The July 2016 Edition of “What the hell is Faith procrastinating on now?”. Novels and stories and that serial thing that sort of happened spontaneously, plus more, under the cut. Continue reading
The May 2016 Edition of “What the hell is Faith procrastinating on now?”. Novels and stories and that serial thing that sort of happened spontaneously, plus more, under the cut. Continue reading
The April Edition of “What the hell is Faith procrastinating on now?”. Novels and stories and that serial thing that sort of happened spontaneously, plus more, under the cut. Continue reading
Short today, because I’m packing. And I’m taking a million more dresses, and how the hell am I supposed to fit them all in this little suitcase??
Space stations have their own sort of rhythms. I’ve been on enough of them, I should know. I was born on one, actually. Spacer to the perpetually-low-density-bone.
There’s the ebb and flow of people, of course. The chatter as tourists gawk and merchants hawk; the easy banter of off-shift maintenance workers headed for the bars. Strip all that away, though, and you might just hear the heartbeat of the station itself — the hiss of the air recyclers, the mechanical clanks of the blast doors sliding open and shut, and underneath it all the constant electric hum of the machinery that turns a skeleton of cold steel and carbon fiber into a safe haven among the stars.
I could hear it, the station’s heartbeat. I could hear it, and not much else.
“I think I’ve lost them. Tag, can you scan the security feeds?” Nothing. “Tag?” So help me, if he was playing Starcraft on the job again —
“ Yeah, I — Sorry, I — communications seem a little laggy. Hang on — there we go. Say again?”
“Can you scan nearby security feeds for –”
I was interrupted by Tag’s long, low whistle. “No can do, El. Cameras in this whole section are down.”
No way security hadn’t noticed that. “They’ve got an inside man.”
“Look, Ellie…” Tag sounded worried. He almost never did. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
So did I, but it wasn’t quite bad enough to outweigh the 4,000-credit deposit the lawyer had put in escrow. If we didn’t finish the job, we didn’t get the money.
“Just keep working on those cameras for me.” I left the connection open, and the drone of the station machinery was joined by Tag’s little grunts of concentration. I eased around the corner.
I’d lost him.
I was hoping to do another BBC today, but I left my notes in England and I’m not too sure I want to forge ahead without them. I’ll be back soon, though (eek!) and I’ll get moving on that again.
In the meantime, here’s something I’ve been working on. It’s probably set in the same universe as my next novel project, Salvage, and is equally about the sort of person who’s a mouse at the feet of elephants — Ellie’s not interested in interstellar politics or grand adventures…but she seems to get caught up in them despite her best efforts.
The November Edition of “What the hell is Faith procrastinating on now?”. Novels and stories and that serial thing that sort of happened spontaneously, plus more, under the cut. Continue reading
Miranda slammed her hand down on the counter, startling the salesman awake.
She lifted two fingers, letting the blue glow of her credit chip peek out from underneath her hand. “I want to buy a ship.”
The man’s sleepy scowl melted into a smile. “Absolutely, Miz…”
“Captain! Of course. Yer here for a ship after all. If you’ll follow me?” He came around the counter and led Miranda to the back door. “You came to the right place. Seeley’s Spacers has the best used ships this side of the Hub.”
Miranda snorted. Seeley’s was barely more than a junk lot. Bantam might be the biggest city on Martingale’s World, but Martingale’s World was in the ass-end of nowhere, as far as the rest of the Solarian Empire was concerned. Most of the junkers rusting in the yard were barely worth their weight in scrap. No one came to Seeley’s unless they couldn’t afford better.
Miranda could afford better.
Not much better, in truth. She’d hoarded credit for years to afford her own ship. But she could have gone to a used lot on any Empire world and gotten something decent. She didn’t have to come all the way back to the planet she’d grown up dreaming of escaping.
No, Miranda thought. I did.