Guardian
angels
By
Andrew P. Weston
Guardian Angels, book 1
Science Fiction/fantasy
August 31, 2012
In
a series of terrifying events, otherworldly beings intervene to save innocent
lives. The world community reacts with relief as they realize that angels may
in fact exist, and they are diligently protecting us.
But
there are those who would seek to stop what they feel is a threat against their
livelihoods. How far will some go to battle the Guardians? Is the fairy tale
over before it even begins?
Guardian Angels is a powerful and
compelling story about the catalyst that has the power to unite society in the
hope for a better future. The spark of hope is fragile—can it last?
Excerpt:
(Unedited)
Luigi
decided to toast himself and his accomplishments again. Finding his glass
empty, he rang the bell for a top up, and continued to gloat, firmly believing
he was beyond accountability.
When
the door to the study opened a few minutes later and Gianni, the housekeeper,
came in with his favorite Black Pearl Louis XIII cognac on a silver tray, he
insisted the old servant stay with him and drink to his success. “Come, Gianni,
stay, celebrate with me. Good times should be shared with trusted friends.”
The
gesture wasn’t missed by Gianni. At fifty-five thousand dollars a bottle, the
cognac was one of the most expensive in the world, and he quickly poured a
generous helping into two glasses. As he handed one to his boss, he paused
momentarily to savor the bouquet of the blended flowers, fruits, spices, and
the deep amber color of the aromatic liquid. “You’re looking particularly
pleased with yourself today, young Sir. Good news?”
“It’s
the very best of news, Gianni, and one that appears to be maturing with age.”
He replied without looking away from the screens.
The
old housekeeper tossed down his drink in one and shuffled to stand
deferentially behind his employer. He listened as yet more reports of the
suffering caused by the missile detonations were announced. “That mess doesn’t
look like there’s much to be happy about, Sir. Surely that doesn’t please you,
does it?”
“Aah,
Gianni, sometimes, when you need to make a point, you have to catch your
enemy’s attention,” Luigi replied. “You have to ensure they not only respect
you, but fear you. I’m pleased because I’ve done just that. Wouldn’t you agree,
my old friend?”
When
no reply was forthcoming, Luigi naturally assumed the old housekeeper must have
been unable to hear his question. Turning in his seat, he felt a peculiar
throbbing, tingling sensation in his teeth and sinuses. “I said ‘wouldn’t you
agr . . . .’”
Luigi’s
voice choked off in his throat as he caught sight of Gianni’s eyes. The
distinctive, familiar, lazy old eyes of his long-time employee seemed to be
undergoing some kind of metamorphosis. Gone was the semi-vacant, un-focused
faraway look he always seemed to display as he pottered about. Instead, Luigi
was looking into the hardest, most piercing eyes he had ever seen, eyes that
seemed to glow with an inner furnace to match the cold look of rage chiseled
onto his face.
The
shock made him drop his glass onto the carpet, spilling about three thousand dollars
worth of the deep amber nectar.
Transfixed
he watched as Gianni’s body straightened, grew, and bulked out. As the years
fell away from his face, he realized without a doubt that he was going to fully
shoulder the burdens his choices had wrought.
Before
him stood his own personal living nightmare made flesh, dressed from head to
toe in black. Instantly he felt the fire rising within him, straining for
release.
The
Guardian stepped forward, making the barest of gestures with his finger as he
did so, and Luigi found himself lifted into the air by some unseen force. He
was held motionless, helpless as a puppet awaiting the commands of his master.
Nodding
at the screens, the Guardian spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Andrew,
Guardian Lord of Shadow Operations. Did you seriously think you’d get away with
something like this?”
Luigi
stared defiantly back, fighting to overcome his shock at the Guardian’s
presence, and surprised at the lack of access to his ability. “Do what you
want, asshole, at least the world sees you as the frauds I knew you were!” he
hissed.
“Do
what I want? I’d love to, but unfortunately my boss won’t let me.”
Luigi
stared impotently back at his nemesis as he strolled closer. Once he was
standing in front of him, the Shadow Lord said, “As for exposing us as frauds?
Well, I really don’t know why you would think that. We never said or intimated
we could be everywhere at once. The world’s a sad enough place as it is without
you adding to it. All we are doing is trying to help people avoid as much
heartbreak as possible.”
