SmackDown: Back to Our Roots

Round 3: The Children of Tin Hinan - @jinnis

The Children of Tin Hinan

by jinnis

1 - Anne

And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by — John Masefield

~ ~ ~

A cold draught whispers through the hallway and sends a shiver down Anne's spine. She glances at her scanner, surprised it confirms the temperature at a stable 21 degrees. As a maintenance officer, she takes fluctuation in the ship's climate as personal offences. And draughts are not supposed to exist in the sterile environment of the brand-new Star Traveller.

Soft footfalls approach, and Anne looks up from her display, a frown etched on her face. She studies the dark figure walking towards her, flowing indigo robes and a complicated headscarf hiding everything except the eyes. The shiver is back. Anne straightens, hand cramped around the scanner as if the device might protect her from an attack.

That's a ridiculous reaction, and she is aware of it. Although she hasn't had the chance to meet all the Traveller's 1250 passengers, Anne knows they were handpicked and run through suitability checks, mandatory even for the core crew. She was close to withdrawing her application more than once during the endless tests and interviews. Only the dream to travel between the stars kept her going.

In front of her, the tall stranger slows his steps. A tiny movement of the head, perhaps a greeting, but she might have imagined it. The gaze of piercing blue eyes travels from her face to the scanner. Anne tries to relax her grip on the device and stutters a greeting, not at all her usual, confident self. The steps falter, the eyes find hers, and for the third time, she shivers.

The man — it must be a man, right? — nods, a solemn gesture, and walks down the aisle, his strides long and agile like a cat's.

Anne stares after him, not sure if she witnessed an apparition. Belatedly, she remembers the recognition chip and points the scanner at the intimidating stranger's back, but he disappears around a corner before she gets a reading.

2 - Atrî

There is a desert I long to be walking, a wide emptiness: Peace beyond any understanding of it — Rumi

~ ~ ~

Atrî sits cross-legged on the bare floor and meditates. His eyes are closed and he concentrates on his other senses, taking in the whisper of hot wind in the dunes, the rustle of the rough tent-fabric. Mehari whine in the distance, the voices of playing children disrupt the silence of the camp. He feels at ease, home, and embraces the minty smell of freshly-brewed tea.

A loudspeaker cackles and Atrî opens his eyes to the now and here. There is no sand, no wind, no sun burning the backs of his hands. There are no children, no mehari, and no-one brews the traditional tea. Instead, he is surrounded by the sterile whiteness of his cabin, a man-made desert of a brutal starkness.

Still caught up in his daydream, he listens to the announcement. It's another reminder to attend the daily briefings. The ship only left earth orbit half a moon ago. Everything is still new and exciting for most of the passengers, rules have to be learned, routine established.

But Atrî isn't excited. He has found enough time to analyse what he got himself into and explore the darkness lurking at the edge of his mind. Never again will he see the moon rise over the bare tops of the Ahaggar. He'll never walk the endless sands of the Sahara again. And he will forever miss the company of his people.