by A K Lambert
‘Unfortunately, our world is at war, a war that threatens our very existence. Our ruling council has made the decision to send the three youngest Royals out of harm’s way. They will only return when the real nature of the war on our planet becomes clearer. Princess Tauriar is the second youngest Royal, and we have chosen your planet, Earth, as our hiding place. But, we need help to complete this task. “Inside help,” I think you would call it. That is why we are contacting you. You appear to possess the empathy, skills and knowledge to assist us. We hope you will.’
George and Ann looked at each other. The look on George’s face was one she was very familiar with. It was the same look he always had when considering a new and exciting challenge.
Prime added, ‘We realise what a shock this is for you and how much we are asking from you. It won’t be easy. But let’s not concern ourselves too much about that now. You need time to think, consider.’
Temper continued, ‘We have prepared a data package for you to view at your leisure in the transporter globe. We will leave now. The holo emitter will go to standby, but if you ask it for to commence the presentation, you will learn much about our society and our predicament. Take your time. When you need to contact us again, just ask for Prime or me.’
‘We thank you in anticipation,’ Prime concluded. The image disappeared, and the machine went to standby mode.
‘So, what do you say?’ Ann asked rhetorically. ‘How does one respond to this? They want our help.’
George was on another level. ‘Sixty million miles away. Do you know how long it would take us to travel that distance? And that’s just where they’ve parked after their interstellar journey.’
‘I see you’ve made your decision already, George Walker.’
‘Well, it can’t hurt to watch the slideshow. We can make any decisions later.’
And that’s what they did. For the next six hours solid, only pausing to make coffee and grab a sandwich.
Chapter 9
Jon, Mandy & Grace
Earth - The Republic of Ireland - 2002
* * *
Jon returned the next day for lunch in the hall’s grand dining room. Apart from him, there was Amanda, Amanda’s mum and dad, Grace, her mother and father (the Squire and Lady Faulkner) and Grace’s two private tutors.
Everyone was very courteous and went out of their way to make him feel at ease. The food was lovely, and he was hungry, especially after spending the morning riding in the hills, but there were a few things that he found a little odd.
He’d arrived at one pm on the dot and waited at the main entrance of the hall. It was ten minutes before Peter, the gardener who had returned for Amanda’s bike, arrived, trotting over the grass from the direction of the woods, Krankel at his side. ‘I was waiting at the hole in the fence for you. Didn’t expect you to be this formal.’ His smile was warm, with no trace of the distrust from yesterday. ‘I‘m Peter, by the way.’
‘How did you know I came into the grounds there?’ Jon asked, with a guilty look on his face.
‘Oh, Ive been keeping my eye on you. You’re here most weekends. I’ve also watched you in the woods on your bike. You looked skilled at riding. Perhaps you would allow me to ride with you sometimes if that’s acceptable to you. I’m considered a good rider of bikes back home, though the bike I have here isn’t a patch on yours. I’ll need permission from the Squire of course, and gardening duties notwithstanding.’
‘Love to,’ Jon agreed suspiciously. He had rarely ridden with anyone that was able to handle the terrain and speeds he could. Could be interesting he thought, but why have I never seen him?
He decided to ask. ‘Why didn’t you say something when I was on the grounds before?’
‘Well, you didn’t seem like a cosmic threat to us. Unless I’m wrong, of course, and you have a ray gun in your backpack? Carry on using the hole in the fence. We’ve finished putting up some security devices, but they’re more for nighttime. Come, everyone is waiting for you. You’re the first official guest we’ve had. You should feel honoured.’
‘No pressure then,’ Jon sighed.
Krankel edged up to Jon’s side and nuzzled his hand. Jon’s fingers dug into the fur on the back of his neck. They walked along together as old friends would.
Before they entered, he saw Amanda turn the corner, riding her bike. The bike was looking as good as new. Must be a new wheel, he thought. When she dismounted, there appeared no sign of her injury. She bounded over to him, smiling and looking enthusiastic. She pulled up short of him, realising she might seem to be a little overly friendly. ‘Hello Jon, glad you could come.’
