Writer's Thread

GoldenFrog

Hello everyone!

This is PinkSkink, Goldenfrog's sister.

I'm not sure if this has been done before, but...
Along with playing on Sketchup, I also write, as a hobby. Since this is the corner bar, I thought it might be a good place to post something I've written, and perhaps get feedback or encourage others to share some of their writing, too .

The piece below is part 1 (and a bit more) of a science fiction story I'm in the process of writing. It doesn't have a title yet, but will soon.

Anyway, here it is--please read and enjoy!

@unknownuser said:

Kirk Maclean was sound asleep, floating over a null-g plate, when the rocket landed on the small, airless world. The low rumble woke him instantly. With swift movements, he detached the tether that prevented him from floating out onto the floor, and grabbed the side of the plate to swing himself onto the floor. He landed feet first and stepped into his boots, which, feeling pressure on the soles, automatically zipped up. Stepping across the small room, he grabbed his pistol and flicked open the ammunition chamber. Checking the gun was a precaution required by habit only, since the snub-nosed pistol was always kept loaded and cleaned.

Already his mind was racing through all the possible identities for the visitor. The supply ship was not due until 10 Terran days from now, and no one else--except for some government officials--even knew of the asteroid base. Perhaps the Russians had captured someone and made them talk... He pushed the thought out of his mind. If the rocket that had just landed contained a Russian invasion force, there was absolutely nothing he could do. The only honorable thing to do was to go out fighting.Armed with this resolution, Maclean raced up the metal stairs to the surface, grabbing a rebreather on the way up. Although the asteroid did have a thin atmosphere, it was all the wrong sorts of gases--carbon monoxide, sulfur, hydrogen cyanide, and others. The only good thing about the atmosphere was that its pressure negated the need for a full spacesuit.

The double doors of the base’s airlock hissed open, and he stepped out onto the chalky surface. Terra was just rising on his left, serene and distant, and on his right, the moon was setting, red and dim in the noxious atmosphere. Nothing moved on the asteroid’s surface; it was bare except for the black, bristling native plants.

As he scanned the jagged horizon, Maclean suddenly saw a new shape, silhouetted against the setting moon. At once he knew that no Russian ever built such a vessel. It was a large, glowing blue orb, with long, silver, liquid-filled hoses coiling and squirming inside. In the thin atmosphere, he seemed to catch a faint hissing as they thrashed about. The orb was reinforced with a pewter coloured apparatus, which held the landing and steering jets.

One of the hoses slid towards the metal machinery where it contacted the glowing sphere. An airlock the width of his hand opened, and the hose began snaking through. With a start, Maclean realized that the “hoses” were in fact the pilots of the ship--since hoses do not have quivering mouthparts and antennae. He watched with a kind of fascination as the worm streamed out of the airlock, each new coil landing on the powdery surface with a dull thump and a cloud of dust.

He realized that there was in fact only one inhabitant of this vessel, and that this one creature was close to 400 feet long. As he watched, the worm finally extricated itself from the vessel and began feeling the dusty soil with its antennae. Now that its image was no longer distorted by the glowing blue globe, he was able to examine it in more detail. Its mouth was lined with concentric circular layers of sharp teeth. Surrounding the mouth were several pairs of feelers, which made a dull rustling as they sifted through the soil. It would have been far better, he thought, if the Russians had landed. At least they were human.

Further examination was interrupted by another rumble, and he turned to see another of the same ships landing on a mesa. From the distance came another, and another. To his horror, he suddenly realized that he was surrounded. He also realized that, standing out in the open, he made a perfect target for--well, for whatever the worms wanted to do to him. He could not imagine that their intentions were benign. If he could only reach the safety of the base--

As though it had read his mind, the worm lashed forward with lightning speed to grab his legs. With the instinctive reflexes of a spacer, Maclean leapt backwards, bounding high in the low gravity. He brought the gun up and fired almost before he realized it. He watched as the bullet impacted on the glassy skin, sank through into the silver liquid--and dissolved.

