The Torc

(Book 2 – The Engaging)

By

Tanya Allan

Torc Series: Book 2 – The Engaging. Copyright ©2020 Tanya J. Allan

The author asserts her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.

This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.  Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone.  Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.

The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.

The Author

With enormous experience of life, the author brings to life some of the nastier sides of the human condition, with many of the better attributes.  Having started writing as a teenager, but never publishing anything until the half century loomed, Tanya successfully brought together elements of the real world, her dreams, fantasies and failed aspirations to breathe life into three-dimensional characters and situations that warrant further attention.  Known for producing happy endings (for the most part), but also keen to see true justice is seen to be done, which unfortunately doesn’t happen as often as it should in real life.

Now concentrating on writing, the author enjoys foreign travel, family, faith and furry friends.

Tanya Allan’s AMAZON.COM PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004VTB5OQ

Among Us

A Chance would be a Fine Thing (Knox Journals Book 1)

A Wedding and Two Wars (Knox Journal Book 2)

A Fairy's Tale

A Girl can but Dream

Amber Alert

Among Us

A Tale of Two T’s*

Behind The Enemy - Book 1

Beginning's End – Book 2

Broken Promises

The Candy Cane Club – Book 1

Dead End – Book 2

Dragged Up

Dragons & Stuff

Elemental Series - Book 1 – Ice

Book 2 – Earth & Fire

Book 3 – Wind of Change

Emma*

Entirely Blank

Komplett Gelöscht

(Deutsche Ausgabe)

Every Little Girl's Dream (1)

Rise to the Challenge (2)

Extra Special Agent

Fast Forward with a Twist (1)

Reverse Twist (2)

When Worlds Collide (3)

Fickle Fate

Fickle Fortune

Flight or Fight

Fortune's Soldier

Gruesome Tuesday*

In a Man’s Word – 1 – First Steps

In Plain Sight*

In The Shadows

It’s Never Too Late

It Couldn't Happen, Could it?

Killing Me Slowly*

Last

Limbo 1 Charlie’s Twist

Marine I: Agent of Time*

Marine 2: A very Different Roman

Marine 3: Island of Dreams

Modern Masquerade

Monique*

Monique (L’édition française)

Queen of Hearts*

Ring the Change

Shit Happens - so do Miracles*

Skin*

Tamsyn

Tango Golf: Cop with A Difference

The Badger’s Girl

The Curse of Shalama

Book 1 – Higher Than Eagles

Book 2 - The Dragon’s Kiss

The Award

The Hard Way*

The Offer

The Other Side of Dreams

(There Be Monsters Series)

1 - To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

There's No Such Thing as a Super Hero

The Summer Job & Other Stories

The Torc (Book 1 – The Emerging)

The Torc (Book 2 – The Engaging)

To Fight For a Dream*

Twisted Dreams*

TWOC - A Comedy of Errors

Weird Wednesday*

What, No Wand?

When Fortune Smiles - Book 1

Changed Fortune – Book 2

When I Count to Three

Whispers in the Mind* - Book 1

Whispers in the Soul* - Book 2

*Paperbacks can be found here: http://www.feedaread.com/profiles/368/

Prologue

959 AD – West coast of Norway.

The boy was just ten but looked younger. His father might be a chieftain, but as Xander was the youngest of seven children, he was treated little better than a serf by the rest of his family. Also, his mother was not the prime wife but one of the serving wenches that had been raised to the position of third wife by a man whose appetite for women was matched only by his appetite for ale.

As a result of being at the bottom of the food chain in his father’s house, Xander spent most of his time with the animals, or wherever he could find peace and quiet.

At this moment, he stood alone on a crag overlooking the fjord. The place was called Griðastaður, meaning Safe Haven. The winter might be over, but snow still remained on the higher peaks and the cold wind still blew from the north. He wrapped his threadbare woollen cloak tighter around him as he looked out to sea. Below him, by the long wooden quayside, most of the others from the small town had stood to say goodbye to the men folk. The crowd was now beginning to disperse and go about their daily business.

He alone remained watching his father’s long-ship lead the three others from their berths out to sea. The large, square sails seemed almost black against the backdrop of the water and the oarsmen were keeping perfectly to time, probably because they wanted to look good for those who were still watching them leave.

It took a good deal of strength and stamina to pull on those great oars. Xander had simply tried to lift one a few days ago and failed.

He knew he would have to grow a lot before he could join the raiding parties. Part of him was rather pleased that he was not able to go yet. The thought of crossing the great sea to find lands to raid filled his heart with fear. And then, once ashore in a foreign land, he’d have to face blood-thirsty warriors determined to stop the raiders.

Still, he thought of the wild tales told on their return by those who survived. Normally fuelled by as much ale as they could consume and fired up by the fact that few would contradict their exaggerated boasts, these men would weave such exciting tales that a small boy hiding on the gallery could not help but be impressed.

He sat on a rock and hugged his knees watching as the great square sails became smaller and smaller. The wind was favourable, so they had no need of the oars. If the wind prevailed, they should reach the wet shores of Britannia within a few days. If the wind turned, then the rowers would be exhausted by the time they arrived.

Not having his father or his two elder half-brothers, Hakon and Eric, present, should have made his life easier. However, the harsh reality was that Elof and Bjarni, the next two - aged thirteen and fifteen, were far worse than the bigger brothers. Bjarni in particular followed after his name – Bear. He was big and a bully, often leaving little Xander bleeding and bruised for refusing to knuckle down to his demands. Being the youngest and most insignificant son of the chieftain or king was not an advantage, as there were certain expectations, which Bjarni felt Xander persistently failed to meet.

His half-sisters, Freja and Hertha, on the other hand, were delightful and very like their mother. The chieftain’s prime wife was Eria, and was a force to be reckoned with. Despite not being her child, Xander adored her, following everyone’s example and calling her ‘my Queen’.  His own mother, Oili, had been little more than a teenager when King Rolf had impregnated her. She was still one small step higher than a servant in the great hall, and with a swollen belly expecting another child; it looked like Xander was not going to be the baby for much longer. That would be a relief, but Xander knew that there was little point in getting too hopeful yet.

There had been another, a girl, but she had lived but four days after being born three years ago before dying of some unknown fever. Rolf had taken Oili as a third wife for two reasons; the first was that she was a pretty girl and he was the chief, so he could take what he wanted. While the second was that her family was considered ‘special’ by virtue of her own mother.

Oili had been named by her mother as a ‘divine woman’. Runa, her mother, was so named because of the secret she held. However, in truth, Oili failed to live up to her mother’s expectations. Grandmother Runa had hoped that Oili would be more inclined to follow her mother’s traditions, but her time in the hall kept her too busy.

And then there was that infernal priest of that new religion of the God-man on a cross. He had captured Oili’s imagination with his funny tales of miracles and his God that defied death. Although Christians were trying to spread their religion, it was not going too well among the seriously independently-minded Vikings.

The Norsemen were resistant to change of any sort, particularly where their Gods were concerned. Among the weak and many women, the ideals of love and equality were more likely to be well received, but the warriors would never consider such weak-willed and namby-pamby ideas.

His grandmother Runa was held in great respect by the community for being a wise woman. Many in a different setting might stoop to call her a witch, but she followed the old pagan religion in her own fashion – tempered with common sense and a lack of regard for silliness of any sort. She had a deep and profound knowledge of the world and nature, so knew the herbs and remedies that cured many of the common ailments. Despite some mutterings of contempt, not one among them would stay away if they felt ill.

Runa lived in a small cottage some distance apart from the settlement.  This was by choice, as she did not like all the children who could gather and pester her to share her wisdom.

It was to her that Xander would often gravitate. She seemed to acknowledge that Xander was different to the other children. He was not noisy and brash, but serious and sincere in his desire to learn more about anything and everything. His sisters, although wholesome and full of fun, were not concerned about the secrets that Runa held.

One man in the community did not appreciate Runa. His name was Erland and he was a priest of this new God-man on a cross religion from the southern lands.  His name meant foreigner in Norse. Despite being of Norse blood, he was foreign to the people in so many ways.

For a start, he wore a strange black habit and a wooden cross around his neck on a cord. Regardless of the weather, he only ever wore simple sandals on his feet and was seen as little more than an annoying beggar by the people.

At every opportunity, he accused Runa of many crimes, chiefly of being a witch. In turn, he was considered a joke by all in the community, yet, despite his name, he was a distant cousin of Rolf, which meant he was safe... for the moment.

He had left the community many years ago when little more than a teenager. He had travelled to some place in the south where he had heard of the religion of the cross... of the Christ God-man. Converting to this new religion, he had returned, determined to force it on his people back home.

He had been here for fifteen years now, and had yet to make any real headway. The old ways were deeply ingrained in the men’s hearts and minds. It would be a brave woman to go against the religion of her father or husband.

Christianity was slowly seeping into the Northern lands but was facing strong resistance everywhere. The Norse had not been part of the Roman Empire, so there was not the foundation left over from that period, as it had been elsewhere. Although they no longer called him the Roman Emperor, the Pope was the same in all but name. Instead of the Empire, there was the Roman Church. It was destined to be more powerful and far-reaching than the Roman Empire had ever been.

The Norsemen were proud of their culture and their independence. They believed firmly that their Gods were a central part of that culture. To deny them their Gods was to deny them their cultural pride and heritage. There were over fifty Gods and a few lesser Gods that the Norsemen accepted. Odin was the Chief of the Gods, and Thor, the God of thunder. Freyja was the Goddess of fertility and, strangely, also of battle.

However, this small community of some three thousand souls had their own, unique and personal God that was not shared by any other of their fellows. Known simply as Strykur, this deity was male and possessed what his name entailed – strength.

Strykur appeared rarely but had within living memory at least three times when the community had been threatened - twice by outside raiders, and once by an attempted coup by Rolf’s younger half-brother, Halstein.

Despite the many pleas and prayers offered to the God to join them on the raiding parties, Strykur had never done so. Instead, the people now firmly believed that his task was to watch over the community of Griðastaður, particularly when the men-folk left to raid the far-off shores for slaves and plunder. It was not uncommon for nearby communities to wait for the men to leave in their long ships, and then sneak in and raid those left behind while the ships were gone. Indeed, two of the times that Strykur had come to their aid had been just such occasions.

On these two events, only a few had actually seen him, but that was enough. Two were men too old to go to sea, and the others were some of the women. By all accounts, the deity was not particularly tall, and dressed in unexciting leather armour with a plain helm bereft of adornment. His sword was plain and although obviously sharp, was neither long nor large. He had simply swooped down, flying, by all accounts, down the steep sides of the fjord and had cut through the raiders as they entered the town from their ships that lay along the previously empty quay. All raiders died in a matter of moments. Afterwards, the witnesses simply saw the God leap away into the sky as if it had been nothing.

The last time - the time of the attempted coup, had been some twelve years ago now. Rolf had recently returned from a moderately successful raid and there had been a celebration to welcome the warriors’ return.

A few had been aware of the mutterings and secrecy within the community during the party’s absence, but it came as a surprise when it happened in the small hours as most of the men were asleep after consuming far too much alcoholic refreshment.

Halstein and a dozen of his chosen friends entered the great hall and were about to kill the Chieftain, his immediate family and selected warriors while they slept.

Before one blow could be made, Strykur arrived from above, literally breaking through the thatched roof and flying down to smite Halstein with one blow of his sword. In the commotion, the Chief and his warriors awoke and slew the other conspirators.

Appearing before all, no one could doubt the reality of the God who could fly and decapitate a man with one blow of his sword.

Rolf knelt before Strykur and swore eternal allegiance to the God on behalf of his family and the town. He offered to change the name of the place to take the name of the god himself, but Strykur had declined.

“No, this community will be here long after you are dead. The legacy of my protection will continue, often in secret. There are many threats to your way of life, so one must treat my protection with the greatest respect so that no matter what the threat, Strykur shall be here to guard your people through the ages.”

Strykur had rested his hand briefly on the Chief’s shoulder and departed the way he had come, by flexing his muscles and leaping up through the roof and away. Eighty people stared in wonder as the events had unfolded. The reality of Strykur was no longer in doubt. As for where he rested when not helping them, now that was a mystery.

Thus then, the reality of a God that people had seen was Erland’s biggest hurdle. His God confused those who actually gave him time to talk about. For a start, he was three people in one. Few could get their heads around that conundrum. The crux was that none of these three persons was visible as Strykur had been. This three-in-one God wasn’t a warrior, and the people sincerely believed that the God of people such as they should be a warrior. Rolf had sworn allegiance to Strykur, and so bound the community to Strykur regardless of what Erland could say.

Runa had laughed when she heard of Erland’s bleating words against her. She challenged him to show her his God. He couldn’t, so he left, muttering dark words for a man who preached love and peace.

“What are you up to, little one?” Runa asked as she saw Xander lurking by her door.

“Nothing, grandmother.”

“Why aren’t you playing with your friends?”

The boy shrugged, unwilling to admit to not having many friends and not desperately keen to join in the games of boys who would probably end up hurting him. Most involved physical violence of some form. When you are the smallest and weakest, there is one name you hold more than anyone else – loser.

Runa laughed and opened the door for him to enter. He did so gladly.

Few visited her in her cottage except in times of need, mainly out of fear. She was a formidable woman, who suffered not fools gladly. Xander was the exception, and he loved it here as much as she loved the small boy.

There was always a good fire in the hearth, with crackling logs and a warm smell. There was always some interesting pot filled with food bubbling above it, and his tummy rumbled as soon as he drank in the rich aromas.

“Hungry again?” she asked.

“Still,” he said, eying the pot.

“Take some stew and there is some bread,” she invited.

He did so quickly, offering her some first. She declined, watching him eat with a smile on her face.

Nobody knew how old Runa really was. Certainly, she had born many children, Oili being the youngest. Her husband had been a warrior and had died shortly after Oili had been born. She had never seemed to either need or want another husband, in defiance of local customs.

The community treated her well, coming to her as one would to a doctor or counsellor. Certainly, she was very wise, and yet, she was bitterly disappointed. None of her daughters seemed inclined to follow in her footsteps to take on the role she had created for herself. It was an important role, so if she were to die without anyone to carry on the work, then the community would be the poorer for it.

She had followed her mother, as had her mother. Oili was neither inclined or equipped for the task, nor were her two other daughters, now with families and responsibilities that were not compatible with what she had in mind.

She watched her grandson eat like a ravenous rodent. An idea came to her.

“Xander?”

“Grandmother?”

“You’re a bright boy; how would you like to learn some special things?”

The boy had beamed at her and she knew that although the tradition had called on girls to follow mothers, this little change might not be so bad a thing.

*  *  *

Nine years later

Xander stood alone in the wind, hoping the rain would stay away. The funeral pyre needed the large heap of sticks to remain dry, even though there should be sufficient oil to add fuel to the flames. Persistent and driving rain could even quench the most enthusiastic fire.

He was just eighteen now and had changed a lot since that day when he had watched his father sail away.

Indeed, much had changed in the intervening years. Rolf had not returned alive from the trip on which Xander had seen him sail away. The raid had been to the shores of the islands to the west, Britannia, they called them. They had ventured further south than before, as the places they had visited had suffered greatly from many raiders and so they hoped to find fresh places that were rich in booty.

They had been right, but these people also had many men at arms and archers equipped with bows capable of sending arrows many spans. Rolf had died with an arrow in his neck just as he was trying to gain a foothold on the side of the boat to jump ashore.

The eldest son, Hakon, had taken his torc of office from his father’s neck and was the new chieftain. They had found a bitter battle with the local British people, laying waste to the town and burning everything, carrying off fifteen female captives and twenty male slaves. However, they had lost a quarter of their number, so returned home to honour their dead in the customary manner, and to lick their wounds.

After his father’s body had drifted across the fjord in his burning long-ship, no one noticed that Xander was rarely in the great hall anymore. He moved up to be with his grandmother and lived there all the time. It was one less mouth to feed, and his mother now had another child to care for; a boy this time. With his half-brother installed as king, her status was no longer as secure as it had been under Rolf.

Xander, having been on a far better diet and undertaking many manual tasks for his now elderly grandmother, grew tall and strong; taller and stronger than his all half-brothers, except Bjarni. However, his mind also expanded, as Runa had much to impart to the boy.

Impart it she had, and now, he alone stood by her funeral pyre on the crag above her home, as she had decreed.

Not only older and taller, he was also stronger and wiser. Xander was considered more than slightly strange by the people of Griðastaður. Those first few years, no one had noticed he was no longer there. He was worked hard by his grandmother, who, as she got older and more infirm, was grateful for his young legs and willing hands. There were some goats and sheep to look after, so he did so with pleasure. Indeed, under his care, the flocks grew in size.

He learned to identify roots and plants, and to learn what medicinal qualities they possessed. His education included reading the runes; an ancient script that was almost unknown in these times. Literacy was now a matter for the expanding Christian church, so what did warriors have to do with reading? Gradually, they saw the influence of the Roman Church spreading into the south, but apart from the single priest, they did not venture to Griðastaður - yet.

Occasionally, Oili dropped by to see her mother, often to ask her advice, but usually, Runa thought, to check she was still alive. She half-heartedly tried to persuade Xander to return to the town, if only to use his strength to help her in her chores.

He declined, rightly claiming he was of more use to his grandmother. He was better fed here, in any case.

He was sixteen when Runa called him to her.

He was surprised, for he had been asleep, so worried that she was unwell.

“Grandmother?”

She was seated by the fire, poking the dying embers with her long metal rod. It was summer, so it was still not quite dark outside despite being almost midnight. The long evenings were in direct contrast to the very short days of winter.

“It is time!” she declared.

“Time?”

She laughed, watching his concerned frown.

“You know my name, child?”

“I do.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means ‘secret tradition’, grandmother.”

“And your own name, what does it mean?”

“Defender of man.”

“These are not coincidences, my boy.”

Xander simply stood patiently. He had learned not to question or to start discussions when she wanted to say important things to him.

“You have studied well.”

“Thank you; I have tried to honour you.”

“You have succeeded, as I have little more to teach you. You are not a child any more, but a young man. I fear, however, that you will not appreciate my last secret.”

Again, Xander stood and waited.

“I am not as agile as I once was, so you will have to go up the mountain for me.”

“As you wish.”

“In the morning, I want you to go to the Eagle’s Crest.”

Xander frowned, for that was the highest peak around.

“About a hundred paces from the summit there is a cave. You will enter the cave and bring me the chest that rests there. I fear I will never be able to make the journey again. Do not open the chest until it is back here. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Fine, now stop gabbing and let an old woman get her sleep!”

For a young and athletic young man, the journey was not a hard one. He had left just after dawn. It took him a couple of hours to reach the summit, but almost as long to locate the cave. It was well hidden; more a crack in the rocks, but once through the entrance, it widened to a small chamber. It was also very dark, but he had brought some tallow-soaked rags wrapped around a stick, to use as a torch. Using the flints as Runa had told him, he made fire and lit the torches.

He had expected a large chest in open view. Instead, it took him some minutes to scrabble amongst the damp rocks to find a small, wooden chest, perhaps the length of his forearm, cubed.

It was not that heavy. The latch was ornate, and locked. He realised that he had no key. Remembering his grandmother’s words, he was sensible and wrapped it in a sacking, tying it to his back for the journey back to the cottage.

Runa was asleep when he returned, but awoke as he placed the chest on the table.

“Already? My, that was quick.”

“It is evening, grandmother. It took me most of the day.”

The old woman fumbled amongst her rather tattered clothing and came up with a key on a fine chain attached to her waist. She unlocked the chest, slowly opening the lid.

Xander peered into the chest, not sure what to expect; jewels, perhaps, or a crown of some value.

On a plain red cloth lay the most uninspiring piece of jewellery he had ever seen.  The Chieftain’s Torc of Griðastaður was ornate and beautifully crafted in gold encrusted with precious stones and jewels, with a dragons’ heads emblazoned on each end. This was a plain torc, not even of gold or silver, but of some dull, grey metal. There were no runes, jewels, no inscriptions and certainly no dragons.

With a shaking hand, Runa removed the torc, and held it for a moment.

“This torc has been in our family for many generations,” she said. “It is said that the first woman in my line was the chieftain’s wife over six hundred years ago. Each generation passed this to their daughter for her to carry the tradition down. I am missing a generation, and perhaps it is more fitting it is passed to a male.”

“What is it?”

“This, my lovely boy, is the torc of Strykur.”

The legends or tales of Strykur were as old as the hills. Every generation had been visited by the God when they had needed him most. His parents’ generation had been no exception.

He made no move to take it.

“What does it do?” he asked.

She held each end, and opened the torc easily, without any effort. She placed it around her neck. Xander was interested to see that it closed automatically around her neck.

“So?” he said.

Before his very eyes, his grandmother changed rapidly. Gone was the frail old woman, instead, a tall man appeared, looking incongruous in the clothes of an old woman.

Xander shook with surprise and shock.

“Do not fear me, little one,” the man said. It was his grandmother’s tone, but in a male voice.

“Grandmother?”

The man laughed.

“Of course, who else?”

She had gained height, girth and youth, seemingly becoming a powerful male in middle years.

“Behold, I am Strykur!” the deep, male voice announced.

Xander felt the icy tendrils of fear, but he held his ground.

“You are Strykur?” he asked, doubting his very eyes.

Without a word, the figure rose in the air, so his head almost hit the beams of the roof.

“I am Strykur!” he repeated, before returning once again to the floor.

The strange man then took off the torc and held it in his hands. Within moments, his grandmother reappeared, looking old and frail.

Xander bowed his head at this point.

“Grandmother, forgive me, I never knew!”

To his surprise, his grandmother slapped him on the arm and chuckled.

“Of course, you never knew, you silly boy. No one knew and that is the whole point. Strykur is no more a God than you are; which is probably just as well.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, frowning.

“You daft boy; you are now going to become Strykur. That is my secret that I will pass to you, and you will pass it on to your son or daughter.”

“But you are a woman!” he protested.

“Such is the power of the torc that it makes the wearer male if they are female. It doesn’t change their clothes, though.”

“If I wore it?”

“My great, great grandfather wore it, as there was no female progeny. He made an excellent Strykur; just as you will.”

She held it out to him, so tentatively, he took it from her.

It was surprisingly light.

He tried to open it and couldn’t.

“Just hold the ends for a long while. It has to get used to you,” she said, recalling the first time she wore it.

After several minutes, he suddenly found he could bend it with ease. He placed it around his neck.

Nothing happened.

“Grandmother, what is supposed to happen?” he asked.

She just laughed.

The feelings started gradually, but then increased alarmingly. It started as a tingling sensation, and in a moment or two, his whole skin felt alive.

“Don’t take it off!” she shouted, as his hands immediately flew to either end of the torc.

Gradually, the sensations died away and he remained standing.

“Well done, I fell over when it first happened to me,” she said.

Xander didn’t feel any different.

“Look!” she said, holding a polished sheet of metal that served as a mirror.

To his amazement, a stranger looked back at him. No, not a total stranger, for his image was now just a bigger version of himself. His face was older somehow, and perhaps more masculine. He was also taller and broader. Of a little above average height to start, say one metre seventy-three (five foot eight - bear in mind that tenth century humans were considerably shorter than modern humans) he now stood at two metres. His head was only a little lower than the beams.

“Oh, my word, you look more like Thor!” said Runa in some admiration.

“What powers does it provide?”

“You will discover them all in time,” she said, chuckling once more. “Actually, I am not sure that any of us have possessed full knowledge of what it can do. Now you possess it, you must never lose it. It is low in power, so you must place it where the sun shines.

“I have not used it since the time of Halstein so it has a little charge in it, as it has been kept in the dark for many years. But with it, I have soared over the Eagle’s Crest. Men have struck me with sword and axe, and yet none touched my skin. I can understand the words of heathen foreigners and speak their beastly tongues as if I were of their kind. In short, with this, you are now a God.

“But, my dear one, mark my words well. It does not grant immortality, and you should not wear it all the time, for to do that, you will take on the appearance for the rest of your life.”

He frowned.

“How do you know this?”

“My grandmother wore it for many weeks, but when she took it off, she remained the same, but without the powers. It caused her great distress, for she had a loving husband and family. She passed on the torc and left the town to finish her life.”

“She killed herself?”

“Aye, child, she threw herself off a cliff. Everyone thought it an accident, but my mother knew the truth, as did I.”

“But I am a male, so no one would think it odd.”

“That is true; perhaps there is good reason that a male now holds the torc. It is a great responsibility. Now, you must live up to your name – defender of the people. Know that this torc must never be used for selfish purpose, and never for evil.”

“What will happen?”

“The ancestors will be very angry and the wearer will be cursed for eternity,” the old woman said, simply passing on what she was told.

He did not question what she said.

“It is not as heavy as I thought it might be. Of what metal is it made?”

“I do not know. It is of no metal that I have ever seen. They say it is truly ancient, found on the glacier beyond the Reach.”

“By whom?”

“One of our ancestors. It has never passed from our family deliberately. One man stole it, but was never able to open it. By chance a daughter of the true holder found it and was able to use it to regain it. She eventually became the holder. They told me that only a person of our blood can open it.”

Unbeknown to Xander, the heat of his body was already charging the device. His DNA was sufficiently linked to the predecessors that it was keyed into his line. Only the possessor of linked DNA could operate the torc. If fifty years were to pass without anyone touching it, the first person to grasp it would realign the device to their DNA, but it had never been tested.

“Well, my boy, do you accept the responsibility?”

The young man smiled and flexed his enhanced muscles.

“Of course, it is an honour.”

“Nay, child, it is but a curse, but a necessary one.”

“Then I accept it gladly.”

Runa rested her head back on her chair, weary and relieved.

“Then I may die knowing the torc is in safe hands. May the Gods keep you safe, my lovely, and never forget you are a man and not a God!”

“Grandmother, do not die yet, please. I need so much teaching of this strange thing.”

“Child, you will have to learn the same way as we all had to - through trial and error. A man who cannot learn from his mistakes does not deserve the chance in the first place.”

“I am not arguing about that, but there is too much to remember from what you have just told me.”

She chuckled and pointed to the fireplace.

“When the fire has died, go to the hearth and remove the flat stone beneath it. There you will find a tablet of clay upon which the sacred runes instruct you in the torc. That is why I have taught you to read the runes. Oh, and guard yourself against the priests of the man-God followed by the Christians.”

“Their religion is evil?”

“No, far from it; from what I have read, the teachings are good and have much to commend them. The priests, however, are another matter. They tend not to follow the teachings of their Holy Book, but the orders of men who are far from holy. Their Pope in Rome is simply an emperor who wants to dominate the whole world and is more concerned with riches and power than of spiritual things. These priests will fear Strykur and do their utmost to destroy him. It is their fear and jealously that will cause them to stir up the people to fear and hate what they don’t understand and can’t control. No one must ever know the truth except the next in line.”

“Next in line? You mean I have to have children?”

“Well, last time I looked, you need a man and a woman.”

“Ah,” he said, reddening.

“Ah indeed, my child. Now, I need to rest.”

And rest she did. For, when Xander came to wake her on the following morning, he found her stiff and cold, but upon her face was a satisfied smile.

He dealt with the funeral himself. Nobody came from the village, not even her daughter – his mother. They all knew she was dead, but had no way of expressing the loss that they all felt so pretended it had never happened.

Only the priest Erland was pleased. With her dead, he felt that the way was open to convert this community.

He had not realised that she was dead but Strykur was still with them.

*   *   *

1862 A.D. – Not on Earth - Somewhere out there, a very long, long, long way out in deep space!

The operator almost missed it, but due to the importance of the task and the enormous pressure to never miss anything, Jah-raw went back and caught a brief glimmer of the last phrase.

By holding to the frequency and focussing the beam along the last directional course on which it was received, he managed to acquire the message in its entirety.

The signal was weak and had been eroded by great distance and time. He was patient, for the cycle repeated every twenty hours (or their equivalent). To make sure, he waited for the next cycle to confirm the accuracy of the first capture.

His patience paid off, for the corruption was not regular. The message was clearly on a continuous loop, so what was corrupted in one burst was not in the next. It was in plain speech, which was an added bonus.

He sat back, staring at the read-out on his console. This was unexpected and a complete surprise, as no missions had been sent to that sector in many thousands of years due to the failure of those that had been sent in the initial sending.

Kor-bee, his supervisor, a mamale of mature years and possessing a wealth of wisdom and experience, observed that the young male Jah-raw was displaying concerning body-language. Kor-bee approached the young male and asked him what his problem was.

“I’ve just logged a message from sector 6XZ.”

“That’s ridiculous; you must have made a mistake.”

“No mistake. I’ve confirmed it and double checked the figures.”

“Is it coded or in plain speech?”

“Plain speech.”

Kor-bee laughed, as no messages had been transmitted in plain speech since the Melassa conflict many hundreds of years previously in which two fleets fought over a potential home which, ironically, proved not to be suitable in any case.

“Ship’s identity code?”

He repeated it.

Kor-bee felt a peculiar sensation: that of excitement tinged with uncertainty.

“You are certain?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Replay the message,” Kor-bee ordered, so the young male complied.

They listened to it together.

“This is Kayra, commander of Mission ship 2894GH67Z of Flotilla 90K, on mission to sector 6XZ. Date 7:14:89920.

“This is my last message. I am infected with a micro-biological agent that our initial screen missed. My crew is dead. This is my report. We made landfall on the third planet in a system with J-type sun. The planet was within safe parameters as far as atmosphere, climate and gravity. The plants give off oxygen in their activities utilising photosynthesis, similar to what we were told about our home-world. The multiple life-forms are mainly oxygen breathers and warm blooded. Except for some very basic organisms, all species are of two genders, male and female. The males simply fertilise the females, who either carry the young to birth, or lay eggs into an external nest that then need attention, or into water where they must fend for themselves. There are many aquatic creatures that exist only in water - and some that are amphibious that live both in water and on dry land. There is a 30% land to 70% water ratio. However, fifty percent of the planet is covered with ice. It is in the latter throes of a severe ice-age.

“We established a good base of operations and conducted the extensive tests as defined by the Colonisation Congress before venturing outside. The planet appeared perfect in almost every way. However, there are many aggressive and carnivorous life-forms that were instantly identifiable as being a potential threat. One in particular, known by the crew as The Brutes was particularly dangerous. Although no bigger than us, they were amazingly strong and fast, displaying the ability to learn things very quickly. They possess innate intelligence whereby we were unable to catch them unawares.

“Our appearance is sufficiently out-worldly to cause them to be instantaneously aggressive. We were disappointed not to find life forms that follow our evolutionary path and possess our genetic mapping, so we appear nothing like anything that we have discovered here so far. Although existing in primitive family groups or tribes and practising what we believe to be a hunter-gatherer lifestyle, they manufacture and utilise crude tools with some skill and dexterity. Not yet possessing metal-smelting technology, they use stone, wood and bone tools to good effect.

“Although we tried, we were unable to co-exist with these beings. They are not as widespread as they could be, and as this planet is in the grip of an ice age, it may be that they will render themselves extinct within several generations. We were not in a position to seek a region free of this particular species. Had we done so, then perhaps we could have formed a colony and co-existence would have been possible at a later date.

“The disease hit us as we prepared to locate such a region. Graton, our science officer managed to construct two portable devices that use current technology to camouflage our image, giving the wearer the appearance of being of the same species as the Brutes.  One device was tuned into a female DNA and the other to a male. Constructed as they are of Guayxa metal, this metal does not exist on this planet, so it would be possible for any geological scout to locate and retrieve the devices which should now rest at the bottom of the northern ocean. If the devices are not located, then I have added the spec data to the data stream at the end of this message, together with full data of the planet, its location and specifications. Depending on the length of time that has elapsed since I recorded this message, whether the brutes have developed to attain any degree of civilised state is arguable. Our belief is that they will kill themselves off within a few generations, and that is without access to any but crude weapons.

“Recommendation: this planet would have been ideal for our people, except for the indigenous species and the microbiological organisms that have caused our demise. If you receive this message then treat this planet with extreme care. Avoid unless absolutely necessary. End of report.”

Kor-Bee remained absolutely still. Her ancestor, Jay-Bee was reputed to have been a crewman on that particular mission, which, like so many others, was never heard from again.

Nineteen flotillas had existed at that time in their people’s history. Whether the flotilla that had sent Kayra out still existed was unknown.  Kor-bee’s flotilla, comprising of fifty-seven vessels, nine of which were armoured war ships, was the only one of which she had seen. They were in communication with six others, but the distances involved meant that to all intents and purposes, they were alone.

Their once great race, reduced to a few well-made and well-equipped vessels, destined to search the universe for that one possible home to replace the one that died along with their home star. It had been thousands of years. None of those alive today had ever set foot on a planet and breathed its atmosphere. It was truly a picture of dreams and of historical data still retained in the ship’s data library.

Without saying anything, the young operator handed over the recording and data file to his supervisor and watched as Kor-bee headed off to the command centre of the ship. He wasn’t to know it, but on the back of that message, the entire flotilla changed course.

The new heading?

Planet Earth!

Kor-bee was sad, as there was no way of travelling that vast distance in a single life-time. It would be many generations in the future that would be so blessed.

One

Norway, April 1940

They called it the phoney war.

From when war in Europe was declared in September 1939 to the spring of 1940, the soldiers of the British Expeditionary Forces sat around doing very little, as nothing very much happened in the lines in France.

However, it was not quite the same in the corridors of power on either side of the line. Indeed, although the actual fighting was not yet developed into full scale battles, the general staff and politicians on both sides were preparing.

Starting in the spring of 1939, the British Admiralty began to view Scandinavia as a potential theatre of war in a future conflict with Germany. The British government was reluctant to engage in another land conflict on the continent that they believed would be a repetition of the First World War. So, they began considering a blockade strategy in an attempt to weaken Germany indirectly. German industry was heavily dependent on the import of iron ore from the northern Swedish mining district, and much of this ore was shipped through the northern Norwegian port of Narvik during the winter months. Control of the Norwegian coast would also serve to tighten a blockade against Germany.

In October 1939, the chief of the German Navy, Admiral Erich Raeder, discussed with Adolf Hitler the danger posed by the risk of having potential British bases in Norway and the possibility of Germany seizing these bases before the United Kingdom could. The navy argued that possession of Norway would allow control of the nearby seas and serve as a staging base for future submarine operations against the United Kingdom. At this time, however, the other branches of the Wehrmacht were not interested and Hitler had just issued a directive stating that the main effort would be a land offensive through the Low Countries.

Toward the end of November, Winston Churchill—as a new member of the British War Cabinet—proposed the mining of Norwegian waters in Operation Wilfred. This would force the ore transports to travel through the open waters of the North Sea, where the Royal Navy could intercept them. Churchill assumed that Wilfred would provoke a German response in Norway. When that occurred, the Allies would implement Plan R 4 and occupy Norway. Though later implemented, Operation Wilfred was initially rejected by Neville Chamberlain and Lord Halifax, due to fear of an adverse reaction among neutral nations such as the United States. After the start of the Winter War between the Soviet Union and Finland in November had changed the diplomatic situation, Churchill again proposed his mining scheme, but once more was denied.

Unaware of all this excitement, in the little town of Griðastaður, people went about their business as usual. Winter had been harsh, as usual, so as the spring started to roll back the snow and cold, the inhabitants were more concerned with the normal pressures of life than what was happening in Germany, France or Great Britain. They were more concerned about getting the fishing boats serviced and out to catch fish, or that the mountain pastures would have enough grass for the grazing livestock.

As the news came over the radio, they heard confusing reports of ships, paratroopers and fighting up and down the length of Norway.

In the early morning of 9th April 1940 (Wesertag; “Weser Day”), the Germans had invaded Denmark and Norway, ostensibly as a preventive manoeuvre against a planned and openly discussed Franco/British occupation

of Norway. Operation Weserübung was the code name for Germany's assault on Denmark and Norway and the opening operation of the Norwegian Campaign. The name comes from the German for Operation Weser-Exercise (Unternehmen Weserübung), the Weser being a German river.

After the invasions, envoys of the Germans informed the governments of Denmark and Norway that the Wehrmacht had come to protect their nations’ neutrality against Franco-British aggression.

This all coincided with the Germans invasion of France, Holland and Belgium, as the British were fighting for their lives at Dunkirk. It was all over very quickly, except at the northern port of Narvik where the British, French and Polish troops held out and forced the Germans to withdraw. However, it was short lived, and by the 9th June, Narvick fell to the Germans second attempt as the Allies withdrew due to the strategic pressures that were now happening in France and Belgium. The civilian population had already left after repeated and devastating bombing by the Luftwaffe.

Norway is not like the steppes of Russia, or the flat farmlands of the Benelux countries and northern France, which are ideal for tanks and rapid deployment of motorised infantry divisions. Indeed, the German forces comprised five infantry divisions and the 3rd Mountain Division, to be augmented by the 2nd Mountain Division later. No Panzer divisions were deployed in the initial stages.

Even so, units of the modern German motorised infantry were able to spread into the highways and byways of rural Norway rapidly outstripping the small and relatively ill-equipped Norwegian army.

The occupation was complete, with one very small exception – Griðastaður.

As elements of the infantry division that had come ashore at Bergen moved up towards Griðastaður, they found their way barred by a rock-fall.

The steep cliffs and rough terrain caused the German commander to simply divert his men to an area that was accessible. It was a small blip on the map, with a population of less than two thousand people, no industry and no strategic value whatsoever. The fjord was a possible haven for U-boats, but larger vessels would not fit due to the treacherous waters.

His priority was to secure the strategic targets, and the remainder could be dealt with once the invasion was over and the occupation properly established.

In that little town, there was a meeting at the town hall. Just about every adult was there. A few were absent, as they were either away with their work or in the armed forces fighting the Germans.

Clearly, the confusion and hosts of conflicting reports were of grave concern to the people. Mayor Erik Henriksen had to shout to establish some degree of quiet in order to speak.

“I have just heard that the King and some of the Royal Family have been taken by the British Royal Navy. They will be safe in London, now.”

“What about the rest of us?” shouted a woman from the back. “Are they sending ships for everyone?”

That started another growl of voices, all loud and becoming higher pitched with anxiety.

“They are telling us to remain calm and stay in our homes. The Germans are repeating that they are here to protect us from the war-mongering British and French. Our radio stations have ceased transmitting, but the BBC from Britain is giving us regular updates.”

“That’s bullshit!” shouted a big man dressed for the sea. Felix Jenssen owned a fishing boat and was all for setting off with men with rifles to ‘take a few of the damn Germans with them’. Common sense had prevailed.

“We know it’s crap,” said the stressed mayor. “However, we have to let our boys and our allies fight them.  There are rumours that the Germans are also heading into France as well.”

At that moment, a flight of RAF planes flew over the town.

A small boy ran to the window and shouted, “They’re Hurricanes!”

They were the last British planes they were to see for a long time with the RAF roundels being replaced by the black crosses of the German Luftwaffe on over-flying aircraft for the next few years.

“We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” observed an older man. Doctor Nordby was the town’s physician, and had been for over forty years, so he was well-respected by everyone present.

That statement caused a growl of agreement from the assembled crowd.

The mayor raised his arms.

“I agree, we should do something, but we have no weapons. We are not trained or equipped to deal with this situation. I suggest it will be better if we simply survive and then see what happens. It is likely that some form of resistance movement will be set up, so we must prepare for occupation and look to how best we might serve our country during this period. It will serve no one if we were to die needlessly against a well-equipped invading army.”

Those words were recognised as wisdom, and the crowd accepted what he said. Erik took advantage of the situation and continued.

“We need to set up an emergency committee to see who we have, what resources we have, and also to ensure that we remove all articles of value so the Germans can’t steal them.”

That hit home. Everyone could immediately foresee the Germans looting their homes and businesses, stealing everything from precious metal, works of art, jewellery, money and even wine and spirits.

“Where will we hide them?” a woman asked.

“Well, if you each take your own valuables and hide them in and around your homes where you feel the Germans won’t locate them. Bear in mind that the Germans are probably good at finding things, so if you know of any good and secure places, then make it known to the committee. Do not tell many people, as there always might be someone who could betray us.”

That was not a popular idea, but they had already seen examples of Norwegians who turned traitor in Vidkun Quisling, the Norwegian fascist who had allied himself with the Germans against the rest of Norway.

The Germans had been assured by Quisling that they would be able to march straight in. It came as a shock, therefore, that the Norwegians did not roll over immediately, and indeed, the German cruiser Blucher, carrying most of the personnel intended to take over Norway's administration, was sunk by cannon fire and torpedoes from Oscarsborg Fortress in the Oslofjord.

One woman, Margrethe Jenssen, stood quietly by her husband, Felix. She listened to the mumblings and concerns and smiled wryly. They say that each generation will have their time. Well, this was her time.

In a well-concealed place beneath what appeared to be a solid stone floor in her kitchen, lay a box. Inside the box was the torc that her mother Elizabethe had given to her shortly before she died.

It had come as a shock to her to learn that the legends and tales of Strykur she had learned as a child were neither legends nor tales, and that her mother had been the latest incarnation of the mysterious demi-god.

In her time, Elizabethe had only used the torc on two occasions.  The first had been to save a child from the sea when a boy had fallen from a cliff edge while seeking eggs. Only the child had seen, and he had been so ashamed of his illicit act that he was never going to tell anyone that a God flew down and lifted him out of the sea to safety.

The second had been in 1917. Although neutral in the First World War, Norway had initially been trading with both the Germans and British. However, the population bore strong anti-German sentiments, and when Britain placed a demand for them to stop feeding the German war machine, they actually stopped trading with the Germans. The Germans U-Boats were responsible for sinking 889 Norwegian ships during the conflict, the majority of them in 1916 and 1917. This of course fuelled the anti-German feelings, particularly as over a thousand Norwegian sailors died as a result.

One of these ships sunk was just off the headland heading for Bergen when the U-Boat struck. Although the torpedo breached the hull, the ship, carrying timber, remained afloat for longer than most would have under similar circumstances. High seas restricted rescue, but a lone figure was seen stretching a hawser out to the stricken ship, which allowed every man aboard to escape to the safety of the shore. Lifeboats were used, and were hauled in by the many local people who came to help.

Many would testify to seeing the flying Viking, and so the legend of Strykur continued.

As luck would have it, the Germans didn’t come immediately. Margrethe had blocked the road with a rock-fall so the trucks couldn’t get through. She knew that wouldn’t keep them out for long as there was always the sea if they couldn’t get in by road.

Norway is quite a rainy place. In Bergen, they say that it rains on three hundred and fifty days of the year, and on the remainder it snows. So, in such moist conditions, rock and mud falls are relatively commonplace, so none of the German command suspected foul play on the road to Griðastaður.

While the good townsfolk talked themselves around in circles, she slipped out and made her way home. On taking the torc from its hiding place, she wondered how best she could keep the Germans away. Clearly, even though the British and French fought them to a standstill, forcing them to retreat at Narvik, now their allies had left, leaving them alone to face occupation.

She, along with most Norwegians, wondered what form the occupation would take. It did not take them long to discover the truth.

The Germans were very thorough, and as the long and ragged coastline offered the German Navy a myriad of hiding places for their cruisers and U Boats, they had not taken the Norwegian’s belligerent attitude into account. To the vast majority of Norwegians, the only good German was a dead one. Indeed, Quisling found that he was actually in control of nothing, as very few Norwegians accepted him or his government. In short, it was a nation of trouble-makers and potential freedom fighters. The Germans were to find to their cost that occupation was going to be greater than the invasion.

Sergeant Frans Muller was the experienced platoon sergeant of a company in the 3rd Gebirgsjager (Mountain) Division. His officer was a young lieutenant who was little more than a school leaver. The regiment had made its headquarters in a small town of Drombas. It was at a crossroads, with a road heading north to Narvik and other roads to the west and the coast. The small town of Griðastaður was to the west, but it was considered too small to be of significant strategic value. However, it had yet to be visited and a small garrison placed there to ensure civil obedience to the new occupation forces.

