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fandomweekly2025-09-26 02:11 pm
badly_knitted) wrote in fandomweekly2025-09-26 02:11 pm
Entry tags:
[#275] Lost And Alone (The Fantastic Journey)
Theme Prompt: #275 – One More Try
Title: Lost And Alone
Fandom: The Fantastic Journey
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Having crashed on a strange island, Varian finds himself lost and alone, completely out of his depth, a pacifist at the mercy of people who have yet to give up their violent ways.
Back in his own time, being by himself had never bothered Varian. He’d even relished the long hours alone as he’d travelled to visit friends, spending the time in transit sleeping or reading, relaxing with his own thoughts. But then the instruments had begun behaving erratically, his craft had lost power, and he’d crashed.
His first thought as he’d regained consciousness, confused and disoriented, was that he must be dead. What else was he supposed to think? But his senses were intact, and as he’d stumbled from the craft into a lush tropical jungle, he’d begun to believe he must be hallucinating. That impression gained more validity when, drawn by a faint humming sound that teased at his senses, he stepped out of the jungle into a more temperate climate.
Curious, he’d kept going, not sure why, or where he was heading, except… if this WAS all a hallucination of some kind, he could think of no reason not to explore it. That turned out not to be the best idea, since less than an hour later, he came across people. Riders on horseback, dressed like they were from… He searched his knowledge of earth history. Fifteenth century? Sixteenth? He wasn’t sure, but maybe he could learn something from them, so he approached, greeted them politely, and…
They took him prisoner, tied him up, dragged him back to their camp, where he met their captain. They were English privateers, sixteenth century as it turned out, and their captain did not like what he had to say about where he’d come from. He learned from them though.
He learned what it felt like to be flogged, learned that this was no hallucination because hallucinations did not cause physical injuries. And he learned that it might be better not to trust so readily. These weren’t the peaceful, non-violent people of his own time. Violence was in their nature, and he had little in the way of defence against those who would do him harm.
He thought, and planned, and endured another flogging, and a third before he managed to escape, sore and bloody, slipping away in the darkness, not sure which way safety might lie. Tired, hungry, lost, and in pain, he kept going until his strength ran out, and when he woke, he found himself surrounded by people, a native tribe of some kind.
During the time he spent with them, as they tended his injuries, he learned that they were Caribbean Arawaks, a peaceful tribe. They told him a great deal, about themselves and what they knew of the island he’d crashed on. Much of what they told him was steeped in superstition and mythology, but it seemed his craft had been caught in some kind of vortex, dragged out of the flow of time. Now he was trapped on an island that existed out of step with reality.
There was a way off, a way that he might get back to his own time. There existed, or so the Arawaks claimed, a place on the eastern shore, a portal that would provide a way home, but to get there would be a long journey, and the Arawaks had no desire or need to leave their ancestral lands.
Making the journey by himself was a daunting prospect. None of the Arawaks would accompany him, and the privateers were not to be trusted. It was quite possible, if disheartening, that no one could be trusted.
Disguised as an Arawak, for the sake of safety, Varian found his way back to his transport and over the following weeks and months, ventured out intermittently, exploring the coast, looking for some alternative to his isolation. Finally, he found a possibility, a group of people, shipwrecked during a recent storm. Still in disguise, he tracked them, observed them, watched how they interacted with each other, and wondered whether or not it would be safe to approach them.
His experience with the privateers, and a band of smugglers, had left him wary, he had no wish to suffer more abuse at the hands of others, but he was lonely with nobody to talk with, and perhaps these people would let him join their group. He did at least have something to offer in return, knowledge of the island and of how they all might return to their own times.
Things didn’t get off to a promising start. One of the group was injured, so to demonstrate his good intentions, Varian decided to heal the man. Perhaps he should have approached more openly, because when the others saw him standing over their friend… They didn’t react well. Getting punched in the face hurt.
Still, it was a misunderstanding, and Varian was willing to give them another chance, so early the next morning, while the others slept, he slipped away. As he’d hoped, the boy followed, all the way back to Varian’s crashed transport. Shortly after that, the boy’s father, along with one of the women, came looking for his son.
“Alone, I would be too vulnerable on a long journey across a land I’ve barely begun to understand,” he admitted to Dr Jordan and the others, after helping to rescue their friends from the privateers. “And I was lonely. My encounters with other people were not encouraging.”
“The privateers?” Dr Jordan asked.
“Yes, and a group of shipwreck survivors who turned out to be smugglers. They… weren’t what anyone would describe as friendly. I was shot at, but thankfully their aim was very poor.”
“Probably thought you’d try to steal whatever they were smuggling,” Fred said.
“Perhaps.”
“But you still decided to give it another try.”
“What else could I do?”
“Third time’s the charm?”
“Something like that.” Varian felt a curious kinship with the young medical doctor.
