sword above his head. “Come on, then.”

Charlie growled, ran at him and swung. Gregor brought his sword forward to fend off the blow, and their blades clanked together. Charlie pulled back for another swing. Gregor staggered back and clutched his thigh.

Seeing Charlie advance, he raised his sword in a one-handed grip to deflect the blow again. That wouldn’t be good enough this time.

Charlie’s thrust rammed Gregor’s sword into the side of his own head. He snarled and dropped to one knee. Blood ran from a deep cut on the side of his head. The crowd roared.

The sword fell out of Gregor’s shaking hand. He squinted at Charlie through bloodshot eyes. “Don’t entertain them. Finish it.”

For a brief moment, Charlie felt sorry for him. Those thoughts were quickly pushed aside by an image of Pippa’s cold body in that cave.

“This is for Pippa,” Charlie said.

He tightened his grip, lunged forward, and thrust the blade through Gregor’s chest.

Gregor gasped and stared into Charlie’s eyes. A thick stream of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

Charlie pulled the blade free and crouched in front of him. “Why did you do it, Gregor?”

“I’m… glad it was… you,” he said in a quiet voice.

Charlie frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He coughed, blood rolling down his chin. “Didn’t want it to be those…”

“It was you. I know it. You didn’t say those things to avoid being killed by an alien.” But Charlie saw the truth in Gregor’s eyes and knew then that he hadn’t killed Pippa. All this was just to get him to be the one to end his life.

Gregor smiled, blood glistening in the cracks of his rotten teeth. His eyes glazed over, and he lifelessly slumped to his side.

Charlie looked up to the silenced crowd and roared with anguish.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Mike wiped sweat from his face and tightened the restraining bolt with one last push on the wrench. He leaned up, squinting with the pain in his ankle and back.

To quote Danny Glover, he was most definitely getting too old for this shit.

Despite the warm evening sun outside, the light didn’t filter this deep into Hagellan’s craft.

Low blue lights glowed from small strips overhead. This area, the engine management control room, was barely a hundred square feet.

With the company of two of the small engineers and their equipment to fit the parts, the room soon became difficult to maneuver within.

Behind him, the two aliens were busy diagnosing the electrical system. Through broken English they had explained that the new parts they had recovered from the mother ship needed calibrating to work with this craft’s different capacity requirements.

Although he couldn’t access the engines directly, Mike had seen parts of it through the conduits and access panels while replacing the damaged parts. The aliens weren’t too keen on explaining their tech and avoided most of his questions, but he made out that the power source was some kind of antimatter material.

To him, and most of humanity, that was one of the Holy Grails of power supply, yet despite being within his grasp, he had no opportunity to study it further. But then, he thought about the mother ship. If this craft did work and Hagellan and the others left, he’d decided he would go back to the shipwreck and do some more technological archeology.

Aside from the power supply, he had ascertained the engine was fitted with a hyperdrive component allowing it to ‘jump.’ Although he was told this was only small distances, their idea of small was vastly different to his own.

The planet with the jump gate was still over ten light-years away. Or three parsecs. Given that using a regular nuclear-fuelled power source would take approximately twenty thousand years to get to the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, the location of this planet was over twice the distance.

Given the size of the craft, just twenty meters long and shaped like a dart, the antimatter power source must have an incredible power-to-size ratio.

This would give them just one jump, however.

And as far as he could understand the alien’s explanation, the engine created a temporary quantum bridge allowing almost instantaneous travel through the field of quantum-entangled particles to the planet.

They would effectively be travelling through time.

Which, of course, made him realize that if they were to return in the same manner, they would actually return before they set off. The paradox itched at the back of his mind. Somehow the aliens had found a way to counter this. Perhaps the quantum bridge somehow avoided the time issue by doing something with dimensions.

Whatever the case, he’d have plenty of time to research this once this mission was up and running.

“We go, now,” one of the engineers said, lifting up its tablet-like device and heading for the ladder that led up out of the maintenance room. “All fixed.”

“Are you sure?” Mike asked.

The alien blinked and held up the tablet to show him a set of graphs. “Acceptable tolerances. New parts calibrated.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mike said. “What now?”

“Test flight.”

* * *

Mike hid his revulsion of Hagellan as the elder alien shuffled his mass into the open bridge by climbing up the ladder. The alien leader sat in the large chair situated in the center of the bridge and brought together the straps.

Mike was in a seat next him and facing upwards as though he were lying on his back due to the craft’s upright position within the earth, the nose of it pointing up at an eighty-degree angle. Behind him, strapped into a pair of upright stools, the two engineering aliens gripped their tablets.

Hagellan turned to face Mike, wearing an expression Mike thought was mirth. “Ready, human?” Hagellan said.

“As I’ll ever be. Though I don’t know why you insisted on me being here. I don’t know your tech or how to fly this thing.”

“Consider it a gift,” Hagellan said. “A free demonstration of our technology.”

“Right.” Mike didn’t know if he was being sincere or mocking him. “There’s just one question I have, this planet, Tredeya, what’s the atmosphere like? Also, how are Charlie, Denver, and Layla to breathe on the way there?”

“We have full atmospheric simulations on this craft,” he said. “And air tanks to last six months for four humans. The atmosphere on the planet is close to that of Earth’s, so that like my kind here, humans will only need a small apparatus to modify the air. They won’t be the first humans we have taken to Tredeya.”

Mike wanted to know a little more about that revelation, but Hagellan clicked at the engineers, and the conversation was over.

A central podium rose out of the floor in front of Hagellan, and overhead blue strip lights switched on, bathing the bridge in cool blue light.

