Guardian Awakening

by C. Osborne Rapley

  She had worked with her father, Aesian, in his office as a secretary since Tristain became old enough to be left with her mother.

  She remembered when she had first arrived back on Sicceia. At the military base, where the ship had landed, no one would have anything to do with her. All minds were closed, Aesia was shut out, isolated. She had been physically sick waiting for her father to come and pick her up. He would be expected to beat her to death for the shame she caused the family and Sicceia.

  When he had drawn up and got out of his vehicle he was smiling at her. She had been numb with surprise and just stood and gaped at him. He had taken her hand and led her to the vehicle.

  “I am glad you have returned to us safely, your mother was beside herself when we heard you were missing in action.” He paused, looking at the squat buildings of the base. “Damn military! Arrogant and ignorant the lot of them.” He patted her hands. “You are well away from them.”

  Aesia knew her father had been upset when she got in with the wrong crowd. Her friends were all from military families, so against her father’s wishes she joined the warrior class. She was always headstrong and independent, so she left her family behind without considered their feelings and wishes. “I’m sorry Father.”

  “Now don’t you worry, we will soon be home.” He turned into the busy traffic. “You can tell us about it when you are ready.”

  Both her parents had been supportive of her. She expected them to be angry when she told them about Tristan, but instead, her father was interested and wanted to know everything about him.

  “Aesia, there is something I have never told you, it was too dangerous when you were young and as you grew older and fell in with the wrong type of people well…” He left the sentence hanging.

  She bowed her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I feel bad now, thinking of the person I was.”

  He smiled. “It is over now and you have come back to us.”

  He went on to tell her that her grandfather who died before she was born had been an archaeologist. He had discovered some ancient texts during one of his digs on an old deserted planet that had been discovered only a few years earlier. It had been devastated during some long forgotten war aeons ago. He had spent many years alone translating them. He became obsessed about them and what they meant. There were many missing sections, but the texts told of an ancient culture where all species lived together as equals. The one thing that shocked him to the core were passages that mentioned an original species from which all others originated.

  “That would explain it then!” She had interrupted his story.

  “What?”

  “Tristan kept mentioning that he thought it strange how different alien species evolving on different isolated world could all end up fundamentally the same.” She patted her stomach, her eyes welling with tears. “This should be impossible.”

  “Yes, yes! It confirms the texts. Anyway. Some of the original species were trained with special abilities. They kept the peace between the younger races. It would be more correct to say different races, as we all originated from one ancient species. The records are vague, but the original species died out. After a short time, war and destruction followed, and most worlds descended into anarchy. It was we, the Sicceians, who recovered the quickest. We took advantage of that to enslave the other races. The texts confirm the other races were not inferior beings to be exploited. They should be treated as equals.”

  “But Father!” She remembered the shock at his words; this went against the basic Sicceian beliefs. “Even thinking such things was dangerous and subversive.”

  Aesian continued. “Yes, but your Grandfather brought me up to believe in these ancient principles and to carry on the work he had left. A small group of radical thinkers joined him and started a quiet revolution. They carefully increased their circle and gained sufficient strength to form a political movement for peace.”

  So when Aesia had returned in disgrace, her father’s attitude had been opposite of what she had expected. She remembered during her confinement her father had arranged for one of his medical colleagues from his inner circle of friends to treat her. She recalled that he kept shaking his head and saying to himself, “Impossible, impossible.” She smiled, thinking of Tristain sleeping in the next room. My little impossible.

  Under Aesian’s leadership, the group had steadily increased. Soon after the appearance of the Admiral Clayandrian and the increasing number of Sicceian defeats, the Peace Movement was formed.

  The Peace Movement had gone from strength to strength until it was the main driving force in the Sicceian government. Opposition to their beliefs was now centred around a core of hard liners and the military.

  The alarm was insistent. Aesia yawned and sighed. She had not meant to fall asleep. She washed and dressed hurriedly. Before she ran down the stairs she glanced in on Tristain, who was still sound asleep even after wriggling round to face the opposite direction.

  Her father waited for her in the hall. “Come on, Aesia, we have a lot to do before we leave.”

  “Yes, Father,” she replied. “I was just taking a last look at my daughter before we go.”

  Her father nodded. “We must leave now.” He turned and walked out of the front door. Aesia ran to keep up. When they arrived at her father’s office, everything was hustle and bustle with everyone preparing for departure. The other delegates were in their offices. There was one new, hastily chosen replacement, as one of the original ones had fallen ill at the last moment.

  Everyone was from the Peace Movement. Their task, to negotiate with the League and their mysterious leader Admiral Clayandrian for peace, and to get the fairest terms possible.

  Some of the military hard liners wanted to continue fighting to the end, but that would lead to Sicceia’s destruction. Those hardliners were now a minority political power block so they had to follow what the majority wanted. The ship that had been sent to open the negotiations had confirmed the leader of the alliance was willing to talk.

  Aesia wondered about this mysterious Admiral Clayandrian and where he had come from. Some intelligence sources suggested he were not a Mylian, but from some unknown race. However, the name was a Mylian one, so his strange origins were probably only misinformation.

