Critical Path

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.