He sat in the half-track watching as the engineer unit removed the last of the rocks from the road. He looked up at the steep sides of the valley in which they sat. No wonder this was proving harder than at first anticipated. A small and determined resistance group with good knowledge of the local topography would be able to thwart the most modern mechanised army with ease. Not that there was any evidence that this was the work of resistance fighters.

His lieutenant was in the kubelwagen in front of his truck. At the head of the convoy was an armoured car, so could deal with any trouble and give the troops time to disembark from the half-tracks.

It was raining again, or was that still? Franz came from the mountains of Bavaria, so was used to rain, but not as much as this. He wore his helmet gratefully, as at least it kept the rain off his head. His forage cap had the distinctive edelweiss emblem on it, as did all mountain troops. This was a throwback to the old Austrian Alpenkorps from the First World War, as they now took the same emblem.

Finally, the engineers cleared the road, and the convoy of one armoured car, one kubelwagen, four trucks and a communications van was waved through. They continued, cautiously, along the road towards the coast. The heavy machine gun in the armoured car’s turret was sweeping the steep sides of the valley in case of attack.

None came.

As the lead vehicle rumbled across a bridge at the head of yet another steep valley with a torrent of a stream rushing towards the sea over rocks and falls, it came to an abrupt halt.

The sergeant, who had let his mind wander to the girl he left back home, was immediately alert.

“My God, is this guy real?” said the driver, drawing his attention to someone in front of the column.

Franz was stunned into silence, but then the laughter started behind him, as the soldiers stood in the back and stared in wonder at the large man dressed as a Viking who stood in the middle of the road with his hands resting on the shaft of an enormous double-edged battle axe. The head rested on the ground.

This man had the woven flaxen hair, the bushy beard and moustache, the coarse tunic and pants with the leather over-jerkin that would probably act as light armour or certainly protection against the local wet weather. On his head was the typical Viking helmet, missing only the two cow’s horns on each side that most Germans familiar with Wagner associated with Vikings and Valhalla.

The machine gun in the armoured car trained down so it was pointing directly at the comical figure. The young lieutenant got out of his vehicle and walked alongside the armoured car to face the man.

Franz noted that most of the soldiers were smiling, taking this all as a bit of a joke. Even the young officer walked with a swagger appropriate for a conquering army.

“What doing are you here?” he asked in basic and badly-pronounced Norwegian.

The Viking barely glanced at the officer.

“Get out of the way or we will shoot you!” the young officer said, with his voice going up at the end and making him sound like the school leaver he actually was.

“Get away from this place. Go back to the place from which you came; none shall pass,” the Viking said, in perfect German.

“I will have you know that I am an officer in the German army, and you will surrender immediately, otherwise you will be shot!” the German said, grateful to speak German. He started to take his sidearm from its holster.

The man looked at him.

“Do you really want to die in this place, so far from your mother, little boy?” he asked.

That caused the men in the first truck to start to laugh. The officer wasn’t exactly popular, but he was one of theirs.

Moments later, the headless body of the young German fell from the bridge. The huge axe returned to the ground, with blood on one blade. The decapitated head lay next to it with eyes staring in horror trapped forever. The man did not try to move away.

“Who is next?” he asked.

None of the Germans were laughing anymore.

The commander in the armoured car started firing the MG 34 machinegun. With a rate of fire of 900 rounds per minute, he couldn’t miss.

As the smoke from the lengthy burst cleared, the man still stood there, with spent bullets at his feet. There was not a mark on him.

Franz lived to survive the war, although many of his comrades failed to be so lucky. However, what happened on this bridge would haunt him for the rest of his life.

As if it was made out of papier mâché, the Viking simply picked up the front of the armoured car together with all the occupants, and launched up into the air, still holding it in one hand. He then threw it down into the deep ravine, at which point it burst into flames as the ammunition and fuel exploded.

He then landed on the ground in front of the dead officer’s car. This he swept aside with one sweep of his axe. It followed the armoured car into the ravine.

“Germans, know this as fact. No German soldier will ever pass this way and live, so go now, and do not return!” he shouted.

Some of the soldiers from the rear truck fired their rifles at the man. Franz stared in wonder as he saw their bullets bounce off the man and land on the road. But then he observed that none of the bullets actually made contact with the man.

He turned to the panic-stricken driver.

“Can you back up?”

“Not with them behind me, I can’t.”

Seeing that their weapons were useless against the huge Viking, Franz stood and signalled the rear trucks to reverse back up the narrow road.

The drivers were not slow on the uptake, so the vehicles started to move slowly back up the way they had just come. The Viking simply stood there watching them, leaning on his axe and smiling grimly.

The sergeant jumped down to urge the rear trucks to move quicker.

Then he turned to the Viking.

“Who are you, Viking?” he shouted, as he stepped into the front of the truck.

“I am Strykur, the divine protector of this place. Know that you cannot enter these lands as an invader and live.”

“Divine as in a god?”

The man said nothing.

“There is no such thing!” Franz shouted, as his truck picked up speed.

“Tell that to the soul of your officer who now burns in hell!” the Viking said, pointing to the head of the young officer.

A quarter of a kilometre back, there was a wider place where they were able to regroup.

“Sergeant, what are your orders?” one of the corporals asked.

Franz got the signaller to relay a message through to Brigade HQ.

“Facing opposition so could do with air support,” he said. “And give them our position.”

The signaller transmitted the message.

“They want to know enemy strength, sergeant.”

The sergeant looked at the NCOs’ faces.

“Tell them unknown at this time. We have lost the armoured car and kubelwagen. So far five dead, including the platoon commander.”

The signaller waited for a reply.

“No air support at this time, we’ve been ordered to hold our position and await reinforcements.”

“How long?” growled the sergeant?”

“Three hours.”

Franz grunted, but watched the solitary figure of the Viking as he slowly walked up the road towards their position.

“Shit! There’s no way we can hold here. Our guns are useless, so let’s move back. Get in the vehicles and let’s put some kilometres between us and that big bastard!”

“We have mortars, sergeant,” suggested one of the men.

“And you reckon a mortar will work where a hundred rounds from a heavy machine gun at point blank range didn’t?”

The men needed no second bidding, and within moments they were motoring as fast as they could away from the Viking.

“How the hell will we report this one, Franz?” asked one of the other NCOs.

“With care, my friend... with care.”

The Germans didn’t come back. They tried, and each time they tried, something prevented them. Rock falls on the road; an underwater obstruction; even unnaturally low cloud cover managed to prevent access to the town no matter which route was attempted. The occupation of Norway was never quite complete. Strangely, the Germans, normally so meticulous at record-keeping, failed to actually register the real reasons why the town of Griðastaður was never garrisoned. Against the name was one entry – ‘Of no strategic importance’.

When Margrethe handed the torc to her son Bernhard in 1957, she felt she had done her duty. She hoped and prayed that her son would never have to use it, as the politicians promised peace for the foreseeable future.

She was right, as he never got the call. He was, however, called in a different way rather too early, as he died of a heart attack aged just fifty-seven in 1977. He never got to pass on the torc himself, as not only had he never had to use it, he failed to actually have children of his own. He was the first to break the chain in over a thousand years.

Instead, Daniel Jenssen, his nephew, who was his younger brother Oscar’s son, came across it amongst his personal effects when clearing out his home. There was a plain, wooden, locked box. The undertaker gave him a key when preparing the body for cremation. It had been around Bernhard’s neck. In the box he found the torc and a book, like a journal, in which each of the more recent previous holders had chronicled their time. In the journal, there was a reference to a clay tablet that was the original instructions written in Old Norse runes. It appeared that this tablet was lost at some point in history, but there was a promise of extra instructions contained thereon.

Bernhard had written nothing, having worn it only a couple of times. It was perhaps just as well, for Bernhard had been a drunk and a failure at most things, so perhaps it was fortunate that he never actually found out what he could have been capable of.

Daniel shut himself away, read the journal and wore the torc. In the late 1970s and 1980s, Norway suddenly experienced occasional glimpses of a Nordic Viking who foiled criminals and fought crime in some of the larger towns and cities.

Marriage was his downfall, as Daniel shut the box away as he took a wife and began the serious business of raising a family. Besides, it was exhausting trying to find criminals to foil, as they didn’t exactly advertise when and where they would act next.

Daniel was only slightly disappointed when his wife produced four children - all girls, as he had secretly yearned for a son. However, he adored his girls and almost forgot about the torc.

Almost.

Two

August 1964  -    Top Secret US Air Force Base.

Commonly known as Area 51 - Nevada.

The USAF C-54 Skymaster landed and taxied to a standstill close to a vast hangar. Apart from the crew, there were several passengers. Only one was not in uniform. Instead, he wore a crumpled civilian suit, complete with hat, raincoat and a battered suitcase. He also has a briefcase that he had not let out of his sight since taking off at the Air Base near Washington.

The door was opened by the flight sergeant before all four propellers stopped moving. The military personnel exited the aircraft with familiarity and casual competence. The flight sergeant regarded his dishevelled civilian passenger dispassionately.

“We’re here, sir. Take care when going down the steps,” he said, more out of a desire not to have to compile an injury report than concern over the civilian’s welfare.

“My case?”

“I’ll bring that, you just get your gear together and try not to fall down the steps.”

The civilian was a tall, gangly man, perhaps late thirties, early forties, with a shock of unruly hair that was about as different to the sergeant’s crew-cut as one could get.

“Thanks,” he said, stuffing some papers into his briefcase and checking around where he had been sitting for any strays. On standing up, he dropped his hat and coat, got tied up with his seat belt and almost fell over. The sergeant sighed and helped unravel the man.

As instructed, he took the steps carefully and stood on the tarmac for a moment in the bright sunshine. The sergeant joined him with his case. He placed it on the ground and they both watched as a jeep approached across the open runway. The other men and two women were already in a truck that was heading for a building several hundred yards away.

It was a bleak setting, particularly for a man more used to the ivory towers that had been his East Coast University for so long, interspersed with trips to various observatories. Most of those observatories were perched on the top of high mountains, so as to avoid the urban mess of light and pollution.

But to be here, in the middle of nowhere, with a mountain range on the horizon and nothing in between, it was a new experience for him.

The jeep came to a halt next to where he stood. Another tall sergeant alighted and approached him, nodding at the other sergeant.

“Professor Gordon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Welcome to Area 51, Professor. That your case?”

“Um, yes. Look, what the hell am I doing here?”

The sergeant said nothing, but picked up the case and placed it in the rear of the vehicle.

“Jump in, professor, and I’ll take you to the man with the answers.”

With little alternative, James Gordon clambered into the jeep and wished he didn’t have his coat on. The flight sergeant took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, breathing in the acrid smoke deeply. He would be heading out again within the hour, and he was very pleased about that.

Some distance away, a man wearing the uniform of a USAF 3-star General watched the Jeep as it sped back towards where he now stood. He watched as it overtook the truck carrying the other passengers.

“Are you sure he might be the answer?” General Harold J. Maddox asked his companion, a younger man dressed in civilian clothes, and that was just an open necked shirt and pants.

“Yes, General; I’m about as sure as I can be.”

“But he’s a mathematician, not a linguistic expert, is he not?”

“Indeed, he is sir, and an astronomer. But our linguistic experts are as much in the dark now as they were when they first heard it. The one hope is that the mathematical qualities that are so apparent might offer us a clue to unravelling it.”

“Do we know from where it originated?”

“No sir, not exactly. We can tell you from what direction it came, but not exactly how far away it is.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, sir, true sound waves cannot travel in a vacuum, as sound is the vibration of the atomic particles that comprise the atmosphere, or water, depending upon the medium through which you wish it to travel. You have to take into account...”

The general raised a hand.

“Spare me the lecture, son, I just need to know the facts that I can understand.”

“This section of transmission is not sound in the true sense. It is almost a combination of sound and light. So, imagine a flashlight beam, flashing in the darkness of space. If we are close enough to see each other, the beam will appear instantaneous, but if we are apart by a considerable distance, then you will see it when it has crossed the distance.  We know sound travels slower than light, here on Earth, at sea level. Sound travels at around 768 mph. Light travels at 671,000,000 mph. So, if this message originated say as far away as the sun, then it will take eight minutes to reach us here on Earth.”

“And this knowledge helps us, how, exactly?”

“The signal was originally transmitted along a very narrow beam, and we suspect has been transmitting regularly over an unknown period of time. As you know, a beam starts out narrow will eventually broaden out as it gets further away from its origin. It also gets weaker. This is the case here. We only picked it up recently, and have no way of knowing whether it has been transmitting for ten minutes or ten thousand years. We cannot work out from where it originated without knowing when it started. All we know is it is not just space noise, as it is regular and patterned. It is a deliberate transmission and not from Earth.”

“Is it a message?”

“General, I’m a technician, not a linguist. Mathematically, it would appear to be either a message or something similar. Although definitely not a language in human terms, it follows certain technical lines that would indicate that the sounds are either words or technical data such as numbers.”

“And this man, Gordon, can decipher it?”

“I have no idea. I just know that James Gordon is the best chance we have. There are others in London and Europe who are as good as he is, but as far as we know, no one else has developed the receiving equipment that we have. If you want to share what we have with...”

“No way, this remains our baby until we know exactly what it says.”

“Well, General, I’d better get over and make sure the good Professor Gordon has all he needs. I take it we brief him on a need to know basis?”

“Mac, we need him to do this. If he manages it, he will have more information that we will, so he gets the works from the outset.”

Alan Macavoy left the General and headed to the main reception area to greet the new arrival, who was just coming through the door as he arrived.

Most that entered this facility were surprised, and James Gordon was no exception.  Externally, it was nothing to write home about - just another hangar in the desert. Inside, it was not dissimilar to a luxury hotel, complete with water features and potted palm trees. The entire bunker was underground, so as over one thousand people lived and worked in this environment, it was a comfortable as it could be.

“Professor Gordon, great you could make it. I’m Alan Macavoy, the scientific director of Project Chrysalis. Most people call me, Mac.”

“So, you’re the guy who is responsible for me being here?” James said as he shook Alan’s hand.

“Yes and no. I was asked who we should get, and when I said you, I guess that started the ball rolling. The head of the project is a three-star General in the Air Force, so it was his decision. I’m just the guy who suggested you join us.”

“There was some mention of a possible extra-terrestrial message?”

“I’ll explain everything once you’ve been checked in and we get you some quarters,” Alan said, taking the bemused professor to the reception desk.

“So, what exactly am I here for?” he asked Alan, as they sat with some fresh coffee in the canteen. He had been shown a remarkably comfortable suite, where he had left his belongings. Then, they had made their way to a restaurant, serving excellent food and beverages twenty-four hours a day. Most of the customers were military, with a segregated area to the back for commissioned officers and civilians. James was surprised to find everything was free.

Alan had laughed.

“You’re attached to the military now, so you can see where the billions of tax dollars go in the name of national defence.”

There was also a separate officers’ club, exclusively for the military personnel, as well as separate NCO’s facilities as well.

“We are permitted into any of the clubs as guests, so we have to be invited and signed in. You’ll find it’s a very different world to the one you left behind,” Alan said.

The two men helped themselves to coffees, and sat at one of the tables. The temperature was a pleasant sixty-four point four degrees and with bright murals on all the walls depicting a variety of outdoor scenes, one could easily forget that one was so far beneath the surface.

“Your work expounding the mathematical algorithms and their use in understanding complex languages impressed me. We are faced with a language that possibly has no root here on Earth, so there are no obvious keys or links to human phonics. We have had linguistic experts studying the data for many months and are no further towards a solution. You really are our last hope.”

“Well, that’s very flattering, but I have no real experience in these things.”

“No one has, James. That’s the problem. Linguistically, it offers us nothing to work with. We have a noise, but it means nothing to us but clicks and whistles. But, if we break it down to single sound-bytes, then we can identify an identifiable mathematical progression. To our language experts, that is even more meaningless than the sounds themselves. That is why you are here.”

“When can I take a look?”

“As soon as you like,” Alan said.

An hour later, James sat back on his chair, aware that several pairs of eyes were scrutinising him.

The room in which he sat was big. It was also ultra-modern, with fixtures and furnishings that would do well on a science fiction movie set. It was part lecture hall, with tiers of seats up one side, and part laboratory, with benches of electronic devices that he had never seen before and had no idea as to their function or purpose.

Twelve people sat along the front row of the seats. Alan stood next to him, while a technician played the sounds on a large tape recorder. To assist, there was some form of pictograph that emulated the sounds into waves on a large screen through a projector.

“Again, please,” he said.

“Same speed, sir?”

“Yes please.”

For the twentieth time, the technician replayed the message at ultra-slow speed.

The waves and blips appeared on the screen, but James wasn’t watching. He made some notes on his pad, with half closed eyes.

“Well?” asked Carol Granger, rather shortly. She was a middle aged, middle-sized woman, who had given her life to her passion of languages. It was, by all accounts at the expense of any form of social life, for she was a spinster whose mode of dress and general manner made her appear that she was not at all interested in any form of social interaction other than work.

James replied, but still with his eyes closed.

“Okay, here’s what I think. The message that we have picked up has been compressed to a much higher speed than real time, so after having heard it at each speed, I believe that this speed is a realistic speed to take as being the norm. There are nine key sounds that could be the equivalent of vowels. I counted seventeen other sounds and six half-sounds that might be what we consider to be consonants. I need to work on their order and usage before saying anything more.”

“We identified those, as well. But without a key, they are meaningless,” Carol said.

“There is a key; there is always a key. In this case, it will be very hard to find, as there is nothing known at all about the language or those who used it. One just has to identify and isolate each sound and allocate a symbol to create the alphabet.  The first and last sounds are the most important, for they are identifiers and greetings, or termination sequences.”

He was not looking at Carol as he spoke, but at his notes.

“There is a mathematical symmetry to the sounds and their order, but I need to work on identifying the base root. We take all mathematics to have a base root of ten, simply because we’re used to using our ten digits as a base root. I need to identify their root. If they don’t happen to have been born with ten digits, then their root could be anything from binary to infinite.”

Carol looked scornful at the much younger man.

“Well, good luck, buster. We’ve been looking for the root for nearly eight weeks.”

“Then perhaps you’ve not been doing it right,” James said, still not looking at her.

Two of the other linguists present, Dr Neville Chambers and Frank Holstein glanced at Carol in some alarm. They knew her short fuse and were wary of her at the best of times. They both recognised the pale face and narrowing eyes to understand that she was about to blow her stack.

Before she could open her mouth, James stood up abruptly and simply walked out, still looking at his notes.

“Well, have you met anyone so downright rude?” she said.

Both men decided that they had, and that person was Carol herself, but neither possessed the gonads to say so to her face.

I’d like to report that James Gordon solved the initial problem in a couple of hours, but I’d be lying. It took him two months, three weeks, one day, three hours and seven minutes, to be precise.

General Jenner knew that the Pentagon was about to pull the plug when James and Alan marched unannounced into his office with a look of triumph on their faces.

“You’ve done it?” the General asked, hopefully.

“Not exactly, but James has found the root and we’re now in a position to let the linguists take another crack at trying to find a key.”

“The key?” the general asked, frowning.

“Every language has a structure, just as every code or cipher has a key. People look at sounds and language in isolation, but it is more tied to mathematics than you would imagine. In fact, this language is more mathematical than most human languages, so it will be relatively easy to identify the mathematical properties. Translation, however, is not that easy. In fact, it will be almost impossible without possessing something to work with.”

“I don’t understand,” the soldier admitted.

“Sir, there are many human languages, but even if we have two people whose languages are totally unrelated, say one from Finland and another from Papua New Guinea. If they sat down and spoke to each other, neither would understand the other. But, if the man from Finland picked up a rock and named it and the other man did the same, then gradually they would start to understand each other’s language, despite no common roots.

“We’ve identified the various sounds, and have allocated each a symbol, or letter an appropriate sound. We can create the language in written form, but we have no idea what the words mean. By playing the message slower than what we believe is real-time speed, we are able to discern separate words, breaks and roughly where new sentences begin.”

“So, you can speak it, but don’t know what you’re saying?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s nuts.”

“It may be, General, but without a metaphorical man sitting on the ground holding up a rock, we can make no more progress. We can guess at some sounds, like the opening few sounds might well be something like. ‘Greetings, this is the report of John Smith, Captain of the ship Explorer One,’ but actually, we have no idea as regards how many syllables each word has or anything.”

“So, this key, what would help?”

“This sound is extra-terrestrial in origin, yes?”

“We believe so.”

“Then, is it being sent towards this planet, or away from it?”

Both Alan and the general were surprised at the question.

“Let me explain. If it is being broadcast, and the broadcaster is directing it to a certain point, then it can still be heard by someone behind him. It might be less distinct, and even slightly muffled as sound waves can reverberate and bounce off any object that is in its path, but it is still audible. So, if some visitors came to Earth, say at some point in Earth’s history when man was still relatively primitive, then they might want to shout about their findings to those back at home.  If they pointed their transmission outwards, then off it went, we would probably receive echoes of that message, as it went. But, and this is important, sound waves travel relatively slowly even here on Earth. Imagine the vast distances that it has to travel out there. So, given that this might have been sent hundreds, if not thousands of years ago, it has taken all that time to travel, hit something and then bounce back at the same speed

“If they are sending it to us directly, or to someone close to us, then it would be clear and precise. Listening to the background noise on that recording, I’d say it was a transmission heading out from a point close to us. By close, I mean possibly within this solar system, rather than outside. Can I ask what we do know about this message?”

“It was picked up by the Green Bank radio telescope in Illinois. They didn’t know what they were picking up, so passed it through to the local military in case it was a Soviet code of some kind. The intelligence people had never heard anything like it before, so passed it through to us. It came from a point further out in our solar system, and I guess you might be right, it appeared to have been transmitting along a broadening directional line away from us, and what we are hearing is the residual echo from that.”

“I suspected as much. Now, do we have any clue at all from the message as to when it was initiated?”

“None at all.”

“And am I right in assuming we have no artefacts related to the message or those responsible?”

“Not as far as we are aware.”

“If an alien culture visited Earth since the birth of literacy and the development of more advanced cultures, then we would have some record of the visit by the historians of the day. Many legends from across the globe involve weird and wonderful monsters, such as the Cyclops and other creatures from Homer’s The Odyssey. If the visit took place during man’s pre-history, there might be cave paintings or some crude records left, which may no longer be around for us to see. That’s why it is important to know when the message started.”

“We just don’t have that information, nor do we have the technology to find out.”

“Then it might pay to have researchers look at the legends of old, from all over the world.”

“What would they look for?” the General asked.

“Ah, good point. We have no idea what they might have looked like, so anything non-human and unlike the general Earth norm as you can get. We know what they sounded like, so even a legend or tale about strange whistles and clicks.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Indeed, it is, but without some clue, we might well be sitting on this message for years without ever knowing what it says.”

“They’re building a computer over in DC, will something like that help?”

“I read about that. My feeling is that we might well be better advised to wait for a few years so the technology advances to a higher level. In the meantime, we should be searching for something on Earth that caused them to send a message. If they actually landed here, and haven’t stayed, then one must ask why not. My guess is that the message is probably a report with technical data relating to what they found, even with warnings regarding flora, fauna and potential risks.”

“Warnings?”

“If they didn’t stay, then we should ask as to why –what frightened them away? Something caused them to leave and transmit a message. Why? What was it that made them leave? Was it some wild animals; possibly humans? Was it much smaller, say a germ or virus that got them? We are simply guessing, but clearly they are not here now, and, unless the message has now been received and being acted on, they aren’t likely to be.”

“Could they still be here?”

“You mean hidden away?”

“We have rumours of the Yeti in Nepal and Bigfoot here in North America. Could these creatures be the descendants of these aliens?”

“We just don’t know. If they were, why aren’t they more advanced? No, my guess is that they left and so the message is for the benefit of others out there.”

“You mean it’s possible they are on their way here?” the General seemed surprised.

“We heard it and it wasn’t for us. It is reasonable to assume that those who sent it did so in the hope and possible expectation that it might be received by their own kind, eventually.”

“We had not considered that.”

James smiled gently, as it was his gift to look outside the box. Not a difficult task when dealing with entrenched views, such as the military.

“I’ll contact my superiors and see what can be done,” General Maddox said.

“You will find that academics across the board will already be looking at these things, but in isolation and for other reasons. It would be prudent to use them and their findings, so as to avoid re-inventing the wheel. They never need know why they are being asked to do what they would want to do for their own agendas in any case. With a small injection of grant money, we will find it cheaper and far more effective than initiating an entirely fresh approach with a brand-new team.”

General Maddox recognised the wisdom of these words, so nodded.

“Professor, if we get approval for this, will you head up the liaison group to comb through the findings?”

“I’m a mathematician, not a researcher.”

“I recognise that, but you’re intelligent and understand exactly what we should be looking for.”

James thought for a moment.

“Very well, just be prepared for a long wait.”

“Why?”

“This won’t happen overnight; either to comb through the research or to wait for the advance in computing technology.”

“Then we must learn patience,” said the General.

Three

Now – Autumn. An archaeological dig on the west coast of Norway.

The sun was shining, for a change. The steep cliffs of the fjord cause great swathes of shade, but the calm water leading towards the ocean was a deep blue in stark contrast to the greens and browns and greys of the landscape. It was a spectacular spot, remote and as bleak as it was, there was something almost spiritual about the place.

Professor Barry Keating from London loved it here. He had been working at the British Museum when a colleague told him of the dig. He used his contacts to see if he could be co-opted to the Norwegian team, as his speciality was Viking and Norse artefacts. Most of the east coast of Britain had been home for various Nordic groups over much of England’s history up to the arrival of the Normans. Barry had been closely involved with the finds in and around York in the nineties, and the setting up of the fine Viking exhibition and museum there.

The view here was tremendous, and the people warm and friendly. However, the main reason he loved it here was because of Birgit Larsen, the beautiful archaeologist from Oslo.

Tall, blonde and with a wonderful smile, the object of his desire was in a hole in the ground some way from the site of the current town and original settlement. It was a good twenty to thirty-minute walk back to town, and there was no way of getting substantial vehicles up here. Four-by-fours could make it, which is why all the shelters were either tents, or of light, prefabricated material capable of being brought up by a 4x4 pick-up.

“These pottery shards indicate there’s been a dwelling here since the fifth century. I’ve even found some timbers with runic script that must date back to when they had twenty-four letters in their alphabet.”

“Oh?” said Barry, not really listening.

Her eyes glistened with enthusiasm as she showed him several pieces of very elderly wood with the equally old script thereon.

“These are probably eighth or even seventh century, so before Christianity came to this part of Norway. But it was only with the arrival of the Christian church did they start writing down their tales, histories and legends,”

“Did they not record them in runic writings?”

“Occasionally, but you have to remember that these people were mainly illiterate and their tales and legends were passed from one generation to the next by word of mouth. The sagas of the Old Norse are world famous. That’s why true history has been merged with legends so we have no real way of distinguishing between the two. By the time literate men came to these parts, the tales were woven into the culture and so historical fact was a difficult commodity to identify.”

“So, what’s on those bits of wood?” he asked, curious now.

She peered at them closely.

“It’s probably either a recipe or some list or other. We’ve found that the runic script was restricted to far less characters than a modern alphabet, so one character could have several different phonic qualities depending on context. In other words, there were more sounds than they had letters.”

“So, what was this place?” he asked, looking at the remoteness and bleak conditions. If the place hadn’t been made of stones, the wooden structure would have rotted and vanished centuries before.

“Well, I think it was a dwelling, with an area behind for some livestock to shelter in winter. The livestock would add their body heat to the place in the cold and long winters.”

“A bit smelly.”

“Very smelly,” she said with a smile. “But better smelly than freezing to death.”

“I accept that. So, who would have lived here?”

“Judging by the amount of runic writings and the types of pottery, I’d say a wise woman, someone less enlightened people might call a shaman or witch. There are dried herbs and other small indicators that she might have been the equivalent of a doctor or apothecary.”

“How do you know she was a woman?” he asked.

“From what is here. There are no weapons or any signs of male accoutrements. The great hall in the town contained swords, shield bosses, helmets and jewellery that was obviously masculine displays of importance and possibly power. Here there are just small items that are useful, but of no intrinsic value by the values of the day. Women were second class citizens in those days, so really no more than chattels. There were exceptions, but they were few and far between.”

Barry shook his head. The woman was standing in a hole, surrounded by dried mud and rocks, and she was able to discern who lived here and what she had done.

Birgit laughed.

“Actually, we cheated a little,” she said pointing to a smaller hole some way from the one she was in.

“There’s a shallow grave there with human ash and some personal effects. That was probably a site of a funeral pyre and then the rocks were piled up to protect it from the weather and wild animals.

“I thought only chieftains were given a Viking funeral.”

“Normally, yes, but there is little Earth to dig in, so as it is all rock, the body was burned to protect it from being scavenged by wolves and other predators.”

He picked up a piece of pottery.

“This looks to be Phoenician,” he said, examining it.

“It probably was. The Vikings from these parts spent many months a year either at sea or raiding as far afield as they could reach. They spent much of the time raiding the east coast of Britain, as well as all down the Atlantic coast of what is now the Benelux countries and France. They even reached the Mediterranean. It is reasonable to assume that they either stole or traded a wide range of goods from all over the ancient world.”

Barry poked through the rack of other shards, amazed at the variety of different items.

“Hallo,” she said, scraping at something deep in the hole. “What’s this?”

Barry frowned and peered into the hole.

“What?”

She held aloft a piece of earthenware, but it wasn’t a pot. It was a rectangular tablet, with the bottom right corner missing. It was around the size of a standard iPad.

“Hold that for a moment, I think there’s the rest of it here.”

As she dug with her small trowel, he examined the tablet. It was covered with runic symbols, on both sides. They were incredibly neat and precise. He had never seen anything quite like this.

“Success!” she said, holding up the missing corner.

She came up out of the hole and took the tablet from him.

“This is amazing. I can’t wait to get it back and try to translate it.”

Barry had almost forgotten the tablet, as she was brushing up against him, so he never wanted this moment to end.

Sadly, it did.

Birgit was excited. The tablet was Old Norse, dating from somewhere between 700 and 1000 AD. It was clear and complete, given even the slight damage of having the corner broken off. She was able to fix the damage and copy the tablet in its entirety onto her computer. There were three symbols that were slightly indistinct, but she assured Barry that the context would help discern what they should have been.

He then lost her for several days, as she stayed attached to her computer, rarely even appearing for meals. To fill the time, Barry returned to the dig to look for anything more it might give up.

The helpers were all from the Oslo University, students in the main, with one or two post graduate enthusiasts. One afternoon, after the others had just packed up, he discovered an old chest, from deeper in the same hole from which Birgit found the tablet. It was in poor condition, as the wood was almost like paper. It had been wrapped in what might have been oil-covered sail-cloth. It had been a miracle that it survived for as long as it had.

The metal hinges and clasp were corroded and fused into small lumps of crusty metal. The chest was perhaps a foot across, by ten inches deep and ten inches thick. It was not quite a cube, being slightly wider than deep.

He photographed it in situ first, and then gently worked it free of the surrounding earth and rock. It was very delicate, so it took some time to get it clear.

The evening sun made a glare, but a shadow suddenly caused him to look up.

A tall young woman stood on the edge, looking down at him. Due to the sun being behind her, he could only see that she was quite tall, slender and had long fair hair. Not an unusual combination in Norway.

“Hei, har du funnet noe interessant?” she asked.

Thinking she was one of the helpers who wasn’t aware that he was English, he replied in his language.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Norwegian.”

“Ah, English, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I asked if you found anything interesting.” She spoke excellent English with more than a hint of an American accent.

“I think I might have. It’s a chest.”

“May I see?”

He nodded, so she stepped into the hole.

No longer with the sun behind her, Barry was surprised to find he was sharing the hole with a girl who was even more attractive than Birgit. She was also younger, possibly just in her early twenties. She wore a tee shirt and a pair of very tight shorts, with trainers on her feet with very short pop-socks.

She bent over to examine the chest, making no attempt to touch it.

“It is very old, yes?”

“It certainly looks that way. I can’t say exactly how old, but my colleague Dr Larsen thinks that artefacts from here are over a thousand years old.”

The girl nodded, looking around the hole.

“You have found much?” she asked.

Barry frowned, for if this girl was a helper, then she should know exactly what had been found and documented.

“You are?” he asked, rather abruptly. He was terrified of competition and the press.

The girl seemed unbothered, but smiled and held out her hand.

“I’m Gudrun; I come from the town. I have seen the working you are doing and I come to see.”

“Ah, a local; you speak very good English.”

She smiled again.

“I suppose so, although, my parents moved from the town to America when I was small. I went to school over there and only returned to attend Oslo University. I decided to stay here when I concluded my studies. Norway is my home.”

Barry relaxed. Keeping the local people happy was a prime consideration, particularly as they might well disturb ancient burial sites in the course of their excavations.

“Ah, that explains the accent. Where in America?”

“California.”

“Ah, I worked at UCLA for three years.”

“I know it. My father is in computers.”

“Oh yes, Silicon Valley?” he asked.

“We lived in San Jose, as he worked for IBM amongst others back in the early days.”

“Are they still there?”

“Oh yes.”

“Do you know of any local legends about this particular spot?” he asked.

“They say this was where the, I’m not sure of the word in English, in Norwegian it is trollkvinne, lived.”

“Trollkvinne?” he repeated, baffled.

“Ja, a trollkvinne was a woman who used herbs and made potions. The local people believed she used magic, but perhaps she just knew which plants to use for medicine.”

“Ah, a witch.”

“Perhaps, like a witch, but not really into magic, just herbs and plants.”

“That’s what Dr Larsen said, also.”

Gudrun nodded.

“Your family has been in these parts for a long time?”

“Ja, for many centuries, I think.”

“Do you live in the village?”

“Yes, in my grandparents' house. They died a few years ago and my father decided to keep the house in case they ever wanted to return. I think now it is highly unlikely, except perhaps when my father retires. It makes sense as I work in Bergen for a shipping company. I have taken some holiday, so I stay here for a week or so.”

“I thought you were a student.”

“I was at university in Oslo. Last year I completed my degree in marketing and management.”

“You don’t look old enough,” Barry remarked.

“I am twenty-four.”

“Then you have a complexion of someone much younger.”

She smiled, highlighting her perfect teeth and outstanding beauty.

“You were telling me what else you have found here.”

“I was? Oh, I suppose I was. Yes, well, a couple of days ago, Dr Laarsen found a clay tablet with runic writing. She was very excited and is translating it as we speak.”

“Oh, is she here?” the girl asked, looking at the almost deserted site. Two security men had just arrived in a Jeep and were preparing to stay the night. There were two prefab-cabins and some trailers that contained specialist equipment. One of the latter was where they stored the bulkier finds.

“No, she’s in the hotel in town.”

The girl seemed to lose interest and asked a couple more questions of a general nature before thanking him politely and walking slowly off.

Barry finished up by securing the chest in a crate, before lifting it out and taking it back to the relative safety of the secure unit – the special trailer with special locks. The security guards were stationed right next door to it all night.

He spent some time reading through the daily log, ensuring that an accurate record of the day’s finds was properly listed. He shut and locked the cabin, said goodnight to the security man on the gate and started walking back to town.

The two and a half kilometre walk back to the town took perhaps half an hour, particularly as he didn’t walk quickly on the precarious path. He arrived back at the hotel to find a police car parked outside.

On making his way into reception, there was a uniformed officer talking to the female receptionist.

“Ah, Professor Keating, you should know that Doctor Larsen was attacked in her room,” the girl said.

“My God, is she all right?”

“Just a bit shocked, Professor, we believe that the intruder was not out to harm her. It was a case of robbery,” the policeman said.

“Robbery? What was taken?”

“I think just a piece of pottery with some old writing on it.”

“The tablet? Why on Earth were they after that? Who were they?”

“Just one man, professor.”

“You say she was attacked?”

The policeman glanced at the receptionist with a frown on his face.

“No. No real violence was used, sir. He asked her for the item, and when she refused, he walked past her and took it. She tried to wrestle it from him, but he was too strong, by all accounts.”

“May I go up and see her?”

“Of course. My colleague is just finishing taking her statement.”

Barry went up to the first floor, to find Birgit’s door open and a policewoman sitting at the desk completing Brigit’s statement. He knocked and walked in.

Both looked up. Birgit stood and came over to him. She did not appear too upset, she seemed more angry than anything else.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, just furious. Who on Earth would want to steal the tablet?”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, well over six foot, and broad, in fact he looked like that actor in Thor, the movie. He had long blonde hair. He just wore jeans and a leather jacket instead of coarse leggings and a horned helmet.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Just that he wanted the tablet.”

“In English?”

“No, he was Norwegian.”

“Did he say why he wanted it?”

“He only said, ‘I have come for my tablet. It is of more use to me than to you.’”

“He said; my tablet?”

“Yes.”

“How strange. So, when you refused, he just took it?”

“I tried to stop him, but he was like a brick wall. He just walked off. He was strangely polite, though.”

“Did he take the copies you’d made?”

“No, my computer and all my notes were right there, and he never even glanced at them. He just picked the tablet up very carefully, placed it into a soft case he had with him and left.  It was like I didn’t exist.”

“Gosh, that sounds as if he came prepared. How did he know you had it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told no one outside the team. But you know how students like to gossip?”

“I suppose so. Still, we still have the original photographs?”

“Yes, we’re only missing the artefact itself.”

“Well, they must have him on the CCTV from the reception.”

“They said he never came through reception.”

“So, which way did he come in?”

“There is no other way, unless you fly up to the roof and come down the stairs from there,” said the officer, with a smile. “Actually, we suspect someone left a fire door open. We’re just checking that now.”

The police officer then asked Birgit to sign her statement, and left, saying that they would do their best.

Birgit had calmed down, so looked slightly sheepish.

“Actually, he was rather a hunk,” she admitted.

“A hunk?”

“He was very good looking and obviously was very fit. He had a nice smile. Oh, and I noticed that he wore a slender metallic torc under his shirt; nothing ornate, just a very plain piece of jewellery.”

Barry felt a pang of jealously, realising that some unknown thief had managed to be instantly attractive to the woman he adored.

“What possible value is the tablet to him?”

“I had only just managed to translate the first few lines. It seems to be a legend of a local deity they called Strykur”

Barry frowned.

“I’ve not heard of that one.”

“No, me neither. The name comes from the Old Norse word meaning Strength. As I said, I had only just started the translation, so have no idea what period we’re talking about. One doesn’t come across new deities very often, as the family of Norse Gods is generally universally accepted.”

“How many are there?”

“That is a difficult question to answer, as it depends on which legends you read. It is accepted that there are around fifty, with a few lesser figures that could be part-deities.”

“And this Strykur has not come up before?”

“No. It might be worth speaking to the locals, as they might have some knowledge of the local myths and legends.”

Barry immediately thought of the pretty girl who came out to the dig earlier. In fact, it was at roughly the same time as Birgit was being attacked.

“I met a local girl this afternoon. She said her name was Gudrun and that she worked in Bergen. Nice girl.”

“That’s an old traditional Norse name,” Birgit said.

“Meaning what?” he asked.

“Gudrun means ‘Divinely inspired wisdom’, if I remember correctly.”

“She seemed quite interested in the dig and wanted to know if we’d found anything. I found an old chest, as it happens, but she wasn’t overly interested in it.”

“Did you tell her about the tablet?”

“I might have mentioned it, but, again, she didn’t appear that interested. She hung about a bit asking intelligent questions. She seemed more interested in some of the old jewellery, but then walked off.”

“Did she have a mobile phone?” Brigit asked.

“Ah, you think she was in cahoots with the robber?”

“Possibly, actually, I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, no, she wore a tee shirt and a pair of shorts that had no room for anything. Besides, she left just before me, so at about the same time as your robber friend was just arriving, so she wouldn’t have had time to call him even if she had a phone.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Birgit asked.

“No, but it’s a small town. I’ll make some enquiries.”

“I’ll carry on with the translation. Just in case he comes back for that. I’ve already emailed myself with a scanned copy, so even if he took my computer, the image is safe.”

Barry headed back to reception to ask about Gudrun.

The girl behind the desk knew her.

“Ah, that sounds like Gudrun Jenssen,” she said after Barry described her. “I think she moved down to Bergen, where she has a flat. She stays in the family home here whenever she can. I think the rest of the family all live in America now. She went to school there, but came back about five years ago to go to University here.”

“How many are there in the family?”

“I think they had four daughters. Gudrun was the only one to come back, as she is the oldest.”

The girl was able to give her a call then and there. Barry asked Gudrun to come to the hotel.

While he waited, he decided to ask about Strykur.

“Excuse me, but have you heard of the legend of Strykur?” he asked the receptionist.

The girl looked blankly at him.

“No, is he a guest?”

Barry laughed.

“No, I think he was a local Norse god back about a thousand years ago. I was wondering whether you’ve heard of him.”

She shook her head, telling him that she didn’t come from these parts.

“My family moved here ten years ago, sir.”

The assistant manager came out, frowning.

“Is there a problem, professor?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that we’ve unearthed some evidence that related to a local Norse deity called Strykur and was wondering if anyone knows a little more about him?”

The man nodded.

“I grew up in the town and went to school here, but like Anna, my family are relatively new here. I do remember some stories about the Second World War. The Germans occupied to this part of Norway, but never managed to get into the town. They wanted to use the fjord for their U boats, but for some reason they could never enter the mouth of the fjord, and none of their vehicles could enter the valley. No one could explain why, but an old woman who lived here said it was because Strykur protected them from all invaders. I think there might be something in the small museum in the town hall.”

Barry thanked him and left the hotel. Needless to say, the town hall was shut, so he could not get inside. There was a sign saying that the museum was open for three hours a day, two days a week only. It was not open on the following day.

By the time he returned to the hotel, Gudrun was already waiting for him. The tall girl smiled as he entered the reception area.

“Professor, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Have you heard about the robbery?”

“I did, just a few minutes ago. Was anything of value stolen?”

“It’s hard to put a value on these artefacts. It was an ancient tablet with runic writing. It appears to be about a local deity called Strykur. I was wondering whether you know anything about him.”

“Strykur, you say?”

“Yes. I’ve made a few enquires, and I understand that he might even be believed to be responsible for defending the area from the Germans in the last world war.”

She smiled gently.

“People still believe this stuff?” she asked.

“You don’t?”

She made dismissive gesture with her hand.

“You have to realise that I grew up in America. They love stories like these, as the only local people with old tales are the Native Americans. I’m rather like most Americans, I’m afraid, as I believe what I can see. Old tales are fine to entertain children. If I remember my history, there was an active resistance movement here; I found that out from my grandmother. She had a relative shot by the Germans for being a suspected resistance fighter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I never knew him, as it happened a long time ago,” she replied with another dismissive gesture.

“So, you’ve never heard of any stories about this Strykur?”

“My grandmother told us all tales when we were small children. That’s all they were.”

“Is your grandmother still around?”

“No, she died a few years ago.”

“Oh dear, do you know of anyone else who might know the stories?”

“I’ve heard some of the stories, as have most children who were born here. I don’t really remember them now, though, as I just don’t believe they are real, that’s all.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled.

“This hotel is not like England. It is expensive for alcohol. I’d like a coffee, though,” she said.

Barry led her to the lounge and ordered them both some coffee. They sat in a pair of comfortable chairs in a quiet area away from the main reception lobby.

“What’s the origin of Strykur?” he asked, as they waited.

“I’m not certain. I think he’s supposed to be very ancient, as my grandmother told us that he was even around before the traditional Gods, like Thor and Odin. Certainly, to the people of this place, he was the only important God. It is said that he only comes out when the place and the people of the town are threatened.”

