by Wearmouth
Augustus took a great deal of joy from watching his orders being executed as the large screen became a sea of green squares. Hundreds activated at once, and within a few seconds, the entire farm network had activated the protocol although … He leaned forward and noticed that there was one that was still yellow.
Of course. It had to be that one. He’d expected as much.
“Engage Farm 1038.”
The sickly image of Vlad, one of Gregor’s old gang members, came up on screen. The revolting man’s face was grey and puffy. His eyes were rimmed with red sores, and his brown hair lay lank and greasy against his scalp. He reminded Augustus of the street peasants back in Rome. Even then, they never looked after themselves. Some things never change. Some humans are just not as worthy as others.
“Mr. Augustus, sir, I …” Vlad began to say. A girl appeared behind him, the one he remembered as Alex. She was barely more capable than Vlad.
“Why haven’t you activated the pressurization protocol?”
Vlad looked to Alex. Her face tightened. It was clear they were hiding something. The tension of their bodies said it all.
“What’s going on there?” Augustus asked. “Do I need to send a squad down there to take over?”
“No, sir, it’s erm, fine, really, just a few minor issues with the livestock. We’ve got it in hand.”
“Then activate the procedure.”
Augustus kept the channel open and waited. Vlad fussed at the console and looked up through his lank hair. But he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“There’s a problem with our mainframe, sir. I’ll get it fixed right away.”
Augustus brought up a second console window on his desktop screen, patched into Farm 1038’s system, and ran a diagnostic. In hindsight, the croatoan hierarchy should have made everything automated from the mother ship. It was too risky to have left any procedure in the hands of the humans, but the aliens were hot on trust. They said many times over the centuries since being on the Earth that trust was always the first way to cooperation. Force should only come if that trust was proven to be less than optimal, and force could fix anything that trust broke.
Looking down at the diagnostic report, he felt the bounds of trust retreat from the breaking point. It appeared that Vlad was indeed telling the truth. The mainframe was reporting an error in one of its processor cores.
“I’ll give you an hour to fix it before I send help,” Augustus said, emphasizing that last word.
“Thank you, sir, we’ll send a report right away when it’s done. Sorry to delay things.”
“I’ll expect a report within the hour.” With that, Augustus closed the connection and shut down both screens. Immediately, a new session started. This time, the screen filled with the image of his old friend.
Hagellen smiled on screen, stretching his wide, turtle-like mouth, his ancient face shown in super-high definition. Augustus didn’t know how old he was but, from his stories, calculated he must be at least five hundred thousand in Earth years. The compound had made his leathery skin look almost like bark.
The alien was one of the hierarchy members. Although Augustus would never fully understand their cultural organization, the mother ship had a clear organization structure. There was Hagellen and three others that made up a command module; they decided what happened here on Earth and set the schedules.
Beneath them was a council of five others who oversaw various aspects of planetary colonization. Augustus was an honorary member of that council with his role earmarked as taking over the planet once the terraforming was complete.
The idea was that once things were running well, they would move a population of croatoan citizens to live on Earth while the mother ship and its hierarchy would head off to their next project, which could be thousands of years in the making, with Hagellen and the others going back into their stasis pods until whatever planet they had found would be ready for the same procedure.
“Hagellen, old friend, to what I do owe this pleasure?”
“Valens, my friend,” the alien said in his clicking language. Augustus had picked it up over the years. Although he would never fully understand the nuance, he knew enough to be able to translate on the fly. “The terraforming ship is one of your days away. We’ll soon dock and initiate the final procedure. Is all well with your systems?”
“All working as expected. There’s a small delay on one of the farms but nothing that will prevent the plan from going ahead.”
“I noticed that you ordered Baliska to the surface. That seems a drastic action at this time. Is there something I and the council should be aware of?”
Baliska was the hunter Augustus had ordered down to deal with that meddling little bastard, Charlie Jackson. Seeing as Gregor couldn’t cope with him, he needed to do something. Though in the grand scheme of things, Jackson wasn’t a huge problem. “There’s a tiny resistance on the surface. Baliska hasn’t been hunting in three decades. After he arrived here from his sojourn on your jungle planet, he wanted a new challenge, so I decided to take advantage of his desire to find and eliminate this resistant human before he had the opportunity to become a bigger issue later.”
“That’s understandable,” Hagellen said, shaking his head side-to-side slowly, which was the croatoan way of agreeing. The aliens had a complicated set of body language that Augustus had never quite got the hang of. It seemed to change on so many different nuances, and with him not understanding the language at a fundamental level, he was never exposed to those nuances. With a race as ancient as the croatoans, he didn’t expect to learn all that in just a few decades of waking time.
“Was there anything else, old friend?” Augustus said.
“Not for now. Inform me when the final farm has initiated the pressurization. I’ll inform you when the terraforming ship has successfully docked with us.”