The alien did not seem harmed, but rather puzzled. It continued to advance towards him, but he did not wait around to see what effect another bullet might have. He made a frantic dash for the airlock of the base, hoping desperately that the worm would be too surprised to cut him off. It wasn’t. The worm whipped a slender coil of itself around his ankle, and he suddenly felt intensely tired. Realizing that the worm was influencing him through physical contact, he struggled to break loose, but it was useless, and he slumped unconscious in the chalky soil.
                                    ******
When Maclean came to, he was lying on a soft, spongy surface. Puzzled, he opened his eyes and sat up. The room was entirely made of the spongy substance—a pinkish red, porous tissue. The room had no straight lines—the walls flowed smoothly into the floor, and the columns that held up the ceiling were gently flared at both ends and tapered almost to nothing in the middle.

He got to his feet, and realized that the gravity was much higher than that of the small asteroid base—in fact, it seemed to be almost full earth-strength. The air was slightly higher in oxygen—but quite breathable—and painfully dry. He pressed one hand against the pillar nearest him, and it gave way slightly—almost stretchily—but did not break, though it was almost as thin as a spider web where he pushed it.

He turned at a slight rustling to see one of the glassy worms sliding through a hole in the wall, like a stream of living metal. He instinctively reached for his pistol, and was surprised to find it still in its holster. Of course, the weapon didn’t actually present any danger to the alien—as evidenced by his past experience with it.

He realized that worms were pouring in through almost every hole in the porous wall, resembling a flood of mercury. He was so engrossed in the sight that he did not notice the worm creeping nearer to his feet until it was too late. The alien whipped three coils around his legs, and the more he struggled, the tighter they clenched. The worm continued to encase him in coil after heavy, scaly coil, until he was as immobilized as if he were encased in concrete. He was just beginning to wonder if the aliens planned to kill him by suffocation when he suddenly felt a bizarre sensation. It was almost—but not quite—like cold sharp fingers running along the inside of his skull. He knew at once, with an inexplicable certainty, that the alien was probing his mind. The other beings—he could no longer think of them as aliens now—had gathered around him in a tight, rustling circle, and he realized suddenly that he could understand their expressions. Expectation, fear, curiosity, they were all there, and as easy to read as human faces.

Humans…He realized—or had he always known?—that this race’s objective was the human’s homeworld. And he saw nothing wrong with the idea. He seemed to feel the crowd before him stretching away into the distance, seemed to sense the hunger, the pain, the utter hopelessness that filled them. Their planet, which had always gotten its heat from its molten core, was cooling, sinking into a frozen oblivion. And the whole race, so powerful in culture and technology, was helpless in the face of this inexorable doom.

Their only hope was to flee to another planet. Vowing that they would never again rely solely on heat from a planet’s core, their scientists eliminated world after world, until only one remained as a viable candidate--Terra.

Maclean knew that all they needed now was information about certain details of Terra--number of inhabitants, their psychological resistance, and--most importantly--their military strengths and locations.

Maclean was almost willing to tell, but something held him back. Something--although he could not tell what--restrained him from betraying his race. The beings did not seem to mind--he sensed in their minds a certainty that, sooner or later, he would tell. The one who was probing him--his name was Ren`Tikdanak--left him with the information that there was food in one corner of the room, and withdrew his feelers from Maclean’s brain.

To all outer appearances, Maclean had been unconscious during the entire session. Now he “came to”, but he did so suddenly, and with no dazed or confused look. He found himself still encased in the heavy coils of the worm and struggled violently.

The audience of worms that had been watching him withdrew through the same small holes, and Ren`Tikdanak followed, whipping through the hole he had entered. Maclean lunged after him, but there was nothing he could do. He was alone in his strange, soft cell once more.

Moderators: if you feel that this thread does not belong on Sketchucation, do feel free to lock it.

Constructive criticism is welcome!

sepo

Cool I wonder if you are going to ilustrate the story as well. Seems potent ...look forward for some more.

Gaieus

@unknownuser said:

Hello everyone!

This is PinkSkink, Goldenfrog's sister.

