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Sol and Centauri (all new!) [light language]

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« Reply #20 on: August 30, 2007, 10:17:19 am »

dont worry to much about the difrent fragments, i have been lost for along time reagrding all there is to SaC so reading fragments is acseptible, as my mind then does not have to worry about continuety betwen bits i have read.

the introduction of juliet is a bit slow, but thats ok as to faster a pase would have trown the reader. also her who should i put it ... hate... for where and what she has to do creats a nice internal conflict to play on.

the buttler was well a buttler, nothing much to say about that

i am a little confuesd about the simmon frost bit, did he leave the gap on pupres, so that he could draw the atention of the autority elsewhere? as i understnad it he is terry rowland, and ues the confusion to change role/aparent idedity as for as the information is concerned

keep working, you will manige to wire the book at some point
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« Reply #21 on: August 30, 2007, 06:37:05 pm »

Well, Simon and Terry are two different people. Maybe I need to make that clearer. Here's some more of the scene, but be aware, it's still not finished. And yes, this new squad does replace the Hellcats. Only in location, though. I'm moving the Hellcats to somewhere on Earth, for a few reasons. One, I can show the development of familiar places more easily. Two, an elite squad like the Hellcats wouldn't have been formed somewhere like Jovia which doesn't need much watching.

---------------

   “So, that’s settled.”
“Three hundred thousand NEC Euros for three tanks of hydrogen. You must be desperate.” Terry merely gestured her analysis away and extended a hand to Juliet, who didn’t move to take it. Her cool gaze settled on his eyes, but he wasn’t embarrassed – never an awkward moment with this man, she noted. He lowered his arm to a pocket, and drew out the white key card that would give Juliet access to her payment. Her icy face cracked into a smile and she brushed a lock of her short hair behind one ear, but still didn’t take the card. Terry sighed. “Right, who do I give the card to?”
   “On your way out, stop at room two-two-seven. It’s right on the main hallway; you shouldn’t have trouble finding it. Leave the card on the desk in there.”
He nodded, not perturbed that the payment would be in plain sight – only Juliet Haber could access its true functionality; to anybody else, it would seem like a regular file key. How convenient that file keys and anonymous payments could look so similar.
   “Terry, get out. I’m still in the station and they’re looking for me. Three of them are boxing JovRes’s main entrance. Is your escape route intact?
Terry scanned the text scrolling across his vision and got up from the soft chair in Juliet’s working lounge. Simon would be fine, he knew that, but he was the one at risk. JovRes’s headquarters would be the first place they came looking for the source of the millisecond processor signal they had caught at the station. It wasn’t an ideal operation, but there hadn’t been many alternatives.
   “Well, thank you for your time, Ms Haber. Got to dash, so until out next meeting…” He gave her a mock-salute at the office doors, and they swung shut behind him.
In the corridor, he turned abruptly and started walking.
   “Where are the boxes?
   “Two across the square, one right by the doors reading the founding stone.” The founding stone was the first brick that had been laid when the building was constructed, and it coincided with the week of the creation of the JovRes corporation as an entity. It was also the last brick to be placed - the building was constructed entirely from lightweight alloys and hardplastic.
   “Fine. I’ll take the back route. Just let me drop off the package first.
He didn’t need to consult a map to find his way to room 227 – he had memoriviewed the building’s layout, and knew it better than he knew his own home.
The building was embedded in Jovia’s outer layer right beneath its ‘southern’ cap, the end that pointed away from the gas giant the station orbited. Its ten stories protruded two levels above Jovia’s inner surface, and ended even with the outer layer of structural honeycomb. Three service ducts ran beneath the building through the outer surface, surfacing to meet access tunnels from above in two places.
   “Simon, I need a blanket.
There was no response to his rapid text, but he knew Simon would have the blanket in place. Interior security cameras were blinded to Terry’s presence as he moved through the building, making his way down seven levels to the outermost floor. This floor was used for storage and maintenance – cubicles contained cleaning robots, simple tools for repairing electronics, and the supplies needed for the day-to-day routine of office work and administration. Terry glided down a corridor and came to a dead end. He pressed a finger to a touch panel on the wall, letting the comp0uter interface with his own implant processor. Advanced quantum invaders paralysed the local security system and prised apart the access tunnel’s lock. A small panel in the floor flipped open, presenting Terry with a handle. He pulled the floor tile up, revealing a narrow tunnel leading down. Metal handholds adorned one wall.
   “The things I do,” he muttered.

