Chapter Thirteen: Admiral Clayandrian.
Vague shapes and lights moved around him, sensations and sound that meant... something? He groaned, then blackness. Lights returned, shapes moved. Someone touched his forehead with cool hands. Tristan’s head felt as if it was being beaten from the inside by a hammer. Voices and faces faded in and out and he had strange dreams. Sometimes they were pleasant ones, other times not. Many of his dreams centred on a beautiful alien with eyes of brilliant blue.
He opened his eyes. He was lying in a sunlit room with a large window. There were chairs around his bed and a table to one side. He smelt a faint hint of spicy perfume and it niggled at his memory, but he could not place it. He touched the scar on his forehead. Was this the room they put him in after his transplanted interface had fused? Had they removed the failed interface? He shook his head but it failed to clear. He tried to rise, but the instant he did his vision flashed to intense white, as if his head would explode. He lay back down and sighed. The strange dreams he had been having of beautiful aliens, distant planets, powerful spaceships, were fading. He wondered if Sarah had been to visit him; he lay still and savoured the peace and quiet. Occasionally he heard voices outside his room, but he could not make out what they were saying.
He was hovering just on the edge of sleep when the door of his room opened. Turning his head with an effort he tried to see who it was. The half formed smile froze on his lips. His heart jumped, his greeting turned to a faint gurgle in his throat. I’m still dreaming! It was not a nurse or Sarah as he had expected, but one of the aliens he had been dreaming about. She had an air of authority about her and was accompanied by the smell of spice he had been unable to place.
She smiled a radiant smile at him when she saw he was awake and said something. He shook his head and said, “I don’t understand” in English.
She frowned at what he had said, walked over to him, and laid a cool hand on his forehead. Tristan lay rigid at her touch, watching. She was strangely beautiful but very alien; her skin had a slight green tint to it with darker patches running from her neck up either side of her face like large freckles. On her head, where her hair should be, were low ridges running from her forehead to the nape of her neck. The only hair he could see were long eyelashes over red albino like eyes.
She said something else, but Tristan did not understand. With a shake of his head he asked where he was. The alien’s frown deepened; she ran her hand gently down the side of Tristan’s face and turned towards the door. A few moments later, she returned with another alien. This one looked male and had a higher central ridge on his head. He was dressed like a doctor wearing scrubs. He walked over to Tristan and said something. Tristan took a gulp of air, filling his lungs and feeling a scream building from the pit of his stomach he shook his head, his pulse racing, blood pounding in his ears. The scream came out as a faint croak. He could not breathe, he fought for breath and tried to rise. Firm hands held him down. There was a stabbing pain in his arm and the room wavered and vanished along with the strange aliens.
When he woke the memory of the aliens was vivid. That was the most realistic dream I have ever had. He opened his eyes slowly. The ‘doctor’ was standing over him with a slight smile playing on his lips. It was no dream! He was living in a nightmare or some alternative reality. His heart started to flutter in his chest. He balled his hands into fists in an effort to control the returning panic. He took a deep breath forcing himself to relax. Wherever I am I will just go with it. The doctor removed an instrument from his pocket and with gentle hands looked into Tristan’s eyes with it. He turned to the female by his side and said something. She nodded and sat down on one of the chairs by Tristan’s bed. She gently took one of Tristan’s hands in hers and smiled at him. It was as if this creature knew him. Tristan’s head was spinning. Was he still in the dream? The alien talked to him in low soft tones, but he had no idea what she was saying.
A short while later, the door opened and a male, another female and a small child walked in. They stood and talked to the first female for a while, glancing at Tristan as they did so. They also seemed to know him. Tristan tried to sit up, but the first female held him gently down with her hand on his chest. She shook her head, indicating he should stay where he was.
“OK, I will lay quietly.” It was not worth arguing with her so he relaxed back on the bed. He looked at the others around him. “What is going on?” he asked. “Who are you people?” They all frowned at his words and talked together for a while. The female with the small child bent over Tristan and said something to him. She squeezed his free hand and all three turned and left, leaving him with the first female. When they were alone, she bent forward and looked intently at him with her strange eyes. She kissed him, turned and left.