A rumble flowed through the ship and up through Mike’s legs and arms that clutched at the seat. Mike was never a fan of flying on commercial aircraft, much less an antimatter-powered quantum alien ship.

Still, a part of him, his unending curiosity, reached beyond the primal fear that prickled at the back of his neck and the cold sinking feeling in his guts. He had to remind himself that he was in a position that no other human before had been in.

Putting aside his feelings of the aliens for a moment and focusing on the small details, Mike determined he’d record as much as possible for Charlie and Denver’s benefit.

The rumble continued to shudder through the hull. A high-pitched whine, coming from somewhere deep in the ship, joined the low bass notes. Together, these two tones combined to form the soundtrack of an alien propulsion system that made the hairs on Mike’s arms stand on end and goose bumps break out on his skin.

Hagellan ran his gnarled hand over the podium.

A holographic control cube popped up and displayed a series of alien glyphs and symbols that Mike didn’t recognize.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

“Sending the jump gate a message,” Hagellan said, his voice low and rumbling, the sound of which matched the warble of the engine.

“What kind of message?”

“Docking procedure. To ensure it hasn’t been compromised yet.”

“How long will it take to get a response?”

“Thirty of your human minutes. Via the tachyon transmitter.”

Hagellan reverted his attention to the holocube and manipulated the symbols before pressing what Mike considered as a kind of send button. The cube flashed once, and the display changed, showing a 3D landscape, presumably of the surrounding area.

The two aliens behind Mike chattered something, and a five-meter or so wraparound screen at the front of the bridge switched on, showing an ultra-high-definition image of the sky.

After further manipulation of the holocube, the image split into three. The central panel displayed a frontal view, and the two on either side displayed the view from port and starboard. Hagellan adjusted the magnification and grunted. He brought both of his hands to the holocube, hovering his palms over its surface like some kind of alien magician.

And then they were moving.

Slowly at first, the craft easing up from its buried position. Dirt and rubble clattered down the sides of the dart-shaped ship as it continued to rise, inch by inch.

“Well?” Mike said, raising his voice over the sound. “All’s working well with the new parts?”

“You’ve done well,” Hagellan said with a nodding gesture.

He manipulated the controls, and the ship shuddered as though some kind of secondary engine kicked in. It rose faster now, and through the screens, Mike saw the township of Unity slink away, the horizon dropping below the view so that the pink and orange evening sky filled the displays.

His guts flip-flopped, reminding him of days at the carnival as a teenager, experiencing rides that would have never passed health and safety checks. But that was part of the thrill. They knew they were dangerous, but the thrill was too much to ignore.

Despite his feelings about the aliens and this mission as a whole, a smile spread across his face. First because of a job done well, and second because this was just so damned awesome. He was flying in a bona fide alien ship.

The ship leveled off to a horizontal position. An altimeter on the screen indicated they were three hundred meters off the ground, clear of trees or obstacles.

Hagellan made a sharp thrusting maneuver with his hands.

And the craft shot forward like a bullet from a gun.

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.”

Maria looked up at him with neutral eyes. “Charlie, in the arena,” she said, conveying little emotion. Layla had barely looked up at Denver. He wanted to go to her, but she seemed focused on Gregor’s shallow grave, her body tense and bent over.

Denver wondered if she did have more feelings for Gregor than she had previously let on. They certainly had history together on the farm, and before. Despite her misgivings of him, Denver could understand that she might, underneath it all, have some feelings of grief.

“You killed him?” Denver asked his father.

“Yeah. I had little choice. He wanted it.”

“And you didn’t? After everything he’s done. After what he did to—”

“He didn’t,” Charlie said, turning to his son. “I saw it in his eyes at the end. It wasn’t him. He used it to make me end him. His time was coming, whether it was from my hand or one of Aimee’s pets. He goaded me, but in that final moment, I saw the truth in him. He didn’t kill Pippa.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Denver looked down at the shallow grave with a new vision. All this time, Gregor had been like the bogeyman. All those years when Denver and Charlie were raiding against the farm and the croatoans, all that time surviving out in the wilderness, Denver had pictured Gregor as this great evil. Charlie’s nemesis.

Denver’s nemesis.

And yet, now, he was just another body in the ground. Another victim of the new world, the new struggle.

“We were more alike than I realized,” Charlie said.

“No,” Layla interjected, her first words since Denver had arrived. “You two were nothing alike. So what, he wasn’t your great enemy that you thought, but he had few redeeming qualities, and he won’t be missed.”

“He did help us take down the mother ship,” Charlie reminded her.

“And he also perpetuated enslaving humans on the farm for cattle,” Maria shot back.

“As did I,” Layla said. “What this shows us is that none of us are perfect. We’re a terribly flawed species, our own worst enemy. If there’s one thing the croatoans have shown us, it’s that we’re not terribly different to them. We’re all just animals doing our best to survive.”

The group fell silent. Denver tried to pay at least some respect to Gregor for the good things he did, but knew deep down, he was different, he was not a friend of humanity, despite him helping out against the aliens toward the end. One good deed doesn’t make up for a lifetime of evil.

“We need to go,” Denver said after a few minutes. “I’ve come to deliver a message from Mike. We’re leaving within the hour. There’s something wrong at the jump gate on Tredeya. Hagellan isn’t receiving the right kind of return message, and he’s lost track of the destroyer.”

“The old ship is ready to go?” Charlie asked, his voice grave.

“Yeah, you didn’t see it?”

“I did, looks good. I just hope it’s as good as it looks.”

“Time will tell,” Denver said. “And if not… there’s always the bomb.”