Guillaume Adrienne’s knee jerked rhythmically as the maglev car hummed along the rails. A sudden change in velocity and the car was heading up, then they were there. One whole side of the car shifted, panels sliding up onto the roof and down past the runners to avoid the six SCRA officers exiting the vehicle at speed. The train car barely slowed down as it disgorged its payload into Jovia Central station, then it was accelerating again, moving out onto an outside rail to avoid slower commercial traffic. Adrienne didn’t need to remind his squad to keep tight; they had practised this move many times. Passengers milling on the platform were already crouching; an area-blanket text message had warned them scarce seconds ago to facilitate the passage of the police through the station. They invariably capitulated; if the law wasn’t enough for them, the sight of six men and women in dark, ribbed armour, reflecting visors, and carrying Viper carbines and blackjack masers never failed.

Juliet Haber had just drawn another drink from her cabinet when Philip reappeared from his side door.
   “Ms Haber –” Garish text exploded onto their eyes, reading itself into their memories automatically.
   “YOU ARE WITHIN THE OPERATIONAL AREA OF A SOLAR CRITICAL RESPONSE AND ASSAULT OPERATION. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND COOPERATE WITH THE OFFICERS OF THE LAW. ANY ATTEMPT TO HINDER THEM IN THEIR DUTY WILL BE MET WITH FORCE AS DEEMED APPROPRIATE BY THE SQUAD LEADER AND WILL RESULT IN PROSECUTION.”
   “That’s cheerful,” she sighed and lowered herself into a chair to wait.

   “I’m out.” Simon grinned at the curt text message, and quickly cleared his corneo vision. He set off from his vantage point near the station plaza and boarded the next public maglev. Security camera analysis programs tracked him, but never actually registered his presence. The maglev rails ran straight along Jovia’s axis, different lines making detours to different parts of its surface. He took a direct route, ensuring the best time to the spaceport.
« Last Edit: September 18, 2007, 07:42:38 pm by Bakerman » Report Spam   Logged

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« Reply #22 on: August 31, 2007, 09:36:49 am »

ok they are two difrent people, it is clear in this bit.

so three tanks of hydrogen, i wonder what they are for
considering that the people where hiding from the law something iligal

hope to see more in the near future
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« Reply #23 on: September 08, 2007, 12:10:57 pm »

Your wish is my cooperation.