“Just this town?”

“I suppose so.”

“When was the last time?”

“As you said, there was a rumour that he was here when the Germans came in 1940. That’s all it is, a rumour. The Germans came and so the local people formed a resistance movement. The pass over the hills to this place was easily defended, so the Germans could not get their vehicles through by road.”

“What about the sea? Didn’t they try to come up the fjord?”

“It is treacherous, as there are many hidden rocks. If you don’t know the water, then you will run aground. They tried to get their U-boats up, but kept damaging them, so gave up. Also, the resistance caused big rock falls into the sea as they tried. They had to pull back as their boats were going to be damaged.”

“But the German occupation lasted a long time; did they never manage to get here?”

“This is an isolated community, with one small road in. They controlled the sea up this part of the coast. Many patrols meant that boats from here were always liable to be stopped by German patrols. There were many fjords and inlets, so not being able to use just one insignificant inlet was not an inconvenience to them. Their patrols prevented the Allied vessels from getting in, and also any of local boats from getting very far.”

“Tell me some of the other tales you heard,” Barry said, taking out his notebook.

The girl shook her head.

“They are just fairy stories for children. They say he even appeared in the First World War to help people on a ship hit by a torpedo from a U Boat. But I don’t think there’s any evidence of anything like that. People want to believe in the mysterious as it makes them special, I think. Lots of places in Norway have the same stories. They are not so unusual, I think.”

Barry was clearly disappointed, as he felt the girl was deliberately not telling him something.

“Are you sure? I have found that, in my experience, even the most outlandish legends have some basis in historical fact.”

“There was one story that during the last war, a large column of German soldiers with armoured vehicles was stopped by one man dressed as a Viking armed only with a battle axe. They said that bullets bounced off him and he decapitated a German officer with one sweep of his axe.”

“You said that they said - who are ‘they’?”

“The German soldiers themselves. No one else was there but them. As far as I am aware, nothing about the Viking was reported at the time, probably because they were too ashamed and were fearful of what their superiors would say. The surviving NCO reported that they were ambushed by unknown people from above and the deaths occurred during the fighting or when rock-fall took out their vehicle.”

“How do you know all this?”

“After the war, one German came back. His name was Franz Muller and he retired to a cottage in the town. He would spend a lot of time in one of the bars and tell everyone that he had seen the Viking. He tried to unearth as much as he could about the legends, which, as far as I am aware, wasn’t much.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, I think that he died a few years ago. His daughter is still here. She married a local man and they have their own grown-up children now.”

“What is her name?”

“Astrid Bergman.”

“On a slightly different topic; would you know why the tablet was taken from the hotel?”

She shrugged.

“I have no idea. What was on the tablet?”

“I’m not sure, but it could have been something to do with this Strykur character.”

“Then perhaps this Strykur came and took what belonged to him,” she said with a cheeky smile.

“So, you think he does exist?” he asked, smiling back.

“If you want him to, he probably does.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I suppose if I was in danger, he might be quite useful, but I’ve managed so far without needing him.”

“If you needed him, how would he know to come to your aid?”

She smiled again.

“If he’s a God, then he’d know, wouldn’t he?”

“Ah, so, do you think that Gods exist?” asked Barry, a staunch atheist.

“Again, if you want them to, I think they do.”

“I don’t, as it happens. I think all talk of God, Gods and strange religions has distracted humanity from real progress for far too long,” Barry said.

“Everyone has a right to their opinion. I personally think that if you believe in a God and an afterlife, and you end up wrong, you’ve lost nothing. But if you don’t believe in a God, and you end up wrong, you risk losing everything. If there is no God, then what is the point of life; and if there is no God watching over you and prepared to judge you, what is to stop you doing whatever you like with no fear of consequences?”

Barry felt himself silenced. It was rare for him to be wrong-footed, particularly by someone so young and attractive.

“Besides, if you don’t believe they exist, how would you explain a bullet-proof Viking beating a bunch of German soldiers with modern weapons?” she asked.

“I can’t, not without all the facts.”

She stood up, having finished her coffee.

“Well, if you ever think you can, I’d be interested to hear your ideas.”

After thanking him for the coffee, she left him alone with his thoughts.

Four

Norway – the dig.

Barry was back on site, recording some wonderful items that had been found over the previous few days. They were beginning to feel the urgency as the weather was deteriorating; autumn was starting to bite and the days were getting noticeably shorter, and wetter.

It was raining again, so they had erected a tent-like structure over the pit that they now firmly believed was the site of the local wise-woman’s home. They didn’t use the word witch, for that was not strictly accurate, and they didn’t want the press to get the wrong idea.

Birgit had got over the theft of the tablet, as having the scanned and now partially-translated copy almost made up for the theft of the actual artefact. She had been so interested in what Barry had discovered from the girl – Gudrun, as the tablet revealed some of what she had told Barry, and a lot more besides.

She had shown him what she had managed to translate, so far.

“You have to realise that this is not only a very old and relatively unknown language; it is also a local version, including what we might these days call short-hand. The pertinent details are that Strykur appears to be semi-mortal, in that he could not be killed or struck by man or weapons, but he was subject to aging and disease. He was also granted great strength and mysterious and unspecific powers. Look,” she said, showing him what she had done on the monitor.

“Many of the runes are unknown to me, so I will have to travel to Oslo to confer with a professor who may be familiar with them. I have grasped the majority, and it seems almost to be a set of instructions.

Greetings..(illegible)... to my ..(illegible)...  Let this be a record of past deeds as a mark of instruction for the future. Know that Strykur is real, as real as the fish in the sea and the wind in the mountains. He comes and he goes with every generation. Keep the ..(illegible).. safe at all times. It gathers strength and power from the warmth of the sun. Let not an enemy seize it. Guard it with your life.

When the time of ..(illegible).. comes; pass the ..(illegible).. to the worthy successor.... ..(illegible)... Know that although the sword of man shall not prevail against you, the hand of time is as exacting a master as with every other person... ..(illegible)....

The keeper of the ..(illegible).. will not be spared from ailments with which others may be also afflicted. Whilst wearing the protection of the ..(illegible).. no harm shall befall the keeper.

The blood-line of the family is special, as none may open the.. (illegible).. save the chosen. Hold for twenty breaths, and all will be revealed.

Great power is bestowed upon each. The power to leap, to lift and cast aside. The power to .. ..(illegible)...comprehend the minds and tongues of foreigners, and the power to speak.. ..(illegible).. and great wisdom. Leap not over water, as solid foundation is always required... ..(illegible)..ground.

All shall be used for good, and the protection of the town and the people. To use the power badly will invoke the curse of Strykur and the holder shall be struck down.

Be warned, wear not the..(illegible).. for ..(illegible).. as the holder will be ..(illegible).. forever.

Barry was excited. All the talk of Gods was just a load of piffle.

“This means one important thing. If Strykur was and is mortal, then he cannot possibly be the same entity as the old days. It could mean that his power or role was handed down the generations. This thing you can’t decipher could be a ring, amulet or medallion, or even a special belt. Whoever is the ‘holder’ is granted powers. In which case, the man who stole the tablet might very well have been the current incarnation.”

“I agree, but I’m of the opinion that the artefact is some form of weapon; such as an axe or sword. It is something one holds, you see.”

“Yes, but if the word is translated as ‘bearer’ it could be anything. There is also reference to holding it.”

“That’s possible, but from where does the artefact originate?” she asked. “You dismiss the idea of a deity, and yet there is no other rational explanation. This dates back to an era where the wheel was the summit of man’s ingenuity. The advanced technology capable of undertaking even one of what is listed barely exists today, so that leaves either magic, which could include paranormal gifts, or a deity.”

Barry hadn’t liked that reality, but he liked the alternative even less.

“Then perhaps the technology did exist, and predates current human history of achievement,” he said.

Birgit frowned.

“You mean alien technology?” she asked.

“What do you mean by alien? That could be from an extra-terrestrial source, from another dimension or simply from a different culture on the same planet. I mean another advanced civilisation, either human or some other. Take the legends of Atlantis. Supposedly, there was a civilisation far exceeding the culture and development of the rest of the world. They would have been as alien to the tribes living in little better than mud-huts in northern Europe at the time. To be honest, the concepts of aliens as in from another planet or dimension are too far-fetched to be even worth considering.

“It is far more conceivable that there was an earlier highly developed civilisation, such as Atlantis. They could have existed on Earth and been wiped out in our prehistory and this one item was the only surviving artefact. There are theories that a comet struck the Earth around twelve thousand years ago, and in doing so set man’s advance back by many years. What if a civilisation had reached this level of technical and scientific ability when the comet struck? They would be cast back to the Stone Age.

“By alien, we always assume from somewhere out there. I’m afraid, I do not subscribe to the theory of little green men in flying saucers. The distances are so vast, that is clearly highly unlikely.”

Birgit laughed.

“There was a time when man truly believed that flight was an impossible dream. Yet, daily we get into airplanes and fly all over the globe. Barry, we cannot afford to not believe anything, even though it is against everything we think we know.”

In truth, they had a taster, but were no further forward.

Birgit had gone to Oslo to see some colleagues at the university there. They were looking into the Old Norse legends and deities, to see if they could locate the origins of the stories of Strykur. Also, she would show the writing to several learned scholars, hopeful that at least one might be able to translate those words she couldn’t.

From the carbon sample Birgit had taken from the tablet, they estimated that the tablet was older than they had first thought, probably originating from the year 700 AD, if not slightly earlier. This was a surprise, for the script and runes were of a character not believed to have existed until 900.

Barry was mildly interested in what the runes and script meant, but further finds distracted him. In a pit, possibly a burial site, they found a well-preserved helmet and double-headed war axe. The wooden shaft had decayed, and rust had pitted the axe quite badly, but the helmet was wrapped in what they believed to be seal skin.  It was burnished bronze, with an intricate inlay and runic relief. Barry always imagined horns or wings on the helmets, but this was a simple helmet made for function and not show. The padded hide inside had perished, but the size indicated it was not made for a small head.

Indeed, he sat in the portacabin, gently removing some of the encrusted earth and other matter that was fused to the side of the helmet when someone knocked on the door. The rain was making a loud pattering noise on the roof, so he only registered it was a knock on the second series of raps.

Rather dismayed at being distracted, he put the helmet down carefully and went and opened the door.

A very attractive and smartly dressed young woman stood there, sheltering beneath an umbrella.

“Professor Keating?” she asked.

He was surprised to hear a precise and well-educated English voice.

“Yes.”

“Professor, my name is Keira Frost; I work for the Home Office in London. I’m here about the reported theft that occurred here. Your university told me where you would be. May I come in and ask you a few questions?”

The professor opened the door while still trying to work out what she said. He frowned.

“The Home Office; in London?” he asked, confused and perplexed.

“That’s correct,” said Keira, taking her coat off and hanging it on the hook behind the door.

“As which department?” he asked.

“I work for the security intelligence service.”

“You’re a bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?”

“Professor, in the matter of international crime and terrorism, the whole world is my jurisdiction. I understand that Doctor Birgit Larsen has been called away to Oslo?”

“Yes, but what on earth has all this to do with the British Home Office?”

“What do you know of the tablet?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“You know of that?”

“Of course, we have access to the local police report. Now, what can you tell me about it?”

“Just what Birgit told me.”

“Which was?”

“It appears to be all based on a legend of a local semi-deity called Strykur. That name means ‘strength’ in Old Norse, by the way. According to the tablet, he was semi-mortal and although impervious to attack, he was subject to age and disease. Birgit believes that the name and possibly the role were hereditary, in which each generation passes the baton, so to speak, to the next son. The tablet may have been the list of instructions for the next generation. It was a bit obscure on the actual method of hand-over, if that’s the right expression. It alluded to some form of artefact that might have been the source of power.”

“What kind of artefact?”

“It didn’t say. But, is the artefact the thing that interests you rather than the actual theft?”

“Professor, you must understand that terrorism and international crime is on the increase and our department seeks to remove anything that might be a threat to our way of life. We are working closely with our Norwegian counterparts and are endeavouring to ascertain, firstly whether there actually is an artefact and, secondly, whether it could be a threat in some form. Now, what do you think it could be?”

“Well, Brigit believes it was either a sword or another weapon of some kind. I am less convinced.”

“Oh, may I ask why?”

“She translated the current incarnation as being the holder, so she assumed that the artefact would therefore be held, like a sword, for example, as opposed to the ‘wearer’, which would indicate clothing or something else. However, the style or writing is far less precise than our modern writing. Context is everything, as the limitations of the script could allow for many similar meanings to a single set of symbols.

“In most of the few legendary accounts that do exist, Stykur was always carrying a weapon to fight the threat to the town. However, in the text of the tablet, there was a similar set of symbols that she translated either as holding it or as bearing it, indicating that perhaps there was a handle of some kind.”

“So, this Strykur is male, always?” she asked, changing the subject slightly.

“Yes, from what I gather the tales have been around this area for many generations, at least back to the eighth century. Yes, he was always male and always came to help in times of trouble. There are recent stories that he defeated a platoon of crack German troops with just a battle axe and prevented this part of Norway from being occupied during the last war.”

“Do you believe them?” she asked.

“I hear what people say. There was an active resistance in this area during the war, so perhaps the tales were told to bolster the morale of the local people and put the fear of the unknown into the Germans. It seems to have worked. The stories are rather far-fetched, but those who tell them don’t disbelieve them, I think just in case they get threatened and might need help,” he said, with a chuckle.

“Did you find any eye-witnesses?”

“Not really. I spoke to Astrid Bergman, who is the daughter of an ex-German soldier who apparently faced the character during the war. He was part of the platoon of German mountain troops sent to occupy the town. They never arrived, as the supposed-god intercepted them in the pass and managed to prevent them from proceeding. She told me that her father was the platoon sergeant and witnessed his officer being beheaded by a war axe being wielded by this character. The machine-gunner fired a hundred rounds at the Viking and the bullets seemed to just bounce off him.”

“They witnessed this?”

“Yes.”

“Was it reported by the Germans through their chain of command?”

“I don’t think so. I think the sergeant decided that nobody would believe them.”

“Then what happened?”

“The sergeant sensibly withdrew his platoon and simply reported overwhelming opposition to his HQ. I gather that none of the survivors wanted anyone to know that just one man had beaten them.”

“Was that it?”

“The Germans tried again a couple of times, both by road and the sea, but never got there. Some of that was due to the local resistance fighters causing rock falls. The sides of the mountains and fjord are too steep for planes, so they never tried to get a plane in.  But this German was so taken by what he saw that he returned after the war with his wife and settled here, determined to get to the bottom of it all.”

“Did he?”

“His daughter Astrid said no. He spoke to as many people as he could and collected all the tales that the locals would share, which, I have to say, weren’t that many. Astrid went to school here, married a local man and is now more Norwegian than German. She says that some of the older locals still treat her like a semi-foreigner. However, over half the town’s population have moved here in the last forty years, so she doesn’t have any problems these days. It seems that Strykur is the best kept secret of these parts.”

“Did you see the German’s research?”

“Yes, she showed me his journal, but it was all in German. It was all gobbledegook to me.”

“How about the tablet; do you have access to a photograph of it?”

Barry went over to Birgit’s desk and took an A3 sheet of paper, handing it to her.

“The thief didn’t seem bothered that we had made copies,” he said. “He just wanted the original.”

Keira frowned and examined the photograph.

“This has been translated?”

“Yes, Birgit has the transcript on her computer and has a copy with her.”

Keira pointed to a single symbol at the top of the page. It was on its own,

“This symbol here, like an inverted Greek omega, what did the doctor make of it?”

“Ah, she mentioned that. It isn’t a rune with which she was familiar. She assumed it was a personal symbol denoting a name of an individual, perhaps the author.”

Keira smiled, and Barry watched as her hand unconsciously touched the plain grey metal torc that she wore around her neck, partially hidden by her collar.

“That’s an interesting piece; is it local?”

She looked up, surprised. Her hand dropped from the torc.

“This? Oh, not local, no. It’s a copy of a Celtic torc from England. It’s been in the family for a while,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, Doctor Larsen mentioned that the man who took the tablet wore a grey torc. It seemed too much of a coincidence, that’s all.”

The girl was still for a moment, but then she smiled.

“I’ve never been to Norway before, so I doubt that there’s a link.”

She continued examining the photograph in such detail that Barry watched her eyes travel along the lines of symbols. She appeared to be reading it.

“You don’t understand it, do you?” he asked, surprised.

“What; this? How would I be able to?” she asked, smiling. Barry felt that was a lie; but it was ridiculous, for how could she possibly be able to read ancient Norse runic script that only a handful of scholars in the world could possibly partially decipher?

“May I have this copy?” she asked.

There had been many copies made, so Barry shrugged.

“I don’t see why not, as it’s not a secret,” he said, pointing to fifteen other copies lying on Birgit’s desk.

“Thank you,” she said, folding it and placing it in her shoulder bag. “Now, do you happen to have this Astrid’s address or phone number?”

Barry took out his phone and showed her the entry. She noted it and thanked him again.

“Can I ask a question?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Just why are you interested in this obscure little place? I mean, I don’t see how something like this could interest MI5.”

“I’m not from MI5. They deal with domestic security issues within the United Kingdom.”

“Okay, if you want to be pedantic; MI6, then.”

“I’m not MI6, either. My department is a small and a very specialised department. We tend to look at the more obscure and less obvious issues.”

“I’m still at a loss to understand why you could possibly be interested in something as mundane as this, and secondly, how rapidly you responded. I mean, you were almost quicker than the local police.”

Keira seemed unconcerned.

“I have no idea as to how we came to be informed; my boss is the only person who could answer that. She likes to keep abreast of all strange phenomena.”

Barry had a funny thought, so smiled. Catching the smile, she inclined her head without voicing the question.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought of the old American TV show called X-Files with Mulder and Scully.”

She laughed politely.

“That’s a bit before my time,” she said. “If you happen to find anything else that might be linked to this supposed-deity, then please call me.”

She handed him a card and left him. It was only after she had gone that it dawned on him that she didn’t contradict his silly statement.

Astrid Bergman was surprised when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and yet, she had had several visits from strangers over the last few days.

Astrid was a middle-aged woman who appeared to be losing her battle to retain her youthful figure. She was still a striking woman with very Germanic features. In a place of high cheekbones and very fair hair, she was a brunette, or had been before turning grey. She dyed it blonde these days, as the grey didn’t show so markedly. Astrid felt she was more Norwegian now, as she rarely spoke German and had only limited contact with her deceased parents’ families back in Bavaria.

However, she wasn’t a local, despite having lived here since the 1960s when her father had brought her here with her mother and brother. Wilhelm was three years her senior, and was almost at secondary school age when they arrived. He chose to return to live with his grandparents and complete school in Germany. He went on to university and became an engineer. He had married a Dutch girl he met at university. He died in Tanzania in 1987 in an accident at a power plant his company had built, so his wife and children returned to live in the Netherlands, close to her family. As a result, Astrid had little or no contact with that part of the family either. Occasionally, they would come to Norway for a holiday, but they mainly preferred the sunnier climes of the Canary Islands.

She wasn’t that bothered, as she and her husband had had three children; two girls and a boy. The girls were both married and her son was at university in Oslo. They had the second grandchild on the way, so life was busy enough without worrying about cousins she didn’t know.

“Frau Bergman?” the attractive and smartly dressed young woman asked in fluent German.

“Ja?”

The girl then explained the reason for her visit.

“I am conducting research on behalf of the German government into the dispersal of ex-military families since the Second World war. There is a general trend for many such families to return to Germany now that the country is unified and the economy is performing better than many other EU nations. Would it be possible to ask you some questions regarding your father’s decision to come and live here?”

Astrid was quite surprised to have to speak German in this place, as she so rarely did these days. It was actually quite nice and refreshing. She was unaware that Keira was able to discreetly coerce her into a feeling of trust and well-being over the visit.

“Come in out of the rain,” she said, stepping back for Keira to enter. The latter flapped her umbrella and left it in the small porch to drip.

It wasn’t much later when Astrid handed Keira a coffee as they sat together on the settee, chatting like a couple of old friends.

“I appreciate that you have settled here, and appear to have adjusted well, but what was the real reason your father left Germany?”

“There were many reasons, I think. I was very young, about six or so when we came. My brother was a little older, and he did not settle in school here. There were many who still hated the Germans for the invasion and occupation, so it was not easy.”

“I understand that the occupation never reached this town?”

“It was all around. Although they never managed to occupy or garrison the town, if one went anywhere, the occupation was apparent, I believe. We came here in 1963, so the war had been over for eighteen years, yet some of the local people still resented us.”

“Did it bother your father?”

“At times, but he was a very good electrician, so people would swallow their distrust to get a good job done. Also, he never charged as much as the other electrician in the town – Harold Bergman. In the end, Harold offered my dad a partnership.”

“And you married his son?”

Astrid smiled.

“Ja.”

“Going back to the reasons for coming,” Keira reminded her.

“Ah, yes, well, things were not easy in Germany in the 1950s. The country was divided and everything was almost destroyed by the war. My father was working as an electrical engineer for a company that was bought out, and so he found himself redundant. He was going to go independent and work for himself, but with so many people in the same boat, things became ever harder. He decided to come here.”

“Why? Was it because there was only one electrician?”

“He had no idea as to how many electricians there were. His experiences in the war had almost become an obsession. I think we came here so he could try to understand what actually happened here during the war.”

“Which was?”

“This is going to sound silly, as I haven’t spoken about Dad and his strange ideas for a long time. Strangely enough, another man, an English professor, was asking about this just yesterday. You see, my father was with the original army group that entered Norway and came to these parts as an army of occupation. Because of the Nazi propaganda, they saw themselves as liberators, only the Norwegians never shared that view.

“Anyway, my father claimed that his unit was intercepted and defeated by a single man dressed as a Viking. He said that the man was bullet proof and simply sent them all running away. By the end of the war, my father was convinced that one of the Old Norse Gods was protecting the town.”

“Did the God have a name?”

“Yes, it was Striker, or Strykur, I think, or something like that. To be honest, I wasn’t that interested. He was a little bit potty about it, as his experiences deeply disturbed him. Once he came to live here, he asked about the town for the rest of his life. He even put together a dossier on what he discovered. Initially, people refused to speak about it, as I think they also thought him a little potty and his perseverance wore them down. Would you like to see it?”

“I don’t think it is really relevant to my questions, but if it brings a little clarity, why not? It is a little interesting and different, after all,” said Keira, feigning a degree of indifference.

Astrid stood up and walked over to an antique desk that stood in the corner.

“The Englishman was disappointed that it was all in German,” Astrid said, as she dug out an old black-covered journal.

“You showed it to him?”

“Yes, he asked if there was any evidence of this Strykur character.”

“So, the professor didn’t read German.”

“No. He was clearly disappointed when I told him that I wasn’t willing for him to have it translated.”

“What else could he had written it in; Norwegian?” Keira asked.

“Dad actually spoke very good Norwegian after his time in the army and once we started living here. My mother never really went beyond the essentials.”

“How about your mother; was she happy here?”

“Initially no; in fact, she left Norway at one point when her parents were ill and almost didn’t come back. We were teenagers and off at college and stuff, so we were not really an issue. But he persuaded her and she ended up liking the peaceful atmosphere. Local memories faded and she settled in well. She out-lived my father by a year and a bit.”

Keira took the journal and started to read it from the beginning. She scanned each page, speed-reading a page every ten seconds. In a couple of minutes, she had ‘read’ the entire journal. She closed it and handed it back.

“Thank you. It was such a shame he never got to the bottom of the legend.”

Astrid smiled wearily, taking the book and holding it close to her chest.

“I know. Everyone thought he was a little mad, I think. He was certainly driven to try to find out the truth of what he saw.”

Keira then changed the subject entirely by asking the woman some questions relating to her family in Germany. By the end of the interview, Astrid had forgotten that she had ever given her the journal in the first place. They parted on friendly terms. Moments after Keira had left, Astrid forgot all about the visit.

Five

Keira made her way back to the hotel, pausing briefly at an intersection, as she became aware that someone was watching her. Instinctively, she put in place a mental block. Actually, several men of various ages were also watching the very attractive girl, but this individual was not thinking the same sort of things as were they. Unconsciously, she touched her torc, as the feeling she was picking up seemed to resonate with her in some strange way.

Unusually, she was unable to identify this observer. She could pick out all those men who were watching her with either admiration or lust in their minds, but this one was different and it disturbed her. Neither was she able to pin-point exactly from where he or she watched. She looked round briefly at the anonymous windows that looked onto the street and then looked away. Instead, she continued, her mental block displaying the impression of a lack of awareness.

It worked, for the watcher regarded the girl with the curiosity of someone towards a stranger, but nothing more. As the tall English girl walked into the hotel, the watcher relaxed and picked up the ancient tablet that lay on the table.

“Have you seen the price of a decent feckin’ drink in this stupid place?” were the words that greeted her as Keira walked into the hotel bar.

Grinning, Keira greeted her friend and colleague. She felt the warmth of the girl’s presence thaw her disquiet. She felt a lot better with her friend watching her back. Shannon had flown in a few hours ago, so had arrived here while Keira had been up with Barry at the site.

“Well, in which case, you’ll have to be a tad abstemious while you’re here, won’t you?” Keira asked, not holding out much hope of her Irish friend not having a drink or three.

“Were you successful?” Shannon asked, taking a long swig from her beer glass.

Rolling her eyes, Keira nodded.

“Surprisingly, yes, up to a point. I’m pretty sure there’s a torc here and probably being used, or certainly being held by someone who is prepared to use it, even if they might be unsure about it.”

“How do you know?”

“That archaeologist, Barry Keating, is one bright boy. He’s more switched-on than he looks. I immediately categorised him as a woolly-headed academic, but he picked up that our thief wore a torc, just from a conversation with Birgit Larsen. Then he linked me with the bloody X-Files, for goodness sakes! He’s far too close to the truth than we give him credit.”

“What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m not sure yet. He probably won’t get in the way, but I rather think he could be a useful ally instead of being an obstructive side player. It might not be an issue, so we’ll just have to see.”

“Going back to my question; what other reasons are there to suspect there’s someone like you here?”

“The level of secrecy, for starters. In most places that have local legends, they try to capitalise on it, like Dracula in Transylvania, Robin Hood in Nottingham or Sherwood Forest. Then there’s King Arthur, William Tell, Annie Oakley and so on. Every town and village boasts gift shops, visitor centres, book shops, and even theme parks dedicated to the legend and all involved. They have pubs named after them, and inside the pubs the locals will only be too willing to talk endlessly about their favourite local hero, regardless as to how little credible evidence there is to verify the truth.

“Not so here. No one says anything. They all acknowledge that the legend exists, but without exception claim it’s just a silly legend. Yet, even as recently as World War Two, there are accounts of this demigod Strykur in action against a known threat, in this case, the German invasion and occupation. Did you know that the Germans never occupied this town?”

“No, but then history was never my strong subject. Do you want a drink, or what?”

Keira ordered a coffee from the girl behind the bar in fluent Norwegian.

Shannon shook her head.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that,” she said. “I don’t suppose they have Guinness, so order me another beer and I’ll try to make it last.”

Keira just grinned.

With their drinks, they walked onto a terrace that overlooked the town square and sat at a small table. There was an awning that protected them from the weather.

“All of the German soldier’s evidence point towards the same powers that I have: strength, anti-gravity, speed, and the protection of a force field. The Germans fired a lot of bullets at him and, according to the witnesses, the bullets appeared to stop in mid-air and fall to the ground as if hitting an invisible wall.”

“Just like you.”

“Exactly; only, if all the accounts are correct, this one is male.”

“So, it could be a girl changed in the same way you were.”

“That’s a possibility, but one interesting feature of the tablet, or rather, what I saw of the photocopy of the tablet was that the instructions are clear that the wearer must not wear for more than a few days at a time, four to be precise. I also noted that the supposed expert was unable to decipher even that bit.”

Shannon frowned.

“Is that important?”

“Yes, definitely, as I changed permanently after I wore it for over a week at school. I didn’t know that had happened until I took it off. I expected to change back and become a laughing stock in front of the gym class. I was mightily relieved when I stayed like this. I lost my powers, but they came back as soon as I wore the torc again. The tablet was obviously an instruction born out of experience. Possibly, a female wearer had changed and left with a bleak choice as she probably had a husband and children. The tablet also listed the powers with some simple instructions. For example, using anti-gravity over water was a problem, so the instructions were obviously to time each jump so as to have firm footing for the next jump. It was very accurate, although there were one or two powers that they were obviously not aware of at the time of writing.”

“This is a bit creepy. Any idea as to how many torcs are out there?”

“No idea at all. I thought I had the only one.”

“How about who made them; could they have been made by the Vikings?”

“I very much doubt it, as the technology and design are out of their league. Amber and I are more inclined to suspect they are either from a hitherto undiscovered civilisation or extra-terrestrial in origin.”

“You mean like Atlantis?”

“Possibly, or from somewhere else.”

“Shit, so the makers could come back and claim them?”

Keira shrugged.

“If they are as old as we think they might be, that’s doubtful, but always a possibility.”

“How old are they?”

Keira shrugged.

“I haven’t a clue. Mine was found just after the Second World War, but if this tablet is to be believed, records exist for this one way back to 700 AD, and possibly earlier. If it was found as a Glacier retreated after the ice age, then it could have been there since before or during the ice age. They could be thousands of years old.”

“They could be worth a fortune,” Shannon said. “I can see government agencies fighting to get their hands on them.”

“Which is why we have to make sure this one is secured. Oh, and by the way, I’m being watched,” Keira said. “As I came from the German’s house, someone was watching me.”

“Shit, girl, that’s not unusual, you’ve got legs that promise a pot of gold at the top, as well as being drop-dead gorgeous.”

“This was different. I think I blocked them, but I couldn’t read them very well.”

“Man or woman?”

“I couldn’t tell. I’m pretty sure that I sensed another torc. It wasn’t being worn, as I’d instantly known that.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Go through the voters’ register at the town hall, email Connie and get her to run checks, discounting any families that have clearly moved here recently. There may not be records going back a thousand years, but if we can establish the oldest families, particularly counting girls marrying outsiders, that’s our best bet.”

“That’ll be tough.”

“It’s a process of elimination. The smaller list we have the easier it will be.”

“I’ll get right on it. What are you going to do?”

Through the rear window, Keira looked up at the ragged hills that surrounded the town.

“I’m going for a walk. I might just draw someone out.”

Shannon frowned.

“I thought you said they didn’t suspect you?”

“I was thinking more of a test.”

Shannon gaped and then grinned.

“Ah, crafty. Will they go for it?”

“One can but try. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

“Okay; be careful.”

“You know me,” Keira said.

“That’s the problem; I do.”

From her bedroom window overlooking the small square that stood in the centre of town, Gudrun watched the tall girl walk to the hotel. She saw her hesitate and glance towards where she stood. For a moment she felt the panic rise as she thought that the girl looked straight into her soul. Then the girl looked away and continued on her way.

Gudrun told herself that it was because she was stressed after everything that had happened. The torc lay in the box on the table next to the tablet, resting on the red velvet interior of the box that her great-great-grandfather had made. Unusually, he had not been the actual holder, but as his wife Elizabethe had been, he had been let in on the secret during her rescue attempt, as clearly it had been a job for more than one.

Conrad had been surprisingly accepting of the disclosure, and even a little proud that his wife was the alter-ego of the famous Strykur.

When not in use, she had kept the torc in an old velvet bag, so Conrad had built her a nice little box and lined it with red velvet. He had been a craftsman, so he felt it was now kept in a fitting receptacle.

He never witnessed his daughter’s exploits against the Germans, and of course never saw his grandson Bernhard and his abject failure to fulfil his destiny.

Gudrun had inherited the torc from her father, even though he was still alive.

Daniel had immigrated to the USA in the nineteen nineties. As a computer technician, he had been snapped up by one of the bigger companies in California. His eldest daughter, Gudrun, returned to her place of birth so as to attend university. She liked America, but she found her heart belonged to Norway.

She only told her father her decision when she had returned for Christmas a couple of years ago.  Having obtained her degree and found work in Norway, she made the choice to live here and only visited her parents occasionally.

Daniel had been surprised, as America offered so much more, or so he thought. When he saw she was determined, he had smiled, and the family accepted her decision with all support and good grace. Just before returning after the holidays, he had asked her to come to his den.

He had passed her the box with a small key on a fine gold chain.

“As I have left the old country, this should be yours. I cannot fulfil what I am expected to fulfil, so I gladly pass it on to you. I hope you may never have to use it, but none of us know the future,” he said.

He watched as she opened the box and they regarded the torc for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A curse or a blessing. You may decide to leave it in the box and never use it, or you may not. It has been in our family for a very long time. I mean, a very, very long time. It is said that one of our ancestors possessed this back in the year 700, if not earlier. The journal started in 1789, and it briefly mentions the verbal history in the first few pages.”

Gudrun took it from the box.

“It’s amazingly light. What’s it made of?”

“I have no idea. Just hold the globes in each hand for a few moments.”

“When did you get it?”

“It was Uncle Bernhard’s, but he died having never used it. My father never knew of its existence.”

Gudrun felt the metal become warm to her touch, and the metal seemed to become slightly malleable. She opened the torc and glanced at her father.

“What does it do?” she asked, before trying it on.

He told her.

Having heard of his exploits, of the legends of Strykur and of her various ancestors, she gasped.

“But, I’m not like them!” she protested, still not even trying to wear it.

“It has now aligned itself to you. I have no idea how it knows, but it is yours now,” he told her.

“I don’t know if I want this.”

“I’m not making you wear it. It was easier for me, as I’m a man. It made me bigger and stronger. It was quite fun, but the novelty wore off. I was terrified of being identified and getting into the press and media.”

“Why haven’t you used it here?”

“Because the Americans are paranoid. Can you imagine the media panic if I started doing weird stuff over here?”

She smiled at the thought.

“Like the movie Thor!” she remarked.

Her father smiled.

“Exactly, they’d send the Homeland Security and NSA after me. But you will be able to hide your identity. It changes females to male.”

“Why, how?” she asked.

“I have no idea. It just does. Strykur is always male, even if the holder is a woman. Therefore, I have to warn you, you will become a male, and somewhat bigger than you already are. You need to be naked or wearing suitable, stretchy clothing if you ever wear it.”

She put it down as if it was red hot. She looked at it on the table.

“Why not sell it to the government?” she asked.

“Two reasons: one, it is not mine to sell, and two, can you imagine how powerful the government would become with this in their hands? Possession is a responsibility and politicians and bureaucrats would be open to corruption.”

“Oh.”

“No. The instructions are clear. It is to be kept in the family for the good of the town of Griðastaður and the people. I live here now, and so my life is here. It is right and proper that you take it. When the time comes, pass it onto your son or daughter. You don’t have to ever use it, as it knows you now. If you do, then never wear it for more than a couple of days at the most.”

“What happens if I do?”

“I don’t really know, but the book says don’t, otherwise you may find yourself changed forever.”

“Oh.”

“The most important thing is that you must keep it safe and never let it go to an outsider.”

So, Gudrun had returned to Norway, settled into her new job and took over the family house in Griðastaður. All was quiet until the archaeologists arrived. That outing when she took the tablet was her first proper outing while wearing the torc.

She had read the journal entries many times, so knew the theory of what powers it might bestow. Nothing prepared her for the transition. None of her predecessors had written anything that could help her know what to expect.

Long before the arrival of the archaeologists, her curiosity had got the better of her. She thought she knew what to expect, but proved herself very wrong. She had tried it out in the privacy of her home. Stripped naked, in the bathroom, so away from any windows, she had placed the torc around her neck.

For a moment, nothing happened. However, just as she was thinking it was probably broken, the tingles started. They were followed by the stomach cramps and then a feeling not that different to what she imagined she would feel should her skin be peeled off.

The unpleasant feelings passed surprisingly quickly. She found herself in the foetal position on the floor.

The young man stood, somewhat shakily. He regarded his image in the mirror in some disbelief. With hair the same colour and length, there the similarity ended. This was a very sturdy young man, broad in the shoulder, with a barrel chest and muscular arms and legs. Oh, and in place of the familiar female equipment, a not too insignificant lump of male genitalia flopped merrily in place.

Gudrun’s facetious observation to her father pertaining to the movie Thor was not so very far from the reality.

It took him a while to become used to what he now was.

Gradually, with the journal in his hand, he tried various things. Jumping was weird, as with just the mental suggestion, he defied gravity. Now he understood why this should not be done over water. It wasn’t flying, just switching gravity off, so if timed with long jumping strides, one could cover a long distance very quickly – in theory. It would take some time to master, just as Keira had discovered a long way away.

By the time the archaeologists arrived, Gudrun had spent several hours practicing moving quickly using this method. She had gone alone into the hills and when not anywhere near any other human being, she had put the torc on and become Strykur.

Other powers would have to wait, as she had not had any opportunities to try them out. It was enough for the moment just to leap tall buildings with a single bound.

The moving of large objects, such as boulders, by telekinesis seemed to work, so every night, she’d write on her own page of the journal as to what she discovered. So far, it wasn’t much.

She wondered for whom she wrote this. Would she ever have a son or daughter to hand it on to? She smiled at the irony of her situation. To have children, then she would have to get rather closer to a male than she was prepared to do. She still found being male was more disconcerting than actually being able to do wondrous things. She wasn’t entirely happy in the mode, but realised that she had no choice in the matter.

She never wore the torc for more than a few hours. As she used it more often, the transition phase seemed to be easier. She still did not like it very much. Indeed, most of what she wrote, unlike her predecessors, was about the transition and what one could expect as soon as one placed the torc around one’s neck.

On the day she visited the dig, she left a bag with her ‘boy’s clothes’ out of sight, just off the track to the dig. It had been surprisingly easy. There was no security; just a chain-link fence haphazardly placed to give a vague containment, with a few signs asking people to keep out for their safety.

She got the information she needed from the Englishman and was able to return to the town in a few seconds as Strykur after changing clothes. The theft was hard, as she didn’t like to steal anything; it went against everything in which she believed, but the tablet was hers by right.

No one saw the transition back to her true self, as she managed to do that in the stairwell on the way down to the street level.

But now she felt paranoid, as if people were after her. Although she kept telling herself that she was imagining it, the feeling was still there.

Six

Out There - but much closer.

Long before Keira had become her true self, courtesy of the torc, the descendants of those responsible for making the torc responded.

Several generations had passed since Kor-Bee had alerted the commanders as to the nature and content of the transmission received. The decision to seek out this mysterious planet was taken purely because it had been the only habitable planet discovered in thousands of years of searching. The people had all but given up hope of ever finding a habitable planet. Most were resigned to living and dying in the search.

Indeed, the culture shock of living on a planet surface would probably be far too hard for most, and should they ever have to face the situation, it was believed that two generations of training would be required to enable them to be surface dwellers once more.

For this reason, it was decided that once the vast fleet changed course and started in the general direction, a faster scout ship would be despatched to make a swifter journey to undertake an initial survey and assess the situation.

Had they been heading in a specific direction with a system containing a habitable planet as a goal, it might have been different, but they were simply drifting almost aimlessly, in the vain hope that something might come to view.

As Lenoor-Khas, the fleet commander, and those in command of each ship came together for a conference in order to brief the scout crew, they had to pose many questions that the scout ship would have to answer.

Were the Brutes extinct, or had they attained some form of stable civilisation? If so, to what degree of technological standard had they achieved? Was the planet still habitable? What was the situation regarding microbiological life-forms?

There were many more technical questions for which the crew of the scout ship were charged with finding answers. They allocated the scouts approximately five Earth years to find those answers and return to re-join the fleet. It would take approximately two and a half to get there, and given six months to a year to undertake the necessary survey and analysis, then it would return. Only then could a suitable strategy be devised to examine the potential for this planet and their future.

The most important instruction was that if the brutes had developed to a technological standard involving nuclear fission and fusion never to alert them to their presence.

So much time had passed since the original scout ship had been here that they no longer retained any qualms over ridding the planet of any original occupants in order to establish their own survival. If those occupants were amenable to existing in subservient servitude to them, then they might survive together. Otherwise, the future for the Brutes looked bleak.

This, then, had the potential to be a fleet of invasion and conquest, culminating in genocide. They had five Earth years to recruit, train and equip their younger males to become a militaristic force.

There was a problem with this, as they had never had to be militaristic in living memory and so had no idea how to even start. Their culture had developed over the many centuries of travel into a peaceful and placid one. It would take more than a few training courses to make any of them into killers or conquerors.

The scout ship was despatched, making use of their most advanced propulsion technology that was capable of travelling at the speed of light. While the ship flew, the crew slept, ready to be woken when they got close to their target.

After only two point four - three years, the scout ship was now in a position to tune into the plethora of different media waves that escaped the Earth’s atmosphere and permeated the surrounding emptiness. Tune-in was the wrong description, for it was more that the small vessel was bombarded by the transmissions.

The ship’s computer awoke the sleeping crew with the news that the planet was alive with transmissions on every frequency.

Had they been energy beams of weapon magnitude then their ship would have been rendered dead in space. They weren’t, fortunately, but they managed to give the eight occupants an idea as to the complex situation into which they were about to descend.

They had no idea whether those making the transmissions were the same race described as the Brutes in that ancient transmission of their predecessors. Could the Brutes of old have been superseded by another, more advanced race?

Was this race indigenous to this planet, or were they travellers from another galaxy such as they were?

There was no way of knowing without extensive research and analysis, so they failed to answer even the first question – whether the Brutes had managed to kill themselves off.

Had the Brutes prevailed and these were their descendants, then they appeared to now exist in a highly technical and scientifically advanced civilisation. If not, and this was another race or races, then they were still advanced and technically superior to those described in the original message.

New questions were added to the list. As soon as one question was answered, it appeared that five or six more appeared on the bottom of the list.

Had they achieved space travel? Had they discovered nuclear fission and nuclear fusion? What were their politics? Were they united?

Another new and more urgent question appeared. Nobody could recall who voiced it.

Was there any evidence of any other races from other systems interested in this one?

It seemed logical. If they now knew of two distinct races, each growing to establish civilised society on two different planets in different systems; it was reasonable to assume that others may have done likewise. The planet before them was a gem – bountiful in life and seemingly a true paradise. It was obvious that any oxygen breathing race would be tempted by it.

The list of questions grew daily and they were still far out beyond the single moon’s orbit.

The commander of the vessel; a mamale called Thyric, slowed the ship down almost to a standstill. It coasted gently, at around ten miles an hour, spinning gently to retain the artificial gravity.

This was a crucial time. The radio and other signals were sufficient to warn the crew that this was not a primitive society, but a highly developed one with a high level of technical sophistication. It could mean that some of their technology was designed exclusively for defence.

They all knew that a fast-moving object, displaying any sign of changing speed or course, would immediately draw attention to itself.

“Commander, there is evidence of many seeking/scanning-technologies detected. They even have the technology to detect radio-activity and different spectrums of light and heat signatures.”

“Noted, thank you.”

Thyric brought the craft to a complete halt. They were still outside the moon’s orbit. No longer even spinning, the crew had to adapt to weightlessness for the first time in some time.

“Any opposing vessels?” Thyric asked.

“No, Commander. There are some structures in planetary orbit that may be crude space stations, and there is a good deal of metal debris held in the same orbit. There is much evidence of activity and so we can definitely state they have achieved basic space travel, at least. There are numerous satellites in orbit. There are no vessels that I can detect. There are no life-signs on the surface of the moon, so it does not appear to hold a colony.”

“There is no atmosphere, so that is little wonder.”

Thyric was silent for a while, observing the streams of data that appeared on the monitor on the control console.

“What are the functions of these satellites?” the captain asked.

“Not certain. Many appear to be communication satellites, to assist in the broadcast of various transmissions. Some may well be defence systems, as we detect radio-active substances that could be nuclear weapons.”

