Ian was the first of us to go. Over the perimeter, to a slow, but painless death. As the alarm sounded, people dropped whatever they were doing and gathered in front of the gates where Ian lay dying, his skin turning blue as his shocked heart struggled to pump trickles of blood to his rapidly shutting down organs.
The others came too, their normally ashen faces now even darker, as they watched mesmerized the drama unfolding on the other side of the force field. If they felt any guilt, it did not show in their mournful eyes. No one dared blame them for Ian’s death, the rules had been clear and they were there for our protection as much as for our hosts.
If it hadn’t been for them taking us in, we’d all been dead by now. Tartaros had not been our refuge of choice, we were all going to settle on Venus XII, but when we got there we were denied permission to land. They’d already taken in 20.000 refugees from Earth, the meager resources at their disposal could not support another 1500, they said. We already knew the atmosphere on Tartaros to be unbearably rich in sulfur, that’s how it came to be called Hell. What we didn’t know was that Tartaros was already inhabited. They could have easily blown us out of orbit with their high-energy beams, very much similar to the laser weapons people on Earth were working on before the Final War. The tartarians were vaguely aware of the nuclear explosions that had all but destroyed our home twenty years ago, but were not overly sympathetic to our plight.
Captain Pauls played his cards right and the delegation summoned to present our case before the Elders Council was selected to include only the youngest of his crew, people like me, who were only children at the time of the war. We could not be hold responsible for the massacre that had turned Earth into that poisonous desert we were desperate to leave. Eldest Dravos listened closely as the automatic interpreter in his ear translated our captain’s passionate plea. He waived away Pauls’ assurances our ship carried no nuclear equipment, obviously he knew that already. What interested him most were the effects, what happened, how many died and how, his oval slightly rheumy eyes widening as he heard about the billions dead. Later on, our captain’s account was to be played all over Tartaros as if they could not get enough of our tragic story. As long as they took us in we didn’t mind answering all their questions no matter how many times they asked.
It wasn’t just the foul-smelling sulfur, the atmosphere on Tartaros held other particles hazardous to us humans. If we were to be allowed on the planet, we’d need a protective dome to filter our air. At the same time, Eldest Dravos pointed out, for the sake of his people it would be best if we didn’t leave our camp, which, he assured, would be equipped with all that was necessary for our survival. There were mutterings the tartarians were putting us in a Zoo, but it was either that or certain death hurtling through space while our food dwindled away.
The tartarians seemed unnaturally quiet to us, all the more so in the excitement of the first days, when the relief of having found a home translated in everybody talking at once, people laughing as they bounced around with the planet’s lower gravity. We were like school children on a field trip setting camp, the anguish of the months spent in space all but forgotten. To them we must have looked like children, as the tartarians were twice as tall. And twice as graceful, although their movements were unhurried, as if their lean jointless legs were not meant for running around.
One of the most baffling things was the Tartaros snow, or at least that’s what we called it at first, as it looked like the shiny particles floating around in a glass globe. Only we were in an empty globe and the snow bounced off as it touched our force dome. Then one of the children, a girl in pony-tails with the reddish skin of those born after the war, called it pixie-dust, a name all of us found most well-suited. Even though the tartarians were nothing like fairies.
The tartarians would not speak to us for three days after Ian’s death. We had ample time to go over our excuses - the people were getting a bit bored with not much to do, the novelty of their situation wearing off. Yet, when captain Pauls was summoned to appear before the Elders Council all they wanted to know about Ian were details about his burial. The captain explained it was an ancient custom, burying the dead in the ground to await Resurrection, though this was no longer the case, all religions on Earth being wiped out in the war, as people were no longer inclined to trust any sort of god who’d allow destruction on such a scale. Did we fear death, they wanted to know?
‘We’ve become accustomed to it’, the captain answered shuddering, for he was a grown man already at the time of the war and had seen many friends perish.
There was to be a relaxation of the rules, Eldest Dravos said. Protective suits had been made for their kind, so they could visit with the Earth people. A welcome distraction for all of us, he added.
The tartarians were very curious of our ways, the relationships within our community. The concept of marriage was unknown to them, as was the idea of having children. We haven’t seen any youngsters and we assumed they were not allowed contact with the humans, a precaution, maybe. But they had no children, none had been born in living memory. There was no need for children, one of the visitors explained, but left it at that as he saw two of his companions glaring at him.
It was the captain who finally dared to ask the Eldest about this. They’d become friends, he believed, and since we now shared the planet it seemed fair to ask.
‘It was decided a long long time ago not to have anymore children. We… we are practically immortal, it’s in the air, that which you refer to as pixie-dust that keeps our bodies young. Our species wasn’t always like this, we used to be like any creature, we got born and we died. The stories tell of a meteorite that exploded in our atmosphere bringing that thing that makes us immortal’.
We marveled at his story and the captain told him they must be truly happy to have no fear of old age and dying.
They were not happy. All of them, they’d lived enough.
‘We have no reason to wake up in the morning. Nothing will have changed and nothing will ever change’.
The news the pixie-dust could make them immortal drove the people crazy. If it were true, the tartarians had no right to keep them under the dome and deny them their chance to live forever. ‘After all that we’ve been through’, they argued, as if the tartarians were somehow responsible for our wars.
Dravos shook his head.
‘You might think this is what you want, I can see that. But that would be wrong. You don’t know what life without end feels like. Do you have any any idea how much we envy you? Why do you think we’ve allowed you on our planet? It was only to be around real living creatures, to share a bit of your excitement, to feel life throbbing again, not this lingering state of just being. Eternal.’
A bunch of our most hot-headed youngsters planted themselves in front of the magnetic door that opened on the other side. Dravos gave a few short orders they did not translate to us and motioned for the doors to be opened.
They ran like maniacs, their heads up high, mouths open like children wanting to catch the first snowflakes on their tongues. They threw themselves down, rolling in the sparkling grass until they were exhausted.
And then they started to run back to us, flailing their arms - ‘Come on, come on, it’s marvelous out here.’
We did not hear any shots. We just saw them drop to the ground one by one, the huge smiles on their faces turning to shock and incomprehension in a grotesque pantomime of death.
The few tartarians watching the scene from a distance, went closer to watch the life draining away from their rigid bodies, so captivated by the show in front of them they did not acknowledge the shouts and curses coming from our dome.
We’ve been locked in our dome ever since captain Pauls demanded an audience with the Elders, which he held responsible for the murder of seven of our own. He never returned from that audience. The tartarians still hang around the invisible walls watching us. When a baby girl was born in the colony, they came and took her away promising the screaming mother the child will not be harmed. But we have no way of knowing that. All we know is we will die here under this dome. Some cannot bear the thought and smash themselves against the outer perimeter, like Ian. From time to time, they take people to their city, people who don’t come back. Mostly the sick, I guess they enjoy watching them die, but also some that are young and healthy. If they come for me, I’ll run for the walls.
Story written for the contest launched by 
