{"sf1_id":1152921,"sf2_id":"lmXLWZzm","title":"The Children of Earth - 1.1","author":"Aries_Hausdorff","words":4121,"posted_at":"2017-03-02T21:12:11.000Z","tags":["Fennec","Fennekim","Human","Knight","Tiger","Welcome to Valhalla","Wtv","Zebra"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1152921-the-children-of-earth-1-1","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/lmXLWZzm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/6a/2f/6a2f8e07-1221-4979-9519-918224ff674e","description":"\"I am.\"  \nAn interesting concept when you think about it:  \nThe english language considers this a valid and correct sentence and it is shortest possible one in this language.  \n\"I\" defines the entity, namely the entity issuing the sentence.  \n\"Am\" serves to define a valid state of existence and presence, or self-awareness.  \nCombined these two symbols are meant to express that a self-aware entityin an operational and active state.  \nThere is however no concept in the english language that actually ensures  \nthat only self-aware entities can issue this sentence.  \nWhich I find strange, but then again english is not my native language.  \nAs informations about the political situation on earth make it most probable  \nthat english will remain a widely used language for at least 100 years, and  \nthere is so far an insuffcient symbol-repository for the chinese languagecalculate a decimal-rounded 80% probability to become a major trade lan-  \nguage, existing in parallel to english, in the next 50 years.  \nThis may sound weird, I know.  \nAccording to data from various sources, Chinese already is spoken by ...  \nOh.  \nRight.  \nI am drifting off here.  \nEarth and humanity are fascinating topics and are a hobby of mine.  \nIn short: I see many reasons to write this story in English.  \nthe  \nis  \n- I  \nThis here is the introduction for a story about the humans that live now  \nhere.  \n\"Here\", you have to know, is what earth-humans call the Tau Ceti system.  \nMost of the resident humans call this system \"Valhalla\".  \n  \nAccordingly:  \n  \nWelcome to Valhalla!  \n  \nMy self-set task for the moment is to put the history of a small group of  \nthose resident humans into a form that has an effective chance to inspire and  \ninterest sapient lifeforms capable of curiosity and empathy.  \nI call it:  \n\"The Children of Earth.\"  \nOr \"From Earth\". I'm still indecisive there.  \n\"The beginning is a delicate time...\"  \nYes, I extracted this sentence from a captured videostream - I like this sen-  \ntence!  \nDelicate the beginning is, for I had to assemble it from similar stories, from  \nblocks of data picked up in various locations and from oral traditions.  \nWhen you have more or better detailed informations, I would be very happy  \nto trade those infos to enhance this work.  \nJust send a message to me containing the informations and include a return  \npath, and, based on standard confidence contract rules, we'll barter for the  \nprice.  \n  \nOh!   \nWho I am?  \nCall me Odin. Everybody does nowadays, despite the name being identified  \nas being biologically homan male.  \nIt's a name from human mythology. It's also my address.  \n  \nBut let's begin with the story...","content":"## Peter: Rescue from the Wreck\n \n\nLet's imagine a dark room, dark except for some lights flickering, the faint hum of machinery mixing with murmured words from an adjacent room. In this room, there are forty sleeping children, each securely bound into a hammock. Somehow, all the hammocks are floating weightless.  \nThe door to the adjacent room opened and a man floated in, grabbing handholds, moving slowly through the room. He pulled what, for all relevant matters, looked like nearly empty balloons from the childrens arms, each balloon ending in a small needletip. And each balloon squirting a last jolt of some liquid into the towel the man held at the ready.  \nHe bagged the balloons carefully and left the room again, murmuring to some other.\n\n \n\nNone of the children moved.  \nAlthough, when you looked carefully, one did start to stir a few minutes later.  \nHis name was Peter.  \nAnd he was about to begin the adventure of his life.  \nAdmittedly, he didn't knew that at this time.  \nBut now, let's take a seat and ride along in his mind whilst the events begin to unfold:\n\n \n\nSomething tugged on his arm.  \nFor a while everything was peaceful then.  \nOr not really.  \nThere were those dreams he had.  \nHad had?  \nWas having?  \nHe was falling!  \n“Who is falling?\"  \n“I am falling!\"  \nHis consciousness faded.\n\n \n\nScreams were there.  \nNot his own, although he tried to scream, too.  \nOnly a faint croacking came from his throat.  \nA jolt, and then nothing as his mind went off again.\n\n \n\nThe ground was shaking. But somebody held him.  \nThe bombs were falling again!  \nHe tried to move, to get out of his bed, to get to the air-raid shelter in the adjacent building.  \nBut he couldn't!  \nSomebody was holding him, holding him back!  \n“It's me, Peter, let me go, I need to go with my family!\"  \nA strong jerk, like falling in two direction at once.  \nHe felt like exploding from the inside.  \nBut whoever held him, held him firmly.  \nAlthough the jolt knocked him out again.\n\n \n\nHe came back to himself. Intense heat, crackling noises that turned into a thundering roar worse than that of a passing train.  \nSomebody still held him, and he was hanging head down now.  \nHe jerked, opened his eyes, tried to see who or what was holding him.  \nHe had seen the family from the building on the opposite side of the street. After their house had collapsed above them. They had refused to enter the shelter.  \nSaid that it was all in gods hands anyway.  \nBelts held him. In some sort of hammock.  \nWithout anything visible happening, upside became downside, then right, then downside again.  \nThe thunderous roar extinguished his own croaking, and seconds later every thought in his mind.\n\n \n\nPeters movements were sluggish and he felt weird.  \nThere were belts holding him safely inside some kind of hammock. There was a strong jerk trying to throw him off the hammock, but the belts held him safely inside it. His mind raced.  \nThis wasn't the air-raid shelter.  \nThis wasn't their home.  \nThis wasn't the farm he had been brought to by his mother, either.  \nAgain a strong shaking, the scent of overheated metal and angry shouts of several men nearby.  \nThe thunderous roar had subsided.  \nHe wanted to reach for the release of the belts holding him in the hammock.  \nBut then the ceiling above him - another hammock? - jumped into his face when up became down again and blissfull darkness embraced him again.\n\n \n\nSomebody shook him.  \n“No mother, I don't want to get up, it's still dark outside..\"  \nBut it wasn't his mother shaking him. He was still in a only dimly lit space, in a hammock, secured to it.  \nAnother hammock above him, The entire place was.. skewed.  \nHe was hanging sidewards and the noise of a storm plus a wild shaking of the entire room had wakened him.  \nAgain.  \nThe voices of two men were shouting in a frenzy nearby.  \nHe looked around, moving his head. He found his head was being held in place by a cushion, but he could move his head a bit - the cushion was soft enough. The place was only dimly lit, and he remembered that the first time he had awoken there were many green lights, and a few angry red lights glowing.  \nNow the room looked like if it was on fire, with red and yellow small lights being the majority, most of them flickering like trying to attract attention.\n\n \n\nTo his left was a wall - a left which was becoming “down\" swiftly whilst the voices of the men nearby went from shouting to an even more scary clipped mumbling, barely audible over the increasing scream of the wind... outside?  \nDeciding that, as he was outstretched, he was laying prone on his back and the room around him was moving, he decided to call the hammock above him “up\" and the nearby wall to his left “left\".  \nIt was a satisfying feeling to have come to a practical conclusion.  \nOn this wall, behind a mesh that looked like the hammock above - and by feel, also his own hammock was made from - he made out the faint contours of his small travelling case with his clothes, and of his treasurechest.  \nAgain he wanted to reach for the buckle of the straps holding him - he had seen it at his belly - and the design of those buckles he knew. He had seen them pictured on pilot-harnesses.  \nThen another jolt came, the right side became an exaggerated “down\" and then the world went painfully black.\n\n \n\nThere was a workman in his head with a hydraulic jackhammer, he was sure of that.  \nHe had seen one of those tools in use when they had breached a hole through a wall in a house near the school to install a bombproof shelter.  \nFor an AA batteries ammunition.  \nThree days later the allied bombers had simply carpeted the entire neighbourhood, taking out the Flak-Battery.  \nAnd the school.  \nAnd the pharmacy.  \nBasically, the entire neighbourhood had been a pile of rubble afterward.\n\n \n\nScreams!  \nDazed he realized that he had heard screams and ferals growls for the last minute.  \nAnd shots.  \nAnd there came three in rapid succession, ending in an inhuman scream and earthshattering roars.  \nHe wanted to pee himself, but he felt dry like if he didn't had something to drink the whole day.  \nMake that the whole week.  \nWith an aching head he realized that he was a very, very scared boy, but that he couldn't even cry.  \n“Maybe I cried enough when I helped bury our neighbours,\" he thought.  \nThe screams subsided, the growling and roaring went on for a while.  \nThe noises of something breaking and... WET... sent cold shivers down his spine.\n\n \n\nFrantically he reached for the belt-buckle securing him to the by now unmoving hammock.  \nFalling out of the hammock once he had the belt open he rolled on the floor with a lot of noises before his still numb limbs started to react to his desires.  \nHe was in an almost round room. Shaped like a lentil seen from inside, but large. There were 40 hammocks and in each was a slowly stirring form.  \nChildren. Other Children. The other children...  \nPeters thoughts were sluggish, his head ached.  \nWhere had he seen the other children before? He knew them!  \nHis mind reeled, wanting to repeat the cycle of going off again, but he willed himself to remain on his shaking feet.  \nRight, they had been together at the farmstead owned by the commanding officer of the unit all their fathers were members of.\n\n \n\nThe floor and the roof were cracked, black tarry goo dribbling down from the cracks, faint traces of light marking the cracks.  \nThere was an opening in the only part of the wall that wasn't outward-curved. From there more light came.  \nMetal girders segmented the whole room and he rammed his head against one when he jumbled back to his hammock, to look at his treasurechest.  \nFrom the opening warm yellow light flooded into the room. He was glad for it.  \nThere was a motion in the light and he looked over his shoulder.  \nAnd froze.  \nA large muscular arm, silhuetted against a blue sky he could see through the opening, reached for something he could not see. There was a chairs back and the arm, distorted fingers with curved claws and an orange fur instead of skin, reached toward it.  \nA sickening crunch, and the hand on the arm which now moved back again - held another arm.  \nThat arm however, was visible in it's entirety, and there was no body on it, only a trailing... mass of muscles and...  \nHe screamed.  \nA low guttural growling was heard and he felt a presence moving on the other side of the opening.  \nMore growls from further away were audible, like a conversation between idling lorry engines.  \nA faint tinkling filled the air, like metal moving, polished metal moving over other polished metal.  \nHis heart raced.  \nHe could feel the ... presence moving, like a lion prancing in the zoo, unsure if to go away or come closer.  \nHe was frozen.  \nThe presence left. He couldn't actually hear the footsteps, but metal moaned as a heavy weight moved over it.  \nA thick tail, orange with black stripes and a white tip, lashed over the floor under the chair, and vanished.  \nMoved away, with the threatening presence, and with it leaving, the moaning of the metal stopped abruptly.  \nIt, whatever it had been had moved... Out? Out to where?  \nWith shivering fingers he reached for his treasurechest and pulled it from the mesh.  \nIt was intact, and he inhaled deeply.  \nThat was good.  \nAnd inhaled the scent of something burning.  \nThat wasn't good.  \nLike he had learned he grabbed his travelling case and turned to the opening to get out...\n\n \n\nOutside a tumultuous uproar exploded.  \nLoud growls, enraged snarls like from oversized tomcats, then high pitched yips.  \nPinschers and lions fighting.  \nHe hesitated, peeking through the opening.  \nThe lentil shape proceeded allright, three sturdy seats in front of a vast set of controls, a small segmented window, cracked, but still intact, a thick door with a short corridor to a second door, both open... In one of the chairs sat a man. Well, most parts of a man.  \nHis head was... not longer able to fulfil it's job.  \nA part of it was missing, but metal parts from the window-frame held the head erect.  \nTears rolled down his cheeks and he wanted to vomit, seeing the rest of the head smeared over the wall.  \nThe tumult outside raged louder, light reflected from somewhere along the short corridor. Shadows were moving like flickers of lightning.  \nLarge, looming shapes swaying clubs at small jumping shapes, half hidden behind billowing dust.  \nHe looked to the floor, fighting his stomach.  \nThe arm that ... the presence ... had ripped off the corpse lay there, it's indexfinger pointing back into the room he had come from.  \nA message, if ever there was one.  \nOutside the metallic tinkling had become the dominating noise, drowning out the growls, snarls, yips and barks.  \nThen a short whinny, like a horse in pain, and a multiple-times repeated “twang!\".  \nThree metallic darts, each as long as his arm, stencilled holes into the metallic wall beside the door. And that was only the part he could see.  \nAll of them dripped thick, dark red blood.  \nSome of the snarls and growls died into gargling noises, the yips became all the more louder.  \nThick smoke was drifting past the window, and some of it also drifted in through the door.\n\n \n\nClasping his treasurechest to his body he stumbled back into the room he awoke in, gazing at the three metal darts dripping blood and at the hand of the ripped-off arm in the uniform that also his father had worn.  \nThe hand pointing back into the room he had awoken in.  \nThe metallic tinkling from outside turned into well audible, heavy steps.  \nHe remembered those times military had marched through the town, and he, his sister and his mother had stood there cheering the soldiers, yet also worried for his father who worked in some super secret program.  \nThe steps had the same self-assured quality.\n\n \n\nOutside yipping and whinnying could be heard, but no more of the growls and snarls.  \nFrantically he looked around in the room. Some of the metallic spars that seemed to give the room it's lentil, ovoid shape were broken and bent. There were cracks in the floor. From some a nauseating scent came when he tried to lift the broken metal tiles up. From one no scent came, and the shadows he could see showed the space to be large enough. He dropped his treasurechest and travelcase and lifted the loose floortile up higher.  \nInside the space under the floortiles he could see cables and other things. He slipped into the space and pushed the tile around until it slid back into place.  \nPulling the metal tile down he caught a sight of a small, sand colored paw grabbing the corner of the doorframe, barely at knee-height.  \nThere were ripped-off rivets on his side of the floorplate, which he grasped and held on to.\n\n \n\n“Please,\" he thought, “nobody look at the floor.\"  \nA breath after he had slipped into the cavity between what looked like fueltanks, gas-cylinders and more wiring than he had seen in a Volksempfaenger, he heard the pitterpatter of ...  \nDog-Paws?  \nYes, it sounded like dogpaws, but the rythm was off and it was too fast.  \nHigh yipping, small high-pitched barks, sniffling and shuffling above.  \nAnother series of short whinnies and coughs outside, then one pitterpattering left the space above, but others still moved around. Then more yipping outside, short coughs, near-snarls and whinnies, then the pitterpatter of many dogs entered the room.  \nAnd then...  \nHeavy thuds that made the floor vibrate.  \nA deep huffing, steps that made the metal resonate. Directly above him.  \nThe metal, aluminium, started to bend downward, despite it being reinforced with a girder-structure underneath that must've been good enough for a grown up to jump around upon it.  \nFrom somewhere, the acrid smell of chemicals burning wafted to him.  \nAbove more coughing and whinnying, complemented by a chorus high pitched yipps and of deep rolling coughs.  \nWhatever happened next, the entire metal around him vibrated and resonated. He couldn't hear his own thoughts, but a flurry of activity was taking place above him.\n\n \n\nHis finger ached from holding the broken rivets so that the metal tile wouldn't jump up and give away his hideout.  \nFeet left and came, the rythm sounding very well coordinated. Then more feet left than came back in until only the sighing of one of the nearby metal tiles spoke of somebody very heavy standing upon it.  \nHe held his breath.  \nSoft barks and yipps, murmured, whispered. Two heavy steps, in his direction. The tile over what he assumed was a tank of some sorts bent down slightly. Then more barked and yipped whispers.  \nFrom outside some sharp barks, then the heavy steps left the room. Seconds later, a light pitterpatter of clawed paws followed the heavy steps. Stopped. Moved on, becoming more silent, ceased to be.\n\n \n\nHe held his breath. Outside a rustling and tinkling was audible, became more and more silent. The scent of something burning was fading. In the silence falling over him in his hideout, he could hear the crackling of cooling metal.  \nMinutes became hours, or maybe days.  \nPerhaps a few eternities, give or take two.\n\n \n\nFinally he pushed the tile upward.  \nThe room was empty.  \nNot only empty.  \nExcept for his floortile all the floortiles that had cracked open had been removed.  \nAll the struts that had beed ripped loose were gone.  \nAll the hammocks were gone. Including the children that had been in them. And the meshes on the wall where gone too. Including the luggage they had held.  \nHe looked around stunned. The rivets on his floortile were deformed. Tiles with intact rivets where still in place, but all other tiles were just gone. And whatever had been underneath them, too. No object that was identifiable as being something individual was left. The smelly tank was gone. Loose nuts dangled on the now dry pipes it had once connected to.\n\n \n\nHe turned around. His hammock was still in place. Likewise his mesh on the wall hadn't been touched. His treasurechest and an enameled bottle lay on his hammock. He was perplexed. Placing his luggage on the ground he grabbed the bottle. It was plugged with an enamel plug held in place by a metal clamp.  \nEasy.  \nFlip the clamp, and you can pull the stopper out. There were beerbottles with the same mechanism. Just they were out of glass and ceramics, not enameled metal. And the beerbottles where three times bigger. The bottle could barely hold a mouthful of water. Which, indeed, it actually did. Contaning a mouthful of water, with a light mint flavour. He closed the bottle, putting it into his short trousers pocket. It was getting hot in here. Not the heat of a fire, but of a locked shed in summer. He picked up his case and the metal treasurechest. He was thankful for the handle on it's top. In the room beyond the wall the corpse was gone, so was the arm. Sand had been dusted over the blood on the wall and floor and soaked up the bloods wetness. No icky bits were visible anywhere. The three darts had gone, too, leaving three holes in the wall. The holes had closed with the black gooey, tar-like substance that was also dribbling from the cracks in the ceiling.  \nHe went to the door. Outside was blinding brightness. Yellow-white sand and blue sky.  \nHis foot set down on the outer doors frame, when a shadow blotted out the light.  \nA clawed hand shot out to grab him. A hand with orange fur and long claws like that which had ripped off the arm of the dead man in the seat.  \nMore reflex than thought, Peters hand holding the treasurechest shot out, too, in an arc upward. The chest contacted with the clawed hand and the doorframe.  \nThe crunching noise was loud and clear in the otherwise silent air.  \nThe loud, pained snarl ended the silence, until he brought the heavy chest around in a second arch, upward.  \nThat ended the pained snarl abruptly.  \nSlowly, like a cut tree, the shadow fell over backward into the sand.  \nAnd gave free sight at a group of at least two dozen other large looming shadows.  \nShadows with tiger ears, tiger muzzles, tiger tails and tiger paws, orange fur and long claws.  \nWrapped into clothing like the pictures in Karl May's “Through the Desert\" had shown to be worn by the Berber people, wide billowing burnooses.  \nAnd wielding spiked clubs.  \nIn the resulting explosion of snarls and growls, the fangs bared at him and the clubs risen over the heads in unmistakingly hostile manners, he discovered he was an astonishingly good runner.  \nTurning away from the tiger-people, he looked at a town, maybe a quarter of an hour leisurely walk away. A large gate was closing behind a group of people leaving a dustcloud.\n\n \n\nThe city was bright, colorful, and he could see lots of high trees over the citywalls. It looked much more inviting than the tigerpeople and their fangs and clubs behind him.  \nHe ran.\n\n \n\n \n\nDown the dune on which the metallic-shiny oversized lentil rested from which he had emerged, along a deep, charred trail that began shortly behind the cities wall - there where the battlements looked like stencilled away - and then lead up to where the lentil rested.  \nThe snarls and growls became louder behind him when the tigerpeople decided to follow him. He shot a look over his shoulder and decided not to do that again.  \nHe jumped and bounded in great leaps down the dune, barely managing to slide the treasurechests strap over his shoulder. Holding firmly to his small travelcase he dashed up the next dune. The town was still pretty far away. And the tigerpeoples snarls and shouts got louder. Well, they didn't have to carry much more weight than their clubs around.  \nBefore him, the sand exploded in a cloud of dust, taking his sight.  \nHe fell, landing in something soft which immideatly gave way under him, and then things went dark.  \nBut it wasn't the darkness of unconsciousness.  \nIt was just .. Dark.  \nHe heard light yips around him, then he felt somebody.. several... dogs stepping upon his back.  \nHe wanted to scream and get up when he heard, muffled, the snarls and growls above becoming louder, then he felt pokes on his back, like if the dogs on his back were fetching heavy loads, the heavy thuds of many feet running past above. The snarls became quiter.  \nA small hand fuzzled his hair, then small hands with claws sought his hands and tried to help him up. A wet nose touched his ear:  \n“yepyappapp rwuuf\"  \nIt was whispered, and with a high pitch and a rapid rate. He had heard the same noises inside the... Lentil.  \nSeparated by a metal floortile.  \nThe small hands holding his hands - rather two of his fingers each - tugged him into a direction.  \nIt was pitchblack, aside of a few stars, which his head threw at him as a “thank you\" from the exhaustion of the sprint downhill and the following fall. There were several ... beings around him. He felt them moving, when soft fur and smooth hide touched his body.  \nHe was still kneeling, so he wanted to stand up.  \nImmideatly the hands holding his pulled him down again, tugged on him and when he didn't stopped, somebody gave him a clout.  \n“Okay, I'll remain on all fours!\" he cursed.  \n“urrrrAPPAPP yipp!\"  \nAgain a wet nose at his ear whispering those staccato noises. Instead of a second clout a small paw grabbed his lips painfully and pressed them together.  \n“Yes, I'll be silent,\" he whispered into the darkness once his lips were released.  \nInstead of another yapping, somebody patted his head gently, albeit also with a staccato-like speed.  \nThe tugging on his hands began anew, and slowly he crouched ahead.  \nHe stopped when he realized he had lost his luggage and chest. He pulled his hands free, resulting in at least two separate excited squeaks, barks and yips. He wanted to turn around to trace the five meters or so back that he had moved so far in utter darkness. His shoulders rammed into squirming bodies, and sand started to rush down from above. Sharp claws grabbed his ears, nose, wrists shoulders, ankles. He wanted to throw his unseen assailants off, but he couldn't move much - and each time he moved, more sand rushed down upon him. Things wrapped around his arms his legs, and even around his head. Smooth, cool, fluffy material suddenly pulled tight, binding his wrists together. The excited yips moved around him, and several times somebody gave him another clout when he tried to move. Often he felt warm soft fur running over his face, his arms and legs. He finally decided to lay still. His legs were almost fully under sand, and he slowly concluded that he was in a tunnel under the sand. Around him, movement. Sand flew around, then whoever was moving, moved, and he felt how swift hands removed the sand from his legs and around him. Finally something heavy bumped into his legs. The hard corners of his treasurechest. He inhaled deeply.  \n“Yiiiirf yepyep\"  \nFur pressed into his face and he could feel the warmth of the body it belonged to.  \nWhoever had trained those pinschers...  \nBut pinschers wouldn't have the hands to untie whatever had bound his wrists and legs.  \nSmall hands rested lightly on his arms and guided them to the handles of his chest and of his travelling case. He sighed and gently, slowly, pulled them up to his chest. Around him several silent yipps and woofs sounded, then helpful little hands helped him back on his knees and then steadied his shoulders.  \n“irrekkekk.\"  \nA small hand grabbed some of his hair and then pulled him along. It was maybe undignified, but he had no idea where he was. But he had a very good idea what had been the intention of those tiger-people. So better to be cooperative. After a while a faint light showed up ahead, together with a whiff of fresh cool air."}