The captain sighed.

That was all they needed, a warlike bunch of creatures with nuclear weapons. It was amazing they hadn’t killed themselves off by now. The evidence was tending to show these were the Brutes’ descendants.

“Any identifiable single defence centre?”

The communications officer was running various scans and checks.

“No, captain; this sounds mad, but I think the defence systems are facing each other. I think they have yet to achieve unity and autonomy amongst themselves.”

“It seems that they are still a bunch of warlike tribal savages, just with more modern weapons than clubs and spears. Well, let’s see if we can nudge them one more step towards annihilation. I want a full scan undertaken, so we can assess the full deployment of defensive/offensive systems. Also, there was some mention of Guayxa metal used by the early explorers in the ancient report. Run a scan to see if you can locate any trace of that metal. It was not discovered to be present here in the original report, so if it is here, it should be relatively easy to find. It has been so long that I sincerely doubt it will still be in existence.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, captain, but the amount mentioned would be so small to be virtually impossible; particularly if it’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Try anyway,” the captain said, wishing that they’d constructed similar devices before leaving the fleet. It was an almost overwhelming urge to walk on a planet, free of suits and breathing apparatus. However, the presence of the Brutes was such that there was no way they could consider that just yet.

All on the ship shared that thought. To be walking on the surface of a planet without any special suits of breathing apparatus was a dream commonly held. As they gazed at the blue and white planet below, that dream was looking as if it might become a reality.

Certainly, they were closer than any of their kind for a very long time indeed.

“Alter course and make slowly to the surface of the moon,” Thyric ordered.  The craft picked up speed in a different direction.

The moon was silvery grey in the reflection of the sun. The surface was pock-marked with craters, signifying active meteor and comet activity. With no atmosphere to burn up even the largest lumps, all had made it to the surface. There was no way of telling as to when some craters were formed. They could have been made thousands of years ago, or then again, they could have struck yesterday.

It was dark behind the moon, but it allowed the craft and crew some respite from the growing tension. The ship landed gently on a portion seldom seen by man, and unlikely to be seen in the near future. The brutes had developed from a mythical primitive monster to a realistic and modern disaster waiting to happen.

Thyric issued commands to each of the eight members of the crew. Many answers could be sought from here. Using remote probes, hopefully small enough to evade detection, they could fill in many of the blanks in relative safety. However, they all knew that time was an issue. Eventually, they would have to go down to the blue planet and find the crucial answers first hand.

The planet was truly beautiful.

None of these crewmembers had ever set foot on a planet that had a breathable atmosphere, let alone one that might have the potential to support their kind.

It was an awesome moment.

Seven

US Air Force Base. Nevada.

“It’s a warning, I’m convinced of it!” said the brash young man in the black tee shirt to the Air Force officer in charge of the project.

Had James Gordon been still alive, he would be ninety years old now. He had long since retired and handed the problem down to two new generations of scientists. In fact, he had died only one year previously, but no one here knew or cared. The young man in the tee shirt was the latest to arrive from Harvard.

The tee shirt bore the text: ‘I’m not dead; I think I’m getting better.’

James Gordon would not have understood it, having probably never heard of, let alone seen Monty Python or his Flying Circus. To Link Bullman, however, it was sufficiently retro to be cool. Lincoln Bullman was, like Gordon, a genius mathematician. Whereas James had been thirty-nine when he had arrived here, Link was just twenty-six.

Link was a classic nerd.

Unlike Gordon, who had been tall and slim, Link was short and overweight. He might exercise his brain regularly, but that was about the only part of his body that was exercised, apart from his digestive system.

His hair was too long and poorly maintained. It needed a good wash and trim, or so Major Sandra Cooper believed.

She sighed wearily. She had come to the main workroom to ascertain whether she could report any progress to justify their continued existence.

Over the last fifty years, the rank of the commanding officer of Project Chrysalis had been down-graded from the early days of General Maddox, who possessed three stars, to a one-star General, then to a full ‘bird’ colonel, to a Lt. Colonel, and now to her; a mere Major.

The staff had been cut too.

In 1964, there had been over three hundred military personnel and at least the same number of civilians deployed in finding answers. Now, there were twenty-five military personnel – a major, two captains, three lieutenants and nineteen enlisted men, headed by a crusty old top sergeant who should have retired a couple of years ago, but he just couldn’t face civilian life.

There were only twelve civilians remaining; all either scientists, technicians or egg-heads like Lincoln.

Needless to say, the budget was slashed in equal measure. She had been told that this posting was for three years, with the clear threat that that was likely to be the end.

“Get answers, Major, otherwise the project dies!” her commanding General had told her. There was no doubt that in this era of cutting budgets, what small amount her project entailed was already being earmarked for the cuts. With areas of real conflict in many parts of the Middle-East and elsewhere, the US military needed every penny it could get. Axing redundant projects set up in a bygone era was one way to claw back some.

She was the perfect choice for this post. A graduate in languages from Yale, and now with fourteen years in the Air Force, with a background in intelligence and thinking outside the box, she was better equipped than most of her peers to comprehend the nature of the problem.

Over the last fifty years, it would be wholly inaccurate to say that no progress had been made by the best brains that could be persuaded to drop off the face of society for the better part of their lives. Actually, their lives were pretty good here. Good accommodation was provided, free, excellent facilities, and with as many people at the base, most not involved in this particular project, social lives were not only possible, but actually the isolated community thrived and grew.

The base was still fully operational, so other personnel involved in other aspects of defence were posted here, only there was not a great deal of contact with those not in the project.

“Mr Bullman, Professor Gordon notified us of that some forty years ago. What we want to know is quite simple, what does it say and to whom is it directed? It would also be useful to know whether the message was ever received and roughly when it was originally transmitted. But then, you know this, as it is on that big board in the main work room, and has been since Professor Gordon wrote it there,” Sandra said.

“We’ve worked out that it was sent a hell of a long time ago,” Link said.

“Oh, and how long is that exactly?”

Link started to explain using mathematical terminology, but Sandra raised a hand to stop him.

“Mr Bullman, I’m an Air Force officer with post-graduate qualifications in languages. Please, humour me and treat me like the idiot that you perceive me to be.”

“Okay, the message is an echo, of sorts, which can be ascertained by the way it has been warped. It got that way by bouncing off different stuff, out there,” he said, waving his arm vaguely towards the toilet block.

“The restrooms?” she asked, genuinely confused now.

“Fuck, no, hell, I’m sorry, I mean out in space. There are things like quasars and black holes and shit, they bend space, or so I’m told. Anyway, what we received all those years ago was a rebound off something. By working out the time coefficient of the speeds of sound and light and the distances involved, we can say that it was sent from near here between twenty and thirty thousand years ago.”

“That is hardly a very accurate assessment.

“Hell, lady, it’s a miracle you got that. It was sent when our ancestors were still running around in skins and living in caves. Heck, most of the planet was probably covered in ice, as the last ice age didn’t retreat until twenty thousand years ago.”

Sandra said nothing. The chance of this message being received was remote, and the chance of the receiver acting on that information was even more so. Had it been received then it would have already been acted on if that was their intention. It was who THEY were that bothered her.

“The content; how have you got on with discerning what the message says?”

“We’re getting there,” he said.

“That’s not good enough. If some alien beings swoop down on us in the next few months, you can see that I can’t go to the joint chiefs with what you’ve given me?”

“We’re anticipating a breakthrough imminently. The new algorithm program seems to be working.”

She opened her mouth to come back at him when one of the nearer computers issued a definitive ‘ping!’

All conversation ceased and Link turned away to look at the screen.

“Jeepers!” he said.

Within moments the others gathered round.

To Sandra’s eyes, the screen was filled with meaningless numbers.

Link sat at the desk and his hands moved like demons across the keyboard. Those around talked in whispers, and Sandra felt her patience about to break. Just before she said anything, Link hit the print command and a sheet of paper started spewing from the printer.

He took it, looked at it and then passed it to her, grinning.

“Told ya!” he said, triumphantly.

She started to read.

“This is (Untranslatable), commander of Mission ship (Untranslatable) of Flotilla (Untranslatable), on mission to sector (Untranslatable). Date (Untranslatable).

“This is my last message. I am infected with a micro-biological agent that our initial screen missed. My crew is dead. This is my report. We made landfall on the third planet in a system with (Untranslatable) sun. The planet was within safe parameters as far as atmosphere, climate and gravity. The plants give off oxygen in their activities utilising photosynthesis. The multiple life-forms are mainly oxygen breathers, and warm blooded. Except for some very basic organisms, all species are of two genders, male and female. The males simply fertilise the females, who either carry the young to birth, or lay eggs that then need attention. There are some aquatic creatures that exist in water, but there is a 30% land to 70% water ratio. However, fifty percent of the planet is covered with ice. It is in the latter throes of a severe ice-age.

“We established a good base of operations and conducted the extensive tests as defined by the colonisation congress before venturing outside. The planet appeared perfect in almost every way. However, there are many aggressive and carnivorous life-forms that were instantly identifiable as being a potential threat. One in particular, known by the crew as The (Untranslatable) was particularly dangerous. Although no bigger than us, they were amazingly strong and fast, displaying the ability to learn things very quickly. They possess innate intelligence whereby we were unable to catch them unawares.

“Our appearance is sufficiently out-worldly to cause them to be instantaneously aggressive. Although existing in primitive tribes and practising what we believe to be a hunter-gatherer lifestyle, they manufacture and utilise crude tools with some skill and dexterity. Not yet possessing metal-smelting technology, they use stone, wood and bone tools to good effect.

“Although we tried, we were unable to co-exist with these beings. They are not as widespread as they could be, and as this planet is in the grip of an ice age, it may be they will be made extinct with several generations. We were not in a position to seek a region free of this particular species. Had we done so, then perhaps we could have formed a colony and co-existence would have been possible at a later date.

“The disease hit us as we prepared to locate such a region. (Untranslatable), our science officer managed to construct two (Untranslatable) devices that used current technology to camouflage our image, giving the wearer the appearance of being of the same species as the (Untranslatable).  One device was tuned into a female DNA and the other to a male. Constructed as they are of (Untranslatable) metal, this metal does not exist on this planet, so it would be possible for any geological scout to locate and retrieve the devices which rest at the bottom of the northern ocean. If the devices are not located, then I have added the spec data to the data stream at the end of this message, together with full data of the planet, its location and specifications. Depending on the length of time that has elapsed since I recorded this message, whether the (Untranslatable) have developed to attain any degree of civilised state is arguable. Our belief is that they will kill themselves off within a few generations, and that is without access to any but crude weapons.

“Recommendation: this planet is ideal for our people, except for the indigenous species and the microbiological organisms that have caused our demise. If you get this, then treat this planet with extreme care. Avoid unless absolutely necessary. End of report.”

“My God!” she said. “Are they talking about us?”

“My guess would be, yes,” said another voice. “It would be safe to say they don’t like us very much, do they?”

Professor Ray Hernandez had been a lecturer in anthropology and biology at UCLA before being recruited onto the team for his work as a xenobiologist. His papers on the expected biological structures that could be expected from different environments were deemed important enough to have him included onto the much smaller team.

“Why have these words been excluded?” she asked.

“Because the computer can’t work out what they mean. It seems they have been here, back when this world was covered in ice, and made contact with our ancestors. That missing word about the natives could be derogatory, and I suspect it is. It seems that people’s reaction to aliens all those years ago is not much different to how our movie producers would have us believe we would react. I think I agree, it is nothing short of a miracle that we haven’t killed ourselves and the planet. We came damn close on several occasions.”

“These devices, can we glean any more information about them?”

“No. I wouldn’t think they’ll still be viable. Even supposing they had managed to last all that time, which I doubt, they must be engineered for the aliens’ physiology and DNA, so would probably kill any human stupid enough to try to play with them.”

“With technology such as that, we might be able to withstand an attack by those who may have received this message and decided to ignore the warning.”

Other scientists all chipped in with their opinions and theories. All agreed, too much time had passed and the aliens technology might not be compatible with humans.

“If it’s out there, what would it look like?” she asked.

“We know so little of the aliens. If they believed they could camouflage themselves to look like us, then it stands to reason that they were roughly our size and shape. The need to camouflage was born out of looking too different, so the device must have been small enough to be portable, and large enough to house the necessary technology.”

“A backpack!” suggested one.

“Belt pouch,” said another.

Clearly it could be just about anything. Sandra made a decision, thanked the team and returned to her office. She picked up the telephone.

“Get me the General!” she said to the operator.

Eight

Barry found a new chain-link fence across the track on his way up to the dig-site on the following morning. It was like those around building sites everywhere, comprising of sections bolted together. Only this one had razor wire placed on the top to deter ambitious burglars or the excessively curious. It stretched as far as he could see in each direction. A large sign on the fence announced in both Norwegian and English that this was now private land and that all trespassers were strictly forbidden.

If the message wasn’t clear enough, two dark-clad security men with bright yellow florescent tabards stood by a make-shift gate. There was another sign on the gate.

STATOIL –

Skiferolje nettstedet. Inntrengning av uvedkommende forbudt. Alle besøkende rapportere til sikkerhet.

With the notice being in Norwegian, Barry couldn’t understand it, so he shouted to the nearest security man.

The man reluctantly came over.

“Hva vil du?”

“Do you speak English?”

“A little. Go away.”

“You don’t understand, there is a valuable archaeological dig up there, we’re authorised to access it for our work.”

“Not any more. This is all now due to be processed.”

Barry frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“The oil company is opening shale oil sites here.”

“But our site?”

“Nothing to do with me. Take it up with the management.”

“We have property on that site. You’re preventing us from accessing it.”

“Go away, or I will call the police.”

“Don’t bother. I will do that myself. You have stolen our property!”

The security man didn’t seem bothered and simply shrugged and walked off to join his colleague.

Barry didn’t call the police immediately. First, he rang Birgit.

She was on her way back from Oslo. She was clearly worried. She had heard from the university, as someone from the Ministry of Energy had notified them that as from this day, all land would be taken over by the state-owned energy company to extract the large deposits of shale oil that had been recently discovered.

He let her ring the police, as she could explain so much better than her could. Others from the team started arriving and so a small group started to congregate. One of the security men must have called the police, as two officers in a marked 4x4 joined them.

The officers seemed as baffled as anyone else, but spoke to the security men and then to Barry. One officer called a supervisor, and soon four more police arrived and a big, black Mercedes 4x4 with blacked-out windows.

Two men in suits alighted and spoke to the police. Barry was on the periphery, but gathered that they were regional executives for the oil company. It seems that nobody had told them that the dig was in progress, so they were both embarrassed and annoyed.

One of the policemen pointed to Barry and waved him over. He introduced himself to the men.

“Professor, you are here illegally,” one of the men said. They made no attempt to introduce themselves. One of the students took their picture on her phone, and the security men started to chase her, but the police intervened and prevented them from doing anything.

“Not at all,” said Barry. “We have the permit signed by the town mayor and by the chairman of the regional council. This dig is registered by the university with the national registry. All you had to do was look.”

The man swore and walked off, digging out a mobile phone.

The local police inspector arrived, looking apprehensive and concerned. Normally, this was one of the quietest divisions in the region, and so he had hoped to reach retirement without an ulcer.

On his insistence, the gate was opened and the police persuaded the security men to allow the crew back to the dig. They threatened to arrest the security men with obstruction if they refused them access.

On the site, they found another 4x4 with more oil company security personnel. The university site-security men were seated in the back of another of the oil men’s 4x4s as if under arrest.

Strong words were exchanged between the police and the suits. The two men were released, but with no apology.

Papers were produced by one of the suits, and the policeman examined them.

The conversations took place in Norwegian so Barry couldn’t follow it. In the end, the policeman came over to Barry.

“They have the necessary paperwork, but then so do you. It seems that this application was made recently and a clerical error overlooked the required checks to see whether any other organisation had registered work on the land. Had they done so, they would have seen that you are clearly in the right. I have instructed them to remove the barriers, and allow you full access to your dig. Your licence runs for another eight weeks, so they must respect that.”

The two men were both on their phones, and some poor underlings on the other ends were receiving severe tongue-lashings.

Barry and the others discovered that nothing had been touched on the site, but several oil-company workers had arrived with instructions to dismantle everything, and had to be told by the police to back off.

Work resumed for the archaeologists late that day, and with some trepidation. However, the police left behind two officers in a 4x4, just to ensure that those on the dig weren’t harassed.

All afternoon, labourers moved the fencing so that the dig was isolated by a single track and otherwise completely encircled by the linked fencing.

“This reminds me of what Berlin must have been like after the war,” muttered Barry. “We can’t be expected to work properly under these conditions.”

In town, the conversations were of little else. Keira was surprised, as she had yet to take any action to attempt to draw out her quarry. Events were moving outside her control, so she felt unsure how best to proceed. The town mayor’s office was under siege, as angry locals all wanted to know how this had happened without any consultation with the local people.

Keira found herself wrong-footed, as the place had changed from being a sleepy backwater, where she might be able to undertake her enquiries without causing any ripples to being the source of interest for the media industry. There was the advantage of being just one more strange face in a sea of strangers, so perhaps it was a good thing.

Environment issues were ten a penny these days, but this was a new story and one that might cause the Norwegian Government some embarrassment. Previously with a far better track record than most other European nations in relation to their environmental policies and their management of their portion of North Sea oil, this might well prove to have been a mistake.

Anything that might embarrass a government attracted all the best sorts of journalist, and the worst.

However, when one delved a little deeper, as most of the media companies that had already arrived managed to do, it seems that a sub-contracting oil company was the major player, and not Statoil.

Statoil, the nationalised company that managed Norway’s oil production, had delegated this task to a small private company called FRizoil. FRizoil engineers and technicians were the ones on the site and were annexing it for imminent extraction. The security personnel were contractors working for a private security company with no ties to either Statoil or FRizoil.

Keira returned to the hotel to find several large vehicles littering the town square making it appear even smaller than usual. There was even a BBC vehicle and a SKY News truck amongst the massed TV crews. Shale oil extraction and fracking was big news in Britain, so there was an interest to see how the Norwegians dealt with it.

The hotel was fully booked with media people, so Keira found Shannon in the bar, as the girl had flashed her eyelashes and obviously persuaded some journalists to buy her a drink, or two.

“What have you done?” Shannon asked, immediately assuming that this was all Keira’s fault.

“Not guilty, this time,” her friend said, holding up both hands as if to show nothing in them.

“What’s happening?”

“I gather from what they were saying in the street, an oil company has annexed part of the land where the dig is located for the purposes of extracting shale oil. Everyone is upset and they’re muttering about a public meeting.”

“So, this is nothing to do with you know who?”

“Not as far as I can discern. Mind you, they say that when the town is threatened, Strykur appears to meet the threat. Perhaps this time I can sit back and see what happens. With a little luck, I won’t have to even try to draw him out; the oil company will do that for me.”

Shannon grinned.

“That’ll be novel.”

For three days, a stale-mate existed. The police prevented further oil company trucks from reaching the site and supervised the access of the academics to their dig.

The men in suits vanished from the scene, while the mayor’s office was inundated by calls from all manner of interested parties. Interestingly, the government minister responsible for energy managed to go on holiday, so was unavailable for comment.

The local news reports were scathing in their attacks on this company – FRizoil. Film footage of journalists being roughly turned away from their company’s German headquarters in Hamburg seemed to say it all. The newspapers were already painting them as the bad-guy in this particular episode, as a Norwegian Statoil spokesman disclaimed any responsibility, stating, “The sub-contractor was given the task of ensuring all licenses and protocols were complied with before taking action. This includes a period of consultation with the local community.”

FRizoil representatives made no comment. Their executives were filmed heading to their cars, making no comments at best, or having the journalists and camera crews intercepted none too gently in their attempts to speak to them at worst.

Although these representatives were Norwegians from the Norwegian office, the company was German, and in Norway – memories ran deep. Nobody trusted the Germans that much.

The public meeting in the Town hall was packed. Three men in suits represented the company. One was a lawyer and the other two were the original men from the first day.

The town mayor and the regional police Superintendent managed to get the crowd to be quiet.  It seemed that the entire population of the town was present, but as the population ran to a few thousand, there were four hundred people in a room designed for three hundred. There was standing room only at the back, and the gallery was packed as well.

Shannon was in the gallery, having secured a place by using brute force and a sweet smile. She wondered where Keira was and what she was up to.

There were three security men by the entrance to the dig. The two University security men were encamped in their enclosed site area, and seemed on reasonable terms with the other security men contracted by the oil company. It wasn’t either of their fight.

There were several other oil company security men, either on foot with dogs or in rugged all-terrain vehicles. Several large, prefabricated buildings had been erected, obviously having been brought here by large tracked vehicles, or the helicopter that had been here earlier. Certainly, the mass of equipment and paraphernalia made the university facilities look pathetic by comparison.

The single figure stood on the higher slopes on the nearby hills looking down at the scene below him. It was windy, so his long fair hair flapped vigorously. Strykur seemed unaware and unconcerned that the gathering clouds threatened rain.

Idly, he touched the torc around his neck. He caught a bubble of excitement in his breast. This was what he had been waiting for all his life. This was what was meant by his duty. He was not afraid of the men. He was more afraid of his own anger and his own strength. He was also unsure of how best approach this new threat to his town. Additionally, he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

His apparel did not appear that outlandish at first sight. However, as one who was close might observe, the clothing was almost that of a ninth century Viking; coarse breeches, with leather straps holding his hide boots together. On his torso, he wore a plain woollen shirt, with a leather sleeveless tunic over the top. A broad belt was around his waist, with a sword attached to a cross belt over his shoulder, and in his hand was a large and mean-looking battle-axe.

One would not have been surprised to see him wearing a Viking helmet, but he simply tied a plain leather band around his head to keep his unfashionably long hair under control.

He counted twenty men in all, including the university security men. They didn’t count, but they could be witnesses. He wasn’t sure he wanted witnesses.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He wanted them gone, but didn’t know where to start. He was, therefore, highly surprised and shocked to hear the girl’s laughter from behind him.

Spinning round, he saw a beautiful girl dressed in clothing not dissimilar to his own; the type of attire that the movie producers would have you believe that Viking Warrior queens would have worn. Only, she wore a plain, woollen midi-dress in instead of breeches, and had sturdy hide boots not unlike his on her feet. She also had a belt around her trim waist – all she was missing was a smaller sword in a sheath.

It had taken Keira a while to get into costume.

“Who are you?” he shouted, in shock and surprise.

“Who would you like me to be?” the girl answered flawlessly in his own language - Norwegian. “I rather like the name Freyja. After all, I could be the Goddess of fertility and battle. This is all somewhat theatrical, but it seems appropriate, somehow.”

“How did you get here?” he asked, almost lost for words. He felt strangely embarrassed and up-staged.

“The same way you did. I floated down from Valhalla.”

He was frowning sternly, which made Keira laugh some more.

“My God, you’ve never done this sort of thing before, have you?” she asked, now empowered by the torc to gather his thoughts. They were both wearing torcs, so had the potential to be entirely telepathic.

Strykur turned away almost ashamed to admit his failings and inexperience to this strange woman.

<Hey, kiddo, it’s really okay. We all had to start from scratch at some time. I’ve just been at it for longer than you, that’s all.>

Her voice permeated straight into his head. Spinning round, he found she had vanished. Moments later she stood beside him, laying a gentle hand on his hefty arm.

“How did you do that?” he asked, accusingly and stepping away from her touch.

She pointed to her own neck and the torc that encircled it.

He gasped.

<See! And you always thought you were the only one.>

“How did you know I’d be here?” he asked, still vocalising. He had many questions for her, but this one came out first.

<It’s where I’d be, if I was you. Hell, all those years charged with protecting this place, and now, at last, something to do. The problem is actually choosing the right thing to do. You don’t want to make things worse or get into a battle you can’t win, do you?>

Together they turned and regarded the scene on the site below. The clouds were dark and the rain started to fall. Keira turned up her force-field so the rain ran down the invisible shield around her. She noted that her companion was getting wet.

<You don’t have to get wet, you know?>

Gently, she eased into his mind and showed him how to manage the force-field.

<It’s automatic against anything like bullets and missiles and the like, but you have to alter the filter size for rain,> she told him. <The first time I went out, I got soaked to the skin. It was only through trial and error that I worked out everything. Mind you, there might still be some aspects I missed.>

<Why are you doing this?> he said, using thought-speech for the first time.

The girl shrugged.

<Where there are so few of us, we have to help each other, don’t we?>

<I thought I was the only one. How many more are there?>

<Well, I actually thought I was the only one, but when you went and stole that tablet from the archaeologists it sounded alarm bells. My boss is smart about things like that. She thought that I ought to come and see if I could find you. You’ve done a remarkable camouflage job, as I’d never recognise you in normal clothes,> she said, grinning at him.

He gaped at her in horror.

<You know me?>

She touched her torc.

<With this, I know everyone, and so can you. You just need someone to show you how.>

<I read the tablet, but it said little more than I already knew,> he said.

<Then let aunty Keira teach you.>

<Keira? That is not a name of a goddess!>

<That’s because, like you, I’m not a goddess; and the local people never got to give me a name. Mind you, Strykur is not so bad, as names go. I understand you guys had a goddess called Frigg. Now that’s not a name I could enjoy.>

He smiled, as her sense of humour and fun helped dissipate his feelings of inadequacy. Here he was, with powers beyond most people’s imagination, and yet he felt inadequate.

Strykur regarded the men on the hillside below them.

<What about them?> he asked.

She shrugged again.

<What about them? They’re not going anywhere, and to be honest, all the excitement is in town at present. They haven’t started buggering up the countryside yet, so if you do have to take direct action, it would have to be a little more emphatic than scaring a few security men.>

She was aware that he still regarded her with some distrust.

“Look,” she said, out loud for a change. “I’m not that scary, I promise.”

She took off her torc, and after standing there for a few seconds, no change came over her. He recognised her as the girl he had watched in the town.

“I know you. You were asking about me in town!” he said.

“My name really is Keira, and I was looking for you. I’ve found you now, so the rest is up to you,” she said in English.

“You are like this always?” he asked, also in English, and observing that she still didn’t change appearance.

“Do you mean my sparkling personality, or my beguiling presence?” she asked, smiling at him in the most alarming way.

He felt confused and very strange.

“Your appearance,” he said, unsure of himself.

“You’ve never worn your torc for more than a short period at a time, have you?”

He shook his head. Keira replaced the torc and spoke to him in fluent Norwegian again.

“I’ve had my torc for quite a long time now; many years. I grew up with it. I was a teenager when I wore it for more than two weeks and, well, sufficient to say, this is who I am now.”

“Who were you?”

“Someone that doesn’t matter anymore. This is me; torc or no torc.”

Strykur frowned.

“It changed you as well?”

“For the better.”

“You mean you were a boy?” he asked, surprised.

“In my heart, no, never a boy, but to the world I was, in appearance only. No; this is definitely who I was meant to be from birth, if you must know.”

He seemed lost in thought, so she touched his arm again. This time, he didn’t shy away, but regarded her hand thoughtfully.

“Look, this is all very well, but it’s actually raining hard, and all that lot over there have sought shelter. We ought to go back to town. That’s where it’s all happening at the moment, anyway.”

She sensed his reluctance to show her where he stayed, and also that he didn’t want her to see the change when the torc was removed.

“I’ll meet you in the hotel in twenty minutes, okay?” she said.

“How will I know...?” he started to say, but then realised that she would look the same, except for the theatrical accessories.

She grinned at him.

“I just have to lose this lot first. See you later!”

With that, she sprang up in the air so quickly that he immediately lost sight of her. Then he thought he saw her nearly two kilometres away, bounding towards the town.

Shaking his head, he followed, at a far more sedate pace. Maybe he could do with some tuition.

Nine

The public meeting had to be cleared by the police, at the request of the mayor. The three men from FRizoil retreated in their big car as local people angrily shouted and banged on the side of the car as they drove away. Words like: ‘Fascist’ and ‘Nazi’ were bandied about.

The situation was no clearer. The mayor and a few members of the council retired to the office to study the various documentation provided by the oil men. The bulk of the land in question was shown on the land registry as not owned by anyone, so was therefore deemed as belonging to the state of Norway, or, the government.

The Statoil Company had acquired, quite legitimately, the extraction rights for the area. It did not give them ownership of the land, but they could remove any shale oil that was discovered. They were also entitled to employ whatever subcontractors they wanted to do the job. However, there were two clauses that had been deliberately included that protected the environment from large scale disruption, and then made it law that the land was to be returned to as close to original as possible.

There was also a clause stipulating that full consultation and cooperation was to be sought with reference to the local people. As this had clearly not happened, the town’s lawyer was planning to lodge a complaint with the High Court with a view to halting the process.

A Statoil representative had appeared towards the end of the meeting, clearly upset that FRizoil had failed to comply with the consultation process, so everything was now on hold.

As most of the land was owned by the government, this complaint might not have too much hope, except there was one small piece of land that was apparently owned by the Jenssen family. Like so many little family plots, many dated their holding back tens if not hundreds of years. Most had been forgotten, but the Jenssen family ensured the public records were up to date. Gudrun’s father had ensured it was all above board when he took his family to America. If everything went badly, then they’d still have property back home to which they could either return, or sell to realise capital.

This small plot was more than a small fly in the ointment, as this had been overlooked by the oil company surveyor. The property was less than a hectare, so was barely shown on the map, other than a small comment in the margin that related to the small rectangle upon which the archaeological dig was firmly located.

Of this, it has to be said, young Gudrun was entirely unaware. It was as she walked through the town after the meeting had dispersed that she found herself on the receiving end of strange looks by a few of the locals. She wore jeans and her zipped jacket, almost wishing she’d brought the battle axe along for comfort value.

She entered the hotel, which was full of media people. They were all wandering about using their mobile phones, or outside in the rain under umbrellas giving TV commentaries on the situation.

She entered the bar to see one familiar face – Keira’s. She was sitting with another young woman who was laughing at something Keira had said.

Keira looked her way as soon as she entered. Gudrun had expected the girl to be still in her Valkyrie outfit, but she was back wearing what she had been when Gudrun had observed her earlier.

<Don’t worry; she’s a friend,> Keira thought to her. This surprised Gudrun as she had taken off her torc to lose Strykur. Keira smiled and spoke.

“As long as one of us does, it still works,” she said.

Gudrun sat next to her in the booth.

“Shannon, meet Gudrun Jenssen,” Keira said. “Shannon is an associate of mine. We work together.”

Gudrun shook the Irish girl’s hand. Shannon smiled broadly.

“So, you’re the man?” she said.

“It seems so. Look, why is everyone looking at me strangely? You never told anyone, did you?”

“No, but Shannon was in the meeting. Your name is Jenssen, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your father still owns that bit of land where the witch’s hut was found. It makes things difficult for the oil company to proceed. They were under the impression that the state owned all the land up there,” Shannon said.

“She wasn’t a witch.”

“Whatever, that’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that your father needs to be told not to sell the mineral rights for that land, or at least negotiate for a bloody good deal with conditions,” said Keira.

“How?”

“I suggest you call him before the oil company does. You can bet they’ll make a more than generous offer, and soon.”

“What do I say?”

Keira regarded her for a moment.

“Okay, by all accounts this is a real cowboy outfit, who are trying to cut corners. You can bet your bottom dollar they’ll want to rush in, extract whatever they can in a relatively short time and then leave the place looking like shit. The company will be disbanded once the oil has been sold and then the tidying up will be at national or local cost. If your father signs a contract, then he stipulates clearly various conditions relating to the local people, environment and repair, they will have to comply. He needs to liaise with a lawyer who is experienced in such things.”

“Are you suggesting that I allow them to go ahead?”

“Oil is oil. If they don’t take it this year under your strict conditions, they could change the rules when shortages are more pressing and walk in and take it with total disregard of the local area and the inhabitants.”

Gudrun nodded made a quick calculation of the time differences and punched her father’s number on her phone.

The conversation was brief, but it became obvious that her father had already been contacted by the oil company, and they were sending a representative out to get him to sign a contract. Gudrun was able to warn him of what had happened so far and of Keira’s advice. He said that he was aware of the track record of these companies and knew a good lawyer who could advise him.

“How much did they offer you?” she asked her father.

“Two million US Dollars, just for the extraction rights. They don’t want the land after they’ve got what they want. They said they’d put it back to how it was before.”

That was a lot of money, but Gudrun knew that if he signed without recourse to legal representation, the land would be worse than useless by the time they’d finished.

“I will speak with the mayor, and get him to call you. I’m sure that the lawyer for the council will want to speak to you. It’s not the sort of money you’d pass up, but we need to put some safeguards into the conditions of any contract,” she said.

Her father was bemused.

“What’s got into you?  You’re very worldly-wise all of a sudden.”

Gudrun glanced at her new friend. Keira smiled back at her.

“I’ve met someone who put me straight,” she said.

“Not a nice young man?” he asked. She could hear the hope in his voice. She sighed to herself.

“No, this is just a friend, and she’s not a man.”

Her father changed the subject abruptly, asking about her work in Bergen.

“It’s okay. I work in the accounts department, but it’s an old fashioned, family business, and I’m not family and a woman, so I think promotion will be slow. Still, it’s good experience and they pay well. I will see what else there is after a couple of years.”

They had a few moments of idle chat and then rang off.

She sat there regarding the now silent phone in her hand.

The fact that Gudrun had never had a real boyfriend in all her time in America caused her parents some concern. She had never shared anything about her sexuality with them, and until she knew for certain herself, she wasn’t going to. Indeed, one of the main reasons she moved back to Norway was the in-built American dream for young women. California had been quite enlightened, but ever since she was in junior High School, everyone started pairing everyone else up, and you were considered weird if you did not have a boyfriend.

This was especially as Gudrun was blonde and stunningly pretty as a teenager. She was a cheerleader and could have had the choice of any boy in her school. The problem was that Gudrun felt a stronger attraction towards other girls on her squad than she did towards the big and macho footballers and athletes.

Socially, being a lesbian would have been a disaster. Oh, there were those girls who openly ‘outed’ themselves, but despite the supposedly more liberal society, they tended to be shunned by a large majority of peers. Gudrun’s parents, being conservative in so many ways, would not have coped with it well.

She had gone through the motions for everyone else’s sake and dated a few guys. After she declined to have sex on the second date, they promptly dumped her, much to her relief. Men intimidated her, viewing her as a conquest, and if she wasn’t interested in being a proverbial notch or necessary fashion accessory that some jocks demanded, they lost interest in her. They certainly never gave her the impression of being interested in her intellect or personality, just her body and what it could do for them and for their standing amongst their peers.

She thought that Norwegian boys would be more enlightened but she found, if anything, they were a little worse. She was so unsure of herself that she never had the guts to reach out to those girls that she knew were interested in other girls. She had met many, but she found their enlightened feminism slightly false, in that many were little better than the footballers she had dated in America.

Those moments on the hillside, when she had been in her other persona – as Strykur, and the girl had been there, treating him as an equal and as someone special had been the best moments of her life so far. Despite her confusion and awareness that she was inexperienced, Keira had given her hope that she could succeed where so many of her predecessors had not.

Keira laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, don’t worry, worse things happen at sea,” she said, making her laugh.

She told the two girls what her father had said.

“Well, for the moment, we don’t need to do anything more. You’ll find that common sense, or greed will prevail, and the good people of this town will get new roads and streetlights and the company will get the shale oil.”

“What about the archaeological dig?”

“Give them a couple of months and it will be winter. I should think that they’ll have extracted everything of interest long before then, don’t you?”

Gudrun seemed a bit disappointed.

“Oh, and while we’re on that topic, we need to do something about the tablet you removed from the good doctor.”

“It’s mine!”

“No, it belonged to one of your predecessors, and actually, you don’t need it any more. You have me.”

“But...” Gudrun was unsure of why she wanted the tablet.

“We still have the copy of the tablet so we can still see what it says. Actually, I’ve read it and it doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. If you’re walking about as him, then they might recognise you. I think It best that we get it back to those who will look after it.”

“But...”

“Look, why don’t you give it to me? I’ll say I met this bloke in a bar and he was feeling guilty and didn’t want to be identified and all that shit. I can hand it in to the police station and bob’s your fecking uncle!” Shannon suggested.

“Gudrun?” Keira asked.

“I don’t know. It is my inheritance, sort of.”

“You never knew it existed, so why not let it go?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, in the meantime, why don’t we show her what can be done, eh?” said Shannon.

“We?” asked Keira, raising an eyebrow towards her friend.

“Ah, you know how I like to get a piggy-back ride,” grinned the Irish girl.

Keira cast an eye around the bar.

“Well, I think it might be wise to do it somewhere that all these media types are nowhere near,” she said.

“Should we do anything about the oil company?” Gudrun asked.

“They’ll be bogged down in legal complications for ages. Now they’ve all got lawyers involved, the good people of this town won’t need your services for a very long time. We can keep an eye on them, just in case they decide to take some sneaky action to pre-empt any court orders to desist.”

Shannon stood up and stared out of the window.

“Sheesh, will you look at that!” she said. “It’s fecking pissing down out there now!”

Ten

The alien probe #17 was just one of fifty. Despatched in a set pattern to send back data, the probe was now descending slowly over the North Sea.

More or less spherical in shape and containing all the sensory equipment for those on the ship to make all the analysis they needed. It was little larger than a soccer ball, and was far more advanced than anything so far created on Earth. It was artificial intelligence, but of a lower order. They had far more advanced systems ready for use further down the line.

This probe, programmed as it was for several specific tasks, never managed to get down through the list, as the first directive – to locate the Guayxa metal left behind by the last exploration team, proved to be its primary directive.

The probe had been given northern Europe, so as it settled into a course over Norway, its sensors began to pick up traces of Guayxa.

However, picking up traces and locating the exact source proved to be two very different things. Such was the programming that the probe did not transmit the initial traces to the main ship. Only when it had located the material would it transmit the successful completion of the task. The problem was that, although in close proximity to each other, the two traces were identified as being amongst the indigenous sentient beings – the Brutes, as secondary programming to avoid any direct contact with them prevented the drone from actually completing its mission.

At this point, it couldn’t transmit completion, as it had not completed its task, and it could not complete its task as it was programmed not to. However, the other probes contained the same programming and the data transmitted by them managed to mask the fact that nothing of note was returned from number seventeen.

Unknowingly, the aliens had successfully thwarted part of their own mission, thereby giving the humans an unexpected and unknown advantage. Admittedly, they were not to know how important the torcs could be to the humans, or to them, as there was no real expectation that after all these years, they would be recoverable, let alone already discovered and being used by two specific brutes. In this, the aliens joined the US scientists in believing that too many years had passed for the items to be of any useful function even if they could be located.

Data from all over the planet was being received and collated by the aliens. Their science officers were busy analysing the data, establishing protocols for the envisaged contingency plans. These plans covered simple ones like identifying any potential harmful organisms in the atmosphere and the covert occupation of isolated locations with minimal chance of interaction with the brutes, to the complexities of the occupation of the entire planet and the comprehensive genocide of the current inhabitants.

Not that Thyric or any on the ship would ever have to make such decisions, as their job was simply to gather the data and prepare the ground for those who would.

During the formation of the diverse plans, differences of opinions over the most appropriate course of action became polarised into those who favoured the annihilation of the humans and those who decided that it might be better to look elsewhere. The one thing the evidence made them all agree was that any attempt at coexistence with the Brutes would be futile.

At a similar moment to when probe #17 detected the metal in the torcs, the torcs informed their wearers that those responsible for their creation might have just arrived; or rather, wearer, as Keira was the only one of the pair who was actually wearing one.

Shannon was asking a question in relation to the mechanics involved in shale production. Keira’s expression displayed that she had not only failed to hear the question but was also looking distinctly uncomfortable.

She paused a moment, watching her friend. Shannon was acutely aware of Keira’s gifts and that a slight change of expression could mean that something bad was liable to happen.

She waited for Keira to focus again on the here and now.

“What?” she asked.

“Not sure,” her friend said. “Something very odd; my torc started to buzz slightly, as if it was communicating with someone or something. I could not sense a mental presence, so it could be something else.”

Gudrun frowned.

“Do you want me to….?”

“Yes,” said Keira not letting her new friend finish.

Gudrun stood up and left, saying, “I’ll be back.”

Shannon got the giggles.

“She’s hardly Arnie, is she?”

Ten minutes later, a taller and very good-looking young man entered the bar. He was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans (larger ones than Gudrun), with work boots on his feet. His blond hair was quite long and had been pulled back into a pony-tail.

“Shit! Is that him?” Shannon asked, as the man made a bee-line for them. “Maybe I was wrong; he’s more like Arnie than I thought possible.”

“Shannon, meet Strykur,” Keira said with a smile.

Strykur kissed Keira on the cheek and then repeated the greeting with Shannon. Then he sat where Gudrun had been sitting, even picking up the coffee cup the girl had been drinking and drained it.

“I sense it too. It is like something is trying to contact it.”

Then Shannon noticed the twin of Keira’s torc around his neck. If anything, it looked slightly bigger.

“You have left a little mascara on your left eye,” she said, helpfully.

Strykur grinned sheepishly, wet a handkerchief and rubbed the offending article until Shannon saw it was clean.

“I have never changed in such a hurry before.”

“You get used to it,” Keira said with a smile. “And then you cease bothering and just make the best of your new life.”

Strykur nodded.

“I am seriously thinking about it,” he said, making meaningful eye-contact with Keira. Shannon noticed and smiled.

Keira held up her hand, displaying two fingers only.

“Two weeks, I wore mine for two weeks, and that changed me for good. If you wear it for about two weeks, perhaps less, that’s you for life. You have to think about consequences and fall-out from family.”

Strykur nodded.

“We can’t call you - you know what, can we?” Shannon said. “I mean, if anyone heard, it’s a bit of a bloody giveaway.”

“How about Stefan?” Strykur asked, having obviously thought about it.

“I like Thor,” said Shannon with a grin.

Keira nodded, ignoring her friend.

“Stefan sounds okay to me. So, let’s agree what we are going to do. The oil company can wait further developments. We may or may not have to get involved, that all depends on them. But this new development worries me. There are two real possibilities; one is that some hostile military or science-based group has the technology to seek us out. The second is those who made them have returned and want their technology back.

“The problem with the first is that I do not actually believe that our own people would either have the technology to seek us, and probably don’t even know of our existence. If it is the second, then we might have a serious problem. If they want the technology back, then that means they must know it is here somewhere. If they know it’s here, then they will probably know its capabilities. If they have maintained the same level of scientific and technological knowledge and abilities since whoever made these, then they will be able to manufacture more of the same or could make something to nullify our powers.”

“Yes, but if they’re trying to find them, it could be that they need the technology inside them because they don’t actually have the knowledge,” suggested Shannon.

“Then one has to try to understand why they were made in the first place,” said Stefan.

“Okay, ideas?” Keira asked.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Let’s consider what they do, aside making us stronger and stuff,” she said.

“They change our genders,” said Stefan.

“Okay, but if you’d found this one and me that one, I don’t think they would have. I think they made one to make a male and one to make a female.”

“Make?” asked Shannon.

“Yes, once you accept that these might have been made by beings that weren’t actually human like us, it gets easier to try to analyse their motives for constructing the torcs. I think perhaps these beings were so different to us that they urgently needed some camouflage so as to appear like us. This one made the wearer appear as a human female, and that one a male, but why?”

“Two genders are normal. Surely they could have just changed so as to look human.”

“We can assume nothing. Particularly if they were single gendered or multi gendered.”

“Multi-gendered?” Shannon asked.

“Don’t immediately assume they are like us. Look, to appear human they must appear either one of the other – male or female. Don’t forget that we’re talking about a long time ago when humans were probably as equally aggressive as today, but very primitive. Stefan can trace his torc back at least a good one thousand years, if not longer, but they could be double that age, or more.