Andrew
pointed to the repeat bulletins on the screens. “So, once the world finds out
that all this was the deliberate act of some sick and twisted psycho who didn’t
care how many suffered, just so long as he could score some points, how do you
think they’ll react to you, Luigi?”
The
point struck home. Luigi struggled in an attempt to slap the Guardian across
the face, to do something to help vent the building fury inside him.
Helpless,
he continued stewing as the Guardian moved so close he was able to whisper in
his ear. “And when they find out about your abilities, can you even begin to
imagine how they’ll react to that? You worthless, spineless, pathetic little
man. I really wish they’d let me play with you before we throw you to the
wolves.”
“Fuck
off, asshole, you don’t scare me.”
“Scare
you?” Andrew smiled wickedly. “Oh no, Luigi, that’s not my job. That’s hers!”
The
Guardian gestured behind Luigi at the same moment he let go with his
telekinesis. Although Luigi only dropped about a foot, he crumpled to the
floor, becoming acutely aware that the strange throbbing in his teeth was even
more pronounced than before.
Turning,
Luigi was met with a vision of such barely contained power and fury that he immediately
soiled his pants.
Andrew
squatted beside him. “Allow me to introduce you to the head of our
investigations branch. This is Victoria, our Lord Inquisitor, and she’s very
pleased to meet you after all the suffering you’ve caused.”
Victoria
stood in front of the TV screens, wreathed in a visible static discharge that
blew the circuits of all the electrical equipment in the office and made the
hairs on Luigi’s arms and head stand on end. Her eyes, so similar to those of
the Shadow Lord, intensified in luminosity and turned from grey to white hot.
Luigi shielded his eyes and cowered on the floor in his own excrement.
What a fool I am. He
thought.
In
reply to his thoughts, the Shadow Lord said, “Yes Luigi, what a murderous,
cowardly fool of a man you are. I think the whole world will agree when they
find out, eh?”
Long Excerpt:
Sichuan, China.
Two days after the
Joshua Drake incident, a group of miners in Sichuan Provence, China, were
wondering if they would ever see the light of day again.
They had entered
their colliery at 7:00 a.m. for their shift as usual, and the day had started
like every other day. The long descent into cold darkness, the trek to the
workface, the exhausting, cramped, claustrophobic conditions, as they worked
like ants with millions of tons or rock pressing down on them.
The brief pauses
while fresh charges were laid, and the moments of anxiety following each
shudder, waiting for the earth to stop shaking and the dust to settle before
the inevitable trudge back to the new mounds of rubble, to start extracting yet
more of the coal that provided over ninety percent of their country’s energy
needs.
When a seam was
exhausted, they would retreat along the side tunnel toward the main artery,
removing the pillars as they went.
Sometimes the coal
roof would remain intact, slowly sinking down to the floor. Sometimes it began
collapsing as the pillars were removed, trapping and crushing friends and
workmates to death in an instant.
Although this mine
was fully licensed by the State, it lacked much of the modern equipment other
legally funded mines were blessed with, and instead of a bank of machines
stripping rock and rubble away from the coal rich seams running through the
area, the miners did it by hand, in grueling twelve-hour shifts. This
reinforced the fact that this was one of the filthiest, hardest jobs in
existence, in one of the most dangerous mines in the world.
When the explosion
came four hours into the shift, it took all forty-three workers by surprise.
Instead of being safely huddled together in the arterial corridor while a fresh
seam was broken up in a side tunnel, they were still hard at work in the newest
seam, having only just finished cutting the face and reinforcing the walls and
roof prior to extraction charges being placed.
The explosion had
originated behind them in the main corridor where the charges were kept. All
five workers in that area had been incinerated, sending a wall of compressed
roiling flames toward the survivors, and back up the lift shaft, to vent its
fury out into the bright sunny morning above their heads over a mile away.
The force of the
explosion caused buildings to shake, and blew away the machinery covering the
shaft head. In the panic that followed, surface workers fled for their lives
thinking they were in the middle of an earthquake before realizing what had
happened and sending for emergency rescue services.
The pressure had
nowhere to go except along the main corridor and into the few side tunnels
still open. Of the thirty-eight survivors of the initial blast, over half died
in the fireball that followed.
Of the fifteen or so
who survived, most had been working in the side corridors, and avoided the
worst of the ruptured eardrums, burst capillaries, and burns that eschewed.
