Children of the Sun (was: Fanfic idea and challenge thread)

[DMt.]

Beckstrand opens his eye, with some difficulty. The empty socket of the other eye feels the size of a bucket; his whole upper body, face, neck and right hand ache, deeply, even through the powerful analgesics, and he is dimly aware that he is in restraints. He looks around blearily, struggling for focus and his normal depth of vision, but the whole room appears to him flat, two-dimensional, as if projected on the inside of a sphere very close to his face. Someone is speaking to him.

"What happened, Corporal Beckstrand?", says Major Lund solicitously, "Can you speak? What happened to you?"

Beckstrand makes an incomprehensible gurgling sound; his larynx has been damaged by one of the pieces of shrapnel.

"Don't try to speak any more", says Lund, a little quickly, "We'll find some way to take your account. Rest for the present, I'll be back soon. We will find these creatures, and then destroy them. OK?"

Beckstrand does not attempt to reply, but a tear of gratitude fills his undamaged eye, and he nods. Major Lund smiles at him encouragingly, and then leaves the room, trying hard to erase the mental afterimage of Beckstrand's burned and ruined face and neck.

[DMt.]

Back in the MD's office, the Regional Superintendent is furious, the Medical Director is depressed; the press corps have departed, muttering darkly about Soviet magnetic-pulse technologies and mass hypnosis. Their film, tape and video is all useless, blank noise; and it seems likely that the Forensics Department will be facing large bills for the replacement of professional recording equipment, and perhaps also lawsuits for emotional trauma. The boozy man from the British tabloid has been particularly vocal, even hysterical.

"This is a public relations disaster", the RS fumes, "God only knows what those people are going to write...and what the hell happened in there, anyway? Did we all see the Creature...the Children? Did they wipe the press recordings?"

"You tell me, Rolf" says Ursula unsympathetically, and his gaze snaps to her face, he is ready to bawl her out; but instead, looking into her amused hazel eyes, he notices for the first time that the irises are flecked with an unusually deep and vivid green. "No, Ursula", he says, with a softness that surprises all three of them, "you tell me."

"I think the Children were, in some sense, present", says Ursula, holding his gaze, "I at least had a very clear sense of them. I saw some scenes of them together, in exactly the same way they showed us the events at Tyresta."

"Snowballing on a mountaintop?" says Rolf, "Dropping in on your team in the park? Politely telling three armed men in a helicopter to go away?"

"Yes", says Ursula, but offers no further comment.

"You were right about one thing", says Rolf thoughtfully, his ill-temper forgotten, "they are very beautiful, aren't they? The Military Intelligence briefing made her sound like a monster...you never heard me say that, by the way."

"I'm sure we can all rely on each others' professional confidentiality in this?", says the MD, perhaps a little pleadingly, also looking at Ursula.

"Certainly; but I hope we may speak freely in this room at least, Sir?", says Ursula. "I think attempts at containment are irrelevant, now, the cat is out of the bag. I also think we do best to stick to what we know of the truth, however incredible it may seem, and whatever the issues of proof. But I warn you, I will not stand idly by while they are slandered, and I will have no part of any attempt at infringement on their freedom."

There is silence in the room for a few long minutes.

"I think it would be best," says Rolf Mossberg slowly, "if you were to take a sabbatical, Dr. Grunewald, for perhaps a year, or eighteen months, don't you? I'm sure there are whole new fields of study beckoning to you at this very moment."

"For God's sake, Rolf", says the MD, "Ursula is second-in-command for the whole field section, and her supervisor is down too. What are we supposed to do here? Have you seen the amount of work around this case?"

"Draft someone else in from the army, I suppose", says Mossberg smoothly, "but make sure you profile them thoroughly first, for mental stability. Ursula?"

"As a matter of fact", says Ursula, "I had intended to ask for an extended leave of absence anyway, so I am happy to accept your offer."

"Leave?", says the MD, "may I ask why?"

"I'm pregnant", says Ursula, suddenly smiling, "and I have the strangest notion that it may be with twins."

[thestich]

Twins!

Now will it be boy/girl or boy/boy.

[PeteMork]

"I'm pregnant", says Ursula, suddenly smiling, "and I have the strangest notion that it may be with twins."

Wow! Now there'a an interesting bombshell! What a plot twist! Good one, DMt!!
Everyone better be nice to Ursula. She's could be the new Eve.

[DMt.]

Twins!

Yup.

Now will it be boy/girl or boy/boy.