“If they appeared at the time of the Vikings, we had developed weapons and warfare but little changed until the advent of gunpowder. We just don’t know enough about when they came. If the aliens appeared to primitive man and they looked so other-worldly to appear as monsters, they would have had to do something to be able to get in close to study us or to establish a colony.”

“Are you suggesting there weren’t that many of them?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. Look, if there were just a few, like one small ship’s crew, then they didn’t have safety in numbers to create a safe base from which to operate with impunity. The fact that there is little in our history about such an incursion would suggest they came before we were writing things down. I, I believe there were a few in number and they were afraid of standing out.”

“There are cave paintings depicting strange god-like creatures,” Shannon said.

Keira made a face.

“Why didn’t they stay?” Stefan asked.

“Who says they didn’t? There could be a colony here and it could have been here for thousands of years. With all the UFOs reported, perhaps they belong to aliens who are living amongst us without our knowledge.”

“That’s creepy,” said Shannon.

“Yes, very creepy, but somehow, I doubt that there are any left. It would be a mistake to rule anything out. I somehow think we’d have discovered them by now. I mean, humans are spreading like a cancer across the world, so there are so few places left to hide – especially if you are a large colony of very different beings.”

“Then why do our torcs tingle only now?” Stefan asked.

“Good point. That would indicate that perhaps some have returned. Either those who have been here have been isolated and cut off for all that time, or this is a fresh batch. Either way, what we need to know is why now and are they a threat to us, all humans, I mean?”

“How do we discover that?”

“The hard way, probably.”

“You’re forgetting the military. If they’re here, won’t the Americans and Russians have the technology to find them?”

“There is just too much we don’t know. As dangerous as it is to assume anything, if we assume that they are more advanced than us, we could also assume they know how to avoid detection. Bear in mind that they were advanced when we were just primitives. They might well have developed an isolated colony and have been here quietly improving their technology ever since.”

“Yeah, but you guys detected them,” Shannon observed.

“Using their technology,” replied Keira, touching her torc unconsciously.

“Ah.”

“If they know we’re here, will they not try to get the torcs?” Stefan asked.

“Very likely.”

“How do we prevent that?”

“We don’t take them off, for one.”

Stefan looked pained.

“Look, we might finish this in two weeks, in which case there’s nothing to worry about. Otherwise, if we fail, there will be nothing to worry about.”

He smiled a sad smile.

“Gudrun is supposed to be at work again tomorrow.”

“Phone in sick,” said Keira.

“Oh, bollocks, just quit!” said Shannon with a grin. “You know you want to.”

At that moment, Keira’s phone rang. She looked at the number and answered it.

“Yes boss?” she said.

Shannon rolled her eyes.

“Ah shit, that’s done it!” she said.

Eleven

US Air Force Base. Nevada.

Sandra sat at her desk reading the report that the newcomer had passed her. Forty-three separate reports of unknown flying objects had been reported within the last eight days. None of the craft had been larger than a beer keg, but the manner of the trajectories and behaviours discounted anything else.

The Captain who had brought the reports was patient. Rob Gibbons was unaware of the content of the reports, as secrecy was the order of the day. They decided not to send the information via computer link or radio because of the slight possibility it might be intercepted. Indeed, officers had been despatched to six different centres with the same information. Operation Chrysalis was probably the least important recipient in the eyes of the Joint Chiefs, but still important enough to warrant informing.

The other recipients were concerned with the planning and execution of a response to any overt or covert attack on the nation. If necessary, that included the entire planet, if it was in the interests of the United States to do so.

Although Sandra was unaware of it, a military attaché to the US Embassy in London had already briefed the British Prime Minister. It seems that the RAF had also detected several of the craft and in this era of sharing information with allies had informed the Americans of what they had discovered.

It had to be said that all the intelligence agencies believed the craft to be drones of some sort and the suspects were the Islamic extremists. Nobody seriously thought of them being of extra-terrestrial origins.

In the room with the attaché had been a British woman in a smart suit. The PM had simply introduced her as Amber. The attaché assumed she was something in the Intelligence services.

Amber said nothing, but left the room before the meeting was concluded.

Once back in her office she called Keira on the telephone. She could have done it telepathically, but chose not to.

“Well, what’s happening in Norway?” she asked after Keira answered.

Keira, looking across the table at Stefan, smiled.

“You were right, there was another torc. There are two of us now, and he’s a good-guy.”

“Are you sure?” Amber asked.

“As far as I can be. Put it this way, he’s rather inexperienced and doesn’t know what he really possesses. I’m going to have to train him.”

“Does his government know about him?”

“No one else knows about him; just me and Shannon.”

“Good, then keep it that way. It will save complications. How did he come to light?”

“That stolen artefact from the dig was an ancient set of instructions tied to the other torc, and so he reclaimed it before it got sent to the museum in Oslo. He got all hot and bothered as there’s an oil company threatening his local town, and part of the tradition of his torc is to protect the town from outside trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“His torc has been handed down the generations for over a thousand years. The holder always protects this little town; he’s considered a local god.”

“He’s that old?” Amber asked, surprised.

“No, he’s as mortal as you and I. The hereditary bearer is always called Strykur, and the responsibility is handed down with the torc from parent to child.”

“Ah, okay, that makes more sense. Is he okay to work with you?”

Keira smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good, as there might be more trouble brewing, and slightly more serious than some piddly little oil company,” Amber said.

“I know, for we sensed their arrival. Whoever made these torcs might well have come back to find them.”

“How did you know?”

“My torc started to buzz, as if something is trying to link with it. Stefan felt the same.”

“That will be because there have recently been a host of UFO reports; small craft, probably robotic drones sent to survey the planet. I’ve just come from a briefing at Number ten. A military attaché from the US embassy has just passed all the information they have. These craft are far too small to carry any beings of any size. There have been a couple over Scandinavia and the Baltic, as well as UK and the rest of northern Europe and North America. It seems they like the northern areas best. They appear to be conducting a search pattern. Any guesses as to what they are seeking?”

“Not the torcs?”

“Possibly. The Americans have shared their intelligence with us as we tracked several over northern Europe. More than forty different craft were tracked, and they are all over the planet.”

“Invasion?”

“Who knows? The bulk of the American Intelligence Agencies are neurotic about Islam, so most suspect that some high-tech Middle East organisation is practicing with drone to drop dirty bombs on the good old USA. The rest are in a froth about Putin and what’s left believe the North Koreans are ready to take over the world.”

“Seriously?” Keira asked.

“Seriously. You and I believe differently, as does the PM, now. I suspect that it could possibly be a scouting expedition to ascertain our strengths and weaknesses. Long range scanners by radio telescopes and other technical equipment reveal no ships. However, there are many astral bodies that could shield some small vessels. We don’t know what to look for. One positive thing is that there’s no invasion fleet lurking within close proximity, yet.”

Keira looked skyward involuntarily.

“Can you sense anything?” she asked.

“No,” said Amber. “Believe me, if I did, you’d be one of the first to hear!”

“What should we do?”

“The Americans seem keen to get a hold of one of these probes. The USAF is a little more open minded than the rest. Apparently, back in the fifties, they intercepted a message that appears to have been sent a hell of a long time ago in a language that has taken a long time to translate. They only cracked it very recently. It made no sense to them, but as soon as they told me about it, I knew for certain that we might be in trouble.

“It seems that a highly advanced race visited this planet in pre-history and something in the atmosphere disagreed with them. They all died, but not before coming into contact with our ancestors. They didn’t get on, so the aliens were forced to rely on technology to camouflage themselves and make them look like humans.”

“The torcs, I knew it!”

“Well, now we know that there are two, exactly. Now, I haven’t mentioned them to anyone, even the PM. At the moment, we’re the only people who know what they are after. The US Air Force has been tracking the probes, but whenever one of their Air Force planes gets anywhere close, they vanish. It’s as if they are under strict orders not to be seen.”

“Vanish as in go invisible or disappear quickly?”

“The latter, I think. Anyway, there’s a news blackout, so keep this quiet. We want them to think we don’t know about them.”

“Is there any way we could get one of these thingies?”

“We?”

“Me and Stefan. If they’re looking for the torcs, then one might allow us to get close enough to grab it. Then we could snaffle it somehow.”

“Let me speak to some people. I will not tell them about the torcs, so will let them believe that you’re specially gifted.”

Keira grinned.

“You mean we’re not?” she asked.

“Not without some help,” said Amber. “If needs be, I’ll come out there, along with a certain bird of prey.”

“Okay; when will we know?”

“Soon,” said Amber as she severed the connection.

London.

Katharine, also known as Kezzy by a select few, slowly released her grip around the man’s throat, allowing a little air back into his lungs through his bruised larynx.

“Where is it?” she repeated, very quietly, but with such menace that the man almost wept. He shook his head reluctantly. He still feared his own people more than he did this attractive girl.

“Oh, you twat!” she said, getting cross. “Do you honestly fear them more than me?”

With that, still holding onto his neck, she launched straight up and stopped at around three thousand feet. It was cold and windy up here.

The man, whose real name was Imran, looked down and shuddered. Involuntarily, he pissed himself. Okay, he was now more scared of the attractive girl than the men who sent him in to plant the bomb.

It was night-time, which was to her advantage. It’s not every day that one sees a flying girl. This time, she left her suit at home. In fact, she rarely wore it these days. It doesn’t make good publicity for the Secret Intelligence services if one of their agents flies around getting into all the media sites while dressed in a figure-hugging, super-suit.

She wore the usual jeans and an old rugby shirt. In fact, the latter belonged to her boyfriend, so she hoped this little jaunt wouldn’t ruin it. Martin was ever so patient, but he never liked it when she ruined his clothes.

“Imran, in five seconds you are going to die an inglorious and anonymous death by falling three thousand feet into the Thames. It will take you several seconds to fall and you will no doubt think of just a few things, let one of them be the guilt of being responsible for killing loads of innocent people for a cause that is a lie. I will ask you one more time and then, if you fail to answer with the truth, I’m going to drop you. Where is it?”

Imran hesitated, but not for long.

“One thing, lover boy. When you die and you get your reward of a thousand virgins in the afterlife; did you ever stop to wonder whether they’re male virgins or girl virgins?  If your friends told you a pack of lies to get you to do this in the first place, how come they’re not here doing this instead of you? You see, I think they know that a thousand rampant young males with enormous dicks are eagerly awaiting you and your bottom in paradise.  You’re their reward, not the other way around.”

Suddenly, all of what he had been led to believe seemed insignificant now. This girl showed that all he had been told about might not be the one he had envisaged. Perhaps those who told him got their message wrong, for he now believed himself in the presence of a heavenly being and she was definitely not on his side.

“Battersea Bridge,” he muttered, having decided not to die, just yet.

“Where about on the bridge?”

“North side, under the upstream span.”

She was tempted to drop him anyway. However, she could hear Amber’s instructions and as she was reluctant to incur her boss’s wrath, she altered her hold on the man and descended back down to earth. As she did so, and much to Imran’s bewilderment, she focussed her mind and called Amber, informing her of what she had discovered.

<I’ll get the bomb squad to the bridge, you get him here,> her boss told her.

Time was crucial, so she dropped the man in the secure courtyard at a certain riverside block that housed the Intelligence Services. Two security men, alerted by Amber, took hold of him as she shot off to Battersea.

She saw the blue lights as she approached. Needless to say, where the blue lights and cordons were, so too were the media trucks, eager, no doubt, for more scandal or tale of potential suffering. Sighing, she came in to land on the South Bank, in an area of relative darkness and walked onto the bridge, waving her credentials at the police officer on the cordon on the south side.

As she approached, she recognised the two, army bomb-disposal men from previous incidents. They had deployed a remotely controlled, tracked robot to probe the area and to ascertain exactly what they had.

They stood by their truck, watching the monitor that displayed what the camera on the unit was seeing.

“Hi guys,”

“Oh, hi Kezzy; any idea what we got?” said Andy Simms, the Warrant Officer.

“Five kilos of plastic wrapped around eight kilos of nails, with a mobile phone detonation system.”

“Shit. Who’s got the other end?”

Kezzy shook her head.

“No idea, but the Boss has called in the technical team who should be jamming this area, so you’ve got a window.”

In fact, the technical team was Amber herself, utilising her unique powers to block cell phone signals in the area.

They found the device, exactly where Imran had said. The cell phone was strapped to the detonation system and it showed no signal. Using the remote arm on the unit, Andy managed to sever the connections and remove the phone. Then he reversed the unit out of harm’s way.

Wearing his full armour, Andy strode out and met the unit, taking the phone in gloved hands and placing it into a plastic bag. He nodded to Kezzy, who took the bag, signed for it and walked off into the night.

A Metropolitan Police Anti-Terrorist officer arrived and watched her retreating back.

“Who the fuck was that?” he asked the soldiers as they prepared to move in and remove the explosives.

“That, my friend, is the nearest thing you will ever get to James Bond, except she’s a hell of a lot more attractive. Oh, and she’s the real deal.”

“How the hell did she get to hear of this before us?”

“You just thank the lucky stars she did, because if she hadn’t, you’d be fishing dead motorists out of their cars from the bottom of the Thames.”

“Huh?”

“Where do you think we got the information about this? It’s thanks to her we got here before they managed to set the damn thing off.”

“Is that evidence she’s removed from the scene?” the officer asked.

“Believe me; she can do more with it than you guys ever could. She’ll be able to match it to the terrorists who did this. She’s probably already detained them.”

The officer shook his head.

“Nobody ever tells me nuffink,” he complained and then tried to think how he could explain this one to his Chief Inspector.

Kezzy placed the sealed evidence bag containing the phone onto Amber’s desk and sat down as Amber finished a telephone call.

“That was a close one, boss.”

“Yes, but you performed brilliantly, as always.”

“No, I was lucky. They almost managed it, so one of these days...”

Amber interrupted her.

“No, we won this time, and that is all that matters. We worry about the next one when it appears. The door opened and a bespectacled young man entered.

“I heard you have the phone?” he said.

Amber pointed to the item on the desk.

“Anyone touched it?”

“Andy, the WO1 on the army unit gave it to me in the bag,” said Kezzy. “He wore gloves, so any prints will be the bad guys.”

“Okay, when I’m done, I’ll pass it to forensics. Who’s doing the follow up?”

Kezzy was about to claim that one when Amber butted in.

“Give it to section two. They’re at a loose end at the moment.”

“Hey, boss, this is my job. I want to see it through,” Kezzy complained.

“I’ve something more important for you,” Amber said.

“What’s more important to National Security?”

“Global Security. Keira and Shannon are in Norway. I want you to join them and see how best to face this new challenge?”

“What new challenge?”

“Keira will tell you when you get there. I want you on the next flight to... ah, silly me. Can you get there by eight tomorrow morning?”

Kezzy smiled.

“Being a civil servant is ruining your edge. For someone with super powers yourself, you’re getting forgetful, boss. I can get there by any time you want. It might help if you told me where I’m supposed to be going?”

“Griðastaður.”

“Bless you.”

“I wasn’t sneezing; that’s the name of the place.”

“Is that supposed to mean anything?”

Smiling, Amber shook her head. She liked Kezzy, for more than the fact she could identify so much within her life. The younger woman had a wicked sense of humour and seemed always cheerful. She’d been a lot older than Amber when, under her own steam, so to speak, she had changed to the gender she always believed she should have been. She still revelled in her relatively new condition every day she woke up a girl.

Amber had arranged for tests to be undertaken on the girl to try to discover how she was able to have done what she did. Just as in her case, they found nothing. They were both naturally specially-gifted people that displayed no evidence as to how or why they were able to do the things they could do.

In the bad old days, when ignorance ruled supreme, they’d both have been chucked into the pond or set on fire for being witches.

Fortunately, those days were gone, but ignorance was still supreme. Amber smiled, as long as the ignorant stay ignorant, that’s fine.

Unlike Keira, who had used the torc to change and from that same item had been granted special powers, Amber and Kezzy had no external device. All their powers came from within. Amber’s were more cerebral, while Kezzy’s were more practical. There was some overlap, but Amber used mental manipulation, Kezzy was more in your face.

Where Amber could mentally teleport herself from one location to another, Kezzy did the same thing, but made it appear like flying. What she was doing was many infinitesimal jumps, so that had you a camera you would see millions of little jumps and not a single, fluid movement. The human eye is such that to all intents and purposes Kezzy could fly and counteract gravity. She couldn’t, but she could transfer herself along a line, through the air in a series of jumps so she appeared to be flying.

Amber took her in hand and taught her to teleport smoothly, cutting the jumps to one or perhaps two when corrections were needed. It was safer all round, as there was no longer a flying female to be seen by neurotic members of the public.

Being much younger than Amber was another advantage, as she had the energy and stamina to do these things apparently effortlessly. Amber was feeling her age, as sixty was no age to be leaping off tall buildings. Kezzy was only in her early twenties; so, along with Keira they brought youthful exuberance and energy to support Amber in her department.

There were other gifted individuals who had parts to play, but none as powerful as the two girls, or indeed, Amber herself.

“Go home, grab some change of clothing and get your arse over to Griðastaður. It’s a small place on the west coast of Norway. Look it up on Google if you need to know where it is. Oh, and you’d better tell Martin that you might be away for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“As long as it takes, my dear; now scram!”

Martin and J

Kezzy’s flat was in Battersea, close to the river and not far from the old converted power station. Martin was now a well-known and quite famous artist. His bronze sculpture of the famous Kestrel still stood outside the old Globe Building, now owned by United News.

It had been his turning point, as other media moguls and high-flying business people felt it fitting to have an original Kempston in their collection or on display in their place of business.

In the six years when Jezzy had been growing up, Martin had flourished as an artist, but his personal life had all but died.

His mother went on at him to go out and find Kezzy, but he didn’t know where to start.

That day at the gallery when she appeared looking exactly as he remembered her had been the happiest day in his life.

After leaving the gallery, they’d gone to the same Thai restaurant that he’d taken her to for their first meal together. He still couldn’t believe that she had only been fourteen at the time.

“But you looked much like you do now!” he protested. Okay, perhaps not quite as glamorous and sophisticated, but not that different.

“You know that I have gifts, Martin, and one of them is the ability to look older. I don’t have to anymore.”

She was back; that was all that mattered.  She was in her final year at Oxford University, reading English, but he didn’t care, for she was back.

Shortly after her arrival on the scene, the Kestrel appeared again occasionally to save people or prevent serious crime.  His new pictures of her captured the fresh energy of the girl, and his income improved accordingly.

He started producing new pictures of Kezzy, not as the Kestrel. One, a vast oil painting of the semi-naked girl lying on a grassy bank was bought by a well-known entrepreneur and airline owner for his London Headquarters.

They didn’t become lovers immediately, much to Martin’s frustration. She was busy studying in Oxford, and he had his work. They met occasionally, and he always felt wonderful for several days after any date. He longed to be with her a lot more and missed her dreadfully.

Indeed, one day he met Kezzy in the West End of London with another man. He was off to meet a prospective client and he saw her come out of a cinema in Leicester Square with a young man of her age.

At first, he couldn’t believe it, but then felt the cold tendrils of jealousy and anger creep upon him.

Kezzy saw him and didn’t bat an eye. Indeed, she smiled so warmly at him, he immediately felt guilty and ashamed.

She came up to him and kissed his cheek.

“Martin, Hi. Wow, fancy meeting you here. Oh, this is my old school chum, Simon. We used to go to school together ages ago and I haven’t seen him in about six years. Simon, this is the wonderful Martin Kempston, the artist who has been drawing and painting me for all these years. He did that enormous sculpture of me for that bastard MacDonald.”

Martin was a bit shocked that Simon knew all about the secret that he thought only they shared.

“Don’t look all silly, Martin; Simon has known for years. It’s been our secret too. Anyway, he’s got a new job, so we’re having a little private celebration. I’ve got my first in English from Oxford, and he’s flying out to Singapore to start with a far eastern shipping company next week.”

Martin could hardly contain his delight that the big and very good-looking young man was leaving Britain. He then remembered his meeting, so he made his apologies and left the pair to the rest of their day.

Later, although tempted to call her, he was strong and resisted the urge. Instead, the next morning, she called him, setting up a dinner date for that Friday.

He wanted to take her to the fanciest restaurant he knew. Now he was earning big money and had been entertained by some very high-flying clients, his horizons had broadened as had his bank account.

“No,” she said, “I like that little Thai place. I feel at home there.”

So, once again, they met in the Thai restaurant that had a special place in his heart.

Martin realised that Kezzy had changed significantly as he watched her enter the restaurant some five minutes after him.

She wasn’t late; it was just that he was early. She wasn’t dressed like so many young women in their early twenties – in the statutory stressed jeans and shapeless tops. She looked far too professional for a girl who had recently finished university. Her long hair was up, tightly wrapped in a complicated braid system that looked neat and elegant.

She wore a fawn skirt, a cream blouse and a short, unique dark jacket that he discovered was velvet when she arrived at the table and kissed his cheek.

Rather than sitting opposite him she slid in next to him at the small table for four.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked.

“No, I was early. That’s the advantage of being self-employed; one can do what the hell one likes.”

“Have you ordered?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d wait for you. I did have a beer though.”

“I’d kill for one of those. See if you can catch her eye while I check the menu,” she said, picking up the menu.

“Bum, why break the habit of a lifetime; a green chicken curry and coconut rice.”

They ordered and drank some beer while they waited. The waitress brought a basket of prawn crackers, on which they grazed while waiting.

“No specs?” he asked, noticing she had no glasses on.

“No, I had laser surgery. Don’t need them anymore.”

He was surprised.

“A super-heroine that needs surgery, that’s a bit weird.”

“We all have our weak points. I can take as much kryptonite as you can chuck at me. Besides, I’m fixed now.”

“You look very smart,” he said.

“So do you. I’m not used to seeing you in a suit.”

“I’ve moved up in the world.”

“Are you still in the same flat?”

“No, I moved to a place nearer the river. I bought this one, as the old place was just rented.”

“I’m impressed, still got a north facing window?”

He smiled.

“Yes; I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“I remember most things. How are your mum and dad?”

“Fine. Mum keeps asking after you. She still thinks I frightened you away, somehow.”

Kezzy smiled and fiddled with her paper napkin.

“I frightened myself away. I was falling in love with you, and it would never have worked.”

“You were?”

“You know I was. You were in love with me, so it was obvious.”

“I still am,” he admitted.

She smiled again and took his hand.

“I know.”

“Why wouldn’t it have worked?” he asked.

“I was fourteen, Martin. I had to do a lot of growing up and learning how to be a girl.”

He frowned.

“What do you mean?”

She seemed about to say something, but then shook her head.

“I turned myself into a woman, so had to go back and learn to be a girl,” she said, feeling pleased with how she almost told him the truth.

“Oh,” he said, not fully understanding.

“Look, I made myself to look to be in my twenties, so I had to go back and finish school and all that jazz. My Dad died and left us some money, so I was able to go to a new school and start over. That’s when Kestrel went away for a while.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be; he buggered off when I was little. I never knew him.”

“So, is Kestrel back for good, now?”

“No, Martin, Kestrel is probably not going to be seen again.”

“How come?”

She sighed, still going over the words that Amber had said to her when she signed up.

“I’ve out-grown Kestrel, and well, it’s hard to explain. As much as society likes the concept of comic-book heroes, they actually don’t transpose well into real life. They should stay in comic books. The idea that we can fight crime and live a normal existence is simply bollocks. Then there’s the jealousy and simply being different – it sucks! Just take it from me that Kestrel has moved on.”

“I’m sorry; I had hoped to keep doing the strip for a long time to come.”

“Oh, don’t stop the comic strip; it’s great. We all loved it at Oxford. You should have heard some of the lofty professors with their silly theories about her origins and where she got her powers. It was laughable really.”

“Only if you know the truth. Just where do your powers come from?” he asked.

The waitress arrived with their food, so interrupted the train of conversation.

After she’d gone, she watched him start to eat.

He looked up.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Where do you come from?”

“You know that; North West London.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“No, you know what I mean. Where do your powers come from?”

“I have no idea. I think I sort of thought them into existence.”

“How?”

“I have no idea. I just have them, and hey, while I have them, I’m not that bothered how or why.”

“It might be interesting to know.”

She shrugged.

“Well, it’s the same with everyone to some degree. How come you’re such a good artist?”

He looked surprised.

“I don’t know.”

“There you are. Same thing on a different scale, that’s all.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought. She watched him. Her mind was in a little bit of turmoil. She still felt very fond of Martin, as he was the complete opposite of all the bright young men with a burning desire to be millionaires before they were forty or the CEOs of a multi-million-pound corporation within a few years.

He was sensitive, intelligent, gifted and very gentle. He liked his art and was now at the top of his game; being much sought-after and in demand. He was making good money, about which he was rather casual and off-hand. He was one of those people in whom one can always rely to be there for one. It was the main reason she loved him.

He looked up to see her watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Of course. What?”

“Where do you want this to go; us, I mean?”

He stared at her with a laden fork half way to his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me to marry you just after we met and I made some joke about it. Now, here we are, six years down the line and I’m not sure of anything anymore. My life has changed; hell, I’ve changed and I suspect that you’ve probably changed a bit too. Time does that. I need to know what you expect of me and what I can expect of you.”

“This is a bit deep.”

“Yeah, well, we’re at a sort of crunch time in our lives. You asked me about my powers, and they are the whole point of this. I mean, we met because of them, and I suppose neither of us would know the other existed if they hadn’t come along. As for their origins, no one can tell me. The best bet is I imagined them into existence, but it’s just a guess.”

“They’re real, and I suppose that’s the important bit.”

“Yes, Martin, they’re real and I made some decisions. Being a superhero and saving people is all very well but it doesn’t pay the bills, so I’ve got a new job. Well, I suppose I want to know if we’re going to walk together or not, for a bit at least.”

“Walk together?”

“Stop being so dim, Martin. Do you really still love me?”

“You know I do. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

He delivered his fork to his mouth before the noodles all fell off.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

“I think I do. Perhaps that’s what I really need to know.”

“What?”

“When I was at Oxford, there were a lot of guys who all wanted me to go out with them. I had fun, but never got serious with anyone, because every time someone started getting a bit heavy, I compared him to you, and well, I never progressed with any of them. They simply didn’t measure up.”

He blushed and said nothing, so she continued.

“I like being with you, Martin, as you make me feel complete and safe. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that a relationship with me will never be normal, so I need to give you the space to walk away.”

“A relationship?”

“Oh, Martin, you are a dim pillock sometimes! Do you want a girlfriend or not?”

His eyes opened in surprise.

“You?”

“Of course, me, who do you think? Do you think I’m touting for some Ukrainian pole-dancer or something?”

“I’d be honoured,” he stammered.

“Because if you do, there are a few things we need to agree upon first.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t agree until you’ve heard them, okay?”

“No, I agree, whatever they are.”

“I don’t want you to agree without hearing them, Martin. You know my secret, so that stays between us, regardless. If we split up, then you keep silent, no matter how acrimonious the split is, okay?”

“Okay.

“Two, you accept my job without question. I may be gone for days or weeks at a time, so just accept it and well, that’s it, just accept it.”

“Your job?”

“My job.”

“What job?”

“I am now employed by the Secret Intelligence Services in a special department for specially gifted people. I’m a spook, Martin, so Kestrel is now working for HMG.”

He sat back and looked surprised.

“I never saw that coming,” he admitted.

“Think about it; what kind of income can a superhero hope to achieve just saving people? Fire-fighters, paramedics and cops all get paid to do the same thing. I’m now putting my skills to use in an area that is both appreciated and paid for.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.”

“Well?”

“I accept, without reservation.”

“There’s one more thing,” she said.

“Which is?”

“My past; before we met, I mean.”

“What about it?”

“It stays shut. You don’t ever ask where I came from or what my early life was; okay?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know and it is no longer relevant.”

“Can you give me a hint? Are you an alien?”

“Martin!” she said, exasperated.

He placed both hands up in surrender.

“Okay! I accept. I promise that your past is a closed book.”

Kezzy’s expression changed into a relaxed smile.

“Great, then tell me, what did you get up to today?”

They went back to his new flat after the meal. Martin was still half-expecting Kezzy to fly away or do something equally out of place. However, she simply placed her arm through his and walked with him.

Martin was unsure as to how to proceed. He wanted her like nothing else in his life, but did not want to blow his chances with her by coming on too strong.

“Do you want to come in for a coffee or something?”

“Of course.”

It was a top floor flat, with two big bedrooms, a bathroom, a large lounge/diner and a big open plan kitchen. There was another room, looking north over the Thames. It was supposed to be a small bedroom, but this was his studio and the main reason he bought the flat.

It was remarkably neat and tidy. Kezzy was a little disappointed, expecting a friendly mess or something that was more Martin.

“My mother came yesterday and tidied up,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Do you see much of her?”

“Not really; not as much as before. Dad is due to retire next year, so they won’t be coming up to London so much.”

“Have you told her that I’m back?”

“I may have mentioned that we were going out for a meal.”

Kezzy rolled her eyes.

“Great, so she’s going to be buying wedding hats already.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to disagree with her.

“Coffee?” he asked, but really wanting to ask if she wanted sex.

“Not at this time, I’ll never get to sleep. How about a hot chocolate?”

“Yes, I can do that. Sugar?”

“No thanks,” she said, looking at some of his paintings.

“You’re getting better,” she said, looking at a painting of a naked girl draped across a chaise long.

“Hmm.”

“Is she supposed to be me?”

“I think they are all you.”

She smiled.

“You’re a bit potty; sweet, but potty.”

“So, where are you living?”

“I have to find somewhere. I could doss down at home with my mum, but I’m not keen on doing that. She will nag me to death and worry all the time I’m at work.”

“Won’t she do that wherever you are?”

“Probably, but if I’m living with her, she’ll voice it all the time.”

“You could stay here,” he said hopefully.

She said nothing for a moment. She sat there looking up at him as he made her a hot chocolate.

“You wanted to screw me when we first met, didn’t you?” she asked. There was no accusatory tone or malice in the very simple question. He felt embarrassed, so laughed.

“Yes. Hell, Kezzy I fantasised about you before we even met. That’s why I drew you, as I couldn’t think of anything else. I still can’t.”

“Then, how about after I’ve drunk the chocolate, you take me to bed and allow your fantasies to become real?”

He was stunned, so in the absence of his mouth being able to utter anything, he simply stirred the chocolate.

“I know it’s not exactly romantic, but I have needs too, and I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like. You see, I’ve dreamed of going to bed with you since way back then, too. So, how about it?”

It wasn’t that romantic, but then somehow it was absolutely her. Something happened to both of them that night, when fantasies touched the Earth and became reality. The next morning, Martin had a live-in girlfriend and Kezzy had a big smile on her face.

Twelve

Keira woke as something was hammering through her unconsciousness.

It was her bedroom door. Not that the door was hammering, but something or someone was hammering on the other side of it. Bleary-eyed she got out of bed, trying not to disturb Stefan. He was naked under the sheet, apart from the torc that was still around his neck.

After wrapping her dressing-gown around her own naked body, she opened the door to see Kezzy who was shivering in her jeans and a jacket with a small backpack on her back.

“Shit! It’s bloody freezing in limbo. Can I use your shower? They can’t give me a room for another three hours,” she said, pushing past Keira and towards the bathroom. She glanced at the sleeping Viking.

“Tasty!” she said, and grinned at Keira who was fighting not to smile too much. Part of it was pride and part was embarrassment. Not that she and Kezzy had anything to hide. Once they discovered they had so much in common, they often talked about sex and men. Kezzy shared some intimate details with Keira, so that the next time she met Martin, she felt acutely embarrassed at what she actually knew about him.

“What’s happening?” Keira asked the girl as she unselfconsciously stripped off and stepped into the shower, whacking the temperature control all the way up.

“I have no idea, the boss told me you’d tell me when I arrived. She did say it was a global problem, so what the hell is it?”

“We think that aliens have come and they might be looking for the torcs.”

Kezzy stared at Keira with her mouth open.

“You what?”

“The Americans and our people have tracked many small UFOs that appear to be scanning the northern regions as if looking for something. Our torcs have been reacting strangely, like a buzzing sensation, so they could be the original makers who have turned up and want them back.”

“Our torcs? Since when have there been more than one?”

“Ah, Stefan has the counterpart to mine; the male version.”

“Stefan? You mean that hulk in your bed?”

Keira grinned sheepishly.

“Oh yes? Do tell; I suppose that’s a good story?” Kezzy said, chuckling.

“That’s for later,” said Keira. “Amber feels that we might have to lure a craft down in order to capture it so we can try to ascertain who sent them.”

“Lure? You mean you have to act as a sacrificial goat for some unknown advanced race of blood-thirsty, many tentacled maniacs?”

“I suppose so,” said Keira having a touch of the seconds.

“Not a good idea,” Kezzy said, while shampooing her long hair.

“Why not?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“Think about it for a moment. If they are as advanced as the torcs suggest, we may never find out what we want to know and both of you might lose your torcs. No, what we do is capture one without putting your precious torcs in danger.”

“How?”

“We’ll have a working breakfast and see if we can’t work out a plan. They do decent breakfasts here, don’t they?”

“They’re okay.”

“Be a love and go wake up your Viking warrior and give me a chance to finish up. Is that greedy bugger Shannon with you?”

“Yes.”

“Probably already finishing the sausages. Get your boyfriend dressed and we’ll go for breakfast in twenty minutes.

Half an hour later the small group sat at the big circular table in the dining-room window. Kezzy poured herself a second cup of coffee almost before everyone was sat down.

Shannon sat down at the table and saw Kezzy.

“Hi Kez! You okay?”

“Good, thanks. You?”

“I’m fine. Bloody wet out there, again.”

“It is bloody freezing doing a jump that far!” Kezzy said in justification. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be warm again!”

“That’s your problem. Amber says that you should try one jump instead of loads of little ones. That way you’d stay warm,” Keira said.

“I know, but it’s a tough habit to break.”

Stefan wasn’t quite sure how to take this new girl. Neither was he certain what Keira had said about him, but he didn’t like the way Kezzy grinned knowingly at him every time she looked his way.

He had thought of taking his torc off and returning to being Gudrun, but now, after last night, he felt as if he would probably take the advice of both girls and leave it on. His experience with Keira was such that he never wanted to go back to being a girl.

He wasn’t certain whether his performance had been anything special, but at one point he had to place a gentle hand over Keira’s mouth to prevent her screaming her pleasure too loudly.

Also, the way she looked at him this morning was such to persuade him that he was where he belonged. Yes, there would be potential difficulties with his parents. He avoided thinking too much about that as he found it distinctly uncomfortable and slightly distressing. He could see no easy way of dealing with it.

The hotel restaurant was full. There were many news-people staying here, so they were strangers in a room full of strangers. There’s no better camouflage than being invisible in plain sight.

Once they all had food in front of them, it was Stefan who started the ball rolling.

“Okay, so, what do we know?” he asked.

“Okay, we know the torcs contain the root of our powers and that they are very old, so were probably not made by human hands; or not Earth-humans at least,” Keira said.

“Amber suspects that they were constructed so that the builders could exist alongside humans without being seen for what they were,” added Shannon. “She feels that the extra bits: the anti-gravity and other enhanced stuff were added to enable them to work more efficiently in a very alien environment. After all, these things replaced suits and they couldn’t exactly drive around in a truck in those days; not if they wanted to remain hidden.”

“Are they important to the aliens?” Kezzy asked, so Keira answered as best she could.

“That’s a tricky one. I should say probably not as important as whether the planet has the right climate and atmosphere. I should think that the microbiology is pretty vital as well.  I suspect their main concern is us - the savage indigenous population. That is, after all, probably why the original lot built the torcs in the first place.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, we know from experience that the torcs let the atmosphere in, even if they can filter some stuff out, like rain. I suppose it is a matter of elimination and working amongst humans without showing out as being different is about the only good reason you get left with.”

“So, that begs the question; why did they come in the first place?” Stefan asked.

“Amber said something about a message intercepted and partially translated by the Americans. It appears that the first lot who made the torcs might have been here a long time ago to see if Earth is habitable for their race.”

“Why didn’t they stay; or have they and we don’t know about it?” Stefan asked.

“Good question. With all the talk of UFOs and alien abductions, they might well have a hidden colony somewhere remote. Amber thinks it doubtful. If you’re looking for a planet, then you want the whole thing and not just a very small and secret colony. As for why they didn’t hang about, the message would indicate that it seems likely that the microbiology got them and not a human caveman with a pointed stick.”

“Okay, but why come here in the first place?”

“It could be anything. I mean, look at us – we go places for two reasons: one – to see if we can and two – to see if there’s anything there we can use. It might be the same for the aliens. They obviously could get here and it seems they wanted somewhere to live, so two reasons stand out. One, they’d lost their own world somehow, or two, they’d outgrown it and needed to expand.”

“Like we’re doing to this planet, you mean?” Stefan said.

“Exactly; only we aren’t that far down the line yet,” said Keira.

“So, if they’re still around somewhere out there, do they still need our world?”

“Another good question. Perhaps the fact that they’re back and interested might well answer that one.”

“I wonder what they’re like,” said Stefan.

“Well, if these things were designed to make them look human, then probably roughly our size and shape.  Our problem is we’ve had several generations of wild hypotheses and science fiction movies. One thing we know - if our ancestors attacked them without hesitation, then they might well be very different in features, say insectoid or similar. The torcs fit us perfectly, so there must be a neck or suitable appendage that they were designed for.”

“If they are like ants, then it could go around a section, like the narrow bit before the thorax,” Stefan said.

“Big bugs bent on conquest; the press would have a field day,” mused Shannon, stuffing too much toast into her mouth.

“So, how are we going to get hold of one of these craft?” Kezzy asked.

“Well, for a start, we don’t let either of these two anywhere near the damn things. We do not want to advertise that humans have a hold of them, let alone can use them,” Shannon said.

“That makes sense, but it somewhat restricts our available personnel,” Keira said grimly.

Shannon grinned.

“Well, for once, us mere mortals will come to the rescue, won’t we, Kezzy?”

“We can but try,” Kezzy said.

“This is all very well, but how can we do it?” Stefan persisted.

Kezzy grinned.

“I think that’s where I come in,” she said.

At around fifteen thousand feet, probe #17 was stationary in a cloud bank dithering. It was unaware it was dithering, but the two counter-programs successfully cancelled each other out and left the probe in temporary freeze-mode as its internal systems attempted to resolve the conflict.

Background systems were fine, in that it was able to counteract gravity to maintain its position. However, it was no longer sending data to control, and would not be able to do so until the internal conflict was resolved.

The probe was relatively new, but the technology was ancient by human standards. Indeed, this race had not actually created much new technology since leaving their home-world several millennia ago.  They were well able to repair, update and replace what already existed, but the inherent ability to create anything new was lacking.

Before you snort with derision, one has to appreciate that they were a highly advanced race even back then, so actually, if one is honest, one has to say that there wasn’t much left to be invented.  They were, however, an old race, and as with all creatures that had been around a long time, they were in that complacent stage. Although they were not actually conscious of it, due to their space-faring life-style, their race’s birth-rate was in a very gradual decline. This decline was beginning to accelerate, which could indicate the potential for self-extinction due to complacency.

As for probe #17, it would require interference from the control to un-freeze it, and in doing so the reason for the dither would be unravelled and probably cause some excitement amongst the visitors.

As it happened, all probes occasionally went off-line to process data prior to streaming it to the control. Most were off-line for nanoseconds or even several seconds, or very occasionally - minutes. There were two reasons the operators in the control were not quick to react. The first was simple; this was the first time any of them had actually arrived at a planet that was a potential home. None of them had ever done this before, so this was also the first time that they had used the full complement of probes for real and not in training. The second was the fact that they were using old technology, so although regularly maintained and with replacement parts, they were prone to malfunction. Therefore, it was not usual to be in that state for more than half an hour, such as probe #17.

On the console, all probes’ status was available as a light system. A variant of yellow meant they were on-line, red off-line and off for dead. The blinking lights were annoying at best and epileptic-inducing at worst for the operators. The system had been as it was for so long that nobody could remember a different one, so it was all they had. The operators tended not to remain glued to the screen, and often found more worthwhile occupations to conduct with an occasional glance at the console when one had nothing more constructive to do. One of the constants among the scout crew was there was always something to do.

Its cameras and sensory receptors were all off-line and so the arrival of Kezzy at probe#17 was not transmitted or even recorded.

Not that she would have been identifiable, as she wore an air-force pressure suit with oxygen mask due to the altitude.

It had taken the team some time to locate this particular probe. The fact it wasn’t moving assisted, as it gave a small radar shadow that showed at the RAF radar centre in Scotland that had been tracking it, which was fed back to Amber and on to the team in Norway.

“Now what the hell do I do with it?” the girl asked anyone who could give a reasonable answer, probably not Shannon.

<Bring it to Ørland Main Air Station of the Royal Norwegian Air Force. It’s at Brekstad, not that far away from you. I’ll meet you there. Leave Keira and her boyfriend where they are.>

<Amber! When did you get here?>

<I’m not; not yet. I’ll see you when you land.  You’ll see a hangar waiting for you.>

Kezzy was good, but she knew that Amber, despite being so ancient, was better than all of them. She knew, for example, that Amber could think herself instantly somewhere else, no matter the distance involved.

Probe #17 didn’t want to be removed from where it was quite content to dither. However, when faced with a determined Kezzy and a big black bin-liner, the probe lost.

On the console in the alien ship, the red light went out. Here was where the alien technology showed its supremacy. Just as Kezzy was stuffing the probe into a bag, a wave of nausea hit her and she passed out. Held in place by a tractor beam from the alien ship, she and the probe were silently and swiftly retrieved.

“What do you mean, vanished?” Amber said to the worried-looking air force officer on her arrival at the Norwegian air force station. She was on the phone to her control in London who was in touch with the radar station that had been monitoring the probe.

Unable to answer her questions satisfactorily caused her to terminate the conversation and swear volubly and fluently. She then used her mind to call Keira.

<Have you heard from Kezzy?> she asked.

<No, why, is she not there?>

<She’s vanished according to the radar people. Did she make contact with any of you?>

<No; the last I heard she was going off to snaffle the UFO.>

<Damn it! We’ve possibly seriously underestimated the enemy. If she’s been captured, we have to take immediate steps to get her back.>

<Can’t you contact her?” Keira asked, knowing that Amber’s powers were so much more than most of them.>

<No; which leads me to suppose she’s not conscious.>

<Or dead,> said Keira, reluctantly.

<No,> said the older woman. <I’d know.>

<So, what do we do?>

<Are you still in that unpronounceable place?>

<Yes. Do you want us to come to you?>

<No. There’s no advantage in that. Look, I’m going to do some scouting. I want you two to keep a very low profile, which means not doing anything to shine out. I suspect they might already know that the torcs exist, but just haven’t found them yet. Indeed, they may not even know as to what they look like. If that probe is involved, then perhaps they will download the data and it might reveal your last location. It might be best that you get the hell out of there, and soon.>

Amber thought for a moment.

<Get yourselves to London.>

<London? Why?>

<One, I have resources there that I can call on if necessary, so there’s no problem to be smoothed over with other governments and authorities. Two, with eight million people milling about they are less likely to try to come for you and with less chance of actually locating you. If you stay here out on a limb, they’ll locate the torcs and attempt to remove them with far less likelihood of being discovered.>

<If Kezzy needs our help, shouldn’t we at least try to get her to safety?>

Amber shook her head.

<She’s a big girl. We don’t know where she is or under what circumstances she is being held. Until we know both of those, there is very little any of us can do. My job is to locate her; your job is to do what you’re told. If I need you, I shall contact you. At some point, it might be a good idea to split up. If you’re both in the same location, then perhaps it will simply make the enemy’s job easier.>

<I hope she’s all right,> Keira said.

