Guardian Generations

by C. Osborne Rapley

  The streaks of light suddenly turned into points of light. They had returned to normal space, and Mordavia drifted into view from the port side. The system’s sun was above them so the top half of the planet was bathed in light, the bottom in darkness. Mordavia was a densely populated planet and they should have been close enough to see city lights on the dark side, but there was nothing – just total darkness. Unconsciously he magnified the view, scanning the darkness – still nothing.

  Tristain’s thoughts broke into his mind. There are no radio signals and no sign of any power sources. The planet seems to be electrically dead.

  “There are no ships within sensor range!” Cassiopeia managed to convey the feeling of surprise in her words.

  Octavian broke his link with the weapons system and turned to Tristain. She broke her link simultaneously.

  “We could land; there used to be a large city on a bay in the smaller northern continent. The planetary AI was located on that continent as well.”

  Tristain considered for a moment. “I’m concerned about what the Mordavian said regarding an enzyme in the water. It could well remain in the atmosphere as well as in the water. We should use environmental suits.”

  Octavian nodded. “I agree.”

  Cassiopeia interrupted, “The AI might still be operational, perhaps you could try and reactivate it?”

  “We will have to land first to be as close as possible.”

  Tristain shook her head. “I will try to do it from here first. Octavian, please close your mind – I don’t want to injure you.”

  Octavian knew from past experience how capable she was so he put up his shield. No sooner had he did so when he felt pressure on his mind. It increased exponentially. He clenched his fists with the effort he needed to hold his shield as Tristain relayed the necessary command strings Cassiopeia was sending to her. The pressure on his mind suddenly ceased.

  “It is done; we will have to wait now to see whether the AI will complete its boot sequence.”

  “Is it safe to lower my shield?” Octavian asked.

  Tristain smiled. “Yes of course.”

  They waited; suddenly Octavian felt a gentle touch on his mind.

  Guardian?

  He could see from Tristain’s expression she had felt it too.

  Tristain turned to Cassiopeia.

  Please update the AI on what has happened since she became dormant and apprise her of our situation.

  Cassiopeia immediately replied, I am doing so.

  There was a shimmer and suddenly the AI in the form of a dark haired middle-aged woman was standing in front of them.

  She bowed. “Guardians, welcome. My name is Thera, how can I be of service?”

  “Thera, are there any Mordavians surviving on the planet?” Octavian asked.

  “Or anywhere within range of your sensors for that matter,” Tristain added.

  The AI was silent for a moment. In a typical unemotional way, the AI replied. “There are no intelligent life forms on the planet. All cities have been reduced to rubble. All other native flora and fauna have been untouched. It is as if they never existed. Within range are the remains of several fleets but they have been totally destroyed. I cannot locate any living Mordavians within range of my sensors.”

  The AI fell silent. Tristain and Octavian looked at one another in horror.

  “A whole race exterminated? Who would do such a thing?” Tristain asked.

  Octavian shrugged.

  They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Octavian suddenly broke the silence. “Some of the later planetary AIs had a remote monitoring system which was independent of the mainframe – do you have such a system, Thera?”

  “No, Octavian, I do not.”

  “Do you have information on the inhabited planets in this sector with the location of AIs then?”

  “Yes, Octavian, I have that information.”

  Octavian turned to Tristain. “We need to sit down with the AI and formulate a proper plan.”

  “Yes, I agree. Thera, please transport us to your facility.”

  They felt their stomachs lurch and were standing in the Guardian lounge deep under the surface of the planet.

  Thirteen: Training.

  James sighed with relief as Ilithyia’s footsteps receded down the corridor. The constant tension of her presence and the difficulty controlling his new telepathic ability made his head ache. It would be so much easier just to put up a shield and hold it, instead of keeping up a pretence with part of his mind to appear as if his abilities had not been awakened. Part of him cursed Cassiopeia for what she had done. Another part of him was grateful for the vistas it had opened up.

  He waited a while to make sure she would not return then slumped back in the couch, swinging his legs up so he could lie down. He decided to interrogate the personal computer he had found, and enquire about the history of these people.

  The Sinestrains were originally Lantians who had left the home world millennia ago. They had travelled to the other side of the galaxy from the Lantian home world and set up a colony in a small solar system. They called themselves Sinestrians after their leader. According to the data on the computer, she had been a woman of high ideals who strongly objected to the Lantian plan of populating the galaxy with manufactured life forms. Over time a matriarchal society evolved and, as the roles between the sexes became more stratified, biological evolution took a hand. The stature of the females increased, and the males reduced, reflecting the reversal in roles.

  The colony gradually expanded to more and more worlds. However, the teachings of the first female leader gradually took on an almost religious aura. The number of inhabited worlds slowly increased. The Sinestrians kept themselves to themselves until several hundred years ago when they stumbled across an exploratory expedition of one of the synthetic races. From that time on the Sinestrians had been fighting a holy war to rid the galaxy of all the synthetic life forms contaminating it.

