Guardian Awakening (3 page)

As he approached the craft, puffing from the weight of the tarpaulin, he sensed power emanating from the ship. After his experience the night before, he experimented, fixing a question in his mind.
System Status?
Half expecting nothing to happen, Tristan dropped the heavy tarpaulin to the damp ground, raising another cloud of musty smelling dust. He froze, his mind now filling with a jumble of images.
Wow, too much!
He closed his eyes. Like a radio tuning to a new signal, the jumble cleared. The computer presented him with a type of head-up display, but without the helmet.
This is really cool!
A large part of the information he did not understand, but the systems he did understand had suffered extensive damage. The ship would need a lot of work before it would ever fly again.

He stepped up to the cockpit. The rain during the night had washed off the foam so he had no problem looking in without opening the canopy. A large portion of the instruments were still glowing and active. He formed a picture in his mind of everything shutting down. He gaped open mouthed as the instruments shut off, and he also
knew
the systems had gone into a stand-by mode. He rubbed the side of his forehead.
Bloody hell! This is amazing, like the implant is working!

The Doctors told him that his brain had rejected the implant the same way his immune system would reject a virus. The experimental weapons interface had been designed to connect the human brain directly to a ship’s weapons systems; nothing in the design would trigger a host to reject it. But his brain had. Even the designers couldn’t explain how the rejection happened.

The headaches had started straight away. After undergoing tests, and after many people prodding and poking him, the doctors decided nothing could be done. During the rejection process the interface had been fused. To remove the faulty interface would in all probability damage his brain. The headaches had to be lived with until more advanced surgical methods became available.
 

That had been the end of a glittering career in the Royal, Navy one of the youngest First Lieutenants, and his own command promised on his next posting.

So why was the interface working now? Had something happened, had this craft’s systems somehow repaired the implant?
 

Tristan shook his head; the continuous dull ache he had lived with since that day had now gone.
Maybe the crippling headaches might end too?
He hoped so.
Well whatever has happened I should get this thing covered.

He unfolded the tarpaulin and proceeded to pull it over the stricken ship. He collected brush and bracken, arranging the branches through the holes and rips in the old canvas. As he worked, he thought about the alien. Maybe the jumbled thoughts and images from her came via an interface she had to communicate with her ship, and he could sense it? The physics of electronic circuits would have to be the same alien or not, he reasoned.

After several hours toiling in the morning sun, he stood back and admired his handy work. Someone would have to get close to notice anything out of the ordinary laying there.

He walked back to his cottage, thirsty after his morning’s work. As he walked in through the front door the faint whispering in his mind became apparent. Pictures came and went, everything indistinct. He shut his eyes trying to bring order to the random thoughts the same way as he had connected with the ship but he failed.

He threw his coat on the banister and went upstairs. He quietly unlocked the door and glanced in, trying to sense any change to the random chaotic thoughts. She lay still, although she had moved slightly. He hoped she was recovering
.
He pulled the door closed then turned the key in the lock. The covering of dust and grime from his morning’s work made him uncomfortable.
I need a shower!

After a refreshing shower and some clean clothes he returned downstairs to prepare himself some well-earned lunch.

Aesia stirred and opened her eyes. She let her mind wander, expecting the comforting tingle of her fighter’s telepathic control system. Nothing, silence, the ship was out of range or dead. Panic, like a cold steel band, tightened across her chest. Taking a deep breath to regain control of her thoughts she glanced around. She was in a strange room lying on what? A bed? She moved her head. Yellow sunlight streamed through a small, open window. She reached for the grip of her side arm; it had gone. The cold tightness across her chest spread to her stomach, twisting like a snake. She gulped, forcing the rising nausea down. Her mind raced; if the enemy had captured her, she would now be locked in a cell on a hard floor or dead! So she had not been locked in an enemy prison. Her fluttering pulse stilled a little.
Then
where am I?

The question hung in her thoughts unanswered. She cast around with her mind; the ship must be close by. Without warning she touched another telepathic intelligence. She gasped, as the raw connection blinded her for a moment, sending lightning shocks through her body. She blocked the connection almost instantly, but too late; the intelligence had sensed her probing. She tensed; it was far too strong for one of her own people, the mind had a strange raw alienness about it.
Not possible, no other species so far discovered has our abilities
. She missed the reassuring presence of her gun. She cursed, clenched her fists and lay back, staring at the uneven ceiling above with nothing to do other than lay still and wait for the alien to appear.

With muscles tensed, ready to fight, a cold detached calmness washed over her. One thing her training had prepared her for though, was to fight. She heard heavy footsteps. They stopped outside the door, then a click, a lock she guessed. The door opened. A tall, heavily built creature stood in the doorway. The creature’s ears were small against its head, which was covered by brown hair; its eyes were also small with round blue circles and black centres. The clothing the creature wore seemed coarse, as did its overall appearance. So she had been captured by one of the primitive aliens from the planet she crashed on.

The alien’s mind had no control. She had to shut of the jumble of thoughts, emotions, and sensations. It reminded her of an untrained yet powerful child. She had not expected a creature capable of telepathy, especially on a planet as primitive as this one appeared to be from her scans.

She decided to bide her time before killing this creature and recovering her craft. She needed more information. She sensed nervousness tinged with concern from its stupid open mind. Maybe she was more or less safe at the moment. It looked muscled and strong, but it would be no match for her superior intelligence and speed. Still, she would wait to see what would transpire.

Tristan stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. At least the random jumble of thoughts had ceased. The alien turned to him and sat up. He stifled a gasp; her eyes! They were large, like the exaggerated eyes of a Disney cartoon princess, almond shaped, tilted upwards, blue like a cloudless blue sky, the pupils, like a cat, shone with an inner blue light. They had a magnetism about them that held him. He could not turn away. She blinked, the spell broke. He shuddered; this was way more alien than he had been prepared for.