<Don’t we all? Now, get going.>

Thirteen

Kezzy started to gradually regain consciousness. Instantly recalling the circumstances of her last thoughts, she remained perfectly still and did not make any movement that might alert her captors to her state of consciousness, or lack of it.

She was lying on her back on a reasonably soft surface and was a lot warmer than she had been at the last altitude where she was attempting to grab the mini-UFO. She could feel that her suit had been removed. She was lying, so that meant gravity was pulling her down.

However, somehow the gravity felt odd – less perhaps? She did not attempt to move, as that would indicate her return to consciousness. She wanted to keep that advantage for the moment.

She could tell without opening her eyes that there was sufficient light with which she could see, but kept her eyes closed and her breathing slow and regular. She did not feel pain anywhere, but sensed that her feet and wrists were strapped down, and there was a tight restriction across her chest, just beneath her breasts.

As she lay there, she concentrated on her other senses; mainly listening.

There was a slight vibration through whatever she was lying on, and that vibration made a slight throbbing sound. There was no movement discernible close to her, but she suspected that there might well be some form of camera trained on her, as well as other sensors to detect change of heart rate, BP or breathing.

She started to use her mind to see if she could sense the presence of those who had taken her captive. To her surprise, she found she could detect no less than eight individual minds in reasonably close proximity. None were in the same chamber as her, but as she drifted mentally between them, she understood that she was on a ship of some kind, and not the aquatic type!

The ship was not a large one, but the over-riding emotion she managed to sense from all eight of the crew was fear.

They were afraid of her. No, that wasn’t quite accurate, they were damn near terrified!

Their mental patterns and linguistic systems were utterly alien to her, but the fear came over as a deep maroon colour, which was shared by all of them almost in equal measure.

This fear was a constant as they were clearly discussing her and her apparent abilities. As her mind hovered in that mental arena, she realised that they were clearly unaware of her mental probing and they were vocalising. She was able to partially discern what was being communicated by reading their minds.

Their minds were as alien as the rest of them, but thought is thought and once she had come to terms with that, she was able to identify strands of thought and gradually discerned their meaning.

They were not telepathic, which was a bonus. Their vocalised language was a series of squeaks and clicks that meant nothing to her, but they each thought about what they were saying, so after some effort she was able to gather most of the meaning from these thoughts.

One individual was watching a monitor upon which she knew that she was the prime subject on display. She had been right; there was a camera trained on her prone form. Also, there were other monitors that recorded her life signs and at the moment all registered as if she was sleeping or unconscious.

She risked partially opening one eye for a second and then the other.

This enabled her to see that she was in a very small cell-like chamber bereft of furniture or any features. It was a cell; there was no other word for it. The room was her height, just, her length and if she reached out both arms at the same time, she would be able to place both hands flat on either of the curved walls. She suspected that it was designed as a store-facility and had been turned into a secure prison by her appearance.

She attempted to direct her mind gently outside the ship and to contact Amber, but she was left with an impression of a vast distance between her and the planet upon which she belonged.

Bummer!

She was on an alien space craft – and it wasn’t on Earth!

The aliens were still talking about her. The more she eavesdropped, the clearer their conversation became.

“If this creature is a typical example of this race, we are at a terrible disadvantage,” one said.

“It could be that it is simply a scout, sent to find out about our probes. They might have no idea that we are here,” said another.

“Does it matter whether it was a scout or a warrior? It was flying without any aid; clearly they have developed immense mental powers far beyond anything we could hope to match.”

“Our anti-gravity units allow us to do similar things.”

“Don’t you understand? This female being had nothing holding her up; no belt, no device, nothing - her powers come from within her mind. We are at a terrible disadvantage against this sort of power.”

“We have to keep her unconscious until we discover the source of her power.”

“You really don’t understand, do you? She is the source of her power. We searched her and found nothing. She is wearing clothing and nothing else – no power pack, no devices or instruments – nothing! We removed a pressure suit that is designed to help her at extreme altitudes, and that was all. She doesn’t need mechanical assistance in any way shape or form. Clearly this is a very advanced race.”

“Is she a descendant of the Brutes?”

“She could be a descendant of one of the Brutes that that early research team described, but I doubt it. I suspect that she might well belong to another race that either developed alongside the brutes, perhaps on a different continent, or her ancestors were visitors such as our original scouts. Whatever her source, her race has developed mental powers far in advance of ours. We have to return to the fleet and report this. The devices left by that early ship are meaningless, as these creatures would see through any attempts we would make to deceive them and they would not need devices such as them in any case.”

“I suggest we just kill this one now, before she wakes up and kills us!” one said.

Kezzy had to concentrate to keep her anger from showing up on the monitor.

“That is an understandable suggestion, but fraught with potential danger. Think about it for a moment. With her awesome powers, do you not think she could have done that before, instead of just examining our probe?”

“I do not think they know about us. If all they saw was the probe, then we have nothing to worry about. We should not have taken her captive. She will be a problem for us. I agree that we should kill her before she wakes up.”

Another individual spoke. This one had not contributed before.

“Have you looked at her?”

There were some baffled replies.

“I am aware of the extreme differences in her physiology to our own, but look at her; she’s a relatively young female and was alone. We have done extensive research of their communications channels, so we know a lot more about them than when we first arrived. We know of their delight of forming military organisations for the sole purpose of defence. From our examination of their media, she is dressed for normal life and not as a warrior or soldier. Some of their media items depict creatures just like her that are specially trained and dressed to deal with potential threats. Due to their amazing abilities like defying gravity and immense power, we initially thought these media shows were just fiction, but now we can see that creatures with awesome power are not fictional but normal for them.

“She carries no weapons or communication equipment. She is not wearing a special suit with a utility belt such as those depicted in their media. Therefore, I do not believe that she is a scout or any part of a defence system. It is far more likely that she is a curious youngster who found something unusual and wanted to take it home in a bag normally used for the disposal of rubbish.

“We have been monitoring their communications channels and there has been no mention of her, no panic, no alarms. We are looking at this race from the wrong perspective. If she is displaying what could be considered normal gifts, then we must assume that she is not unusual. It is we who are lacking their gifts, so must react accordingly. I think we are over reacting. She is probably intelligent and non-aggressive. I suggest that we simply wake her up and talk to her.”

“If others are like her, how will we conquer this planet?”

“That is not something we should discuss while she is here. For the present we have to show ourselves to be merely a scientific expedition seeking knowledge.”

That suggestion was met by stunned silence. Kezzy almost smiled, as here, in the midst of panic was the voice of reason. So, they were here to conquer, were they? Although depicting the same level of fear as the others, this mind was not panicked and was being objective, despite being wrong.

She concentrated on this individual and discovered that it was called Thyric and he, she or it was the commander of this, a small scout ship. She felt confused about their genders.

Kezzy suddenly had an idea.

<Hello, Thyric,> she said into this mind. <I mean you no harm.>

This caused immediate panic within the being called Thyric, who under most circumstances was the most unflappable member of the crew, but then reason and calm belayed the panic.

“Did anyone hear that?” Thyric asked.

“Hear what, Captain?”

“I think we’ve underestimated this female. She is communicating with me telepathically and by name.”

“That is impossible, the monitors show she is still unconscious,” said the one in front of the bank of monitors.

<I do not need to be conscious,> Kezzy said, again to the single individual.

Thyric passed on what the human female said.

The panic spread to all the others. Kezzy was almost overwhelmed by the colour of fear – deep purple. Thyric had to spend some time calming them down. Kezzy tried to get further into the mind of Thyric, just to get a clearer picture of whom she was dealing with.

The voice of reason belonged to a mature individual who was neither male nor female. It only then dawned on Kezzy that this race possessed three genders. Thyric was a mamale; (see The Torc, Book 1 – The Emerging) the third gender that came towards the later end of life. As with all their kind, they experience life as males first after puberty, and then at about the equivalent time of the late twenties, they change to being female for a longer period. Soon after changing, the female will produce eggs and enjoy sexual activity with males to have them fertilised. The fertilised eggs are then passed by another sexual-type act to a selected mamale that will gestate the child and then give birth. This system keeps the younger and more energetic of their race free to be constructive participants in the life of the race, while the older and more experienced bring up the children. The family unit will consist of a female and a mamale along with any offspring. The males will only remain to see the child born and weaned. They break away first, often to become female and start their own family.

Females and mamales often remain as a unit, even after the female turns mamale. The older mamales will become neuter, and be unable to contribute to the procreation procedures in a physical sense, but will stay to help and advise the new mothers and to ensure that future generations will be assured of benefitting for as much experience as possible.

Kezzy reeled in some surprised, but did not allow her mental presence become known to her host. She tried to get an idea as to what they looked like.

A mental image of the beings became clearer.

She had to dispel all images from Sci-fi movies and shows on TV. These were not bipeds, or many tentacled monsters. There were no ‘greys’ with big eyes and not one black suit in sight.

The clue came with the three genders. The base of three was a commonality among them that went beyond their reproductive activity.

She received an image of a triangular-shaped being, or rather a conical shape - pointy end up. They were quite small; she figured around three to four feet in height, and perhaps two feet across at the base of the torso, perhaps slightly less – more an isosceles rather that an equilateral triangle.

Three short, stumpy legs at each corner of the base ensured a stable platform under most circumstances - one at the front and two towards the rear. Three arms protruded from midway up the conical torso.  At present, Kezzy felt that all limbs were multi-jointed, but could not clearly discern how.

The head was the upper part, or pointy end, of the cone. Three eyes were evenly spaced, giving a 360-degree field of view without having to move the head at all. This would be difficult, as there was clearly no neck. However, the head area was slightly bulbous, so the carrot shape was not strictly pointy, but was topped by a rounded blob.

There was a point where the head started that should have been a neck, but as they did not ever need to move their head for vision, it was restricted to forward and backwards and sideways movements so as to look up and down. Kezzy believed that it would be at this join that the torcs would have been designed to fit, being of a similar diameter to the human neck.

Ears and nostrils, or their equivalent, were not apparent, but there was one, slit-like mouth towards the front of the ‘face’ between two of the eyes. The third eye was at the rear, allowing no opportunities to sneak up on them from behind.

Kezzy was unable to determine colour, but gathered they were completely hairless with a solid dome at the top that gave some protection.

She felt that they believed that they were beautiful, but she had yet to appreciate their form in such light.

She scanned this being’s mind and ‘read’ the ancient transmission that had been intercepted. She finally understood the rationale behind the manufacture of the torcs. They had been right in their assessment, as the torcs were not devices to give super-strength, but simply camouflage devices with extra power tools attached, including amplified thoughts to act as communicators. It was a great concept in a very compact and brilliantly conceived device.

<I understand that your people came to this planet many millennia ago,> she said, broadcasting so that all of the aliens could hear her thoughts. <They all died as the planet was not compatible for your kind. There were microbiological agents that killed the crew. My people were primitive and aggressive in those times, but they were not responsible for your people’s demise. The crew left behind artefacts that could have assisted in camouflaging your kind from mine. They were technologically brilliant and have taught our scientists much about your people, your science and your technology. We have, however, moved beyond mere technology. You are in grave danger should you detain me against my will!>

She did not add that her boyfriend would be furious for starters.

There was very little more she could have done to frighten these aliens any more than she already had.

Kezzy decided that it would be an appropriate moment to wake up. The restraints holding her were not difficult, and she was able to release the straps and was able to free herself. She noted a clear glass-like barrier prevented her from reaching the door. From Thyric’s mind, she understood that this was an isolation device to keep her from infecting or contaminating them, and vice versa.

As she rose from the couch, she smiled. It was the first time in a much lower gravitational environment. She decided to use her own anti-gravity gifts to frighten the aliens still further.

She was found floating free when the door opened silently. Two of the aliens stared in shock at her and then at the empty bed. Their monitors showed her still unconscious.

She restrained herself from laughing, as the thought – upturned carrot-people sprang into her mind. They were brilliant orange in colouring. All that was missing was the green shoot coming from their….

Kezzy repressed a giggle from escaping.

<Now, are we going to play nicely?> she asked.

*     *    *

Amber felt increasingly frustrated. None of the military radar and tracking installations could tell her anything. She was about to return to London when she felt someone reaching out to her mentally. It was Keira.

<Kezzy called,> the girl said.

<What?>

<Kezzy called me.>

<I heard; I meant how and everything apart from what.>

<I have no idea how. She tuned into my torc, I think. She came through to me like telepathically. It was weird, as she was talking gibberish because she kept mentioning carrots.>

<Carrots?>

<I think it was carrots. Anyway, she’s weightless and told me she was a long way away. She told me that they knocked her out which was why she couldn’t contact us.>

<They?>

<The carrots. See, I think she’s gone bonkers.>

<My God! She’s been taken by the aliens. Did she know exactly where she is?>

<Not exactly, but I gather the moon is between them and us.>>

<Anything else?>

<Yes, but I’m not sure she made any sense.>

<Tell me anyway.>

<She said, ‘They’ve seen the Avengers and Justice League and they think I’m the norm.’ I didn’t understand her.>

Amber smiled.

<You don’t have to. I do, and that’s what matters. It seems that our extra-terrestrial visitors have met their first human and believe that all humans possess her powers.>

<Can I do anything?>

<Are you with your boyfriend?>

<He’s not exactly my…>

<Are you with him?> Amber asked, losing patience.

<Yes.>

<Good, stay where you are and stay together. I will try to help Kezzy, and if I need you both, I’ll call. I don’t think you can come to where I intend going.>

She was gone, leaving Keira staring at her dead phone.

“What did she say?” Stefan asked.

“We stay here together and wait.”

“I think we can do that.”

Amber had never attempted to instantly transport herself such a distance before. Now she knew where to look, she was able to roughly locate Kezzy. The problem was as Keira had said – there was the minor distraction of the moon in between them.

However, just as she wracked her brain as to how best to approach the problem, Kezzy managed to get through to her. Her mental imprint was weak.

<Amber!>

<Kez, where are you?>

<Not sure, I think I’m a long way away. I can only just read you.>

<Keira told me. I think you’re outside the Earth’s orbit, they’re possibly hiding behind the moon!>

<Figures; but there’s gravity here, so I think maybe we’re on the moon itself. I don’t suppose the cavalry can get to me here?>

<What do you need?> the older woman asked.

<Help,> Kezzy said, quite simply.

<If I can get to you, what’s the situation?>

Kezzy told her.

Thyric was feeling a great weight of responsibility on her shoulders. (‘she’ is used as this individual would be the equivalent of a mature human female full of experience and wisdom but almost past the age of bearing children.)

The mission of her ship and crew was to investigate the possibility of this planet being ‘the one’. Their race had been searching the vast, open reaches of space for a system possessing just such a planet upon which they could settle and once more reside free of the artificial cradles that were their ships.

Back in pre-history, this planet was discovered by their kind, only to find it occupied by another race and hiding in the atmosphere were micro-organisms that saw those early explorers’ demise.

That last problem was not an issue of concern. Forewarned meant forearmed, and the specialists could identify and deal with such matters easily. The problem, and it was a momentous one, was with the indigenous prime life form.

This Earth female was not in the slightest bit worried or fearful of her situation. Indeed, the over-riding emotion Thyric sensed from her was one of amusement.

This was probably more shocking than any other possible reaction. It seemed that the female was amused by Thyric’s kind. They expected to be feared or at least respected for the advanced space-travelling race that they undoubtedly were. Instead, they were the source of amusement to a young adult female.

It was quite galling.

It was, however, a great relief to discover that this female was not part of what Thyric could ascertain was a vast military machine, spread across the globe.

Of all the possible contingencies she had mentally prepared, this possibility was conspicuously absent. Knowing the warlike and aggressive tendencies of these Brutes, she had fully expected an aggressive reaction that would require a firm response. This reaction completely flummoxed her.

Her weapons officer was equally flummoxed. They had some serious hardware on this small ship and yet this human seemed completely unfazed by their advanced weaponry.

<How should we address you?> Thyric asked, feeling uncertain and vulnerable addressing a telepathic being.

Thyric and her first officer were in the small quarantine chamber facing the female on the other side of the glass partition.

<My name is Kezzy, so you can use that. You are Thyric and Harsad,> she replied.

It was highly disconcerting to have their minds read quite so easily.

<You stated you mean us no harm. Are you not afraid that we might have the greater potential to cause harm than you are?> Harsad asked. She was an active female and so had not yet acquired the experience or temperament to deal with this awkward situation. To place a male in such a responsible position would have been unthinkable.

A wave of humour emanating from the human hit both of them. Clearly this angered Harsad, who took the bait.

<We are an advanced race with a powerful fleet of ships and weapons that can destroy planets!> Harsad stated, barely hiding the implied threat.

The human simply laughed.

<We don’t need ships and we’re managing pretty well in destroying our planet by ourselves without using weapons.>

This caused both aliens some more consternation. They spoke between themselves for a moment, so Kezzy managed to get through to Amber.

<How are you getting on?> she asked her boss.

<I’m trying to work out how to get to you. What’s your status?>

<I’ve confused them. They were not expecting humans to be like me. I’ve persuaded them that I am just a normal human. They don’t like it.>

Amber chuckled.

<What’s with the carrots?>

It was Kezzy’s turn to laugh.

<They look a bit like carrots with the pointy bit up. They’re even orange in colour. They have three arms, three legs, three eyes and three genders.>

<Three genders?>

<I’ll tell you later. Actually, it makes sense. They’re not unlike me and Keira.>

<Can you keep broadcasting? I think I can hone in on your mind.>

<If you are coming, there’s not a lot of room here. You need to get right beside me, as I’m in quarantine. They know there might be something in our atmosphere that kills them. Their last ship’s crew died.>

<They were the originators of the torcs?>

<Not this lot; their ancestors built them as a camouflage system so they could look human. They picked up the ancient transmission and were coming to check us out.

<They call us ‘brutes’, by the way. They were uncertain whether we are descendants of those early cavemen or we’re aliens to this planet as well. I sort of told them we’re natives and descendants of their brutes. I think primitive man was as aggressive as the modern version and so looking like a giant, demented carrot must have scared the shit out of Ug the caveman. It seems the early humans reacted first and thought second.>

<How unlike modern man,> Amber thought back.

<That’s why they made the torcs. They don’t know much more about them than we do. I don’t think they know what they look like, just what they do. The transmission informed them that they were made to look like us but had mini-power packs so they added a few useful extras, like anti-gravity and thought amplification to assist and simplify the communication process. That’s why they work as universal translators.>

<So, what are they after?>

<That’s an easy one to answer - Earth. Their planet went kablooey a long time ago and they live in vast fleets of high-tech ships now spread far and wide across the galaxy. I say fleets because on picking this one’s mind, they belong to one fleet but they haven’t heard from any of the others for a very long time. They’ve been searching for a compatible planet and thought Earth fitted the bill. It didn’t then, but might now.>

<What about us?>

<No data, sorry. I get the impression that any decisions like that would have to be made at a senior level. They’re not the sharing type and I know their weapons systems are far in advance of what we have. An officer already told me they have weapons that can destroy planets. I get the vibe that they’re desperate and so I wouldn’t put it past them to attempt to wipe man off the face of the Earth and slide in and take over.>

<Have they reported their findings yet?>

<No, as their investigation is no way complete, but the main fleet is making for this general location in anticipation that their report might be favourable.>

<Good, we have time to persuade them that Earth is not suitable for them. I think I can use Keira and Stefan as well.>

<What about the torcs they’re wearing?> Kezzy asked.

<Have you mentioned we have them?>

<Yes, in that I’ve intimated that the technology in their devices is now known to our scientists, but nothing else. As I said, they are not sure what the devices look like, but they are aware that something that camouflaged the first crew was left behind. They think they know what the devices do, but not in any great detail. They are aware of the metal they are made from. It’s not something that exists on Earth, so that’s what the probes were seeking.>

<Are you certain that they don’t know what they look like?>

<I don’t think they do; not this lot, at any rate.>

< None of us can exist in the vacuum of space, and the torcs are somewhat restricted by weightlessness as far as mobility is concerned. I don’t want any of them landing on Earth, so we may have to deal with them out there.>

<Okay; just the two of us then?>

<Probably. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.  It’s not like this will be easy. I’ve never done anything like this before. I have to locate you, so keep broadcasting mentally. If I miss, I’m dead as I haven’t got a suit.>

Kezzy was shocked.

<No suit! Why the hell not?>

<I need to make an important point. I think the ability to move through the vacuum of space without a suit might just make the point in spades!”

<Okay, good luck.>

While Kezzy stalled for time by initiating conversation with Thyric and Hasard, Amber left her office and immediately went to brief the PM

The Prime Minister had several high-level meetings booked. They were all linked to the on-going Brexit problems, so there was little time spare. However, such was Amber’s clearance, an exception was made and she was ushered into the office. Five minutes later she left, and she was aware that the PM was calling another meeting of the military top brass.

She returned to her office and called the quarter-master.

She smiled, as she so desperately wanted to call him Q, but knew that was naughty.

“Morris, I need a suit that will enable me to exist in space for a short time but isn’t exactly a space suit.”

To give him due credit, Morris Dunwoody never bothered to question Amber’s weird requests.

“For how long, ma’am?”

“I have no idea. I need to get somewhere, and I am not certain that I can find it first time. I hope I can zero in on Kezzy’s mind, but I have never tried such a great distance before. So, it might be helpful to get as close as I can first and then if I make a mistake, I can jump again.”

“I take it you need a pressure suit with an air supply?”

“Yes please.”

“When do you want it for?”

“Now.”

“I see. Tall order, ma’am, but give me a little while. I’ll call you back.”

She sat at her desk, on unfamiliar turf. Waiting was not something she was good at. She was about to ring him back when the phone rang.

“Morris, that was quick!” she said.

It wasn’t Morris.

“Ma’am, it’s Steven Palmer in three section.”

Amber blinked a couple of times, trying to get her mind in gear.

Steven was a mildly powerful man with discernment gifts. He could ‘see’ gifts in others, often latent ones of which even the bearers were often unaware. He could also glean information from them, as if they left a personal imprint on him. He was graded a level five, but that was only that his skills of gifts were narrow. What he had was powerful.

“Steven, yes. Look, I’m in a rush, so is it important?”

“I thought you ought to know, I’ve come across a level nine-plus.”

A level nine was a very powerful individual. Amber was graded a ten, and Kezzy was almost a ten.

“Where?”

“Here, in London. I was coming out of the underground and she materialised in front of me, saw me and vanished again. Her aura was brilliant white, almost as bright as yours and similar to Kezzy’s. I wasn’t able to get much from her; just that her name is Della Hills.”

“Where is she now?”

“I suspected that she needed to be somewhere close to Embankment station, so I waited around the corner.”

Steven hesitated, which annoyed Amber.

“And?”

She materialised beside me. She seemed cross and wanted to know why I was stalking her. I told her that I knew her powers and that I represented an official group that could offer her employment, should she measure up. She simply instructed me to leave her alone and then vanished again. I was left with the impression that she was new to her gifts and hadn’t really got a handle on them yet.”

“Did you get anything from her?”

“Her mind is powerful, but naïve, so yes, she’s a confused individual who is currently a student at Allanbridge University.”

“Is she British?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Right, you follow her up, and I will get on with what I have to do. Keep me informed of developments. If we have a good teleporter, then that could be an excellent additional resource.”

“One more thing, ma’am.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think she’s acting alone. I got a picture of at least one other, perhaps two or more.”

Amber saw her other line was flashing.

“Right, Steven, I haven’t got time to deal with this right now. You go find however how many there are and persuade them to come and meet us. I have a bit of a flap on, so detach whoever you need from your team and make it a priority, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am, and thanks.”

Amber flicked to the other line.

“Morris?”

“Yes. I think I have what you need. It may not last very long, but it should give you a breather if anything should go wrong.”

“Bless you. I’ll be straight down. It might be worth seeing if we can’t get hold of some proper space suits.”

“Indeed, ma’am?”

“I’ll be there in a mo.”

Twelve

Thyric began to look forward to her conversations with the human. She could not refer to Kezzy as the ‘Brute’ and had to chastise others of her crew for doing so. There was nothing brutish about the young human female, so it wasn’t hard to forget that she was related to the Brutes of the old tales.

The medics were testing her blood and had discovered two specific micro-organisms that if ingested by their kind could prove fatal. There were several more that were dubious, so it was likely that the initial crew that made that landing all those years ago succumbed to a cocktail of mini-bugs that combined and did them in. One on its own could possibly be controlled and managed by immunisation, but there were just too many and the research into the counter-measures would last many years on each one.

Through study of their media sources, Thyric and the crew had discovered that the humans’ diverse examples of vocal speech were all unintelligible to them, and due to the design of the human voice box, impossible to mimic. Likewise, the humans could not come close to ‘speaking’ their language for the same reasons.

Indeed, Thyric found it liberating to use thoughts as a means of communication. They had limited technical ‘telepathy’ devices, but they were far more restricted compared to the obvious ease with which the young human communicated with them and allowed them to communicate with her.

The captain was under no illusions; the human was controlling all interaction, but there was no apparent hidden agenda or guile in her demeanour. Thyric also believed that if the girl wanted to leave, then she could do so at will, but she found it interesting being with them, if not entertaining, which Thyric found faintly disconcerting.

The captain was also aware that a few of the crew were unhappy with the manner with which she was handling the matter and felt that the human was a risk and should be terminated.

As more and more data was collected by the probes, despite an inability to comprehend their language there was evidence to suggest that there were many more gifted individuals like the female they now possessed.

At this early stage, however, they were unable to discern the difference between fact and fiction, so as they were able to stream (supposedly) film evidence of humans with extraordinary powers, they would have been astounded to realise that these were all works of fiction for the sole purpose of entertainment.

This form of entertainment was utterly alien to their kind, so they did not seriously consider what they saw as being anything other than real.

Yes, they understood entertainment and the concept of fiction. Indeed, they possessed their own extensive libraries containing many millions of works of fiction in both written and video formats, but the difference being – all their fiction had a basis in fact, so although being able to discern the difference between factual documentaries and works of fiction, they did not comprehend that super-powers were not something that were generally available to the vast mass of humanity.

Thyric left the human reluctantly, for they were getting into a deep, philosophical discussion about how and why life existed. It appeared that this race possessed numerous religions all dealing with such matters as creation, a philosophy of life-purpose and even spiritual life after death. It appeared that some believed that how good a life one led actually mattered as there was a judgement at the end, and the spiritual life in the hereafter was determined on how good (or bad) one was in life.

These were captivating, alien and interesting ideas, but if she wanted to maintain discipline on her ship, Thyric knew she had to silence the dissenting voices from amongst her crew.

Kezzy was left alone, so she allowed her mind to float outwards to determine her exact location. She wanted to know if she could help Amber in, as well as even manage to escape should she have to do so.

Meanwhile, the pair with the torcs took a look at the prospective mining site and determined that the legal battle was just getting started.  While the lawyers were initiating papers to begin legal offensives and counter offensives to do battle in the courts – a series of events that promised to be lengthy and contracted, the good people of Griðastaður began to lose interest in the non-event.

Those on the dig were left alone as the weather started to deteriorate. There was precious little left in the ground of any value, so they began to close things off. It had been a remarkably good dig, but although Birgit Larsen had been disappointed that the tablet had been stolen. It had been, without a doubt, the most interesting find of her career, so to lose it was doubly disappointing.

On the evening after they had effectively closed the dig, she was enjoying a dinner in the hotel with Barry Keating, whom she had discovered was not the dry and rather dull academic after all.

The hotel was quiet now, as the press had found other, more scintillating stories to follow, so there were fewer in the dining room. The hotel had known their luck would have been limited, but it had been a bonus while it lasted.

Indeed, there was just one other table occupied by two young women and a good-looking local young man.

Barry had watched them enter and had seen in the young man’s features a similarity to the girl he had met at the site that day of the theft - Gudrun someone. He wondered if this boy was her brother, but then recalled a conversation with the receptionist and learning that there were four daughters in the family.

It was a surprise, therefore when all three approached towards the end of their meal. Birgit glanced up and then paled as she recognised the person responsible for the theft. Before she could say anything, Stefan handed her a wooden box and sat down next to her at their table.

She took the box and opened it. There was the tablet, including the stray corner.

“I apologise for inconveniencing you, but the item you discovered actually belongs to me and my family,” he said in Norwegian. “However, it is an important piece of history and it would be shame that it was lost forever. I acted foolishly, so am returning it to you now.” He glanced at the fairer of the two girls and smiled before continuing. “I find I no longer need it, so please, keep a careful watch on it, for it might become important in understanding other relics of the past.”

Barry then realised the girl to which he glanced was the English girl who claimed to have been from the Home Office. He frowned and was about to say something when she spoke in fluent Norwegian too. Only Birgit understood her.

“The artefact is important, but only in local context. It would be shame if it ever was taken too far away from Griðastaður,” she said.

Barry opened his mouth to ask what she had said, and then thought better of it. Indeed, he frowned as everything he had been thinking and everything he wanted to say seemed to vanish from his mind.

The three turned to go, nodding amiably.

“You won’t see us again, professor,” the girl said. “If you do, I doubt whether you’ll remember us.”

Moments later, they were alone in the dining room. Birgit was staring at the tablet and Barry took a sip of the wine, shaking his head.

“Amazing those kids finding this just outside the hotel like that. A bloody miracle, that’s what it is!”

“I’m so pleased,” Birgit said, smiling happily. Without realising it, the past had just been erased.

“That takes care of that. Are you sure they won’t remember?” Stefan asked.

“Quite sure.”

“Now what?” Stefan asked, as they stood in the hotel lobby. Shannon had just paid their bill.

“We were told to go home, so we must get to London. Unfortunately, unlike Kezzy, we can’t jump over that much water, so it has to be by plane,” Keira said.

“What’s so magical about London?”

“That’s where the boss wants us, so that’s where we go,” added Shannon.

“Wait a minute,” said the lad, reaching up and touching his torc. “Gudrun has to take care of her life.”

“What have you decided?” Keira asked.

“I can’t believe you have to ask that!” her friend said. “I mean, look at the poor boy; he’s in love with you. Shall we say goodbye to Gudrun now?”

“Are you sure? There’s no going back.”

“What is there to go back to?”

“Your parents will lose a daughter.”

“And gain a son.”

“How will they take it?”

“I think they might be happier than what was the other reality. My father was in denial that any daughter of his could be a lesbian.”

“Then go for it!”

Stefan smiled and left them alone. He walked over to his home, where he took the torc off for the last time to make some phone calls.

“That’s not going to be easy,” Shannon observed.

Keira wasn’t listening. She had called the control room in London and was arranging to get them to the Norwegian Air Force base where Amber was. There was an aircraft available to ferry them to London.

“We have a flight arranged in two hours. Amber is gone,” she said.

“What do you mean – gone?”

“Gone as in no longer there. I think she’s trying to get to Kezzy.”

“Oh feck!” said Shannon.

Gudrun felt awkward standing in her family home as Stefan. She took off the torc and felt even more uncomfortable dressed in the same clothes but with a smaller, female body. Shrugging, she checked her watch and picked up the telephone.

This was going to be the most difficult task she would ever have to perform.

It was a considerable time difference in California. Daniel was in his office at work, working out what of the many tasks on his schedule he would attempt first.

His mobile phone rang. He glanced at it with some irritation. It was a dual sim phone, so he could keep his work separate from his domestic calls.

He frowned, as it was from Norway – his daughter’s cell phone to be precise.

His first reaction was one of panic. To receive two calls from her within a day or so was very unusual. He knew that things were happening with the mining problems, so he hoped she was coping.

“Hello, Gudrun?”

“Papa.”

“What is it; are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“What’s happening with the miners?”

“I’ve no idea. I think the lawyers are dealing. That’s not why I’ve called.”

“Oh?” Daniel asked, a feeling of discomfort started to come over him. He thought he knew what she was going to say.

“It’s the torc,” she started to say.

Daniel rolled his eyes. Yes, he did know what she was going to say.

“What about it?”

“I tried it on. I wanted to see if I could do something about the mining.”

“And?”

She paused, unsure how to explain it.

“You liked it?” he asked – it was almost a statement.

She was surprised.

“What?”

“You preferred being a man.”

She was shocked beyond words.

“How…?” she eventually managed to utter.

“Gudrun, you’re my child. I’m not blind nor am I stupid, and neither is your mother. She knows nothing about the torc or of what it is capable, but I dreaded this moment. I was suspicious of your, um, different, um, shall we say preferences? I could see that men were not ever going to be of great interest to you, so suspected that as soon as you could become ‘him’ you would not want to return to being our daughter. I assume we have to come to terms with having a son?”

Tears streamed down Gudrun’s face. She was incapable of speech.

“What is his name?” Daniel asked in a kindly voice.

“I don’t deserve you!” she said through her tears.

“You have me and I love you whatever. What do you call yourself?”

“Stefan.”

He chuckled.

“Had you been a boy, that’s what we would have called you.”

“Really?”

“So, any other news?”

“I’ve met someone.”

“Oh, I take it she’s a young woman?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know?”

“About what?”

“Well, about you being a girl to start with.”

“Yes, and the rest.”

“The rest? You mean you told her about the torc? That’s dangerous.”

“No, it’s not, for she has one too. I can’t tell you too much.”

“What? Come on, Gudrun, you cannot just say that much and leave it there!”

“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone what I am about to tell you.”

“Fine, I kept quiet about the torc, didn’t I?”

“There were two made back in the mists of prehistory.”

“Two?  How do you know?”

“They were made by an advanced alien race so they could camouflage themselves to look like us. There was a male-DNA one and a female-DNA one. I have the male one.”

“And your girlfriend has the female one?”

“Yes.”

“Just how do you know all this?”

“The aliens are on their way back and we suspect they want Earth.”

There was silence on the other end as Daniel digested this.

“Come again.”

“We suspect those aliens that designed and made the torcs came to Earth seeking somewhere to live but died centuries ago. We don’t know what happened, but they transmitted a message to their kind about Earth. They are on way here and, well, I’m part of the team that might have to work to prevent an invasion.”

Daniel was silent again.

“Papa?”

“I’m here, girl. You’re serious?”

“Never more so.”

“Just the two of you?”

“No, there are more.”

“More torcs?”

“No, the others are naturally gifted people who can do stuff like we can.”

“There are people like that?” he asked.

“Yes. I suppose in the past they were burned for being witches.”

“Makes your gender problem seem a little insignificant, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“A bit.”

“Okay, you do what you have to do and I’ll work on your mother so it doesn’t come as such a big shock when we meet Stefan for the first time. What will you do about your legal identity?”

“I’ll work it out when the time comes.”

“If you need a hand, call me.”

“Thanks, Papa.”

“I mean it. Just call and let me know you’re okay.”

At the end of the call, Gudrun cried for a while and then replaced the torc.

Stefan wiped his face and left the house.

Amber was conscious that her reserve of air was limited. Actually, it was almost non-existent. She had fifteen minutes of air and that was all. She had already used a couple of minutes. However, that did not stop her from taking a moment to appreciate the view.

The Earth floated above her, like a glittering gem on a black velvet cloth surrounded by a myriad of diamonds - glistening their brilliance from far away.

It was her limited air that caused her to turn and take a second jump to land beside the ship that rested in the cold and dark on the far side of the moon.

<Kezzy?>

<Boss! Where are you?>

<Outside. Keep thinking out loud and I’ll come in beside you.>

<Great, I’m on my own at the moment, so that would be good. What shall I think about?>

Suddenly, Kezzy was no longer alone. The small cell in which she had been placed seemed even smaller when Amber materialised beside her.

“Captain!” said one of the crew. “There is another alien on board!”

Thyric stared at the monitor in shock and surprise.

There, standing next to the young female human was another figure wearing a suit that was not dissimilar to the one the first had been wearing. It was wearing a black helmet which seemed to be in the process of being removed.

“Scan for ships?”

“Captain, the scanner would have alerted us of any approach. No ships are in the vicinity.”

A terrible truth dawned on Thyric as she stared in wonder as the second alien removed her helmet to reveal herself to be a more mature female. Could this be the parent of the first alien?

If humans could jump this far through space, then it was conceivable that greater distances would not be a barrier to them. In which case, their fleet was in terrible danger. The younger female might even have already acquired the fleet’s location from the navigation officer’s mind or the computer and passed it to her seniors for action. They could teleport to the fleet and destroy it in flight.

Perhaps they had already done so!

Hastily, Thyric reviewed her understanding of the situation, with a growing realisation that she was mistaken if she believed that she controlled events. She had taken it for granted that because her race was so much older and advanced in technological and possibly in social terms, they were assumed to be the superior race. These humans possessed powers that were so far beyond her understanding that superiority was no longer an issue.

The presiding issue was not whether they might be able to exist on this beautiful planet, but whether the humans would countenance their race’s continued existence at all.

She turned to her crew, all of whom were no doubt thinking the same thing. None of them expected to contact a telepathic race capable of teleporting through space.

“This is why it would have been a mistake to have killed the alien female!” she declared. “We were wrong to assume that because they look like brutes and matched the description in the old report, they were an inferior race. Now, you will permit me to deal with these creatures with respect and diplomacy. If we are permitted to live long enough to leave, we will be most fortunate.”

Had she possessed teeth, she would have gritted them, as she turned and entered the viewing room next to the chamber.

Amber had now received all Kezzy’s mental images, thoughts and experiences. She tuned into the alien’s mind before Thyric entered the chamber adjacent to where they were.

She was quite shocked at the thought process as she had not even considered that aspect of strategy.

Amber had been as guilty as Thyric and the aliens for categorising the human race as an inferior one in most aspects. She failed to take into account the exceptional gifts of so few.

The aliens’ limited experience of humans only included the gifted, so their assumption was to the humans’ advantage. Amber decided to press home that advantage. As they say: in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king!

<Greetings, Thyric; my name is Amber, and I have come to ensure that you have not harmed my young friend. You should not have taken her, but I am relieved to find her undamaged, as that would have had serious repercussions for both our people,> Amber thought.

She deliberately broadcasted as broadly as she could, so that every member of the alien crew could hear and understand her. Her mind was so powerful, the communication was overwhelming, so not one of them could even think about shutting her out.

The fear that was prevalent when Kezzy first arrived was magnified a hundredfold.

Thyric stood her ground, carefully assessing her best approach in this awkward situation. She knew she had a powerful fleet but a relatively short distance away, but these creatures did not need ships.

<Greetings, Amber; please accept my apologies on behalf of my people. Your friend was taken whilst interfering with one of our remote probes. We did not fully understand your people, so wished to learn more without worrying you by advertising our presence to you. We were able to detect massive military presence, so were unwilling to risk displeasing them.>

Amber stood looking at the carrot-featured alien. She could not yet discern recognisable expression of emotion or anything to betray what they were feeling. She did not have to, as her mind was able to read them thoroughly, even those, just as Kezzy had found them different to start with, she had now learned how to work with their very alien minds.

<What is your real purpose here?> Amber asked.

<We are a peaceful survey mission; let me assure you that we are not a military vessel.>

<We know that you are a survey vessel and not a military vessel. But we also know that your fleet of ships – many of them equipped with weapons of mass destruction and manned by trained military personnel - is out there, eagerly awaiting your return and the results you bring them. Our military is already aware of your existence. The probes may be small but they have been tracked and their purpose discerned by the commanders as being a preliminary survey prior to imminent invasion. Clearly the survival of the human race is our prime concern and your invasion strategy does not appear to have any contingency other than genocide.>

Thyric was not able to respond, and her anguish at being so transparent was clearly evident to Amber.

<I am also an emissary sent to establish communication between our two peoples and to rectify any misunderstandings as to our abilities and your intentions. We understand that you are an old race without a planetary home. We also understand that you are seeking a planetary home. Other than some microbiological anomalies, Earth might well be a suitable planet.

<I have to tell you that this is a grave error on your part. Earth is neither available nor is it suitable for you. You will discover, as your ancestors did, that we, the indigenous race, are still just as aggressive when threatened and will, without any doubt at all, use all and every means at our disposal to defend any threat and to reduce the ability of any opposition to effectively threaten anyone or anything.>

Thyric suddenly felt small and insignificant. She also felt vulnerable and desperately alone. The weight of her race’s continued existence rested on her… okay, shoulder-like appendages.

<I accept that our approach was perhaps open to misinterpretation. I will withdraw the probes immediately.>

<Please arrange the return of my friend’s suit and helmet.>

Amber turned to Kezzy.

“Have you ascertained the location of their fleet?” she asked, using normal speech.

“No, I just know it’s out there, somewhere.”

“Then use that mind of yours and find out. Follow their signals or something; just find them! Once you get the suit and helmet, take a deep breath and jump back to London. Hopefully, Keira and her boyfriend will already be there. We need to make the aliens believe that we can reach their fleet,” she said, knowing the aliens could not understand human speech.

“How the hell can we do that?”

Amber smiled.

“By actually reaching the damn thing and bringing back tangible evidence that will frighten them rigid.”

Kezzy stared in horror at her boss.

“You are joking!”

“Deadly serious; this is our one and only chance to press home an advantage before they realise that we few are the exception and not the rule.”

Amber turned as another alien entered and placed Kezzy’s suit and helmet on a flat surface. There was an airlock system that took it automatically and released it into their side without allowing contaminated atmosphere from either side to escape to place anyone at risk.

Kezzy sat down and wriggled into her tight suit.

“So, how the hell do we go all the way out there without a spaceship?”

“I got here and you are as capable as I am. We need to know whether the others can harness the power of their torcs and can go with you.”

“How exactly?”

“When you get back, see Morris and see what you can come up with. You won’t need a craft, just an exact location.”

“If their fleet is moving in a steady and rapid direction, how the hell can we hope to get on board on of their ships?”

“We don’t have to. All we need is to see them and let them know that we can not only see them but actually deal with them.”

“Deal with them? How, exactly?”

Amber smiled.

“That’s what you call a bluff. Now, stick that helmet on and go. As soon as you get back, go to my desk, dig out the number for the PM and put in a call. Just let the powers that be know what’s afoot and tell the silly buggers not to panic. You might want to pause long enough to appreciate the view!”

Kezzy paused, her helmet in her hands.

“What are you going to do?”

Amber smiled again.

“I, my dear, am going to play poker and cheat dreadfully!”

Thirteen

Stefan was pleased that Kezzy had returned, but he was going through the toughest time of his life, so he barely registered the serious nature of the situation.

It had now been several days since he had last been his former, female self. Although at no time in her formative years had Gudrun ever had an inkling that she might have been transgendered in any way, shape or form, it was only now, having experienced life as a male that it dawned on her that this was what made everything right.

Gone was the feeling of not fitting in that she had experienced as a young child, right up through the move to America and through all her education up until that moment she placed the torc around her neck.

Her problem, she believed, was exacerbated by the fact she had been a highly attractive female – one which others wished to emulate and the point of envy amongst women and desire among men.

It came as a weird relief to know that her attraction to girls was not as another girl, but as Stefan. She was not a lesbian, but he – Stefan - was perfectly straight.

He made the decision to cease being Gudrun and to become Stefan full time. Whether this would happen now, or when (or if) this blew over remained to be seen. He had briefly returned to being the girl to inform her employers that a serious family issue had come up and she wished to resign. They were very good, having read or heard about the crisis involving the oil company; they assumed it was all to do with that. She did not attempt to correct them.

Now he had to face having no official status in his own country and with the delights facing the extended family and to help them come to terms with the fact that they had lost their eldest daughter and gained a son.

The relief that her, no, his father had been so understanding and accepting was almost tangible. It gave him hope that things would be fine in the end – once they sorted out the threat of imminent alien invasion and prevent the destruction of the human race.

He had little time to dwell on these major personal problems, as Keira told him he was accompanying her and Shannon to an airbase to get a flight back to the UK. He could have stayed, but she wasn’t exactly asking him whether he wanted to come, but telling him that was going to happen.  Not that he was unhappy with the idea, but events were threatening to overwhelm him. He went willingly.