Tristan’s mind was still in a whirl. Perhaps he would wake up soon from this strange dream. He lay still for a while, trying to make sense of what was happening to him, but he could think of no rational explanation. At least they meant him no harm. The first female even acted as if they were in a relationship. As if Sarah had been transformed. His body and head ached, so he shut his eyes and fell back to sleep.
He woke to find there had been food left for him. He managed to sit himself up. He was hungry and thirsty. The food was good and the drink a strange kind of fruit juice. Shortly after he had finished, the female alien returned. She sat with him for a while and again kissed him when she left. This went on for several days. Tristan got stronger every day. One day he felt he was ready to stand, so she helped him up, and he held on to her for balance. When he was standing, he found he was a good head taller than she was. He took a few wobbly steps before collapsing back on the bed. What is wrong with me! Why have I forgotten how to walk?
His face had started to itch. He scratched his cheek, long stubble felt rough on his fingers. I need a shave. By the use of sign language he got the female to understand he needed something to remove the few day’s growth. She sat him down in the chair and went to the door. Another female was outside. They had an animated conversation, turning to him often, they both laughed and the second female disappeared. Shortly after she returned and Tristan was presented with a knife similar to a cut-throat razor. They sat him by a basin with a mirror. He looked at himself, the same unshaven face he remembered stared back at him. He looked at the two smiling females watching him. Can’t they see I’m different to them? He turned back to the mirror and carefully removed his emerging beard. When he had finished they both nodded approval and helped him back to his bed.
Tristan used the time to try and learn some of the language from the female who was with him most of the time. The first thing he learnt was her name, Clayandra. She made him repeat it several times. When he got it right she clapped her hands together, lent forward and kissed him so hard on the mouth it took his breath away.
The following day, Tristan was able to walk with her down the corridor into a garden. He looked around when he was outside. He could see he was far from home. Everything was strangely different; plants, buildings, it was all wrong.
At last he was allowed to leave. Clayandra walked him out of the hospital accompanied by a retinue of nurses and doctors. They left them at the front doors, where Tristan thanked them haltingly in their own language. Clayandra squeezed his arm and led him down the steps to a convoy of waiting vehicles. The door to the central vehicle was being held by a large male in what appeared to be a military uniform. No sooner had they settled in the seats than the vehicle whisked them away to a large imposing building at the end of a wide tree lined boulevard.
Sentries stood either side of sweeping marble steps. The vehicle stopped at the base of the steps and a uniformed officer opened the door. Clayandra took Tristan’s hand and lead him up the steps into the building. Whenever they passed a sentry he would stand to attention.
Tristan frowned. “Are you important or something?” he asked her in halting Mylian.
Clayandra just smiled and squeezed his hand. “Come on.” They soon arrived at a corridor with a door at the end. She opened it and led Tristan in. “This is all yours.” She swept her arm round indicating what appeared to Tristan to be a large apartment. He shut the door behind them. She immediately turned and kissed him hard on the mouth, pressing her body tightly against his. She broke their embrace, stepped back and fumbled behind her dress for a moment. It fell to the floor with a faint swish. Tristan gasped, she might look strangely alien but her body was most definitely human. She pulled him towards her, tearing at his shirt. He responded to her urgency and passion. She pulled back, breathless, smiled, took his hand and lead him to the bedroom he had noticed through the open door on his left.
Afterwards, she lay in his arms, her strange exotic scent filling his nostrils. Dappled early morning sunlight danced on her breast as she breathed. She roused, opened her eyes, and smiled. Her hand touched his cheek then she rolled away from him and sat up. She said something to him he did not understand, and smiled then swung her long legs round and stood. She dressed herself rather provocatively in front of him. Tristan was tempted to pull her back. He reached for her.
Smiling, she skipped away from him and shook her head. “Later, I have to go now.” She leant forward, kissed him quickly, twisted away from him laughing, and left.
