My Name is Sam

By Wes Stuart

Who is the real enemy? This is the question that confronts Sam, the champion of the Sereia in their cosmos-spanning war with the Gibbus, and the main character in this story.

Sam is an unimposing boy who has no past and no memory of who he is, yet he possesses extraordinary abilities. He is also Earth’s last hope for salvation from

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wes Stuart
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995623613

Book preview

my-name-is-sam-ebook-cover.jpg

My Name is Sam

Wes

Stuart

Copyright © Wes Stuart, 2016

All rights

reserved

ISBN 978-0-9956236-1-3

-6

Cover illustration by

Lucy

Fekete

To my mum and sister, the reasons why I am still

here.

Chapter 1

i

‘Are you an

angel?’

The boy was not at all self-conscious, despite his nakedness. He was simply grateful that the vomiting had finally stopped, but his stomach still hurt and a nasty taste remained on his lips. Surely, he thought, you’re not supposed to feel sick when you’re

dead?

The strange being ignored the boy’s question. ‘What is your designation,

boy?’

What did it mean by ‘designation’? That must mean they did not even speak English in

Heaven.

The apparition noticed the boy’s confusion and it corrected itself. ‘What name are you known by? Do you know who you

are?’

As the boy looked up into the being’s face, he realised that he did not know his own name. It was not that he could not remember it; rather, he had no memory of ever having possessed

one.

Then he looked about his surroundings. He was sitting on a bed in a room so strange it made him feel sick. The harsh light hurt his eyes, and the glare from the polished walls and metallic cupboards increased his discomfort. The air was just as bad. It was full of chemicals that burnt his throat and nostrils with each breath he took, and it reminded him of a freshly painted

room.

The boy had thought he was in a hospital. Stark, metallic beds protruded from box-shaped cupboards, each identical to the other. None of them had a mattress or even linen, just a neatly folded sheet at their foot, and they looked as cold and unyielding as the one that pressed into his unprotected buttocks. If he was in a hospital, he had no idea why, because he did not feel ill, other than his desperate need to throw up, and he was in no pain at

all.

As he looked more closely at the metal cupboards, he began to doubt his first guess. Maybe he was not in a hospital at all. The bed-cupboard next to his had been left slightly ajar and he took a quick look inside. He quickly regretted doing so, because inside he saw a naked foot. Its skin did not look real; it was dull and yellow and reminded him of a wax dummy. The boy knew immediately that the foot belonged to a dead person. He realised that all the cupboards probably had dead people in them too. He did not know what this kind of place was called, but he knew it was for people who had

died.

This was all too much for him and soon he added to the puddle that had already formed on the polished floor beneath his feet. Green liquid now covered his chest and legs. Though he didn’t feel any better, he was relieved that it was, at least, no longer inside him. It was only then that the boy remembered the tall angel, who was still staring down at him without any sign of kindness, and its single question about his

name.

This all seemed to make sense to the boy. This was a room full of dead people and so he had to be dead too. It seemed entirely logical to him that his passage to heaven or hell depended on his reply. Yet what appeared to be a perfectly simple question was beyond him and he was unable to reply. He did not know his own name. He burst into

tears.

The angel’s voice interrupted his sobs. It was soft and lyrical and, much to the boy’s surprise, the being was smiling at him. ‘Splendid! You do not remember anything at all, do you?’ it

said.

The boy looked up at his questioner, his eyelashes heavy with tears, and slowly shook his

head.

‘Your

designation …

I mean your name is Sam. You have not died, and I am not an angel. I

am …

I am your

pedagogue …

’

The being paused and looked down once more at the naked, snivelling boy. Then it dropped a small bundle next to him, turned and made its way towards the

exit.

Sam looked down at the bundle. The being had given him some clothes. He paid them little attention. His mind was on what it had just told him. He let its words sink in and played with the name he had been given. It felt like it was his, and he liked it. It was short and easy to spell, and that suited him. Though he was not sure about the rest of what the being had

said.

What the hell was a pedagogue? That did not sound good. Maybe the being was a demon after all. Maybe it wanted to turn him inside out. But it had just given him a present and that was not the sort of thing a demon would do if it wanted to eat

him.

The clothes consisted of a jersey and a pair of shorts. He tried on the jersey first. It was red in colour and warm against his skin. It was far too large for him and fell off his left shoulder like an old sack. That did not matter to Sam because he liked it. The shorts were black and, fortunately, they were a good fit. Soon the tiled floor resonated to the slap of his bare feet as he followed the stranger out of the

building.