“Will it take long, the atmospheric change?”
“Everything is but a blink of our eyes, Valens. You know this.” Hagellen squinted his large, black eyes slightly, which meant that it was a lighthearted phrase. The croatoans never laughed as such, rather, via their eyelid movements they indicated acceptance or rejection of the attempt at humor.
Augustus never bothered to figure out what made them ‘laugh.’ There was too much risk of insulting them. He’d lasted this long by usually only speaking when spoken to and keeping his interactions with them strictly about business. To get personal with a croatoan council member was to go into a battle with a multi-headed hydra with the ability to kill you faster than you could blink.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Hagellen said before the channel on the screen closed.
Augustus leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He let the hum of the ship enter his body. He pictured Earth, a bright blue marble in the dense black of space. “Soon, you’ll be mine.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gregor watched the front of the clock tower from inside the remains of a crumbling brick building. The cover from here was perfect. He was obscured by thick ivy that almost completely wrapped the building. Poking his rifle through the plant gave him a perfect shot.
Ben lay snoozing next to him. They’d spent all night walking by the side of roads and fighting their way through woodland, trying to find the former town in time to set up an ambush.
Charlie Jackson would not catch him loitering by the clock tower. This meeting was going to be on Gregor’s terms.
His stomach growled, but food could wait. All he’d eaten in the last twelve hours were two unripe apples from a nearby tree. Gregor kicked himself for not grabbing some supplies from the building by the reservoir. By the time he realized his error, they were heading to Ridgway. At least it wasn’t raining. The sun beat down on them through a large hole in the collapsed roof.
Layla knelt beside him and swiped some leaves to one si
de. “Still no sign of them?”
“Nothing,” Gregor said. He looked at Ben. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
She checked her watch. “If he was, Jackson’s nearly an hour late.”
“Or he’s got his own vantage point. I’m not moving first.” Gregor shook Ben’s leg. He twitched awake and looked back, bleary-eyed. “Are you sure he said noon?”
“Positive. I’ve told you several times already. Why would I lie?”
Ben’s question was exactly what had started preying on Gregor’s mind. He could lie to lead them into an ambush. Jackson might’ve been in the process of surrounding the area.
The instruction was given in the belief that Gregor was still running the camp. Maybe it was to draw him away so Charlie could attack.
He wondered if Alex and Vlad were still alive. The croatoans didn’t seem to recognize feelings or attachments between humans. With a bit of luck, they’d still be feeding the livestock and monitoring inside the chocolate factory. Gregor had to get them free before Augustus got his claws into them.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Layla said.
“Where you going?” Gregor said.
“Do you really want to know?” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Oh. Fine. I want to have a little chat with Ben anyway,” Gregor said.
Layla hopped over a partially collapsed internal wall, its chipped plaster surface covered with dark green mold spores, and disappeared to another part of the building.
Gregor grabbed Ben’s shoulder and squeezed with enough force to make it unfriendly. Ben returned his stare with a nervous smile. “Gregor?”
Back in Yerevan, they’d used Marek’s basement for extracting information from unreliable people. A thumbscrew was usually the best way to make people talk, usually after the first crunch of bone. Sometimes even the mere fitting of the medieval-looking torture instrument was enough to prize out information. It depended on the backbone of the person and what they had to lose. It was certainly a cleaner approach than Igor’s amateurish knife-related strategy.
A verbal thumbscrew would be enough for Ben.
“Treachery will always come home to the traitor,” Gregor said.
Ben tried to edge away and winced as Gregor tightened his grip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gregor drew his rifle from between the ivy and jabbed the muzzle under Ben’s chin. “It’s an old proverb meaning if you betray me, bad things will happen to you.”
“I’m not. I swear. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you want to know my own proverb? I’ve made it up especially for you.” Ben didn’t reply. “If you’ve betrayed me, I’ll rip off your arm and beat you to death with the soggy end. Have I made myself clear?”
Ben rapidly nodded. “Crystal.”
A foot crunched over broken glass in an adjacent room. Layla coming back. Gregor let go of Ben and aimed his rifle back between the ivy.
“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to find you here,” a voice said.
A voice that Gregor hadn’t heard for years. That he’d dreamed of hearing scream with agony while strapped to his garage chair as Gregor slowly pulled out his individual fingernails with snipe-nose pliers. Reminding him about his cousin.
He tensed. Didn’t want to turn. Didn’t want to give Jackson a moment’s satisfaction before the bastard pulled the trigger.
Ten years of his shit. Ten years of survival. He’d been led into a trap. It was all so simple. It made his life seem trivial. Too much effort for such a stupid end.
“Get it over with, Jackson,” Gregor said.
Ben scrambled to his feet.
“Stay right where you are,” another voice called out.
Footsteps approached. Gregor glanced to his side.
