It was a short journey to the medical facility. Two doctors met Tristan. “Sir, you have to be prepared, she has been badly burned and we don’t think she has long.”
His chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. “There must be something you can do?”
They both avoided his gaze “Other than make her comfortable, there is nothing, I’m afraid,” one of the doctors replied. Tristan’s stomach churned as he followed them to the emergency room. Clayandra was lying on a bed surrounded by medical equipment. She turned towards him as he entered and tried to smile. Tristan sucked in his breath with a hiss through clenched teeth. Half of her face had been burnt away. He went and sat down next to her. She reached a hand towards him. He took her outstretched hand and held it in his.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Tears filled her eyes. “You have regained your memory?” she whispered.
Tristan nodded. “Yes ,everything is fine. Now it’s time for you to get better.”
“Do I look a mess?” she asked.
“No, you look as beautiful as ever,” Tristan replied.
“Liar,” she retorted. “But a nice liar.” She tried to smile then closed her eyes. She seemed to drift away.
Tristan sat quietly holding her hand watching her breathing, weak and laboured, a lump in his throat.
Her eyes flickered open. “Tristan, are you there?”
“Yes, Clayandra, I’m here.”
“You will win the war for me, won’t you?” she whispered.
“We will win it together,” Tristan replied. She tried to shake her head and grimaced in pain. The monitors went haywire for a moment before settling back to a steady rhythmic beeping. Tristan squeezed her hand.
She turned towards him. “I love you,” she whispered.
Tristan leaned forward and kissed her on her mangled mouth. “I love you too.”
She sighed. The monitor alarms all went off at once. Doctors rushed in, but she was gone. Tristan squeezed her hand one last time, stood, and left the room.
He made his way outside, not wanting to stay in the hospital where the atmosphere had become oppressive. It had been a white lie at the end, but he hoped she had believed him. It had just started to rain as Tristan walked away. The water running down his face hid his tears.
Several days later he was sitting with the Emperor discussing what needed to be done to prepare for a full scale advance on Sicceian held worlds in adjacent systems when without warning the old man changed the subject.
“Tristan?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Clayandra thought highly of you, even loved you I think.”
Tristan shifted in his chair wondering what was coming next. “Yes Sir?”
“I am going to adopt you as my son.” Tristan, eyes wide opened his mouth to protest. The old man held up his hand. “Let me finish. I have lost a daughter whom I’m sure was considering you as her life partner. Therefore if she had lived you would be part of our family anyway. I know despite my express wishes the admirals and senior officers looked to Clayandra and your authority was always through her.”
“Yes Sir, I noticed that, but she and I could never…”
The Emperor Interrupted. “Whether your feelings were mutual or not is irrelevant, the last days of her life were happy ones thanks to you. More importantly, if you are a member of my family, you will have all the authority you need in your own right. No one will question you.”
“Your Highness, I cannot accept such an honour I…”
“It has been decided. You will from today be known as Clayandrian, adopted son of the Emperor Mylias The Third, and your official title will be Admiral Clayandrian, Supreme Commander of the Mylian fleets.”
Tristan sucked in his breath with a gentle hiss “Your highness, I really don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything, Clayandrian, my Son,” the Emperor smiled. “Just go out there and rid the Galaxy of the Sicceian tyranny.”
Over the following months, Tristan threw himself into his work. He went back to living on his ship. He didn’t want to have anything further to do with the suite that had been allocated to him. Elvath looked after him, insisting he had regular meals and ensuring he always looked presentable.
He inspected all the shipyards, spurring them on to greater things. Slowly and surely, the Mylian fleet increased in size. Tristan had all the old warships carefully inspected for flaws; twice, by different teams to make sure. Crews were trained up, and Tristan took personal interest in their training and drills. He made sure he was involved in the selection of each ship’s captain.
The Sicceians in Tristan’s estimation made a tactical error by not launching a counter attack. Instead, intelligence sources found they were consolidating their hold on nearby solar systems.
After many months of work, Tristan judged the Mylian fleet ready. It was time take the battle to the Sicceians.
Chapter Fourteen: Hope
Nearly four years had passed since Tristan led the Mylians to their first victory against a major Sicceian fleet. As worlds and systems were freed from the Sicceian yoke, more and more species joined what had become the Free Planets League. Not all the battles went the League’s way, but the balance of power had finally tipped in the League’s favor. The Sicceians were now losing resources faster than they could replace them.
The last major League victory, in the Achean Nebula, had lost the Sicceians two of their largest and most advanced shipyards. At the current rate of advance, the League would be at the Sicceian home world within a year.
Much as Tristan attempted to avoid the spotlight, his reputation had a life of its own. Every victory added to it. The Sicceians had tried to take out the League’s now legendary leader by trying to hit his flagship many times. Tristan had always kept one step ahead of them. Few Sicceians had ever seen him. The only ones who had were now prisoners of war on a moon especially set up for them in the Mylian system. Tristan attempted to keep his real name and species secret. He did not want even the slightest chance of the Sicceians finding out who he was and where he came from. They might just discover Earth, then the war would be lost for Tristan. But, it was becoming more difficult as his fame and reputation spread.