Now she had regained consciousness she radiated an air of confidence and arrogance. He had to be cautious and watchful with this creature. The sensations filling his mind were strange, and it would be a while before he got used to them. Swallowing, he forced himself to be calm.

He broke the silence. “Hello, would you like some water?” As soon as he said it, he thought it a silly thing to say for the first words spoke to an alien. At least she hadn’t asked to be taken to his leader… yet.

She said something in a soft low voice, and waited, watching him with those un-nerving eyes. He backed out of the room, keeping watch on her as he did so, and went to the bathroom across the landing. He picked up a glass he kept on the windowsill and, without turning, poured a glass of water. He
knew
she would attack him if given the slightest chance so he would not turn his back on her if possible. He walked slowly back to the bed and held the glass out to her.

She took it with a slender hand and examined the glass carefully before putting it to her lips. She took the smallest possible sip, hesitated for a moment then drank the whole glass.

Tristan stepped back as she pushed off the covers, twisted round in the bed, and put her feet on the ground. She started to stand, but swayed and staggered forward. Tristan instinctively held out his arms. She grabbed him for support.
 

An unmistakable flare of anger filled his mind as she straightened, stepped back and stood on her own. Tristan held up his hands, palms open to her. “Wow, sorry!”
What did I do wrong?

She was not as tall as he had first thought, being at least a head shorter than him. He noted that her long ears curved outward slightly at the tips.
Eat your heart out, Mr Spock.
A smile played across his lips. He realised too late, the alien had read his sudden amusement and her anger flared.

For a split second Tristan had a strong sensation she was going to hit him. He twisted back, blocked the blow and held her by the wrist. If he had not been forewarned of her intention, he would have caught the full force of the blow in the face, powerful enough to break his nose at least. He stepped back quickly after releasing her wrist, prepared for the next blow, should it come.
 

Instead, she shouted at him; he didn’t need to see in her mind to know how indignant and angry she had become.
 

They stared at one another for a moment. Her eyes. His stomach twisted he sensed what? Hatred, loathing, and a deep rooted fear? No not fear, something else. He shook his head his thoughts or hers? These new telepathic abilities were confusing. She made him nervous. He set his jaw and resisted the urge to turn and run.

Well,
this is not getting off to a good start!
Tristan stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides, hoping it was a non-threatening gesture. She glared and said something.
 

The tension and anger subsided a little. She seemed mollified by his outward sign of submission. Tristan had an idea.

“Are you hungry?” He thought clearly of eating and made gestures of eating with his hands.
 

She said something and nodded.
 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”
 

He motioned her to the door, stepping out of the room so she would have to walk down the landing in front of him.

Aesia noticed her boots were at the side of the bed but decided not to put them on. She did not want to bend down for them, just in case the giddiness should return. She did not want to show weakness in front of this primitive, inconsequential thing.

She sized him up. She had experienced his strength when he had blocked her punch and held her wrist. Even with her warrior training, she doubted she would be able to overcome him if he saw an attack coming and was ready for it. She cursed the empty holster at her hip. The creature had hidden her gun! She balled her hands into tight fists. A frown creased her brow. She noticed the creature visibly stiffen. Not wishing to fight when she was unsure of the result, she forced herself to relax and hold her anger in check. This… this thing, obviously did not realise its lowly position or the deference owed to her. She decided to be tolerant of it until she had taught it the correct manners and the way it should treat a superior being.

Tristan pointed downstairs, careful not to make any sudden movements. Her suppressed anger, and the arrogance, mingled with his own thoughts as she walked down stairs. He shuddered unconsciously, rubbing his forehead. It was not like reading her mind, but rather just sensing her immediate thoughts, or maybe not even that. A sort of sixth sense, an impression of what she was thinking.

At least this new ability gave him some warning if she tried anything against him, but it would take a while to get used to. It occurred to him that she could sense the same from him. He tried blocking off his thoughts by imagining a brick wall in his mind.
 

She stopped and turned to him a frown on her face. Tristan sensed for a brief moment a flash of fear, but the arrogance quickly returned as strong as ever.
 

They stepped into the hall, and he directed her across to the kitchen. He motioned to her to sit at his small kitchen table pulling a chair for her. She sat and looked at him. Her blue eyes bore into Tristan’s soul. Her eyes, rather than her long ears, made her look alien. They were eyes a human female would die for, beautiful but so strange. He took a plate, cup, and bowl from the cupboard and put them in front of her. She watched him as he moved around the kitchen. He sensed unease when he picked up a knife, then felt her relax a little as he used it to cut some fruit. He kept the knife on the work surface away from her and placed the fruit on a plate in front or her.
 

He noted to himself that he should hide the sharp knives when he had finished. If her anger flared as it had done before, he was sure she would not hesitate to stick one or two in his ribs.

She picked up a slice of apple in her slender fingers and tested it with her tongue. The apple must have been OK as she cautiously ate the slice. She tried the banana. This time she screwed up her face. It was the first time Tristan had seen any emotion in her other than a frown. He relaxed a little; perhaps she was not quite as alien as she appeared. While she ate the rest of the apple, he poured some water in the cup. He placed some bread and cheese in front of her and watched her tackle each in turn. She seemed to find them acceptable and proceeded to eat everything except the banana. She finally drank the water and sat back in her chair.

Tristan needed a cup of tea. The stress of the last few hours was starting to make his headache a little. He put the kettle on and made a pot of tea.
 

Aesia watched the creature work, making no move from her chair. The food had tasted strange to her, but was not unpleasant except for the flesh of the long yellow fruit; it had a texture she did not like.