Getting Through Customs--956 words

[BetaWolf]

What I've posted below is a draft of a section positioned early in my novella. It's not the starter, but say scene five or six. The MC has left Ganymede intent on scattering his remains on Earth.

It's based on my experiences with going through customs (in airports of course). The minor planet Ceres is at the time of the story a rather well- developed asteroid mining colony.

*************

The Hydra made its final approach to Ceres. Tara let the autopilot make the proper adjustments and turned on her transmitter. She clutched instinctively at her seat’s armrests as the ion thrusters reversed polarity. Her heart began to race. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She remembered then that Eris said to expect turbulence once deceleration kicked in.

Once her breathing was normal again, she spoke into the microphone. “Ceres Prime, this is GLD-937-B requesting permission to dock.” She felt the familiar dragging sensation as her ship began to decelerate sharply. I need to adjust the autopilot again, she thought. I should have started braking this crate a kilometer ago.

“Request granted, GLD-937-B,” a raspy male voice said. “Please proceed to Epsilon Gate.”

“Acknowledged, Ceres Prima,” she replied coolly. “Epsilon Gate.” She touched the screen embedded in her left wristguard, selecting the correct docking gate for the autopilot to follow. The ship was coming closer to Ceres now, and she saw the dwarf planet clearly for the first time in a dozen years. A number of settlements pierced its surface now, but Ceres Prima remained the largest.

The thrusters were performing better than she had hoped, but more power required more fuel. I’ll need to top off my hydrogen tanks before I leave. H2 shouldn’t be too expensive on this rock. Hydra shook slightly as the gate arm made a lock with her ship. Alright, here I go.

Tara pulled her father’s old bomber jacket over her flight suit. It was a little big for her, especially around the shoulders, but the smell of old leather made her feel close to him. Plus, Ceres Prima was notoriously cold. She twisted her long braid into a wide bun that she pinned together carefully. Next, she slid the sheath of her long dagger through a narrow braided leather belt and buckled it on her waist. Once out on the streets, it was wise to keep a weapon close at hand. Finally, she grabbed her ship’s papers, bound together in a black suede valise, and flung on her rucksack before leaving the cockpit for the airlock.

Passing through customs was the usual slow shuffle. She was in line behind a short man with thin, graying hair and a serious slouch in his shoulders. He dragged a black trunk behind him. Whatever was wrapped up in the bundle under his left arm struggled to free itself. Long as it doesn’t run my way. Tara sipped on the StarRover Classic and wondered what was in the old guy’s trunk. They hope I’ll chug along a case of their fizzy water when I go, she thought between sips. Maybe they’re right. Anything’s better than what I get out of the water reprocessing unit.

An eternity later, a tall, well-built customs agent in a black jumpsuit gestured her over to his station. He held out a tanned, weathered hand for her papers. In response, she held up a hand and fished around in her valise. Okay, where are the ship’s papers. He tapped a heavy foot against the reinforced clay tile. Be patient, big man, she thought.

With a shrug of the shoulders, she handed over her ship registration certificates and met his cold gaze. His icy blue eyes glanced her over briefly before turning to the creased little ledger. A small square of thin paper fell out, and she reached down to pick it up.

The customs agent looked down at her again. “Mistress . . . DiCarlo, everything looks in order,” he noted dispassionately. He tapped his foot again. She got up and put her hand out for the ship papers. He reached towards her left arm, and she took a step back defensively. “The Fifth Florida,” he said with a little hesitation in his voice.

“Excuse me?” she replied.

“The service patch, on your jacket,” he said, dropping his formal tone. “The Fifth Florida—wherever did you get that jacket?”

“My father. This jacket and this slip of paper—they’re all I have to remember him by.” She felt a tear forming in her right eye.

“You don’t mean Lieutenant Alexander DiCarlo was your father?” the customs agent replied, a bit loudly. People were starting to stare.

“Yes,” she said. “Alex DiCarlo. He died last spring in Avos Ilessa. I’m bringing his remains back to Crestview for burial.”

The customs agent pointed sharply to her right. On the far wall, past several similar customs processing stations, hung a tall portrait, with an American flag draped to one side and that of the Jovian Union on the other.

“Dad?” she asked no one in particular. A young Alex DiCarlo wore a dark red beret and a broad smile. His blue uniform was spotless. She saw nothing of the bitter old man that she had known the last thirty years.