  The reports of an unknown species made her think of Tristan, as she often did. When she had started working for her father, she had used her position to see whether she could find anything out. She discovered the records of the ship they had reached together. The specific entry had simply listed several aliens and there was a ‘Terminated’ against each one of their names. Tristan’s was at the end of the list. Reading it at the time had made her sick.

  The others in the office asked her what was wrong, but she only shook her head. She could think of it now without too much pain, but one day she would have to explain to her daughter what had happened to her father. She could not get any further information as shortly after the report had been lodged the ship was sent on a secret mission and never returned. Aesia shook her head; no point dwelling on the past. What was done was done. She busied herself getting everything ready to leave. The time for departure came quickly. They boarded a fast transport sitting on the tarmac of Sicceian’s main spaceport and were led to their seats. It was a short flight to the cruiser, which was to take them to the meeting with the Alliance leader.

  The flight to the agreed meeting point was not a long one, but it seemed to drag for Aesia. When they arrived in the neutral planetary system, she felt the nervousness of everyone except her father. He was totally calm, which impressed her. This was a historic meeting on which the future of Sicceia depended, a meeting with a being that had turned the slave species against their masters. A being with such power that whenever Sicceia’s military faced forces commanded by him they lost.

  There were unconfirmed rumours that whole ships’ companies would go mad just before their ships were destroyed. It was almost impossible to get past military secrecy for the truth.
One thing for certain, the name of Admiral Clayandrian was used to frighten naughty Sicceian children.

  Chapter Fifteen: Reunion

  Tristan sat in the Captain’s ready room, gazing out of the view port at the large planet sized moon. He lent back in the chair, legs resting on a low table. His fingers drummed on the broad arm of the chair belying his relaxed demeanour. The meeting should have started half an hour ago. He resisted the temptation to go and find the reason for the delay. He knew he would be informed as soon as something were known.

  His heart missed a beat as the door buzzer sounded. He sat up quickly and swung his chair round to face the entrance to the ready room. “Yes, enter.”

  The door slid open with a hiss. The captain, framed in the doorway, stepped into the room and saluted. From her demeanour, Tristan got the impression something had gone wrong. He sighed.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes Captain.” Tristan kept the impatience out of his voice.

  “There has been an explosion.”

  Tristan stood, causing his chair to skitter across the room and bounce against the far wall “What!”

  “The Sicceian delegates, one had a bomb implanted in his body.” The Captain slightly shifted her weight, “We think it was meant for you, but one of the security scans showed up something suspicious. When the delegate was asked to step aside, he set the bomb off, killing half the Sicceian delegation.”

  “Damnation! How about our own people?”

  “Five killed, Sir”

  “Who?” Tristan reached back for the wayward chair and pulled it forward sitting down heavily.

  “Three guards, the scanner operator, and Rear Admiral Myalita, Sir.”

  Tristan glanced down at the desk and ran a hand through his hair. “More unnecessary death in this bloody war.”

  “Sir?”

  Tristan looked up; he had spoken in English. “Sorry Captain. I will miss Myalita, she was an excellent officer.”

  “Yes Sir.” The Captain stood at ease waiting to be dismissed.

  “What about the Sicceians?”

  “The uninjured ones are in custody. The two injured ones are under guard in the infirmary.”

  “Their ship?”

  “Our cruiser, Aratian, has disabled its engines and is standing by ready to board.”

  “OK, take the crew prisoner. We should join the main fleet immediately; our two small ships are sitting ducks if the Sicceians followed up with an attack. When we are back with the fleet, I want to speak with the Sicceian delegation survivors, find out all I can and the real reason for this meeting.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Tristan got to his feet, walked around the desk and followed the Captain out the door.

  Three days later, Tristan sat in a bare walled interview room. There were three chairs and a table, all bolted to the floor. Tristan faced an empty chair across from the narrow metal table. To his left sat Da’ren, a small tablet computer in front of him. To one side of the open door stood a burly Tyranian guard, a rifle held across his chest. The Tyranians, one of the first species to be freed from the Sicceians, had been eager to join the fight for freedom. A young Mylian Lieutenant stood at the door waiting.

  Tristan shifted in his seat the metal chair held the promise of discomfort so he was not looking forward to many hours of cross interrogation.

  Tristan sighed to himself and looked up. “Right, Lieutenant, please bring in the first prisoner.”

  The Lieutenant saluted, turned on his heel and closely followed by two Tyrannian guards marched off down the corridor.

  Da’ren looked up from his computer. “Why don’t you just rip the information from their minds? It would be a lot quicker.”

  “Because it will leave them permanently damaged and I have a gut feeling something isn’t right.” Tristan looked at his hands resting on the cold desk. “Why kill three of your senior politicians and their aids?” Tristan paused for a moment. “It doesn’t add up.”

  There were footsteps outside. Tristan and Da’ren turned to face the door, straightening themselves in their chairs. A tall Sicceian entered, hands manacled and a collar round his neck fastened to a pole held by a burly guard. They sat him in the chair opposite Tristan and Da’ren and locked the pole to a special catch at the side of the chair.

