Guardian Awakening Page 2

  “There’s and alien in my bedroom. THERE’S AN ALIEN IN MY BLOODY BEDROOM!” He swallowed. The wind rattled the bedroom window, causing the raindrops to sound like a myriad tiny tapping fingers against the glass. For God’s sake Tristan, pull yourself together! Red blood had trickled from the side of the alien’s mouth and nose, an angry purple bruise spread across its forehead where it probably hit something during the crash. The creature was breathing without any difficulty, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Tristan looked at the creature’s body, realisation sinking into whirling thoughts. The one piece jumpsuit it was wearing did not hide the curves. It’s female!

  He ran a trembling hand through his hair as he slumped down on his bedside chair. He gazed at the alien on his bed. In the silence he became aware of a tingling, whispering in his thoughts not under his control. He ignored it like the dull ache in his temple that had been a constant companion since the failed naval experiment. He returned his attention to the unconscious creature on his bed. The insignia and colour of the jumpsuit gave it a military appearance, confirming Tristan’s impression of the crashed craft. A gun of some sort strapped to her thigh caught his attention.

  “Better get rid of that quickly.”

  The sound of his own voice made him jump. He glanced at his burnt hands then back at the creature lying on his bed. “Aliens, and I’m talking to myself. I must be going mad!”

  He stood and walked over to the bed, bent down and carefully removed the weapon while trying not to touch anything that might be a trigger. The weapon was pistol-shaped, with a thick, lethal looking barrel. He turned it over in his hands, the metal, polished and worn showing signs of use. He locked the thing in his safe at the bottom of his wardrobe. At least when she regained consciousness, if she did regain consciousness, she couldn’t shoot him with it.

  He returned to the bed and looked down on the creature. What now?

  He loosened the collar of her suit to help her breathe. He fumbled for a moment with the fastening then pulled. The neck fastening came apart with a ripping sound like Velcro. A pulse on her neck looked strong and even. The skin was soft and warm to the touch, just like human skin. He glanced at her hands, four fingers, and a thumb; except for the faint mauve tinge, quite human looking. The body shape was in proportion and human-like too.

  He carefully ran his hands down her limbs, checking for any obvious wounds or breaks. A small pocket on her hip, opposite to where the weapon had been strapped, contained a small flat box the size of a mobile phone. It looked harmless enough so he put it back. He checked the creature’s boots; they had a side fastening similar to the Velcro on her suit’s collar. He pulled and the fastening came away with the same ripping sound. He removed her boots. Her feet, like her hands, were small and slim, each ending with five human looking toes.

  Well that’s surprising; an alien that could, at a pinch, pass herself off as human. What were the chances of that? Tristan shook his head and stepped back. Satisfied that there were no other obvious injuries, Tristan pulled the covers over her and turned out the light. He started downstairs and then thought better of it, and he returned to the bedroom, closed and locked the door. He had no idea what she would do if she came round and found herself in a strange place. She was probably military, so could be dangerous. He went back down the stairs and sat down.

  He tried to order his thoughts. Was she really alien? Had he jumped to conclusions because of her strange appearance and the unknown configuration of the craft? No, he was certain she had not originated from any country on earth. Might she be the prelude to an invasion? Maybe a whole troop of aliens would burst in at any moment brandishing those lethal looking pistols. Perhaps she was lost and alone just needing help? Oh well, she was here now so what should he do next?

  He could not take ‘her’ to a doctor or hospital. They would immediately report it to the authorities, and there was no telling what they would do. They would dissect the creature in all probability. Anyway, as she was an alien, doctors probably would not be able to help. A vet perhaps? He smiled to himself. Be serious!

  Reporting the incident was out of the question, as was taking her anywhere there were people. They would panic; most would not have the same open mind as he had. He glanced at the model starship on the windowsill he had built as a child. He firmly believed there were many other beings in the vast universe. He believed the people who thought humans were the only ones suffered from unforgivable arrogance.

  He had bitter firsthand experience of the authorities and the medical profession! He rubbed the scar on the side of his forehead.

  The only option was to keep her secret and care for her as best he could, providing she was not too badly injured and would recover. At first light he must cover the crashed ship. An old tarpaulin he had found in the woodshed would be ideal. He could camouflage it further with brush and bracken.

  As Tristan sat quietly in the silence, he noticed again the whispering in his head. He strained to listen, to make sense of the faint voice and the occasional blurred images, but they were just out of reach. The tension and adrenaline had drained from his body, and now his hands, arms and shoulders ached. The palm of his burnt hand throbbed. He fumbled for his pain killers, swallowed two with a toss of his head, stretched and sighed. Everything can wait until the morning. He eventually fell asleep and dreamed strange dreams of alien planets and battles between vast black ships among the stars.

  Chapter Two: Aesia

  At first light, Tristan awoke. The quiet whispering in his mind invading his thoughts like the gentle touch of butterflies wings. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, realisation returned, and a chill shivered down his spine, entering his stomach in a twisted knot. A crashed ship in his back yard and an alien in his bed upstairs. He had to get the ship covered quickly. If anything got reported to the authorities they would be all over his secluded patch of England like ants.

  He quickly washed his face in the kitchen sink to remove the remainder of sleep from his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he decided to check on the alien first. Tension like a knotted fist twisted in his stomach. He reached the bottom of the stairs and hesitated. The creature was slim and small but still… Why am I being such a wimp!

  He swallowed, took another breath and climbed the stairs. On reaching the landing he paused, listening. He heard nothing except for the normal sounds of the moor, the faint bark of a fox, a skylark in the distance. With a trembling hand he unlocked the bedroom door and cracked it open. His body tense, not knowing what to expect, he peaked into the room. She lay in the same position he had left her.

  He swung the door wide and stepped into the room. Female surely, it fitted her body shape and features. But, aliens could be a tricky lot, as most sci-fi blockbusters would confirm. He smiled at his own humour, releasing some of the tension knotting his stomach. He moved to the bed, ready to leap back if she made any sudden movement, but she didn’t stir. The jumbled incoherent whispering in his head became stronger the closer he got.

  The slight bleeding from her nose and the side of her mouth had stopped. He remembered the first aid training he had been given years back when he first joined the Navy. Damn, I should have put her in the recovery position instead of on her back. Oh well, she seems to be breathing regularly. He considered washing away the dried blood on her face. What if she should wake while I was touching her? He shuddered at the probable consequences if that happened. Best to leave her as she lay. With nothing to be gained watching the unconscious creature, Tristan turned and walked out of the room, locking the bedroom door behind him.

  Now, he needed to cover the crashed craft to hide it from prying eyes. He walked down the stairs, out of the front door, only pausing in the hall to put on a coat and boots. The old tarpaulin he had found in the woodshed out the back would be ideal. He pushed open the woodshed door, the rusty hinges creaking. The tarpaulin, folded over the saw bench, was an original canvas one, part green, part brown with age, it had been there when he brought the cotta
ge. He picked it up with a grunt. Damn this bloody thing is heavy! The dust and musty smell of age made him cough.

  Tristan stepped outside and took a gulp of fresh morning air. The coughing fit passed.

  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 examine
d 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.