- Joined
- Jan 22, 2008
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This is the start of either a novel or a long SF story. It deals with the hero, Vartha, being drawn into a plot by spies to assassinate the leader of a rival space empire. I suppose the real question is whether you'd read on, but I wonder about the balance between dialogue and description.
The viewing platform was eighty feet off the ground, but the leader of the herd was taller. Behind camouflaged and armoured glass, twelve people watched the whults lumber past.
“They operate on a cycle,” Chai Vartha said to the group. “Every seventy standard years or so, they take on male or female characteristics, to a ratio of about two to three. Then, once they’ve bred, they lose all sexual characteristics and go back to normal. What this means, in practical terms, is that they don’t breed often, which is why we’ve used artificial insemination to help them along.”
“That must take a big old syringe,” the old man said, grinning.
“Oh, Lee,” his wife replied, but she was smiling too. So too was the tall woman on the edge of the group: a small, shy smile that Vartha liked.
Lee and Mae were insurance brokers from the Association of Federated Worlds, cheerful people who liked to talk about their family. Lee was something in the Mammonite Militia, but he didn’t bother anyone about it. Nice, normal people from a crazy place.
Half a dozen massive heads drew level with the window, each of them the size of a truck. Necks thicker than pillars swung as if in a breeze. One of the heads turned towards the onlookers, and for a moment its four yellow eyes seemed to study the group, before turning away.
“Do they always stick with the same gender?” the tall woman asked. “If a whult becomes male once, will it always be male the next time around?”
“Good question,” Vartha said. “The answer is no. They vary, but the ratio in a group always comes out much the same. Nobody quite knows why: it’s most likely some kind of pheromone, but there are quite a few theories. Some people even think it’s psychic. Having a facility like this enables us to study it properly.”
“Thank you, Mr Vartha.” She looked to be in her early forties. Her name was Rosheen Dayce, and she was some kind of artist: “the boring kind”, she’d explained when Mae had asked her about it. She frequently stopped to sketch on a tablet, and Vartha assumed that she would be producing a full painting later on. He’d asked her about it at dinner last night, but she’d got embarrassed and dodged the question.
A big female whult opened the flaps on the side of her neck and emitted a low, floor-shaking boom. “That’s a sensory pulse,” Vartha explained. “They use it to scope out the area and to confuse predators. Good thing we've got the glass.”
“It's a nice setup you’ve got here,” a man said. He was about thirty, tanned and tough, with a small mouth and eyes that saw a lot. He knocked on the glass with his knuckles, as if to get the attention of the creatures beyond. The whulks ignored him: the sound and vibration wouldn’t carry though. “Where’d you get the glass, if you don’t mind me asking?” He’d claimed to live in the Free Belt, but his accent suggested the Kingdom of Hardan-Sarle.
Vartha did mind, but he wasn’t quite sure why. “I don’t know. I only deal with the animals. You’d need to speak to one of the maintenance staff.”
The man nodded, as if this was just about satisfactory. “I guess one of those things could do a lot of damage, if it got angry.”
Vartha shrugged. “Potentially. But they’re pretty placid. It takes a lot to get them riled, thankfully.” Something about the discussion unsettled him. Vartha pointed to the whulks: they were at the far end of the window, now, and soon would be gone. “Let’s move on to the next viewing station. We can go outside and have a proper look at them soon.”
He nodded down the corridor, and the group began to move. The middle-aged couple who’d complained about the food yesterday drew close; the man laughed, and Vartha had the feeling that they were laughing at him. He frowned, wishing that he’d got Lloyd to give them the tour instead of him.
“Excuse me? Mr Vartha?”
Rosheen Dayce was standing beside him.
“Can I help you?”
“Well, there a couple of things, really. I wondered if there was somewhere I could get some boots.” She stuck her foot out, showing him her sandal. “I’ve only got these, and if we’re going outdoors, I might need something a bit more rugged.”
“Sure,” Vartha replied. “You’ll be fine today, but you might need them tomorrow. I’ll talk to the guys back at the main complex. They’ll sort you out.”
“I really should have thought of it. I feel pretty silly now.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll be happy to help.”
“There is something else. It’s a bit more, er, private.”
Oh really? He wondered where this was going. He let the others walk on a little way. “How can I help?”
“The young man from the Free Belt. What’s his name, please?”
For God’s sake. Another good woman wasted in pursuit of a jerk. For a second, Vartha felt that he was betraying her by helping her in this. Then he remembered that it wasn’t his business, and he said, “Chak Golabassid.”
“Chak Golabassid,” she repeated. “Thank you.”
“I think he’s some kind of soldier,” he added. “Seems a pretty hard sort, if you ask me. Not a lot of fun.”