Peter silently drifted away as Amanda took charge of their guest of honour.
‘Is your foot okay?’ Jon asked.
‘Yes.’ Amanda replied. ‘Gwyneth is a wizard at first aid. Only a slight sprain, she reckoned. They’ve been busy all morning preparing for this lunch. You’re the guest of honour.’
‘Yes, so Peter said.’ Jon put his bike next to Amanda’s. She looked at him and smiled, then put her arm through his and started marching him through the door. Jon felt a bit weird. He wasn’t used to this level of contact with girls, but she didn’t give him time to worry over it. in the main entrance hall There was a reception committee lined up and waiting for him. Amanda took charge.
‘Okay then, introductions.’ Amanda assumed an official and most likely rehearsed role. ‘These are our hosts, Squire Douglas Faulkner and his wife Lady Gwyneth Faulkner, and this is their daughter Grace.’ The Squire held out his hand for Jon to shake, which he did, followed by Lady Gwyneth and Grace. In the dim light of the hallway, they all seemed to have a very slight lack of clarity to their facial features, a trick of the light? Jon wondered. Grace smiled brightly, with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. ‘And this is my father, Professor George Walker and my mother, Ann Walker MP.’ Again, Jon shook hands. ‘And finally, Miss Thorpe and Mr. Bunter, Grace’s tutors.’
‘Amanda,’ her mother said, ‘enough of the formalities. You’ll frighten the poor boy away.’
She put her arm around Jon and led him into the dining room. ‘I, for one, want to thank you for rescuing our accident prone daughter. Come, let’s eat.’
Over the next couple of weeks, Jon visited five more times. The three children got on well. Mandy was the theatrical one and would have the other two in stitches with her shenanigans. Grace was still quiet but was steadily growing in confidence as each day passed. She still liked to let Mandy take centre stage. Everything she came across in the woods seemed to hold a special wonder to her.
Jon, well, he just liked being with the two lovely girls. Without thinking, they would stroll either side of him with their arms locked through his, as his tendency was to walk everywhere with his hands in his pockets, and listen to Mandy mimicking one of Grace’s tutors or making up some ridiculous story. They would walk through the woods and talk as all teenagers do—utterly incomprehensible to adults. They even went swimming in the lake during his last visit, with Peter and Gordon in close attendance.
Today, Jon had finally arranged to meet Peter early for a ride. They met at the highest point of the woods on the eastern side of Harewood Hall, Jon’s usual starting point. He had brought Krankel, which delighted Jon. The boy and the dog had rapidly formed a “boys only” bond that would frustrate and entertain the others in equal measure. He jumped off his bike and started play fighting. No one else seemed to do this with him. But Jon and Krankel would do it for hours.
Peter was right; his bike wasn’t anywhere near as good as Jon’s. It was a bog standard mountain bike that you could buy from one of the supermarket chain stores, no suspension, heavy, and no subtlety. Mass produced for the masses.
Seeing Jon eyeing up his bike Peter said, ‘It was left here by the previous occupants. Not what I’d call “state of the art,” but enough to put you in your place.’ The gleam in Peter’s eye implied the challenge had been laid down.
‘Will Krankel keep up?’ ask
ed Jon.
‘Will he ever,’ replied a smiling Peter.
Jon smiled back. ‘See if you can keep my back wheel in sight then.’ And he was off.
He’d picked a route that slowly weaved its way down the hill, not overly steep, but still fast. It contained three switchbacks where he’d be able to see how Peter was doing. He slid easily into his biking mindset, took a deep breath and started flowing effortlessly down. At the first switchback, he had turned completely through 180 degrees before sensing Peter. He’s not doing too bad, he thought. Through the next section, he tried to go a little faster. He was aware of a white shape flashing along between the trees on his right. Krankel? At the next switchback, Peter was even closer and at the final one he was right on his heels. By the bottom, the three of them were almost side-by-side as Jon skidded to a halt.
