Fic x 2: Earth 2 - Teen - Terrians
Oct. 26th, 2014 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanaquificTwo stories written for spook_me. (I wrote two because the first story I wrote, which is the second one posted here, wasn't very spooky or scary.)
Title: Prisoners
Fandom: Earth 2
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Words: 700
Summary: On the surface of G889, a group of prisoners hopes for rescue from the alien who has captured them. Written forspook_me and the creature prompt "alien".
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Amblin Entertainment/Universal Television series Earth 2. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Thanks toscribblesinink for the beta.
oOo
A jolt of pain jerked me back to wakefulness. My hands automatically reached for the collar around my neck, seeking to tear it off before the pain came again, but I stopped them before I touched it. I already knew there was no way to unlock the wretched device. We had tried many times before, when they were first fitted, and the only result had been more pain.
A hideous cackle, accompanied by a second agonizing flash, signaled it had not been merely a moment's inattention that had caused my collar to fire, but the return of our tormentor. A quick glance in the direction of the cackle—though I was careful to keep my head bent, to avoid attracting more personal attention from the creature—confirmed it. He lounged against a tree: a hideous, dead-eyed, pale-fleshed monster, with a straggling mane of hair.
Did he always seem so repulsive? When he first came to us out of the sky, with the rest of his kind, and spoke soft words and made sweet promises—before he stole our land and our lives.
He made one of those harsh, croaking noises that seem to be his language. I did not understand the sound, but the gestures were clear enough. We scrambled to our feet and set off in the direction he pointed. We had been doing this for days now: he would go away for a while soon after the sun rose, and then return a little later and direct us to walk, always roughly the same way. From time to time, I would turn and look back over my shoulder, but the point where he had captured us, one by one, was far behind us now and the ground under our feet was strange and unyielding.
When the sun was two thirds of the way across the sky, he made us halt. Another low-pitched grunt and he mimed putting something into his mouth. We knew he wanted food and we made haste to search—before he decided one of us was good enough to eat in the absence of anything else.
I touched one of my fellow captives as I passed by him and we exchanged a look, but the collars that controlled us also made it impossible for us to speak to one another. Without speech, it had been too difficult to make any plan together that would allow us to escape; and whenever one of us had tried some ruse or other, the rest of us had been too slow to catch on before our captor had triggered our collars. The one time we had tried to rush him all at once had ended quickly and badly: the whole group of us writhing on the ground at his feet, while he shocked us again and again until several of us—myself included—passed out.
Our work done for today, we squatted on the ground in a circle as dusk began to fall. Our tormentor lounged a few feet away, busy stuffing his face with the nourishment we had found him and muttering incomprehensible words to himself. At least this evening he left us in peace for a few minutes while he did so—as much as there could be any kind of peace for us now. At other times, he seemed angry or simply bored and made us the outlet for his frustration or need for amusement.
As the light faded completely, he rolled himself in those strange robes he wore and slept. I felt a small measure of relief that our respite would continue for some while longer.
In the faint starlight, I peered around at the others, counting. Still the six of us—if I included myself—who had first been captured all those weeks ago. I tried not to think about the seventh member of our group. Tried not to think that he might have been dead for days. Tried to hope that he was still out there, shadowing us and planning a rescue. But it was getting harder with each sunset to continue to believe rescue would come.
Impossible to believe when, a day later, we saw him collared like the rest of us.
Who will save us from this alien now?
Title: A manner of speaking
Fandom: Earth 2
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Words: 1035
Summary: When newcomers arrive on G889, those already on the planet struggle to make contact. Written forspook_me and the creature prompt "alien".
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Amblin Entertainment/Universal Television series Earth 2. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Thanks toscribblesinink for the beta.
oOo
The ground shudders again and again with strange and unwelcome blows. Not the work of water or wind or lightning, or even the scattered impacts from the decayed body of a distant comet. Such things are one with the soil, even as they transform it.
No, these beatings work against our world. We have felt them before, and no good has come of them, or from the aliens who make them. Aliens who would inflict on us and ours the same torture that has laid waste to their own homeland.