As he hurried to catch up, Sam got a glimpse of his companion in the mirrored wall. It looked very strange indeed. It had very long arms, and legs that seemed to go on forever. Its skin was paper white and glowed with the appearance of a light bulb inside its body. Its clothes, from its suit and the tie around its neck, all the way down to the shoes on its feet and the flower in its lapel, were as white and bright as sunlit snow. They matched the being’s skin so perfectly that Sam was unable to tell whether they were clothes or actually part of the being

itself.

Only the being’s eyes were different. They shone with a ghostly green radiance, but seemed to Sam to be very much alive, and were able express a thousand words without making a single sound. Then there was the way the being walked – its giant strides looked so graceful that Sam doubted whether its feet ever even touched the ground – not to mention its long bony fingers and strict expression. Sam began to feel certain that his companion was not human at

all.

Seeing that the boy had joined it, the being corrected itself once more. ‘I am to be your

instructor.’

Finally, Sam plucked up the courage and asked, ‘Are you a

demon?’

‘Very primitive, as I expected,’ came the abrupt reply. ‘You are ready? Good. Come, follow

me.’

After the dreary room Sam had been in, he was completely unprepared for what he found outside. Everything overloaded his senses. The sunlight burnt the back of his eyes and turned things a hazy white no matter how much he tried to focus. The dazzle wiped out his vision, the mild breeze tried to tear his skin from his body and the early-morning birdsong blasted his ears with a sound louder than an express

train.

It was all too much for Sam. He fell to his knees. Blood flowed from his nose as he felt his grip on consciousness weaken. He wanted to call out to the stranger for help, but all he could do was watch the world spin around faster and faster until everything turned

black.

ii

This is madness, Commander! To place all our hopes on the shoulders of an immature human is no solution at

all!

Thank you, First Consul, for your assessment of the objective. Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury to discard this option, replied the Commander. The Terran may not be a very attractive species, but, as you know, the chemical and electrical activity that their minds emit is like no other in the known universe. We have no choice but to defend this vital resource now that its location is known to our

enemies.

Neither the Commander nor the First Consul actually spoke their words. Instead, they shared their thoughts telepathically. This was far more efficient than clumsy vocalisation, which bordered on incoherence, and it set them apart from

humanity.

They called themselves the Sereia and there were four of them in the spacecraft. Each appeared identical to the other. Clad in ice white, their suits fitted so perfectly, they had the appearance of a second skin. Their hair was close cropped, and their paper-dry skin was also a glacial white, which emphasised their graceful fragility, as did their thin, overly long arms and

legs.

The spacecraft itself was devoid of furnishings. There were no windows or doors, but the walls pulsed with a rhythm of their own, alive with a brilliant green liquid that flowed just beneath the surface like blood under the skin. It lit up the room with a verdant hue as unnatural as the four Sereia who occupied

it.

As one of the youngest ships in the fleet, The Ameil was the fastest and therefore the obvious choice for this mission. Its attitude, with its nose pointed downwards like a serrated arrow, only hinted at the velocities it could achieve when requested. For The Ameil was no slave to be ordered about like those mindless machines that populated the Earth; its services could only be requested. It was a living entity, shaped by the collective will of its makers and, like them, it felt pain, rage and even fear. This made it a faithful companion and one more member of the crew chosen to travel across the

cosmos.

Motionless now, and in complete darkness, The Ameil had taken up a position on the opposite side of the moon. It was a place that light from the nearest star could never reach. Yet the ship still glittered with a verdant fluorescence that pointed to the great energies contained within

it.

The Commander’s thoughts mingled with those of his three companions as he continued. Our enemies, the Gibbus, will be within striking distance of the Earth in seven of its solar days and will immediately eliminate all life upon it. A much more robust defence is urgently

required.

The Ameil’s living wall immediately dissolved to reveal a portal into deep space. It was a giant panoramic screen that dwarfed the four Sereia, and at its centre hung the planet Earth, so close they could almost reach out and touch it. But this was not the object of their attention. Their collective minds were preoccupied with something far beyond this unique planet and, slowly, the view changed to match their

gaze.

The vessel they were looking at emitted no light. It traversed space at such a speed it left light far in its wake. It may not even have been in the same dimension as the observers. But as the screen slowly focused in on it, the Gibbus craft’s terrible bulk became clear to each of them. It filled the screen and was so black that it was hard to discern in the darkness that surrounded it, but the Sereia had seen its kind many times before and were able to perceive

it.