  James requested information on how many races to date had been eliminated. He was unprepared for the reply; seventy-five species had been destroyed, equating to approximately 200 billion deaths. James’s stomach twisted; that number was staggeringly unbelievable. He shut his eyes and groaned – what should he do? These monsters had to be stopped, and he certainly had no intention of helping them.

  His head spun, ideas came and went as he dismissed them as unworkable. Exhaustion from the stress of the last few days slowly took hold, and he fell into a troubled sleep.

  He woke with a start. The lights in the cabin were still on. For a few moments he felt depressed, and he could not think why, then he remembered where he was. He stood, went to the bathroom, stripped off his clothes, washed and collapsed on one of the beds. He rose again, walked to the door and pushed the switch he hoped was the light switch. The lights went out, leaving the faint glow from the streaks caused by stars while the Star Drive was active. He waited a moment for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom then made his way back to the bunk. He lay watching the faint patterns of light reflected from the viewing window. He made a decision – he would go along with these people as far as possible, waiting and watching for a chance to put a spanner in the works. James felt confident that when the right opportunity presented itself he would know. The first thing he would do was learn their language.

  He awoke to the sound of knocking. After waiting a few moments, the batman from the night before walked in carrying a uniform over his arm. He carefully laid it on the couch, turned, bowed to James and walked out. James rose and walked over to the uniform. It was identical to the one he had seen Ilithyia wearing but without any insignia that he could see. With the uniform were undergarments.

  James walked to the bathroom, and after a few moments experimentation discovered how to use the shower. The warm water revived him, lifting the dark mood that had lingered since the night before. After a couple of minutes, the water stopped flowing of its own accord and he was bathed in a strong blast of warm air
that dried him quickly. He dressed using the supplied garments; however, he did not use the uniform. He was an RAF officer and would remain so.

  He had just finished dressing when Ilithyia walked in. She stopped and looked him up and down. “You are not wearing the uniform I had made for you.”

  James sighed. “I am an RAF officer. I will wear the correct uniform while I have it, thank you.”

  Ilithyia shrugged. “As you wish.”

  James frowned. That was easy! He had quite expected to start the day with a fight.

  Ilithyia continued, “We will begin today with breakfast, then I will start teaching you our glorious history.”

  James sighed; he had the feeling that this was going to be a very long voyage.

  “We then have our training and exercise hour, after which we will continue with our history and etiquette training until the evening meal.” Just at that moment breakfast arrived. They sat and ate as they had done the evening before.

  When they had finished, James went and sat down on the couch. Ilithyia sat next to him, and as she did so a screen rose out of the desk top in front of them. The history lesson started. Ilithyia used the screen and ran a presentation. James did not understand the writing, but she explained everything in detail. The history was nothing more than a massive propaganda exercise. If it were not for Ilithyia sitting close to him, which he found disconcerting, coupled with the faint smell of a pleasant perfume, he would quite quickly have fallen asleep with boredom.

  After about an hour and a half she had reached the point where the discussions in the Lantian Senate had begun to cover the subject of synthetic life forms. She suddenly stopped, the screen returned to the desk top and she stood.

  “It is time for exercise, Jamestaylor.”

  James noted an evil smile form for a brief moment.

  “Please follow me.”

  Up until that point he had not sensed any emotion from her, but as the smile passed her face he felt a wave of unconcealed pleasure in her mind. He knew he had to be cautious as that probably meant she had something unpleasant planned for him.

  She strode out of the cabin and down the corridor, James following, and her long braid swung as she walked. It seemed incongruous that such a human way of wearing hair should be used by this alien.

  They came to a lift and went down two floors, and the lift stopped at what reminded James of a small gym.

  “The changing rooms are this way – yours is over there.” She pointed to a door on the far side of the hall.

  “You will find everything laid out for you there.”

  James went through the door indicated. He found a bench and some open cubby holes in the wall. Laid out on the bench were a pair of shorts and a white vest. Next to them was a tied bundle of what appeared to be like split cane made up to look like a long sword. James glanced round – there was no armour or padding, just the shorts and shirt.

  He discarded his clothes and put the shorts and vest on. Picking up the long sword he walked back to the gym. He felt the cold hardness of the floor with his bare feet change to a warm soft surface as he entered the gym. He waited a few moments then lay the sword at his feet and started doing some stretching exercises, feeling the muscles stretch in his arms then legs. The sword reminded him of the Kendo training sword he had practised with at his martial arts dojo. He picked it back up and swung it a few times getting the feel of it. He smiled to himself; if the exercise session happened to consist of fighting with the practice sword he could give a good account of himself. He was a bit rusty as he had given it up once he had joined the RAF, but he had won several junior club competitions, working up to Ni-dan standard.

  He sat crossed-legged on the floor with the sword across his knees. Ilithyia appeared through the door opposite. She also wore vest and shorts. She walked towards him and stopped roughly two sword lengths away. James appraised her; she was slim and muscled with an almost boyish figure. Her breasts were small under the tight vest. Not really my type, James thought. It was her eyes though; they were dark and fathomless with long eyelashes. She smiled, the whiteness of her teeth pronounced against her olive skin. She had re-tied her braid tighter.

