Ripping off a foil cover, and spitting into the remnants of the root powder, he made a paste and used the rippled foil to press and hold the paste around the broken valve. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’d buy him time.
A flash of light came from the glass control panel on the circular wall. A light blue ring spun around, reminding him of the waiting icon on PCs back in the day. And then the car jolted and started to lift.
It appeared that someone had realized there was a problem. Charlie knew he didn’t have long now. Even with the oxygen mask, the atmosphere burned against his skin. With the alien pistol in his left hand, he reached over with his right to grab the bomb from the container, throwing it over his shoulder and putting his arm through the strap so he could wear it like a backpack.
He kneeled behind the container so he would be obscured when the doors opened. He knew he would unlikely get another chance of this.
One way or another, he’d let the bomb off.
For sixty long seconds the elevator continued to climb until finally it stopped and the doors opened. Charlie saw the darkness reflect against the back wall. He gripped the pistol tight and strained his hearing, all the while trying to suppress the urge to cough.
The oxygen ran out. Each inhalation brought nothing. He cast the mask and the small tank to the side. He felt drunk, his vision spinning. Pain pinched at his nerves and muscles as they knotted with cramp.
And still he gripped the pistol and waited.
A voice called out to him. It sounded from somewhere far away and dulled as though his ears were full of water. Louder now, closer, the words became distinguishable.
“Oh Mr. Jackson, what have you done? The scourge of my employers fancied a tour of the ship, did he?” A shadow loomed over Charlie and he knew this to be the one named Augustus. “Come out, little wasp, unless you wish to choke to a slow painful death. I’m not concerned either way. Come see what you want to see. It’s too late for everyone else now. Maybe you’ll prove worth keeping around? Your choice.”
The shadow retreated.
Charlie moved his aching body to the side and peered round the container into the dark corridor and thought he was hallucinating. Outside of the elevator, beyond the short corridor was a room styled like a Roman court.
A colonnade of columns stretched into the distance like disciplined soldiers. The fluting was a perfect replica or Roman composite design. They’d even got the ornate, floral capital correct.
Marble surfaces adorned the floors, supporting lush terracotta-colored rugs. A mist of pale air billowed out of the elevator; the alien atmosphere leaking into an artificial human one.
Even with the mask, Charlie knew he was human on the inside.
Augustus was wearing a red toga with a large golden broach. He reached the end of the colonnade and turned. He waved at Charlie, beckoned him in. His mask glinted in the candlelight as he turned and disappeared into the gloom. Hallucination or not, Charlie couldn’t wait any longer. He crawled out of the elevator and pulled his legs free in time for the door to shut behind and the car to descend.
Fresh sustaining air flooded his lungs when he inhaled. His eyes watered, clearing the stinging alien atmosphere. Everything told him to just lie where he was and breathe, give into the pain and wait it out. But no, he couldn’t afford to do that; this was bigger than him.
The bomb weighed heavily on his back despite its small and potent stature.
He got to his feet, and walked after Augustus, small grenades of pain exploding in his muscles, but with every movement he felt looser, stronger. The root compound continued to tingle on his chest, the soreness of which had reduced to barely a mild irritant.
With knife in one hand and pistol in the other, Charlie continued down between the columns until he came to the end. To his right he saw more firelight flickering in the darkness.
He squinted, trying to make out more details, but the darkness and shadows were too encompassing. He had no choice but to go further into the space. His boots echoed on the marble surface. He stayed to the left hand wall, using the torches in the sconces to navigate his way forward.
Unable to stand the quiet, he called out. “So what now, Augustus? You change Earth for good. Where does that leave you? Trapped up here in your little ode to a dead empire? You must know what happened to the Romans when the Visigoths came to town.”
A flash of brilliant white light made him stumble to a stop and bring his arm up to his eyes. He heard the shuffle of feet too late. Something metallic struck out of the whiteness against his forearm, making him drop the pistol.
Charlie dashed back and hunched into a defensive stance, holding his knife out in front of him, ready to strike back. Through squinted eyes he saw a sandaled foot kick the pistol away further into the wide white expanse.
“You’re no Goth,” Augustus said, the voice coming from behind Charlie. “At least they put up a real fight.”
He spun round and slashed out with his knife, but no one was there. He realized his mistake too late.
A foot crunched into his back, sending him flying forward. He hit the marble floor; the side of his head cracked against the unforgiving surface, making his vision bleed with blotches of color.
Weight pressed down him, pushing the hard case of the bomb into his lower back. A blade cut the straps and the bomb was taken away. Charlie spun on to his back, bringing his fists up ready to protect himself, but Augustus casually tossed the bomb away, clearly thinking it was nothing more than a backpack of supplies.
Returning to Charlie, Augustus held a broadsword by his side. The man’s silhouette blocked some of the glaring light. Charlie could now make out that they were in a large open office-like space. A desk sat centrally and a large screen wall separated the space to its right. But more importantly, to the far right, thirty or so feet away, Charlie saw a porthole, through which he saw the underside of the terraform ship just a few feet above.
He was near the top, and crucially, near the edge.
Charlie smiled and began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Augustus said, bringing the point of the sword forward until it touched Charlie’s throat.
“Just funny how things turn out. You spend so much energy worrying about something, worrying about how to achieve something, and yet if you just let go, life will often put you in the right place.”
“Huh, who thought you would be so philosophically minded? That you survived the confrontation with Baliska made me think you were just a savage. You see, I’ve seen lots like you in my time.”
Augustus arranged the mask on his face where it had slipped slightly, exposing the knotted scar tissue beneath.
“Time’s another funny thing, isn’t it?” Charlie said, inching back away from the sword’s point. He got a good look at it now, and the hilt, recognized it as Roman design. “Funny how you’re here in this advanced space craft, and yet you’ve had your quarters decorated in such an old style. Have a thing for the Roman Empire do you? Fancy yourself as an emperor?”
Augustus laughed now, throaty and genuine. He lowered to his haunches, staring at Charlie with his one good eye. It was then that Charlie noticed how old he looked. Though his visible skin appeared in good condition, that eye was something else. It contained the years of someone who had seen so much more than they should have.
“Fancy myself? You fool, Jackson. I am one. Was one. Will be one again. But you’re right about time. There was a time when I thought my time was over. Time, however, isn’t linear like we think. Oh no, Mr. Jackson, it’s pliable, if you’re willing to wait.”