Guardian Generations

by C. Osborne Rapley

  “My name is Octavian.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Octavian lit one of the torches and pushed through the door into the corridor.

  “Follow me.”

  She hesitated. “It is deeper into the underworld. I should not go.”

  Octavian was getting tired of the superstition; he had never worked with primitive people. “I will protect you, please come on.” She followed reluctantly. He walked to the end of the corridor and through the door into the hangar. He sensed immediately this was almost too much for her. He turned and faced her, feeling the constriction in his throat. He had to break the cardinal rule of his people again. It had been drummed into him as a child: never interfere with the emotions of others. The thought went round and around in his head. He ignored it and lessened the fear in her mind. She shook her head as if trying to remember something she could not quite reach.

  “Now please follow me.”

  She nodded; her fear had receded.

  Octavian walked over to the nearest black ship while Seonaid just looked on in wonder. With part of his mind he kept control of her fear. He reached up and ran his hands over the black hull. The access hatch should be near here. His fingers felt the recessed catch. He held his breath, pushed and twisted. The hatch flipped open. He released his breath with a sigh. So far so good! “Seonaid, please bring the torch closer.”

  She did as he requested. The power takeoff and cables were stowed under the hatch just as in a normal scout ship. Octavian could barely believe his luck. Now I need the ship’s power systems to be active. He crossed his fingers, reached in and pulled out the cable. There were several different types of connector on the cable. He selected the correct one and plugged it into his armour belt. Seonaid lit another torch. Octavian stood still, watching the flames of the torch flicker on the ship’s hull. He suddenly felt the belt’s systems come online. It’s working! His heart was racing; he took a deep breath to calm himself. He held Seonaid’s mind and commanded the armour to activate. There was a shimmer as the belt’s systems adjusted the molecular structure of the air around him. The armour unfolded with a barely audible series of clunks. Seonaid would have dropped the torch and fled if he had not been holding her mind.

  He checked his helmet head up system displays. Power was at 17%. Ten more minutes and the power supply would be fully charged. He pulled the laser power packs from the belt and plugged them into the ship’s supply. By the time the armour was charged the laser packs should be fully active.

  With every minute that passed Octavian was feeling more confident. He let his mind drift monetarily, relaxing his hold on Seonaid. She let out a scream and fainted.

  The torch dropped and flickered out. “Oh shit!” Octavian activated the helmet lights on his armour. The brilliance compared to the torch flame made him gasp involuntarily. He checked the power status: 90%.

  He waited until all the suit functions showed green then with a quick command he terminated the status display. He checked the tactical and communications – there was nothing in range of the communications system. The suit, with satellite relays, could cover the whole planet. There was, as he had guessed, nothing. He was totally alone.

  Seonaid groaned. He disconnected the power cable, unplugged the laser power packs and replaced the access hatch. He stooped and picked up the unconscious woman. The suit servos assisted him so she was easy to carry back to the medical room. He laid her gently by the fire and covered her with a blanket. With a simple command he folded the armour away into the belt.

  Octavian settled down opposite her and slept with his mind ready. He was not convinced she would not try something while he was asleep. It was better to be safe than sorry. He did not have a restful night –his mind was active and he shared her troubled dreams because of the link he maintained.

  Three: The Celts

  Octavian woke first and prepared the last ration pack for breakfast. Seonaid woke shortly after.

  She sat up, eyes wide. “Master I’m sorry for not waking. I should prepare the food.”

  He ignored her, and once the food was ready he gave her half. He settled down and ate his. She ate, watching him through lowered eyelashes.

  “I dreamt strange dreams of the underworld last night. You were in a glowing suit. I don’t remember anything else. It didn’t happen, did it?”

  Octavian shook his head. “No it was just a dream, don’t worry.”

  It was easier to let her think it was a dream rather than try to explain what really happened. He could explain later when there was time.

  Once they had finished, he rose. “Do you know where there is a village of your people?”

  She nodded. “Yes there is a large village just beyond the forest. We have traded with them often. Unfortunately, the Celts were heading that way.”

  “Will they attack as soon as they get there?” Octavian asked.

  “No, they will have camped last night. With their baggage train slowing them they may not arrive until this afternoon. They will set up camp outside the ramparts then taunt the defenders. They will not attack until tomorrow morning.”

  “Right, we must move quickly then.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “Persuade them to move on,” Octavian replied.

  “You cannot persuade them. They understand only one thing – war!”

  Octavian smiled. “My powers of persuasion are quite strong.”

  She shook her head. Octavian buckled on his swords and the armour belt. He got a coat for her from the living quarters, and they set off together.

  Seonaid led them through the forest. She chatted away about her life and the plans she had before the attack. Octavian did not stop her as he found it useful information on the society he had found himself in. After a few hours they came to a gentle rise. In a large clearing on top of the rise sat a village surrounded by a stout palisade. The Celts were camped off to the right, just out of range of slingshot and arrows. Octavian could see figures on the palisade facing the Celts. At the moment, all was silent. He checked his laser – it was fully charged, and he had two spare power packs in his belt.