All were thrown to
the ground amid a cloud of choking, suffocating dust and rock, that together
with the shredded supports, only added to their confusion and terror. The
weight of the gut rock above them began to overwhelm the weakened integrity of
the main tunnel, and the few who remained conscious listened to the groaning,
snapping timbers, waiting for the final “snap” that would signal their doom.
Their helmet lamps
were unable to cut through the thick dust that not only covered each survivor
from head to foot, but also seemed to saturate the very air they breathed. They
knew that death was inevitable, especially since the remaining air was rapidly
thinning.
Cheung Xian, a
veteran of over twenty years’ service in six different mines, was doing his
best to gather the surviving men together to assess their situation, and keep
them busy and focused. But he was failing miserably.
In those twenty
years, he had faced over a dozen different crises, including a tunnel collapse,
wherein he had been confined below ground for over a week before being rescued.
But he had never faced anything like this.
Of those surviving,
most were unconscious, slowly dying from the carnage inside their ruined
bodies, or writhing in agony with injuries received from the blast, increasing
the panic of those who could hear them.
His own injuries
were making him feel sick and dizzy, and all he wanted to do was lie down and
quietly go to sleep and wake up in his next life. He sincerely hoped his
sacrifice here meant it would be a better one.
To give Xian credit,
he exerted heroic self-control, managing to calm those nearest him, despite the
fact that now only three others were conscious, and they were clearly
struggling to breathe.
Then, as he too
started to submit to the effects of slow asphyxiation more fully, he smiled to
himself, because he was obviously beginning to hallucinate, and his
hallucination was so pleasant it was sure to make his passing that much easier.
He was reassuring
the youngest of his co-workers, a lad of only nineteen years whose name he
didn’t even know yet. Suddenly, a painfully bright light washed over everyone,
causing the few who remained conscious to avert their eyes.
He turned,
squinting, too shocked to say a word, to see a young woman silhouetted by the
light behind her, casually walking toward him along the tunnel and casting an
almost ethereal glow about her as she walked.
As she drew closer,
it looked as if bands of coruscating energy, almost like static discharges,
flowed up and down her body, softly fading as she drew nearer.
He watched mutely as
she strolled up to him, held out her hand and said, “Hello Xian, I think you’d
better come with me. It’s quite a strain keeping these tunnels up, and it would
be a shame to get caught when it all comes down.”
Xian didn’t mean to
be rude. He was just too stunned to react as courteously as he would have
liked.
The young woman had
the most stunning, electrifying eyes he had ever seen, and it took him a moment
or two to tear his gaze away and gesture to his colleagues. “Err . . . thank
you. But what about my comrades? They’re badly hurt and need help, too.”
“Don’t worry about
them, they’re our concern now.” She gestured casually behind her.
Xian realized other
people were stepping down out of the vortex of bright light that filled the end
of the corridor, a corridor that should have been a blank wall, dressed in
similar dark coveralls. They began quietly, but efficiently, tending to the
injured men close by, and appeared to be initiating a search for the others,
too.
Somehow, they seemed
totally unaffected by the conditions.
The young lady
gently but firmly took his hand, and led him toward the light.
“Am I dead, are you
of the Devas?” murmured Xian apprehensively, thinking he was looking at a deity
come to life.
Giving his hand a
gentle squeeze, and smiling warmly, the young woman replied, “Far from it, my
friend . . . you’ll find out. We want you to deliver something for us.”
They stepped into
the light.
It was the last
thing Xian remembered until early afternoon, when he woke up in the West China
Hospital, Sichuan University, Chengdu, along with all fifteen of his fellow
workers who had survived.
At first, Xian
thought he was at home, because he’d had the most pleasant dream about a
stunning woman with beautiful eyes. As his awareness returned, he realized he
was in a hospital ward and wearing crisp new cotton pajamas.
Sitting up, he saw
the ward was full of sleeping men. It took him a few moments before he
recognized the men on either side of him.
Gingerly, he swung
his legs out of bed, and found he wasn’t in the least bit sore or tired. In
fact, he felt more refreshed and healthier than he had for many years. He
walked up and down the ward, slowly going from bed to bed, amazed again and
again to find his fellow workers, many whom he thought had died or were badly
injured, sound asleep and looking as peaceful as babies. Most appeared
unharmed, and they were all wearing new pajamas.
