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Addict
Join Date: Mar 2008
Gender: Male
Posts: 106
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Pasha (Sci-Fi)
I like this story, but I can't seem to get it to work for some reason.
It hurt. With all the narcotics they had pumped into his system, he hadn’t expected this pain. His fingers spasmed, but found no purchase on the cracked cement, and he jerked as strong hands restrained his arms. The single, illegal bar pushed deep into his torso had his head spinning, and he chanted silently to himself: it’ll be better, you’ll be stronger, it’ll be better… “There.” Xan backed away for a moment, and Pasha’s stomach twisted as he saw the wetness on Xan’s hands. Another pang of agony lanced through him as someone slid MEZ-gel onto him. He felt faint, and he could swear he already felt the tingling that meant his powers were activating. One last surge of pain and he arched, thrashing as a fire burned along his veins. Then he saw Xan over him, his dark eyes smiling; “You didn’t pass out,” and then there was darkness.
He woke up in the dark. For a moment he thought he was blind, but when he cautiously pushed himself onto his elbows, he could make out a fire in the distance. He was on a sleeping bag, and he couldn’t figure out where he was until Xan poked his head in. Xan’s tent, then. “You did well,” Xan said, sitting carefully next to him. Pasha’s eyes sought and found the older man’s outline in the dark. “It worked?” he asked, his normally melodic voice cracked. “Yep.” Xan’s voice was like him; confident and for the most part peaceful. “As soon as the TN-bar works its magic,” and there was a small chuckle at the pun, “you powers will come back. It can be startling at first.” The TN-bar was a transmitter activator nullifier, and it cost a pretty penny. With the transmitter no longer working, Pasha’s powers would awaken. The Nemmen had been different once; once all of them had had power.
When the Great Wars happened, many had died, and the Selene had created huge metal cities. Every citizen was born and fitted with a transmitter that stopped all unusual activity. Xan and the others had escaped the cities, and had journeyed through the wastelands to here, the remains of the Nemmen’s largest city. Xan had shown them technology could be defeated. Here, they had found wild animals to hunt, and even overgrown orchards and fields. The Selene had lied; the wastelands did not cover the whole earth. Here, Xan made a stand, and part of that stand was Pasha. Pasha had found his way out only a few months earlier, and joined Xan’s small band. Xan was slowly building an army, he said, even though the army in question was only fifty strong.
Pasha floated gently back down to the present as Xan leaned over and yanked open his shirt. Pasha made a weak block, but all Xan had to do was look at him and he stopped his pitiful struggle. “No scars. The gel did its work. You’ll be able to train soon.” That made Pasha smile. Training was something to be proud of; it made you an adult. There were no adults here who had not gone through the process: no one older than their early twenties came into the group. TN-bars could be deadly, and the younger you were, the better. Living with a transmitter all your life made it very difficult to adjust to its absence, and Xan had learned the hard way that there was an age limit. “You hungry?” Xan asked. Pasha nodded; “Yes.” he was surprised to be hungry; he normally ate less than the others, but he hadn’t been allowed to eat a day in advance before the ‘operation’. Xan brought him some chicken and rice, and sat with Pasha while he devoured it.
It felt weird to have something inside him, and he could feel the press of the foreign object against his ribs as he repositioned himself. Of course, the bar would disintegrate after it had shut off the transmitter. Right now the transmitter, located on his spine below his neck, under muscle and skin, was not working, but it would be removed later. Trying to take out an active trans would be fatal. Once the bowl was empty, Xan leaned over and retrieved it. “Think you can stand?” he asked. Pasha nodded. He didn’t want to be a baby. He slowly inched over to the edge of the bed and allowed Xan to help him up. He squeaked and would have fallen over if Xan hadn’t steadied him. Pasha was suddenly glad of the dark - Xan couldn’t see his vivid blush. Why do I always embarrass myself?
It was much easier to walk than it was to sit up, and they left the tent without Pasha causing himself anymore shame. Outside the stars were still high in the sky, stars he had never seen from the cities, but dawn was approaching. The fire he had seen burning seemed to be Xan’s, because there was no one watching it, and it was burning low. No one else was awake, it seemed.