  Seonaid whispered, “What do we do now? They will see us if we break cover. They will be on us before we can get to the village.”

  “Wait here and stay hidden whatever happens. I will come for you.”

  “They will kill you without thinking twice about it.”

  He caught the concern in her voice. “Just stay here, I will be fine. Don’t worry. Whatever you see and hear you will be safe, just stay hidden.”

  She nodded. “I will do as you ask.”

  Octavian rose and, keeping out of range of the defenders, he walked round towards the Celts’ camp. He watched carefully, and as he approached the Celtic warriors roused themselves. The leader walked forward and shouted. The language was different from Seonaid’s. Octavian’s computer couldn’t translate for him; it didn’t need to – from the tone he knew it was abuse. He stood and waited. The other warriors, keeping behind the leader, started to bang their sword hilts on the back of their shields.

  Octavian’s heart started to race, and his hands became clammy. Holding them by his sides he stretched his fingers. It was obvious by the way that the leader came strutting towards him and shouting that he intended to fight Octavian alone. Octavian thought quickly: activate my armour or fight with my swords as I am? He didn’t want to show his hand straight away so he decided to just draw his swords. He lifted his hands and gripped the hilts of his swords that were behind his shoulders. As he griped them he felt the plastic mould to his hands. They felt warm to the touch though the day was cold. He pulled them from their scabbards, the familiar swish of the blades calming his nerves.

  Almost automatically he accessed the tactical computer on his battle armour. Although it was folded into the belt it was still active, though nowhere near as effective as if he had been fully wearing it. Power source from a particle weapon 100 metres to the right at eleven o’
clock! He almost dropped his swords in surprise. He caught himself, and glanced in the direction indicated by the tactical computer. A lone woman sat on a wagon. Her hair was redder than the others, but other than that she looked from that distance the same as the other women standing round watching the warriors. Some of them were even waving short javelins and most seemed to be shouting, egging the men forward. She sat quietly watching.

  The particle weapon had not been powered, and Octavian was relieved he had not activated his armour. He needed to know more of what was going on. He decided he would edge his way towards the woman as much as possible. He kept his mind on the tactical computer, ready to activate his armour at a moment’s notice. He glanced at the advancing warriors. He sidestepped while keeping face on to them and swung his swords, feeling the almost perfect balance and lightness of them. The warriors stopped, and the leader moved forward. He swung his heavy sword and, holding his shield up, charged Octavian.

  Octavian sidestepped, avoiding the shield that was swung at him. His opponent turned, attempting to knock him off balance with another swing of his shield, simultaneously slashing with his heavy iron sword. Octavian caught the blow on his left hand blade, deflecting it away. He swung with his right, but his opponent blocked the blow with his shield, pushing Octavian’s sword to the side. Octavian saw an opening, swinging with his left sword while twisting away. The warrior staggered, his head rolling to the right, dead before he hit the ground. There was a momentary silence. A groan rose from the assembled Celts, but then two warriors broke rank and ran towards him screaming. Octavian waited, poised ready to hold them. They both swung their heavy iron swords at him. Blocking their blows, he saw the sparks fly as the blades slid against one another. He caught one blow wrongly with his left sword and the jarring almost made him drop it. He recovered, and found he had the advantage, as his swords were light while their swords were long, heavy, slashing weapons. He knew he just had to hold them. If he pushed an advantage, the rest would probably attack, and he was not yet ready for them. Continually he was edging closer to the woman on the wagon.

  His foot slipped as he stepped on some rutted, packed snow. He hadn’t noticed he was crossing the track leading up to the gates of the village, and at the same time he tried to block a downward sword thrust. He lost his balance; both feet slipped from under him, as he fell back he felt one of his attacker’s blades pass inches from his face. He flailed about wildly for a moment, but thought quickly – he had no choice but to activate his armour. The air around him crackled and shimmered as his battle suit unfolded around him. It was not a moment too soon. He felt the blow to his shoulder jarring him, but otherwise his armour had absorbed the power of the sword strike. He knew he would have been sliced from shoulder to waist if the blow had landed.

  He lay flat on his back in the snow and hoped he was close enough for the stun function of his suit to be effective. The guardian armour he was using had been modified for crowd control. The suit included an acoustic stunner, but its range was very limited.

  Octavian accessed the computer and fired the stunner, watching the assembled warriors drop their weapons and fall to their knees. He rolled and pushed himself up, and looked across to the woman on the wagon. He had been too far away. She was reaching for a bag beside her. He had to act quickly; his tactical computer assessed that the particle weapon was capable of puncturing his armour suit.

  He needed her alive so he could find out exactly what was happening. Could he get to her before she had time to aim her weapon? He ran to her using his suit’s assistance to lengthen his stride. In almost slow motion, he saw the woman pull the stubby black gun from her bag. She turned it to him, and he felt the blood pounding in his ears, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Still too far away. The weapon fired, but in her haste she had aimed too high. The particle beam passed harmlessly over his shoulder. The weapon needed several seconds to recharge; it was just enough time. Octavian reached the woman, snatched the gun from her hand and hit her with the back of his armoured glove. She slipped back against the seat, unconscious.

