Free Critical Dawn by Colin F. Barnes, Darren Wearmouth Page A

a few feet away, rigid, and running from top to bottom. Easy enough to navigate. The view enabled him to get a handle on the size of their craft. Roughly two hundred feet long and seventy high. Colored a dull black but with something painted on the side he couldn’t quite see because of the angle.
    “Get moving, boy,” the man shouted, all humor gone from his voice.
    Ben weighed his options. They couldn’t get back into the ship and needed some form of protection. This man and whoever he was with provided it. They could have shot him, Maria, or Ethan on the platform. It seemed like the Ops team only had one choice.
    He ran back to the internal space. “Did you hear all of that?”
    “Not quite, but we did hear some English,” Maria said. “What did he say?”
    “We need to leave, now.”
    “Where are we going?” Maria said.
    “Who is it?” Ethan said.
    “Possibly a member of the crew. He says we need to leave or we’ll die. Do you want to try and prove him wrong?”
    “No. Where are we?” Ethan said.
    “He’s going to explain when we get down. We’ve got a minute. There’s a ladder on the side. Ready?”
    “Okay, let’s do it,” Maria said. “I don’t like it but …”
    Ethan returned a vacant look. Ben shook his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
    “Yeah … Yes. I’m with you.”
    Ben jogged back to the edge of the platform. “We’re coming down. There’s three of us.”
    The man nodded and took a couple of steps back. He crouched on the dirt, surveying the area through the sights of his rifle.
    “It’s just around this edge. I’ll go first,” Ben said.
    He reached out and gripped the cold, square ladder rail. Composing himself, he took a deep breath and swung his left leg around onto a rung, grabbing the opposite rail with his left hand.
    The sixty-foot drop had a dizzying effect. He hugged against the ladder, squeezing the rails hard.
    “Don’t look down,” Ben said.
    He descended the ladder, concentrating on his deliberate movements while glancing up at the other two. After Ben climbed down twenty feet, Ethan swayed out onto the ladder with a youthful fearlessness. Maria followed shortly after, and all three clanked toward the ground.
    Ben flinched after the man shouted, “Denver, deal with that driver!”
    He felt the man’s presence as he neared the dirt. With only four feet to go, Ben jumped off the ladder, twisting as he landed.
    The man stood only four feet away. He wore a camouflage jacket and trousers with pieces of greenery attached, giving his clothing a strange organic appearance. The jacket hood had three ferns attached. They twitched as the breeze caught the edges.
    A pink scar running down the center of his forehead wrinkled as he smiled through a thick, dark blond beard. His striking blue eyes were rimmed with weather-beaten wrinkles, giving him a hard look. He looked at least ten years older than Ben.
    He held out his hand and with a low, rough voice, said, “Charlie Jackson. Your only hope for survival.”

Chapter Nine
    Charlie waited for the uniformed man to take his hand, but he stood there, staring at Charlie with wide-eyed confusion. There was a degree of terror in there too. Charlie had seen that expression hundreds of times before. Usually when people realized their planet was no longer theirs, or in the final moments of their life.
    “What’s your name?” Charlie asked as the other eventually took his hand. The man’s grip was weak, the shake clumsy. He’d obviously never shaken someone’s hand before. Wasn’t surprising.
    The croatoans wouldn’t have bothered to go to that level of education for their ruse. They only needed people within the harvesters to believe they were on a generational ship and give them some bullshit procedures to follow in order to keep the harvesters on track for their yield of root.
    “I’m Ben,” he said, releasing his grip. Two others joined him. Ben pointed to the younger male. “He’s Ethan,” and to the woman,