At first light, Tristan awoke. The quiet whispering in his mind invading his thoughts like the gentle touch of butterfly 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, and 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 cottage. 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.
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, and 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 off 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 spoken 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 tried 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 downstairs. 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 and pulled up 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.
He poured two cups of hot brown liquid and placed one in front of her then sat on the chair opposite her and took a mouthful.
Aesia tested the liquid, it was too hot for her, so she pushed the steaming cup aside. She had to know why this primitive alien animal appeared to have some basic mental ability. All the alien species her people enslaved had none.
She decided to try to take advantage of the creature’s child like telepathic control and probe deeper into its mind. She pushed a little, as it seemed to relax while drinking the hot liquid. It was as if an iron barrier had just dropped shut. She almost fell backward off the chair. She knew immediately that if this animal had been trained it would be formidable. It did not fit well into her unshakable belief in her species superiority.
She must find out more about these creatures and their planet. But, first she had to ensure the creature learnt its place and to gain control over it.
Tristan had felt her push against his mind just as he was starting to relax. He raised the wall again to shut her out and continued to relax. He did, however, sense the feeling of fear and doubt emanating from her. He wondered what he had done to cause that.
He finished his tea without any further incident, sighed and stood slowly.
“Right, do you want to inspect your ship?” He gestured towards the front door. Had she understood him? He walked through to the hall and proceeded to put his boots on. He watched her as she regarded him with a slight frown. After a moment her face cleared, she stood, turned, and walked back upstairs. She returned after a short while, wearing her boots.
He opened the back door and waited for her to walk through. He then led her over to where her crashed ship lay under the tarpaulin. As they neared the ship he decided that since he had commanded the system computer to shutdown, he should get it to boot back up. So, he sent the ship a command. He found that it was easier than before. His mind must be getting used to this communication, and practice was making things easier.
Aesia almost stumbled when she sensed the command to her ship’s computer. No one should be able to interface with it from this distance! Had she made a serious mistake in her brief assessment of this backward planet? Her mind raced. They may be a good resource for slaves, but if they all had this ability, perhaps they should be destroyed before they became more powerful. She put the thought to the back of her mind and continued walking to her ship.
Tristan pulled back the cover for her and stood back as she made an inspection. She climbed into the cockpit and scanned the instruments then climbed out, went to the rear, and opened an inspection cover. A mounting unease and gloom permeated her emotions. He decided to leave her with her ship. If she ran off now he would do nothing to stop her. She was not a prisoner. Anyway, he hated the constant undercurrent of arrogance in her thoughts, especially since he had tried to help her.
He turned and walked back to his cottage. He wanted to tidy up and see what old clothes Sarah had left when she had stormed out. If the alien needed time to repair her craft, if indeed she could, then she would have to fit in, especially if someone called or passed by.
He rummaged around in the airing cupboard and found some jeans, blouses, and woollens Sarah obviously had no further use for, and he laid them out on the bed. He went back downstairs and tidied up. Normally, he would go for a walk at this time. Today, he just sat down on his sofa and waited. He sensed her return before she entered the door. She would never be able to sneak up on him while he was awake.
She glanced at him as she walked in then turned and went upstairs. She must have guessed the clothes were for her. She returned shortly after, wearing the jeans, blouse, and jumper he had left for her. They were a little baggy since she was slimmer than Sarah, but it did make her look a little less alien. The ears and eyes were a giveaway. But with a woollen hat and some sunglasses, she could possibly pass as human.
She looked around the room, and then selecting the chair opposite him she sat. She said something he did not understand. Tristan noticed she had brought the small handheld computer from her pocket. She did something to it. Tristan was suddenly aware of its presence. It had the same telepathic control system as the ship. He could access it the same way. It was a general purpose personal computer that could act as a translator. He kept quiet and waited; no point letting her know he had access to her computer.
She looked at him and said with a heavy accent, “You will help me!” Even speaking an alien language didn’t hide the arrogance in her tone.
Tristan frowned; emotion behind the words was plain. She regarded him as little better than a slave.
“I am already helping you.” He waited while the computer translated for her.
She nodded then paused for a moment. “I am hungry, fr… fru… fruit and bread not enough.”
Tristan sighed. He had a couple of trout he had caught the day before. He had intended to cook them for himself and Sarah.
“Can you eat fish?”
She frowned for a moment before replying. “Yes, I think so.”
“OK”. Tristan stood and walked into the kitchen.
Aesia sat quietly as he worked in the other room, preparing the fish. She had come to a decision. The alien had not made any threatening moves towards her, and he had laid out local clothes for her when she had returned. Despite his mental capability, he had not tried to use it on her. He had remained sitting comfortably and relaxed when she had come back from changing out of her uniform. He had smiled at her, and his actions seemed kindly. Maybe all it needed was the correct training. Maybe I won’t need to kill it after all.
She wondered if her translator had been correct, what sort of fish it would be and if it would be edible? At least it smelt good. Her mouth watered. When it was prepared, he beckoned her over to the table. What he offered her looked like a fish. She tried it, and it tasted delicious, similar to the fish her father had caught in the river near her home.
Once she had eaten her fill she yawned. The events of the last two days had been exhausting for her, especially since the blow on her head during the crash still hurt. She should have kept her helmet on! A stupid lapse that might well have killed her.
She made signs to Tristan that she wanted to sleep, then without waiting for an acknowledgement she stood and went upstairs.
Tristan picked up one of his books and started to read. He heard her clatter about in the bathroom, then a short while after the faint sensation of jumbled thoughts returned. She must have fallen asleep.
While Tristan made up a bed on the sofa, the extraordinary events of the last two days went round and round in his head. He also practised shutting out the chaos of the alien’s sleeping mind until he eventually fell asleep. He dreamt strange dreams again, but they did not trouble him this time.