I have been doing some reading this past week, exploring the different Substacks that there are, and thinking about my niche, and I realize that I don’t really fit in.
Not that I am doing anything radically different or new. It’s more along the lines of experience or in my case, lack thereof. Most of the people here are established, professional writers who know exactly what they are doing, and have been at it (even if it was elsewhere) for some time. Yes, I have been writing for myself for many years, but it is only in the last two or three that I have put any real effort into learning how, and this story has always been strictly a hobby.
Testing the waters, breaking out, being adventurous… It’s hard, and so so scary for someone like me, that has hoarded their best work for years for fear of it not being good enough. Fear of rejection is worse than FOMO. And it looks like I still have a lot to learn, but that is precisely what this experiment has been about. (So, I guess that counts as a win?)
I do hope you’re all enjoying my story so far. What little feedback I’ve had tells me that you at least get the general idea and aren’t completely lost, most of the time.
I could explain a little if there’s something confusing, but I like to believe that all the pieces eventually do fall into place. We have only seen the first chapter after all, so there’s a lot more to it. (This is me itching to elaborate, but - spoilers…)
Enough prattle Jen, more story…
Okay, okay! Here it is:
Chapter One | Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 & 5 | Scene 6 | Scenes 7 & 8 | Scenes 9 & 10 | Next Scene →
Fingertips?
A lot goes through my mind, the moment I see the black-haired Manorian draw back. How dare he touch me?! Why didn’t he kill me? Where are they taking me? What have they done?
Outrage mingles with terror and courses through my veins, each trying to outdo the other. Terror wins. My energy responds instinctively, and I go into flight mode, scrambling up the far wall to get further out of reach. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as the Manorian slinks out of the room. Then the door slides closed, and I realize, I am not completely helpless anymore.
Climbing back down to the bed, I look at my body, covered with bandages and plasters. I am clean, wearing a soft green gown. There is a thin flexible pipe connecting my left arm to a bag of clear liquid. Medicine? They seem to have taken pains to keep me alive.
I wanted to die. I wanted it to be over! Now they will pay.
I look around, it seems like I am inside a shuttle, though this is bigger than any shuttle I have ever seen. Everything is white and dark blue and metal, and all the edges are rounded. The cabin is ten paces wide and about twice that long and there isn’t much in it, a bed, a chair, a cabinet, all bolted down. There are no windows.
I yank out the IV on my way to the door, thinking of all the ways I will get back at the stupid boy for letting me live, but it doesn’t open. Trapped. Sending out a small pulse of energy, I get a sense of my surroundings. The ship is quite large. At least twenty rooms, three levels, hyperdrive. The engines are off, it seems we have landed.
The Manorian is moving, just outside the door. I place my hand on the panel beside it, as he did, but it doesn't work. Must be some kind of identity lock, but it doesn’t matter.
A well-placed kick sends the rounded rectangle of layered metal after him. It flips over and over as it flies down the passage, and I admire the Manorian’s reflexes as it misses his head. The other Manorian boy and their leader crouch midway, frozen where they ducked, also managing somehow to avoid getting carried along and I can just make out a group of poor weak souls under the door at the end, who weren’t so lucky. None of them are moving.
Cool flames lick at my skin, sharpening my senses, as I call up some raw energy, just enough to make me look menacing. I have recovered nicely, and though it isn’t a fraction of my full strength, I can at least make them fight back. But their cloth does not react well, and the gown starts to smolder as I take my stance. The bandages curl up and fall off, and smoke starts to gather above my head. It doesn’t matter. I will show you Manorians just what a mistake you made by not killing me when you had the chance!
Watching them cowering together in the narrow passageway, I pick my target. The black-haired one is closest. The blonde one is still stronger, but he is also slow. As long as he can't get close, I am safe. They finish whispering and the blue-eyed leader turns back to fuss with the weaklings. He poses no threat. I ignore him.
The black-haired Manorian turns back to look at me. I don't wait. I am ready.
Leaping forwards, I launch a distraction to make him move the way I want him to. It isn't meant to do any damage, but he dodges and deflects the shots just as I thought he would, and as soon as he is in position, I slam him with a charged hit that is meant to give him pause. You're fast Manorian, let me see what else you have.
Holding my energy in my hands as I punch, adds the power my little girl muscles lack. I attack quickly, hitting him as fast as I can, and he matches me blow for blow. His timing is of the quality that only comes from practice, but he doesn’t try to hit back.
Curse you Manorian! Do not toy with me. Fight!
It is the flare of emotion that is my undoing. Teag and James were trying to train it out of me, maybe in a few more cycles it would have worked. Now I am aware of the opening at the same time he is. He takes advantage, and shoves me, back through the doorway, where the cabin is filled with smoke from the burnt fabric and bandages.
I lay still for a few heartbeats, thinking and taking stock. I cannot keep this up much longer. My muscles feel wobbly and my head spins as I sit up. A few hours of sleep cannot possibly have made up for all I've put my body through.
Something hot flashes by my head, disappearing into the smoke. A poorly aimed missile? I think, regaining my feet. The Manorian has started to show his power at last.
He is all I see, with his long curling hair and lanky frame. I cannot give him another opening like that. I have to focus now and finish this quickly.
One good shot, not at him, at the ship, and I will punch a hole right through. I step slowly towards him, keeping his attention while drawing energy from my core and I start to heat up. I hold my hands low, at my hips, concentrating the energy there, into two dense balls of plasma. The Manorian stands before me, twelve paces away, mirroring my stance. He has no idea what I am planning. I have only to bring my hands together and fire and it will be over. He will have to dodge, he is too close to counter a blast this powerful, and then I will have my opening to escape again.