We count the impacts—three, four, five and more—and turn to each other to ask: what now?
oOo
We watch and listen, recalling all we remember of those who came before and how they treated us—and how we treated them.
Some of them had the sense to leave us and the land in peace, making a space for themselves that did not deal harshly with our home. We have treated them likewise, so long as they do not cause new grievances.
Others... others put themselves at odds with us, bringing to our home the cruelty that saw them driven them from their kind. Bringing, too, their contempt for the ground beneath their feet. Our world would nourish them and heal them if they cared for it and were not greedy. Yet they cannot see beyond the moment and their own selfish needs, spreading their poisons and twisting the earth.
Most of these we have dealt with already, swiftly and with as little grief as we might accomplish; just as one would, without hesitation, pluck out a weed that threatened to overpower all else.
There is one, though, who troubles us still: as cunning and watchful as we have learned to be, and thereby gaining a hold over us and over ours that we may not break by ourselves.
What will these new ones bring? Good or evil? We watch and listen—and find, among them... hope?
oOo
Hope. Yes, they bring hope with them: one we have waited for.
But they guard him carefully and we dare not approach openly, not yet. We remember too keenly what came before from among their kind, as well as the griefs our people suffer still. Nor can we speak to them: we grasp something of what passes in their petty, small minds, but these new ones are as deaf to us as their kin. Only when their minds are at rest from the endless busy-doing of the sun-hours do we come even somewhat near to touching. And even then, our voices are no more than faint whispers in the wind.
Except....
This one. In the dark hours, when his body is at rest, his mind is also. Not still turning, along the paths of the day and the paths of the past and the paths of their deepest fears, as the others do. Carefully we reach out....
oOo
We appointed those among us with the most skill in touching these primitive minds to speak for us. But he shies away, this one who can hear us, interpreting our mind-touch through the narrow lens with which he views the waking world. Twisting away, twisting away—his fear strong—as we extend our hands. And then fleeing from us, back to wakefulness.
No wonder they could work such evil on their world and ours, so blind are they to wind and water, soil and sun, the growing life around them....
It seems we must try another way.
oOo
We come to them. We show ourselves, our staffs dipped in sign of peace. Yet still they fear us: that is very clear, even though their minds are closed to us.
They send their creature, hewn from the earth and forged to do their bidding, to speak to us. It halts, observes us. There is such blankness there, though cold metal mimics living tissue and electrons course along thin-drawn wire in a poor imitation of life. While we may not comprehend clearly the minds of the beings who send it, at least there is true life in them.
We cannot treat with this unnatural beast that is no beast, but the living ones will not come near enough to us to let us speak with gestures or drawn patterns in the sand or a touch.
We must try another way. The child. If the child could come among us, even for one cycle of darkness, we could show faith by giving him what he needs and what his elders seek. And maybe also take what we need, to open a path that will lead to the future....
oOo
They guard him well. Always within the circle of his elders, where we might come, but at too great a cost, to us or them. He is beloved, this child: as precious to the kin that surround him as our home is to us.
We wait. We have patience, learned over the ages as the world turns, and as we feel the heat of the sun-days and the cold of the snow-days, and as the land renews and changes—and renews—with the slow-running seasons. These strangers to our world are not as we are: we have seen what their rashness, their incaution, their foolish quickness can bring. There will come a time when their watch fails.
oOo
There comes a time.
A time of darkness, when the minds of most of them are at rest from the sun-hours' busying, when our skilled speakers are reaching out again to the one who sometimes sees us in his mind's stillness. Yet that link is broken when the hurrying thought comes: Now! Now! The child! He lies upon the earth, beyond the circle of care. Now!
There is no time to be gentle, to be slow, to be mindful. Now! We must seize the moment. We must seize the child!
oOo
Hush! Hush, little one. Hush. There is pain, yes. There is fear. But soon pain and fear will be gone. The sickness, the lack in you, will be cured by the earth, our earth, the good earth. Soon, yes, soon. Hush....
oOo
We return him at last, healed. He is whole and we have a promise. In giving, we have received.
