I'm focusing on my SF, and restructuring the beginning.
Currently this scene looks like a candidate for the opening of chapter 1, so I'll post the first half of this scene, and see if anyone has any problems or criticisms of it - which you are very welcome to state.
If you need a context for this piece, there's an extremely short prologue proceeds this, posted here:
http://www.chronicles-network.com/forum/8749-opening.html
Nemestor looked down with nervous bemusement as Ariola brushed her hands down his immaculate white bridge uniform, with its gold markings and embossed seahorse insignia, the bright colours contrasting with his deep dark skin. "Alright, stop fussing!" he smiled.
He irrationally feared for a moment that her sharp nails would snag and scratch through the uniform to the fluid-filled naval vest beneath, where his personal nanonet monitored his functions and communicated biometric data to the ship’s living brain. It was built to withstand concussion shocks and shrapnel in the event of a Calladine attack. Nemestor wasn’t sure it would withstand over-grooming from his excited wife.
Nemestor was nervous. How could he not be? He was barely a universal month out from his passing out parade at Sarine Naval Academy, and already his first tour was on the Battle Carrier Adransis, flagship for the Sarine Navy.
God, don't let me screw up on my first day, he thought to himself. This is a privileged position, and we've got good quarters. Marital quarters were tiny by civilian standards, but a luxury in the navy. And Ariola landed a post on the research deck, so we can all stay together. I've got one of the best starts to a military career any officer could wish for.
Most people went into positions upon frigates, maybe even reached a peripheral post on a destroyer. It was considered a privilege to make it as far as a battlecruiser. The really lucky ones started on a battleship. To work on a flagship was normally an incredibly rare exception. The discovery of a Cabal of Calladine sympathisers and informers had led to the removal of a swathe of officers and crew in a recent Delation. And Nemestor had managed to succeed into one of the resultant vacancies.
Ariola stepped back and admired her husband. "When you get home I'm just going to have to eat you all up," she said.
Nemestor smiled playfully. "Remember I need this uniform clean for tomorrow! I don't want Captain Ellis throwing me into the brig for being a disgrace to the ranks!"
"Oh, you can disgrace yourself with me any time you want! But maybe this evening's best, honey?" Ariola grinned at him.
He kissed her quickly on the lips. "I've got to go now," he said, touching his buttons again, reminding himself they were still present and correct.
Ariola nodded to herself, then turned aside. "Tamberlin! Tamberlin! Your father's leaving! Don't forget to give him a kiss goodbye!"
Their three-year old son came running out from his bunk room, little bigger than a cupboard, and across the small living space they lounged and ate in. Tamberlin reached his arms reaching out, a huge smile covering his face.
Nemestor watched with deep affection as his son approached. As part of his officer training he had taken various science study units. Ariola had been on all three biology courses he had attended. She was already a qualified technician in xenobiology, but her career path had taken her into military research. Nemestor had begun distracting his gaze from study and across the majority of female faces in those lectures, but had always found it resting on Ariola. As soon as she noticed, she had always smiled back. The Ministry of Love had approved their genetic union. A year later they had selected a birthing gallery and had their gametes mated in an amnion surrogate. Nemestor had been proud to attend the opening, when they disconnected the feeding chords and pulled his son through the nurturing gel and into the world, to carry the name of Tamberlin. They held his third birthday party within days of arriving in their new quarters on the Adransis. Life was working out better than great.
Nemestor lifted Tamberlin in his arms and held him in an embrace. Then Nemestor frowned down. "Hey, Tam!" he suddenly scowled. "What's that you've just gotten on my nice clean new uniform?"
Tamberlin's smile turned to puzzlement. "Daddy?"
"Well, what's this I see here?" Nemestor declared in a deep low voice, before breaking into a high-pitched declaration, "Tickles!"
Tamberlin wriggled and squirmed with a yell and a shout as his father tickled him with fingers under his arms.
Ariola placed her hands to her hips. "My lover is going to be late if he keeps on procrastinating."
Nemestor nodded and lowered Tam to the floor, stroking his head. "I've got go, now, son. Will you look after mommy for me?"