After the victories at the Achean Nebula, Tristan returned to Mylia, exhausted and war weary. The League was consolidating their gains, and the shipyards were being reconstructed, having suffered heavy damage during the Sicceians withdrawal.
Unless they mounted a counter attack, he felt he could leave the League military leaders to it. The three-week flight back proved uneventful. He had spent the first two days back at his small villa on the outskirts of a remote royal estate, reading and catching up on the reports that had accrued while the ship was in Star Drive. He had kept abreast of most developments by breaking the trip up into sections. Every few days they would switch the Star Drive off get updated with everything happening then resume the journey.
The only report that caused him any concern was regarding some partly destroyed papers discovered among the rubble of the Achean shipyards. For almost a year, every ship built had not been equipped with telepathic interfaces to the main computer. The Sicceian military had finally discovered the weakness Tristan had been exploiting.
For some reason no one had yet encountered any Sicceian ships of that type. They were out there somewhere, over two hundred capital ships, and the League would have to slug it out with them, where his abilities could not help. He had filed the information under ‘Things to worry about when they happened’.
Tristan was lounging on a small patio overlooking the well-tended gardens. The smell of flowers drifted to him on the gentle breeze, his feet resting on a small stool, his eyes half closed in the warm afternoon sunlight. The dark tendrils of stress slowly releasing their grip on his heart and mind.
The scenery and isolation reminded him of his cottage on the edge of Exmoor. He had wanted to be on his own, but it was not permitted. There was secu
rity, administration, servants, cooks, a whole army of retainers, as befitted the adopted son of the Emperor and the Supreme Commander of the League forces.
Elvath walked over to where he was sitting. “Do you want anything to drink, Tristan?”
“Eh?” Tristan sat up, smiled and answered her in English. “Yes, a cool beer please… no, on second thoughts, I would like a cup of tea, no sugar, a splash of milk, and a scone with strawberry jam and a big dollop of Devon clotted cream please.”
Elvath put her hand on her hip and looked at him with her head on one side. She was used to him now and his many moods. She had no idea what he had said, but she knew he would answer her if she waited.
He glanced up at her waiting with a reproving expression on her face. “Sorry, Mylian red wine please.”
She nodded and went to get his drink.
He had just settled back in his lounger when he heard a commotion behind him. He sat up looking round just as a communications officer stepped out onto the patio.
“Sir.” The officer gulped breathlessly.
“Wait, catch your breath first.”
“Yes Sir.” The officer took deep breaths to calm his excitement. “Sir?”
“Yes, all right, go on.”
“A Sicceian cruiser has just appeared in League space broadcasting its presence.”
“Yes so?”
“Well Sir, the Sicceians want to discuss terms for their surrender!” The aid gave Tristan a look of triumph, more for delivering the message than for the chance of peace Tristan thought.
“Are you sure about that?”
The officer, a little crestfallen replied, “Yes Sir.”
“Well we need that confirmed, please see to it.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Oh, and raise Admiral Da’ren for me please.”
“Yes Sir.” The officer saluted, turned on his heels and hurried off.
Tristan sighed, stood, and paced up and down the patio with his hands held behind his back and his head bowed. “Can this be true?” he muttered to himself. “Far sooner than I expected.” He glanced up at the distant snow covered peaks. “If it is really over maybe I can find home.”
His thoughts were interrupted by the returning officer. “Sir, Admiral Da’ren is available on the comm’s channel.”
Tristan walked to the communication room. Although the villa was a retreat for him, he could not afford to be out of touch. “Da’ren?”
There was a slight delay before Da’ren replied. Tristan had a vague understanding of the quantum communications system and that it could only work between two fixed points and relied on the fact no particle in the universe could have exactly the same energy level as another identical particle or something like that. But, there was still a delay.
“Yes Tristan? I thought you were taking a break?”
Tristan smiled and shook his head “Well I have only managed a couple of days in the last four years, why should this be any different?”
He heard Da’ren chuckle. “Yes, why indeed.” He paused. “I assume you are calling about the Sicceian surrender offer?”
“Yes, what’s happening?”
“Well they want a meeting with you face to face”
“Hmm. Do you think it is genuine or a tra… .”
“It might be a trap.” Da’ren had not finished speaking. Tristan frowned. “Damn the delay.”
“Sorry, what?”
Tristan continued, ignoring Da’ren’s question. “If it is genuine, we cannot afford to pass up this opportunity for peace. Many thousands of lives may well be saved.”
“I agree,” Da’ren replied his voice breaking up a little as the system focus drifted.
“You are closest to the Sicceian ship, Da’ren find out the details. If they want to meet, limit their numbers and use somewhere neutral so no side can plant any nasty surprises. I will be able to tell whether it is genuine or not.”
“OK, I will check it out and see what they are after.”
“I will leave the organisation, and details, up to you Da’ren, just let me know when and where.”
