Aesia gasped. “What’s wrong?” The translator seemed to take an age preparing the words for her. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with her seat belt.
She opened the door, swung her legs round and slid from the seat. She stumbled in haste as she ran round the front of the vehicle to Tristan. He was laying face down on the drive. Aesia bent down and noticed the blood. She had not seen the injury during the drive back because the wound had been on the side facing away from her. She frowned as she shook his limp body.
“Wake up, come on, you have to wake up.”
Tristan groaned. Aesia pulled him to his feet and helped him stand. She felt hard muscle under his shirt. He is heavy!
She guided him to his door and waited while he fumbled with the keys. He started to sway. She snatched the keys from his grasp and unlocked the door herself. She half carried half pushed him to his settee, and he collapsed onto it.
Aesia tore his blood-covered shirt. She examined the wound in his side. It was a clean cut, but blood covered her fingers. She felt fear rise, almost choking her; as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. She did not know enough of this world to survive for long on her own, and it was a more dangerous place than she had envisaged.
She had not noticed anything in the house that resembled a medical kit. There was only one thing she could think of, the med kit in her fighter.
Grabbing the spacecraft’s key, she stood and ran out the door and up the slope to her ship. She fumbled with the lock for a moment and opened the canopy. She reached in and grabbed her emergency med kit. I have to take a chance. If he were too different in physiology then the kit would kill him, but doing nothing was not an option; he was likely to die anyway. It was her fault he was injured. If it had not been for her arrogance, they could have just walked by the youths, and nothing would have happened. As it was, he was forced to help her or she would have been the one lying in a pool of blood.
She ran back with the kit. It contained a wound sealant and a synthetic blood replacement. She knew it had been designed to cover all blood types, so she hoped it would not poison him. She quickly cleaned the wound with the kit’s antiseptic and then used the sealant to bind the cut together. She hoped that no vital organs were damaged. On inspection, it seemed to be just a deep flesh wound, cutting only the muscle of his side. Luckily, the blade had been deflected by his lower rib, protecting him from a deeper and maybe fatal injury.
Now for the replacement blood. She hesitated. What if it were incompatible… She glanced at his face, pale in the artificial light. She had no choice, she pulled the trigger. The artificial chemical blood flowed into his body. Tristan groaned. She could do nothing more except to wait the outcome. She sat with him for a while; his breathing was shallow, but it did seem as though he was stabilising.
Please don’t die, not for something as stupid as this. After a while, she fell asleep in the chair.
She woke at first light, stiff from sleeping in such a cramped position. She yawned and stretched to try to reduce the stiffness in her back and legs. Several moments passed before she remembered where she was. She glanced across to Tristan. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so she stood up, and walked over to the settee where he lay. She knelt down and carefully inspected his wound. The sealant had closed the cut with no sign of rejection. She sighed, stood, and studied his face. Of all the alien races she had dealings with, his was the closest to looking like her race. If it were not for his ears and eyes, he could almost pass for one of her kind.
Still, she must not forget; all alien races were destined to be slaves for her people. That was the way things had always been and that was the way they would stay. She sighed and went to Tristan’s kitchen to prepare herself some breakfast. While she worked, she thought over the day before.
She had obtained all the information she needed. The others of his race had no telepathic ability, which was strange as he seemed at times to be far stronger than her. Their shops were full of goods. Their cities had bustling centres and there were even bigger cities than the one they had visited, Tristan had quite happily told her. What an idiot, she thought. These people would make excellent, strong slaves, and their planet seemed to have abundant resources. She would be given a command of her own frigate for bringing this world into the empire.
A groan from the other room interrupted her thoughts. She walked back into the lounge; he seemed to sense her presence as she approached. He opened his strange eyes and looked at her.
“Where am I?” she heard her translator say.
“You are in your lounge, safe. Would you like something to eat and drink?” she asked.
Tristan nodded. She laid a hand on his forehead.
“No fever. You were lucky, it seems that our physiology is similar or you would be dead.”
“Why?”
“I used the chemicals in my ships med kit to heal you.”
Tristan nodded. “Oh.”
He tried to sit up, but Aesia pushed him back down. “Stay there! You’re not strong enough to move yet.”
She got him some food and drink from the kitchen. She returned, lifted his head, and let him drink. “It will be couple of days at least before you will be strong enough to get up and help yourself.” Aesia sighed. Only slaves nursed slaves. She shrugged, but with no one else available, so she had no choice.
On the morning of the third day he wanted to get up, telling her he was feeling a lot better.
“All right, but please be careful, you don’t want the wound to open up again.”
“I will take it easy,” he assured her. “Thank you for helping me.”
Her face flushed. She turned away to hide her discomfort. “I did it for myself as much as anything. I don’t know the workings of this world to survive long on my own.” What did I say that for? Admitting weakness! She swallowed. “I have a ship to repair, I’m wasting time here!” she said, snapping the words out, trying rectify her earlier error. Then with a loud sniff she turned and walked out the front door closing it with a slam.