The customs agent cleared his throat. She turned her head back to him and accepted back the ship’s papers. Slipping them into her valise, she let her fingers brush against the platinum tin that held her father’s remains. A few grams of desiccated bone meal was all that remained of Alex DiCarlo.

“Please move along, ma’am,” the customs agent said. “Down the corridor.” He gestured to double doors just beyond his station. “The concourse is on Level 3. The monorail to Ceres Prima is on Level 5.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. . . .”

“Alvarez. Sebastian Alvarez,” he said with a smile. “My condolences on your father’s death.”

She tightened the straps of her rucksack and tucked the valise under her left arm. A tear ran down her right cheek as she passed past Sebastian and his customs station and through the double doors out of Interplanetary Customs.

 

[Brian G Turner]

This is interesting but I would personally like to see it tightened a little - what you have is pretty good, but it's not as focused and lean as perhaps it could be.

The first issue is that you raise potential issues for tension at the start - turbulence, and not braking quickly enough. However, after mentioning both points, you never reference then again. My feeling is that you could condense the landing scene because it sounds pretty routine, so you'll want to push past it as soon as possible. Of course, you could work on a point of tension, but don't use it as an excuse to give us landing control orders.

The entry into customs - I'd push on more character experience here - she seems flippant about waiting in the queue though we're told it takes an age to go through - she's tired from the journey already, right, so wouldn't she be feeling exhausted, impatient, even irritable here?

"Well-built" - consider applying a better word choice - well built means strong, in which way did he look strong? Arms like hams? A chest like a cargo container? Find something appropriate that says it better.

Overall, it looks to me that you're well into this piece, but it could do with a little more focus on what you really want to say. Character exposition works best to provide a source of tension, but sometimes you seem to use it simply because you can. Look for the strong beats in this piece and focus more on those, tighten the scene around them, and I think you'll have something stronger.

Simply my personal non-professional opinion - I think you have something good, just can you make it better?

 

[The Judge]

I agree with Brian about the piece being unfocussed. If it helps, I always ask myself questions like "What is the point of this scene?" and "How does it further the plot?" So, what is the point of this scene? To me, it appears to be the reaction of the customs officer, and the fact that these people hold her father in rather higher esteem than she does. That being the case, why not start there? Why have all the landing etc shown? What does that bring to the scene? Obviously I don't know the plot, so it could be that, for example, this comment about hydrogen tanks is vital because she can't get what she needs later and is trapped there. If you are seeding plot points like that in here, then I think you need to isolate what is needed, and get that in, but remove the extraneous stuff (unless you are deliberately going for red herrings in a murder mystery kind of way). Alternatively, make more of the landing as Brian suggests -- eg have her exhibit her father's skills in landing the craft after there's a near accident with someone hitting her, so people comment on her ability or something of that kind.

I also agree with Brian about tightening, though I think I'd be more radical than him. Even if you get rid of the landing paragraphs and start at the immigration/customs** desk, I'd still suggest pruning this very heavily eg the bit about the guy in front of her and her musing on fizzy water seem extraneous and just hold things up. Again I appreciate they may well be plot points -- they just don't feel important here, so they read as filler. Clearly not everything has to be pared down to Hemingwayesque curtness, but I do think at present this reads a bit slow, which isn't to its advantage.

Personally, I didn't feel much of the dialogue and internal thoughts to be particularly "true", but I don't know this character, and it may be she is given to (a) sharing apparently private matters with complete strangers (the "all I have to remember him by" line is for me very odd) and (b) switching emotions on a sixpence. Do always ask yourself not only "Would she think/say this?", but also "What does this show about her?" (And "Do I want to give that impression?"!) and "What does it add to the scene?" Dialogue and internal monologue always have to serve a purpose.

(NB I assume Sebastian Alvarez is important later in the story. If not, to my mind you shouldn't be naming him or giving any great amount of description, and he should be left as some generic official.)

Hope some of that warbling helps. Good luck with it.


** This may be a US/UK divide, but to me "customs" is when they check to ensure you're not bringing unauthorised stuff into the country, so they're looking at bags/baggage, whereas simply checking passports to ensure a person is entitled to come in and has the correct paperwork is "immigration". I'd have thought even in the future these would be separate issues, or at least have separate components, so even if he looks at her papers (and why hasn't she got them all ready if she's been waiting for so long?!) he should still eg ask if she's importing any banned substances/animals etc.