‘Wow! Good riding,’ was Jon’s first comment. ‘And on that old carthorse of a bike.’
‘As I said, I have done a bit of riding. But I wasn’t as good as you when I was your age. And neither of us are as fast as Krankel. ‘They both laughed at the mud splattered dog with his tongue hanging out, asking desperately to go again.
Peters idea of ‘a bit of riding’ was pilot training. What Jon referred to as ‘his cycling mindset’ was to Peter, ‘Heightening Senses’ and was the primary attribute a pilot needed for wormhole travel. One of the ways to train this sense was with technical cycling.
Before coming to Earth, Peter had thought the bicycle was unique to Preenasette. But arriving here, he saw he was way off the mark. Pondering upon it, he had realised that most bilaterally symmetric, “humanoid” races would “invent the wheel” at some stage of their evolution—that was obvious to him in hindsight—and would eventually design modes of two, three and four-wheeled transport. The early attempts at bicycle design would be crude, but would keep improving. Wheels would become lighter and stronger. Some form of tyre developed for comfort. A power transfer system and brakes. Steering. On Earth, every type and design of bike had been tried, but in the end, natural selection would always lead to the same optimum design. Be it for overcoming difficult terrain, technical courses or just for pure speed, the same design principles applied. And when technology overtakes development and tries to replace the physical deficiencies of the rider a stalemate occurs. The cyclist rebels. So they put limits on bike technical development. The only improvements were to come from rider’s skill, daring and fitness, or the difficulty of the courses.
On Peter’s world, riding a bike was an art form. The inhabitants of Earth were showing a remarkable aptitude as well.
‘Lets go again,’ Peter said, ‘Something a little more challenging, perhaps?’
They spent the rest of the morning exploring all of Jon’s tracks down the hillside. Peter gave little pointers here and there on subtle technicalities and the adoption of thought processes to help with heightening his senses. Peter and Krankel even made going back up the hills look easy, though he, of course, neglected to tell Jon they were brought up on a planet with a slightly higher gravity and lower oxygen level. Earth made them feel a bit like superheroes.
Jon and Peter made their way back to the hall after a great morning of cycling. Krankel had run ahead, seemingly tireless. The girls came running to greet them, alerted of their return by the dog, full of excitement.
‘Hi, you two. Had a good morning?’ Mandy asked.
‘Great,’ Jon replied.
‘And what have you done to my dog?’ Grace laughed, trying to fend off the affections of the giant mud pie.
‘I’ll take him and hose him down,’ said Peter. ‘And I better be off before the Squire realises how long I’ve been out.’
‘See you Krankel… and you, Peter,’ Grace called. ‘Come on Jon, Mandy’s thought up a great new game,’ she said, mimicking Jon’s Irish accent and looking up to the heavens.
The children strolled across the grounds of Harewood Hall to the far side of the manor house.
‘Okay,’ said Mandy. ‘There’s the stream. And here are the rules...’
Chapter 10
The Assassin
Earth - The Republic of Ireland - 2002
* * *
Now was perfect.
The security shield had been in place for about two weeks. Nothing could penetrate it, not a missile, not a search drone, not even somebody carrying a toy gun. The artificial intelligence controlling the shield watched anything and everyone. But it was partially down for thirty minutes. Helen was carrying out a minor calibration adjustment to the optical tracking system that they all had implanted to monitor each other’s whereabouts—final tweaking. He would have time. He, like everyone else, knew the location of the Princess before the partial shutdown. Helen had activated the perimeter dome and told the children to stay near the hall. They were by the house and vulnerable and, more importantly, Krankel wasn’t with them. He would never get close enough with the dog around.
A perfect opportunity.