Tamberlin held on. "Kiss!" he said, pouting forward to peck his daddy's lips, before stepping back with his mother, and attempting a salute to his little chest.
Nemestor winked to the boy, then to Ariola. "You make sure you wait up for me."
Ariola nodded. "You just make sure you don't tire yourself out! I want you awake tonight. And that's an order, ensign!"
Nemestor grinned, then held his hand out in a gentle wave as he then turned. The aperture opened automatically for him, and with a final wave he stepped out into a narrow corridor lined with photochromic panels, the portal closing after his exit.
And then he was alone, away from the attention of his family, set ready to walk with a sense of purpose he had never felt before.
Nemestor paused, reflecting on the moment, as if trying to watch himself from different perspectives. Then he blew his cheeks out in a heavy sigh. It was hard to realise just how far this farmer's boy had come. Raised at Charias Four on the Arwaleen Farming Project, at the outskirts of the Eastern Sarine Shelf, Nemestor had seen what true hardship really was. Despite the lush vegetation and fertile soil, raising crops under the Imperium's strict hundred-year self-sufficiency plan had been a daily toil of physical labour and sweat that even the youngest children shared in. Achieving remarkable scores in his first education units, a military inspector had noticed the young boy and offered him a future away from subsistence-level frontier living, to begin training in an officer-class educational establishment. It was a high honour among Tertiaries to be granted such a special privilege, and his parents gave full approval. Their tears of joy and sorrow at his leaving, for so bright a possible future, was the most powerful memory from his boyhood, and one he still remembered with mixed emotions.
And now, here he was, more than two decades later, walking the corridors of the flagship of the Sarine Navy, about to begin his first shift on his first tour of duty, as a Commissioned Officer on the bridge of the pride of the fleet.
This is it. This is where I make a future for my family. This is where we can start to make our dreams come true. If all goes well I could even be a starship captain by the time Tam hits late teens. But now to keep attention firmly focussed. I have a high privilege to earn.
Nemestor brushed a hand carefully across his uniform, and then walked steadily on.
Currently this scene looks like a candidate for the opening of chapter 1, so I'll post the first half of this scene, and see if anyone has any problems or criticisms of it - which you are very welcome to state.
If you need a context for this piece, there's an extremely short prologue proceeds this, posted here:
http://www.chronicles-network.com/forum/8749-opening.html
Nemestor looked down with nervous bemusement as Ariola brushed her hands down his immaculate white bridge uniform, with its gold markings and embossed seahorse insignia, the bright colours contrasting with his deep dark skin. "Alright, stop fussing!" he smiled.
He irrationally feared for a moment that her sharp nails would snag and scratch through the uniform to the fluid-filled naval vest beneath, where his personal nanonet monitored his functions and communicated biometric data to the ship’s living brain. It was built to withstand concussion shocks and shrapnel in the event of a Calladine attack. Nemestor wasn’t sure it would withstand over-grooming from his excited wife.
Nemestor was nervous. How could he not be? He was barely a universal month out from his passing out parade at Sarine Naval Academy, and already his first tour was on the Battle Carrier Adransis, flagship for the Sarine Navy.
God, don't let me screw up on my first day, he thought to himself. This is a privileged position, and we've got good quarters. Marital quarters were tiny by civilian standards, but a luxury in the navy. And Ariola landed a post on the research deck, so we can all stay together. I've got one of the best starts to a military career any officer could wish for.
Most people went into positions upon frigates, maybe even reached a peripheral post on a destroyer. It was considered a privilege to make it as far as a battlecruiser. The really lucky ones started on a battleship. To work on a flagship was normally an incredibly rare exception. The discovery of a Cabal of Calladine sympathisers and informers had led to the removal of a swathe of officers and crew in a recent Delation. And Nemestor had managed to succeed into one of the resultant vacancies.
Ariola stepped back and admired her husband. "When you get home I'm just going to have to eat you all up," she said.
Nemestor smiled playfully. "Remember I need this uniform clean for tomorrow! I don't want Captain Ellis throwing me into the brig for being a disgrace to the ranks!"
