Critical Strike (The Critical Series Book 3)

by Wearmouth

  Everything outside took on a darker tinge. A luminous green digital display appeared at the bottom left of the visor and the temperature cooled around Charlie’s face. He’d read about astronauts having HUDs, but none were as advanced as the busy display before his eyes, although he couldn’t understand a single symbol or measurement.

  Taking a deep breath, Charlie filled his lungs with air, but couldn’t detect any root in the supply. It was growing outside, so he’d just have to go back to eating it to get his hit, especially as it seemed food of any kind wasn’t on the menu for the foreseeable future.

  Vingo held his stocky arm out toward the open suit. “The water compartments in the back plates are full and should last two days if you drink steadily. Climb in, please.”

  Confident that Denver could provide cover, Charlie slipped into the gap of the suit and leaned against the soft rear section.

  Vingo pressed the suit’s arm-pad several times. It closed around Charlie’s body and both pieces clamped together. A soft lining inflated around his body, filling up the loose space. The helmet and armor jerked together, followed by a hollow click.

  The thing felt too light to be useful. Charlie raised his hand and his arm shot in the air. Denver half-smiled and picked up a helmet. He and Layla followed the same procedure.

  “The shell has pressure pads,” Vingo said after placing on his purple helmet. His raspy voice came through in crystal-clear tones. “You only need soft movements to power the mechanism. I’ve configured the helmets on our own secure network so we can talk without fear.”

  Layla moved forward. After a few awkward steps, she moved freely and picked up her gun. “This is amazing. Unbelievable.”

  Denver raised the gauntlet, flexed its fingers and turned the hand in front of his face. “Are they good in combat?”

  “Good in unarmed combat and protection from small weapons at medium and long distance. My village is in range of the wireless reactor. We should have no problems with power.”

  “You power these things with wireless energy?” Charlie asked.

  “We power most things with it. It’s nothing new. Test your movements naturally. We have to go.”

  Charlie fought the temptation to move like a robot, or a man in a metal case, and walked forward. He couldn’t believe how easily he could move as the balled joints around the knees, ankles and elbows spun to precision with every move. He only felt a slight restriction around his hips.

  “What are the readings on the visor?” Layla said.

  “I’ll explain later. Follow me,” Vingo said and headed for the weapons compartment.

  The tredeyan slung a black pouch over his purple armor and headed toward the opposite side of the warehouse. Optimism initially flowed through Charlie as he followed. They’d found immediate safety and had a plan. Hagellan’s words on the trip to Tredeya ran through his head. Tredeyans are politicians, not fighters. Vingo openly admitted that they kidnapped humans for their own gain. Something told him that this mission was a lot more than just a trek to a village.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The underground workshop seemed quiet given the circumstances, Mike thought.

  Next to him, Mai worked with a croatoan engineer who called himself Gib. Neither made much noise as they busied themselves with soldering irons, connecting wires and transistors to a remodeled radio unit.

  They were both hunched over a workbench.

  Mai wore a pair of magnifying goggles and leaned close to her work. Wires and radio parts were strewn across the surface of the bench.

  The smell of the burning solder and flux brought back happy memories for Mike—memories of him and Mai building and repairing devices over the years.

  Looking at her now from his stool, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her when so many people had to survive on their own. He leaned back and rubbed a knot from his shoulders. The quiet and the lack of news were making him more tense than usual.

  Since the others had left for Tredeya, Mike and his new team had set up a workshop in Hagellan’s old place. Throughout that time, the place had buzzed with frantic activity. Gib, who spoke excellent English, having grown up in Unity, had put himself in charge of the communications team.

  They had monitored the tachyon transceiver for any messages from Tredeya, but as yet, only one had reached them: that the croatoan destroyer was, ironically, destroyed, along with the gate. No news yet from Charlie, Denver, or Layla about their chances of returning, or any sign that they were still alive.

