Critical Strike (The Critical Series Book 3) (16 page)

“So,” Mai said, stretching her arms over her head and looking at the finished device on the workbench, “today we test it.”

“Yep. I’ve had Ryan take some croatoan packs out into the clearing so we can test it at the appropriate range. This should tell us if we’re geniuses or hacks.”

“Hacks, my dear, always hacks.”

Mai stood up from her stool and kissed Mike on the cheek. “But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have some genius in that mad old brain of yours.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“I know.”

Mike handed the flask to his soul mate and began to pack up the batteries and other supplies needed to test the new transmitter. The device itself was only the size of a Rubik’s Cube, but with the croatoan tech inside, it had enough power to send a microwave signal across the expanse of the clearing to the south of Unity—if it worked.

Given the power requirements and the batteries at hand, they had enough juice for at least four blasts, including the test.

“I’m looking forward to getting out into the open air again,” Mai said, shrugging her slight frame into a gray woolen coat. “Feels like we’ve been down in this horrible little dungeon for years.”

“I’ve grown quite fond of it,” Mike replied, slinging the gym bag of gear over his shoulder.

“I thought you might. You were the same back in the ice cave. I think you were the only one to be disappointed when the world thawed and we could finally leave that godforsaken dark hole.”

Mike smiled at her jibe, remembering the first time they had met in the cave.

At the height of the ice age—brought about by the croatoans’ terraforming machines—so many of the survivors perished, but with Charlie and two dozen others, they had sought out a place to live. No one realized how long they would be there for, but Mike had made that cave as much of a home as any he had lived in.

Mai had lost her parents just a few days before she and a couple of her neighbors had stumbled across the cave and the small community within. They had hit it off right away—Mai’s first reaction upon seeing him was to point and laugh at his terrible sweater.

She had told him later that that was the first time she had laughed since the croatoans ended everything.

“What are you grinning at?” Mai asked as she did up the buttons on her coat.

“Just a memory.”

“Oh?”

“When we first met, your first response was to laugh at me.”

“With you, dear, not at you. But I remember it like it was yesterday. I had never seen anyone so at one with himself and the situation. You just exuded calm and a sense of adventure. Given the amount of grief around at the time, you stood out like a beacon.”

“That’d be the bright orange sweater,” Mike said with a wink.

“Where’s our little capable friend?” Mai asked, turning around to look at the makeshift bed in the corner of the workshop. The small bed was empty, the covers ruffled and pushed to one side.

“Gib said last night as we were finishing up that he was going to spend the night with his family. I think the radio reception of Augustus’ group brought a dose of reality to him.”

“It feels so wrong to have pity for them.”

“I know, but I try to remember that they weren’t part of the invasion; they’re as much victims of their own race as we are. It’d be like blaming all Germans for the Nazis. Those born after the conflict can’t be judged the same as their forebears.”

“Not many people with our experience could have that view,” Mai said. “It’s difficult to forget what their fellow croatoans did to this planet.”

“I do understand, my love, but we have to trust them.”

Two pairs of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the workshop until Ryan and Aimee stepped inside, their shadows casting obtusely across the rough-hewn floor. Aimee was wearing a pair of jeans and a plain black sweater—all rather utilitarian for her, Mike thought. Ryan, as ever, wore his fatigues.

Both of them had shadows and bags under their eyes.

“Hi,” Mai said. “You two look as tired as we feel.”

“It’s not been an easy night,” Aimee said, rubbing her eyes with her right hand.

Mike noticed a slight tremble—she’d been dosing up on the root, which wasn’t entirely surprising given the threat to the town. She had to remain alert and functioning as the leader of this small community.

“Any news?” Ryan said, nodding his head in the direction of the bag over Mike’s shoulder. Ryan and Aimee both had an eager, almost hopeful expression on their faces that reminded Mike of Denver’s dog, Pip, when she would sit at his feet waiting for a tidbit of food.

He missed that dog. He hoped she was okay. But like Denver, she was a single-minded and highly capable animal. Wherever she might have run off to, Mike didn’t doubt she was surviving—just like Charlie and Denver.