End Note: As Devon says near the end of the pilot episode: "Four days ago, aliens landed on a distant planet, and we are them."
spook_me. (I wrote two because the first story I wrote, which is the second one posted here, wasn't very spooky or scary.)Title: Prisoners
Fandom: Earth 2
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Words: 700
Summary: On the surface of G889, a group of prisoners hopes for rescue from the alien who has captured them. Written for
spook_me and the creature prompt "alien".Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Amblin Entertainment/Universal Television series Earth 2. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Thanks to
scribblesinink for the beta.A jolt of pain jerked me back to wakefulness. My hands automatically reached for the collar around my neck, seeking to tear it off before the pain came again, but I stopped them before I touched it. I already knew there was no way to unlock the wretched device. We had tried many times before, when they were first fitted, and the only result had been more pain.
A hideous cackle, accompanied by a second agonizing flash, signaled it had not been merely a moment's inattention that had caused my collar to fire, but the return of our tormentor. A quick glance in the direction of the cackle—though I was careful to keep my head bent, to avoid attracting more personal attention from the creature—confirmed it. He lounged against a tree: a hideous, dead-eyed, pale-fleshed monster, with a straggling mane of hair.
Did he always seem so repulsive? When he first came to us out of the sky, with the rest of his kind, and spoke soft words and made sweet promises—before he stole our land and our lives.
He made one of those harsh, croaking noises that seem to be his language. I did not understand the sound, but the gestures were clear enough. We scrambled to our feet and set off in the direction he pointed. We had been doing this for days now: he would go away for a while soon after the sun rose, and then return a little later and direct us to walk, always roughly the same way. From time to time, I would turn and look back over my shoulder, but the point where he had captured us, one by one, was far behind us now and the ground under our feet was strange and unyielding.
When the sun was two thirds of the way across the sky, he made us halt. Another low-pitched grunt and he mimed putting something into his mouth. We knew he wanted food and we made haste to search—before he decided one of us was good enough to eat in the absence of anything else.
I touched one of my fellow captives as I passed by him and we exchanged a look, but the collars that controlled us also made it impossible for us to speak to one another. Without speech, it had been too difficult to make any plan together that would allow us to escape; and whenever one of us had tried some ruse or other, the rest of us had been too slow to catch on before our captor had triggered our collars. The one time we had tried to rush him all at once had ended quickly and badly: the whole group of us writhing on the ground at his feet, while he shocked us again and again until several of us—myself included—passed out.
Our work done for today, we squatted on the ground in a circle as dusk began to fall. Our tormentor lounged a few feet away, busy stuffing his face with the nourishment we had found him and muttering incomprehensible words to himself. At least this evening he left us in peace for a few minutes while he did so—as much as there could be any kind of peace for us now. At other times, he seemed angry or simply bored and made us the outlet for his frustration or need for amusement.
As the light faded completely, he rolled himself in those strange robes he wore and slept. I felt a small measure of relief that our respite would continue for some while longer.
In the faint starlight, I peered around at the others, counting. Still the six of us—if I included myself—who had first been captured all those weeks ago. I tried not to think about the seventh member of our group. Tried not to think that he might have been dead for days. Tried to hope that he was still out there, shadowing us and planning a rescue. But it was getting harder with each sunset to continue to believe rescue would come.
Impossible to believe when, a day later, we saw him collared like the rest of us.
Who will save us from this alien now?
Title: A manner of speaking
Fandom: Earth 2
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Words: 1035
Summary: When newcomers arrive on G889, those already on the planet struggle to make contact. Written for
spook_me and the creature prompt "alien".Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Amblin Entertainment/Universal Television series Earth 2. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended.
Author's Note: Thanks to
scribblesinink for the beta.The ground shudders again and again with strange and unwelcome blows. Not the work of water or wind or lightning, or even the scattered impacts from the decayed body of a distant comet. Such things are one with the soil, even as they transform it.
No, these beatings work against our world. We have felt them before, and no good has come of them, or from the aliens who make them. Aliens who would inflict on us and ours the same torture that has laid waste to their own homeland.