  He leant against the wagon and took several gasping breaths. He tried to calm the pounding of his heart and after a minute or so he had gained enough of his composure to look around. He remembered the others of the baggage train. They were standing looking at him with shock on their faces. He was still encased in his armour so he must have presented a fearsome sight to these primitive people.

  The stunned warriors were starting to recover, and Octavian needed to ensure they didn’t attack again. He sheathed his swords and pulled one of his laser pistols. He fired it at the ground near the recovering warriors. The intense beam burned the ground around them, the snow and ice turning to instant superheated steam. He hoped this would have the desired effect.

  He turned towards the unconscious woman. Under the long red hair he could see she had thick eyebrow ridges, a low forehead and wide face. She was stocky and heavyset, most definitely a Cartigian. There were several coils of rope in the open wagon so Octavian quickly tied her hands and feet. He unhitched the ponies attached to the wagon; the last thing he wanted was for the uncontrolled animals to run away with his prisoner. They were jittery and as soon as he released them they ran off. He turned and surveyed everything. His breathing had slowed, and he felt his pulse calming. He had been running on pure adrenalin since he had approached the Celtic warriors, and his hands shook with the reaction. The warriors and the Celts in the baggage train had fallen silent, watching him. The horses and some oxen were being calmed by some of the women.

  The village defenders were also silent, and were all lined up looking over their palisade. Octavian felt their eyes on him. He had reacted almost automatically. He had been dragged along by events since he had woken at the entrance of the cave with the snow on his face. He shivered, lifted his armoured hands and looked at them. Although they were shaking the armour made them appear still. What the bloody hell do I do now? He asked himself.

  Four: The Cartigians

  Octavian suddenly remembered Seonaid. He had released her mind while he had been fighting, and she was near panic huddled where he had left her. He felt the turmoil and terror in her mind; she had obviously seen everything. Luckily, the others like her had their minds closed, otherwise he would have been swamped by uncontrolled emotions. The Cartigians, being one of the races his people the Lantians had constructed aeons ago, were not capable of any telepathic control or communication.

  He held Seonaid’s mind and calmed the panic, feeling a shiver as he did so. Every time he manipulated her untrained and open mind he felt as though he was violating her. It went against everything he had been taught. It would normally not have been possible anyway – as a Lantian grew up the control over their mind strengthened.

  He needed somewhere he could interrogate the Cartigian. His mind was full of questions, and he hoped the unconscious form in the wagon could answer them.

  The village defenders were still lining the palisade watching him. He turned and walked to the gate. He saw an archer raise his bow to shoot an arrow at him but Octavian knew that a bronze-tipped arrow could not harm him. He needed these people on his side. Thinking quickly, he aimed a shot from his laser pistol at the edge of the palisade in front of the archer. He kept the power low or the shot would go straight through the wood and kill the archer. There was a flash of light and the wood caught fire. A cry rose from the defenders. He continued forward to the gates; no one else raised a weapon to stop him. Reaching the gates, Octavian pushed against them. He could hear the servo systems in his suit whine, and he could sense the power assisting him. The gates groaned, then with a sudden snap they gave away. He had to step forward quickly to maintain his balance. The last thing he wanted now was to stagger forward and fall into a heap in front of the petrified defenders.

  The village consisted of low, round, thatched buildings spaced unevenly about. If it hadn’t been for the cold, the area between the buildings would have been rather muddy. Using the suit
to amplify his voice, Octavian shouted at the villagers: “You will put your weapons down. There will be no more fighting.”

  He watched as they laid their weapons down. Some of them fell to their knees. “Stand up!” Octavian had difficulty keeping the irritation out of his voice. With a quick telepathic command, he partially folded his armour, leaving the chest and back plates in place. “Who is your leader?” he asked.

  A tall greying man stepped forward. “I am the chief of the village.”

  “I need to use your hut.”

  The man nodded. “It is yours to use as you wish, Lord.”

  “I want no more fighting. The Celts outside will either go or stay, I will give them that choice. You will welcome those who stay; any fighting or disagreement will be punished – do you understand?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, Lord.”

  Octavian turned and walked back to the wagon where he had left the Cartigian tied up. The Celts were standing in small silent groups watching him. The Cartigian had regained consciousness and was struggling against her bonds. She glared at Octavian as he approached.

  “Lie still, I will deal with you shortly,” he told her in Cartigian.

  Her glare turned to a look of surprise. She had obviously not expected to be addressed in her native tongue.

  He turned to the nearest group of Celts, who tended to cower a little as he approached. “Was that woman your leader?” He spoke with them using Seonaid’s language. The closest warrior replied. After a couple of sentences, his translator had indexed the language. Like Seonaid’s it sounded vaguely familiar. As he had lost most of what the warrior had said, he accessed the computer’s database to see whether there was any information on the relationship between the two languages. He was not surprised when it informed him there was a link, and the common link was Lantian.

  With the translation function now working correctly, he asked for the warrior to repeat what he said.

  “She is our leader, Emrhydreg, and she has powerful magic. Not as powerful as yours,” he added hastily.