  The tension had returned; he sensed barely controlled expectation and excitement in her emotions.

  She is looking forward to beating the shit out of me, the bitch!

  James stood, watching her.

  “This is one way we train and keep fit,” her English faltered a little. “Um… practice swords?”

  James just nodded, expecting an attack at any moment.

  “Do you want me to be gentle with you, Jamestaylor?” There was an edge of a sneer to her voice.

  “No, that’s OK.”

  She smiled. “As you wish.”

  She hefted the sword in her hands her confidence showed on her face as well as filling her thoughts. James stood ready relaxed and prepared.

  She attacked, swinging the weapon hard and James blocked the blow. The force jarred his arm. If the blow had landed, it would probably have cracked a rib.

  Bugger, she means business!

  She was both strong and fast. They exchanged blows, Ilithyia constantly probing for a weakness. James held his own. They were evenly matched; however, the effort started to make him sweat, their breath now coming in gasps. He sensed frustration from Ilithyia; she had not expected him to put up much of a fight. He noted she was becoming reckless, sometimes overextending as her frustration mounted. She suddenly made an error; James released his sword and dropped down, grabbing her overextended arm. Using her momentum he twisted and threw her to the ground. She lay on her back blinking in total surprise, then jumped up and lunged at him again. He twisted, dropped down, and again using her momentum caught her off balance and threw her. She was again on her back. Her anger and frustration filled her thoughts – things were not going her way at all. She stood, her breath coming in gasps, and she eyed him warily.

  “How did you do that?”

  James smiled. “I can’t tell you; you would use it against me.” Her shirt was drenched in sweat and left nothing to the imagination. He looked at her appreciatively in such a way as to leave her no doubt what he was thinking. He did it as obviously and deliberately as possible so as to annoy her. Her cheeks darkened in a flush, she glared, stepped forward and raised her hand to slap him across the face. He caught her wrist and twisted it behind her, pulling her close. He felt her warm breath on his face. Their eyes locked for a moment, and he tightened his grip, pulling her toned body against him. They stood together; she didn’t struggle, but for a moment seemed to press closer. Then as suddenly as it had happened she pushed away, saying something as she did so. Whatever it was it did not sound friendly. James was shocked how he felt; his heart was racing. He sensed the turmoil of her emotions, and they threatened to engulf him. She stood facing him for a moment, her face unreadable, and then bringing her emotions under control she turned and left the room.

  James stood looking at the door she had just walked through. He lifted his hands and looked at them – they were trembling. Her scent was fading. He shook his head to clear it – he had never felt like this about anyone in his life. The trouble was she was the enemy, part of a people who had caused genocide on a galactic scale.

  Damn, what do I do now?

  He took a deep breath, and walked back to the changing room. He looked round and discovered a shower. He spent a long time letting the water run down his face. C’mon, James, what are you doing? She isn’t curvy, not blonde, she wants to kick the shit out of you and but for orders would happily shoot you. He sighed, recalling the memory of her; flushed, breathless, her body pressed against his stirred him. Oh for God’s sake, James. He turned the shower to cold.

  The second drying cycle started so he let the warm air engulf him. He stepped out of the cubical; the shower had enabled him to get his emotions under control. A movement caught his eye; he saw a booted foot exit the door. The breath caught in his throat; she had been standing watchi
ng him.

  He dressed and walked into the gym. She stood at the entrance, aloof and cold. As James walked towards her, she turned on her heel and entered the lift. They stood in silence, and he could sense very little from her. When they reached the correct floor she stepped out into the corridor, and James watched as she walked, her now loosened braid swinging in time with her steps. When they reached the cabin, she placed her hand on the lock, and the door swung open. She stood to one side as James walked in, and he noticed her hand on the pistol at her hip, her knuckles white as she squeezed the grip.

  The door closed and locked behind him. James sighed; the walk back had been tense and strained. It was apparent the afternoon history lesson had been cancelled.

  He sat on the couch and interrogated the portable computer. He felt the tingling in his mind as he made the connection.

  Search for Sinestrian language lessons.

  The computer came back with a list.

  Can you download the language files to me directly?

  The computer replied that it was possible with the aid of the ship’s main computer. There was however, a risk of brain damage and pain in the process.

  What about a main system logon?

  The computer informed him it was unnecessary for those files.

  Do it now!

  The computer asked whether he was sure.

  Yes.

  His head exploded; the pain was unbelievable. He saw words and shapes in his mind’s eye, and a voice droned on – grammar, tense, context. Cold sweat rolled down his face. He could not see, and after what seemed like an age the computer released him. He fell forward off the couch.

  He awoke, the light from the ceiling shining in his eyes. Blinking, he sat up, and his head swam and he lay back down quickly before nausea overcame his hold on the contents of his stomach.

  He lay on the floor listening to his own breathing and the gentle hum of the ship’s systems. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  Bugger, it’s bleeding.

  He accessed the computer again.