Maria made a small choking noise at that and looked up at Denver.

They shared a brief but intense expression before Layla caught Denver’s eye. He felt like a boy being caught stealing. He looked away from Maria and tried to smile, but Layla was already turning away.

She had seen the truth of it.

Denver wanted to go to her, assure her that he still felt the same for her, despite never really communicating what he did feel; that wasn’t something he’d ever really had the words for. He found it all so unnecessary, especially at this time, in these circumstances. It was a complication, too, for him when he didn’t understand what he felt or how to act on it. He was always just his own man, surviving in the wilderness, hunting with his father.

A part of him wished he could go back to that time. Go back to stalking deer or rabbits with his dog, eating by the fire at night, planning their next sabotage on the harvesters. Their life was simple then, their goals clear.

He knew he should go after Layla, but he remained where he stood, and that was really all he needed to know where his feelings lay.

“We shouldn’t wait around,” she said over her shoulder. “The mission’s too important for trivialities.”

Denver knew she was talking about him and Maria and cringed inside. He stepped over to the younger woman and reached out for her arm. “I’m sorry,” Denver said, “I didn’t mean for there to be any animosity between you two,” knowing that he was the target of some of that animosity now also.

Maria locked eyes with him and smiled gently. “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out when you come back.”

“If I come back,” Denver said.

“When, son,” Charlie added. “When. We’ll find a way. Now come on, there’s a job to be done. Maria, I’d like you to keep an eye on Mike and Mai while we’re gone. Make sure they don’t get up to anything stupid. Mike’s got that old glint in his eye again with all this new tech. I don’t want the old fool blowing himself up.”

“I’ll watch out for him,” Maria said with a smile. They turned their back on Gregor’s grave, having paid him the respects he probably didn’t deserve, and headed down the great steps of the basin towards the waiting dart of a ship, its pointed nose peeking out from behind a falling down old hut.

Charlie let Maria go ahead and he turned to Denver. “You know, as odd as it sounds, in some ways, I’m going to miss the crazy bastard,” he said, nodding his head back toward the grave.

“I understand,” Denver said. “But we’ve got new enemies now.”

“Talking of which, apparently Augustus has done a runner and skipped town. Hopefully that’ll be the last we see of him.”

“Just the croatoans to deal with now, and we’ll finally be able to retire in peace,” Denver said, watching Maria in front of him walk carefully down the steps. An image of him and her sharing a life bloomed very briefly in his mind until the sight of Hagellan’s repaired ship looming up as they rounded the hut extinguished it with the realities of the situation.

Mike and two small engineers were loading equipment onto the ship. Denver noticed the case containing the bomb in Mike’s hand. Hagellan was standing at the top of a loading ramp within the craft, directing operations. He saw Charlie and Denver arrive, and raised one of his ancient, gnarled hands in greeting.

He almost looked like an ally. But Denver wasn’t ruling anything out.

“I’ll go ahead and get settled,” Charlie said. “You say your goodbyes.” He inclined his head quickly in Maria’s direction before heading off to join Mike and the others loading the ship.

“So,” Maria said, standing by the side of the ramp, shadowed by the large dart-shaped hull. “This is it.”

“Yeah,” Denver said, moving from one foot to the other and trying to decide what to do with his hands. “I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he finally said.

“It’s okay. I understand. I wanted to thank you for listening to me earlier and not judging me. But I want you to remember it.” She hushed her voice. “He can’t be trusted.” Her eyes shifted up to look at Hagellan at the top of the ramp.

“I know, I’ll keep a close eye on him and will do whatever’s necessary.”

“I can trust you on that,” she said, moving closer to him. She stood just a few inches away now. He could smell her perfume, a bottle she had found back at the farm. It had a light, almost fruity scent. With her body close to his, she reached into a pocket of her jacket and pulled out a leather pouch the size of her palm. She placed it into his coat pocket.

“Just in case you need it, for injuries or something,” she said.

“What is it?” Denver asked, almost whispering now, sharing the conspiratorial moment.

“Refined root from the farm. It’s stronger than the usual stuff. Something I’ve been working on. If things get difficult or you get hurt, it’ll help.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it, though I hope not to use it.”

“Me too.”

They both stood there, inches from each other, wanting but not giving in. Until Denver leaned down and took her into a hug, pulling her in tight. “I will see you again,” he said close to her ear. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied with a smile in her voice.

“Okay, I ought to go,” Denver said, reluctantly releasing her from his embrace. “I’m not good at goodbyes.”

“Then don’t say it,” she said. “Let’s leave it at ‘see you later.’”

“Okay.” Denver hesitated and finally turned away and headed for the ramp. Layla stood at the top, her face reddened. She must have been watching the entire thing. She turned away and headed inside. Denver shook his head. That’s all he needed. This was why he’d always kept his emotions to himself.

Ignoring her ire, he reached the top of the ramp and turned to wave to Maria, but she was already gone, her form now small at the end of a narrow road. He watched her as she disappeared into the town and vowed that whatever happened, he’d return.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Charlie paused at the ship’s graphite-colored ramp. He considered whether this could be a trap. The moment they took off, Denver, Layla and he would be choked to death as the inside of the ship transformed to a croatoan-friendly atmosphere.

Mike edged out of the entrance, wearing a faded lime and brown striped sweater. He smoothed his shaggy gray hair away from his face. “You looked troubled, buddy?”

“You sure we’re okay on this thing?” Charlie said and looked along the length of the twenty-meter-long, cobalt blue vessel.

“I can’t give you one-hundred-percent confirmation, but I survived the test flight. Hagellan knows what he’s doing. Just make sure you keep an eye on him.”