He slipped out of a side exit and ran into the woods. The vantage point he was heading for was excellent, with plenty of cover and damp moss underfoot. He wouldn’t be seen or heard. In his pocket, he carried an AM Hover Dart, which contained a minuscule particle of grey matter in suspension. This weapon was a particularly efficient killing device. He had gone to great lengths on Verceti and here on Earth to conceal it. The DNA of its target was programmed in. The hover function allowed a midair setting, about chest height facing in the general direction of its target, where it would hang for a preset period. It would then accelerate to three hundred and fifty miles per hour and seek its target. When it got within one metre of the source of the DNA, it would explode—a small but deadly implosion consuming all living matter within a five-metre radius.
He could see the children now, about a hundred metres away, and set the hover function to forty-five seconds. More than enough time for him to get back to the place he was expected to be. He enabled the tracking system and touched the arming button. He paused for the briefest moment to confirm activation and hover stability, then turned and set off as quickly and as quietly as he could.
Chapter 11
The First Trials 2
Zerot - 200 Years Earlier
* * *
The final three gates opened together.
Are the Elders testing me? Or punishing me?
Behind her to the right, a family was herded out by two large Grunz that slammed the outer gate shut behind them. A male, a female and a juvenile, flowing purple hair vividly contrasting with their snowy white skin The man carried a short sword, but his demeanour suggested he wasn’t a fighter.
They look ridiculous. How are they supposed to test me? Or is it a test of my compassion. Ha, the Elders should know better.
Directly in front of her a giant, heavily armoured feudal warrior appeared, slow but probably skilled, with only one glaring flaw in his armour that Birjjikk could see.
Behind her to the left were three squat soldiers. She recognised them from the slave paddocks—recent additions.
The only sound in the arena was the whimpering of the Tagra with the missing foot, desperately licking at the wound just below the severed humerus.
The three soldiers and the warrior were cautious. Any confidence born of having to battle a young girl was now tempered by her display in the arena, and the apparent hold she had over the bear.
Birjjikk wasn’t going to give them time to formulate strategies or alliances, she would be the aggressor. She needed a strong performance to ensure progression to the next phase of training. Warrior caste would then be guaranteed. The darker arts of killing and mental training would be on the syllabus. She desperately wanted this. Ultimately, she wanted to become a Player—the leader of the Cadre chosen from her Academy. Then, and only then, would she enjoy the real benefits of being a high caste Zerot: a longer life filled with estivation—prolonged dormancy—ensuring more time to plot and play the killing game.
She ran directly at the warrior,
sword in hand, knowing it would cause confusion. From his startled look, she succeeded. She leapt—by appearances prematurely—feeling the thrill of gliding through the air and triumph that her attack had already succeeded. The high forward thrust of her sword served to engage an upwards defensive parry from the warrior’s sword, stretching his torso and exposing the breach in his armour. But, at the last moment, she withdrew her weapon and tucked into a ball, falling to the ground into a perfect forward roll. The momentum brought her to her knees in front of him where she inserted her sword surgically just below his chest, in the gap where the upper chainmail ended and the lower began.
She was pleased with herself and her perfect technique until she realised that she couldn’t hold the warrior’s weight as he fell towards her. He would die, that much was certain, but he hadn’t yet, and his forward momentum meant he could complete a final lunge at her with his sword.
Birjjikk’s hands felt welded to the hilt of her sword as she staggered backwards, now painfully aware that the arc of the Warrior’s sword was destined to meet with the right side of her torso.
Turdgutter! This won’t go well with the Elders.
She had no choice but to trigger her modulating force field, willing the left quadrant to activate. The dampened blow to her side still felt like a sledgehammer, and her whole body shifted from beneath the falling giant. The blow had twisted him, allowing Birjjikk to withdraw her sword, and giving her a means to rectify her error. She rolled onto her back, flipped onto her feet, then stood tall and shrieked.
She should have been wondering if she had recovered the situation, but there was something else going on inside her. A deep emotion began to flood her very being, a desperate yearning deep within her loins, a feeling unknown to her.