They had flown to London – for which he was relieved that they hadn’t tried to jump there.

Arriving as they had on an RAF flight, coming in to RAF Northolt along with Keira and Shannon, both of whom were part of the British Security and Intelligence Service, he was spared the embarrassing situation of not having a passport or any identification.

Cars were waiting for them and they found themselves back in Central London as the world around them was beginning a new day.

Shannon insisted they visit the canteen for a breakfast before they began work. He had never seen such a slender and very pretty girl eat quite so much.

He discovered that in this male mode, he was perpetually hungry. This larger body appeared to need more fuel to run efficiently. He managed to keep up with Shannon whilst being watched by a bemused Keira who nibbled some toast and drank her coffee with a smile.

They were just finishing when a girl in a skin-tight black pressure suit and carrying a helmet came through the door and sat down in the vacant chair at their table.

It was Kezzy.

“Kez; you’re okay!” Keira said, getting up and embracing her friend.

“Where the feck have you been, girl?” Shannon asked in mid-mouthful.

“You don’t want to know. I need coffee. I thought tripping over to Norway was cold. You have no idea how bloody cold it is on the moon!”

“What?”

“Not now. Need coffee!” Kezzy said and headed to the serving hatch.

By her second cup, she thawed out enough to report on what had happened and explain what Amber had instructed.

“How the hell are we going to teleport all the way out there?” Shannon asked – interestingly, the only one with no powers at all.

“The torcs are only useful to move rapidly when there is gravity to push against. Amber believes they use the power of gravity to counteract and give momentum. We must find a way to somehow test the torcs to see exactly what they can and can’t do.”

“Where is this fleet?”

“To be honest, I have no real idea as far as spatial analysis is concerned. I was, however, able to tune into their communications frequencies and although I can’t understand their gibberish, theoretically I could follow the transmissions to and from the ship to the source in the fleet.”

Shannon regarded her sceptically.

“What the feck does that mean?”

“I can tune in and follow their communications channels right up to their ships.”

“How?”

Kezzy shrugged.

“No idea; I can sense the signal and sort of followed it mentally. It’s difficult to explain.”

“So; what’s the plan?” Keira asked.

“We have to speak to Morris in the QM department. Amber wants me to try to link with you two and get us all onto one of their ships.”

“Even me?” Shannon asked hopefully.

Kezzy regarded their Irish friend and smiled.

“We’ll see,” she said, but Shannon knew what ‘no’ really sounded like.

“I hate to be a nuisance, but what about me?” Stefan asked. “I am not part of your organisation. Besides, I am not even of the same nationality as you.”

“Ah, sorry, love, I was forgetting. I’m sure we can sort out the bureaucracy later, but let’s save the world first and worry about trivialities later,” Keira said.

Stefan, new to this strange world, was not of the opinion that his status was trivial, but wisely kept quiet. He followed the others along a corridor and down in the lift to a sub-basement level.

Morris was a middle-aged man of utterly unsurprising appearance – of average height, weight, build and facial features. His hair was greying at the sides and he wore spectacles. He would be lost in a crowd and his skill was permitting others to forget him almost as soon as they met him. He wore a suit, but it was grey and as equally anonymous.

He was a perfect choice to run the Special Equipment Department – or Quartermaster Stores for Amber’s teams. Technically and intellectually brilliant, he simply loved tinkering and would have described himself as an inventor before Amber met him after returning from America, some time ago now.

His domain was the entire third level of basement. The supposition was if anything went wrong, there would be little evidence above. Along one long wall were racks of weird-looking objects. Stefan could see various bits of weapons and many other objects - the origins and purpose he couldn’t even guess.

A workbench ran along the other long wall, and his desk was at the far end with six computer monitors up on the wall. There were different programs on each monitor. A seventh was on the desk, where it should be.

“Ah, I heard you got back, young lady. Have you been debriefed yet?” he said as soon as he saw Kezzy.

“No time, Morris, sorry. That will have to wait. Amber is on the moon and we need to go meet the enemy.”

Morris’ expression didn’t change as this wild information was imparted.

“Ah, right then. Just how do we propose to do that?”

Morris had, ever since Keira had come to work for Amber, attempted to unravel the secrets of her torc on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, it was to no avail. Who or whatever had made it had not intended it to either last as long as it had or to be opened up to repair or replace parts.

“Ah, another one! Wonderful. Might I examine it, as it appears slightly larger than Keira’s?”

Stefan hadn’t anticipated changing back to Gudrun quite so quickly. Keira saw his expression and so intervened.

“Stefan needs it to help with the language. Why don’t you examine it on him?” she suggested.

Morris did not seem perturbed by the suggestion and bade Stefan sit on a chair so he could take a look as the young man sat there.

“Hmm, fascinating. They’ve done a wonderful piece of work and I think it’s all down to the metal. We certainly don’t have this metal here, on Earth. Did you happen to get its name?” he asked Kezzy.

“Um, it didn’t mean anything to me - Guayxa.”

“Hmm, interesting. I don’t suppose you know what that means in their language?”

“No.”

“It’s almost as if it is a fluid and yet not. That sounds a bit daft, probably, but I wonder….”

Morris walked away, heading into what looked like a vault at the end of the room.

He returned carrying a black case, around the size of a briefcase.

“As you know, we’ve scanned, X-rayed and tried everything to look into your torc, but we never tried cooling.”

“Cooling?” Keira asked.

“Yes, we tried heat and diamonds and all manner of cutting tools, but I never considered cooling the metal.”

On opening the case, they all saw the steel cylinder that contained the nitrogen. Stefan suddenly got a bad feeling and started to squirm on his seat.

“Use mine!” Keira said, removing her torc and passing it to Morris.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but you can cross it off your list.”

Morris smiled briefly.

“Even if you get into the thing, will you be able to see what is in there and understand what everything does?” Kezzy asked.

“Probably not, but if I don’t try, we’ll never know.”

“Just put it on record that I’m not happy with this. If you bugger it up, I will lose my powers,” Keira said.

Morris licked his lips and nodded.

“Duly noted, Miss Keira; I shall endeavour not to bugger it up, as you so succinctly put it.”

Taking the torc, he clamped it onto a raised unit behind a magnification screen.

He set to work, using a device with a very small aperture that shot a jet of nitrogen onto an area smaller than a pinpoint at a time.

For the next ten minutes, all they could hear was Morris sucking air through his teeth and muttering, ‘fascinating!’, ‘ingenious!’ and ‘well, I never!’

A miniature camera transferred what one could almost not see onto one of the many monitors. Finally, he placed his tools down and unclamped the unit.

He handed it back to Keira who placed it back around her neck. She immediately managed to counteract gravity and floated to the ceiling with a relieved grin on her face.

“You didn’t break it, Morris,” she observed.

“No, and I have to say, whoever made that torc is a genius of the first order. It’s a wonderful piece of kit and takes micro engineering into a different league. I was right about the metal; it is like nothing we’ve ever come across. However, the most important part of the whole unit is the power pack, or packs. Each orb at either end houses the ingenious micro-power packs. Placing two in there means there is always a back-up. I have no idea as to the technology involved, so can only guess as to what makes them tick. They respond to warmth of the wearer, solar energy or any form of thermal increase. They can identify the wearer through DNA scanner and one can see they took human DNA as the projection and they have their own DNA as the subject, although of course it is irrelevant when humans wear it. I made a slight alteration, so by using a mental suggestion, you should be able to project the image of one of them.”

“What?”

“I suspect that they were designed primarily as a means of camouflage and a boost for getting around as well as essential protection. The primary function was to create a projected image of a human so they could walk among us without appearing scary. By changing a simple connection, I believe that I have made it so that you should be able to create the projection of one of them if you so choose.”

“By one of them, I take it you mean an alien?” Keira asked.

“Yes. We can use their own devices to turn the tables on them.”

Keira tried and they all gasped as a three-legged carrot was suddenly standing amongst them.

Kezzy grinned and clapped her hands.

“Yup, that’s one of them!” she declared.

“You are a female alien. I will alter the other torc so that Stefan can project as a male.”

Simply thinking about returning to normal brought Keira back.

“Weird!” she said.

“What did it feel like?” Kezzy asked.

“I’m not sure about having three legs; as I said, it felt weird.”

Stefan was clearly reluctant to hand over his torc.

Morris smiled.

“Don’t worry, Keira explained about the peculiarities of the torc, so I won’t alter the original parameters. You will return to be the person you have to be when you wear it again. All you need is some practice to project the alien physiology for short durations.”

Reluctantly, Stefan removed the torc and became Gudrun again for a few horrible minutes. It was with enormous relief that once back around her neck, Stefan reappeared.

“That’s it, it’s not coming off again!” he said.

“I’d love to have them for a prolonged period to see if I can work out exactly how the damn things work. The technology involved is so far more advanced compared to anything we possess,” said Morris.

“Perhaps that might be possible when all this is over and the threat of imminent invasion has passed,” said Keira. “I think, for the moment, we need them working and not in bits in your workshop.”

Stefan still looked dubious.

“Listen, once you go through the change, you won’t care as much,” Keira said to him.

“Hmm,” he replied, obviously unconvinced.

“Well,” said Morris. “It’s purely academic until we can sort out our current little problem. I understand that the boss wants to see if Kezzy can ‘airlift’ the others to this alien ship; have I got that right?”

“Not exactly; or certainly not immediately. We have the advantage at the moment in that they believe that people with our abilities are the norm. In fact, they are terrified that we will find their fleet and destroy it, leaving them stranded with no friends.”

“Where is this fleet?” Morris asked.

“Ah, I have the location as I managed to pick it from the navigation officer’s mind. It’s just that the fleet is moving, so I’m not as sure as I’d like to be.”

Morris grinned.

“I like a challenge,” he said, and sat down in front of his computer.

“Pass me what you have telepathically, then,” he said.

The others simply stood and watched as Kezzy closed her eyes. Shortly afterwards, Morris started typing on his keyboard. One by one the monitors changed. Finally, Kezzy’s eyes opened and they all started at what was on the screens, or six of them at any rate.

It was a multidimensional image of a series of blobs.

“That’s the fleet?” Keira asked.

“That’s what was in Kezzy’s mind. The last screen has their location as a mathematical progression given their last course and speed. I have no reason to suppose they’ve changed anything as to manage a fleet that size one would want to change as little as possible otherwise you would lose ships right, left and centre.”

“There seem to be a hell of a lot of them; how many are there?” Kezzy asked.

Morris pointed to a series of numbers on the screen showing data and not an image.”

“Over six hundred ships; some are huge and some are as small as the one you were on.”

“You got all that from my brain?”

“Hmm, surprising, isn’t it?” said Morris with a smile.

“I’m getting rather blazé about finding out new, stuff these days. Now, excuse me for a moment, I have to head up to Amber’s office and call the PM.”

“The who?” asked Shannon.

“You heard. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Fourteen

Thyric was feeling even more nervous with each moment that passed in the presence of the more mature human female.

Amber had demonstrated a vastly superior mental ability, capable of reading the minds of all on board with no problem, despite their best efforts to shield against her.

The fact the humans did not appear to have achieved interstellar flight yet had given her the impression that the humans were far inferior to themselves. However, despite the warnings in the initial report sent eons ago, these ‘beasts’ were not really bothered about travelling away from their sun – why should they? They had a perfect planet with all they needed right here. There was clearly no urgency or need to move.

Amber appeared to be open and answered all the captain’s questions honestly and without hesitation. She was, at this moment, giving Thyric a concise history of the planet to date, which Thyric found fascinating.

<When did your people start to develop a higher mental ability?> she asked the human.

<That is not an easy question to answer. Our history reveals increased incidence of paranormal gifting among our people in the early days, possibly even before formal records were kept. However, superstition and ignorance tended to cause fear among men who did not understand such abnormalities. Any paranormal activity on behalf of any individual was labelled as magic and they were all terrified of it.

<The growth in power and influence of various very different religions did not help. By and large the populace was illiterate and kept in ignorance by those few in power, whether clerical or secular. As far as spiritual matters were concerned, there was far more ignorance abroad than wisdom and tolerance.

<Right up until quite recently, the people at the top were highly insecure and fearing that those who were specially gifted might become a threat to their exalted positions and, probably more importantly, wealth and their access to even more.  They stirred up fear among the masses so that those with the extra mental powers were often tracked down and killed for allegedly possessing magic, which was considered rooted in evil by the religious people of the day. Those so labelled were often killed for being what our people called witches.>

Thyric mused over that point.  Being a well-educated individual, she knew that there were parallels in their own past. Among her people, such things also happened in pre-history, but gradually, the people came to appreciate the skills and powers possessed by the very few. Even today, those with unusual powers were revered not ostracised, although she realised that there were very few in number and nothing like as powerful as these humans appeared to be.

Amber picked up that thought.

<That is the situation today. Paranormal or superpowers is how they describe them, and occasionally those who display the powers are called superheroes. A hero is someone who works consistently for the common good against threats of any kind, from within or without society. My young friend was doing just that in her immaturity until she came to work for me as part of an officially recognised organisation.>

<You mean threats as we might pose?>

<Yes, you are perceived as a threat, both in the form of your large, well-equipped fleet with large numbers of potential invaders and indeed the original landing here so long ago. More importantly, as we do not know precise numbers and your levels of weapons technology, you are currently classed as an unknown threat, which is always far more serious than a known threat. Humans are by nature suspicious and aggressive in the defence of their homes.>

<So, you have been sent to destroy us?>

<Not necessarily, although that is certainly an extreme option if all else fails. These are more enlightened times. Yes, there will always be those, not unlike our ancestors that your ancestors might have met, who feel that direct and aggressive action is the best form of defence. My function here is to simply ascertain your numbers and intent. It is my job to determine the level of threat and what would be the most appropriate course of action for all concerned.>

<How did you know about our fleet?>

<Do not underestimate our powers. I am one of many. Your fleet is being visited as we speak, and your intent and purpose is being identified.>

<How can this be?>

<Although now a fair distance from your fleet, you have a communication line open to the fleet?>

<Yes.>

<We simply followed it.>

Thyric felt an increasing weight of guilt and responsibility.

<Are all your kind as gifted as you and your friend?>

<In all honesty, no; not all. We are still in a minority amongst a population of many billions of individuals,> she told them, pausing as she felt the mental shock from those who picked up on the fact there were billions of humans.

<As I explained, we are held in high esteem by the general populace. Although we are in the initial stages at the moment, I suspect that in a short time, an increasing proportion of the population will all develop similar powers to those that I and my colleagues possess. However, there are sufficient of us to protect our planet in times of threat.>

<What level of powers do you possess?> Thyric asked.

Amber smiled and started to give the alien captain a demonstration. She hoped Kezzy and the others were making good use of the time. The entire crew grew exceptionally nervous as Amber demonstrated her ability to instantly teleport from one compartment of the ship to another. This was obviously how she was able to locate and enter the ship, and how the other female managed to leave to return to their planet. Clearly, these humans did not need spaceships. If they had the relevant coordinates, then they could….

Suddenly, the full implications of the human’s ability hit home. If they found the main fleet, then…

It did not bear thinking about.

Teleporting to distant points of the galaxy was a new one for all three. Kezzy was the only one with the ability, although she had never actually thought her skill as being teleporting. Amber had recognised that her ‘flying’ was a series of mini ‘jumps’ so as to appear seamless. In contrast, the others used their torcs in a series of null gravity jumps.

Morris went over the details several times until all were capable of understanding what was expected of them. The torcs had clearly been designed to operate within an atmosphere, but were never designed for vacuum work – least of all at some distant point far from the sun and so close to absolute zero.

Kezzy practiced ‘carrying’ the others simply by them holding a loose harness that she wore. She mentally included them in her jumps and after several disconcerting leaps around the building and then the Home Counties, Mortis seemed satisfied that she would be able to undertake the same no matter what distance was involved.

“Right, now try the same while wearing the suits,” he said.

They each wore a suit ‘borrowed’ from the European Space Agency. Prime Ministers might be considered insignificant and creatures of ridicule by most people, but if one suddenly wants something, then it is very hard to say ‘no’.

Three technicians were helping them get into the suits and the helmets were on a table close by. Shannon got the giggles.

“You don’t half look daft!” she said.

“I feel a right dick,” said Kezzy.

Stefan’s grasp of English was good, but not so English as American. He had to concentrate hard when the British girls spoke as many of their words and phrases were alien to him.

He felt increasingly alarmed as their preparations neared completion. This was a very long way from what he had envisioned the role of guardian to the small town in Norway.

Lastly, they adapted the harness for Kezzy to struggle into. With the various air tanks and other equipment, it was an effort and she was sweating profusely by the time they finished.

“Okay, guys, ready for a trip?” she said.

Keira and Stefan grabbed their length of strap on her harness and grunted in the affirmative.

Suddenly, they were gone.

“Shit!” said Shannon,” I knew they were going to do it but it still gives me the willies.”

Morris’s computer squawked at him.

He clicked the mouse and Kezzy’s face grinned at him through the screen. Her helmet visor was up and she was clearly holding a phone in front of her.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I think we’re at the top of Ben Nevis,” she replied. “I think we’ve just scared the shit out of some scouts on a hike.”

“Okay, try the moon.”

“Bollocks, Morris. I think we just need to get this done. We’re coming back, so make your final calculations.”

Moments later they reappeared in the lab.

“Tell me again why this is necessary,” Stefan asked. “I mean, we know Kezzy can do it, so why do we have to go as well?”

Keira smiled, shaking her head.

“It’s obvious when you think about it. It is important that we demonstrate to the enemy that we can undertake vast leaps of interstellar travel without the need for ships.”

“Can’t Amber do it?”

“Yes, but they need to see that more than one of us has the ability.”

“Will this not endanger us? They may identify the torcs and decide to take them back.”

“They can try. Hopefully, and if we need to, we can us the torcs to try to camouflage ourselves as them,” Keira said.

“Inside human shaped suits?”

“Ah, I haven’t actually worked out the details yet; Kezzy?”

“I’m not sure we will need to become like them. Unless something goes horribly wrong, the point is to ensure they see us and know that we can reach any part of any ship if we wanted to.”

“Why?”

“If we can get there, then we can take a large weapon, such as a nuke and set it off when we want. They will be powerless to stop us.”

“You said if something goes horribly wrong – like what exactly?” Stefan asked.

“Well, the trick will be to get into one of their ships. We know their atmosphere is breathable, so we will not need the suits. It could be they have some sort of weapon that incapacitates us and so we would have to disappear.”

“In other words, you haven’t a clue,” said Keira.

“Amber reckons we can do it. Heck, I reckon we can do it. I managed to get back from their ship, didn’t I?” Kezzy said.

“There’s a vast difference from within our solar system and somewhere out there,” Keira said, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the sky.

“Only in scale.”

Morris had been bashing away on his keyboard and sucking air through his teeth. He stopped and stared at the screen, interrupting them.

“Right, having extrapolated your data pertaining to their communications, I think I’ve worked out exactly where their fleet should be.”

He showed her a three-dimensional mapping system showing a set of green blobs that were moving rapidly along a trajectory towards Earth.

“How accurate is that?” Kezzy asked.

“Within a hundredth of a second.”

“Meaning?”

“Pretty exact. Can you lock in on that?”

“I’m not sure what I am looking at. Where exactly is it?”

The weird, 3D map expanded as he zoomed it out to incorporate other features – different coloured blobs. He pointed to what appeared to be a white blob with smaller blobs orbiting it.

“Look, here is our system, and this is a direct line from wherever they’ve come. Amber suggests that you focus onto these coordinates and that should be sufficient.”

“Even if I have no idea what those numbers mean?”

Morris shrugged.

“Kezzy, do you want to do a test jump by yourself first?” he asked.

“No!” said Keira, “we go together. We’re all in suits and so even if they are not there when we arrive, she can at least bring us home again.”

They all looked at Kezzy.

“You can bring us home again, can’t you?” Stefan asked.

“Yes,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“There is a problem, however,” Morris said.

“A problem?” all three asked at the same time.

“What kind of problem?” Keira asked.

“This will not be like aiming for a static target such as you have done in the past. I’ve worked out their trajectory and current speed. Their ships are moving very fast, so you need to match their speed if you want to get on board one of them,” Morris said.

“How fast?” Kezzy asked.

“Well, judging by the data you brought back, they are de-accelerating.”

“How fast, Morris?”

“Well under the speed of light.”

“That covers a lot of ground; can you be a little more specific?”

“Not really. You see, they are being forced to slow down as otherwise they might fly right by us.”

“And you say that we have to match their speed?”

“Yes.”

“Just how do I do that?”

He shrugged.

“I have no idea about the technicalities, as I’m not the one who can teleport. In theory, you need to be moving at a matching speed in the same direction as soon as you appear at these coordinates. See, the figures are changing all the time as the fleet is making all haste towards us. I suggest you do what you used to do - fly - only a hell of a lot faster so you match the speed of your target ship, and then sort of hop on.”

“Sort of hop on; that’s a little vague and unscientific, even for you, Morris, isn’t it?”

Morris grinned.

“Hell, I don’t know.”

Kezzy stared at him for a moment.

“I need to practice on something first,” Kezzy said.

“Like on what?” Stefan asked.

“Something that is moving pretty fast.”

“Like a plane?” asked Shannon.

“Good idea. Any idea as to how I can find one?”

“Just look out of the window and pick one,” said Keira, half in jest.

Kezzy walked to the window and looked out and up. Then, she vanished.

“Bloody hell, I wish she’d warn me when she’s going to do this shit!” said Shannon.

Captain Robert Lewis sat back as BA flight 197 rose steadily to cruising altitude. His first officer, Yvonne Fletcher had controls at take-off of the large Boeing 777 and affected a near perfect take off even though the cross-wind had gusted a little. The joys of a plane this size was that it was relatively stable even in strong cross-winds.

The flight was full on this flight to Houston, so now they were at 30,000 feet; the cabin crew had started work to ensure their passengers were all relaxed and content. Unlike many earlier planes, the 777 needed just two on the flight deck as the fly by wire system was so much easier than the old systems.

After making a brief announcement greeting the flight and to tell them that they were due to land in nine and a half hours, he took out his newspaper and continued the crossword he had started earlier.

Upon reaching cruising altitude, Yvonne ensured the correct course was in the system and engaged the auto-pilot. She then took out her book and found her place.

A strange sound and disturbance of the air alerted Robert to something odd, so he glanced back.

There, in the somewhat cramped area of the flight deck was a figure in a space suit. He glanced to the rear to see the door was still firmly locked.

“What the fu…?” he started to say but then the figure raised the face plate to reveal a very pretty girl. She raised one finger to her lips, grinned and vanished.

“Sir?” Yvonne asked, glancing at him.

“Yvonne, um, I don’t suppose you saw an astronaut standing by the door, by any chance?”

His first officer looked worried.

“I’m sorry; what?”

“An astronaut, female and very pretty, just there,” he said, pointing to the rear of the flight deck.

She glanced at the clearly empty fight deck and then back to her Captain with a somewhat worried expression on her face.

“No, good, probably best you didn’t!” said Robert.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, I may be just a bit overworked,” he said.

Yvonne smirked. They all knew that Captains actually did very little – they were there in case. They only really earned their high salaries when the wheel literally might come off.

The flight continued, but Captain Lewis made a mental note to book some holiday.

Kezzy reappeared.

She flipped her faceplate up and grinned.

“That was way cool. There’s a pilot who’s going to be seeking counselling when he lands,” she said.

“Any problems?”

“None. I think I need something a little further out and travelling a bit faster.”

“Like?” Shannon asked.

“The International Space Station!” Morris declared, not without a little triumph in his voice.

“Oh?”

“It’s about two hundred and fifty-five miles up and travelling at a speed of around 17,100 mph, If you can get onto that, it would be a great tester!” Morris said.

Jessica Ulrika Meir had been Assistant Professor of Anaesthesia at Harvard Medical School before taking up her current post – Flight engineer on the ISS on behalf of NASA.

Apart from being an astronaut, she was also a marine biologist and physiologist, as well as holding a variety of other post-doctoral degrees and interests.

She was also very interested in the physiology of diving and had studied penguins at great length.

It came as quite a shock to her, therefore, while enjoying a little down-time in the ISS reading a book when a change in the air currents caused her to look up. Kezzy flipped her visor, said, Hi!” and then vanished.

Jessica shook her head, closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them again, everything looked normal.

She decided that it was probably best not to say anything to anyone. Straightjackets were one item of equipment that was not available on the ISS.

Kezzy reappeared looking resigned.

“Okay, now, where are those bloody ships again?” she said.

Morris showed her the updated 3D map.

“I suggest you go via their ship on the moon and follow their communications,” he said.

“Oh, sod it, hop on,” she muttered and glanced at Keira and Stefan. “Ready?”

“Really?” Stefan asked.

Swallowing and feeling somewhat less than happy, Stefan grabbed the harness and glanced at Keira who was doing the same on Kezzy’s other shoulder. She winked at him and locked her faceplate down. He followed suit.

“Go on then. I must be mad!” he muttered and, in a heart-wrenching moment, he found himself floating in the vast darkness of empty space holding onto Kezzy as was Keira.

Only space wasn’t exactly empty and nobody could accurately describe what they were doing as ‘floating’.

Oh, there were no planets, asteroids or lumps of rock, only stars – what appeared to be billions of them

There were also ships – hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands. They were all different shapes and sizes and they were all headed the same way. Actually, they didn’t seem to be moving at all, which worried Stefan.

Although they had no real idea of movement, the ships were staying still. However, some of the bright objects that were probably stars were moving. That meant that Kezzy was indeed ‘flying’ and keeping pace with the ships as they sped towards Earth.

<How the hell do we get onto one of them?> Keira said telepathically, so without bothering to go through their radio.

<Hang on, let me try to get closer,> Kezzy replied.

There was a smaller lurch and they found themselves amongst the ships – as if they were now part of the fleet.

<Most of the communications are going in and out of that big one in the middle. I’m going to try to get us on that one.>

Keira and Stefan simply did not have the powers that Kezzy possessed, so they had no choice but to trust her judgment.

<Where will you place us; in a quiet spot or slap bang in the middle of everything?> Keira asked.

Kezzy didn’t answer, but after yet another lurch, the three had to cope with a semblance of artificial gravity as they appeared in the main control deck of the command ship.

Fifteen

Lenoor-Khas was one of the oldest members of her race. There were a few older, but unlike many of them, she still retained all her mental and physical capabilities. She had been the ‘Commander’ of this fleet for what would be over fifteen Earth years – not that they recorded time in such instalments.

She was well past her fertile years, having bred successfully as both a male and a female in her past. Now, as a senior mamale, she had put all such things behind her as she focussed on the single most important thing in their existence – finding a host planet for her people.

It was a matter of immense distress that the race had split into seven fleets many centuries ago to better their chances of locating a new home world. Unfortunately, due to many reasons, all communication between the fleets had been lost a long time ago, and she was unaware whether their fleet was alone or that there were others somewhere out there.

The ancient message had come from a scouting team sent out before the great split. However, having now been received and understood, she had no way of alerting any of the others that they might have found somewhere, even if she knew they might still be in existence. Neither did she know whether that same message had been picked up by another remaining fleet.

This journey was expending a terrible amount of fuel, so as a gamble, if there was no planet at the end, their future looked incredibly bleak indeed.

She had gone over the initial ancient report so often she knew it word perfect, as had all the members of the fleet council.

Having been forewarned about the microscopic dangers that seemed to have killed that early crew, she had no doubt that their advanced technology could make the place safe. However, the same could not be said for the ‘Brutes’.

Several questions remained unanswered and would only be clear when the scout ship reported back. They were expecting a preliminary report any day now.

Were the ‘Brutes’ still in existence and, if so, had they developed over the centuries to a more advanced race?

If that was the case, would they be as advanced as they were?

She glanced round the large control deck. To the front was the control area for this ship. The ship’s officers went about their routines calmly and with automatic precision.

Towards the rear was the main communication hub that kept all the ships in constant communication with the central command ship and each other.

There was very little communication other than the essential at the moment, but the Commander knew that on each ship preparations were being made for a possible invasion.

“Anything on forward scanners?” she asked the relevant officer for about the twentieth time. If the enemy had acquired anything like technological parity with their race, then there would be a good chance they might well have discovered their scout ship, so might also know they were coming. It might be reasonable that they would launch a counter offensive to prevent them approaching their planet.

“No, Commander, nothing.”

She turned to look at another communications officer at another position.

The officer, anticipating her question, came in first.

“Still nothing from the scout, Commander.”

She was beginning to believe that perhaps the Brutes had yet to climb out of their primordial slime and were still bashing each other over the head with clubs.

“ETA?” she asked.

“Current deceleration speed and course, eighty-five globs (Twenty days).”

“Commander, message from Starfire. They are experiencing propulsion problems and are unable to maintain current speed even at deceleration. The Captain is asking for a respite to make repairs.”

Starfire was a smaller vessel bearing just a few hundred of their people. They were technicians for the most part, so would not be essential in the early stages of any military invasion. Splitting up the fleet or leaving one behind was contrary to everything they held dear, but time was of the essence here and further delay was not to their advantage.

“Negative. We cannot afford to stop at this time. We are slowing considerably and will maintain current course.  Inform the captain that she should stop her ship and make repairs and then catch up when possible.”

“Done.”

Lenoor-Khas, as with all her kind had been born in space. Her mother had been Commander and so it was in her blood.

Her dream had always been to walk on a surface of a planet with reasonable gravity without suit or breathing apparatus.

To have a house and perhaps to plant vegetables in the soil to have it watered by the rain…ah…

She first became aware something had happened when one of the crewmen screamed.

She turned to admonish the young male when her blood ran cold.

There, standing just behind her were three suited biped figures.

Aliens!

In the thousands of years that the race had been searching the cosmos, now alien life forms had come to them!

But, how?

All those in the control room were frozen whilst their more than adequate minds failed to fathom this conundrum.

Of the three suited figures, the one on the left was slightly taller than the other two. However, after checking a device on its wrist, it was one of the shorter ones in the centre that lifted both arms and flicked back the faceplate, revealing what lay behind.

Lenoor-Khas was not the only one to gasp in astonishment. That gasp became something deeper when the creature spoke directly into their minds in what they initially believed was their own language.

<I bring you cautious greetings from the people of the planet to which you are heading. We call it the Planet Earth. I am to inform you that your ambition to invade and colonise our planet is pointless and without purpose. The planet to which you are bound is fully occupied and protected by powers far beyond your own. Should you continue, then you must accept that the destruction of this fleet and all who sail in these ships is the only outcome.>

A male crewman carrying a sidearm did not hesitate, but immediately drew his weapon and opened fire before Lenoor-Khas could stop him.

There was a rosy glow as whatever protected the aliens took full blast and absorbed the energy while the three suited creatures simply stood there.

Turning towards the errant crewman, she was about to shout at him when she watched, horrified, as he was lifted off his feet and thrown unceremoniously against the rear bulkhead by an unseen power.

Shock emanated from all on the control deck.

<You call us ‘Brutes’, and yet your only response to our efforts to warn you is to attempt our destruction. Who is in command of this doomed venture?>

Although the ‘voice’ was transmitted directly into the minds of all on the ship, they could discern that this being was not best pleased and they all felt the tingles of fear.

“I am in command,” Lenoor-Khas admitted with some trepidation.

To Lenoor-Khas' consternation, the central figure disappeared. The one on the right stepped forward and raised her faceplate.

Keira regarded the carrot-shaped figure who admitted being in charge.

<We consider that you are a threat of the highest order against our planet and our race. Give us one good reason why we should not destroy your fleet immediately?> she asked.

One of the crewmen seated (if that’s the right word for how this race sort of folded their bottom ends) at a console started communicating with the commander.

“Commander, I'm getting reports from all the ships that aliens have breached security and have entered the engine compartments.”

<That will be our people,> Keira said. <We have the power to cause all your ships’ drives and power sources to go critical and destroy your ships.>

Kezzy was flitting from ship to ship, making her presence known and then going onto the next. It might take her a while to get around to all the ships in the fleet, but as she was the only one with this gift, she had to be busy.

“What can we do to avert this catastrophe?” Lenoor-Khas asked.

<You will immediately halt your progression and meet with our commander who will return with your captured scout-ship. Any forward advance by your fleet will be considered a threat of war and action will be taken accordingly.>

Clearly, the taking of the scout ship was news to Lenoor-Khas. That would be why they had heard nothing from Thyric.

Lenoor-Khas reluctantly issued the order to halt the passage of the fleet.

As the captain of a large, ocean-going container ship knows, it is impossible to quickly stop something large that is travelling relatively fast for its mass.

The fleet comprised many ships, but at the speed at which they were all travelling, even though they were decelerating gently, once the command to stop was given, it took more than a few hours to decelerate to a complete stop.

This in itself was a unique action, for never before had the fleet come to an immediate (as good as) stop. They had always been moving in one direction or another, so to cease moving was un-nerving at best and terrifying at worst for those on the ships.

Among the fleet, there were now many rumours adrift of aliens and advanced ones at that. One moment they were en route to a potential home world and then next, they were being stopped in their tracks by the occupiers of that home world who clearly were not willing to simply move over and allow them to build a new home alongside them, or to conveniently die and allow them the freedom of the planet.

The fleeting glances they had of the aliens were probably worse than if they had come in great numbers. They never knew where they might turn up next and, once it became known they could access any part of any ship at will, they knew that the aliens had the potential to destroy them easily.

Lenoor-Khas knew that there was a great danger that someone would attempt to stop the aliens, or, even more seriously, would endeavour to attack them.

She issued a blanket command for no action to be taken if an alien was seen. They were not to be touched or interfered with in any way.

It was, however, the arrival of their own scout ship that caused them the most consternation.

It docked with the Command vessel and Lenoor-Khas steeled herself to meet the senior human.

A special chamber was isolated and given atmosphere and heat suitable for the humans. They were reluctant to allow the aliens too much access to the ships as they might be carriers of microbiological organisms that could be potentially fatal to their race. However, this was an academic point for the first humans had already breached the ships in any case, even if they had yet to open their suits.

Amber entered the main ship with Thyric. The Commander watched their arrival on the CCTV. The human was wearing her suit, for which Lenoor-Khas was relieved. Amber read her mind.

<You need not fear we are carriers of anything that can harm you. We have ensured that we are clear of any such contaminants, but we welcome the offer of privacy,> Amber told them.

Such was the power of her mind that everyone in the fleet could ‘hear’ the message in their minds.

Fear gripped them all.

Thyric escorted the human onto the command deck. The human still wore her suit and helmet, for which they were grateful despite the assurance that she carried no diseases.

Thyric was known to the commanders of all the ships and was generally trusted to have been the best-suited for the task of scouting the proposed planet. The unprecedented events succeeded in wrong-footing the high command and sent shockwaves of confusion through to every single member of their race.

These creatures did not need spaceships.

That one fact was horrifying in its reality. They had sought the fleet out without the constraints that they imagined every race needed.

<We will enter a conference with your commanders,> Amber said. <Please gather them together so we can openly and freely discuss your options.>

She then turned and with the other humans, entered their private chamber.

Lenoor-Khas approached Thyric.

“Is this the truth; are they truly as powerful as they are leading us to believe?”

“Yes, Commander, I am afraid it is. They do not need space ships and can teleport instantly across great distances and even into sealed ships.”

“How many are there?”

“Of the humans? Many billions, if their leader is to be believed. She has been totally open with us and clearly is not fearful of us.”

“Are all their kind as powerful?”

“Again, she told us that those with such powers are in a minority. She told me of their history. It appears that prejudice and jealousy of anyone with unusual, supernatural or simply greater powers caused purges against them through the ages. Now they are treated as special and revered by their people. I was led to believe that even though still in a minority, there are more than enough to handle any threat to their planet.”

“We do not know how many have been deployed against us. How many have you encountered?” Lenoor-Khas asked.

“Just two so far. There was the leader, who accompanied us on our ship, and a younger female. The younger female who is probably somewhere out there amongst the ships was discovered tampering with one of our probes. We captured her and held her on our ship.”

“There are two more on this ship. How many more there may be will no doubt become clear in time. Time is one thing we do not have. Was the one you captured easy to catch?”

“With hindsight, I suspect she permitted us to capture her so she could track our communications which in turn led them to the fleet. I feel ashamed and will place myself at the mercy of the council.”

“If we survive this encounter, then recriminations can wait. We will need all our skills in diplomacy and tact to get through this with the race intact. Now, I must call the commanders for a conference with the humans.”

Not all the ships’ commanders attended. The fleet was just too big, so a couple of hundred of the most senior ones attended.

For several hours, the shuttle ships were coming to and going from what would be called their flagship, had it been a human fleet. The service deck where the shuttles docked was exceptionally busy, and the atmosphere amongst those gathering captains was stressed.

The Commander - Lenoor-Khas deliberately stayed back and allowed them to meet and discuss things having little or no information other than what was initially circulated. She calculated that if the rumours were allowed to flourish, then when truth was revealed, they would be relieved - that was the theory.

The rumours were certainly flourishing.

It was a time of firsts:

They had met an intelligent alien species for the first time, and that species was rumoured to be more advanced in ways they could barely imagine – possessing terrifying powers that involved teleporting across space and mind-reading.

The fleet had never before stopped, so the rumour was that an enemy faced them so powerful that should they advance they would be destroyed.

The original message about the ‘brutes’ was generally well-known, but the descendants of the |brutes were even more terrifying than the original primitive natives that their scout ship met so long ago.

They were within reach of a potential home world that was rumoured to be perfect in every way, except for the mass of Brutes that were prepared to destroy their own world if it looked like their people might seize it. If they couldn’t keep it, then nobody else would have it..

They faced an unknown threat that brought home to them the fragility of their situation.

While the captains gathered in a large converted hangar, Amber, Keira, Kezzy and Stefan had a mini-conference in their isolated section.

“I’ve visited every ship, but I don’t know how long it will be before they twig they all saw the same person,” Kezzy said.

“We all look alike to them, so they probably won’t twig,” Keira replied.

“No, that’s not true. They have noted that we are three females and one larger male and that I am older than you three,” corrected Amber. “That much I do know. But, yet, they are confused and incredibly fearful. They still believe that there are many more of us, so we need to press home that advantage.”

“Have they noticed our torcs yet?” Stefan asked.

“Not yet, but that will happen in due course. By which time, I hope we will have done business and be all heading in different directions.”

“What can he hope to achieve?” Keira asked. “I mean, there are a hell of a lot of them and their weaponry is probably far in advance of what our forces have.”

“Oh, thee of little faith!” Amber rebuked. “It’s not the quantity of guns or even the nature of those guns. They are facing a psychological nightmare – an enemy who don’t need ships or weapons. We have our minds and our special abilities, so we hold over them the ultimate deterrent – absolute and total destruction.”

“That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?” Keira asked.

“It is the deterrent – the whole point of a deterrent is that one hopes one will never need to use it, as it deters a course of action.”

“Doh!” said Kezzy, teasing keira.

“Shut up!”

“Girls! Look, just stay with me and wait for my commands if necessary. We will start by laying down certain conditions and then, if necessary, we will do some form of demonstration of our powers. Now, what did Morris manage to extract from your torcs?”

Grinning, Stefan told her.

Amber listened and nodded.

“Okay, then let’s go and do battle for the world!”

Sixteen

The curved side of the ship was used to create tiers of seating – or whatever the carrots perched on that was their equivalent of seats.

The four humans entered along with Lenoor-Khas and Thyric. Thyric was simply relieved to have not been chastised for her actions in dealing with the initial confrontation with the humans. Indeed, Lenoor-Khas had actually praised her for her restraint.

“Had another commander been in your place, we might be losing a war for our survival at this moment instead of being on the verge of a negotiation at the end of which, we can simply hope to go on our way.”

Lenoor-Khas waved an appendage and silence reigned amongst the gathered captains.

To see them as an advanced, intelligent and sentient species was so hard. To Keira, they looked like animated carrots, and no amount of mental concentration could alter that fact for her.

She leaned close to Stefan.

“Do they look like carrots to you?” she whispered.

Stefan smiled weakly and nodded.

Actually, he was having a mini-crisis of his own. He tried not to think about exactly where he was and what they were trying to do. He was what one might describe as being well and truly out of his depth. He glanced at Kezzy who was smiling and looking as if she was out for a fun afternoon.

Lenoor-Khas addressed the assembly in their language. Amber and Kezzy could listen in on a mental plane while the torcs translated what she said for the other two.

“My people; this is a watershed moment for our race. I am standing here with the honoured Emissary from the Planet Earth. She is a wise and mature female called Amber. With her are but three of many of her assistants. They have come to us, in peace, to clarify the situation and to issue us with a clear set of directions that relate to their home world and any ideas we might have to settle there.

“Rumour and rumours of rumours have abounded amongst us ever since they arrived. Now is the time to dispel rumours and replace it with hard truth.”

She paused to let her words sink in.

“Yes, hard truth. The first truth is that we are not alone in the universe. This comes as no great surprise; despite the millennia we have been seeking and never found any other. Well, these we discovered before the great split, and yet word came to us relatively recently of that discovery. In the meantime, the inhabitants of this planet developed and now stand before us without fear to inform us that their home world is not one that is suitable to be shared.

“This is the second truth. I will let their Emissary speak. Be warned, she needs no words to speak, for they are a telepathic race and can speak directly into our minds in a way that can be understood, despite the great differences.”

Amber stepped forward and in front of them. All the humans had lost their space suits and the girls were now clad in elegant and flowing white dress, the hems of which reached the floor. Stefan found himself wearing a smart dark pseudo-uniform in black, bereft of any insignia or accoutrements.

“Neat trick!” Kezzy muttered to Keira.

< I bring you greetings from our world. Like you, we have never come face to face with another race. Your last visit here was made before we could even write, so there is no record of such encounter. Our greetings are cautious greetings for we know why you are here. We understand that your people have been without a home for many centuries. For that we feel sad for you. On our world, there are those few unfortunate individuals for whom circumstances have been against them to the point whereby they find themselves temporarily without a home.

<Homelessness on any scale is a desperate and depressing state of affairs, so you have our sympathy.

<So what? You might ask. Sympathy does not provide a home. Well, that’s true; but the home you seek must be suitable and clearly a home that is already fully occupied can never be classed as available, nor would it be suitable. Had it been the position whereby our population was merely a couple of million individuals, then perhaps a negotiation could have been entered into with a view to perhaps sharing that great resource. We are not a couple of million, but many billions. Even so, we are so different that within a short space of time, we would find ourselves in competition for the dwindling resources that could lead to a bitter and potentially planet-killing conflict from which there would be no winners, only losers!>

Amber paused for effect.

<Many billions of us all striving to survive on a planet that has all but depleted resources and is only barely capable of providing sufficient food for those that are living today. Should our population increase, as it can be expected to do, then drastic measures will have to be taken to somehow grow more food in areas that have not been able to provide that resource before, or we must somehow cut our population.

<I know that I am speaking to a race that has been confined to living in space-going vessels for so long, a stable birth and death-rate are something you have had to live with for all that time. You earnestly look forward to a time when you or your children can walk on the surface of your own world once more, free of the constraints of these artificial worlds, and free to grow and prosper.>

<Members of your race visited our planet many centuries ago when we, as a race, were in our early stages of development. Your people called us ‘Brutes’, for we behaved like brutes and were aggressive and entirely uncivilized, by your standards then, and probably by our standards now.

<We are no longer ‘Brutes’. That is not to say we are weak or foolish, yet we, like anyone, are still capable of making mistakes.

<Indeed, we are stronger now than at any time in our history. Our powers and skills render such objects as space-going vessels are redundant. By liaising with your fleet with nothing but our minds and bodies, I hope you appreciate just how developed we now are.

