Archiving older fic: Dante's Demons
Jan. 20th, 2002 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eve11Dante's Demons by Eve11
Summary: Cofax's 250 word planet challenge
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"John, set this net up fifteen . . . no, for you, twenty paces away!"
D'Argo's voice was muffled through the thick air and their plastic helmets. Sweating in the confines of his suit, John batted the air. It didn't help him see anything.
Twenty paces in this?
"Yeah sure, big guy!" His voice rang in his ears. "No sweat!"
D'Argo tugged his end of the rope. "Just hold the frelling line, and get going!"
Jesus H. Christ. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Flashlights didn't illuminate the stifling dark. Cherata ash was an insulator. Black, dust fine, it played hell with comms and more importantly was a substitute for Moya's dwindling ketannin reserves. Pilot had been relieved to come across a planet with such high atmospheric ash content.
Of course, Pilot didn't have to stumble blindly over hot, uneven ground to collect it.
Eighteen. Almost there. Nineteen. And John tripped. Dropped the net, lost the rope and landed on his back, staring at black ash and, he supposed, sky.
Frell. He got to his knees, searching frantically for the rope.
The rope found him first, placed into his hand by cool fingers. Before he could react, his hand was guided to a smooth, featureless face, and his microbes were translating vibrations at his fingertips and the sound of rustling leaves.
"What cruel places make such blind creatures? Leave our home, Starfarer."
Home? John struggled to his feet.
"Wait!"
A swirl of ash and leathery wings left him alone in the gloom.
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Summary: Cofax's 250 word planet challenge
--------------------------
"John, set this net up fifteen . . . no, for you, twenty paces away!"
D'Argo's voice was muffled through the thick air and their plastic helmets. Sweating in the confines of his suit, John batted the air. It didn't help him see anything.
Twenty paces in this?
"Yeah sure, big guy!" His voice rang in his ears. "No sweat!"
D'Argo tugged his end of the rope. "Just hold the frelling line, and get going!"
Jesus H. Christ. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
Flashlights didn't illuminate the stifling dark. Cherata ash was an insulator. Black, dust fine, it played hell with comms and more importantly was a substitute for Moya's dwindling ketannin reserves. Pilot had been relieved to come across a planet with such high atmospheric ash content.
Of course, Pilot didn't have to stumble blindly over hot, uneven ground to collect it.
Eighteen. Almost there. Nineteen. And John tripped. Dropped the net, lost the rope and landed on his back, staring at black ash and, he supposed, sky.
Frell. He got to his knees, searching frantically for the rope.
The rope found him first, placed into his hand by cool fingers. Before he could react, his hand was guided to a smooth, featureless face, and his microbes were translating vibrations at his fingertips and the sound of rustling leaves.
"What cruel places make such blind creatures? Leave our home, Starfarer."
Home? John struggled to his feet.
"Wait!"
A swirl of ash and leathery wings left him alone in the gloom.
-------------------------------
