Chapter 5: The Enemy

The next day Tristan woke early. The sun streaming in through the partly closed curtains left bright patches on the opposite wall. He lay still, the faint whispering in his mind when Aesia was near, had stopped. So she must be working on her ship. He checked the wound in his side and it had almost completely healed.

He swung his legs round and stood up; the expected nausea did not happen. He rubbed the side of his forehead, noting that he hadn't suffered any pain or headaches since she had arrived either. He took a few tentative steps before he had to grip a chair for support. He sighed; he needed some breakfast and a cup of tea. He released his grip on the chair and walked through. The kitchen was neat and tidy. He checked the cupboards and found everything in its place. "Well she has been busy!" He made himself a small bowl of cereals and sat down. After breakfast, he showered and changed.

He felt good; Aesia and her Med Kit had done an excellent job.

He sat for a while to rest before walking out of the house and up the hill. As he got closer the faint touch of Aesia's thoughts grew stronger. The presence of the ship's computer caused a different type of sensation, a feeling of latent power. He had learnt to block her small personal computer quite quickly. It had made conversation difficult as he could "hear" it translating for her. He knew what she would say before she said it, so her speech was like an echo of the machine.

He tried to sort and order the sensations pressing in on his consciousness. He found he could separate easily the cold emotionless machine from the faint flow and ebb of emotions coming from the busy alien. The few days spent recovering had not been wasted.

Aesia had a panel off the side of the ship just forward of the cockpit. There were some parts on the ground beside her. She seemed to be replacing faulty circuits.

Tristan sensed a change when she became aware of his approach. A momentary feeling of pleasure or satisfaction was quickly replaced by irritation. He wondered if his presence or the ship had caused it. He smiled.

"Hello. Are you busy?" He cursed himself for such a lame question.

Instead of the expected cutting reply to his stupid question she nodded. "Yes, I'm trying to fix the communicator. This thing will never fly again so my only hope is a rescue."

He knew she was hiding something, an underlying current to her thoughts gave her away. He chose to ignore it for the moment, and maybe with a little more time and practice he could make more sense of what she was thinking.

"I'm going for a short walk to build up my strength, is there anything you need before I go?"

"No! No thank you." She corrected herself. She turned back to the open panel, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

Over the next week, they fell into a routine. Aesia worked on her craft, Tristan concentrated on regaining his strength, prepared the food, and replenishing the groceries by visiting the small local village shop. He thought it best to avoid a trip to the town for the present. He could also keep an eye on anyone walking up the track. The last thing he wanted was someone stumbling upon an alien working on her spaceship.

One morning Tristan had left for his usual walk. The day was fine, the sun warm on his back, and dappled sunlight seemed to dance through the gently rustling leaves. Everything was well with the world. He had noticed that her attitude towards him was improving. She had started to treat him more as an equal instead of something beneath contempt. Sometimes she could even be quite pleasant. He did however sense her becoming increasingly concerned that the repairs were not going well.

She had once broached the subject of having to stay here. Tristan had averted that decision for the present; he knew she could not hide indefinitely.

When Tristan returned he sensed something very wrong. Strong feelings of fear, hatred, and anger filled her mind. His chest tightened. Had someone walked by and seen her? Maybe the authorities had been tipped off and had come to arrest them both. He took tight control of his thoughts and with slow deliberation walked around his cottage. No official vehicles parked in his drive, so the source of Aesia's distress had to be something else, but what? Keeping low he crept up the slope. As he reached the brow of the rise, he dropped down and crept forward on his stomach so he could see her ship.

His breath caught in his throat. Aesia was on her knees with her hands behind her head. Standing over her a different alien, with a second standing by a craft much larger than her fighter. The newcomers were slightly reptilian, with a faint, green tinge to their skin. Ridges ran from front to back of their heads where hair would normally be. They both wore dark blue uniforms. The markings on their craft were not the same as on Aesia's fighter.

The one standing over her held a gun close to her head. She had a spreading bruise on the side of her face and blood oozing from her mouth. He was going to shoot her! Tristan's insides twisted up. That is not going to happen!

The other one lounged against an open door to their ship. It looked more like a shuttle or small scout ship rather than a fighter. He carried what looked like a rifle cradled loosely in his arms. From his obvious nonchalance, he thought there was nothing to threaten them here.

Tristan thought quickly; if he went back to the cottage and got her gun, it would be too late. What could he do? The alien could kill her at any moment. He could not sense their minds the same way he could sense hers, so he was at a loss for what to do, but he had to act quickly.

