Critical Path

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.”