Tristan blinked gazing after her. “Damn! I only said thank you, touchy bitch.”
Chapter Five: The Enemy
The next day Tristan woke early. The sun streaming in through the partly closed curtains left bright patches on the opposite wall. He lay still, the faint whispering in his mind when Aesia was near had stopped. So she must be working on her ship. He checked the wound in his side and it had almost completely healed.
He swung his legs round and stood up; the expected nausea did not happen. He rubbed the side of his forehead, noting that he hadn’t suffered any pain or headaches since she had arrived either. He took a few tentative steps before he had to grip a chair for support. He sighed; he needed some breakfast and a cup of tea. He released his grip on the chair and walked through. The kitchen was neat and tidy. He checked the cupboards and found everything in its place. “Well she has been busy!” He made himself a small bowl of cereals and sat down. After breakfast, he showered and changed.
He felt good; Aesia and her Med Kit had done an excellent job.
He sat for a while to rest before walking out of the house and up the hill. As he got closer the faint touch of Aesia’s thoughts grew stronger. The presence of the ship’s computer caused a different type of sensation, a feeling of latent power. He had learnt to block her small personal computer quite quickly. It had made conversation difficult as he could “hear” it translating for her. He knew what she would say before she said it, so her speech was like an echo of the machine.
He tried to sort and order the sensations pressing in on his consciousness. He found he could separate the cold emotionless machine from the faint flow and ebb of emotions coming from the busy alien easily. The few days spent recovering had not been wasted.
Aesia had a panel off the side of the ship just forward of the cockpit. There were some parts on the ground beside her. She seemed to be replacing faulty circuits.
Tristan sensed a change when she became aware of
his approach. A momentary feeling of pleasure or satisfaction was quickly replaced by irritation. He wondered if his presence or the ship had caused it. He smiled.
“Hello. Are you busy?” He cursed himself for such a lame question.
Instead of the expected cutting reply to his stupid question she nodded. “Yes, I’m trying to fix the communicator. This thing will never fly again so my only hope is a rescue.”
He knew she was hiding something, an underlying current to her thoughts gave her away. He chose to ignore it for the moment, and maybe with a little more time and practice he could make more sense of what she was thinking.
“I’m going for a short walk to build up my strength, is there anything you need before I go?”
“No! No thank you.” She corrected herself. She turned back to the open panel, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
Over the next week, they fell into a routine. Aesia worked on her craft, Tristan concentrated on regaining his strength, prepared the food, and replenishing the groceries by visiting the small local village shop. He thought it best to avoid a trip to the town for the present. He could also keep an eye on anyone walking up the track. The last thing he wanted was someone stumbling upon an alien working on her space ship.
One morning Tristan had left for his usual walk. The day was fine the sun warm on his back, and dappled sunlight seemed to dance through the gently rustling leaves. Everything was well with the world. He had noticed that her attitude towards him was improving. She had started to treat him more as an equal instead of something beneath contempt. Sometimes she could even be quite pleasant. He did however sense her becoming increasingly concerned that the repairs were not going well.
She had once broached the subject of having to stay here. Tristan had averted that decision for the present; he knew she could not hide indefinitely.
When Tristan returned he sensed something very wrong. Strong feelings of fear, hatred, and anger filled her mind. His chest tightened. Had someone walked by and seen her? Maybe the authorities had been tipped off and had come to arrest them both. He took tight control of his thoughts and with slow deliberation moved around his cottage. No official vehicles parked in his drive, so the source of Aesia’s distress had to be something else, but what? Keeping low he crept up the slope. As he reached the brow of the rise, he dropped down and crept forward on his stomach so he could see her ship.
His breath caught in his throat. Aesia was on her knees with her hands behind her head. Standing over her a different alien, with a second standing by a craft much larger than her fighter. The newcomers were slightly reptilian, with a faint, green tinge to their skin. Ridges ran from front to back of their heads where hair would normally be. They both wore dark blue uniforms. The markings on their craft were not the same as on Aesia’s fighter.
The one standing over her held a gun close to her head. She had a spreading bruise on the side of her face and blood oozing from her mouth. He was going to shoot her! Tristan’s insides twisted up. That is not going to happen!
The other one lounged against an open door to their ship. It looked more like a shuttle or small scout ship rather than a fighter. He carried what looked like a rifle cradled loosely in his arms. From his obvious nonchalance, he thought there was nothing to threaten them here.
Tristan thought quickly; if he went back to the cottage and got her gun, it would be too late. What could he do? The alien could kill her at any moment. He could not sense their minds the same way he could sense hers, so he was at a loss for what to do, but he had to act quickly.
He racked his brain; she had disconnected her ship’s computer using its parts for the communicator, so no help there. Suddenly, he thought of her translator. She had it with her all the time. He felt for its presence; yes she had it with her! Holding his breath he sent a question to it, knowing it would translate what he instructed. Can you take the one standing over you if I distract them?
He noticed her stiffen, and he got a clear Yes from the translator.
Ignoring the gorse tearing at his exposed skin Tristan dragged himself forward as close as he dared without them noticing him.