Hi PinkSkink and welcome!

Why don't you register with your own account?

@unknownuser said:

Moderators: if you feel that this thread does not belong on Sketchucation, do feel free to lock it.

Wy would we? This is the Corner Bar after all!

jim smith

Good "imagery" would like to read more. As Gaieus suggested, why not start your own account? Hope you can (or convince your brother) to illustrate the story. Maybe an interesting model challenge for SU'rs to come up with the asteroid, ship and/or the worms

solo

Sounds like a script for a Starcraft 2 add-on, Terran reference and Zerg like over-mind worms.

Cool stuff, looking forward to the next instalment, some cool SU generated images would illustrate this story well.

GoldenFrog

Wow, illustrating the story with sketchup models is a fantastic idea! I'm sure my brother would be interested in illustrating some stuff from the story.

I would like to make my own account, but to do that, I need another email address. My parents feel that that is too many email adresses to monitor. Oh well...

Thanks alot for the comments!

Gaieus

Why would you need another email address?

(If you want, I can register you without one and just PM the password to your brother here)

GoldenFrog

Thanks a lot for the offer, but I'll just continue posting on Goldenfrog's account. I'm not reall very active on Sketchucation right now. Maybe, if I get more active, I'll get an account for myself.

Thanks again for the offer, though!

Gaieus

No, it is not only an offer but for others, a bit confusing, too.

I can imagine when someone is a schizo but this makes me one.

GoldenFrog

What? Could you rephrase that post? I don't understand what you said.

Gaieus

You know there is a psychiatric illness when someone's identity somehow gets "split". That is called schizophrenia.

Now talking to "you guys" I feel like from now on, I will never know whom I am talking to. It's just a "backwards schizophrenia".

Gaieus

It's like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde syndrome just the other way round.

GoldenFrog

Oh! Yeah, I get it. Don't worry though, I think We'll both start signing our names so you can tell us apart.

Like this:

--PinkSkink

GoldenFrog

Here's the alien's ship. Modeled by me (PinkSkink) in Sketchup.

--PinkSkink

Alien Spaceship.gif

Joshua

Wonderful story! I thought it was interesting that Maclean had some compassion for the worms. I will be interested to see if the worms and the humans fight over Terra. You do a wonderful job creating the environments that you tell the story in. Anyway, keep up the writing and the modeling!

Joshua

GoldenFrog

Hi Joshua!

Thanks for the comments. Maclean really only has compassion for the worms when he is under their mind-probe--not all the time.

And I hate to dash your hopes...but there won't be any fighting between the Terrans and the aliens. Maclean is actually going to defeat them singlehandedly...and I know that sounds wierd, but it'll make sense .

Thanks for the compliments too!

--PinkSkink

NOLASaintTM

I really like the story! Keep us updated!

GoldenFrog

Just a little update to let eveyone know I haven't forgotten about this story

The ending of the story is coming soon--I just need to finish editing it. For now, here's a few paragraphs.

@unknownuser said:

Any feeling of friendship he had for the aliens was gone. He realized that it lasted only while the alien was inhabiting one’s brain. He also was horrified at how close he had come to betraying Terra. If the aliens continued to probe his mind, he realized, it would not be long before he would break down and tell them everything. How could he stop them?

He remembered his military training. Back when he had still been on Terra, he had undergone a hypnosis session after every briefing. The hypnosis had integrated a key phrase, such as “Mrs. Brown makes pancakes every Friday,” into his mind. If uttered, this phrase would erect certain mental “walls”, and prevent him from remembering the subject of that week’s briefing. He could not prevent the worms from learning most things, such as the size of the Terran population, or their psychological strength, but he could at least slow them down. He could buy time, to think about how to escape, to get back to Terra, to warn the others. But how? He had no idea.

The hours stretched into monotonous days, broken only by the mind-probe sessions, which became ever more frequent. Ren Tikdanak continued his relentless picking and probing at the barriers Maclean had erected. Sometimes, though, the alien would get tired, and drift off into long reveries about his home planet. Maclean traveled with him, through the delicate highways and tunnels of TaYawha II. The name of the star, Ta`Yawha, could be translated into Standard as “giver of life”, and indeed, that was the view that the aliens took.