--------------------------------------------

   “I’m out.” Simon grinned at the curt text message, and quickly cleared his corneo vision. He set off from his vantage point near the station plaza and boarded the next public maglev. Security camera analysis programs tracked him, but never actually registered his presence. The maglev rails ran straight along Jovia’s axis, different lines making detours to different parts of its surface. He took a direct route, ensuring the best time to the spaceport. There were no windows, but he could feel the train accelerating for more than half the journey. The braking was swift and uncomfortable, accompanied by a corneo text warning and an announcement over the carriage intercom. The maglev tracks didn’t make the crossover to Jovia’s non-rotating spaceport; that last leg was left for passengers to convey themselves across. The spaceport was a ring, as wide as Jovia but with none of the space station’s spin. Starships docked on both of the ring’s surfaces, decreasing the turnaround time of the hydrogen tankers that were the port’s main visitors. The ring was linked to Jovia via a sky tube along the city-station’s axis of rotation. Simon boarded an elevator with fifteen other travellers, and they began the climb up Jovia’s northern end cap. Simon could feel the dizziness setting in as his head began to travel more slowly than his feet. At last, the lift arrived at the hub, and the passengers were presented with an eerie view of the sky tube rolling before them.
As Simon stepped off the lift platform, he grabbed one of the ziplines hanging above the lift’s exit. It jerked him back, slowing his momentum from Jovia’s spin. When he had slowed fully, he could look back at the lift hub, which now appeared to be spinning, the sky tube rock-steady. On the short zip ride, gravity had vanished altogether, and now Simon floated in weightlessness. The passengers arranged the order silently – the unspoken protocol made sure no more than one person at a time was trying to negotiate the zero-gravity transition into the main body of the sky tube. Simon was last to go. He pushed off from a ridge in the wall near the lift hub, keeping as still as possible as he floated towards another recess in the tiled wall. The string of travellers made their way back and forth across the tunnel. When they were near the sky tube itself, they first met tunnels coming from the other areas of the lift hub, then the main tunnel itself split. Holographic signs announced that the right-hand path was the ‘scenic’ route – double windows in the tunnel wall showed vistas of space and Jupiter’s surface. The other way was for the less confident, and was fully enclosed for its two-hundred-metre stretch. Simon drifted right.
The view was, indeed, spectacular. Simon had taken this route every time he had visited Jovia, and it never failed to amaze him. A third of the tunnel was hardglass compound, crystal-clear, allowing the ruddy light reflected from the gas giant below to fill the tunnel. Swirling bands of cloud slithered past each other kilometres below as they vied for dominance, offering a vivid torn-cloth texture of reds, browns and greys. The black dome of space gave the planet’s horizon a razor-thin definition, and few stars could outshine the reflected brilliance of Jupiter’s cloudscape. But Simon didn’t pause. As much as he admired the beauty of the planet, he knew it would remain until he visited next. That occasion would likely be soon.
The starship was innocuous, as was its name, Careworn. The little craft was intended for use as a shuttle between larger ships, usually to ferry cargo. But the cargo chamber now housed something far more precious than any cargo a human ship had ever carried – and that was not including the larger-than-normal fusion generator and extremely expensive pinhole tunneler. Its bridge was compact and designed for easy use, and its small lounge was empty except for the padded couches. Simon Frost loved it dearly, and it had saved his life twice. He had saved its life countless times in return, but it was mostly his own fault that it had ever been endangered. The harbourmaster authority allowed him onto the ship and cleared it for a launch within the next seven minutes. Simon intended to be away well before that, and with the help of the ship’s processor, was ready to launch within just two minutes. Pretty good, he grinned to himself as he perched on the captain’s flight-couch. Surrendering control of his fingers, he manipulated complex curves and functions within the ship’s navigation system, plotting a course south along Jovia towards the stars. The course was checked and approved by the harbourmaster, and the Careworn launched. Anteater-tongues of fusion fire licked out from the vessel, pushing it away in tiny movements. At ten metres from the ring’s inside surface, the larger thrusters engaged, slewing the ship around, steadying it, and pushing it out of the port. Simon didn’t enjoy the view from the bridge window, a luxury aboard a starship – it was covered with holographs, showing the abrupt course changes he had made as soon as the harbourmaster had approved the old course. A sudden swoop towards Jovia’s south end, a pause, then a period of rapid acceleration Simon compared to being chased by the dogs of the underworld. He didn’t upload the changes, but waited.
Jovia’s main barrel spun a kilometre away from the Careworn as the cargo ship slowly gained speed on an outbound course. The vector was somewhat odd for a ship departing Jovia – the hydrogen tankers simply disengaged, moved as far away from the ring as their precision thrusters could push their bloated hulls, and then use pinhole tunnelers to transfer across the Solar system, or even directly to Alpha Centauri. Most commercial craft did the same. The harbourmaster apparently assumed that the Careworn was a tourist’s private yacht, taking a joyride around the famous space station before leaving. Or, more likely, it didn’t care.

Juliet Haber remained seated as the officer entered her office – entirely unbidden, of course. Through ears enhanced by sensors around the room, she heard him, muffled, saying something inside his helmet. Radio, she knew. A pause, then the reply came back. She saw him advance, his weapon slung on his back. She knew, though, that an SCRA officer didn’t need his or her Viper to kill or incapacitate anybody threatening them – the powerful masers they wore as a glove were strong enough on their own. There was a polite cough from behind her, and she found herself looking over the officer’s shoulder at herself as she rose from the couch. She killed the extra sensors.
   “What can I do for you, officer?” The tone was neutral; she didn’t care enough to make any effort for this man.
   “The search of the building is concluded, ma’am. The fugitive was not discovered. Request your permission to initiate a full query of the mainframe memory.” The robot-like tones, she knew, weren’t the man’s, but a processed and filtered parody, the voice common to every SCRA officer in a helmet. The words themselves were filtered and rearranged as well, removing the possibility that sensitive information was accidentally leaked.
   “Go ahead. I assume you’ll want to talk to one of my heads of technology; see Horis Danju.”
   “Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am.”
As Adrienne turned to leave, his radio piped up again, conveying the voice of one of his officers.
   “Sir. Harbourmaster reports an illegal course change from a shuttle near Jovia.” Lee left the office, running now. “Where is it?”
   “Near the south end, sir.” Guillaume Adrienne was not paranoid;  just experienced.
   “Call the fleet.”