“And the first thing I did was knock you down. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Already forgotten,” Varian assured him. He’d almost given up after the incident with the smugglers, almost decided to travel alone; now maybe he wouldn’t have to.
The End
His first thought as he’d regained consciousness, confused and disoriented, was that he must be dead. What else was he supposed to think? But his senses were intact, and as he’d stumbled from the craft into a lush tropical jungle, he’d begun to believe he must be hallucinating. That impression gained more validity when, drawn by a faint humming sound that teased at his senses, he stepped out of the jungle into a more temperate climate.
Curious, he’d kept going, not sure why, or where he was heading, except… if this WAS all a hallucination of some kind, he could think of no reason not to explore it. That turned out not to be the best idea, since less than an hour later, he came across people. Riders on horseback, dressed like they were from… He searched his knowledge of earth history. Fifteenth century? Sixteenth? He wasn’t sure, but maybe he could learn something from them, so he approached, greeted them politely, and…
They took him prisoner, tied him up, dragged him back to their camp, where he met their captain. They were English privateers, sixteenth century as it turned out, and their captain did not like what he had to say about where he’d come from. He learned from them though.
He learned what it felt like to be flogged, learned that this was no hallucination because hallucinations did not cause physical injuries. And he learned that it might be better not to trust so readily. These weren’t the peaceful, non-violent people of his own time. Violence was in their nature, and he had little in the way of defence against those who would do him harm.
He thought, and planned, and endured another flogging, and a third before he managed to escape, sore and bloody, slipping away in the darkness, not sure which way safety might lie. Tired, hungry, lost, and in pain, he kept going until his strength ran out, and when he woke, he found himself surrounded by people, a native tribe of some kind.
During the time he spent with them, as they tended his injuries, he learned that they were Caribbean Arawaks, a peaceful tribe. They told him a great deal, about themselves and what they knew of the island he’d crashed on. Much of what they told him was steeped in superstition and mythology, but it seemed his craft had been caught in some kind of vortex, dragged out of the flow of time. Now he was trapped on an island that existed out of step with reality.
There was a way off, a way that he might get back to his own time. There existed, or so the Arawaks claimed, a place on the eastern shore, a portal that would provide a way home, but to get there would be a long journey, and the Arawaks had no desire or need to leave their ancestral lands.
Making the journey by himself was a daunting prospect. None of the Arawaks would accompany him, and the privateers were not to be trusted. It was quite possible, if disheartening, that no one could be trusted.
Disguised as an Arawak, for the sake of safety, Varian found his way back to his transport and over the following weeks and months, ventured out intermittently, exploring the coast, looking for some alternative to his isolation. Finally, he found a possibility, a group of people, shipwrecked during a recent storm. Still in disguise, he tracked them, observed them, watched how they interacted with each other, and wondered whether or not it would be safe to approach them.
His experience with the privateers, and a band of smugglers, had left him wary, he had no wish to suffer more abuse at the hands of others, but he was lonely with nobody to talk with, and perhaps these people would let him join their group. He did at least have something to offer in return, knowledge of the island and of how they all might return to their own times.
Things didn’t get off to a promising start. One of the group was injured, so to demonstrate his good intentions, Varian decided to heal the man. Perhaps he should have approached more openly, because when the others saw him standing over their friend… They didn’t react well. Getting punched in the face hurt.
Still, it was a misunderstanding, and Varian was willing to give them another chance, so early the next morning, while the others slept, he slipped away. As he’d hoped, the boy followed, all the way back to Varian’s crashed transport. Shortly after that, the boy’s father, along with one of the women, came looking for his son.
“Alone, I would be too vulnerable on a long journey across a land I’ve barely begun to understand,” he admitted to Dr Jordan and the others, after helping to rescue their friends from the privateers. “And I was lonely. My encounters with other people were not encouraging.”
“The privateers?” Dr Jordan asked.
“Yes, and a group of shipwreck survivors who turned out to be smugglers. They… weren’t what anyone would describe as friendly. I was shot at, but thankfully their aim was very poor.”
“Probably thought you’d try to steal whatever they were smuggling,” Fred said.
“Perhaps.”
“But you still decided to give it another try.”
“What else could I do?”
“Third time’s the charm?”
“Something like that.” Varian felt a curious kinship with the young medical doctor.
“And the first thing I did was knock you down. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Already forgotten,” Varian assured him. He’d almost given up after the incident with the smugglers, almost decided to travel alone; now maybe he wouldn’t have to.
The End
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I fell in love with the show on TV when I was 15. Never expected to see it again, but never forgot it. Now it's available on YouTube and I've fallen in love with it all over again, so I've already written four other pieces for this community for previous challenges, and some drabbles and ficlets elsewhere. There will be more, I have no doubt.
Glad you enjoyed this one!
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