Xian looked himself
up and down, noting his pajamas were the same cut and color, and then realized
there was something hard in the chest pocket of his jacket.
Puzzled, he removed
a thin wafer of odd material, inside of which was a silver colored piece of
what he took to be metal, with writing on it.
Reading it, he
smiled and thought. Aah, the thing they
wanted me to deliver.
Placing it back in
his pocket, he began walking toward the main doors. When they opened, a shocked
nurse came in.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry, I don’t
know,” Xian admitted.
“Who are you, where
are you from?”
Bowing, he replied,
“I am Cheung Xian, a supervisor from the Neijiang Mine and . . . .”
“What?”
“We were working.
There was an explosion, we were trapped.”
“You were at the
mine this morning when it exploded?” she gasped.
“Yes, we were
underground. We thought we were going to die. Where are we?”
“You were
underground. But how did you get here to Chengdu? You’re in Sichuan Hospital.
I’m only beginning to gather supplies for the doctors who are going to help in
the rescue. What you’re saying is impossible!”
Taking a deep
breath, Xian began explaining the miraculous events of that day, only to
discover that he was required to repeat those details again and again. First,
he spoke with the doctors, then the Hospital Administrator, then to officials
from the Works Safety Bureau who arrived later that day and finally to
Government Officials the following morning.
Disbelief turned to
suspicion, and suspicion to amazement, as one by one, Xian’s fellow workers
awoke, free from injury. They confirmed his story.
Those who had
remained conscious at the time of the rescue verified the incredible manner
that they had been plucked from the depths of the mine by people some had
initially thought were deities, only to awaken in a new wing to the hospital
that was not due to open for over two months.
Party officials were
also very keen to examine the message Xian passed to investigators. A small
sliver of metal sandwiched in resin bore the words:
“WE ARE HERE TO ASSIST ALL THOSE IN NEED.”
The Chinese official
Xinhug News Agency were uncharacteristically robust in reporting the
exceptional events at the mine that day, as they initially believed the
mysterious benefactors were there solely to help the Chinese people.
They were only
partly right. Whoever the mysterious benefactors were, the following weeks
revealed they would extend that help to
everyone in dire need, no matter where they were from, or who they were.
The huge coverage
given to the miraculous rescue in China helped other countries to become aware
of other amazing rescues.
It soon became
apparent that whoever these people were, they had access to incredible
resources, and were in a position to respond globally, with great speed and
efficiency.
Andrew P. Weston
If
you had the power to make a difference…would you?
Andrew
P Weston was born in the city of Birmingham, UK and grew up in the towns of
Bearwood and Edgbaston, eventually attending Holly Lodge Grammar School for
Boy’s where he was School Captain and Head Boy.
He
was an active sportsperson for the school, college and a variety of rugby,
martial art, swimming and athletics teams throughout the city.
On
graduation in 1977 he joined the Royal Marines fulfilling a number of roles
both in the UK and abroad.
In
1985 he became a police officer with the Devon & Cornwall Constabulary, and
served in a variety of uniformed and plain clothed departments until his
retirement in 2008.
Over
those years, he wrote and illustrated a selection of private books for his
children regarding the life of a tiny kitten, called, “The Adventures of Willy
Whiskers”, gained further qualifications in Law and Religious Studies, was an
active member of Mensa and continued to be an active sportsperson, providing lessons
free of charge to local communities.
An
unfortunate accident received on duty meant Andrew had to retire early from the
police force, but after moving to the sunny Greek island of Kos to speed up his
recuperation, he was at last able to devote time to the “Guardian Concept” he
had developed over his years in the military and police.
When
not writing, Andrew enjoys Greek dancing and language lessons, being told what
to do by his wife, Annette, and hunting shadows in the dark.
Andrew
is now contracted to Pagan Writers Press for two books.
“Fairy
Tail”, is a dark and gritty paranormal thriller with a twist.
The
second book, “Guardian Angels” is the introductory book to the “Guardian
Series”, a sci-fi/fantasy epic set in the near future.
Further
work on the Guardian Series and a new paranormal series has been completed and
will hopefully be presented soon.
Author Links
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Awesome giveaway! The book sounds soooo good!! I want to read it now!! Thank you so much for the giveaway!! I just have to tell you that I LOVE your blog! The designs and colors are gorgeous!!
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