Jovia’s exterior was a complex landscape of structural supports, cooling elements, solar panels and ancillary machines. More solar panels radiated outwards, stretching like wings to catch the sun’s waning rays. Terry Rowland, wearing a slim grey pressure suit, clung to the base of a protruding bulb of machinery a hundred metres wide. Sewerage processing, he had decided, based on the amount of pipes leading in and out of it. He was standing on one of the spars that ran around the network of connecting pylons that secured the plant to Jovia. Below his feet was an endless star field, rotating unnervingly. He glanced at a timer in his corneo vision. It reported that Simon, piloting the Careworn, was only seconds away, but the little starship, its profile so familiar to him, was nowhere in sight.
The timer flicked down to zero.
Blinding light flashed from the north, illuminating everything around Terry with a blue-white glow, casting knife-edged shadows. The visor of the pressure suit polarised, dimming the world. As the light faded, it changed aspect, making the shadows slide across surfaces soundlessly. In a moment, the Careworn came into view, gliding backwards. Precision thrusters nudged it closer to Terry while keeping the craft positioned correctly against the station’s spinning surface. The side airlock was open. Terry grinned in honest relief at the sight – he had never liked, and would never like, vacuum. Especially vacuum with gravity; it gave him the feeling that he was about to drop away to infinity. The Careworn drew up directly beneath him, standing on its side, so its airlock was presented as a circular hole for him to drop into. He did, fighting back his apprehension about missing and gliding away, lost forever. He landed on the airlock’s interior door with a clunk that resonated up through his body. The Careworn immediately fired its main engine, cancelling its orbit around Jovia.
Simon Frost was lying strapped onto one of the couches in the lounge when Terry opened the interior door of the airlock. Without a word, he strapped in, too, breaking the seal on his pressure suit, and Simon activated the last part of their unlawful course. The main engine fired again, a rasping roar accompanying the acceleration that pushed the two into the couches. Terry caught Simon’s eye.
   “You could have fried me with that braking move.” Simon shrugged with some difficulty.
   “I figured on you having found an intelligent spot to wait for me.”
   “My choices were a little restricted.”
Simon stared at him for a moment, then grinned. Smirking, Terry Turned back to the featureless ceiling.
« Last Edit: September 18, 2007, 07:43:02 pm by Bakerman » Report Spam   Logged

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« Reply #24 on: September 14, 2007, 11:05:31 am »

Well another bit has been read, I can sense the pace trying to pick up but not quit getting there in this piece. They have made a successful excite but the authorities are closing in, and this time Simon and Terry don’t know about it, yet. Though thinking back the slip in the comp security looked purpose full, so maybe they want a police reaction. though the why is beyond me.

Do keep writing.
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« Reply #25 on: September 14, 2007, 03:27:15 pm »

I've got a bit more, but I'll wait until there's a real pause in the narrative to post it up. What do you think keeps the pace from speeding up? Man, I didn't realise how much of a wal of text it was! I'll have to do something about that. In the meantime I'll fix some italics.

Re the plot point, they wanted a little security breach so that Terry could get off the monorail while security was distracted. They don't necessarily want the fleet to be chsing them...
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« Reply #26 on: September 18, 2007, 09:44:02 am »

You are not a wall of text, it just look like it because it is a net format and there are no pages to break it up.

As for the pace, we se things happening and one can sense that it will pick up with the authorities closing in, the hydrogen sold for some (illegal) plan, Simon and Terry trying to escape, and on such an odd path. But the flow of these events are slow, taking time and as such the pace is also slow, but you are at the very edge and I believe things will pick up in the next peace, you just stopped at an odd place in regard to the pace as opposed to the plot.

Well if the breach was just for the train then they are in a lot of trouble right now. Smiley
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« Reply #27 on: September 18, 2007, 07:41:22 pm »

I'll get around to reviewing some other people's stuff soon, but life's been pretty hectic recently. I just did twenty minutes' work on this, so I figured I may as well show and tell.
I've also chnged a point, the squad leader of the SCRA squad on Jovia. Lee Koan becomes Guillaume Adrienne. This was an element I had in earlier versions of SaC which I figured would be nice to bring in here, instead of having some random guy.