Charlie had seen plenty of supply shuttles and croatoan fighters, but not one like this until it blasted over Unity earlier today. “What do they use these for?”

“High-level reconnaissance, like a spy plane. Hagellan told me they didn’t deploy many here. They’re mainly used for more densely populated planets.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “More densely populated than here?”

“Indeed. The mind boggles.” Mike held out a small black rectangle with an antennae protruding from the top. “The bomb is radio controlled. Hit the left switch to prime it, the right to let it rip. It’s got a mile range. If you have problems, there’s a manual detonation switch behind a guard on the casing.”

“I hope we don’t need the last option. Where’s the bomb?”

“Follow me. I’ll show you.”

Mike waddled back up the ramp and turned left after entering.

Charlie followed him into the gloom and up a ladder into the cockpit. A row of four basic-looking stools, with harnesses dangling above them, wrapped around the back of the cockpit. Two larger chairs, most likely for the pilots, were positioned in the middle of the cockpit. The windows were all shielded, but a light blue strip of lighting ran around the upper part of the area, providing ambient light. The thick air carried a croatoan fishy odor.

“Looks pretty basic in here,” Charlie said.

Mike smiled. “Just wait ’til you get going, amigo. You’ll be blown away.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Mike stooped and grunted. He reached under the stool on the far right and patted a black case. “Make sure you take this seat. You’ll be right on top of it.”

“How long have I got after flicking the switches?”

“Two seconds. I figured you needed a quick option.”

Smart planning from Mike. If things went downhill rapidly, Charlie didn’t want to give anyone a chance to deactivate the bomb.

Footsteps banged against the metal floor below, and the stair rungs clinked as somebody ascended. Hagellan’s bulbous head poked through the hatch. “Time to say goodbye to your friends. I’ll prepare for launch.”

It climbed into the cockpit and strapped itself into one of the pilot chairs.

Mike shuffled past Charlie and descended. He looked down the hatch at his old friend wheezing to the bottom. Over three decades and he hadn’t let him down once. Always carried out the work with a smile.

Mike glanced up. “You coming or what?”

“I’ve never been one for goodbyes. You know that. Just tell them I’ll be back.”

Mike leaned around the door and looked back up. “Aimee’s here. You should say farewell to Mai at least?”

Aimee meant nothing to Charlie. Mai did, but he’d said all he wanted to say to people on the ground. “You haven’t seen the last of me, Mike. Count on it.”

Mike smiled and shook his head. He climbed a few rungs up and extended his hand. Charlie leaned down and gave it a firm shake. “I don’t doubt it. You’re like a cat with nine lives,” Mike said.

A whirring noise distracted Charlie, and he looked over his shoulder. A podium smoothly rose from the floor in front of Hagellan, and high-definition screens around the cockpit flickered into life.

He glanced back down at Mike. “Looks like the show’s on the road. Tell the others to get their asses up here.”

Mike stared up at Charlie but didn’t say a word. He wiped his left eye. This was one of the reasons Charlie hated the farewells. Outside, this was probably happening on a larger scale. Two croatoans in gleaming uniforms nudged against Mike. One pointed to the ladder and clicked.

“Keep yourself out of trouble, Mike,” Charlie said.

Mike squeezed between the two aliens and peered up from the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, paused, lowered his head, and slipped back through the entrance.

The two aliens, visors glinting in the thin blue light, climbed the ladder. Charlie went back to his stool and tried to work out the harness.

“You would have made a good croatoan,” Hagellan said.

“And you would have made a good suitcase,” Charlie replied. The mere suggestion disgusted him and also told him that Hagellan didn’t have a clue about human thought process.

The first alien joined Hagellan by the controls and strapped itself in. The other approached Charlie and went to sit on the stool next to him.

Charlie pushed it away. “Sorry. That one’s reserved for Denver.”

It maintained its position and tried to sit down again. Hagellan let out a few rapid clicks, and all three aliens made a strange grunting noise. Were they laughing at him? Charlie wished he had a translation device. The croatoan in front of him shuffled across to the far stool, fastened its harness, and turned to look at him.

A green holographic cube appeared above the podium. Hagellan maneuvered it around and tapped its gloved hand against some of the symbols. The screens fizzed and cleared to show a brilliant two-hundred-and-seventy-degree view of the sky. The engines rumbled into life, and Charlie felt his whole body vibrate.

Denver appeared through the hatch. “What the hell is that?” He stared at the cube and glanced across to Charlie.

“Must be how he controls the thing. Everyone okay outside?”

Denver heaved himself up and sat next to Charlie. “I thought you might not come back out. Seemed to put Aimee’s nose out of joint.”

“Does she expect me to kiss her feet?”

“She said we were welcome back if we found a way home from Tredeya.”

Layla climbed through the hatch and looked at the final free stool between Denver and the croatoan.

“Thought I’d save you the seat next to the turtle,” Charlie said.

“Whatever, Charlie,” Layla said.

She gave Denver a disapproving look. He shrugged and gestured to the stool. “Looks like we’re going any minute now. Better buckle up.”

The engine noise grew louder. The ship shuddered. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Layla grasp Denver’s hand.

Hagellan twisted in his chair. “Now we go.”

It spun the holocube around and pressed several symbols. Charlie looked at the high-definition display on his right, showing a starboard view of outside. The ship jerked, like a plane hitting a spot of turbulence, and lifted from the ground. Seconds later, it picked up speed and powered toward the sky.

The g-force pinned Charlie in his seat. He watched through the window. Unity became a speck on the landscape.