Tristan lay back down and stared at the ceiling. What am I doing here, when will I wake up to reality? He sighed, remembering his cottage, the almost continuous arguments with Sarah. Perhaps it would be better if I never wake up. The sun had moved round and was now shining in his eyes. Time to get up. He found the shower, and got dressed.
He had just started exploring the apartment when a knock at the door made him jump. Standing at the door was one of the aliens who had visited him in hospital. He made Tristan understand his name was Da’ren and he should follow him. He led Tristan out of the building to a ground vehicle. Once they were seated, the driver took them out into the countryside. Da’ren tried to talk a few times but Tristan shrugged and told him he did not understand, using the few words Clayandra had taught him. He noticed Da’ren had a frown on his face by the time they reached their destination.
They had arrived at a large open area with buildings off to one side. It reminded Tristan of an airfield. Long sleek ships were parked in rows along the edge of the field. It was these ships that fascinated Tristan, they were certainly not any type of aircraft he had ever seen.
On the far end of the field was a large ship with a central ramp leading up into the interior. They drove up to the ship and stopped by the ramp. Da’ren indicated to Tristan he should get out of the vehicle.
They started to walk together up the ramp. A whispering started in his head. He looked round to see if anyone was nearby but only Da’ren stood with him on the ramp. His frown deepening with each step, the whispering became more insistent. Then like a switch closing in his head, his memory returned. Everything flooded back at once. He swayed and clutched Da’ren for support.
“Are you all right, Tristan?”
“Yes, I think so.” He let go of Da’ren. “I need to sit down.” He walked to the edge of the ramp and sat down, dangling his legs over the side. Da’ren stood watching him. “I remember everything.”
“Good, the doctors said you would probably regain your memory suddenly, although we were all worried for a while, especially as you did not understand us and you spoke a strange language,” Da’ren replied.
“What was the outcome of the battle? I assume we won or we would not be here.”
Da’ren laughed. “Yes, we beat them thanks to you. The Sicceian threat to the Mylian system has been neutralised.”
“Where there any surviving Sicceians?”
“Yes they are being interrogated, then will be sold as slaves, of course,” Da’ren replied.
Tristan stood and shook his head. “No Da’ren, that must not happen. That makes the Mylians no better than the Sicceians. They must be treated well and held as prisoners of war. The cycle must be broken.”
Da’ren looked surprised. “Well you will have to speak to the Emperor, Tristan. That is his decision, but I doubt you will get anyone to agree. Still, you are a hero of the Mylian people.” Da’ren paused and smiled. “Maybe you could get him to change things.”
“How did the Mylian fleet fare in the battle?”
“The casualties were low considering. But if you had not taken over that Sicceian ship and used it to such devastating effect the outcome would have been very different.” Da’ren paused, his head tilted to one side as if he was thinking. “Is that what made you lose your memory? I remember you telling me once you had to be careful interfacing with the Sicceian telepathic computers.”
Tristan nodded. “Yes, controlling them through the normal telepathic connection is fine, but I seem to be able to go beyond that and practically become one with the main computer. My body and mind cease to exist. I am the computer. I find it difficult to break away from that level of connection.”
“What happened to the crew?” Da’ren asked.
Tristan shuddered. “I used the telepathic interface to rip their minds from them. A horrible way to die. I hope I don’t have to do that again.”
Da’ren slapped him on the back. “No way of dying is good, Tristan, and you did what you had to do.”
“I suppose you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any better. Anyway, I have to speak to the Emperor regarding the Sicceians before we do anything else.”
He remembered Clayandra. “Oh my God.” His cheeks started to burn, and his hands trembled.
“Tristan, what’s wrong? Your face, its gone bright red.”
“It’s nothing, Da’ren, I’ll be all right.” What have I done? I can’t make a commitment like that. The Emperor’s daughter as well! Now his memory had returned, whenever he touched Clyandra, Aesia’s face would be there in his mind. He shivered, knowing he would have to talk to her when she returned.
Whichever way this situation panned out, she was going to be upset and hurt. When the Emperor finds out I will be toast.