--------------------

Fifteen hundred kilometres from Jovia, three infinitely small points suddenly expanded, allowing three starships to re-enter the familiar planes of space and time. They seemed to appear bow-first, as if a veil was being pulled off them. They were distributed over an area of five hundred cubic kilometres – aiming a pinhole tunnel was mostly educated guesswork at the best of times. The starships were grey and black, each the size of a small apartment building. Each one was comprised of two spherical hulls, one each at fore and aft, joined by four two-hundred-metre-long spars. Each of the spheres was perforated by eight equatorial engine nozzles, the warship version of other starships’ precision jets. The rearmost sphere was distended backwards, housing the main fusion engine capable of producing accelerations of over twenty gravities. In between the spheres, caged by the four cylinders, two secondary fusion tokamaks were suspended. The spars, each five metres in diameter, were the starships’ weapons, designed to hurl payloads loaded from the rear hull. The crew compartment was buried in the forward hull, a tiny chamber only just big enough for three crew members. It was surrounded by life-support machinery, hydrogen tanks, electronic warfare and sensor modules, and the processor network that managed the ship’s automated processes.
Admiral Constantin Adrienne, on the ‘bridge’ of the Pavane, started snapping orders as soon as the ship was fully emerged and functional. He and his other two bridge officers lay in acceleration couches, looking up at a ceiling displaying a myriad of coloured graphics, statistics, maps and charts, graphed data, sensor tags, all of this supplemented by displays on their corneos. Constantin was the ship’s captain and weapons officer; Gery Heldon took care of sensors and communications; and Lucas Josse was responsible for the engines and shipboard systems.
   “Alpha wing, form up. Gery, talk to me.” His sensors analyst replied almost instantly; even five seconds after emerging, Gery had all the facts.
   “We’re seven hundred and thirty clicks from Jovia, a hundred outside its orbit. We have a runner three thousand four hundred and ten clicks north, equal to Jovia’s orbit. High burn, he’s running fast.”
   “Command confirmed, matching your lead.” That was Will Fennell, captaining the Portsmouth. Jiul Seng, on board the Ardennes, made a similar acknowledgment.
   “Plot a flyby over the runner, fifty kilometres above his orbit.” He tweaked the ship’s throttle up, adding fifteen gravities of acceleration to their current speed, five kilometres per second. Unseen below the constellation of text and images, Lucas Josse wrinkled his nose. The engines were his responsibility.
   “Ready ordnance. Disruption boats and EW pods only for the first pass, and I’ll be giving him a few slug warning shots.” The ships they were flying, known in bridge-crew shorthand as aggressors, were armed with solid slugs, explosive missiles, low-yield nuclear warheads, various attack and defence drone boats, and electronic warfare pods. Each contained the firepower to destroy a city, if the weapons’ safety locks were removed, something only possible via remote with the explicit authority of the President of the Council of Solar States himself.
An indicator in his corneo vision vied for his attention, having a hard job competing with the gaudy ship-systems displays. It was a plain text message, and he didn’t have to read the sender signature to know who it was from.
   “It’s been a while, granddad. But you weren’t too busy for me this time.
He resisted the urge to glance around guiltily before wrenching one hand out of the ship’s neural input program to form a response.
   “Guillaume, you know it’s not the time. You also know it was you who was in the wrong.
   “These are dangerous men. They will not be deterred by simple firepower, you have to watch out.
   “Is this my own grandson trying to advise me on how to fly my own ship?
There were no more messages.

Simon took a deep, grim breath as three new contacts appeared on the long-range sensors.
   “Well, the fleet’s here.” Terry appeared disinterested, as far as his voice could express emotion under five gees of acceleration.
   “Huh. Well tell ‘em to get stuffed.” Simon considered the idea.
   “You know what? No. You buckled up?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Let’s see how low those fleet birds can go.”
Simon locked in his new course, and the Careworn heeled over, thrusting itself down into Jupiter’s atmosphere.
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« Reply #28 on: October 29, 2007, 09:43:50 am »

Yay, I'm back! Sort of. I've been pretty busy lately, but there's a week's holiday now.
A question: would anyone object to me putting up my plot summary for SaC on the blackboard? Basically, I think it would help people get a better idea of what the hell I'm writing about, and I'd really like to see if people think my story makes sense. Though it would sortof spoil it for everyone Tongue.