We count the impacts—three, four, five and more—and turn to each other to ask: what now?
We watch and listen, recalling all we remember of those who came before and how they treated us—and how we treated them.
Some of them had the sense to leave us and the land in peace, making a space for themselves that did not deal harshly with our home. We have treated them likewise, so long as they do not cause new grievances.
Others... others put themselves at odds with us, bringing to our home the cruelty that saw them driven them from their kind. Bringing, too, their contempt for the ground beneath their feet. Our world would nourish them and heal them if they cared for it and were not greedy. Yet they cannot see beyond the moment and their own selfish needs, spreading their poisons and twisting the earth.
Most of these we have dealt with already, swiftly and with as little grief as we might accomplish; just as one would, without hesitation, pluck out a weed that threatened to overpower all else.
There is one, though, who troubles us still: as cunning and watchful as we have learned to be, and thereby gaining a hold over us and over ours that we may not break by ourselves.
What will these new ones bring? Good or evil? We watch and listen—and find, among them... hope?
Hope. Yes, they bring hope with them: one we have waited for.
But they guard him carefully and we dare not approach openly, not yet. We remember too keenly what came before from among their kind, as well as the griefs our people suffer still. Nor can we speak to them: we grasp something of what passes in their petty, small minds, but these new ones are as deaf to us as their kin. Only when their minds are at rest from the endless busy-doing of the sun-hours do we come even somewhat near to touching. And even then, our voices are no more than faint whispers in the wind.
Except....
This one. In the dark hours, when his body is at rest, his mind is also. Not still turning, along the paths of the day and the paths of the past and the paths of their deepest fears, as the others do. Carefully we reach out....
We appointed those among us with the most skill in touching these primitive minds to speak for us. But he shies away, this one who can hear us, interpreting our mind-touch through the narrow lens with which he views the waking world. Twisting away, twisting away—his fear strong—as we extend our hands. And then fleeing from us, back to wakefulness.
No wonder they could work such evil on their world and ours, so blind are they to wind and water, soil and sun, the growing life around them....
It seems we must try another way.
We come to them. We show ourselves, our staffs dipped in sign of peace. Yet still they fear us: that is very clear, even though their minds are closed to us.
They send their creature, hewn from the earth and forged to do their bidding, to speak to us. It halts, observes us. There is such blankness there, though cold metal mimics living tissue and electrons course along thin-drawn wire in a poor imitation of life. While we may not comprehend clearly the minds of the beings who send it, at least there is true life in them.
We cannot treat with this unnatural beast that is no beast, but the living ones will not come near enough to us to let us speak with gestures or drawn patterns in the sand or a touch.
We must try another way. The child. If the child could come among us, even for one cycle of darkness, we could show faith by giving him what he needs and what his elders seek. And maybe also take what we need, to open a path that will lead to the future....
They guard him well. Always within the circle of his elders, where we might come, but at too great a cost, to us or them. He is beloved, this child: as precious to the kin that surround him as our home is to us.
We wait. We have patience, learned over the ages as the world turns, and as we feel the heat of the sun-days and the cold of the snow-days, and as the land renews and changes—and renews—with the slow-running seasons. These strangers to our world are not as we are: we have seen what their rashness, their incaution, their foolish quickness can bring. There will come a time when their watch fails.
There comes a time.
A time of darkness, when the minds of most of them are at rest from the sun-hours' busying, when our skilled speakers are reaching out again to the one who sometimes sees us in his mind's stillness. Yet that link is broken when the hurrying thought comes: Now! Now! The child! He lies upon the earth, beyond the circle of care. Now!
There is no time to be gentle, to be slow, to be mindful. Now! We must seize the moment. We must seize the child!
Hush! Hush, little one. Hush. There is pain, yes. There is fear. But soon pain and fear will be gone. The sickness, the lack in you, will be cured by the earth, our earth, the good earth. Soon, yes, soon. Hush....
We return him at last, healed. He is whole and we have a promise. In giving, we have received.
End Note: As Devon says near the end of the pilot episode: "Four days ago, aliens landed on a distant planet, and we are them."