Ready.
I start to move. Then something grabs me from behind.
And, since this is the last part of chapter one, I decided to do one more double episode to close it off.
The syringe is short and fat but the 20cc vial is still attached and it does not fit snugly into my hand. With Tom already behind her, there is no time to dislodge it carefully, I will have to drop it when the moment comes.
The girl gets up slowly. She doesn’t seem to have noticed my movement, and Tom is hidden by the smoke.
Her eyes are glued to me. She lifts her small bare feet one at a time over the threshold, the blackened gown cracking and starting to crumble. Her thighs and shoulders are covered in Luke's small, neat stitches.
I wait as she advances, holding her hands, palm upwards at her hips and building power up with each stride. The orbs of plasma are so dense they light up the entire passage casting dancing shadows with every movement. She’s so powerful! It’s hard to believe how three days of fitful sleep have built up her strength.
She takes one step. Two. Again, I mirror. Three... On the fourth step, her posture alters ever so subtly, a slight weight shift. On the next step, she will strike.
She lifts her rear foot, launching onto the front one-
Tom makes his move.
He spearheads low while I go high, holding the syringe by the plunger. The vial drops, freeing the needle.
Faintly, I hear Luke crying out "No!" as the glass tinkles, on the metal floor but there is no stopping now. The moment our bodies connect, her small frame sandwiched mid-air, the needle bites deeply into her carotid artery, and the syringe empties.
Luke developed the sedative for us when we were little since few common Earth drugs have ever had any effect on our Manorian physiology. If it will work, it should take effect almost immediately.
We all hit the ground in a bundle in the middle of the narrow passage. Her body is caught between Tom's and mine. She isn't moving. I take one deep breath with Tom’s boots in my face and laugh! Our plan worked perfectly. She shows no signs of resistance.
I roll off, onto the floor, still chortling as Tom pushes himself up, sliding the girl gently aside. Luke comes up beside us, his manner strangely grave, like a child coming across a wounded pet, afraid to touch it.
"Logan," He whispers, kneeling to pick up the nearly empty vial. I look at it in his hand and my laughter dies. "What have you done?"
Luke pulls out the needle and fumbles at her neck for a pulse, shaking his head. What is it? I question him mentally, but his influence has withdrawn, and my focus and clarity with it.
"Five, six, seven..." he says softly to himself, frowning and gritting his teeth and he slides his right arm under her knees and cradles her shoulders with the left. He ignores us completely and picks her up, walking quickly, not looking back. I stare after him as he barely even breaks his step to pick his way over the pile of wriggling groaning doctors in the middle of the hallway. This is bad.
The Team has by now somewhat recovered but is having difficulty getting to their feet. Tom and I move over to help, but they don’t seem to have been hurt too badly. Luke's counting grows fainter. "He'll be heading for the infirmary," someone mutters absently, I am not sure who, but I gesture in that direction. Going through the back door and the kitchen is the most direct route from here. It should take less than a minute to reach. I follow Luke’s count, "Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six,"
By the time I have run through the kitchen and the hallway to get to the infirmary, Luke has her on a table. The clock reads 1:43, in big bright numbers. I watch awestruck from the doorway. Luke is busy connecting the defibrillator patches to her naked chest when Tom catches up. I am frozen in my tracks. He stops beside me, reminding me to breathe, as the Team pushes past. I can't move. The present fades, as I stand here blinking.
"200. Charge. Clear!"
Five milligrams, no more. Luke mumbled as he was drawing the dose, then I was knocked into him, and it all went flying.
The clock reads "4:04."
I didn't even check it as I picked it up. The syringe must have overdrawn pulling out of the vial.
One of the doctors is doing mouth-to-mouth. The clock reads "5:26."
Luke saw and tried to stop me, but I was already in motion. The needle bit deeply. The syringe emptied so quickly.
I blink to clear my vision, in disbelief, in denial. She has been intubated. The chest spreader is in place and Luke's arms are bloody to the elbow. Luke pumps, and the other man breathes. Luke pumps.
The clock reads "8:09."
On the other side of the table, Doctor Williams, I think, the woman, is busy programming the blood synthesizer, and another of the men is busy with the dialysis machine to try and clear the sedative from her system, in case they can get her heart started again.
They are all so busy, milling around, doing very little, and the seconds tick past, and the machines beep and hum. And the seconds tick...
I blink and notice that Tom is still beside me, but I can sense his impatience.
The clock is stopped at 11:36.
Luke puts down the epi-glue applicator and pulls off his bloody gloves, then walks out past Tom and I, without a word or a glance, leaving the Team to finish up.
The scanner reads her vitals as stable. The EEG reads normal brain activity.
* * *
That’s it. That’s the end of Chapter One.
That’s all you get. 😛
(Not really.)
See you Friday. 😉
If this was a book on the shelf, I would have bought already. Great first chapter, like others have said, easy to read and want more. After reading comments, my only feedback (since I'm here post italics-gate) is the girl has an internal monolog that is more mature than how I would think an 8 year old would think. No criticism, just observation. Also I have only this chapter and 1 scene from ch 5 to go off of. Anyway thanks again for this mind candy!
Very nicely written.
Don't worry about how polished your writing is. Like you, I'm not a professional and I've got the hand written notes to prove it. My first novella was just self-published in August. So I'm in the same boat you are.
Your characters are relatable and your story is easy to read.
As @Michael P. Marpaung would say, "It's like eating chips."