Guardian Awakening (24 page)

“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 attached 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.

She tilted her head to one side. “Tristan, we have a daughter.”

Tristan’s knees buckled, and he sat down hard in his chair. He heard a gasp beside him.

“That’s impossible, you’re lying!” Da’ren’s voice came from the end of a long tunnel.

Tristan wiped his brow with a trembling hand “Yes! Aesia, you told me yourself it was impossible, so how?”

She shook her head as far as the collar would allow. “No one knows, but she looks like you; she has your eyes. We have had to keep her hidden on my Father’s estate. If anyone saw her they would kill her as an abomination.” A shudder shook her body. “My Father believes in all races living in peace. Tristain is proof we are the same. She is the herald to a new age.”

“Tristain?”

“Yes, I named her after you.” Aeisa sighed, watching him, the shackles holding her in the chair. Her eyes glistened and she blinked. No way would she show weakness. She glanced at Da’ren then back to Tristan. Realisation flashed across her face “You… You are Admiral Clayandrian?”
 

Tristan inclined his head. “Yes.”
 

Aesia gasped. “You have to speak with my father, Tristan… Please.”
 

“Your father is dead.” Da’ren’s sudden interjection followed by Aesia’s cry of “No!” rang in his ears. Things were moving too fast. He needed time to think. What if she were telling the truth? The only way to find out was to touch her mind. To do so would re-establish the link they shared, but the connection he had kept locked away in the deepest corner of his memory. He couldn’t do it here in front of Da’ren and the prison guard.

Tristan turned to the Lieutenant who stood gaping in the doorway during the whole exchange. “Lieutenant, please escort this female back to her cell.”

The officer looked surprised at being addressed. He stood blinking for a moment then jumped to do as Tristan requested. They unclipped the neck restraint from the chair and forced Aesia to her feet. Tristan noticed she was trembling as they pushed her out of the door.

Once the guards had moved away down the corridor, Da’ren turned to him. “Have you mated with that Sicceian?”

“Yes Da’ren.”
 

Da’ren gaped at him. Tristan saw his mouth work, trying to form words. It seemed an age before he spoke. “But you never said anything, why not?”
 

Tristan stared at his friend for a moment before replying. “Two reasons; first I thought she had either betrayed me or had been killed.”

“And second?”

“Second, would I have been trusted all those years ago if it had been known I had a Sicceian as a mate?”

“Hmm. I suppose it would have made things difficult.” Da’ren paused for a moment then continued. “That explains why you always fend off the advances of all the high born females who are constantly throwing themselves at you.”

Tristan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, I have to, She -” Tristan nodded towards the open door. “- is always in my head.”

 
Da’ren sat forward in his chair “What are you going to do?”

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t know. What can I do?”

“Nothing. There is a legend which states, once the witches have your soul the only escape is death.” Da’ren paused for a moment. “Your reputation is assured. If you acknowledged her existence, it won’t make any difference.”

“Hum… I think for the moment the fewer people who know the better.”

Da’ren lent back in his chair. “You should consider that if peace became a possibility it would act as a bridge between the Sicceians and the League.”

“Really?”

“Yes Tristan, don’t underestimate your importance. You spend all your time planning, working towards victory and eventual peace, you don’t pay much attention to popular opinion. As far as the general population of the League Worlds are concerned,
You,
the mysterious
Admiral Clayandrian, are the League.”

Tristan rose. “I have to talk to her alone. Please carry on with your normal duties, Admiral Da’ren.”
 

“Yes Sir.” Da’ren stood, saluted, and walked out.

Tristan took a deep breath. He had faced many dangers and risked death often, but now his stomach filled with butterflies. “Oh good God, I’ve not been this nervous in years.” He walked out turning towards the cell block.

Aesia stood in the corner of her cell, fists clenched, staring at the wall.
I will not cry. I will not show these monsters weakness.
She ground her teeth. Admiral Clayandrian, the scourge of the Sicceian Empire, was Tristan, the alien she had brought from an unknown world. He had become a brute who for the last four years killed her people in their thousands. Then under an agreed truce killed most of the peace delegation and her father.