A metal wind chime attached to the porch’s roof tinkled in the growing wind.
“I’m starving. Are you two coming in?” Charlie said.
“My orders are to stay outside,” Ryan said “You could always bring me something… if that’s okay? We’re on rations these days while the council agrees on new crop yields.”
“Suit yourself,” Denver said. “I’ll see if I can rustle you up a hot drink.”
Denver disappeared inside, and Charlie followed him into the living area. The place smelled like a rabbit hutch.
“There’s a kitchen here,” Denver said, wandering through an open entrance to his right. An old brown leather couch sat in the middle of the room, with a glass table in front of it. On the table, surrounded by dry orange rings, lay an open encyclopedia.
Charlie flicked through the pages covering the Roman Empire.
Entire sections had been crossed out, with revisions neatly written along the margin—no doubt Augustus’ work. Charlie smiled. “What an idiot.”
To his left, a cream mask hung on the wall—Augustus’ spare. Charlie walked over a threadbare Persian rug partially covering the room’s exposed floorboards and took the mask off a nail. Disgusted with it, he moved to the open door and tossed the mask out like a Frisbee. Ryan glanced at him and then at the mask spinning through the air. It shattered after crashing into the back of the house on the first step.
Denver called from the kitchen, “We’re in business in here.”
Ignoring Ryan’s confused expression, Charlie strode back into the house and joined Denver. The kitchen consisted of a stainless steel sink and drainer with cupboards below. Tatty cardboard boxes were stacked at the end of the room, along with five large water cooler tanks. They brought back memories of the ones in his office. Of how he and Pippa used to stand around it, chatting, Charlie trying to keep a cool line between casual work colleagues, good friends, and potential lovers—and failing; Mike laughing at his latest gaff as Pippa ordered him back to work with a smirk on her face.
It didn’t even feel like a lifetime ago. It felt like an eternity. Was he even that person anymore, deep down? He didn’t recognize himself in these memories, the carefree thrill-seeker… there was little joy and humor and excitement in his life now. He had dedicated so much of his time and mental energies to survival that he had forgot who he was.
Denver sat amongst the emptied contents of a box on the floor, surrounded by plastic bags of dried pasta, rusting cans with no labels, and an open box of tea bags. He leaned over a camping stove, heating a pot of water. “See if you can find any mugs, Dad. There’s none here.”
“Will do,” Charlie said. He turned and headed for an entrance on the other side of the living area. Inside, he swelled with pride. Denver survived and got on with the immediate jobs at hand without whining or asking questions. The boy was the toughest son of a gun he’d ever known—including his old Guard buddies.
Which brought him to his current issue: the mission.
Charlie wanted to speak again with Hagellan, get more details about this gate world. If the supposed ‘one-way trip’ turned out to be a suicide mission, he’d go alone. However, if the planet proved livable for humans or a glimmer of hope existed for a return to Earth, he couldn’t deny his son a second time. Charlie knew Den wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer after last time.
He opened the blinds and window in Augustus’ bedroom.
Three purple robes hung on a rail in the corner. Below them were two pairs of cream leather sandals.
On the other side of a scruffily made bed, a cardboard box with a faded picture of a microwave oven on the side captured Charlie’s interest. He rushed over to confirm the contents. It was stuffed to the brim with refined root—at least a few months’ supply.
Charlie picked it up and hurried back to the kitchen, dumping it next to Denver. “Forget the tea bags,” he said with a wide grin. “We’ve got something a little stronger.”
“Now you’re talking!” Denver picked out four generously sized pieces and dropped them into the pot of bubbling water.
Ryan poked his head around the door. “There’s two women heading this way, neither are local.”
Denver jumped to his feet and ran for the door, bumping into Charlie as he hurried past. Charlie quickly followed him out and watched Denver scramble down the porch’s steps and run across to meet the approaching visitors.
A guard from Aimee’s residence led Maria and Layla toward the cabin. Denver stopped short of Layla for a moment before they embraced. She closed her eyes tightly as she gave him an enthusiastic hug.
Layla opened her eyes and smiled at Charlie. He could see the look of relief in her face. Maria fidgeted with her sleeve and looked away until Denver wrapped his young powerful arms around her, pulling her into the hug.
Charlie smiled at the sight.
It seemed Denver had started building relationships. He often wondered if his son would ever meet a woman and fall in love, and worried it may never happen in this world. Although, if Charlie had to pick a partner for Den, it wouldn’t be Layla, a woman over twenty years his senior, who used to work on a farm.
But love works in mysterious ways, and it wasn’t for him to question.
He put his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the happy group.
Maria saw Charlie first and gave him a generous smile. “I couldn’t believe it when we first saw you on the video. How did you survive?”
She gave Charlie a running hug, nearly knocking him back. He felt awkward but closed his arms around her and gently squeezed. “Takes more than an exploding mother ship to kill me. How have you been? Have you got used to your new life?”
“I’m… getting there slowly. I’ve been helping Layla turn things around with the farms, helping other people. We all came looking for you as soon as we found out.”
“You shouldn’t have risked yourself,” Charlie said. “But, thank you, it means a lot to me.” He extended a hand to Layla, feeling like there was too much of a barrier, too much of a connection with Gregor for him to embrace her as Denver had.
She took his hand courteously. “Nice to see you alive, Charlie.”
A crack of thunder broke up the get-together as the rain continued to lash down. “We’ve got some root tea boiling inside. Let’s get out of the rain. We’ve got some dire business to discuss.”
Charlie brought four goblets of tea to the others sitting around the table.
“Denver said this place belonged to Augustus,” Layla said.
“Yeah, apparently so. Though it seems he’s been relegated to house arrest at his ludus.”
“Is he a problem?” Maria asked.
“You could say that,” Charlie said with a laugh. “I fought with him on the mother ship—Layla can attest to his egomania. He’s definitely a threat, whatever we decide to do next.”
“Gregor acted like a dick when we spoke to Aimee,” Layla said. “She let Augustus take him prisoner.”
“Good,” Charlie and Denver said at the same time before they laughed together. “He won’t exactly be missed.”
Charlie still wasn’t convinced about Gregor’s innocence in the death of Pippa—when he had found her body, Gregor was the first one on the scene, looking ruffled with a scratch on his face as though he had been in a struggle.
The next day, he and the rest of his Armenian gang fled south.
Charlie could put their differences aside to stop the terraforming, but going forward—there was no need for scum like him.
Denver shifted uneasily on his knees and scratched the back of his neck. He looked away from both women.