The Ta`Yawi relied entirely on the star their planets orbited for their food. Every dwelling had, floating high above it, a metal platform connected to the house by a narrow chute. The platform was filled with a type of rock, called siket, which changed into a gray crystal when subjected to high levels of heat. This was automatically chipped off and sent down the chute, where the household devoured it.

Enjoy!

--PinkSkink

GoldenFrog

I hate to bump a thread that's as old as this, but I've finally finished the story! If anyone's interested...

Anyway, here it is:

@unknownuser said:

This way of living might have led to a stagnating society, but the Ta’Yawi found diverse ways to keep themselves occupied. They spent much of their time travelling to various nearby planets, and cataloguing the life found there. Maclean caught a sense of the thrilling danger of this unusual job, but it was a danger the Ta’Yawi welcomed, for it kept them from sinking into a stagnant, dead lifestyle.

Some specimens of this life were brought back to the Ta’Yawah II, and were kept in “zoos”, or museums. There, the Ta’Yawi conducted research on the aliens’ way of thinking, reacting, and reasoning. They also kept samples in deep-freeze, to prevent extinction of a species. The Ta’Yawi valued diversity in thought, and constantly sought new ways of reasoning and looking at problems. A human may look at an issue from both sides--a Ta’Yawi will examine it from ten different sides, and Maclean realized that this adaptability in thought was the key to their survival.

Although Ren`Tikdanak had indicated food on the table, and although it had been replenished consistently, there was no liquid of any sort. The food, a gray block about the size of his hand, was as dry as the chalky dust of the asteroid. When he had expressed his wish for water, he had met a peculiar reaction--confusion mixed with what he felt sure was revulsion. It cast doubt upon his theory that the aliens were withholding water from him to break down his resistance.

He had long ago given up the supply ship as lost. He could not imagine what sort of accident would delay such an important ship, but he was sure he had been kept a prisoner by the aliens for more than 10 days. The lack of water was beginning to tell on him, and he knew that he could not keep up his mental barriers for very long. Already he could feel sharp, insistent fingers prying and probing and creating new cracks.

Another contributor to his disorientation was the strange, almost schizophrenic quality that his life took on. When the aliens were in his mind, he felt a compassion, a loyalty for them, that was quite inexplicable. When he was alone, he hated them with every fiber of his being, and dreaded the soft, insistent rustling they made as they moved. When the aliens were in his mind, he racked his brains to try and remember the information he had so carefully walled off. When he was alone, he shuddered to think how close he had come, that time, and vowed that next time, he would be strong--next time, he would resist them.

Days dragged by, and he became weaker and weaker. He cursed himself when he gave the coordinates for a small, remote asteroid base much like the one he had been assigned to, but the guilt he felt was faint, and he soon forgot it in his persistent, painful longing for water.

And then, one day, something unusual happened. It was during one of the grueling mind-probe sessions that he suddenly remembered the exercises room in the asteroid base. Its main feature was a large, round swimming pool. The water was distilled from ice that formed on the dark side of the asteroid, and was purer than anything to be found on the whole of Terra. Swimming in it, in the low gravity, was more like flying than anything else. As for diving--

Here his thoughts were cut abruptly short by a searing wave of pain that washed through him, and a chilling sense of unearthly terror. When the pain subsided, he found himself lying face down on the floor. The circle of worms which usually gathered around to watch his mind being dissected had retreated to a respectful distance and were writhing agitatedly among themselves. But where was RenTikdanak? Maclean got to his feet and looked around. RenTikdanak was in one corner, struggling and squirming like an earthworm that had been cut in half. Even though he and Maclean were no longer connected by any mind feelers, Maclean could feel the sheer horror eminating from the alien. Then, abruptly, he ceased his struggles and lay quite still.