  Earth, for now at least, was safe from interstellar menaces, but Mike still hated the thought of never seeing his friends again. It didn’t matter that he knew their chances of returning were slim; what mattered was that there was at least a chance, no matter how remote. The longer it went without word, however, the shorter those odds became and the closer Mike would have to come to dealing with the hard truth.

  Regardless of what was happening on Tredeya, Mike knew it wasn’t the time to mope about being morose and useless.

  Augustus was still out there—up to something.

  A croatoan scout had reported an increase of shuttle activity from some of the farms to the south and east—hence the work on the radio. They needed more intelligence.

  “How’s it going, my love?” Mike said, sitting up from his stool and approaching his wife. He pressed his hand against her back and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

  “Careful, you’ll burn yourself,” Mai replied, swatting him away with affection that hadn’t dulled in all these years. Her eyes twinkled in the fluorescent light of the workshop as she looked up at him.

  The smoke from the soldering iron coiled in a tight vortex before fading into the flow of air that permeated the cave system, along with the tangy metallic stink of burning flux.

  “It’s nearly ready, wouldn’t you say so, Gib?”

  The croatoan grunted a clear affirmative as he soldered what looked to be the final wire into place. He sat back and removed the goggles from his turtle-like face. Though they didn’t smile as much, the Unity-born croatoans had learned to make a gesture with their face that was as close to a smile as they were going to get.

  “Radio requires calibration,” he said, pointing to an alien crystal emanating from the center of the circuit board.

  “And how do we do that?” Mai asked.

  “I have very special part. Rare and incredibly valuable.” Gib made his alien-smile again and reached into a pocket on his leather waistcoat.

  Mike nodded in silent appreciation of the new garment—it was made by a croatoan and human couple within Unity. Using leather from scavenged clothes, they made these for the engineers. Over twenty pockets, loops and webbing made them supremely useful for carrying tools and parts.

  Mike and Mai were so impressed with the design they had commissioned a matching pair for themselves.

  “What is it?” Mike asked, wondering what new piece of alien technology he was going to learn about. If there was one positive of this whole terrible episode, it was learning about the alien tech. Mike just wished, with all his heart, the croatoans and humans could have tried a peaceful approach first rather than going straight to war, and ultimately defeat for everyone.

  So much loss for so little gain.

  “I show you,” Gib said. He brought his scaly hand out of the pocket, the mysterious item enclosed within his grip. “Behold!” Gib opened his hand and dropped the part onto the workbench.

  Mike and Mai leaned forward eagerly to see what it was.

  “Wait,” Mike said, picking it up. “This is it?”

  Gib blinked, indicating it was.

  “But… but this is just a plastic knob. What’s so amazing about this? How do you use it to calibrate?” He wondered if it was some kind of special polymer that worked with tachyon waves.

  “I show,” Gib said, taking the part from Mike.

  The alien leaned over the circuit board and clipped the plastic knob onto a standard-looking potentiometer�
�the usual kind found on most radios.

  Mai burst out laughing when Gib turned the knob and the sound of radio static came from a speaker lying in amongst the debris of items.

  Mike didn’t get it, so focused on what was so special.

  “It is just a joke,” Gib said. “You not like joke?”

  “I did,” Mai said. “You had us going for a moment there. You look confused, dear,” Mai said to Mike. “It’s a joke… the special calibration part is just a tuning knob.”

  “Oh! I get it now,” Mike said, forcing a smile.

  Gib seemed to understand that he wasn’t really in the mood for levity. He turned away and clicked the radio off. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you looked sad. I hoped I might help make you laugh. I’m trying to work on my knowledge of human mood. My friend has been helping me with language and humor. He called this a misdirection joke. It was funny because it set an expectation that was different from the reality.”

  Patting Gib on the arm, Mike nodded. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… I find it hard to laugh right now.”

  “Okay, I understand. We continue to work.”

  Gib turned his attentions back to the radio, but in truth there was little to do. Mike felt bad about upsetting him and moved back to his stool. Before he got settled, the echo of footsteps caught his attention.