He saw the alien with the gun pointing at Aesia tense. He had run out of time. With a loud yell he jumped up and ran towards the one with the rifle as fast as he could, closing the distance with large strides, screaming at the top of his voice. He saw the alien fumble with his rifle and start to turn it towards him as if in slow motion. Tristan started to zigzag a little, but kept closing the distance, praying the alien was too startled to take proper aim. He hoped his shout, and sudden headlong rush, had distracted the one standing over Aesia sufficiently for her to take care of him.
The short distance seemed like a mile; he half expected to be shot before he reached his target. When he judged distance was close enough, he launched himself at the alien’s legs in a classic rugby tackle. The alien had been taken by surprise. He had taken too long raising his rifle. By the time he was ready to fire, Tristan had him.
He fired without taking any aim. Tristan ignored the searing pain and burning on the skin of his left shoulder. They both went down together. The alien, winded by Tristan’s tackle, lay gasping, and with a swift punch, Tristan knocked him out.
At Tristan’s yell, the alien standing over Aesia turned, the pistol wavered for a moment, and she lunged forward, twisted and pulled the feet from under him. His gun discharged harmlessly into the sky. With a swinging chop, she knocked the alien out while he was still off balance.
Aesia stood trying to control the trembling in her arms and legs. Tristan had saved her life for a second time; in Sicceian society she was now honour bound to this strange creature.
The way he had taken control of her translator troubled her; she did not know anyone who could do that. She bent and picked up the fallen pistol, turning it over in her hands. Maybe it would be safer to shoot him, now she had a means of escape? She glanced up. Tristan was watching her, a strange expression on his face. She hesitated then stuffed the pistol into her belt. He visibly relaxed, as if he had known what she was thinking.
Her stomach knotted, she had a deep-seated contempt of anyone who was not a member of her species, but she couldn’t kill him. She clenched her fists, commanding her trembling hands to be still, sighed then walked over to him.
Tristan broke the silence. “Who are they, and why did they want to kill you?”
The translator delivered the question as cold and emotionless but she was getting used to Tristan’s speech patterns, and this time she caught an undertone of suspicion and accusation.
“They are Mylians. The ones I was fleeing from when I crashed here.”
“You are at war with these beings?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s not important, we must leave now before more of them arrive.” Aesia glanced at the two prone Mylians. They were not dead, but it would be a while before they regained consciousness. She kicked the one lying by the open hatch.
Tristan stepped towards her. “Hey don’t!”
She shrugged. “They are nothing! Let me see your shoulder.”
Tristan turned. The rifle shot had just grazed his shoulder and burned his shirt. He winced as Aesia touched the wound with her fingers. The beam had seared the skin, sealing the wound.
“You were lucky, it will be sore for a couple of days but it is nothing serious.”
She turned and stepped through the large craft’s open door. “Come on, we must go now!”
They entered the craft, and Aesia went immediately to one of the two seats and sat down. She passed her hands over the controls; everything was in order, she could pilot the craft without trouble.
She looked over her shoulder, Tristan was standing at the entrance. She smiled. “You must sit and strap yourself in.”
Tristan shook his head. “No, I can’t leave just like that.”
Aesia swallowed, he had to come with her; she needed him for evidence. A planet this ric
h and diverse was unheard of. She knew she would have difficulty convincing her superiors about a new undiscovered species of strong, healthy, perfect slave stock. If she could not bring herself to shoot him, she would at least be able to use him.
She stood slowly, her mind racing; how could she get him to come? Things had happened far faster than she had expected. She was not ready… No he was not yet ready. She bit her lip for a moment then decided to gamble.
She walked towards Tristan, a tall, dark looming shape outlined by the sunlight streaming through the open hatch. She laid a hand on his arm gently and looked into his face his strange eyes half-hidden in shadow.
“You have to come with me, please. It will be difficult finding my people, and I cannot do it alone.”
She felt the muscles in his arm tense under her fingers. She held her breath, waiting, her hand lingering on his arm. She hoped the shadows hid her flush; her hand tingled at the touch. A detached part of her mind asked, what are you doing?
“What will happen to me when we find your people?”
“You will be rewarded for helping me and escorted back home.” She twisted the truth a little, hoping he could not sense the deception.
Tristan stood looking down at her, and she tried not to show the tension in her face, and held her mind empty. Her churning emotions held against a barrier. After a moment, he nodded almost imperceptibly, and as if he were talking to himself he replied. “There is nothing for me here, and it would be an adventure of a lifetime.”
She squeezed his arm and a satisfied smile danced across her lips. “Thank you, we must leave quickly.”
“OK but we should at least grab some supplies and clothes?”
“Oh yes… Yes of course.”
They ran back to Tristan’s cottage. While Tristan grabbed a couple of changes of clothes and stuffed a couple of carrier bags full of food, Aesia threw her uniform over her shoulder and gathered the clothes he had brought her into her arms. She moved quickly, hurrying him along not giving him time to think and change his mind.
Guardian Awakening Page 5