The spaceship looked more like a carrion fly, bloated and black with the blood of its prey, than a sleek, faster-than-light craft. Its hull was not smooth but alive with the bodies of billions of entities that together formed the hull of a warship of vast power and

resilience.

The Gibbus ship seemed to sense that it was being watched. It began to slow and then, as one, each of the billions of bodies across its hull turned to face their observers. They let out a scream of hatred that flooded the minds of the Sereia. Such was its intensity, even across such a massive distance, that the failsafe kicked in and snapped shut The Ameil’s vast screen, silencing the noise in the Sereia’s

heads.

I need options, everyone, said the Commander. First Consul, please state your case for abandoning the scheme we are embarked

upon.

Thank you, Commander, the First Consul replied. Though it pains me to say it, it is my strong conviction that we are far too late to defend planet Earth. In similar circumstances in the past we have always allowed ourselves the luxury of time to select and train the correct

defender.

The First Consul’s words elicited a nod of agreement from each of his listeners. Emboldened, he continued. The use of a Terran boy to defend this valuable resource is both contrary to all our traditions and doomed to fail. We have long known that even mature males are unstable and unreliable. Even though we could not find a suitable female on arrival, and this has happened on many occasions on other planets, we have always had the luxury of time to wait for one to spawn. Remember, this Terran species is locked into a life cycle dictated by its primitive biology. A century is merely a detail to us. To them it is a

lifetime.

He paused to gather his thoughts, and then added, carefully, I agree that the protection of our resource is our primary duty and, indeed, it defines us. But it is madness to use this as justification for the use of an untried hybrid human boy. We have never successfully raised a male defender. This is most unorthodox and it is bound to

fail.

Your case is well made, First Consul, but you leave one element unanswered. If we do not embrace this scheme, what is the

alternative?

All eyes returned to the First Consul as doubt clouded his thoughts for the first time. As you are well aware, Commander, I am a diplomat and not a soldier. That is your preserve. My opinion will be informed by reason and not

expedience.

Continue, First Consul, replied the Commander, as though oblivious to the implied

slight.

We should intercept the Gibbus ship and draw it away from this place. Once it’s distracted, we can call for aid to destroy it at our

leisure.

The Commander answered for them all. You are right, First Consul, you are not a soldier. Yet even you must see the flaws in your case. If you cannot, let me enlighten you. We are far too valuable to be expended in a direct confrontation with our enemies that we cannot

win.

He turned back to the screen, which was now focused on a young child in a red jersey who appeared to be asleep outside a mortuary somewhere on planet

Earth.

Far better that this Terran child hazards his body in our stead, he continued. We are few and the Terrans are many. Is it right that we should sacrifice ourselves when a human could be easily persuaded to do so

instead?

Then he turned to address the third member of the party. Instructor, responsibility for our new defender is yours. Your thoughts,

please.

The Instructor’s eyes had been on the boy ever since he’d been revealed to the four of them assembled on the command deck. The First Consul’s protests were ignorant and ill-informed. None of them really understood what the boy was or what he was capable of. He was a creature so uniquely powerful, the Instructor was sure that he would alter the destiny of their species as well as those of the Earth’s. The boy slept now, but if the Instructor was correct, he would prove to be the nemesis of all their

enemies.

This Terran child is fragile, Instructor. Is he capable of undertaking the task we have assigned to him? added the

Commander.

The Sereia’s unease clung to the walls of their spaceship and The Ameil pulsed irritably in response, before being soothed by the Instructor’s

thoughts.

His body has accepted the transformation. The child should soon be capable of undertaking his role as a

defender.

Should, Instructor? queried the First Consul. You do not sound

certain.

The Instructor paused to allow his frustration to dissolve as he faced his questioner. First Consul, I have been an instructor for four thousand Earth years. Indeed, you, Commander, specifically requested my presence on this mission because of my considerable

experience.

The Instructor paused to acknowledge the nod in his direction from the

Commander.

In all that time I have never had to confront circumstances such as we now face. It is true that our previous attempts to turn a Terran male into a defender failed. The disaster with this boy’

s …

prototype taught me many things that I have been able to apply to this project. Nevertheless, I cannot guarantee that I will not fail once again with this child. He paused to stare at his questioner and then added, So, yes, First Consul, you are correct. I am not

certain!