As they climbed higher and higher, he viewed more of the continent. Huge areas of dark brown smoke covered hundreds of square miles. Hopefully where the remaining population had started burning the root fields. He still needed it to remain agile, but wouldn’t mourn its passing if it meant a planet clear of croatoans.

The ship violently rocked.

“Preparing to leave the atmosphere,” Hagellan said. “I’ll engage the jump drive to activate as soon as we get through.”

The rocking grew fierce. Charlie felt like he was inside a tennis ball being dragged quickly through a sack of stones. The force pulled his cheeks back, and a bolt of pain shot through his skull.

Denver and Layla both had their eyes tightly shut and clung to their harnesses.

Outside he could see the curvature of the Earth.

The planet looked like a giant blue and green marble smeared with thin light orange streaks. Charlie had seen footage from space and pictures on the Internet, but he never dreamed he would be here. He never wanted to be here. But now, he had to be here.

Just as he thought the ship would break up, for no other reason than their size compared to the violence of their ride, the rocking quickly subsided, replaced with a feeling of weightlessness and near silence, apart from the moaning engines.

Denver comforted Layla. The ordeal looked like it had nearly broken her.

“Still no communication with the gate on Tredeya, but systems are working,” Hagellan said. It clicked a few times, probably relaying the situation to its two cohorts.

“What does that mean?” Charlie said.

“We still go if you are ready?”

“What does it feel like?” Denver said.

Hagellan fiddled with the cube and held a stumpy thick finger over a circular symbol. “You won’t feel a thing. We’ll be there in five seconds.”

Charlie nodded. “Go for it.”

Hagellan swiped its finger across the button, and the holocube flashed three times.

A blinding flash of light filled the cockpit, accompanied with an almighty bang, like somebody had just thrown in a thunderflash grenade the size of a garbage can.

CHAPTER FORTY

Augustus leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, wallowing in the feeling of a root high as the compound replenished his body and cured his aches and pains.

While he enjoyed the numb feeling, his thoughts entered a kind of meditative state, allowing him to put into logical place the events of the last month and all of their ramifications.

A smile stretched across his face as he thought about the time at Unity.

For a moment, he had got caught up in their pathetic games, nearly lost oversight.

Despite Charlie Jackson’s attempts, Augustus was still here, still on plan, albeit in a more circuitous route than he had intended.

While the remaining croatoans were rounded up, thinking they were going to be part of a glorious colonization and defeat of their enemies to the north, he would have time to go back to his original orders.

His original plan.

With the original allies.

A laugh escaped from him now as he thought back to all the time he had spent with Hagellan and the council, learning their secrets, gaining their trust. At no point had they ever known. Pride washed over him at a job done well. Painting himself as this loyal but bumbling ex-emperor had worked perfectly.

The croatoans had proved as easy to manipulate as humans.

Just like his real masters said they would be.

His right hand reached to the three-inch-tall, black prism-shaped object in his pocket. He leaned forward, the smile easing from his face. With object in hand, he stood up and locked the door. From the window he saw Zoe busying about the paddocks, organizing the ranks of croatoans. How easy it had been to inspire confidence.

That was one of the croatoans major flaws: without their strong council leadership, the average alien had little mind of its own and little conviction. Which, of course, made them good drones, good fodder.

And easily defeatable with the right approach.

With his Rambo-esque antics, Charlie Jackson had actually done Augustus a favor by killing all but one of the council in the explosion. Although there were more councils presiding over other planets and other galactic territories, this one had the most to lose, the oldest members, and Earth was the most prized of all of their colonies.

The only downside to Charlie’s premature actions was that Earth hadn’t been terraformed. But for Augustus’ masters, that was but a minor issue.

The intel he had recovered was of more use.

Augustus closed the blinds, bringing the room into darkness. He sat behind the desk and placed the prism on the top and squeezed the sides until it clicked. A small motor inside whirred. The point of the prism rose up half an inch, exposing a shimmering crystal-like cube inside.

A beam of light came from the crystal, creating a holographic keyboard with alien characters on the keys upon the wooden surface of the desk.

From the drawer, Augustus removed one of the farm’s communication radios. Although the croatoan system was down, it would still transmit, and the signals weren’t intended for an earthly recipient anyway.

Augustus tuned the radio to the given frequency and placed the transceiver next to the prism device. The transceiver crackled as the prism paired to its electronics. The creators of the prism had told him that a true life force existed inside, hence why it could connect to almost any electronic device. The damned thing was intelligent.

Given what he had seen in those early days, he didn’t doubt it.

The hairs on his arms and neck tingled as he brought his hands to the keys. It had been so many years since he had last done this. They had been waiting for him as they had done for hundreds of years before. Every time Hagellan took him out of stasis for education, he’d connect and send a report.

The scale of his masters’ plan blew his mind.

Their foresight planned thousands of years ahead, and so far, from what he had learned, they had never failed.

Even now, their prediction of the council’s demise on Earth had come true. Though he doubted they realized it would come from a single man called Charlie Jackson, but somehow, they had divined it with their algorithms and knew the Order of Things, even if they did not know the specifics.

And here Augustus was, in the middle of it all, part of the Order of Things.

Part of their algorithms and plans.

He tapped out the initiating sequence and waited. A minute later the crystal turned to a royal purple, reminding him of his imperial robes back in the day. A cone of holographic purple light flickered up from above the device, creating an inverse pyramid about a meter tall.

Lines of binary code flowed down the new display until a new form appeared.

His handler.

Drone 21.