He racked his brain; she had disconnected her ship's computer using its parts for the communicator, so no help there. Suddenly, he thought of her translator. She had it with her all the time. He felt for its presence; yes she had it with her! Holding his breath he sent a question to it, knowing it would translate what he instructed. Can you take the one standing over you if I distract them?

He noticed her stiffen, and he got a clear Yes from the translator.

Ignoring the gorse tearing at his exposed skin Tristan dragged himself forward as close as he dared without them noticing him.

He saw the alien with the gun pointing at Aesia, tense. He had run out of time. With a loud yell he jumped up and ran towards the one with the rifle as fast as he could, closing the distance with large strides, screaming at the top of his voice. He saw the alien fumble with his rifle and start to turn it towards him as if in slow motion. Tristan started to zigzag a little, but kept closing the distance, praying the alien was too startled to take proper aim. He hoped his shout, and sudden headlong rush, had distracted the one standing over Aesia sufficiently for her to take care of him.

The short distance seemed like a mile; he half expected to be shot before he reached his target. When he judged distance was close enough, he launched himself at the alien's legs in a classic rugby tackle. The alien had been taken by surprise. Panicked by Tristan's sudden appearance he had hesitated before raising his rifle. By the time he was ready to fire, Tristan had him.

He fired without taking any aim. Tristan ignored the searing pain and burning on the skin of his left shoulder. The alien, winded by Tristan's tackle, lay gasping, and with a swift punch, Tristan knocked him out.

At Tristan's yell, the alien standing over Aesia turned, the pistol wavered for a moment, and she lunged forward, twisted and pulled the feet from under him. His gun discharged harmlessly into the sky. With a swinging chop, she knocked the alien out while he was still off balance.

Aesia stood trying to control the trembling in her arms and legs. Tristan had saved her life for a second time; in Sicceian society she was now honour bound to this strange creature.

The way he had taken control of her translator troubled her; she did not know anyone who could do that. She bent and picked up the fallen pistol, turning it over in her hands. Maybe it would be safer to shoot him, now she had a means of escape? She glanced up. Tristan was watching her, a strange expression on his face. She hesitated then stuffed the pistol into her belt. He visibly relaxed, as if he had known what she was thinking.

Her stomach knotted, she had a deep-seated contempt of anyone who was not a member of her species, but she couldn't kill him. She clenched her fists, commanding her trembling hands to be still, sighed then walked over to him.

Tristan broke the silence. "Who are they, and why did they want to kill you?"

The translator delivered the question as cold and emotionless but she was getting used to Tristan's speech patterns, and this time she caught an undertone of suspicion and accusation.

"They are Mylians. The ones I was fleeing from when I crashed here."

"You are at war with these beings?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It's not important, we must leave now before more of them arrive." Aesia glanced at the two prone Mylians. They were not dead, but it would be a while before they regained consciousness. She kicked the one lying by the open hatch.

Tristan stepped towards her. "Hey don't!"

She shrugged. "They are nothing! Let me see your shoulder."

Tristan turned. The rifle shot had just grazed his shoulder and burned his shirt. He winced as Aesia touched the wound with her fingers. The beam had seared the skin, sealing the wound.

"You were lucky, it will be sore for a couple of days but it is nothing serious."

She turned and stepped through the large craft's open door. "Come on, we must go now!"

They entered the craft, and Aesia went immediately to one of the two seats and sat down. She passed her hands over the controls; everything was in order and she could pilot the craft without trouble.

She looked over her shoulder, Tristan was standing at the entrance. She smiled. "You must sit and strap yourself in."

Tristan shook his head. "No, I can't leave just like that."

Aesia swallowed, he had to come with her; she needed him for evidence. A planet this rich and diverse was unheard of. She knew she would have difficulty convincing her superiors about a new undiscovered species of strong, healthy, perfect slave stock. If she could not bring herself to shoot him, she would at least be able to use him.

She stood slowly, her mind racing; how could she get him to come? Things had happened far faster than she had expected. She was not ready ... No he was not yet ready. She bit her lip for a moment then decided to gamble.

She walked towards Tristan, a tall, dark looming shape outlined by the sunlight streaming through the open hatch. She laid a hand on his arm gently and looked into his face, his strange eyes half-hidden in shadow.

"You have to come with me, please. It will be difficult finding my people, and I cannot do it alone."