What can you be certain of, Instructor? interceded the Commander, keen to calm the

atmosphere.

Not much, I’m

afraid.

The Ameil’s rhythm changed again as it sensed the mood on the

ship.

Tell us what you know, urged the Commander, trying to disguise his

alarm.

As you all can see, the subject’s body accepted the transition and survived. His gender and immaturity made this process hazardous and I was unable to use the usual instruments to aid me. I had to make some

compromises.

Please be specific, Instructor, requested the

Commander.

Very well, Commander. The usual transition process results in considerably enhanced function within the cerebrum. This significantly amplifies the complex sensory and neural functions that initiate and coordinate all the voluntary activity in the

body.

In simple terms, you transform his mind and body into a weapon, interrupted the Pilot, whose thoughts had been absent until

now.

You are correct, Pilot, acknowledged the Instructor with a hint of surprise. He had never credited the military with much intelligence. This transformation is normally never hurried and usually takes place over many decades. Furthermore, it is important to enhance the body as well, to help the subject manage the considerable psychological and physiological stresses they have to endure. The ability to tolerate this transition and remain sane is why we favour the female of the Terran

species.

There was a pause as the implications behind the Instructor’s words were

understood.

The

boy …

Is

he …

?

Surprisingly robust, Commander. The Instructor smiled as he completed the Commander’s sentence. Of course the transition was traumatic for the child, as you saw. Initially, I doubted whether it would be possible for him to accept the procedure without irreparable damage. Because of the short timescale, I focused on enhancing his cerebrum at the expense of everything

else.

Was that irresponsible, Instructor? asked the First

Consul.

Yes, it was a risk, admitted the Instructor. But it was one worth taking. By focusing on his mental capacity at the expense of his physical abilities, I have been able to avoid some of the more unpleasant consequences that occurred when we accelerated the transition in his

prototype.

This is good news. The Commander looked visibly

relieved.

Your celebration may be premature, Commander. There has been

some …

damage to this

subject.

The Ameil shuddered once

more.

What kind of damage? the First Consul

probed.

The child has to be a stable host for the entity he has been joined with. To achieve this, it was necessary to sacrifice the child’s ability to

evolve.

If I understand you correctly, you mean that he will not be able to achieve adulthood? asked the

Pilot.

Yes. Essentially he is immortal. His physical state will not age, and he will never reach what humans describe as puberty. As to his mental state, I cannot

say.

Sensing the uneasy atmosphere in the room, the Instructor added, I was asked to create a defender that would be able to protect this planet in seven days’ time. Everything else, even our traditions and values, were secondary to this. We have all had to make sacrifices. This child is one of them. He will either succeed or fail. Whatever the outcome, we will have no need of him after the seventh

day.

The Commander broke the silence. Your work has been of the highest standard, as usual, Instructor. You may begin the next phase of this child’s

instruction.

Commander, there is one more thing you should know. For the first time the Instructor’s mind betrayed the uncertainty he had felt throughout this project. Initially, I found the boy’s mind as chaotic as any Terran’s. Yet at its core I discovered something that I have never seen before in all my time as an

Instructor.

Continue, Instructor, urged the

Commander.

I cannot provide you with a clear answer, but this boy is not a normal defender. Defenders should be nothing but our slaves. He is different, and a small part of his mind is walled up to prevent entry. It is something I have not seen before. Not even in our own kind, and this concerns me. There are things about this boy I barely understand. He stared at the image of Sam on the screen. This child could present a greater danger to us than we can

imagine.

Chapter 2

i

Why have we come up

here?

This time the wind did not hurt Sam at all and the sun merely warmed the back of his neck, much to his relief. The first thing he’d thought when he woke up was that it had all been a very strange dream. Then he saw the same weird stranger standing over him and realised he really had met an otherworldly being. The building for the dead was gone, however, and had been replaced by a grassy hill, on the summit of which he was now sitting. He could see for miles and, with St Paul’s Cathedral in the distance, it was clear they were not in the countryside but right in the middle of

London.

As he swung his legs off the bench, the damp grass tickled the soles of his feet and reminded Sam he was still barefoot. He let his toes glide over the soft grass. With some effort, he then stood up. For a brief moment the blood in his ears roared as dizziness swept through him. He was relieved that it did not last long, but it made his heart beat rapidly and his head ache. All of which was another reminder of his recent

ordeal.