Ryan coughed, bringing Mike back to the present. “With Gib’s help we got the device complete sometime early this morning,” Mike added. “We were just going out to test it—it may need calibrating or tweaking.”

Aimee’s face seemed to lose a shade more color.

“What’s wrong?” Mai asked, not missing a thing.

Aimee fidgeted and looked to the floor for a moment before focusing back on Mike and Mai. “It’s Augustus—he’s closer than we expected. Khan and Baliska returned a few hours ago with information on his forces. Although they’re not organized, they’re more numerous than we first anticipated.”

Mike sighed, feeling the muscles in the back of his neck tighten with the stress. “So what you’re saying is that we really need to hurry because that bastard will be on us at any moment?”

“That’s about right,” Ryan added, patting a bulky form in the pocket of his cargo trousers. “I was up listening to their radio communications—or the ones before their scout returned to them. Khan and Baliska couldn’t get to them in time. It seems they’ve either found an alternative means of communication or have scrambled the frequency. It’s just dead air now. We don’t know their movements.”

Aimee cut in, adding to Ryan’s report. “Although Khan and Baliska managed to inflict a number of casualties and take out one of their shuttles, they still have a sizeable force and we have to expect an attack at any moment.”

“That’s just great,” Mike said. “Well, it just means we better stop standing around gossiping and get on with the test before that psycho turns up and spoils our day.”

Mike shifted the bag higher on to his shoulder and made to move out of the dim workshop. Aimee and Ryan didn’t move, blocking his exit. He looked up at them and sensed from their tense body language there was something else.

Mai was no slouch in her observations either as she asked, “What else is wrong?”

“It’s… Maria,” Aimee said. “Khan saw her in the Freetown complex.”

Mike’s jaw tensed. “What’s that bastard done to her?”

“Nothing from what Khan could see. She was seemingly there of her own free will. He saw her walking into your workshop building with another member of Augustus’ army.”

“Was she hurt?” Mai asked.

“Not that Khan could notice, but who knows what Augustus has in mind,” Aimee said. “She could be used…” Aimee tailed off, but Mike knew exactly what she was hinting at. Augustus would use anything he could to get his own way. He just hoped for Maria’s sake that she was savvy enough to avoid him because Mike had no doubt he would torture her for information or use her as a pawn in the battle if it came to it… or worse.

“I understand,” Mike said. “All the more reason to test this out right away.”

Without waiting any longer, Mike, along with Mai, sidestepped around Aimee and Ryan and headed for the surface.

Although Maria was a confused, troubled woman, he had grown to like her in the short time she had been with them at Freetown. She just needed time to come to terms with her new life and the fact that she was a clone. Deep down, Mike knew she was a kindhearted woman and it pained him to see her so… interstitial.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” Mai said, as they continued to climb the steps up to the surface and into the light of a new day, a new dawn—as long as the microwave weapon worked, otherwise this might be the last morning he and the rest of Unity would see.

***

The chill wind whipped through Mike’s sweater, making him shiver as he stalked up the steps of Unity’s steep sides.

Mai had remained at the bottom to save her energy. They kept in touch via a short-range two-way radio they had salvaged from a nearby town.

As he climbed ever closer to the ridgetop where the swaying fields of root crop waited, he felt like the entire town was watching him with bated breath and expectant hearts. The pressure, he was sure, was not good for him. His chest tightened with each step, but he carried on until he finally reached his destination.

Some of the Unity engineers had erected a staging platform for the weapon: a wooden plinth two meters high. A set of steps, adapted from a crashed aircraft, led up to this plinth. Mike climbed up and let out a long breath as he finally reached his zenith. The platform, however, didn’t stop there.

The engineers had built a wooden tower some three meters high, upon which was attached the directional dish that would be used to aim and fire the concentrated beam of microwaves.

Mike recognized the dish as one of the US Army’s own take on a microwave weapon. Matte green in color and hexagonal in shape, the dish was once used to pacify protestors.