From the new mind-prober who took RenTikdanak’s place, Maclean learned that RenTikdanak had gone insane quite suddenly, and had died soon after. He had been driven insane by something he had seen--or felt--in Maclean’s mind. But what? Maclean could tell that this new alien was not eager to find out--his probing was much more gentle and tremulous. But Maclean was weakening, and the aliens would not find it hard to wrench his last few secrets from him if he lay in a stupor. He had to find out what drove Ren`Tikdanak mad. Soon.

Kirk Maclean leaned back in the soft leather chair and lit a cigarette. The man across from him, a hard-bitten, rugged commander, waited for him to continue his story.

“I finally put two and two together, and realized what had happened. The aliens were from a desert planet.”

The commander raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure that?”

“Simple. The air they breathed was unbelievably dry, as was the food. They were confused and disgusted when I asked for water. When I thought about it for a while longer, I realized what had driven Ren`Tikdanak mad.”

“What?”

“Fear of water. They had evolved on a desert world, learned to live without water. They had to. And although they were only disgusted when I wanted to drink the stuff, they were horrified when I imagined immersing myself in it.”

Maclean blew out a cloud of smoke.

“Imagine if you were--oh, lets say, afraid of heights. You might feel uncomfortable if a friend told you about his recent journey in one of those new air yachts.”

“You mean the sorts like a glass bubble with one engine. I guess I might. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“The worms didn’t just read my mind--they felt the experiences. I know this because the same thing happened to me. I felt their emotions, not just observed them. When I imagined swimming, Ren`Tikdanak felt what I was doing. He himself was immersed in the noxious stuff--he wasn’t just watching me swim. It would be like if your friend projected all his feelings and sensations into your mind when telling you about his air yacht journey.”

The commander nodded. “I see. Go on.”

“After I figured this out, water was all I thought about. I imagined rainstorms, tsunamis, and swimming. I think I must have driven three mind-probers mad in as many days.” He smiled grimly at the remembrance. “Eventually, I guess, they realized that Terra just wasn’t the planet for them. The next thing I remember, the crew from the supply ship were storming in the airlock of the asteroid base.”

The commander looked puzzled. “That’s right. I guess the worms must have left you there. Wonder why they didn’t kill you? Maybe they were being humane.” The commander laughed sharply at his joke, but Maclean did not.

“I think they were. Just because they did all that to me doesn’t mean they’re an evil race of slimy worms, you know.”

The commander shrugged.

Maclean contemplated the end of his cigarette. “I wonder where they’ll go now? Terra was the only possibility left them, I remember.”

“So long as they stay out of this galaxy, I couldn’t care less.”

Maclean nodded absently and left, promising a full report later that week. But his mind was busy with another problem. Where does a whole race go, when it has staked its hopes on one goal, and that goal is revealed to be a dead end? He remembered vividly the hopeless apathy he had sensed in the aliens, that first day of captivity. He remembered the aliens’ desperate gamble that this planet would be the right one. Time was running out, he knew, and their ace in the hole had vanished.

He walked home, pushing through the crowds of milling, aimless people. And he thought of Terra, a race which had passed its glory days, which was stagnating in a flood of 3-d videos, robots that did even the most minute task, and meals at the push of a button. He realized that the strange, double existence he had had as a prisoner of the aliens enabled him to look at Terra from a coldly objective viewpoint. He found himself asking a question which, two weeks ago, his proud military nationalism would have rejected instantly: If only one race could have Terra, who should?

The Terrans or the aliens?

The End

I'd really love to see any writing that any of you have done! This thread isn't just about me, you know!

Anyway, hope you like the story.

--PinkSkink

Joshua

Great stuff, PinkSkink! I liked how he kept envisioning more and more water and it was fighting the aliens off and he didn't realize it at first! I also liked the empathetic views he had at the end. As if after all that mind-probing he did start to care for them and see their point of view. Or maybe he was seeing from multiple sides like the aliens had adapted to do. Very enjoyable story!

As far as any writing from me... I am not much of a story-writer. Though I do write songs quite often. Recently, I've been working on a song for a friend that's about how she should wear a helmet when riding her bike. It's pretty silly!