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Sci-fi series I'm playing with. Space myths and legends, sorta thing. Part One
Series: "Excerpts From the Spacer's (Very) Unofficial Handbook - Strange Happenings Edition"
Title: First Warning - The Quicksilver Gods
Rating: PG
Genre: Sci-fi/myth
Characters: Narrator
Summary: There are many stories out there in the big wide universe. A lot of them are bullshit. But some should be listened to.
Wordcount: 730
Claimer: Mine!
The Quicksilver Gods
There are strange tales out there, out in the big wide universe. Anything a man can imagine is true somewhere, and many things he can't. The universe is full of stories. Spacer stories, everything they see. Trader stories, lifted from every species we traded with, and a few besides. Horror stories from old hands, about dead-reckoning when the navs failed, setting your sights on the nearest star and hoping to hell there was a system attached. Adventure stories, about strange new worlds. Love stories, about spacers and alien princesses, and how the love of your life was just a star away. The best stories, spacer stories.
But there are other kinds of stories. The kind of stories you'd hear as kids, stories to warn you away from dangers, teach you about the world. Myths. Fairytales. That kind of story. There are fairytales in space, too. Lots of them, and it isn't only kids as listen to them. Grown men and women, too. Because that's what they were there for. To warn you. About the kinds of things that just don't show up in manuals or trade guides. Spacer wisdom, that planetsiders laugh at. The stories no-one believes, until it happens to them.
There's one set of stories, one myth, that's maybe most widespread of all. Stories the aliens whisper about too, pass on, stories told in every language under the stars, told more often than even those of the Winding Star, or the Hollow Gates, or the Void Whispers.
Stories of the Quicksilver Gods.
No-one knows who they are, the Gods. No-one knows what they want. They look like whoever they fancy. Take whatever shape they please. Lots of things can do that, and more and more we've tests for them. But the Quick Ones can't be caught out. No sir. Nobody ever knows they're carrying one, not until the God wants them to. Don't have to be carried, either. Don't need ships, or gates. They can walk. Right between the stars, on roads no-one can see. Walk right up to you, if they're in a mood, wave at you while you sit there staring. Mischievous, most of them. Tricky things.
You gotta remember that, too. That's what the stories are for. To remind you. The Quick Ones, they like to play with you. Test you. Hurt you, sometimes, though no-one knows why. There's a story about a Falcon they drove through sixteen systems, following right on his tail like great comets, ready to pound him to pieces. Ran him without cease, right to the end of his reserves, and then, quick as you please, just vanishing, like they'd never been there at all. Ran him right to the gates of the Sypon, with their Gates and their legends, their isolationism and their riches. Ran him right to their door, and disappeared to watch the galaxy explode in reaction. That's the kind of thing they do. Play games on every scale imaginable, hunt and hurt and help on a whim, moving the galaxy as they please. There's no reason to the Gods, no rhyme. Only their own whim, whatever plan they want to work to.
Of course, you could laugh at that. Say that's nonsense, superstition, the stories of drunken spacers and spineless aliens. Fresh from planetside, with your arrogance and your surety of the galaxy. You can say what you like, in fact.
But one of these days, you might be crossing systems, nobody there except the chirp of your navs and the wash of subspace through your receivers, and you'll pick up something on your tail, moving a way nothing should move. Or you'll be pulling passengers, on a rich liner or a refugee bucket, and there'll be one of 'em with a glint in their eye, just before things start to fail. Or you'll be pushing the edges of the routes, moving one planet further, one system, exploring the old fashioned way, and you'll pick up a beacon that isn't a beacon, and they'll smile and wave at you from just outside your port.
And then, you'll remember. You'll remember the Quicksilver Gods.
But then, my friends, it'll be too late.
Series: "Excerpts From the Spacer's (Very) Unofficial Handbook - Strange Happenings Edition"
Title: First Warning - The Quicksilver Gods
Rating: PG
Genre: Sci-fi/myth
Characters: Narrator
Summary: There are many stories out there in the big wide universe. A lot of them are bullshit. But some should be listened to.
Wordcount: 730
Claimer: Mine!
The Quicksilver Gods
There are strange tales out there, out in the big wide universe. Anything a man can imagine is true somewhere, and many things he can't. The universe is full of stories. Spacer stories, everything they see. Trader stories, lifted from every species we traded with, and a few besides. Horror stories from old hands, about dead-reckoning when the navs failed, setting your sights on the nearest star and hoping to hell there was a system attached. Adventure stories, about strange new worlds. Love stories, about spacers and alien princesses, and how the love of your life was just a star away. The best stories, spacer stories.
But there are other kinds of stories. The kind of stories you'd hear as kids, stories to warn you away from dangers, teach you about the world. Myths. Fairytales. That kind of story. There are fairytales in space, too. Lots of them, and it isn't only kids as listen to them. Grown men and women, too. Because that's what they were there for. To warn you. About the kinds of things that just don't show up in manuals or trade guides. Spacer wisdom, that planetsiders laugh at. The stories no-one believes, until it happens to them.
There's one set of stories, one myth, that's maybe most widespread of all. Stories the aliens whisper about too, pass on, stories told in every language under the stars, told more often than even those of the Winding Star, or the Hollow Gates, or the Void Whispers.
Stories of the Quicksilver Gods.
No-one knows who they are, the Gods. No-one knows what they want. They look like whoever they fancy. Take whatever shape they please. Lots of things can do that, and more and more we've tests for them. But the Quick Ones can't be caught out. No sir. Nobody ever knows they're carrying one, not until the God wants them to. Don't have to be carried, either. Don't need ships, or gates. They can walk. Right between the stars, on roads no-one can see. Walk right up to you, if they're in a mood, wave at you while you sit there staring. Mischievous, most of them. Tricky things.
You gotta remember that, too. That's what the stories are for. To remind you. The Quick Ones, they like to play with you. Test you. Hurt you, sometimes, though no-one knows why. There's a story about a Falcon they drove through sixteen systems, following right on his tail like great comets, ready to pound him to pieces. Ran him without cease, right to the end of his reserves, and then, quick as you please, just vanishing, like they'd never been there at all. Ran him right to the gates of the Sypon, with their Gates and their legends, their isolationism and their riches. Ran him right to their door, and disappeared to watch the galaxy explode in reaction. That's the kind of thing they do. Play games on every scale imaginable, hunt and hurt and help on a whim, moving the galaxy as they please. There's no reason to the Gods, no rhyme. Only their own whim, whatever plan they want to work to.
Of course, you could laugh at that. Say that's nonsense, superstition, the stories of drunken spacers and spineless aliens. Fresh from planetside, with your arrogance and your surety of the galaxy. You can say what you like, in fact.
But one of these days, you might be crossing systems, nobody there except the chirp of your navs and the wash of subspace through your receivers, and you'll pick up something on your tail, moving a way nothing should move. Or you'll be pulling passengers, on a rich liner or a refugee bucket, and there'll be one of 'em with a glint in their eye, just before things start to fail. Or you'll be pushing the edges of the routes, moving one planet further, one system, exploring the old fashioned way, and you'll pick up a beacon that isn't a beacon, and they'll smile and wave at you from just outside your port.
And then, you'll remember. You'll remember the Quicksilver Gods.
But then, my friends, it'll be too late.
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