The idea initially was to polish the steel to a high chrome-like gleam, but standing there in the workshop, Augustus liked the tarnished texture. Each sweep of the grinder added a streak of tightly woven scratches.
“I like it,” Augustus said with a smile. He ran a fingertip down the scarred side of his face, tracing the labyrinth of smooth tissue, each one a reminder of his past—and his future.
The scars were prophecy.
He had, against all odds, and known laws of biology, endured through the ages. This new mask represented the next stage of his twisting tale.
Augustus the conqueror would return once more. Despite the failures and losses, he knew he was on the right path.
When one was a god, the fates were in your favor, and time became an abstract construct to play with as a child might play with wooden blocks.
The croatoan engineer shut off the grinder, the electric motor winding down with a whine. The mask, held in the vice at an angle, glowed beneath the orange overhead lamp as though it were freshly cast in the very fires of creation.
Augustus stepped forward and released the mask from the vice. He held it there, in both hands, admiring the brutal visage the engineer had crafted upon its surface.
“You’ve done well,” Augustus said.
“Thank you… I hope you like my interp—” the alien cut off, unable to articulate the human words correctly. But at least he was learning.
“Interpretation is the word you’re looking for,” Augustus offered, receiving a nod from the alien. “You’ve come a long way. Just like me. Without Hagellan and the council ruling you, I trust you’ll become a valued member of new society.”
The alien, whose name Augustus still hadn’t bothered to learn how to pronounce, just blinked its beady eyes, indicating it had understood.
Although it didn’t have the vocabulary, or even the thought pattern to communicate fully, it had learned to think for itself. This proved to Augustus that with the remaining croatoans under his influence, the taking of Unity would be just a matter of time.
Revenge, like all worthy artistic endeavors, was something to savor, plan, and execute with a willingness to destroy all that had come before.
The world was clay to mold in his vision.
He pictured Aimee’s flayed, limp body, skewered atop a wooden pike.
Keeping that image in mind, he placed the mask over his face and adjusted the leather strap behind his head. The heat from the worked steel threatened to burn his skin, but the scar tissue, long dead to feeling, kept the pain at bay. A shuddering breath escaped his lips and traveled through the mouth grille.
Every cell in his body tingled as he dropped his hands and looked through the eyes of the mask. It was as if he were seeing through a different veil. He pictured the future—the fall of Unity, the rise of his new empire.
A laugh gurgled from his throat and he stepped out of the small workshop into a larger hangar. This building was the farm facilities’ shuttle bay. Plastic tarps flapped with the blow of the wind; the large hangar doors were open and overlooked miles of neglected farmland.
As he stepped toward the shuttle being repaired, he didn’t feel the cool air creep against his calves like days of old. No need for robes anymore. He dressed in one of the human soldier’s fatigues. It suited his new role: that of conqueror, general… emperor.
“How go the repairs?” he asked.
A middle-aged woman with grease smeared across her face ducked out from beneath a raised panel. She motioned with a spanner. “I’m nearly done, sir. The engine is in good condition and the engineers have reprogrammed the OS. The shuttle has full autonomy now and is interlinked with the other farms. We’ll be testing the full range of comms within the hour.”
“Good. Let me know as soon as the communication network to the other shuttles is fully established. I’d like to address our new pilots.”
The woman nodded her head with respect and dived back under the panel and into the interior of the croatoan shuttle. A pair of alien engineers shuffled around inside toward the cockpit. They held glowing screens in their stubby fingers, chattering away in their staccato language.
Augustus was pleased with what he heard; they were excited about uniting the other croatoans from the desperate farms.
Over the last few days, he had worked hard on galvanizing the displaced aliens. Their numbers had swelled to over three thousand and counting. The message traveled far that Augustus had created a new home for the aliens, a new purpose.
He got the idea from Aimee and her work with Unity.
Seeing how easily humans and croatoans could work together if given a singular focus made him realize it didn’t need to be an all-or-nothing proposition; neither species needed to be exclusive.
The one thing he had learned about both species is that they needed a haven and a leader. Although humans were by far more autonomous and treacherous, he had many centuries of experience to draw upon to keep them in line.
With that thought, he turned away from the shuttle and stepped out of the hangar into the cold gray afternoon light. He turned to his right and walked past the gaggle of buildings until he came to the square.
The sight of Zoe, also dressed in fatigues, standing atop a makeshift stage, brought a smile to his face. She bellowed out a training drill to the hundreds of croatoan and human soldiers all standing in grid formation.
Zoe must have realized he was watching; she ordered the troops to stand to attention and turned her back to them to approach Augustus. She saluted him and clicked her heels together.
“I’ve an update on the other farms, sir.”
“Go ahead,” Augustus said.
“We’ve got five of them on side; their troops and shuttles are en route as I speak. They’ll be here before nightfall.”
“Numbers?”
“Eight shuttles, twenty working harvesters, fifteen hover-bikes, two and a half thousand troops, and enough weaponry to create an infantry battalion of five hundred.”
“I’m impressed,” Augustus said, resting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with an expression of reverie and pride. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long and dipped her chin. It was probably the fearsome sight of his new mask, but he liked to think it was something else—he’d seen the way she had looked at him during the previous few days.
Power generated its own kind of attraction, he had learned. Regardless of his face, his stature and character had a gravity that few could match. He considered taking her as his bedmate.
She had a fire in her belly that he knew he would find between her thighs. He had known many women like her before. The stronger they were, the more passionate… and also the more easily influenced and manipulated.
The strong always wanted more power.
And as a god, he always had more to give, to deal…
“Thank you,” Zoe eventually croaked. “I appreciate this opportunity you’ve given to me… to all of us. We were so confused before, but now we have purpose. I just want to make sure you know that we’re all thankful, grateful for your leadership.”
Augustus squeezed her shoulder as he closed his eyes, letting her obvious flattery wash over him as though they were genuine compliments.
Even lies feel good if you let them.
“Together we’re stronger,” he said, unclasping his grip on her shoulder. He liked how she bit her lip to avoid showing the pain. This one would tolerate a great deal, he thought. Yes, she would be a fine bedmate… “Come visit me in my office when you’re finished with the drills. I have something I want to give you.”