Perhaps Augustus didn’t survive the landing… That would mean no one would know who Charlie was or what he did. He decided to play stupid during any interrogation.
If they wanted him dead, he’d have been shitted out by an alien a week ago.
A chill ran down his spine after leaving the warmth of the sun into a gloomy stone building. The alien hustled him along a narrow torchlit corridor into a square room illuminated by chunky candles attached to the wall. Charlie dropped to one knee after being kicked in the back of his leg.
He knelt in front of a raised platform. A polished wooden Glastonbury chair sat in the middle, with a purple cushion on the seat.
A young woman with flowing brown hair breezed in from a side entrance. She lifted her elaborate green dress before sitting on the chair. A brute of a croatoan followed and stood behind her. Stocky, mean looking, it had one of their large, angular rifles slung over its shoulder and a sickle in its left clawed hand.
She tilted her head to one side and sat forward, staring at Charlie. “He’s an old one.”
The stocky croatoan clicked.
“What’s your name?”
Charlie detected a mix of French and perhaps Turkish in her accent. He replied, “Joe Nobody. And you are?”
“My name is Aimee Rivery. Welcome to Unity, this is my town.” She paused for a moment and looked him up and down. “I’m going to give you a choice, old man. Your fate rests on your own decision. Do you understand?”
Charlie frowned. “A choice of what?”
She whispered something to the alien, who left the room. Returning her focus back on Charlie, she said, “We need to increase our crop production, due to our current expansion rate. You can have a place in my town if you’re prepared to work hard. You’ll be fed, have a roof over your head, and no trouble will come your way. What do you say?”
“You want me to farm root?” Charlie said.
“Amongst other things, yes. Is that not clear?”
Charlie squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip. It didn’t help; he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The hopelessness of the situation coupled with the suggestion made him burst out in laughter, which echoed around the room.
Aimee gave him a stern look. The large croatoan returned and stood by her side. She dismissively waved her hand in Charlie’s direction. “Very well. Have it your way. I was prepared to give you a chance, against advice…”
“Whose advice? Why did you bring me here?”
“You were recovered from a pod. That makes you a person of interest. I know more about you than you think.”
“Like what? Who around here knows me?”
“Somebody you’ve been annoying for years.”
Footsteps slapped across the stone floor behind him.
Charlie’s face straightened.
An instantly recognizable voice said, “The little wasp. Did you really think you would get the better of me?”
Augustus walked in front of Charlie. He stopped and removed his right sandal.
“You will fight my champion in the arena,” Aimee said. “Then we shall see who is the one laughing once the festivities are over.”
“May I?” Augustus said, pointing at Charlie.
Aimee nodded. “Do what you will.”
“Hold him steady,” Augustus said to the croatoan restraining Charlie.
He raised his sandal above his head and swept it down, striking it against Charlie’s cheek. Charlie winced with the strike, but refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt him.
The blow stung, but that was the least of Charlie’s worries.
The man who knew what Charlie had done now had control of him. And by the sounds of it, Charlie was set for a public fight.
Augustus knelt down and fastened it back around his foot before straightening his mask and rearranging his robes. At least this answered the question of what happened to him. The pod clearly had protected them both.
But what kind of deal did Augustus strike to have attained such a lofty position so soon?
Aimee stood and pointed down. “I want him alive tomorrow, Augustus. Don’t disappoint me.”
She left by the same side entrance, followed by her burly guard.
Augustus brought his masked face right in front of Charlie’s, close enough that Charlie could feel the Roman’s hot breath. “Did you see that monster with Aimee? He’s your opponent.”
“You saved me so you could watch me fight an alien?”
Augustus grunted. “I didn’t save you. I simply prolonged your miserable life for a few weeks. There’s no way in the world I would allow you an easy death.”
“And if I win?”
“I’ll have you flogged every day you aren’t fighting in the arena. History will not remember you. I won’t allow it.”
“You don’t get to write history. If you did, your own wouldn’t be so abysmal.”
“I beg to differ. Future generations will be in awe of me. You… you’re a flea.”
Charlie looked Augustus in the eye. “What does it feel like to lose two empires?”
Augustus stepped back and raised a clenched fist. He slowly lowered his hand by his side and turned to the croatoan. “He’s not worth my effort. Take him to the ludus. Throw him in with our other new arrival.”
Charlie’s camo shirt scrunched around his neck as the alien gripped the back of his collar and dragged him up and shunted him to the door. Charlie glanced back. Augustus licked his fingers and extinguished a candle.
CHAPTER FOUR
A young girl, dressed in a fresh white robe, carried a metal platter piled with pig’s trotters to the dining room table. She carefully placed them in front of Augustus. He pointed at his hammered metal goblet and cleared his throat. She scurried to a side table, grabbed a clay jug and returned, filling the vessel to the brim.
“I remembered from last time,” Aimee said.
She sat at the opposite end of the table, wearing an extravagant blue dress and a pearl necklace. Soft light, radiating from the candles at the center of the table, gave her face a gentle glow. The muscle-bound croatoan behind her provided a stark contrast to her beauty. He hovered close like a bird of prey.
“Thank you for inviting me this evening,” Augustus said. “You don’t mind if I—”
Aimee smiled. “Take off your mask? Please do.”
Augustus unclipped the strap from behind his ear. He placed it on the table and wrapped his fingers around the goblet’s stem. The days of feeling self-conscious were over. The burned, twisted flesh was a reminder to everyone that he was a survivor. He took a large mouthful of sour wine, trying not to show signs of disgust when swallowing.
“Delicious. Did you make this here?”
Aimee sniffed her wine and pushed it to one side. “If you think this is fine wine, then you are less cultured than I previously thought.”
Augustus bowed his head and picked up a trotter. “We don’t need to get into an argument about culture. I know all about yours. While you were in stasis, I read about you and your little cultural diversion. Quite the adventure you had.”
Aimee scoffed. “What do you know of me?”
He detected irritation in her voice. An attitude Aimee never displayed before the downing of the mother ship. The price for Augustus’ silence about the cut-off group in Canada was a ludus, where he could spend leisure time away from the watchful eyes of the croatoan council. Now she knew he couldn’t crush her like a pea, she seemed to be changing, taking advantage.
Augustus swallowed more wine to wash down the overcooked meat. “In history books you have two names. Aimee du Buc de Rivery, a French heiress, and Naksidil Sultan, a reforming queen mother of the Ottoman Empire. I made it my business to know about all stowaways.”