Critical Path

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.”