A red-haired, rangy-looking man strode through the rubble, peering down his sights. Denver Jackson. Last time he’d seen him, he was Charlie’s feral pet, learning tricks from his master. A dog scampered behind his legs and barked.
Gregor snorted. “Look at you, all grown up.”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” Denver said. “Hold out your weapon. Nice and slow.”
He held out the AR-15 by its grip and placed it on the ground.
“Did you get the information I asked for?” Charlie said.
Ben thrust up his hands and took a couple of steps away from Gregor. “I didn’t have time. Gregor knows. We’re not with the croatoans.”
Charlie chuckled in his distinctive, sarcastic way. Gregor hated it. To Jackson, everything was black or white. He should have guessed that Ben wouldn’t have been allowed to just stroll back into the farm. Jackson’s necklace and the opportunity to get him had a blinding effect.
Gregor looked up at Ben and scowled. The turncoat backed away another couple of steps.
“We’ve tried to get information from them before. They won’t help—” Charlie said.
“Drop your weapon,” Layla shouted.
Keeping his hands spread above his shoulders, Gregor rolled onto his back. Layla must’ve heard the Jacksons. She’d rounded the building and stood behind Charlie, pointing the croatoan rifle at the back of his head.
Charlie’s hands were raised. He didn’t look much different from ten years ago. Gregor had caught glimpses of him through the last decade but never close up like now. Bearded, piercing blue eyes, miserable.
A woman stood next to Charlie wearing a harvester uniform. Another lie from Ben about the fate of their crew. Gregor reached across for his rifle.
“Pick that up and I put a bullet through your forehead,” Denver said.
Gregor withdrew his hand. “If you shoot me, your plastic father gets it in the head.”
Denver hadn’t even glanced back to Charlie. He focused down on Gregor with an intense expression and twitched his head to his left. “Then I kill your helper.”
A distant overhead noise like an ongoing extended roll of thunder echoed from the clear blue sky.
“Leave us with Gregor,” Charlie said. “You go back to the farm. We won’t hurt you.”
“We want the same thing as you. To bring down the croatoans,” Layla said.
Charlie shook his head and groaned. “You’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”
The rumble grew into a roar. Everyone looked up. A large, white cloud formed in sky. Eight huge bright rings appeared through it. A blast of lukewarm air rushed down, spreading dust around the building. Pieces of plaster dropped from the decaying internal wall as the ground shook. Denver’s dog repeatedly barked.
A massive object in the shape of a key moved in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the area. The mother ship had lowered, but something larger was attached. A rectangular vessel with four large funnels protruding from its side. The circular mother ship appeared to be connected to the bottom of it.
“What the hell?” Ben said.
“This is it,” Layla said. “The data, behavior, experiments, and Igor. It was leading to this. They needed more than the root to terraform.”
“What are you saying?” Charlie said.
“I’m saying we haven’t got time for disagreements,” Layla said. “You and Gregor sort out your differences later. We’ve all got bigger things to worry about.”
***
Charlie looked at Gregor and slowly shook his head. Gregor glared back. The woman in front of Layla turned and said, “What do you know?”
She seemed non-aggressive, unlike Charlie and Denver. Layla had only ever known Charlie as a vague acquaintance during her first year in North America. She’d found him a little abrupt. It all changed after they moved to the farm. Gregor and Charlie became equally as obsessed over one another. Sabotaging anything around ea
ch of their respective operations, employed in a dangerous game of one-upmanship.
Layla jabbed the alien rifle into the back of Charlie’s head. He shuffled forward a few inches. She said earnestly, “You need to listen to me. I’ve observed what they’re planning to do. Croatoans testing with an atmosphere box. A timeline near completion. Igor mentioning a ship to complete the process. You only need to look around you to see the place is primed for it. The ship up there is the final part. We need to figure out a way to stop this. Together.”
Charlie shrugged. “I’ve already got a plan. Been working on it for years while you’ve been sucking up to the croatoans and butchering the population.”
“And you can hatch it in a day?” Layla said. “Because I reckon that’s all we’ve have. Maximum.”
“What’s your plan, Jackson?” Gregor said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“He wants to put a bomb on the mother ship,” the woman said. “Blow it out of the sky. Ben was supposed to get information about the shuttle runs.”
“Shut up, Maria,” Charlie said.
Layla moved around to Charlie’s side in order to get eye contact. “Trust me. It’s do or die for all of us.”
“Charlie,” Gregor said. “Call off your two pet dogs, and I’ll give you the information you need. We’ll do this together. After that, you and I will sort our differences the traditional way. Do we have a deal?”
Gregor stood up and dusted himself down. Charlie nodded toward Denver. He lowered his rifle.
Layla lowered hers. “Good. Now we can talk like civilized people. Do we have a deal?”
“There’s nothing civilized about you,” Charlie said. “But you have a deal. The overall requirements for the planet are bigger than Gregor’s ego. Then again, they always have been.”