Guardian Awakening (16 page)

Tristan sat on one side and watched the Mylians celebrating. They kept a respectful distance from their newfound saviour and let him sit on his own in peace. Silently, a woman brought him a plate of food, bowed and disappeared back into the celebrating crowd.
 

He held the plate but his head had started to ache. The swirling music, the cloying scent of death spun through his senses. Sickness shook him, so he closed his eyes and rocked forward. The ground was cool and damp. The last thing he remembered were gentle hands lifting him.

Chapter Ten: The Fight Back

The sun felt warm on his face as he turned on his side and pulled the covers up over his head, he hovered in that place between awake and asleep, relaxed. Aesia had asked him something, what was it? No, she had left. Memories came flooding back and Tristan sighed.

He opened his eyes. He was in a small room. The window had a cloth covering it, but sunlight was streaming through around the edges. As he sat up a queasiness gripped him. He lay back down and looked at the ceiling, it was dirty and cracked.
 

Where the hell am I?
He sat up again, this time more slowly. The giddiness did not return, so he swung his legs round and stood up. He was naked. He glanced round the room. His clothes were neatly washed and pressed in a pile on a chair.

He dressed and went to the door. He opened it slowly and looked out. There were no Sicceians nearby, just a feeling of emptiness. He stepped out into a small corridor with a door at the end.
 

He walked to the door at the end of the hall, opened it and stepped through. He found himself in a small neat kitchen. A young female with a little child sitting at a table in the centre of the room regarded him intently.
 

Tristan remembered his folded clothes. “Hello. Did you wash my clothes for me?” She nodded. “Well thank you very much.” The young female inclined her head and smiled at him. Tristan smiled back.
 

She put the child down stood and bowed. “Sir, the Mayor has asked to see you immediately you woke up.”

“Oh, OK. Where do I have to go?”

“We are only a block away from the town square.” She paused for a moment. “Head across to the main street then turn left. The town square will be directly in front of you.”

“Thank you.”
 

Tristan stepped out of the building, across a small square and into the main street as the female had directed. People were hurrying about, females with small crying children, older children, old males, and a few younger ones. They all turned to stare as Tristan passed.

Some of the older children fell into step with Tristan, making a small procession as he made his way across the main square to the Town Hall. He walked up the steps. A guard nodded and pushed open the door, ushering Tristan in. This time as he walked in, most people stopped what they were doing and looked up.
 

Morden was seated at the same untidy desk with maps and communicators scattered about on it, presiding over the same chaos as the first time Tristan had been there.
 

When Morden saw Tristan, he stood, walked round the desk, and grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Thank you, Thank you. You saved us all!”
 

Tristan glanced round at the chaos. “So what’s going on at the moment?”

Morden looked downcast. We are clearing up, burying, and mourning the dead.”

“How many serviceable ships are left Morden?”

“I don’t know, why?”
 

“Because the colony has to be evacuated.”
 

Morden stared at Tristan, his mouth open and closed wordlessly for a few moments before he found his voice. “We… we cannot leave our homes and all we fought and died for.”

“You must. The Sicceians are not going to forget about this and leave you in peace!”
 

“But I don’t know how many ships there are left.”

“Are any of the Sicceian ships salvageable?” Tristan asked.

Morden shook his head. “I don’t know. All this is too much for me.”

“You are the person in charge,” Tristan protested.

“Only because there is no one else,” Morden sighed. “I was a member of the town council responsible for children’s schooling before becoming mayor. The military leadership were killed during the first attack. I was the only one left who would take over.”

“The thing is, Morden, it’s only a matter of time before the Sicceians return. The amount of time you have depends on how far away the nearest Sicceian battle group is. The cruiser that escaped would be sure to make for them at all possible speed.” Tristan frowned. Someone needed to take charge and get these people off the planet. He sighed “OK then, you need to get organised. Do you mind if I start to get things moving?”
 

Morden looked relieved. “No, please do.”

Tristan called over one of the solders loitering by the door. “What’s your name?”

“Dalry Sir.”
 

“Right Dalry, I want you to round up all the military personnel, ships’ crews and civic leaders who have survived and be back here with everyone in three hours.” Dalry looked at Morden, who nodded. Tristan turned back to Morden. “Do you know where Da’ren is at the moment?”

“Yes, he was over by the landing field.”
 

 
“Make sure the people Dalry rounds up are kept here in the square. Tell them there will be an announcement at midday.”
 

Morden nodded. “Of course, and thank you.” Relief that he no longer had to make any decisions was etched all over his face. Tristan smiled to himself;
since I left Earth events seem to be constantly taking me over.

Tristan took his leave and walked to the landing field. He found Da’ren working on the small ship they had used during the battle. He looked up as Tristan approached. “Ah, you’re awake.” He patted the ship’s hull. “This will make an excellent armed freighter for my supply runs.”

Tristan shook his head. “Da’ren, we have to organise an evacuation, you know as well as I do that the Sicceian ship will be back with reinforcements to exact revenge for their defeat.”

Da’ren looked nervously at the sky. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
 

“Are any of the Sicceian cruisers or troop carriers serviceable?” Tristan asked.

Da’ren shrugged. “I don’t know.”
 

“So Da’ren, can you assemble your crew and quickly assess if any of them are salvageable, bearing in mind we will only have a few days to make repairs?”

He nodded and looked away from Tristan’s direct gaze. “Yes, you are right. All I was thinking of was us getting out of here.”

“Good, get to it then.”
 

Da’ren hurried off to round up his crew and get started.

By the time Tristan returned to the town square, a small crowd had assembled. Most were military personnel, but there were many civilians as well. They fell silent when Tristan appeared. He made his way through the crowd to the entrance of the Town hall.
 

