Critical Path (The Critical Series Book2) Read Online Free PDF

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.”
    She screwed up her face and hunched forward. “A stowaway? Are you trying to be funny?”
    “I’m sorry. It must have been hard with the pirates.”
    “Pirates?”
    “Your transition from Aimee to Naksidil. I’m sympathizing. The kidnapping must have been tough. I’ve also had my hardships. I understand—”
    Aimee let out a short, sharp laugh. “I thought you meant on the croatoan ship. I went to the empire out of choice. Your book is wrong.”
    “It seems the sands of time have wronged both of us.” Augustus sighed. “History is written by the winners. Lies carved in stone that become facts after a few generations. But we can purge that history. Right the wrongs scrawled by the manipulators, who projected their contemporary views onto historical matters that they knew very little about.”
    “And what exactly are your wrongs?” An amused smile crept onto her lips.
    She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew