Guardian Generations

by C. Osborne Rapley

He woke some time later shivering with cold. Light streamed in through the crack in the wall. He glanced at the fire that was merely a few glowing embers. The memory of where he was came flooding back. Right, I was obviously in stasis on the medi-bed for a very long time. I have to take control of this situation.

  He shivered again; the fire needed some attention. Octavian stood and went over to the pile of dried wood. He stoked the fire and it was soon burning brightly again. He sat down by the pile of items he had collected from the living quarters, and he had not realised how hungry he was. His stomach rumbled; he felt empty.

  He investigated the ration packs first. They were sterilised and sealed so in theory they should last indefinitely in the correct conditions. Of the packs he had found only two had survived in a satisfactory condition. They were dried rations, and the seals had remained intact. It was the ready-to-eat ones that had not lasted. There was also a pan among the items he had collected. He pulled the coat tightly around himself and ventured out of the cave to collect some snow.

  When he emerged from the cave, he had to shield his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. The wind had dropped, and it had stopped snowing. His breath hung in the still morning air. He had to breathe slowly, as the bitter cold formed painful icicles in his nose and would hurt his lungs if he were not careful. The coat did however offer him some protection. He quickly gathered some clean fresh snow into his pan, and remembered the survival instructor joking with them, “Never use yellow snow!” He smiled at the memory. The thought made him feel better. He would survive get back to civilisation and find out what happened.

  The snow melted quickly over the fire. Octavian stirred in the contents of one of the dried ration bags, and the smell of the cooking stew made his mouth water. He stirred it for the recommended period, though his hunger was gnawing at him.

  Once the stew was ready he lifted it from the fire and ate directly from the saucepan, blowing on each spoonful to cool it. This was the first meal he had eaten since being shot. How long ago was that –hundreds, thousands of years? Even with the stew warming him he shivered. The pan was soon empty and Octavian sighed, with only one more ration pack, he must find food. Once his food supply was secured, he could then think what to do next. He had to find civilisation somewhere.

  He stood and walked over to the medi-bed, pulled open one of the side panels and ripped out the wires. He stripped the small wires then constructed a few small animal traps with the wires and wood from the tree he had salvaged.

  The winter uniform he had found was a little tight around the waist, but otherwise it seemed to fit. He put on the overcoat and buckled on his swords. Now he was ready for whatever else life could throw at him.

  Two: Seonaid

  Octavian scrambled through the crack in the wall, up out of the cave and into the bright sunlight. The snow crunched under his boots and deep drifts made his legs ache whilst pushing through them. He made for the line of trees. The snow was not as thick under the trees, and it was easier to walk. He quickly found signs of small animals, there was one with long back legs that hopped rather than walked. He caught a glimpse of some – they were thirty to fifty centimetres long with long ears. He set his wires where there seemed to be runs through the undergrowth.

  In the distance, a group of larger four-legged animals were busy clearing the snow and eating the grass and moss beneath. The larger ones with antlers stood as high as he did. They appeared nervous, constantly lifting their heads and looking about.

  Keeping downwind of them, he moved closer using the trees as cover. He was making good progress when a branch he stepped on broke with a crack. The animals all looked up and were on the point of flight. Octavian held his breath and stood still. There was one animal off to the side, closer to him than the others. He assumed it was a female as it had no antlers. When he was close enough for a clean shot, he pulled the laser from his belt.

  Holding his hand steady he raised the laser pistol, held his breath, took careful aim and fired. The animal fell immediately. Although the laser was almost silent, as soon as the animal fell the remainder took flight. He hefted the dead creature over his shoulders and made his way back to the cave. He was just going to step out from the line of trees when a sixth sense made him hesitate. He kept to the shadows and watched, a large band of people with carts and chariots were moving along the line of trees. They were sticking to the edge of the trees where the snow was thin. The women and children walking by the wagons looked weary, but the men looked formidable. They were dressed in thick material with a square multi-coloured pattern on it. They had shields slung across their backs and long swords strapped to their sides. The ones on the chariots had bundles of spears tied to the side rail. Their hair was a reddish brown, worn long. Some had full red beards. The chariots had skulls lashed to the sides. Some of the walking warriors had skulls dangling from their belts.

  His breath caught in his chest; these people were not Cartigians. The Cartigians were a thickset stocky people with low foreheads, thick eyebrow ridges, and wide flattened faces. Unbelievably, the group looked like his people, the Lantians. Other than the large training base isolated on one of Cartigia’s islands there should not have been any of his people on this world.

  Octavian decided to remain hidden, so he dropped down behind a clump of bushes just off to his right. He made sure he could watch the group as they moved past, In a few of the wagons, there were wounded warriors. They must have recently been in a battle. Some of the wagons had darker-haired people tied to them. They were not dressed the same and were all women or children. One of the children had fallen and was being dragged along by the cart he was tied to. As he struggled to get up one of the warriors turned back, drew a knife, cut the rope, and slit the child’s throat. With a kick, he pushed the small body into the undergrowth.

  While most people’s attention was on this gruesome tableau, Octavian noticed a woman tied to one of the other wagons slip her bonds and dive to the edge of the wood. She hid herself in the same large clump of bushes Octavian had chosen to hide in. He remained still and silent, waiting to see what happened next. He could hear her frightened ragged breathing. The group had passed by and were moving away round the far edge of the trees. The woman stood up. She hadn’t noticed two warriors bringing up the rear; one pulled his long sword just as she turned. He raised it above his head to deal a killing blow. The other one stood by with a vicious grin on his face. The woman cowered back.

  Octavian moved quickly. He drew his swords and stepped between the woman and her attacker. He raised his left sword to block the swing then sidestepped as the blow shook his left arm. Sparks flew as the warrior’s blade slid down his sword and stopped at the hilt. Octavian pushed and twisted his opponent’s blade and swung with his right-hand sword at the warrior’s exposed side, cutting cleanly through flesh and bone. With almost a continuation of the movement, he blocked the second warrior’s thrust. With the first opponent now down he used his left sword and swung at the remaining warrior, who attempted to block the blow with his shield. Octavian’s blade sliced right through the wooden shield as if it were butter. The warrior twisted away, leaving himself open to Octavian’s right-hand sword. Octavian thrust, and the second of his two attackers fell to the ground.

  He wiped his bloodstained blades on one of the fallen warrior’s clothes then sheathed them. He turned to the woman, who now knelt shivering in the snow, pulled off his coat, and threw it over her shoulders. He quickly pulled the two fallen warriors into the bushes and covered them with loose branches. With another branch, he brushed at the bloodstained snow and covered the area with fresh clean snow. He looked back the way that the baggage train had gone, but there was no sign of anyone coming back to investigate.

  Octavian dragged the shivering woman to her feet, her face dirty, but for white streaks formed by her tears. Her brown hair was matted by dried blood from a wound to her head. He wrinkled his nose; she smelt unwashed. Oh no, what the hell have I lumbered myself with now? He t
hought to himself. He motioned her to follow him, which she did in a kind of daze. He stooped, picked up the animal carcass he had dropped, and carefully walked back to his cave. The woman followed him, still shivering with cold. He ensured they made as much use as possible of the tracks left by the column so they could not be followed easily.

  They reached his cave without incident, and he laid his prize carefully down in the cave entrance; he would butcher it later. Octavian made his way down the slope to the crack in the wall. There was a cry behind him as the woman slipped on the loose scree. He sidestepped as she rolled past. She came to rest, a bundle of sobbing rags against the bunker wall. Feeling sorry for the smelly bundle of sorrow, he pulled her through the crack, and laid her down next to the fire. He busied himself stoking the fire. She moved closer to it and pulled his coat tightly around herself.

  As Octavian picked up his knife she shrank back, a look of terror on her face. He shook his head and went to prepare the animal for eating. After he had butchered it, he hid the entrails well away from the cave. He carried the meat to the bunker, piled it just outside then collected some ice and snow to cover it. With any luck, it would stay fresh for a long while in the frozen conditions.

  He crawled back through to the medical room. The woman had drunk the last of his water and was asleep curled up by the fire. He sat down on the other side of the fire and studied his new companion. She was definitely a Lantian. What were they doing here? Where were the Cartigians? Why did they seem so primitive? He had not sensed any computer. Even stranger, he could not sense any telepathic connection. If she were a true Lantian he should at least sense something. He took advantage of the fact she was sleeping and looked into her mind. He quickly found the reason for the telepathic silence. While she had the latent telepathic capability of a Lantian it was dormant from lack of use. They must have lost the ability over a long period of time. He pushed gently and reactivated the dormant part of her mind. She stirred and groaned in her sleep but had no other reaction to the change.

  He had heard the group talking as they passed, and their language was unknown to him. He rose, picked up one of his torches and lit it in the fire. He made his way back into the living quarters. He remembered seeing a small pocket computer in one of the cupboards; he had not tried it but maybe it still had power enough to act as a translator. It was capable of receiving the thoughts and sounds of a word and translating them in his mind. Once it had begun to learn a language it could translate his thoughts into the correct word so he could speak it out loud and be understood.

  He quickly found the computer, and to his relief it still had power. The power cells were unique and had just been developed before his mishap. They did not deteriorate over time and would function for as long as the computer functioned. He also found a small female winter uniform. He returned to the medical room just as his torch started to flicker out.

  The woman had not stirred. Now, he could sense her, and her thoughts were a confused jumble. He shut his mind.

  He started to cook a little of the meat and melt more snow for water, and the smell from the cooking meat roused the sleeping woman. Octavian felt her hunger. She woke and sat up, looking warily at him.

  “Hello,” he said and reinforced the greeting in her mind. She looked startled and said something. The computer translated and in his mind he heard: Who are you? Why did you save me?

  He interrogated the computer; what is the language?

  Unknown, but there is a faint connection to Galactic Standard.

  He thought his response to the computer and it translated for him. The words were not as difficult as he feared.

  “My name is Octavian. I saved you because it is my job, I am a Guardian.” The computer did not translate the word Guardian.

  She frowned. “You are different from the Celts that destroyed our village.”

  “Celts?”

  “They are a warlike people. If they are not fighting and taking over our land they fight amongst themselves. Our men folk and weapons are no match for them. They have a new metal, it is harder than the bronze we have. I think it is called iron.”

  “Were the people who captured you a raiding party?”

  “Yes. We were caught by surprise. They normally raid in the summer and leave us in peace during the winter. We have withstood their attacks until now. They were desperate and took everything we had. They killed all the men and took their heads as trophies. The women and children were to be used or sold as slaves.”

  Octavian shook his head, appalled by the barbarity of the world he found himself in. He could tell from her mind she was telling the truth. He shuddered.

  “Was your village totally destroyed?”

  She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Grief flooded her thoughts, causing Octavian to catch his breath. He tried to calm her emotions. She looked strangely at him as though she sensed something.

  “Are you a Shaman or a God?” she asked innocently.

  Octavian laughed, “No, I am the same as you.”

  “Then I am your slave.”

  It was a statement rather than a question. Octavian shook his head. “No, you are not my slave. You are free to come and go as you please.” He checked the fire. “The meat is cooked, please help yourself.”

  She looked sideways at him, “As you are my master, I should not eat before you.”

  Octavian laughed. “Please eat, I know you are hungry.”

  She cautiously reached for the meat. Her hunger overcame her inhibitions and she ate quickly, but she didn’t take her eyes off Octavian. He could see she was scared of him and only half believed she was not his slave.

  Octavian waited patiently until she had finished. Once she had eaten her fill he said, “I’m sure you would like to clean up. Please wash and change into these clothes.” He held up the small uniform he had found. He could sense she was confused and embarrassed, but she was too frightened and unsure to object.

  She stood and walked over to the sink he pointed out to her, which he’d already filled with warm water. Octavian turned his back while she discarded her rags. He sensed she was surprised he did not watch her. In her mind slaves were to be used. She was resigned to her fate. He smiled at her wonderment as she examined the Guardian uniform. She put it on and experimented with the fastenings. The jacket used weak molecular bonding to close the front. He sensed from her thoughts the strange clothing confirmed he was at least a powerful shaman and these were robes of gods. He shook his head he had never been thought of as a God!

  She finished dressing and returned to the fire. It was Octavian’s turn to be surprised. She had scrubbed up to be quite an attractive woman.

  “What animal is this material from?” she asked as she sat down.

  Octavian smiled. “It’s not from any animal, it’s synthetic.” He noticed the computer had no word for synthetic. She didn’t understand what he had said other than it was not from an animal. This reinforced in her mind these were clothes of Gods. Octavian sighed, he had the impression she would remove them as she was unworthy if he was not careful.

  “I need to look at that wound on your head.” He stood and walked round the fire to her. She looked at him with fear in her dark eyes as he knelt down in front of her.

  “I can feel things in my mind, what have you done to me?”

  “Nothing,” I have only given back what you lost he thought. He continued out loud “let me look at your head wound.”

  It was a nasty cut that had lifted some of her scalp, probably a glancing blow from a sword. It looked to Octavian as if it was starting to go septic. He touched it gently and she winced.

  “This wound isn’t healing properly. I need to remove some of your hair to get to it.”

  She nodded, “Do what needs to be done.” She was well aware of what happened when a wound did not heal.

  Octavian went to the medical room cupboards. He hoped that the medical supplies, being well sterilised and sealed, would still be useable. He found some skin sealant and
disinfectant, and with a little further rummaging he located a wound patch for placing over the cut once he had treated it. There were some scissors and a sterilised knife. Once he had what he needed, he walked back over to her and knelt behind her so he could work on the wound. He carefully cut the hair around the wound, which looked angry and had started to smell. He felt her shake as he pulled back the skin.

  “This is going to sting.”

  She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  He applied the disinfectant. It obviously stung as he heard her catch her breath with a hiss. He cleaned carefully round the infected area then applied the skin sealant. The sealant would prevent any further infection and would bond the broken scalp together. He covered the wound with the patch; it would protect the area while the sealant did its work. He stood and walked back round the fire so he could face her. She gingerly touched her head, amazed that it no longer hurt.

  “The patch will drop off when the wound is healed in a couple of days. Don’t remove or interfere with the patch until then.” She nodded. “By the way, what’s your name?” he asked suddenly.

  “Seonaid, daughter of Larton,” she replied.

  Octavian glanced at the fire. The flames were licking round one of the logs, making strange shapes. He let his mind drift for a moment. Suddenly he had an idea. The black ships were modified scout ships with powerful field generators to power the weapon. They should have normal power takeoff points available through a small hatch in the side of hull. If they still had power then perhaps he could reactivate his battle armour and charge a few laser power cells. He stood and walked over to the armour belt, which had a power point on the side in a small recess. He buckled it on. He turned, walked over to his pile of torches and picked them all up.

  “Right, Seonaid daughter of Larton, I need you to help me.”

  She stood. “Yes, Master.”

  Octavian sighed. “Please carry these torches and hold one for me while I work.”

  “Yes, Master.”