These aliens, who called themselves the Scion, were a great binary hive mind, as much as Augustus could work out. He had first ‘met’ Drone 21 when Hagellan had first taken Augustus into the fold. The Scion had an inside croatoan agent working for them, and it was that agent who had handed Augustus the prism, and thus handed over his responsibility. It was Augustus’ job to end that particular agent’s life, having come to the end of his designated algorithm.

Drone 21 had promised the Augustus’ algorithm had no end.

That he would be until the end of time. If he did as they requested.

“Agent 3982, you have a report?” Drone 21 said.

“I do. I have the schematics and data you wanted. I’m uploading now.”

“No need, 3982, I’m transferring now.”

The crystal cube flickered as the data on the device was uploaded to Drone 21’s consciousness.

A few seconds later the holograph of the binary image stopped flickering. An almost-human-looking face turned its attention to Augustus. “You’ve done well, as the Order of Things had predicted,” it said. “Do you have additional information?”

“Indeed,” Augustus said. He summarized Jackson’s escapades and the events at Unity, finishing up with Hagellan’s plans to get to the jump gate.

“We will handle the destroyer,” Drone 21 said, “and Hagellan’s allies.”

“What are my new orders?” Augustus asked.

“Continue with your current plans. Extinguish the threat at Unity and await our arrival. If the Order of Things change, we’ll send you updated information.”

“And…” Augustus was going to ask about his future, his rewards, their promise to give him Earth entirely, but the image on the holographic display had already gone, and the crystal grew dark, cutting off both display and projected keyboard. With a whir, the top of the prism lowered and it became a trinket once more.

A knock came from the door.

Augustus pocketed the prism and picked up the radio.

“Yes?” he called.

The door opened and Zoe entered the room. Her eyes squinted as she looked around. “I thought you were talking to someone.”

He held up the radio. “Just giving orders to a nearby farm. There are a few survivors there,” he said. “What’s the status of those out there?”

“Inspired, sir. United. You’ve brought us all new purpose. With your leadership, we’re confident we can handle the threat you spoke of.”

“That’s good, Zoe. You’ll make a good officer.”

He smiled, not hiding away his face, enjoying how uncomfortable it made her.

Soon, it wouldn’t be his inspiration that would hold people in line. It would be fear.

In the Order of Things, Earth would be his.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Through blurred vision, Charlie watched Hagellan manipulate the holocube.

The pain in his ears felt like he was twelve feet underwater and hadn’t equalized. A second loud bang and flash of light ripped through the cabin. He squeezed his eyes shut. A high-pitched tone whistled in his ears.

The ship’s engines thrusted, and the sensation of flying in atmospheric conditions returned. Charlie rubbed his face as his splitting headache quickly receded. He glanced at the high-definition starboard screen and gasped.

A setting sun peeped over a dark gray jagged mountain range, which stretched into the distance. The foothills were covered in dense green and pink foliage. Croatoan root grew on the long thin plain at the bottom of the hills.

The ship banked to its left, giving Charlie a sweeping view as it turned. Cone-shaped volcanos and mountains dominated the geography. Root grew on undulating hills and the few flat areas. From what he could see, they managed to farm around thirty percent of the land. The sky had an instantly recognizable orange tinge.

“Jesus Christ,” Denver said over his shoulder. “We made it.”

Layla gazed out of the opposite window and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“This is Tredeya. We land near the gate,” Hagellan said.

Charlie reached under his seat and brushed his hand over the bomb. As interesting as this place may be, he hadn’t come for a sightseeing visit. “You made contact with your force yet?”

“No contact. But I am picking up activity on the other side of the range. The location of our barracks.”

“Wouldn’t you expect there to be somebody at the gate?”

“Yes, but I haven’t been here in two thousand years. Things change. Your own history should tell you that.”

“How long have we got ’til the destroyer arrives?” Denver said.

“One of your hours. We need to be quick.”

The ship continued to turn full circle. Charlie got his first view of the gate.

A huge, thick stone circle reached a mile into the sky. Two luminous green rings flashed around the inside. A series of small, cream-colored buildings perched on a small ridge to its left.

“What did they use it for, until you showed up?” Charlie said.

Hagellan unbuckled and turned in his seat. “The Tredeyans used it to explore the galaxy. They are manipulators rather than fighters. You may call them politicians.”

“Until you got your grubby hands on it and came to destroy us,” Denver said.

“They regularly came to your planet and perhaps influenced a great number of things. How do you think we got the coordinates?” Hagellan retorted.

“Do you expect us to believe that?” Layla said.

“I read their logs, inside that building.” He gestured to the closest windowless structure. “There are many things you don’t know. We will have time to talk after destroying the gate.”

Hagellan turned back to the holocube. The ship slowed and lowered toward a flat brown strip of land bathed in the shadow of the mountains. It landed with a bump, and the three croatoans talked to each other in their mother tongue.

Denver gave Charlie a nervous look and fished his rifle from below his stool. “What do you think they’re saying?”

Charlie leaned next to his ear. “Be ready for anything.”

“We landed behind this hill to give the ship protection from the blast,” Hagellan said. “It would be foolish to land by the gate.”

Charlie unfastened his harness. “Let’s get this over with. Are you sure it’s safe for us to go out?”

“Atmosphere as expected. Temperature good. Wear your tanks and mask and you’ll acclimatize. The gravity is a close to that of Earth, but you may feel heavier for a while until your muscles adapt,” Hagellan said. “We go now.”

Charlie, Denver, and Layla pulled their small facemasks on. Charlie took a deep breath of the air. It tasted stale and thick. It had root extract within it, which he was thankful for. He didn’t doubt he would need the strength and vitality.