  Tristan had closed his mind to the Sicceian, making it as blank as that of the Mylian next to him. He had grown stronger over the years and could now control his telepathic abilities without any effort. He could read the Sicceians emotions and basic thought flows without them being aware of his presence.

  The Sicceian fidgeted in the chair, and his eyes flicking between Tristan and Da’ren. A young civilian administrator, not used to this kind of treatment, proved simple to read. Tristan watched and monitored the prisoner’s thought processes as Da’ren questioned him.

  Over an hour later they led the prisoner away. Tristan stood and stretched easing his aching muscles.

  “Damn, those chairs are hard.”

  Da’ren laughed. “It’s your skinny behind, Tristan!”

  Tristan smiled. “Among my people I would be considered athletic.”

  Da’ren laughed again and shook his head.

  Tristan leaned against the table and changed the subject. “Well that was interesting.” Da’ren nodded in agreement. Tristan continued. “He was telling the truth as far as he knew it.”

  “Yes, a pity their leader Aesian was killed.”

  “I agree, he might have been the type of person we could have worked with. I wonder now if he might have been the secondary target and either a political or military faction wanted him out of the way. The Sicceians still have the resources to fight on if they are fanatic enough to do so. The bomber being a last minute substitute for someone who suddenly took ill might have been a hastily put together plot. ”

  Da’ren nodded agreement and glanced at his tablet computer. “One of the surviving aids was this Aesian’s daughter, maybe we can get some more information out of her?”

  Aesia sat in her cell. Playing the events of the previous few days over in her mind, she remembered walking through the Mylian security and a sudden commotion, her attention drawn to a high-ranking Mylian officer hurrying across to them. The next thing she remembered was waking up in this cell.

  Had the Mylian’s sprung a trap? What had they to gain from reneging on the agreement for talks? She shook her head; it didn’t make sense. She cast her mind outward. There were only two other Sicceians nearby. Of her father there was no sign. Where were the others? She sighed. Since she had woken in the cell, she had seen no one. Twice a day food had appeared in a recess in the wall of her prison. At least it had been edible, unlike the foul mush Sicceian prisoners were fed.

  The door opening made her start. Two burly Tyrannian Marines walked through followed by a Mylian officer. “Stand up,” the officer barked. Aesia stood. “Turn round.”

  Aesia complied, her hands were grabbed, forced behind her back and cuffed. A restraining collar snapped round her neck. A spark of anger flared in her chest. “What is the meaning of this? We are a diplomatic delegation and assured protection to discuss peace terms. I object to this treatment!”

  The guards ignored her protestations and dragged her out of the cell. She swallowed back her anger. It would not get her anywhere, and she needed a clear head for whatever happened next.

  As she neared an open-door at the end of a corridor, her senses tingled. Something strange, not the usual blankness of a non-Sicceian mind, but an impenetrable nothingness. She shuddered. The knot of anger turned to ice, sending tendrils of cold across her chest. What now? The guard pulled on her collar forcing her to stop. She clenched her fists, holding her mind blank, preparing for whatever would be at the other side of that door.

  The officer in front turned to the open door and saluted. “The prisoner as requested, Sir.”

  She heard a Mylian voice respond, “Good, bring her in.”

  The Tyrannian pushed on the bar attac
hed to her collar, forcing her through the door.

  The coldness in her chest tightened. All the blood drained from her face. She gasped, “Tristan!”

  As the guards forced her forward to the chair Tristan’s stomach twisted, his throat constricted; he tried to swallow his mouth suddenly dry. He stood up, hands gripping the side of the desk.

  “Aeisa!” The guards forced her to sit and fixed the collar pole to the clip on the chair.

  She looked up, eyes wide with shock. “Tristan I thought… I was told you were dead.”

  Tristan tried to speak. “You…” He swallowed again trying to clear his constricted throat. He dragged his gaze away from those eyes that had held him enthralled so long ago.

  Elvath’s words filled his mind; she could not have betrayed you. She would have been killed because of you. But, she had not been killed. So she had betrayed him. His head swam he squeezed the side of the table, the cold harness an anchor to his whirling emotions.

  Memories he had locked away for so long came flooding back. “I… I escaped, no thanks to you! You used me to get back to your people then left me to die.” A weight on his chest pressed down making it difficult to breathe. “Why, after all we had been through together?”

  She sat silent for a moment considering his words. “I did not leave you to die, Tristan, please believe me. Open your mind and you will see.”

  “What, and let you control me as you did before!” The knot in his stomach twisted.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t control you, Tristan. You know that.”

  “Then why did you leave me to die!” He released his grip on the table and clenched his fists, holding his arms ridged.

  Aesia sighed. “I was stripped of my rank and sent home in disgrace. My father’s duty was to kill me. He should have killed me for the shame I caused.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “They told me you had been executed. I would have ended my own life there and then but for one thing.”

  “Oh yes, and what was that?” Sarcasm coloured his voice.