----------------------------

By the time the Pavane and Portsmouth launched their first salvo of ordnance, the Ardennes was five hundred kilometres behind them. The two leading ships shuddered, axial jets firing to keep them aligned on correct courses. Since the aggressors’ guns were fixed facing forwards, the ships themselves had rotated to line up their fire, letting momentum carry them forwards while they fired downwards at the Careworn. Two electronic warfare modules and six disruption boats activated their processors, generating an invisible hailstorm of radiation throughout an area of space the size of a small country.
Aboard the Careworn, Simon’s sensor display went dim, then lit up with a thousand false signals. Alarms pinged, trying to warn him that everything from weather satellites to space stations to skyscrapers were floating in the vacuum around the little ship. He grunted with amusement and, flying blind for now, adjusted the Careworn’s course, pushing it closer to Jupiter. Hull sensors, fouled by the dirge of hostile radiation, reported a sudden drop and increase in pressure, and he shut them down. There was a sound, just on the edge of hearing, lower than the whine of the fusion engines. Guttural, almost. It was the sound of the Careworn entering Jupiter’s atmosphere, the sound that would save them or destroy them.

   “They’ve reached the atmosphere.” Constantin glanced at the sensor display, then looked back at his simplified coordinate graph. He had manoeuvred the three ships into a perfect triangle, a hundred kilometres above the diving Careworn and moving at the same lateral speed. Each aggressor faced the runner, ready to fire. The first wave of munitions, their work complete, had fallen into Jupiter’s atmosphere, and the distortion cloud they had generated was far behind. The Ardennes was pumping out a steady stream of EW pods, creating a moving fog bank around the Careworn, keeping it in the dark.
   “Clever of them. Now they’re faced with atmospheric pressure, on top of all their… other troubles.” He couldn’t resist a small smile.

   “Come on, come on…” Simon had activated the special sensor network. He didn’t want to have to do it – he had hoped the electronic disruption would be light enough that conventional systems would function.
   “You’re really, really sure we had to use the special sensors?” Terry always had been the cautious one, Simon reflected. He’ll probably live longer than me.
   “Look, our conventional sensors are like a bag of peanuts.” Terry considered.
   “How so?”
   “Hit them hard enough with a hammer, and they’ll turn to peanut butter.”
   “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but-” Simon shunted the output from the special sensors into Terry’s corneo display. A hemispherical universe showed the Careworn, the three Fleet ships, vector lines showing velocity and acceleration, tags showing the thickness of Jupiter’s atmosphere and recommended escape vectors, and a large hazy area that was the centre of the disruption caused by the Ardennes.
   “See that? Now…” He switched to the conventional sensor display, and the image turned into the equivalent of a nuclear explosion in reverse. Over and over again. In a hailstorm.
   “Fine, I see your point.”
   “But they’re not taking the bait.” The three Fleet ships were keeping a perfect triangular formation, outside the loose horizon where a ship would start to be seriously affected by Jupiter’s atmosphere. Simon willed a slight bulge to appear in their trajectories, something telling him that they were beginning to dive. But they kept their orbit, waiting for the Careworn to make a move. Well, that was their mistake.
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« Reply #29 on: October 30, 2007, 01:59:02 pm »

First of sorry for taking so long to reply.
While the appearance of the fleet would not be a good thing, it seems that is exactly what Simon wanted them to do so I am more then a little confused as to what they are up to. Is this a plan (whatever it is) that always intended to draw the fleet, or is that just a improvisation, keep writing as I want to know. I also have to say the pace picked up, or maybe I am just remembering the last bit wrong.

When you describe the fleet you use ‘each’ a lot, more then I think would be necessary so cut that bit down a bit.
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« Reply #30 on: October 30, 2007, 07:00:58 pm »

No worries about reply time. I'm terrible for that myself Tongue.
Glad that it at least appeared s if the pace sped up a little Wink. I think you were right last time, the pacing is a little off with my long-winded descriptions. I guess I'll need to revise that.
Speaking of the description, yeah, I noticed yesterday that I used 'each' a little too much, when I reread the scene before doing some writing. I fixed it, but I was too lazy to edit my post Tongue. Coming soon...
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« Reply #31 on: October 30, 2007, 11:53:41 pm »

Coming soon sounds good.

Ah but as I am the resident reader I should have gotten to it sooner, especially the first bit.
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