A rumbling came from below. The ship’s door punched out and slid open. A warm draft rushed into the cockpit. Hagellan told Mike that the croatoans targeted planets in what human astronomers called the Goldilocks Zone. They were the most conducive for farming root. The temperature and atmosphere didn’t feel alien, which only aided Charlie’s tense mood.

Hagellan spoke to his two alien brethren. They grabbed rifles from a rack above the stools and clambered down the hatch at surprising speed. “We secure the immediate area.”

Charlie slid out the bomb. Denver helped him sling it over his shoulder. The thing weighed over a hundred pounds.

Layla continued to be mesmerized by her surroundings and gazed open-mouthed at the scenery outside.

The holocube compressed to a small green dot and vanished. The podium lowered back into the floor of the cockpit. Hagellan turned to the hatch. “Follow me. You plant the bomb in the first building. That’s where the technology controls the gate.”

“What if a local force is inside and tries to stop us?” Layla said.

Hagellan grunted. “I am a council member. If any are there, they will be minions.”

Its leathery uniform squeaked as Hagellan squeezed through the hatch and disappeared.

“You ready, Dad?” Denver said.

Charlie admired how easily Den took this in his stride. Maybe it was because he had only ever witnessed a post-invasion world, battling advanced technology and aliens. Nothing seemed to faze him.

“Go for it.”

* * *

A trickle of sweat rolled down Charlie’s temple. Hagellan and the other two croatoans had bounced to the top of the sixty-foot dirt hill and surveyed beyond.

The gate towered above them in the distance.

Charlie peered down at a clump of lime-coloured flowers poking out of the dirt and back across the root-covered plain toward the mountain range. The sun had set behind one of the jagged summits, and light began to fade. Charlie wondered how long their days and nights lasted, and if he would ever see a sunrise again.

He trudged up the hill, feeling like weights had been strapped to his legs. Every step he took, his foot slid back down a few inches in the fine surface. Halfway to the top, Charlie stopped and rested his hands on his thighs to catch his breath.

“Slightly different atmosphere here, Charlie,” Layla said through their connected intercom embedded into their facemasks.

“Tell me about it.”

“You want me to take a turn carrying the bomb?” Denver said.

Charlie waved him away. “You carry on, Son. Don’t worry about me, my old legs have got strength in them yet.”

He took a deep breath and grunted out the last thirty feet.

Hagellan looked toward the small cluster of cream buildings to the left of the gate. All five of them were square in appearance, about the size of an average bungalow, with a metallic door facing the gate.

“That’s it?” Charlie said.

“The walls are thick to protect from Tredeyan storms,” Hagellan said. “They can be fierce compared to your weather systems.”

The croatoan moved down the hill with ease, flanked by his two, smaller allies.

“Are we going back to their barracks?” Denver said, motioning his head to the three aliens. They stood by the metallic blue entrance door to the closest building and gaped up.

“When that destroyer turns up, there’s gonna be some pissed-off Croatoans,” Charlie said. “We should keep our distance until Hagellan comes up with a plan to get us back home.”

“Thought this was a one-way mission?”

“Probably will be when they find out we’ve destroyed the gate, Son. Do you want to be around when they show up?”

“No, but I think we need to know a bit more about this place before parting ways. Could be all kinds of weird shit in those foothills.”

“I think we need to trust him,” Layla said. “Without Hagellan, we’ve got no transport and no clue about this place. He’s probably going to be in a lot more trouble than us.”

It grated on Charlie that Layla started to refer to the creatures as “he” and “she.” It gave them a personal feel that they didn’t deserve. “Let’s hear what it’s got to say after we’ve completed our mission. I’ve got a funny feeling that Hagellan won’t be so friendly after we bomb that building.”

She crouched and brushed her hand against a yellow plant. It looked like a type of coral Charlie had seen when scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef.

“Fascinating,” she said.

“Come,” Hagellan croaked.

Charlie skidded down the side of the hill after it.

Hagellan removed a glove and swept a chubby finger across a shiny charcoal panel next to the door. Two electronic beats came from behind it, and the door hissed open.

Charlie followed Hagellan into a single room roughly six by six meters. Along the right-hand side, behind a transparent panel, soft blue lights winked in different areas, providing ambient light.

The closest relatable thing Charlie had seen was the bank of servers in the Quartanary Productions server room. This looked far more advanced, however. A console with five evenly spaced screens wrapped around the rest of the room. Unrecognizable light blue data streamed on two screens. Another had a strange logo, like the Egyptian ‘H’ hieroglyphic.

“Put your bomb there,” Hagellan said and pointed to the transparent panel.

Charlie slung it off his back and placed it down. He felt no remorse about blowing this thing up. As amazing as it might be, the gate led the croatoans directly to Earth. It had to be destroyed.

Hagellan grunted in approval. Charlie had a great opportunity to make the tortoise-headed freak talk. He took the remote control from his thigh pocket and held his thumbs on the two switches. “We need to talk about what happens after I flick these.”

“Gate is destroyed.”

“I think you know what I’m talking about. What happens to us?”

“We go to barracks. Destroyer will be sent away.”

“I don’t buy it. You’re gonna be in serious trouble for helping to do this. Start being honest or we both die, here and now.”

“I go home and face council. Die with honor. You hide and find Tredeyans. They might help you.”

“Why didn’t you say this before?”

“Does it matter? Earth will be safe.”

Charlie thought about Hagellan’s question. It didn’t matter.

Their lives were nothing compared to freeing Earth from the threat of total destruction. Not being truthful about its own fate just seemed odd. He didn’t give a shit that Hagellan signed its own death warrant. Its role in the mission did not cancel out the billions of deaths on its gnarled hands.