  He spun round to look past Hagellan’s throne, where the entranceway had been carved. Long shadows crept across the floor of the tunnel system. The shadows belonged to humans. Mike stood, wondering if someone was bringing news.

  Ryan, the young guard who was stationed outside Charlie and Denver’s accommodation, entered the workshop. Aimee followed, wearing a low-key set of military fatigues.

  “Did you hear from them? Is there news from Tredeya?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Aimee said.

  Mike sat back on the stool, deflated.

  “What can we do for you?” Mai asked.

  Aimee stepped further into the workshop and inspected the workbench. Ryan, with a rifle over his shoulder, waited behind her like a loyal pup.

  “I just wanted to bring you all some supplies. I know you’ve been working hard on getting the radio up and running again, and thought you could do with something to eat.”

  Ryan shrugged a pack off his back and brought it over to the workbench, dispensing its contents to any spare space he could find. Beef sandwiches and plastic tubs of stew soon made Mike’s stomach rumble.

  “Thanks,” he said. “We appreciate it. We’ve made good progress, actually. The radio works, but we’ve not scanned any frequencies yet.”

  “Then perhaps I’ve arrived at the right time,” Aimee said, reaching into a small bag attached to the belt around her waist. She handed a palm-sized black object to Gib. “One of our scouts found this. It’s from the wreckage of a hover-bike that belonged to one of the southern farms.”

  Gib took the object and held it below the bench-top lamp.

  “Perfect,” she said. “It’s the bike’s communication computer. From this we can get into the farm’s network.”

  Aimee smiled with the news, her eyes crinkling at the edges. Despite all the years she had been kept in stasis and the anti-aging effects of the root, Mike could still tell from her eyes just how old she was. She had a sadness there that reflected his own. It was something that came from age, perhaps with the knowledge that no matter how bad things get, there’s always more loss to deal with. It’s the never-ending flipside to the lifecycle.

  “Once inside,” Mai said, “we can use the radio to scan their frequencies. If what your scout saw is what we think, then it’ll help us figure out just what Augustus is up to.”

  “Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Ryan said. “The man is raving mad. All the time I stood outside his chalet I would hear him ranting to himself about his empire and his plans.”

  “Aye, he’s mad all right,” Mike said. “But history has shown us some of the maddest people manage to do incredible things. That kind of vision, as sick as it is, attracts loyal support.”

  Aimee cocked an eyebrow.

  “Not that I’m suggesting you’re like that,” Mike quickly added. “I’m referring to Augustus. With the humans and croatoans scattered and leaderless in the other farms, it wouldn’t be that difficult for Augustus to unite them.”

  Gib connected the communication device to one of his croatoan computers and with surprising dexterity tapped in lines of code. After a few moments, he sat back from the computer screen and looked up at Aimee. “Their network needs more security to keep me out.”

  “You’re in?” Aimee asked.

  Gib nodded.

  Mai and Mike looked at each other and shared a smile.

  “So we have their encryption key and frequency?” Mike asked.

  “Let us see,” Gib replied, hooking up the bike’s transceiver to the radio. A moment later he stood up, stepping away from the workbench. He looked at Mike. “You test?”

  “Thanks.” He took Gib’s place, giving him a kind smile for the honor of being the one to test the radio. Mike turned the knob and a crackle came through the speaker. He slowly dialed the knob clockwise until the crackle turned into a series of clicks and grunts.

  “That’s them!” Gib said. “The other croatoans from the farms.”

  Mike listened but couldn’t make out the words.

  “They’re talking in code,” Gib added, dashing around Mai in order to find a pad and a pen from the rubble strewn on the workbench.

  As the radio continue to play out the croatoans’ language, Gib noted down on the pad what they were saying.

  He dropped his pen on the table and handed the pad to Aimee. Mike didn’t like the look on Gibs’ face; it resembled fear too much.

  Aimee read the pad and sighed.

