James White - The First Protector

Excerpt from the Journal and Report on Sapient Earth Peoples, Cultures, and Levels of Technology by Investigator Ma'el on Day 112,537. In the local calendar reckoning 308 years since the Birth of the Christus, subsequent to my arrival…

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The barbarity and senseless cruelty that pervades this beautiful land is a disappointment and constant irritation to me. My sensors reveal two nearby sources of danger involving the use of the solid weapons that these people call swords. No physical harm can befall any Taelon on this world but my new servant, who has a lively if traumatized mind and for whom I have developed a feeling of sympathy over the past few years, will certainly die if I do not eliminate the threat by revealing the full extent of my advanced technology.

"Following the terrible mistake of Days 432 to 461, I have forbidden myself to interfere in the affairs of these Earth people or to display my powers to them other than with a few simple tricks. My ability to see future events on this planet has become uncertain. Unless there is a favorable combination of the laws of chance, the working of which these people call good luck, I fear that I shall lose my latest, most psychologically intriguing and affectionate servant…"

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On Declan's right the winter sun was dying a bloody, spectacular death behind the distant Mountains of Arne to the west and shedding a deep orange light that colored the heather and trees around him a deeper and more intense green, while the peak of Slieve Devilsipit to the northeast still remained in bright sunlight. In the near twilight to his right a full moon was rising in a clear sky that promised another night of biting frost. But Declan had no eyes for the beauties of the sunset, the moon, or the scenery around him because of the stiffness of fatigue in his limbs, which would not be improved by the mists rising from the damp ground all around him, and the resounding flatulence of hunger in his belly, which was so loud at times that he thought surely his intended victims would hear it.

He had attention only for the two people in the driving seat of the tented wagon he had been following since it had left the settlement at Menagh three hours to the north.

One of them was a tall old man wrapped in a heavy cloak whose cowl had slipped briefly to reveal a shining and utterly hairless head. The other was a boy, shorter, thin, and still too young to have hair on his chin. Their features were shaded by the awning that sheltered them from the weather. They were probably itinerant tinkers with nothing of great value in their wheeled dwelling. Declan had never before killed an old man or a boy, but he was so cold and hungry and angry that if they did not give him food, no matter how little they had for themselves, he might do just that.

Trying to still the chattering of his teeth and angry with impatience, Declan pulled his ragged cloak more tightly about him and began gradually closing the distance to the wagon, but keeping among the trees and undergrowth that bordered the rutted track the tinkers were using. He would wait until they had stopped for the night, probably in the wooded region a few leagues ahead, and were preparing their evening meal before making his attack. He checked that his long-axe was moving freely in its shoulder harness and at his waist the gladius, which had failed to protect the life of its former Roman owner, was also easy in its scabbard.

The sunset had died to a red smudge in the sky behind him and the trees ahead were showing black and silver rather than green in the strengthening light of the full moon when the wagon turned off the track into a small clearing and stopped. The old man climbed to the ground slowly while the boy jumped down and began unharnessing their horse. A few minutes later he tethered it under a tree and fetched blankets which he draped and fastened around its neck, back, and haunches to protect it from the night chill before shaking out some hay for it to eat. Obviously a considerate as well as a practical boy where horses were concerned, Declan thought, as the other began building a fire which the old man kindled with surprising speed.

Warmth and food was all he wanted, and Declan was telling himself again that there was no need for anyone to die, when suddenly he froze.

Voices. There were three, no four of them coming from the undergrowth midway between Declan's position and the tinkers' campfire. They were talking quietly, but his ears were good and he could hear every word they spoke. One voice sounded older, deep with authority and a hint of breathlessness that suggested that the speaker was large in girth. This speaker was making it plain that they, too, were waiting for the campfire to be fully alight so that the eyes of their victims would be too dazzled to see the attack out of the darkness until it was too late. Unlike Declan, the man was making it plain that he was greedy for loot rather than hungry for food because his orders were to kill the tinkers first and then plunder their possessions. The wagon and beast would fetch a good price, he said quietly, his voice beginning to wheeze with excitement, because only the rich or highborn could afford horses. From the talk they had heard in surrounding villages and farms, it seemed that these two tinkers were strange and secretive people who did not really need to ply their trade. It was said that their wagon might even be carrying a small hoard of silver or gold.

Some people had the minds of credulous children, Declan thought angrily, and these four had the minds of cruel, greedy, and uncaring children.

But his anger, he told himself truthfully, was due more to disappointment and the fear of unassuaged hunger than any strong feeling of sympathy for the tinkers. He did not want to have to share the available food with four other robbers, always supposing that they, with their greater strength in numbers, would agree to a sharing and not try to kill him outright for his impertinence and presumption in asking for a share. If he was to go on living through this night and perhaps the day or days that would follow with cold and hunger, Declan could see only one solution to his problem.

He left them talking quietly about all the wonderful, exciting, and depraved things they could do with the tinkers' hoard, but not quietly enough for them to be able to hear the sound of his light, swift footfalls as he turned and ran under the trees in a wide semicircle that would bring him out at the other side of the tinkers' camp.

Declan's approach to the two people at the cooking fire was hidden by the wagon, but he allowed his feet to fall heavily because his intention was to warn the tinkers of his approach rather than frighten and harm them. But by the time he appeared, the thin youth had heard him coming and had run back to the vehicle where he was trying to pull a sword from beneath the driving bench. The weapon was longer than the gladius at his waist, heavy, and with its bronze edges blunted so that it was more of a club than a sword. Declan shook his head and strode quickly to the cloaked figure beside the fire.

"Old man," he said quickly, pointing across the fire toward the darkness under the trees, "listen carefully and do as I say. There is a band of four robbers out there who are going to attack you and the boy within the next few moments. Their purpose is to slay and rob you. Both of you must go to the wagon, place your backs against the lowest and most strongly built part so that they will not be able to take you from the rear while I guard against a frontal or flanking attack… What are you doing, boy?"

The youth was running at him, his too-heavy sword upraised to strike. Declan stepped back quickly to avoid the wild, unbalanced swing while drawing the axe from its shoulder harness, and at the next swing he knocked the tip of the boy's sword to the ground. He used the flat of the axeblade so as not to nick the iron cutting edges because those he tried to keep as finely honed as a shaving knife.