She hasn't told me yet....

Pete, most happy to please, as always. Personally, I wouldn't dare be anything but nice to Ursula, she is kindly and honest but also rather formidable, I think.

[DMt.]

Corporal Beckstrand is drowsing heavily in the warm afternoon, his bloodstream rich in morphine and the antipsychotic drug Chlorpromazine; half aware of the bored young orderly sitting across the room reading a magazine, and half drifting in and out of uneasy dreams.

He sees himself bringing in the Creature, [which he visualises as a black, befanged, leather-winged bat-demon] caged and in chains, and basking in the glow of Victory and the envy of his comrades; sees himself delivering the boy Oskar Eriksson to his sobbingly-grateful parents, and his picture in all the newspapers as the Hero of the Hour; but then he also sees the disgusted and incredulous stares of Ursula and the rest of the forensics team, sees the sadness and pity in the Children’s faces as he attempts to fire upon them, sees the gun exploding in his face; and he moans and twists in his sleep as his body mimics his mind’s attempts to avoid the truth, and to cling to the toxic nourishment of his hatred.

The young orderly glances up, but Beckstrand is still again, breathing heavily and slowly. Feeling his injuries in his sleep, poor devil, he thinks. He gets out of the chair, and checks the cannula in Beckstrand’s left elbow which is feeding him saline solution and the Chlorpromazine; it is undisturbed and still viable. He does standard observations of pulse, temperature and blood pressure, marks the results on the chart, and returns to his magazine. His ministrations have begun to draw Beckstrand back to wakefulness, but as he concludes them the corporal wills himself back into the safe darkness; he has no desire to face waking awareness yet. He wants to return to the pleasing fantasies of Victory; but they elude him, and instead the images of his enemies, the Devil’s Children, loom larger and larger before his mind’s eye.

Now, despite his best efforts, they are looking at him, unsmiling but not unkind, and for the first time he is struck by their beauty and grace, which he has previously dismissed as irrelevant. The little girl says silently, Did you really believe we were monsters, Corporal Beckstrand? Or did it just suit you to think so? Beckstrand groans again, this is not what he wants; where are the pleasant fantasies of Victory? The boy says, I told you not to fire the gun, but you didn’t believe your own eyes. This stings him into replying, silently, Do you take me for a fool? I have heard of hypnosis. The boy Eriksson replies, Do you think this is hypnosis? , and with this Beckstrand awakens fully, in deep fright.

[moonvibe34]

... she is kindly and honest but also rather formidable, I think.

Yes I agree. That's why I like Ursula. She has a gentle grace about her and accepts what she believes fully and makes no bones about it. IMO.

[DMt.]

Oskar and Eli are standing on the left side of his bed, so that he can see them more easily; as usual, they are holding hands. Beckstrand intends to scream, but Eli puts a finger to her lips, and he realises that he cannot. His head swivels to the other side of the room, to see the young orderly dozing over his magazine. He thinks of the red button on his bed, the nurse alarm.

A small, soft hand gently touches his undamaged left cheek, and his terror and hatred drains away. His rigid body relaxes all at once, his head instinctively turns towards, and into, the comforting hand. He tries to remember the last time anyone has touched him like that, but the nearest analogue is in his earliest memories; his mother, caressing him when he was upset about something. The nurse alarm is, of course, within range of his left hand, but he is no longer interested in using it.

Eli is still holding his cheek; she and Oskar are looking at his bandages and unbandaged stitchings, thoughtfully, and he says, closing his eye,

What do you...why did you come here?

Because we felt your hatred, and pitied your injuries, Corporal Beckstrand, say the Children. Beckstrand is not really surprised to realise he can still see them with his eye closed, and perhaps even more clearly.

I was a fool, he says, you owe me nothing.

Yes, perhaps so, says Eli, but we bear some of the responsibility for your state. Will you let us help you?

How can you help me? says Beckstrand rather bitterly, my eye is gone, and so is my hand, and probably my voice.

I used to change parts of my body at will, says Eli, and my new body still remembers these things. Oskar can know all that I know. It will hurt, Corporal; are you prepared to pay this price?

Yes, says Beckstrand, hoping very much that this is actually the case. Eli carefully unbandages his head, revealing the damaged and empty eye socket, and Oskar walks around the bed and likewise unbinds his right hand, gently taking it in his own hands, just as if it were whole. As Eli stares into his empty eye socket, it slowly begins to secrete a thick, milky protoplasm; Beckstrand gasps, but does not cry out, as it gradually fills to the eyelid.