Tristan turned and saw that the transport was still at the bottom of the ramp. “I’m going to see if I can talk to the Emperor,” he told Da’ren, and waved at the driver to prevent him from leaving. Get things sorted with the Emperor first while he will still speak to me.
“As you wish, Tristan, I will see you later,” Da’ren replied, and continued to walk up the access ramp.
Tristan walked back to the driver. “Please take me to the main government building, I need to speak to the Emperor.” The driver nodded. Tristan opened the door and sat down.
The driver dropped Tristan off at the government building main entrance. As Tristan walked up the steps, the guards saluted him smartly and opened the doors for him. He walked across the main hall to the reception area leading to the Emperor’s quarters.
The official at the desk stood as Tristan entered. “Sir, how can I help you?” he asked.
“I should like an audience with the Emperor, if it is at all possible please,” Tristan asked.
“Certainly, sir, please wait a moment.” The official disappeared and returned after a couple of minutes. “Please follow me, Sir.” He turned back the way he came. Tristan followed.
The Emperor sat in his office with several secretaries sitting at computer terminals. He stood as soon as Tristan entered and offered his hand. “I assume, as you have found your way here, that you have recovered?”
Tristan nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, I’m glad, Tristan. We were all worried that the strain of controlling all those Sicceian ships in the battle had caused permanent damage to you. We are forever in your debt. In fact, the whole Mylian race is in your debt.”
Tristan smiled. “Sir, you are welcome; I do however, have a request.”
The Emperor sat down and offered Tristan a chair opposite him. “What can I do for you, Tristan? If it is within my power, it will be done.”
Tristan sat in the offered chair and looked directly at the Emperor. “Sir, I have a request regarding the Sicceian captives. I believe they should not be used as slaves. I know they have a lot to answer for, but if the Mylians use the Sicceian captives as slaves, then what is the difference between Mylians and Sicceians? The Sicceians should be kept as prisoners of war and treated fairly and with respect, while of course keeping them locked away and guarded. The cycle of slavery and exploitation must stop. At the end of this war all races should live together as equals in peace, or there will always be war back and forth forever.”
The Emperor sat in silence for a while with a frown on his face. Tristan held his breath. The Emperor’s decision was crucial to the future of the galaxy. If the emperor refused, the cycle would continue. If he agreed, there would be a chance for eventual peace.
The Emperor eventually sighed. “What you ask is going to be difficult, Tristan, as there is much resentment towards the Sicceians. However, I agree with your assessment of the situation. There is an old abandoned colony on one of the moons around the fifth planet. It could be converted to a prison facility, easily guarded, and it would mean the Sicceians would be removed from the ordinary people of Mylia.”
“Thank you, Sir, that is perfect.”
“I will get everything organised immediately,” the Emperor continued. “In the meantime, we can hold the Sicceian prisoners in a facility on a small island in the southern ocean. Is that all you require, Tristan?”
“Yes, sir, nothing more, other than rebuilding the fleet and taking the war to the Sicceians.”
The Emperor smiled. “The Mylian fighting forces, with all of the planet’s resources, are available to you. Please take command and do whatever you need to do. You have been allocated an admiral’s office in the military headquarters. Everyone has been briefed and they are just waiting for your return to health.” The Emperor rose and offered his hand to Tristan again.
Tristan rose, and took his hand. “Thank you, Sir.”
As Tristan turned to leave there was a commotion outside in the corridor. The office door burst open. A breathless official rushed in and addressed the Emperor. “I’m sorry, Sir, but there has been a terrible accident. Your daughter Clayandra was inspecting one of the captured ships when a faulty reactor exploded. The engineering people had missed a cracked reactor casing. The reactor exploded while she was on board with the Supreme Commander of the fleet. I am sorry to say that she has been badly injured and some of her aides and the Supreme Commander were killed. She is in the hospital now asking for Tristan, Sir.”
A knot twisted in Tristan’s stomach. “Oh No!”
The Emperor sat down and looked at Tristan. “Go to her right now.” His voice was shaking. “Tell her I will be there shortly with her mother. Tristan, please go immediately, she is asking for you.” Tristan turned and followed the aide. There was dread in his heart as to what he was going to find.