  “It’s as we feared. He’s coming for us… with force.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rapid footsteps echoed through the cavern. Layla glanced at the others in the group. Two croatoans ran through a gap in an adjacent corridor with rifles raised. Neither alien noticed them, but it appeared they were looking for something as they retraced their steps a few moments later.

  “Are they searching for us?” Charlie said.

  “No,” Vingo said. “But if they find you, I can’t predict the outcome. Follow me. We need to move.”

  Layla followed Vingo and Charlie as they headed up a stone tunnel toward an exit from the caverns. The suit made movement effortless, once she had gotten used to it. Denver powered along by her side, inspecting the tredeyan rifle. They’d all decided to take one, mainly due to the amount of available ammunition.

  Four spare magazines, containing rounds with a liquid propellant in a transparent casing, were magnetically attached to indents on both hips of their suits.

  Vingo had given them a crash course on the rifle’s main functions. According to Denver and Charlie, it turned out to be fairly standard for an automatic weapon.

  For Layla, it was about as alien and advanced a weapon as she’d ever handled. Unlike human weapons, this one featured a red crosshair that automatically appeared in her visor when she raised the rifle, and it followed the sights as she swept it about.

  The rifle, like the tredeyans, was stocky and short, and she hoped both were reliable and trustworthy.

  Every twenty seconds Layla glanced back, half expecting two angry croatoans to storm up the tunnel and start shooting.

  “The scion are in many places,” Vingo said and stopped by a smooth black panel next to a door. “Report anything that you think looks suspicious.”

  “Any clues what we should be looking for?” Denver said. “That’s nice and vague. We’ve seen the fighters. That’s about it.”

  “They’ll likely be machines on the ground. I’ll verify.”

  “We’re going to be relying on you,” Charlie said, stepping closer to the alien. “Lead the way and we’ll provide cover, but think of screwing us over… well, let’s just say I’m sick of bein
g used by aliens.”

  Vingo blinked and dropped his chest in a quick movement indicating he understood.

  “You okay, Den?” Layla said, checking on Denver, concerned over his leg injury. He gave her a reassuring nod, helping decrease the hopeless feeling while being chased by the clusp and hunter, with oxygen running low. Vingo provided hope—assuming he could be trusted. She didn’t forget what Hagellan had said to them about the tredeyans: they were politicians, and if they were anything like the ones back home, she didn’t expect the best. “What do these scion actually want?” she said.

  “They demanded full access to our systems,” Vingo said. “It’s the same for every planet. If you don’t comply, they attempt to take it by force.”

  “What’s the motivation?” Denver said.

  “The scion want some lost information. I don’t know exactly what, and it will also mean nothing to you. They will stop at nothing to get it.”

  “That’s a merciless way of obtaining something you might not even know about,” Charlie said.

  “They think somebody is hiding it from them. Planets under croatoan influence are being targeted. They are the ancient species, so I think the scion concluded that they must have it. That brings both of our species into their quest.”

  Vingo pressed the panel. A green light winked above the dull metallic door. All raised their rifles and the electronics in the suits droned in unison. The door punched open.

  Bright stars spread across the midnight blue sky. The view through Layla’s visor automatically brightened, providing an excellent enhanced view of the dark landscape. A few of the rocks stood out on the field of brown scree in front of them.

  Vingo led the way. They moved in an extended line, heading for a light green hill. A plume of dark gray smoke rose behind it. Aircraft lights zipped across the sky as sporadic explosions rumbled in the distance.

  Layla turned and gazed at the black prism in the sky. It had gained altitude since she last saw it and only a few small craft buzzed around its pointed base. It was hopefully a sign that they were scaling down the attack, leaving the group an uneventful trip to Vingo’s village. She laughed to herself at that ridiculous notion. Like anything would be uneventful ever again. The idea of spending time at the tredeyan village excited her, but not as much as getting safely home and not having to feel like the equivalent of being strapped to an ocean floor, surrounded by sharks, with air rapidly running out.