“OK Tristan will do.”
The line went dead. Tristan turned to the comm’s officer. “Thanks. Let me know the moment anything comes in.”
“Yes Sir.”
Tristan turned and wandered to the kitchen. There was nothing more he could do until everything was set up. He was hungry now, and the wine he had left on the patio would be warm.
Aesia stood looking at her sleeping three year old daughter, Tristain. She had moved about in her sleep and ended up lying across her bed, arms thrown out either side of her. Her fair hair lying across her face, Aesia gently pulled it back behind her ear with her finger and adjusted the covers. The child did not stir. Aesia smiled, but her chest felt tight, she was going away with her father—the child’s grandfather—and did not know what would happen. She sighed, because she knew it would be a while before she saw her daughter again. She walked out of the room, fighting the urge to turn and pick her up and squeeze her tight for one last goodbye.
Aesia walked down the hall and turned into her own room, throwing herself on the bed. What am I doing?
She rolled over and stared up at the darkened ceiling. She knew Tristain would be safe and happy with her Grandmother. But, there was the issue with the strange pretend lady she often talked about, as well as her growing powers. Aesia chewed her lip. Am I doing the right thing leaving her now?
Tristain could be difficult and stubborn. ‘Just like her mother’, Aesia’s father took delight in reminding her. Sometimes she would come out with the strangest things; there was this lady who would appear and talk to her, but no one else had seen her. Tristain was convinced she was real.
When it had first happened, Tristain had been about two and a half years old. Up until that time her mind had been almost blank, other than the occasional jumbled thought. Aesia was getting worried. Sicceian children start developing their telepathic capabilities as they start to talk, from around one year old. Tristain had developed normally and had started to talk at the same age as any ordinary Sicceian child, but the telepathic capability did not seem to be there. This would hamper her as she got older. Sicceian society was run using computers everywhere. If she could not communicate with them, her life would be difficult.
On this particular day, she had been out playing when her grandmother had been distracted by one of the house servants. Tristain had run off into the small wood at the back of the house playing some imaginary game. She had slipped and caught her foot in a tree root. Despite struggling, she could not get it free. It was twisted and hurting her. When her grandmother returned, she saw the child was not where she had left her. She thought Tristain had run off to the small stream she liked paddling in at the bottom of the field. She called the servants, and they ran down to search for her.
Aesia was working in her father’s office in the city half an hour drive away from the house. She remembered Tristain’s telepathic call for help, she was in pain. The power of the message caused Aesia to drop what she was carrying.
Deep beneath the surface of the planet, an Artificial Intelligence had woken from an aeons-long slumber. It had shut itself down millennia ago; however, it had left a monitoring function active, waiting. The systems of the Artificial Intelligence required a special type of mind and genetic key sequence in order for it to function. Interlocks and controls prevented the intelligence from working independently. Without a being with the specific abilities to serve, the AI did not have a purpose. The monitors had at last sensed a mind with the correct qualities the Artificial Intelligence had been waiting so long for. The systems had booted up. When Dionysia became fully aware she gently touched the mind, and she found a child.
Where are you Tristain? Aesia asked, not expecting a response.
There was a clear mental picture of the wood behind the house. She had gasped at the clarity of the vision. Others in the office had asked her what was wrong, but by that time s
he was halfway out the door on the way home. She had found Tristain exactly where the vision in her mind had told her. But, she was sitting safely on a little knoll waiting for her mother.
Aesia smiled, remembering the relief she felt; Tristain’s mind was at least as powerful as her father’s and far exceeded the capabilities of a Sicceian. The only shadow was what Tristain had said. A frown creased her brow as she remembered it. She had asked Tristain how she was.
“I’m fine Mummy, a lady helped me.”
“A lady?” Aesia automatically glanced round searching.
“Oh, you can’t see her, only I can” The child looked proud of herself. “She says I’m very special and that she will watch over me.”
Aesia had picked her daughter up and hugged her tight. “Only Mummy and Grandma can do that Tristain.”
“Oh yes the lady knows that, but she watches as well. She said her name was D..D..Dionysia.” The child frowned, trying to form alien sounds.
Aesia shuddered and looked about, a feeling of being watched prickled the back of her neck. “Oh really.”
“Oh yes, don’t worry, I expect she will look after you too.”
Shortly after that incident, Tristain started talking more and more about the mysterious lady. Aesia still felt the twisting in her chest when she had jokingly asked for Tristain to describe the lady. She had clearly described a female of Tristan’s race. She had mentioned the eyes, but she could be describing her own eyes, but the rounded ears and dark hair? Tristain might have her father’s eyes, but her ears were almost normal. It had given Aesia a shock, as Tristain had never seen her father, and to describe a female of his race so exactly was unnerving. She took a deep, breath fighting emotions she had hidden away long ago.
Aesia could not sleep, they were going to leave in the early hours of the morning, long before the rest of the household would be awake. She let her mind drift through the memories of the last few years.
Guardian Awakening Page 17