“Let’s get behind that hill and finish this,” Charlie said.

Denver poked his head through the door. “Everything okay in here?”

“Fine, Son. We’re ready to go.”

He imagined Denver’s reaction to the ridiculous hope of finding, communicating and working with an unknown species. Layla would probably get a kick out of it.

The group trudged back over the hill and rested against the opposite bank. Charlie raised the control’s antenna. “After three?”

Nobody said a word. Denver nodded, pressed his back against the dirt, and covered his ears. Layla wrapped her arms around her head.

“Three. Two. One.”

He flicked both switches down. An ugly brown centipede-like insect scuttled across the dirt by his boots.

Nothing happened.

“Bomb not work?” Hagellan said.

Charlie flicked the switches up and down. Still nothing.

“Maybe it’s the radio waves here?” Layla said.

“Damn it!” Charlie said, throwing the trigger to the ground. He shaped to move back toward the building.

“Dad,” Denver said, “you’re not manually detonating that thing. I won’t allow it.”

An earsplitting boom echoed overhead. The three croatoans clicked in frantic conversation.

“What the hell was that?” Charlie said, looking up.

A yellow cloud formed high in the darkening blue sky. Small at first, in seconds it stretched at least three miles wide and thundered with bolts of electricity.

“This one of the storms you talked about?” Denver said.

“No. Is there another way to explode bomb?” Hagellan said.

“Manual switch,” Charlie said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sky. The cloud swirled and lowered toward the other side of the mountain range.

“Tell now. Need now. Now,” Hagellan said, more animated than Charlie had ever seen before. He even looked… scared?

Denver stared open-mouthed at the sky.

“Is that the destroyer?” Charlie said.

“No. Bomb. Now! We’re running out of time!”

There was clear panic in its voice now. Something clearly worrying was happening overhead.

“There’s a button on the side of the case, under a black protection plate,” Charlie said.

Hagellan clicked to the closest croatoan. They touched gloves, and it ran over the hill.

“He will push your button,” Hagellan said.

“What the hell is happening?” Denver said.

Charlie stared over Hagellan’s shoulder. The point of a large black prism rumbled through the cloud. A foghorn-like blast shuddered through his ears. It continued to descend, growing in size as cloud swirled around it. It must have been at least a hundred times larger than an Egyptian pyramid.

The ground shook below Charlie’s boots.

He grabbed Layla and pulled her to the dirt as an explosion on the other side of the hill ripped through the air. Dust sprayed the group. A large funnel of smoke belched into the sky. Debris thudded against the dirt around them.

Charlie crawled to the top of the hill. He needed to confirm the gate’s destruction. Whatever that black thing was, he didn’t want it heading to Earth.

He squinted through the dust at the shattered ruins of the control building. The bomb had worked, but the blast was barely audible among the terrible drone coming from the prism in the sky.

Good old Mike and Mai had worked their magic again. But who or what was that thing in the sky? He peered to the sky again. The dust cleared, revealing an enormous black prism suspended over the mountains.

Small specks streamed out of it, like bees around a hive.

Explosions echoed along the valley below, the sound hitting Charlie in the chest.

Charlie staggered down the hill. The group clustered together. Denver wiped dust from his hair. Layla gaped up and pressed her hand against her forehead.

“Move from ship,” Hagellan said, pointing to the descending prism.

That was a ship? Shit.

It got to its feet and headed for an area of undergrowth to their left. Charlie sprinted after it. Denver grabbed Layla’s arm and followed.

Charlie grabbed a handful of Hagellan’s suit and managed to slow it down. “You need to start talking. If that’s not the destroyer, what is it?”

“Scion ship. Destroyer no more if that here.”

“Scion? What are you talking about?” Denver said.

“Croatoan enemy. If you thought us bad, Scion five times worse.”

“That’s just wonderful,” Charlie said.

He followed Hagellan, not knowing what else to do, and pushed his way through the big leaves dangling from plants that towered over his head.

The two aliens stopped in a small clearing. Charlie, Denver, and Layla crouched next to a small pink shrub.

“What do we do now?” Denver said.

“God knows,” Charlie said. They were way out of their depth and now faced a new enemy. “Hagellan, any bright ideas?”

A whining sound grew louder. A small black craft, sleek and fast, roared overhead. An explosion boomed on the other side of the undergrowth, and fire shot into the sky.

“Quick, before it returns” Hagellan said. “We must find Tredeyan underground system.”

Charlie’s instinct told him that if he couldn’t fight an alien, then running was the only course of action. As he and the others sprinted after Hagelllan, pushing through the alien flora, a sickly dread weighed heavily in his stomach.

Earth was safe—for now, but they now faced a new enemy.

The shadow-black prism hung in the air like a malevolent icon, promising a dire future for Charlie, Denver, and Layla. Charlie gritted his teeth, pulled Denver and Layla further into the alien landscape.

If he had to fight again to get home, he couldn’t have wished for anyone more loyal and capable as Denver. Charlie looked into his son’s eyes.

“We’ll win,” Denver said. “We always win.”

Click here to read book 3: Critical Strike

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We would like to thank our cover designer, Jason Gurley, and our editors, Aaron Sikes and Pauline Nolet. Also, as ever, thank you to everyone who agreed to read an early copy and give us your thoughts. Collectively, you’ve all helped make this a better book.

Thank you!

Copyright

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This edition published in 2014 by WBP

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this work are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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Content

CRITICAL PATH
by
Wearmouth & Barnes

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Copyright