<Are we to be feared?> she asked, letting that question hang in the air.

<Only if you do not appreciate that what we are telling you is for your benefit. We would make a devastating enemy. That having been said, we would also make an irreplaceable friend.

<Imagine having a friend who possesses almost unlimited power, who could help rather than hinder, who would build rather than destroy and who could advise rather than warn. It is possible we can discuss how we might be of some assistance to you, but only after you have given us two assurances by means of a solemn and binding treaty.

<You may be asking yourselves - What do we have that you could possibly want in return for your help? Well, let me be candid with you. We are a young race by comparison. Your ancestors were flying spaceships when mine were dressing in animal skins and had yet to really understand what a wheel was. As an experienced race, you will have forgotten more than we have ever learned. You can help us by sharing your wisdom and experience. In return, we will endeavour to find a home for you that would mean your years of wandering among the stars could be terminated.

<What do we want? As I said, two assurances - One that you have no designs on our home world, known by us as Planet Earth, and two, that, in perpetuity, our two races will be bound in friendship, willing to aid the other if ever called upon to do so.

<We will give you time to think and discuss what has been said today. I hope and pray that whatever you decide will be for the best possible future for both our species.>

Amber stood back and with a nod to the others – all disappeared instantly - teleporting back to their ‘quarters aboard the ship with Keira and Stefan ‘piggy-backing’ Kezzy once more.

“Posh speech, boss!” Kezzy said, grinning.

Amber shrugged.

“It’s all such bollocks!” she said, wearily. “They want Earth and now know they can’t have it without a fight. I only hope they are scared enough of us to actually think we could destroy them. If so, then we might come away with a treaty that’s pretty damn worthless if anyone actually wants to put it to the test.”

“Should we use our torcs and go out and mingle to see if we can find out anything?” Keira asked.

“No, dear, it’s not worth the risk. One thing is sure, we need more personnel who are gifted. We need to build an international corps of gifted people to be ready if something like this happens again,” Amber said.

“Where will we find them?” Stefan asked.

“We found you, didn’t we?” Keira asked. “They have to be out there, just hiding. It’s not like society has ever given the gifted an easy ride. Not that long ago, we’d all be burned at the stake.”

“Perhaps we could duplicate the torcs and that way we could manufacture our own gifted,” Stefan suggested.

“Remind me to talk to Morris when we get back,” Amber said.

“When or if, boss?” Kezzy asked.

“Oh, when. Whatever happens, we will get back, but to what? Now, that is a different question.”

Lenoor-Khas was surprised when the four humans vanished at the end of Amber’s speech. She was relieved when her crewman reported that the humans were back in their quarters on board her ship, but it served as a stark reminder that these creatures had amazing powers.

After a stunned silence, the chamber erupted into noise as everyone seemed to want to speak at once.

Lenoor-Khas called for silence and calm and gradually the noise ceased and all eyes turned towards her.

“Discussion at any length will be fruitless, for we know they are giving us a simple choice – stay and die or move on and live. I do not know these humans but I know of one who has spent more time with them that anyone else. I call on Thyric to give her opinion on what was said and whether we should trust this Emissary Amber or not.”

Thyric was not expecting such a call, so stepped forward timidly and feeling a heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

There were some mutterings amongst the captains. It was well known that Thyric was responsible for leading and bringing the humans to the fleet, so some bore her a degree of ill-will.

Lenoor-Khas stepped forward again and addressed the chamber.

“Before I ask Thyric to speak, I will, for once and for all time, declare that she is blameless for her actions. There is not a Captain here who would have done better, for we are still all alive and able to talk about our future, which is something none of us would be doing had Thyric acted in a manner which would have led to an all-out war against an enemy that has the ability to end our race!

“Now, captain Thyric, you have spent time talking with the humans; is the situation as grave as they would have us believe?”

Thyric went over the course of events from the capture of the younger female – Kezzy and the eventual arrival of Amber and the others.

“Two things became clear to me,” she said. “At no time were any of them displaying any fear of us. Even when the younger female was detained on my ship and transported to their moon, she seemed, if anything, to be amused and entertained by our actions. She was neither afraid of our appearance, which is so utterly different to theirs, nor was she afraid of reason for being there. Clearly, from the outset, our ambition to locate a world for our people was never hidden from them. It was as if she knew how powerful they were and that, despite our technological superiority, we would never be a match for their powers.”

“You said two things, Captain,” Lenoor-Khas said.

“Yes, once I got over the shock of being in close proximity to a vastly odd alien, I came to appreciate that she was actually a caring person.”

This caused some intakes of breath amongst the gathered.

“Explain, please.”

“At no time was she malicious or aggressive, or even rude. She was interested in what we discussed, offering sensible opinions and comments. It came to me that she felt genuinely sad for us and our troubled history. I may be going out on an appendage here, but I would trust them. I believe they would make a far better ally than an enemy. Their planet may not have the resilience to support us alongside them, but if anyone could locate a suitable home for us, then they would.”

Stunned silence met the comments, so Thyric stepped back, grateful she had no more to say.

“Anyone else wish to address the assembly?” Lenoor-Khas asked.

“We have seen but four individuals here, and perhaps others have been seen by the crews of various ships that they have visited, but for all we know, we could be being duped by just a handful of gifted individuals and it is all a bluff. What proportion of their population possesses such powers?” asked an elderly captain seated near the front.

“Good question, but actually, does it matter if it is five million or just five?” Lenoor-Khas asked.

The older Captain looked baffled.

“You see, if just five can reach any part of any ship and cause our drives to go critical, then it matters not how many of them there are but whether they can undertake what they claim to be able to do. Just now, we saw four of them teleport to another part of this ship instantly. They not only located our fleet travelling at great speed in a vast empty space, they also managed to match our speed and enter our ships – so, the proportion is irrelevant. They found us and they are here.”

“My point is that if what we have seen are all they have, then we can kill these ones and their planet would be open for us to take!”

Judging by the reactions of most of the others, this elderly captain realised that she was alone in her viewpoint.

The Commander noted the body language and indicated that Thyric should reply.

“In my time spent researching the planet and inhabitants, I have to point out that the humans are far more militaristic than we are. Also, they may be less advanced technologically speaking, but they do possess nuclear weapons and I have no doubt that they would use them knowing full well that it might destroy all life on the planet. I am convinced, powers or no powers, that the risk to our people would be far too great to even consider a military operation. Even if we were to defeat them, I believe that the planet would probably be rendered uninhabitable,” Thyric stated. “In short, if it looked like we would take the planet from them, they would kill themselves and the entire planet to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

“Could they locate a suitable home world for us?” a voice from the back asked.

“They haven’t been asked to, so they do not know until they try. Could they do worse than we have to date?” Lenoor-Khas asked.

That received their equivalent of laughter.

“The truth is we really have no choice. Their planet is not available for us and we must go on. After seeing what I have seen and hearing what has been said, I am of the opinion that these humans amazing powers may prove to be an asset in our search for a new home if we agree to their terms,” the Commander declared.

There were no voices of dissent.

“Then, I propose to accept their conditions and agree to sign a non-aggression treaty with their emissary. I will endeavour to negotiate a clause whereby we will enlist their assistance in locating a suitable home world for us. This would be an important step in sealing our relationship with them as staunch allies, if not friends.”

Seventeen

“Can we be sure they’ve gone and gone for good?” the Prime Minister asked.

“That depends, sir,” Amber replied.

“Look, I had to brief the American President because of the possibility you did not succeed. You know how gung-ho they can be, so I need to assure him that we have neutralised the threat and he can stand his military down. You’re sounding like a damn politician, what do you mean?”

“Well, ‘for good’ is an awfully long time. I would state that I believe they have gone for the foreseeable future.”

“Again, that doesn’t answer the question.”

“Let me put it this way; the last time they visited us, we were just getting the hang of walking upright and something as complex as the wheel had yet to be discovered. On that occasion, they were done in by our bugs, and yet their technology even then was far more advanced that what we have today. They have not moved on any in terms of technological achievement and, if anything, have regressed in many ways. They are an old race who desperately want to find a planet and allow their race to continue.

“Had we been in the same stage as their last visit, then I believe that at best they might have enslaved us to force us to be their labourers, or at worst they would have been prepared to wipe humans off the face of the Earth in order that they might take our place.

“I am convinced that this current lot will leave us alone and abide by the treaty because they are terrified of the consequences of displeasing us.”

The Prime Minister frowned.

“Us as in the human race, or us as in you people?” he asked.

Amber quashed the rising anger.

“Both, but specifically those of us with additional powers.”

The Prime Minister was still frowning.

“Why are they afraid of the human race generally, if they are so advanced?”

“Basically, they are convinced that humans are unpredictable and volatile and because we have nuclear weapons, we would use them to prevent them from taking Earth, even if it meant our own and the entire planet’s destruction. In short, they think that we are mad enough to be willing to destroy everything if it meant they couldn’t have it.”

“I suspect they might be right. How do they know us so well?”

“They have been observing us for a reasonable period, but then I might have given them cause to believe it.”

The Prime Minister walked to the big bay window and looked out across the fields and trees of rural Buckinghamshire.

His country retreat at Chequers was an idyllic setting, far from the rough and tumble of Westminster and the general noise and aggression of London.

“I had to brief a few chosen world leaders, just in case you failed,” he said, sounding like a child caught doing something he thought he shouldn’t have done.

Amber realised that he was afraid of her, or certainly apprehensive of the power she wielded.

“I understand and it was probably sensible under the circumstances.”

“Are all your people back, safe and well?”

“Yes, sir, but one has gone out again.”

“Why?”

“Part of the agreement, sir. We’ve analysed the various potential host suns for a suitable spectrum. We’ve identified at least four that are close to our sun, in terms of suitability to find possible planets that just might sustain and support life. She has gone looking, so to speak.”

The Prime Minister stared at her.

“How?”

“The same way we were able to reach their fleet – by teleporting there.”

“Into space?”

“Yes.”

“With no ship?”

“She has a suit.”

“How does she get back?”

“The same way.”

“This is possible?”

“Yes. It is not easy, and she has had to practice a good deal, but I am confident that if there is a suitable planet, she will find it.”

“And you propose to just give it to these aliens?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t we keep it for ourselves? After all, Earth has given up most of its resources and what with climate change and...”

“No!” Amber said, rather more forcefully than she intended. “This is part of the treaty that I negotiated. They have no home world, not because they screwed it up like we are doing, but because of a natural disaster. Now, I don’t consider we deserve a new planet to bugger up until we sort this one out. We can and would locate a new home, if and when the time comes, but at the moment I don’t think humanity deserves it, do you?”

The Prime Minister tried to bluster, but Amber stopped him.

“Look at the world and all the nations and factions and different groups that can’t be trusted to boil an egg let alone unify enough in an important project like the colonisation of a new world. We would simply transfer all the angst that exists here to there and probably ruin everything in the process. No, humanity has to grow up a lot before that can be allowed to happen.”

“So, what gives you the right to dictate terms on humanity?”

“Nothing different to anyone else, except unlike most people, I actually could get there, which perhaps gives me a more enlightened perspective. It’s one thing to find a home, but it’s rather different getting a bunch of colonists there.”

“Ah, while we’re on the topic of powers, I want to broach the subject of an international organisation of special people that would come under the authority of the United nations.”

Amber didn’t like the sound of this.

“Go on?”

“Well, the Americans put forward a suggestion for a joint task force, but the Russians also want in, and I think a few of the others might be interested.”

“I was afraid of this. Who would be in command?”

“That would be decided.”

“By whom?”

“A committee of...”

“Politicians!” Amber said, making it sound like a swearword.

“Well, yes, elected representatives, certainly.”

“No.”

“But...”

“No.”

“Now, look here...”

“No, Prime Minister. We have a system that works and I see no need to change it. Have you not seen the various mutant movies like the X-Men? Look back in history at how witches were treated in just about every culture and country across the globe. All the creation of a specialist clique would do would be to factionalise those of us with powers and alienate those without. There will always be those who would seek to further their own agendas without any form of loyalty to either nation or the planet or humanity in general. That would mean we would be simply used to fight each other. We will not become some little lap dog of a political committee comprising of members of nations that can’t stand each other. I would agree to an international group but we remain utterly independent from any form of political control and as invisible as we have so far been. Most importantly, individuals would be free not to join if they so desired as led by their conscience.”

“What about those who would use their powers for dubious or criminal activities?”

“We already have laws in every nation and many international ones that would cover any such incident you list. We would uphold and assist in the preservation of such laws and if they are broken by an individual with powers, then we ourselves would deal with them.”

“Who would police the police in such conditions?”

“You know as well as I do that it is useless to try to look into the future. Those of us who already have come forward are justifiably apprehensive of the abuse of our powers and would take extreme steps to preserve the status quo. In reality, we are talking about a handful of individuals across the globe, which considering we bluffed the aliens into thinking we were considerably more plentiful, means we would actually have little impact on everyday life. I know of one in Russia and perhaps two in America and expect other nations to be as secretive as we are so the real numbers may never be known.

“I would agree to an international organisation, but ultimately, it has to be answerable to humanity and not to a particular political will. Each individual may be answerable, as I am to you, in their own nation, but do not start inventing a UN quango that would be utterly useless. We have kept under the radar to this point, and I believe it is to everyone’s advantage for that state to continue - we simply don’t exist!”

“I understand that you have recruited a Norwegian already?”

“Yes, so?”

“You have already started a precedent, as I have spoken to Norway’s Prime Minister and informed him. I will discuss it with other international colleagues, but the Americans have sent someone to join you on the understanding that you will remain responsible for the group.”

Amber felt control running away from her.

“Who?”

The door opened and Amber received the shock of her life. It was almost impossible to surprise Amber, such were her gifts, but there was one person who could successfully shield against any precognition.

“Jenny!”

“Hi, mama, how have you been?” she asked, her American accent was subdued but obvious.

“Busy, how the hell did you get roped into this?”

The Prime Minister felt a little side-lined as mother and daughter embraced.

Amber turned to the politician.

“Just what the hell did you say to her?” Amber demanded to know.

“Nothing, I never said a thing, but perhaps something was said by my counterpart in the States.”

“Don’t fuss, Mama, they told me you were saving the world and it might be a good idea if I put my prejudices aside and go give you a hand. By the time I got here, you’d done the job and were on the way back. I thought, what the hell, now I’m here, I can see what it’s all about,” Jenny said.

“What about Chris and the kids?” Amber asked.

“The kids are teenagers and well able to look after their father. Besides, I simply said my mother needed me and Chris told me to get on the next plane.”

Amber hugged her daughter again.

“So, what is this all about?” Jenny asked.

“Who put you up to this trip?” Amber asked.

“I never met her before. She said she was NSA and was a direct link to the President himself. He apparently said it was not just a matter of national security, but a global issue.”

“But you were so dead against using your powers for anything other than mending hurting people.”

“Yeah, I said that and she said that if there were no people left, what a waste of some cool powers. Besides, there wouldn’t be any people left who might need me or my services.”

Amber laughed with little humour.

“I suppose that’s true, but I never wanted you to get involved in this sort of thing. Your father and I promised never to...”

Jenny touched her mother’s arm.

“Before Dad died, he asked me to promise that if ever you were in danger, I'd put aside my principles and get stuck in. I promised, so here I am.”

“I never knew.”

“Yeah, well, it helps to be able to keep things from you. It’s one advantage I have, isn’t it?”

“I miss your father so much!” Amber said in a rare display of emotion.

“Yeah, we all do, Mama.”

“Excuse me, ladies, but can we get back on track?” said an increasingly frustrated Prime Minister. He had been briefed about Amber by the head of the Intelligence Services when he had taken office. He had not really understood but now appreciated exactly what was meant by... ‘there are only two sides, Amber’s and everyone else’s.’

“Prime Minister, until my colleague returns from wherever she might be, this discussion will have to wait. Only then will we know whether we’ve been entirely successful or whether the carrots might be still a threat,” Amber said.

“Carrots?” asked a confused PM.

“The aliens resemble carrots to a degree. I thought you were briefed?”

“Ah, perhaps I wasn’t paying strict attention.”

“That is not my fault. The aliens are vaguely carrot shaped, with the pointy end uppermost. They have three walking appendages and three arm-like appendages. They have no neck, as we know it, as their three eyes give them almost three-sixty degrees of vision,” Amber said, more for her daughter’s benefit rather than the PM’s.

“Anyway, their fleet is moving away from us, slowly but surely. They won’t go anywhere at any speed until Kezzy announces that she might have found somewhere for them to at least look.

The PM was frowning.

“Just how is it your daughter is working for the Americans?”

“As part of an agreement between the then PM, I went to work in America during the Cold War. The Soviets had a cunning plan to operate a sleeper programme and cause mayhem in the 1970’s and 80’s. We managed to stop them, but grew so close that we could not ignore things any more. We had to be careful, as we both knew how the official mind works. Our daughter Jenny was born just after David and I got married...”

“David?”

“David Robbins was an officer in the US military. He also had some powers and we worked together over here for a while. As far as my people and his were concerned, we just happened to be enjoying some well-earned leave when we happened to get married. I was already pregnant with Jenny, but we wanted to get married anyway.

“We settled in the States, as I managed to get a job as an Intelligence liaison consultant to the American intelligence people. David was still in their military, but they were good enough to keep us working in relatively close proximity to start with.

“We had fifteen wonderful years before he was diagnosed with cancer. Jenny was fourteen at the time and took his death hard, as she couldn’t understand how neither of us could use our powers to save him. Jenny went into medicine and is now a wonderful physician on the West Coast,” she said, pausing. “Or was, before this blew up in our faces.”

“Still am, they’ve given me a leave of absence, like a sabbatical, until you no longer need me.”

Amber smiled at her daughter.

“Jenny has some amazing gifts, but up to now she refused to use any of them for anything other than medical practicalities. I actually respect her for it, but can’t help but think that in a way it’s a waste of some amazing gifts.”

“Yeah, well, I still feel the same way, but perhaps not as strongly as before.”

Amber turned to the PM.

“So, you mentioned the Russians; who do they want to send?”

“A senior FSB officer called Ivan..." at this point he paused, looking at a piece of paper on his desk.

“Limosovitch,”Amber finished for him, smiling.

“Ah, you read my mind?”

“No, as you hadn’t actually remembered or read it by then. No, Ivan and I go way back to when David and I first met. He was working for the KGB then.”

“Is he another with special powers?” Jenny asked.

Amber smiled and nodded.

“When is he getting here?” her daughter asked.

“He landed an hour ago. I think he’ll be at the Russian embassy being briefed by their intelligence chappies,” the PM said.

“Then, while we wait for Kezzy to report back, can I ask that Jenny and I have some time to ourselves before we meet up with Ivan and whoever is being thrown into the pot?” Amber asked.

“Of course, but shouldn’t we chat through some rules of engagement, so to speak?” the PM asked.

“Not at this point. There really isn’t any use speculating on what different governments will be expecting. Besides, I already know the conditions that we are willing to work under.”

The PM had no alternative but to watch as Amber and her daughter left his office.

Amber had intended to drive back to her spacious apartment in London with her daughter to catch up on family news, but having to pop into her office first proved to be a mistake. She was grateful that the hour and a half drive gave her and Jenny some time to talk about children and very normal issues that affected every family.

As she entered her office, Steven was lurking in the corridor, as if lying in wait for her.

“Ah, boss, about the sighting on the Embankment...”

“Yes, Steven, what about it?” Amber asked, mentally reminding herself of the earlier conversation.

“I did a follow up as you requested and uncovered a little treasure trove.”

“Is this really an appropriate time for this?” Amber asked, feeling somewhat tired and distracted by current events.

“I won’t detain you for long, I promise, but I do think it’s important. You know you’ve been banging on about increasing our numbers?”

“I’ve hardly been banging on about it; I may have mentioned it a few times. Go on.”

“I went to Allanbridge and met a very nice lady called Hermione Greengrass.”

“Seriously, someone actually named their daughter that?”

“She is somewhat older than the Harry Potter franchise, so the answer has to be yes. Anyway, she works as a research manager or something similar and when I explained who I was and what the department does, she seemed grateful that I came along. She told me that there are four of them – all female and all possessing some degree of power ranging from the spectacular on a par with Kezzy and yourself to the mildly empathic and hyper-sensitive.

“Hermione’s gift is in sensing powers in others and being on the faculty of Allanbridge University is in a position to see a large number of students as they pass through their hallowed halls. The two more powerful ones are both students there; one is in halls and the other shares with the final girl. This one is the least powerful but happens to be a computer specialist with a company in the same town. By all accounts, she is highly gifted with computers and would be eligible to join the team for that alone.”

“Have you met them all?” Amber asked.

“No, apart from my fleeting glimpse of the one called Della on the Embankment, I simply introduced myself to the older woman and informed them of our existence and that we are always looking for new blood, so to speak. I said we would be in touch to arrange a meeting at some point when this current crisis blows over. I put all their details in a report on your desk.”

“Thank you, Steven; that was good of you. I appreciate the time you’ve put into this, so as you say, when this little shindig is over, I will take a peek and see what we can do. Now, when you say that some have power on my level, what did you mean?”

“The one called Della. She has been teleporting all over the world, and is entirely self-taught, by all accounts. The other one has amazing powers that can transform both animate and inanimate objects. I understand from Hermione that they sort of believed they were witches.”

Amber laughed.

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes. She was quite relieved when I explained the true nature of our, um, specialisms. I am positive that in our nation’s dim and distant past, people like us were thought to be practitioners of the dark arts and put to death for witchcraft.”

“Hmm,” said Amber. “We’re not living in that much more enlightened times even today. I’m honestly not in a position to do much with this now, but I will read the report.

“I want you to take the lead on this. Make contact with them all, complete a full assessment on each one, clarifying and grading their powers and then let me know the results. If they are as powerful as you intimate, then I’m sure we will be in a position to offer them something.  I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time for this at the moment as the PM is badgering me to set up an international task force of specialist people. It would be useful that we could add some new members to the team, and it sounds as if these individuals have a helpful array of powers to add to those we already have.”

Steven grinned and nodded.

“Thanks, Ma’am, I'll get right on it. Do you want this done by any specific date?”

“No, just as soon as you can. Events are threatening to run away from us.”

Amber and Jenny watched him hurry away.

“More people like us?” Jenny asked, having kept in the background.

“Possibly. To be perfectly honest, we really could do with a few more at Kezzy’s level; she must be feeling utterly alone at the moment.”

Eighteen

Meanwhile, a very, very, very, long way from Chequers, London or the Planet Earth, Kezzy was feeling about as lonely as a human could ever feel.

Teleporting – the instantaneous jump from one point to another - is fine in theory, but when you are aiming at a speck of light a very, very, very long way away, distances can be deceptive.

The alien scientists were well experienced at seeking out potential solar systems, so knew what to look for. There were a great many stars, yet only a few were of a type that could possibly sustain life on one of the planets in the respective systems. They selected five that had been on their list, but due to the immense distances involved, they had simply put them on the list and perhaps might get around to them – after several generations would have come and gone.

Not to be out-done, a group of supposed experts on Earth gave her six different suns that all appeared to be of a similar type to our own. It was therefore more likely that a planet orbiting one of these would be of a similar type to Earth, and therefore possibly support life such as ours (or the Carrots). They drew her a ‘star map’ so she could navigate her way back home when done. If necessary, she simply required a mental image of somewhere and she should be able to return there. Although, she had never attempted to do that at such a distance.

Three off the list given to her by the aliens were matched by those suggested by the humans. She decided to try them first.

She had a greater problem with the distances involved and the fact she was without a suit or means of communicating, except perhaps with Amber, only the distance might be too great even for that.

Thanks again to the aliens and their superb technology, she was in a custom-made, state-of-the-art suit that even had a special powerpack on the back to give her some manoeuvrability.

Not used to the human physiology, they had still managed to make the suit for her as a one-off.

They even included a special transmitter/transponder that was of a similar vein to their communications systems – so was capable of travelling faster than the normal speed of light. By planning a series of ‘jumps’ to get to the first system, she hoped to drop a beacon that would assist in her getting home again.

It had taken her six ‘jumps’ to get to the first sun and by using a special scanner, was able to identify three planets within the safe range of the sun. None were suitable – too hot, too big or too cold.

The third sun was the winner. This time it was the fourth planet that was slightly smaller than Earth, but seemed to have an oxygen-based atmosphere, slightly less (.8) gravity and enough water.

She undertook the one task that the aliens had requested – by entering the atmosphere, locating some dry land and releasing a small probe that undertook all the necessary tests.

While the small ovoid – similar to the one that she was attempting to capture when she herself was captured, she took some time to examine the local scene.

She was on the green hillside of an island surrounded by a deep, blue sea. Like Earth, the sky reflected the colour of the ocean, and it was very similar – blue with puffy white clouds.

By concentrating, she attempted to make contact with any living, thinking creature. There were small creatures that she had yet to see. She vaguely ‘read’ they minds as they sought food or a mate of fought for their lives.

She was unable to determine their size or whether they were mammalian, reptilian, insect or whatever. She took the opportunity to take a few ‘hops’ over various landmasses but saw no evidence of any larger, sentient beings or any artificial constructions. The sea to land ratio seemed stacked in favour of the sea, much as was on Earth. However, there were two moons – both were smaller but one was slightly closer than Earth’s moon.

She had no idea what they would do to the tides, so she simply collected the probe as it informed her it had concluded the tests.

As she stood there looking at the gauge on her wrist that told her the air was breathable, she was sorely tempted to open her face plate.

Eventually, and using strong will power, she decided against it and leaped up to the first beacon.

If the carrots didn’t want this planet, then she felt humanity could certainly use it as a second home. She wondered whether she ought to look for another planet, while she was out here.

In the end she decided against it. She had been gone too long already. She had no real food, although the suit took care of her ablutions in a way she did not really enjoy. There was also a constant supply of water – they were experts at recycling waste products, and some liquid concentrate they told her was good for her that tasted like shit.

She had three pints of water a day, as long as she urinated regularly and the suit would even recycle her perspiration. She had been in the suit for nearly three weeks and it was doing her head in.

Getting home was not easy.

She found the first beacon (or last one depending on your perspective) but was so disorientated she failed to lock onto the next one immediately and spent around two hours trying to use the navigation system in the suit that used the stars as target points to triangulate her position in respect of Earth.

<Amber!> she mentally shouted as panic started to appear.

Nothing!

She calmed herself and waited for the alien system to work.

Then, the suit picked up the comms link to the next beacon and she was away.

Thereafter, she let the suit pick up the beacons and jumped all the way to find the fleet where she had left it – within striking distance of Earth.

<Amber!> she tried again.

<Kezzy, you okay?>

<Thank God! Just about. I don’t want to do that again. If they hadn’t given me the series of beacons, I'd still be out there. It all looks so different from where I was.>

<Did you find anywhere suitable?>

<Yes, I think so. If they don’t want it, we could use it.>

<Have you checked in with them yet?>

<Just about to. I felt so alone, I thought I’d try you first.>

<Are you okay?> Amber repeated, not having received an answer to the first.

<I am now.>

<Was the planet in a system that they would have got around to eventually?>

<The fourth or fifth on their list and the third I tried. Only it would have taken them almost a century to get to it at their rate of travel to get through the others, fast as they are by our standards. I’m uncertain of the exact distance, but it took me six jumps and then three more. Now they have a specific target, I think it will take them twenty to thirty years at their fastest speed. They won’t have to check out the others as I have already done them.>

<Twenty years is nothing to a race that has been wandering for generations.>

<True, well, I’ll go and give them the good news. I might be home for tea. I’m starving and, well, I can’t wait to use a proper loo!>

Commander Lenoor-Khas was in her quarters. She felt exceptionally weary and burdened by heavy responsibility.

Contrary to what Amber had reported, the fleet hadn’t moved. Amber was aware of that, as they agreed that Kezzy would return to the fleet first before heading back to Earth, assuming she survived and managed to return.

There was no point moving in case they started heading in a direction that was the wrong way.

Lenoor-Khas was receiving some quite vitriolic attacks by some of the captains for the treaty and the conditions that she had agreed to on behalf of her people.

Although, initially, all had agreed, the several days had turned into several weeks and no news was forthcoming. The fleet had never been stationary before, let alone for such a long period of time and nerves were getting frazzled.

She resisted the urge to check with the comms officer for news.

She lay back and attempted to doze.

Her comms buzzer squawked – bringing her instantly awake.

“Commander, the alien has returned with the probe!”

“Where is she?”

“In the science unit.”

Lenoor-Khas was no longer a young individual, but she managed to cover the distance to the science unit in a very rapid time.

She arrived to find Kezzy still in her suit, standing in the middle of the unit.

The probe was on the bench and the science team were busy attaching leads to it.

“Well?” Lenoor-Khas asked of anyone.

<I found you a home, I hope,> Kezzy replied.

The leads had been attached and she watched as data streamed onto the huge monitor on the wall. It was meaningless to her, but she observed the team were getting more and more excited.

“Well?” Lenoor-Khas repeated.

The senior science officer bowed what could be her head in her direction.

“Commander, all the initial signs are excellent. Atmosphere is clean and breathable. As yet, there is no evidence of pollutants and no adverse microbiological issues. Gravity and climate seem stable and suitable; at least they were from where this probe took samples. The soil sample appears fertile and capable of taking our crops.

“It may be too early to rejoice, but I think the human may well be right; she could have found us a home!”

“Is it already inhabited?” she asked, clearly not wanting a repeat of her ancestors when they arrived on Earth and found humans.

“Some evidence of minor life forms – nothing substantial from the region tested.”

Many emotions bombarded Lenoor-Khas at that moment; gratitude and relief were uppermost. She turned to Kezzy, whom she realised was eager to leave and return to Earth.

“Commander, this event is being broadcast,” one of the science team reminded her.

Lenoor-Khas couldn’t smile – not in the way a human would comprehend or see, but she was smiling when she addressed Kezzy.

Across the fleet, all stopped what they were doing to watch this event on their monitors.

“You have undertaken a momentous task on our behalf and words do not exist that would properly express my personal gratitude and also on behalf of my people. Indeed, you have justified my decisions in relation to you and your people. I feel vindicated in the fact the treaty will now be enshrouded in our cultural heritage as a moment of honour and true friendship. You have my word that if ever you humans find yourselves threatened then we will be only too glad to come and stand by your side to face whatever adversary that might be present.

“I know you are anxious to return to your home, as we are anxious to go and discover ours for the first time. Can I ask you how it looked?”

Kezzy smiled – an action that was lost on the carrots.

<Your new home is beautiful: blue oceans, blue skies, white clouds and green vegetation. And for you, the most wonderful factor is there are no brutes to spoil it for you!>

Lenoor-Khas reached out and laid what could be a hand on Kezzy’s suited shoulder. With the other hand, she passed a small, grey cube to her.

“Go in peace, my friend, and may you be blessed among your people for the service you have rendered us today. Please pass my respects to your friend Amber; for she has revealed herself to be a wise and dear friend of our people too. We give you a gift from our people. This cube contains details of various technological achievements of which we are most proud. We hope that in a relatively short space of time, you humans would be in a position to head for the stars using technology rather than the method you personally use.”

<Thank you. Once you get settled, you can always pop back for a visit,> Kezzy said. <I think perhaps, your future would be far more settled without the presence of the Brutes.>

This caused a great deal of mirth to spread among those who were listening. They were aware that they faced a journey for at least twenty Earth years if not longer. By the time they got settled and thought of paying such a visit, then over a century might have passed.

For the first time, they actually had a goal and it was achievable in many of their lifetimes.

For Lenoor-Khas, her age was such that it was highly possible she would die before reaching their goal. She didn’t really care that much, for she now could relax, secure in the knowledge that her people might live again on the surface of a planet. She had never done so and was probably too old to start now, but had she been able to cry tears of pure happiness, she would have done so as the watched Kezzy literally disappear.

She left the science unit and made for the command deck. All her officers displayed their respect for her on her arrival and as she uttered those immortal words -

“Set a course for home!”

Nineteen

One week later.

Hermione Greengrass looked up at the rather austere and grand and yet somehow anonymous, building just off Whitehall in London.

She looked at her watch and sighed, knowing she was early, as usual, but that the others would probably be late and that it would be Della’s fault – also as usual.

She regarded the building again and glanced up and down the street in the vain hope that her friends would miraculously appear.

A car pulled up at the kerb and a very attractive girl opened her passenger door and leaned across and kissed the fine-looking young man behind the wheel.

“Love you, Martin, I’ll call when I’m done. Do you fancy Thai again tonight or shall we eat in?” she said.

“I could eat you!” the man replied and she laughed and exited the vehicle, shutting the door. She watched the car drive off and then looked at Hermione.

“You’re Hermione?” she stated; it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, somewhat shocked. Such were her skills that she could ‘see’ Kezzy’s aura, and it gleamed as bright as Jo’s and Della’s.

“I’m Katherine, or Kezzy to my friends.

Hermione frowned.

“Were you the...?” she started to ask.

“That was a few years ago now, and yes, I was, am the Kestrel. I work for HMG now, so had to put the silly suit back in the box under the bed.”

Hermione looked down the road that the car had just gone. Kezzy correctly guessed her thought process.

“And yes, Martin is my boyfriend and he does know – he always has. I thought there were a few of you?”

“Yes, there should be. I hope they’ll be along soon.”

At that moment a black, London Taxi pulled up and three young women disgorged from the back, laughing and arguing as to who would pay. In the end, the taller and slightly older one delved into her bag and paid the driver, who grinned, thanked her and drove off.

“Only because you bloody students never pay for anything!” she said turning and seeing Kezzy standing there, paused and said, “Oh, sorry.”

Hermione, feeling relieved all three had arrived and all seemed to have their clothing and all necessary limbs, introduced them to Kezzy.

“Katherine, this is Andrea, the more sensible of the three; and this is Jo who is sensible when nowhere near Della, and this is Della.”

“Hi guys. Well, come on in, the boss is waiting,” Kezzy said and turned and entered the building.

There was a security point just inside the entrance at which the girls all showed the man that they had no weapons in their handbags and walked through a metal detector gateway.

They followed Kezzy into the lift and she pushed the button for the fourth floor.

“Um, I don’t wish to sound too pushy, but where the fuck are we? Is this MI5 or something?” Della asked Kezzy.

“Or something,” Kezzy replied with a smile as they arrived at the floor required.

Saying nothing more, they had no choice but to follow her down the corridor and into a big room that was clearly a conference room. There were several people already there, drinking tea or coffee and chatting amiably.

“Ah, Kezzy, welcome back, dear. Did you have a good leave and have you recovered?” an attractive older woman asked.

“Yes, thanks, Boss; energy fully regenerated and I’m ready to get back to work. I met this lot outside so thought I ought to bring them up,” she said.

The older woman approached Hermione.

“Ah, you must be Hermione; I’m Amber,” she said, shaking Hermione’s hand.

“And you must be Della, Jo and Andrea, yes?”

The girl nodded. Even Della was feeling somewhat subdued. She could recognise she was in the presence of people whose powers were as great as her own, and Amber’s was considerably more.

Amber smiled warmly.

“Right, let’s get rid of a few misconceptions. One, what you think might be called witchcraft is not really anything of the kind. You correctly see yourselves as gifted, and that is about the most appropriate description of what we all might be. Witchcraft and all those silly, medieval words belong in the dark ages. There are simply those with no gifts and those of us who are blessed or perhaps cursed with special powers. Some of us are what you might call naturals, while others have had the giftings artificially dumped in their laps,” Amber said, using her arms to gather all those in the room around the table.

“Now, those who consider themselves to be our political masters would like to exercise control over us, and so we are here to meet together and discuss how best we might proceed. Rather than introduce you all, I suggest we all sit and each of you introduce yourself and what gifts you have.”

She sat at the head of the table and all sat down, including the newcomers who felt somewhat out of their depth.

“I will start, as it would get the ball rolling,” said Amber.

“My name is Amber Robbins and I am probably the first gifted person to be formally recognised by my government and permitted to work within the intelligence and security services to help keep our nation safe from threats, both domestic and foreign. I have been working in such a capacity for far too long, having started during the Cold War.

“My powers were artificially induced to my parents by scientists who were seeking to enhance human abilities. My parents both died too early, but the scientific experiment was unwittingly continued in me after the project was closed down. I discovered the ability to teleport and to alter physical shape amongst other abilities. I was actually born male, but very soon realised that genes can make mistakes and was quite young when I changed to what you now see.

“I was married for fifteen years to a wonderful man and our daughter Jenny inherited my curse. Only she decided to use it to mend broken people and has spent her life as a doctor in America. At this time of crisis, I am pleased and proud to have her by my side.

“Like many of you, I was alone and very young when I realised that I was different. I managed to keep under the radar because my adoptive mother was wise beyond her years and kept me safe. It was, however, merely a matter of time before the authorities became aware of me, so rather than hide and await capture, I approached them and offered my services.

“I am too well aware that our mere existence threatens those who wield power so jealously, and so know the dangers of becoming high profile or self-serving or even self-seeking. With power comes responsibility, and as such, we have to remain under the radar of normal people if we are to remain free and safe.

“I have been asked to coordinate a group of international people all of whom are gifted to some degree or another. The reason for this will become apparent when my friend and colleague Kezzy introduces herself and briefly explains exactly what we have been doing for the last few weeks.

“I am pleased to welcome you all here and hope that amongst this group, barriers such as language, nation, religion and ideology might be forgotten as we seek a higher calling. I’d like to think that our commonality will also draw us together as friends and colleagues. So, Kezzy?”

Kezzy stood as Amber sat.

“My name is Katherine, or Kezzy to my friends. Some might recall the supposed superhero called the Kestrel from some years back?” she asked, pausing.

There were a few nods.

“That’s me; or rather, that was me. I am I suppose what you might call a natural. Like Amber, I was born male but didn’t like it. It was my wishful thinking that became reality that awoke me to my special giftings. My gifts came upon me when I was at an extreme low in my life. I can teleport and alter reality as well as one or two other useful things. I found that being a crime-fighter in my spare time was exhausting and didn’t pay the bills. Like Amber, I sort of handed myself in and became a servant of the ‘man’.

“I am happy and have a great, long-suffering boyfriend called Martin and don’t deserve him. Along with Amber, Keira and Stefan, I’ve recently being staving off an alien invasion by finding them an alternate home world so they don’t need to take Earth. I don’t think I need say more about the aliens, as Keira will be able to explain who they are and why they were here.”

She sat down and Keira stood up.

After she explained about the torc and its origin, the abilities she had been endowed through it and how she too was born male but was changed by the torc.

Stefan then stood and told his story that almost mirrored Keira’s life.

“Keira and I are now a couple, so where she goes, so do I. Incidentally, the torc has been in my family for over a thousand years and the mythological Nordic demi-god Strykur was created by my ancestors to help protect our people. I am here with my government’s knowledge as part of something far greater than one small community that fought off invaders for centuries.”

And so it went on; around the table. There were:

Ivan from Russia gave his testimony as did Jenny, Amber’s daughter. A quietly spoken Chinese girl simply gave her name and her gifting. She spoke clear English with a marked American accent.

“My name is Zhi Ruo and I can see things a long distance away. I am also aware of the thoughts of others.”

A languid Frenchman called Robert shared his ability to move objects with his mind, and a South African called Louis was a mind-reader to an astonishing degree.

Hermione saw it was now her turn, although there was an Irish girl who looked as if she wasn’t going to get up.

She introduced herself, stating that she could identify others with giftings and did not really possess much in the ways of gifting herself.

Della stood.

“This is creepy,” she said. “I started out as a boy and, well, I had no idea I was gifted until my ‘friend’ Jo changed me into a girl. I thought I was unique in my weirdness, but as many of you seem to have switched sides, so to speak, I don’t feel so weird anymore.

“I thought I was a witch, but stand corrected. I can teleport and still haven’t really discovered what else I can do. Oh, and I love being a girl, but let’s face it, I sort of sucked at being a boy. I think it is really cool what you’re all doing, by the way.”

Her infectious grin caused most of the others to smile.

Jo stood up.

“My mum is gifted and I think I inherited whatever I have from her. We both believed in witchcraft. I turned my brother into a toad when I was quite young and from there simply got a bit less silly. Yes, I turned Della into who she is now and unwittingly loosed her onto the unsuspecting world. She refused to get changed back, so we had to think fast. Oh, and Andrea is another one we helped out.”

Andrea shared her story and everyone looked at the only person who hadn’t shared.

Shannon grinned.

“Okay, my name is Shannon. I’m Keira’s friend and I suppose it’s safe to say that the only gift I have is to eat what the feck I like and not put on weight. I do like my Guinness and, well, I was born a girl, like being a girl and hope to die a fecking girl!”

That caused some laughter.

Amber stood up.

“Right, so, thanks for sharing. We are now a small start of something that will grow. We will all have time to speak to each other to get to know each other better. My hope is that we will resist the urgings of our respective governments to spy on each other and break free of their constraints to begin to provide a proper defence for our world. Sometimes, it appears that those elected or appointed to govern are the least well-suited to protect the world and its people as their hidden agendas and political restraints bind them to certain stances on various matters. Without being arrogant, I'd like to think that we can see past their posturing and pride to recognise true risks and dangers and to deal with them accordingly.

“Now, you may be asking why we are gathering now and why here. Well, I have to inform you that our first threat that goes beyond national borders is about to rear its ugly head, and it appears that we are not the only ones with gifts. Just the other day, my Prime Minister was asking me about those who might use their gifts for evil ends and how I would deal with them.”

She paused and looked around the room.

“I fear that we are about to find out.”

To be continued…

Tanya Allan’s AMAZON.COM PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004VTB5OQ

Among Us

A Chance would be a Fine Thing (Knox Journals Book 1)

A Wedding and Two Wars (Knox Journal Book 2)

A Fairy's Tale

A Girl can but Dream

Amber Alert

Among Us

A Tale of Two T’s*

Behind The Enemy - Book 1

Beginning's End – Book 2

Broken Promises

The Candy Cane Club – Book 1

Dead End – Book 2

Dragged Up

Dragons & Stuff

Elemental Series - Book 1 – Ice

Book 2 – Earth & Fire

Book 3 – Wind of Change

Emma*

Entirely Blank

Komplett Gelöscht

(Deutsche Ausgabe)

Every Little Girl's Dream (1)

Rise to the Challenge (2)

Extra Special Agent

Fast Forward with a Twist (1)

Reverse Twist (2)

When Worlds Collide (3)

Fickle Fate

Fickle Fortune

Flight or Fight

Fortune's Soldier

Gruesome Tuesday*

In a Man’s Word – 1 – First Steps

In Plain Sight*

In The Shadows

It’s Never Too Late

It Couldn't Happen, Could it?

Killing Me Slowly*

Last

Limbo 1 Charlie’s Twist

Marine I: Agent of Time*

Marine 2: A very Different Roman

Marine 3: Island of Dreams

Modern Masquerade

Monique*

Monique (L’édition française)

Queen of Hearts*

Ring the Change

Shit Happens - so do Miracles*

Skin*

Tamsyn

Tango Golf: Cop with A Difference

The Badger’s Girl

The Curse of Shalama

Book 1 – Higher Than Eagles

Book 2 - The Dragon’s Kiss

The Award

The Hard Way*

The Offer

The Other Side of Dreams

(There Be Monsters Series)

1 - To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

There's No Such Thing as a Super Hero

The Summer Job & Other Stories

The Torc (Book 1 – The Emerging)

The Torc (Book 2 – The Engaging)

To Fight For a Dream*

Twisted Dreams*

TWOC - A Comedy of Errors

Weird Wednesday*

What, No Wand?

When Fortune Smiles - Book 1

Changed Fortune – Book 2

When I Count to Three

Whispers in the Mind* - Book 1

Whispers in the Soul* - Book 2

*Paperbacks can be found here: http://www.feedaread.com/profiles/368/