"Oh, you can disgrace yourself with me any time you want! But maybe this evening's best, honey?" Ariola grinned at him.
He kissed her quickly on the lips. "I've got to go now," he said, touching his buttons again, reminding himself they were still present and correct.
Ariola nodded to herself, then turned aside. "Tamberlin! Tamberlin! Your father's leaving! Don't forget to give him a kiss goodbye!"
Their three-year old son came running out from his bunk room, little bigger than a cupboard, and across the small living space they lounged and ate in. Tamberlin reached his arms reaching out, a huge smile covering his face.
Nemestor watched with deep affection as his son approached. As part of his officer training he had taken various science study units. Ariola had been on all three biology courses he had attended. She was already a qualified technician in xenobiology, but her career path had taken her into military research. Nemestor had begun distracting his gaze from study and across the majority of female faces in those lectures, but had always found it resting on Ariola. As soon as she noticed, she had always smiled back. The Ministry of Love had approved their genetic union. A year later they had selected a birthing gallery and had their gametes mated in an amnion surrogate. Nemestor had been proud to attend the opening, when they disconnected the feeding chords and pulled his son through the nurturing gel and into the world, to carry the name of Tamberlin. They held his third birthday party within days of arriving in their new quarters on the Adransis. Life was working out better than great.
Nemestor lifted Tamberlin in his arms and held him in an embrace. Then Nemestor frowned down. "Hey, Tam!" he suddenly scowled. "What's that you've just gotten on my nice clean new uniform?"
Tamberlin's smile turned to puzzlement. "Daddy?"
"Well, what's this I see here?" Nemestor declared in a deep low voice, before breaking into a high-pitched declaration, "Tickles!"
Tamberlin wriggled and squirmed with a yell and a shout as his father tickled him with fingers under his arms.
Ariola placed her hands to her hips. "My lover is going to be late if he keeps on procrastinating."
Nemestor nodded and lowered Tam to the floor, stroking his head. "I've got go, now, son. Will you look after mommy for me?"
Tamberlin held on. "Kiss!" he said, pouting forward to peck his daddy's lips, before stepping back with his mother, and attempting a salute to his little chest.
Nemestor winked to the boy, then to Ariola. "You make sure you wait up for me."
Ariola nodded. "You just make sure you don't tire yourself out! I want you awake tonight. And that's an order, ensign!"
Nemestor grinned, then held his hand out in a gentle wave as he then turned. The aperture opened automatically for him, and with a final wave he stepped out into a narrow corridor lined with photochromic panels, the portal closing after his exit.
And then he was alone, away from the attention of his family, set ready to walk with a sense of purpose he had never felt before.
Nemestor paused, reflecting on the moment, as if trying to watch himself from different perspectives. Then he blew his cheeks out in a heavy sigh. It was hard to realise just how far this farmer's boy had come. Raised at Charias Four on the Arwaleen Farming Project, at the outskirts of the Eastern Sarine Shelf, Nemestor had seen what true hardship really was. Despite the lush vegetation and fertile soil, raising crops under the Imperium's strict hundred-year self-sufficiency plan had been a daily toil of physical labour and sweat that even the youngest children shared in. Achieving remarkable scores in his first education units, a military inspector had noticed the young boy and offered him a future away from subsistence-level frontier living, to begin training in an officer-class educational establishment. It was a high honour among Tertiaries to be granted such a special privilege, and his parents gave full approval. Their tears of joy and sorrow at his leaving, for so bright a possible future, was the most powerful memory from his boyhood, and one he still remembered with mixed emotions.
And now, here he was, more than two decades later, walking the corridors of the flagship of the Sarine Navy, about to begin his first shift on his first tour of duty, as a Commissioned Officer on the bridge of the pride of the fleet.
This is it. This is where I make a future for my family. This is where we can start to make our dreams come true. If all goes well I could even be a starship captain by the time Tam hits late teens. But now to keep attention firmly focussed. I have a high privilege to earn.
Nemestor brushed a hand carefully across his uniform, and then walked steadily on.