How awful that now seemed, Mike thought as he placed his bag of equipment onto the platform. How could humanity have been so cruel to its own people? If they only knew what was coming, then perhaps human life would have been held in higher regard. Though a nagging doubt in the back of his mind told him that was still unlikely. It’s not as if the teachings of religion and art from ancient civilizations had any effect.

“How are you doing up there?” Mai asked, her voice crackling over the two-way radio.

Mike reached up to his lapel where he had it attached. Pressing the button, he said, “I got here in one piece; the engineers have done a good job on the platform. I’m just connecting up now. I’ll report back in five, over.”

With the ripe scent of root wafting on the cold breeze, Mike rubbed his hands together and got to work connecting the device to the batteries and the dish. He had to admire the combination of human and croatoan tech and ingenuity. If only the croatoans had come to them peacefully. They could have perhaps worked together for the benefit of both races—or at least to avoid wholesale slaughter of the majority of one species.

The hate filled him as it always did when he thought about what could have been. With the memories of finding that blue bead and the excitement it brought, Mike attached the final wire to the dish and flicked on the power switch.

The device hummed to life and two green LEDs flashed, indicating that all was as it should be; the first light confirmed the device was receiving power and the second confirmed connection to the dish.

“The first two checks are good. Over,” Mike said into his radio.

“That’s great to hear,” Mai replied, then her voice cut off to be replaced by Aimee’s. “Good job, Mike, we’re all very proud of what you, Mai, and Gib have done. Are you ready for the test? Over.”

Mike stood at the edge of the wooden platform and looked across the root field until he saw the pair of croatoan breathing packs held up on wooden poles fifty feet apart and about a hundred meters away. If they had done their work properly, then the microwave blast would overload the apparatus’ electronics, damaging them beyond repair.

The croatoans in Unity had long ditched the interconnected systems and had built smaller, mechanical units. Although they weren’t as sophisticated as the electronic ones, they did the job and weren’t reliant on power beyond their own breathing. It was all done with filters.

Those still on the farms, now part of Augustus’ united group, did not have the time or abilities to build a new system—and why would they when they thought they were in charge and faced no threat?

“Mike?” Mai prompted. “Are you there? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, sorry, I was just thinking… no matter, I’m firing the test right now. Over.” He stepped back to the small square device and held the chrome switch between his fingers. This was it…

His body trembled with a mix of fear and excitement just like it used to when he was on the verge of an archeological discovery or some kind of engineering breakthrough. He wasted no more time and flipped the switch.

The green LEDs blinked out to be replaced with a pulsating red one next to the firing switch on the device’s aluminum surface. The air around him hummed as the device dumped a massive amount of energy into the dish in the form of encrypted microwaves.

The red LED blinked out and the strange sensation stopped. “It fired,” Mike said excitedly. “I’m just going to confirm the apparatus is no longer working. Over.”

“Be careful,” Mai said.

“I always am,” he replied. He must have said that a million times over the years as he and Mai worked on their various projects.

As fast as his old legs could carry him, Mike stepped off the platform and strode through the pungent field of root crop toward the two breathing packs. Each step added to his anxiety. He felt sick as he reached the first one. He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but he had an entire town waiting on him, so he wasted no time and removed the multimeter from his trouser pocket and placed the prongs into the breathing apparatus’ power conduit.

With the second one attached, he held his breath and closed his eyes as he muttered prayers to the gods of electronics. When he opened his eyes and stared down at the instrument display, his heart sank.

It was reading perfectly normal! The microwave blast hadn’t blown the workings as hoped. A sheen of sweat rose on his face and neck. His legs shook, but he tried to remain calm and tested again. The result came back the same.

Okay, try the other one, he thought, quickly dashing over to the second machine. It too was still fully operational.

It had failed.

He had failed.

Mike fell to one knee and hung his head, the night’s efforts finally catching up with him. He pounded the compacted hard ground with his fist and yelled an incoherent word, just to let out the frustration and rage.