It was a short journey to the medical facility. Two doctors met Tristan. “Sir, you have to be prepared, she has been badly burned and we don’t think she has long.”
His chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. “There must be something you can do?”
They both avoided his gaze “Other than make her comfortable, there is nothing, I’m afraid,” one of the doctors replied. Tristan’s stomach churned as he followed them to the emergency room. Clayandra was lying on a bed surrounded by medical equipment. She turned towards him as he entered and tried to smile. Tristan sucked in his breath with a hiss through clenched teeth. Half of her face had been burnt away. He went and sat down next to her. She reached a hand towards him. He took her outstretched hand and held it in his.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Tears filled her eyes. “You have regained your memory?” she whispered.
Tristan nodded. “Yes, everything is fine. Now it’s time for you to get better.”
“Do I look a mess?” she asked.
“No, you look as beautiful as ever,” Tristan replied.
“Liar,” she retorted. “But a nice liar.” She tried to smile then closed her eyes. She seemed to drift away.
Tristan sat quietly holding her hand watching her breathing, weak and laboured, a lump in his throat.
Her eyes flickered open. “Tristan, are you there?”
“Yes, Clayandra, I’m here.”
“You will win the war for me, won’t you?” she whispered.
“We will win it together,” Tristan replied. She tried to shake her head and grimaced in pain. The monitors went haywire for a moment before settling back to a steady rhythmic beeping. Tristan squeezed her hand.
She turned towards him. “I love you,” she whispered.
Tristan leaned forward and kissed her on her mangled mouth. “I love you too.”
She sighed. The monitor alarms all went off at once. Doctors rushed in, but she was gone. Tristan squeezed her hand one last time, stood, and left the room.
He made his way outside, not wanting to stay in the hospital where the atmosphere had become oppressive. It had been a white lie at the end, but he hoped she had believed him. It had just started to rain as Tristan walked away. The water running down his face hid his tears.
Several days later he was sitting with the Emperor discussing what needed to be done to prepare for a full scale advance on Sicceian held worlds in adjacent systems when without warning the old man changed the subject.
“Tristan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Clayandra thought highly of you, even loved you I think.”
Tristan shifted in his chair wary of what was coming next. “Yes, sir?”
“I am going to adopt you as my son.” Tristan, eyes wide, opened his mouth to protest. The old man held up his hand. “Let me finish. I have lost a daughter whom I’m sure was considering you as her life partner. Therefore if she had lived you would be part of our family anyway. I know despite my express wishes the admirals and senior officers looked to Clayandra and your authority was always through her.”
“Yes, sir, I noticed that, but she and I could never…”
The Emperor Interrupted. “Whether your feelings were mutual or not is irrelevant, the last days of her life were happy ones thanks to you. More importantly, if you are a member of my family, you will have all the authority you need in your own right. No one will question you.”
“Your Highness, I cannot accept such an honour I…”
“It has been decided. You will from today be known as Clayandrian, adopted son of the Emperor Mylias The Third, and your official title will be Admiral Clayandrian, Supreme Commander of the Mylian fleets.”
Tristan sucked in his breath with a gentle hiss “Your highness, I really don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything, Clayandrian, my Son,” the Emperor smiled. “Just go out there and rid the Galaxy of the Sicceian tyranny.”
Over the following months, Tristan threw himself into his work. He went back to living on his ship. He didn’t want to have anything further to do with the suite that had been allocated to him. Elvath looked after him, insisting he had regular meals and ensuring he always looked presentable.
He inspected all the shipyards, spurring them on to greater things. Slowly and surely, the Mylian fleet increased in size. Tristan had all the old warships carefully inspected for flaws; twice, by different teams to make sure. Crews were trained up, and Tristan took personal interest in their training and drills. He made sure he was involved in the selection of each ship’s captain.
The Sicceians in Tristan’s estimation made a tactical error by not launching a counter attack. Instead, intelligence sources found they were consolidating their hold on nearby solar systems.
After many months of work, Tristan judged the Mylian fleet ready. It was time to take the battle to the Sicceians.