Xan led him through the tall grass that grew in the center of town to an area with cement blocks arranged in a circle, like seats. This was Xan’s meeting place. Pasha had never been here, because he was not considered an adult. But he was now. Xan sat and motioned for Pasha to do the same. Pasha did so hesitantly, feeling slightly ill at the feelings inside him. “I want to tell you a story,” Xan said when Pasha had settled. Pasha shifted uncomfortably on the cement. Stories were for children. “I used to live in a city,” Xan began, and Pasha perked up. Xan was being personal. “I was a watcher, believe it or not,” the older man started, and Pasha’s eyebrows shot up. Watchers did as their job title suggested; they watched over the populace, and brought any rebellions or law breakers under control. They were one of the main branches of their group’s enemies. “We were supposed to destroy some artwork. I was wounded during the fight, and… one of the men, an old one, showed mercy. He healed me, but not in the normal way. It was the first time I had ever encountered powers, and the man told me much while I was his prisoner.
Once upon a time, our planet had never even heard of the Selene. We existed peacefully, and no computers or sub-trains scarred our land. We lived off farming, and our main pursuit was art, not war. Our people had never heard of war, and we were decimated when the Selene came with their technology. Our horses, and even our powers, were no match for their bombs. They scorched the earth and obliterated the skies, and brainwashed our children. They built metal cities and hid from the life-giving sun, and slaughtered the animals that roamed our planet. After many months, all that was left was the wastelands and the cities. Our people are carefully monitored, the Selene forming the upper class with their genetically modified hierarchy. Some have escaped, seeking an alternative to the death the Selene have demanded for their rebellion. Few have left and survived.”
Xan fell silent from his speech, and Pasha noted that the story had a soft, repetitive rhythm, as if Xan was not saying it the first time, as if Xan had indeed heard it from someone else. “Using maps available to us, I discovered that the world is not completely ruined,” Xan continued. “I decided to leave, and using the map, I found my way here. I watched for many days near the walls of the cities, and those who found their way out, I showed them the way here.” Xan looked up from his scarred hands. “Soon we’ll have children born without trans here, Pasha.” Pasha nodded. “But it’ll only be a matter of time before the Selene realize we have a community here.” Xan nodded at the boy. “And we’ll have to hope that by the time that happens, we’ll be large enough to go to war. With our powers awake, we could win.”
Xan stood suddenly. “You should go to bed. I was going to wait a few days to have this talk, but you were so eager, and… I think your powers will be great. You felt them stirring immediately, didn’t you? I could tell from your face. Well, when it wasn’t contorted in pain.” Xan laughed. “I have a present for you,” he said, standing and leading the way back to the tent. Pasha lengthened his stride, trying to match Xan’s, failed miserably, and slowed substantially to avoid puking.
Xan was the only one who slept in a tent. Pasha didn’t really understand it; it was comfortable. He had made my home in what Xan said was an old museum. Half of it was burned down, but he didn’t mind. There were interesting photographs on the walls, and he had picked up the ones that had fallen onto the ground. It was a brick building, and Pasha slept in this room that had a bunch of sculptures in it. There was a peach tree in the small backyard, and it was flowering. A pile of wool blankets and sleeping bags arranged in a nest formed his bed. Xan’s tent was a bit different; an actual mattress was set on milk crates, and it was painfully sparse, with only a chair occupying the space, other than the bed.
Pasha finally caught up and took a seat on the bed, another sickening sensation flashing through him, and wondered where Xan had slept if he had given Pasha his bed. Xan leaned forward from the chair, and Pasha scooted backwards instinctually and ended up on his back. Xan laughed, and Pasha felt his cheeks redden once again. Xan reached under the bed and came up with a bottle. Alcohol! It was forbidden in the camp! “Hypocrite!” Pasha hissed, struggling to get up. He gave up, his insides feeling too bruised. Xan laughed again. “We only say that so you younger idiots don’t do something stupid,” Xan said. “It’s allowed in private.” He extended the bottle to Pasha’s prostrate form. “Congrats on becoming a man.” Pasha growled. “It helps the bar disintegrate faster,” Xan said. Pasha looked at him suspiciously, but opened the bottle nonetheless. He took a large gulp to prove he wasn’t a baby, and ended up choking on the burning liquid.
Last edited by Damien. : 03-27-2008 at 08:14 AM.
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