Rosheen looked straight at Vartha, and the shyness was completely gone. “He’s secret police,” she said. “He’s here to kill your animals. I can get rid of him for you.”
The viewing platform was eighty feet off the ground, but the leader of the herd was taller. Behind camouflaged and armoured glass, twelve people watched the whults lumber past.
“They operate on a cycle,” Chai Vartha said to the group. “Every seventy standard years or so, they take on male or female characteristics, to a ratio of about two to three. Then, once they’ve bred, they lose all sexual characteristics and go back to normal. What this means, in practical terms, is that they don’t breed often, which is why we’ve used artificial insemination to help them along.”
“That must take a big old syringe,” the old man said, grinning.
“Oh, Lee,” his wife replied, but she was smiling too. So too was the tall woman on the edge of the group: a small, shy smile that Vartha liked.
Lee and Mae were insurance brokers from the Association of Federated Worlds, cheerful people who liked to talk about their family. Lee was something in the Mammonite Militia, but he didn’t bother anyone about it. Nice, normal people from a crazy place.
Half a dozen massive heads drew level with the window, each of them the size of a truck. Necks thicker than pillars swung as if in a breeze. One of the heads turned towards the onlookers, and for a moment its four yellow eyes seemed to study the group, before turning away.
“Do they always stick with the same gender?” the tall woman asked. “If a whult becomes male once, will it always be male the next time around?”
“Good question,” Vartha said. “The answer is no. They vary, but the ratio in a group always comes out much the same. Nobody quite knows why: it’s most likely some kind of pheromone, but there are quite a few theories. Some people even think it’s psychic. Having a facility like this enables us to study it properly.”
“Thank you, Mr Vartha.” She looked to be in her early forties. Her name was Rosheen Dayce, and she was some kind of artist: “the boring kind”, she’d explained when Mae had asked her about it. She frequently stopped to sketch on a tablet, and Vartha assumed that she would be producing a full painting later on. He’d asked her about it at dinner last night, but she’d got embarrassed and dodged the question.
A big female whult opened the flaps on the side of her neck and emitted a low, floor-shaking boom. “That’s a sensory pulse,” Vartha explained. “They use it to scope out the area and to confuse predators. Good thing we've got the glass.”
“It's a nice setup you’ve got here,” a man said. He was about thirty, tanned and tough, with a small mouth and eyes that saw a lot. He knocked on the glass with his knuckles, as if to get the attention of the creatures beyond. The whulks ignored him: the sound and vibration wouldn’t carry though. “Where’d you get the glass, if you don’t mind me asking?” He’d claimed to live in the Free Belt, but his accent suggested the Kingdom of Hardan-Sarle.
Vartha did mind, but he wasn’t quite sure why. “I don’t know. I only deal with the animals. You’d need to speak to one of the maintenance staff.”
The man nodded, as if this was just about satisfactory. “I guess one of those things could do a lot of damage, if it got angry.”
Vartha shrugged. “Potentially. But they’re pretty placid. It takes a lot to get them riled, thankfully.” Something about the discussion unsettled him. Vartha pointed to the whulks: they were at the far end of the window, now, and soon would be gone. “Let’s move on to the next viewing station. We can go outside and have a proper look at them soon.”
He nodded down the corridor, and the group began to move. The middle-aged couple who’d complained about the food yesterday drew close; the man laughed, and Vartha had the feeling that they were laughing at him. He frowned, wishing that he’d got Lloyd to give them the tour instead of him.
“Excuse me? Mr Vartha?”
Rosheen Dayce was standing beside him.
“Can I help you?”
“Well, there a couple of things, really. I wondered if there was somewhere I could get some boots.” She stuck her foot out, showing him her sandal. “I’ve only got these, and if we’re going outdoors, I might need something a bit more rugged.”
“Sure,” Vartha replied. “You’ll be fine today, but you might need them tomorrow. I’ll talk to the guys back at the main complex. They’ll sort you out.”
“I really should have thought of it. I feel pretty silly now.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll be happy to help.”
“There is something else. It’s a bit more, er, private.”
Oh really? He wondered where this was going. He let the others walk on a little way. “How can I help?”
“The young man from the Free Belt. What’s his name, please?”
For God’s sake. Another good woman wasted in pursuit of a jerk. For a second, Vartha felt that he was betraying her by helping her in this. Then he remembered that it wasn’t his business, and he said, “Chak Golabassid.”
“Chak Golabassid,” she repeated. “Thank you.”
“I think he’s some kind of soldier,” he added. “Seems a pretty hard sort, if you ask me. Not a lot of fun.”
Rosheen looked straight at Vartha, and the shyness was completely gone. “He’s secret police,” she said. “He’s here to kill your animals. I can get rid of him for you.”