Your head will feel better

soon.

Sam had almost forgotten about his companion. The giant did not take its green eyes from his as it sat down next to him on the bench. Even sitting down, it was still miles taller than him. In the sunlight it looked very old – not because of its face, which was pale and smooth as Sam remembered, but more because it moved awkwardly and stiffly, and appeared unaccustomed to sitting down at all. Sam thought better of pushing it off the bench. Maybe it wouldn’t get the joke. But how did it know his head

ached?

How did you know what I was

thinking?

I can hear your thoughts, of course. As we have been conversing by thought, it is obvious that I would be aware of everything you

think.

Sam’s mind raced as he recognised that he too had been communicating through his thoughts and had not used his voice once. This discovery alarmed him. ‘Can we speak using our voices, please?’ he asked, noting how painful it felt to use his vocal

cords.

‘As you wish, but it is not very efficient,’ came the

reply.

Sam coughed and had to admit that his companion was right, but he persisted. ‘Who are you? Why have you brought me up here? How come I can speak with my mind?

Why—’

‘Slow down, child,’ interrupted the being. ‘It is better that I answer one question at a time – orally, as you have

insisted.’

Sam’s heart raced and he had to force his fears not to flood back in again. No one could speak with their minds, could they? Was this being a monster after all? Even worse, did that make him a monster as

well?

‘I am what you would call an alien,’ the Instructor continued. ‘I am a member of a species called the Sereia, and I have travelled a long way to find

you.’

Sam had not concentrated at all on what the alien had said. Instead, he was completely mesmerised by its voice. Its tone was neither deep nor high but was like a familiar tune that flowed through his mind and scrambled his thoughts, preventing him from doing anything except stand there and listen. It had taken complete control of

him.

He looked at the strange being. While its smile remained the same, its eyes did not. They danced and flashed in rhythm with his voice. It felt so odd, Sam tried to block out both this and the odd sensation. Then suddenly the confusion was gone, and with it the mesmerising tune, and Sam could think freely once more. He looked up at his companion. ‘What is your

name?’

Now there was a look of surprise on the alien’s face and Sam wondered if he had made it

angry.

‘I am called the Instructor,’ the alien replied, his poise

recovered.

‘No, I mean, what is your real name?’ insisted Sam, relieved that the being was not mad at him. ‘I know you’re a teacher, but all teachers have names, don’t they? So you must have one

too?’

This time it was with respect and with a hint of emotion in its eyes that the Instructor now looked at

Sam.

‘I have not used my birth name

for …

a very long

time.’

‘How

long?’

‘In your understanding, it would be over sixteen thousand of your years,

child.’

‘Wow, that is

ages!’

‘Yes. You must remember we are very different to you. Our lifespan is counted in millennia, not years. One hundred of your years would be a blink of an eye to

us.’

‘So you are really old then?’ Sam’s eyes dropped to the alien’s bony hands. Now he knew why they looked that

way.

‘No, I am not old, child,’ came the mildly offended reply. ‘In your terms, I would be about forty years

old.’

‘That’s really old!’ To Sam, even twenty-five was old, and he could not imagine anyone being as ancient as

forty.

The alien smiled at the image of an old man that appeared in the child’s

mind.

‘Sam, our development is at a pace very different to yours. As an example, our childhood lasts for eight hundred of your years, while yours is completed in less than twenty. Nor are we born like your species; we come from eggs and our young look quite different from we

adults.’

‘So you are like frogs then?’ Sam’s eyes roved over the Instructor’s body. ‘They come from frogspawn, then they become tadpoles and only later do they finally become frogs.’ Sam had no memory of ever having learnt this, but he was sure he was right, just as he knew that they were in

London.

‘We are not quite like frogs, child, but I think the comparison is a fair one,’ the Sereia Instructor agreed. ‘It is when we leave our birth nursery that we discard our infant names and take on our adult

designation.’

‘So do you still remember your name, or have you forgotten it by

now?’

‘No, Sam, I have not forgotten. My real name is

Kayealrin.’

‘That’s a girl’s name,’ said Sam, wrinkling his nose with the appearance of a boy who has just been confronted with an open

sewer.

‘What makes you think I am not a

girl?’

‘You are a guy – aren’t you?’ Sam turned to cast a quizzical glance at his

companion.

We do not look upon gender as you do, the Instructor replied. There is little difference between men and women in our species. We are one and the same to your

eyes.

You are a guy and a girl at