Eli is holding a hand under his mouth. Spit, Corporal, she says, and Beckstrand feels something hard and jagged pass through the roof of his mouth, and obediently spits the bloody fragment of shrapnel into Eli’s hand. Eli places it on his bedside table; it will later be part of a key fob, a family heirloom, and one of his proudest possessions.

Oskar is helping the bones of Beckstrand’s thumb and forefinger to regenerate; the knuckle of his thumb is almost rebuilt, and the new third phalange of his index finger is starting to regrow its second knuckle. Beckstrand’s teeth are clenched, his eyes are tightly closed, and he is trying not to scream, but he does not take his attention from Eli and Oskar’s faces in his mind; and he finds comfort there, despite the great pains, and the tumult in all his body's systems.

[DMt.]

Major Lund has obtained a simplified typewriter for use by the partially disabled; he intends to ask Corporal Beckstrand to use it, left-handed if necessary, to make his deposition. The MI disciplinary tribunal have been sorely displeased at Mr. Hansen’s unnecessary death, and worse, at the mission’s failure; there is talk of Lund’s demotion, and a severe disciplining.

Lund requires a win, quickly; and Beckstrand, he thinks, is his trump card. If he can get an account which is sufficiently dramatic, and affirmative of the Children’s deadliness, then his extreme actions, not to mention his failure to apprehend the Creature and her cohort Eriksson, will look better. Major Lund is aware of, and approves, the current fear-and-punishment-based consensus at MIHQ, but suspects it may not last long, so it is important that he consolidate his position immediately.

He strides grimly through MIHQ’s corridors towards the hospital wing, with the little machine and a supply of paper under his arm. He is already working out how best to guide Beckstrand towards the desired end result; but he feels that he will not need to push too hard, the man is a wreck, and bound to be nursing a grudge.

As Lund nears the secure psychiatric wing, his recall of the Children becomes sharper, he could almost imagine they were looking over his shoulder; and he has to resist an urge to suddenly turn around, in case they are standing behind him. This case is getting to me, he thinks, I’m a little crazy, here. Watch yourself, Bertil.

His passcode admits him to the secure unit; the doors hiss open, then close behind him, with a gentle but very positive thump. The sensation of the Children’s presence is overpowering, he wipes sweat from his forehead and struggles to get a grip on the anxiety that knots his stomach. As he approaches Beckstrand’s room, he gives in to the sensation of danger enough that, after glancing around, he creeps to the viewing port in the door; and there he sees, first the orderly, asleep with a fallen magazine at his feet, and then a familiar golden glow, in which he sees a straining Beckstrand, and the two Children, Oskar holding his right hand and Eli apparently brushing away stitches from his chest and neck; his stained bandages are discarded on the floor and bed.

He would sound the alarm, the button is next to the door, but Oskar looks up from Beckstrand's hand, into Lund's face, and beckons him into the room; and, hopelessly, Major Bertil Johannes Lund obeys.

[DMt.]

Lund’s opening the door makes the orderly stir, but he does not awaken. Lund steps in to the room and closes the door behind him, waiting. Beckstrand is a little calmer now, although still in great pain; he is no longer rigid, but his teeth and eyes are still clenched shut. The hand that Oskar is tending now has most of a thumb and first finger, although the startling white of the as-yet-uncovered sections of bone does not look at all reassuring to Lund.

Eli ignores him, she is still stroking Beckstrand’s face, neck and chest; with each pass of her hands there are fewer stitches, and more protoplasm in the wound sites, which themselves are shrinking visibly. Every few minutes Eli clears away redundant sutures from her hands, and from the Corporal’s skin.

Lund’s mind is almost silent, he feels in some way suspended. He is standing very still, the paper and typewriter still tucked under his arm, observing the proceedings, and impressed despite himself by the effectiveness of the Children’s influence on Beckstrand’s torn body, which is healing as he looks on. He would like to speak, to comment, but he is unsure whether he can, or should. The Children pay him little or no obvious attention, they are focused on their work; but still somehow he finds he is obliged to wait, quietly, until they give him permission to move. He cannot even put down the box under his arm, which is growing tired.

As he registers this, Eli says to him silently, and without looking at him, Put down the box, Major, and take a chair. Almost without his intending it, his body stoops to obey, and pulls one of the visitor chairs to the wall, where he sits down, with some relief.