He walked in and found a sturdy table. A youth leaning against the wall was watching him. Tristan beckoned him over. “Are you busy?”

The youth shrugged. “No.”

“Then please help me outside with this table.”

“Yes Sir.”

Together they lifted the table through the door then placed it at the top of the steps.
 

“Thank you.”
 

The youth shrugged and walked to one side.

Tristan jumped up on the table and surveyed the filling square. The murmur of voices stilled and alien faces turned towards him.

“First, I would like to thank you all for coming. I know you are all excited and looking forward to rebuilding your lives after defeating the Sicceians. Unfortunately there are now some hard choices to make.” He heard one or two groans in the crowd. “This was only a setback for the Sicceian’s. One ship escaped.” He paused and looked at the sea of faces. “We must all leave. The Colony has to be evacuated.”

There were shouts from the crowd “Why? No!” And a general murmuring of discontent swept around the crowd.

Tristan held up his hand for silence. After a few moments the noise from the crowd died down so he continued. “Have you forgotten so soon? Only a few days ago you were all preparing for the end.”

A richly dressed female standing in the front row shouted, “Yes, but we defeated them with your help. Why not the next time?” There was a general murmur of agreement.

Tristan looked over the gathered crowd and sighed. “They were defeated due to surprise and their numbers were few. A much larger force will be another matter all together. They will want revenge, nothing will be left standing. We must leave now while we still have the chance.” Tristan paused to let it sink in. “You will not be forced, but I strongly advise you to join the evacuation while you can.”
 

There was a general murmur and shifting of the crowd. Tristan sensed the mood had shifted towards acceptance of the situation. “Those of you who wish to leave, please be ready at a moment’s notice. Just have necessary personal belongings packed ready as space will probably be limited.”

He paused, the majority of the crowd looking at him. “Are there any officers or ship’s captains here?” he asked. Five hands rose. Please can you come forward, I need to talk to you all.” Tristan jumped down from the table as the crowd began to disperse.

The five who raised their hands, including Dalry, stood in a small group on the bottom step. They turned and faced Tristan as he walked towards them. “Right, gentlemen, I need two of you to take as many people as you need and assess the number of serviceable ships we have. The remainder of you must divide up the people here and split up the colony into sections and count the number of survivors we actually have in each section. I want you to report back to me by this time tomorrow, please.” They nodded and he left them to get on with it.

Tristan walked back to the landing field. He found Da’ren with his crew working on one of the Sicceian cruisers.
 

“Tristan, just the person we need. I think this ship is serviceable, but the computer system is beyond us. There are only a few access ports, and it needs a direct telepathic connection to access its higher functions. Can you check the status for us please?”
 

Tristan nodded. He connected with the computer and requested a system check. The computer reported the ship was almost fully functional except for a pressure leak on the fuel feed to the port engine, and one of the starboard pulse lasers was damaged. Most important of all a twisted bulkhead had caused the outer pressure hull to crack. Tristan turned to Da’ren and told him of the fuel pressure leak and the crack in the pressure hull. “Also, see if you can get parts from the other ships to repair the pulse laser. We are going to need all the firepower we can get.”

“OK Tristan.” Da’ren and his crew rushed off to repair the faults with the ship.

Tristan walked back to the town. The day was now warm and sunny, the countryside green and lush. He was getting used to the altitude and now breathing without any difficulty. He stopped for a moment, savouring the peace.
I can see why they would want to stay here.
He sighed, it would be so easy to take a small ship and leave. These aliens had been fighting one another long before he knew they existed. He could return to his normal life, as since that day, when he rescued Aesia from her ship, the pains in his head had stopped. At the thought of Aesia his stomach twisted. If he could find Earth his life would never be the same again. He turned towards the ruined town. Two children were playing hide and seek. They noticed him watching them play. They both stopped and waved at him then returned to their game.
I can’t just leave them.
It had fallen to him to get these people away to safety.
Perhaps when they are all safe I can get a ship and go home.

He squared his shoulders and resumed walking towards the centre of town. He had not gone far when his stomach rumbled. He had completely forgotten he had not eaten all day. When he reached the main square
 
he looked around for the house he had woken up in. It was across from the HQ building. He walked towards it and knocked on the door. Being unsure what the social norms were with these people, he thought it best not to just walk in. The young woman opened the door cautiously. When she saw it was Tristan, she stepped back and smiled. “Yes Sir?”

Tristan smiled “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wondered how I got food around here?”

“Oh yes sir, of course, please come this way.” She held open the door and bowed. The small child was behind her, its little face turned up looking at him shyly. She turned and led Tristan through to the kitchen with the small child sticking close to her side. She motioned Tristan to sit on one of the chairs by the small table. Then she busied herself preparing a meal for him.
 

“What’s your name?” Tristan asked.

She turned from her task and replied, “Elvath, sir.”
 

Tristan smiled. “Please, it is Tristan, not sir.”

“Yes sir…oh sorry, Tristan.”

“That’s better,” Tristan replied. “And your child’s name?”
 

“His name is Torlen, after his father.” Tristan wondered where his father was, but did not want to pry too much. He suspected the answer might well cause Elvath some upset. Tristan sat and watched her work. Despite their skin colouration and hairlessness they were an attractive people.
 

Tristan’s mind returned to a subject he had not thought of since first meeting the Mylians. How come the two alien races he had met were fundamentally the same as he was? The differences in physical make-up were minor. He found it hard to believe that three totally alien races should be so similar. The Sicceians and humans could be a coincidence, but the Mylians as well? That was stretching things too far.

Elvath interrupted his train of thought as she placed a plate of hot food in front of Tristan. He found it good, and had forgotten how hungry he was. Elvath placed a tumbler of fruit juice next to his plate, and Tristan quickly drank that as well. “Would you like some more?”