 

[Bowler1]

Tara pulled her father’s old bomber jacket over her flight suit. It was a little big for her, especially around the shoulders, but the smell of old leather made her feel close to him. Plus, Ceres Prima was notoriously cold. She twisted her long braid into a wide bun that she pinned together carefully. Next, she slid the sheath of her long dagger through a narrow braided leather belt and buckled it on her waist. Once out on the streets, it was wise to keep a weapon close at hand. Finally, she grabbed her ship’s papers, bound together in a black suede valise, and flung on her rucksack before leaving the cockpit for the airlock.

Tara pulled her father’s old bomber jacket over her flight suit. It was a little big for her, but the smell of old leather made her feel close to him, plus, Ceres Prima was notoriously cold. Next, she grabbed her long dagger and buckled it on her waist. Once out on the streets, it was wise to keep a weapon close at hand. Finally, she grabbed her ship’s papers, and flung on her rucksack before leaving the cockpit for the airlock.

Nothing a good edit can’t fix.
I think I Brian and Judge are right so I’ll keep this short.
I think you could have skipped the landing, but I’ll accept some world building. The conversation was good but the feel of it was a little off for me as well. Mostly it’s just hard editing that’s needed for pace and tension. I’ve done one section above, it’s just an example, take what you want from it. But where you have more than one action/description used you really should ask yourself, are both needed? Words can breed like rabbits and become a pest just as quickly. So join up with Elmer and go “wabbit” hunting.

 

[wulfsbane]

"A number of settlements pierced its surface now, but Ceres Prima remained the largest."

Pierced? Seems a bit of an odd word choice if you're just describing them being there. Even if the settlements are 'piercing' the surface, I'd want some sort of elaboration. Otherwise, I'd change pierced to something else. On the landing scene, I'd say yes, trim it, but not a ton. This is an issue partially of taste, but I didn't really mind some of that space command 'permission to land' kind of stuff. Though if we've seen the landing routine before in your story, then it wont be new and thus not interesting.

The part where she feels a tear begin forming in here eye seemed a bit off to me. I didn't really get the sense that her grief was still strong enough to make her begin to tear up when here father is mentioned. If it is, maybe make that a little more obvious? Overall, interesting, but not a ton happened for the amount of words there were. My main recommendation is some trimming.

 

[sknox]

Trim, trim, just as the others said. I, Brian (well, him Brian; me Skip) noted that you have the potential for a scene in the landing, so another way to go would be to fill that out a bit.

We have an old crate being brought in. Don't have her regret a piloting error; instead, have her brake right on time but something fails and she's not braking fast enough. Have Control note this. No big scene, just some fast adjustments that tax her all the more, leaving her tired and irritated when she finally gets to Customs. IOW, the one could feed into the other. And we could see her as a good pilot who doesn't panic.

 

[BetaWolf]

Thanks for the critiques, guys. I do see where I need to cut down on description. I didn't think I was describing enough and now maybe I've gone overboard. But to address your specific recommendations, in reverse order:

@sknox: I like having something about piloting the craft. Hers is a small freighter with some military capability, a few decades old.

@wulfsbane: This scene is towards the end of the first act. Her father is dead at the beginning of the novel, and he wanted his ashes spread back on Earth. As for 'pierced', I was imagining Ceres as a place where all the mining and settlement is on the inside, with minimal surface construction. I admit it's not that great of a word.

@Bowler1: Thanks for giving me a great example of fat-trimming. I agree that I was overdoing it there. I obsess over my characters' personal effects a bit. The old bomber jacket was one thing I wanted in detail, then things kept growing.

@The Judge: Thanks for the insightful comments. At this point, yeah, she does say exactly what's on her mind to anyone who will listen. Maybe I went a little too far with the emotional instability though. I also figured she hates standing in line, so she obsesses over what the guy in front of her is carrying with him. After five days on an interplanetary vessel, she has to stand around in line for what you rightly describe as immigration (rather than 'customs').

@Brian: Thanks for the advice on tightening up my exposition. I think that I got lost on what the point of this scene should be. I'll see what I can do with it.

I'll post a new version when I can, but thank you all again for your comments. I'll do the best I can to incorporate them.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

The Hydra made its final approach to Ceres. Tara leta little passive. Also, how does she let it do it? surely she doesn't actually do anything. the autopilot make the proper adjustments and turned on her transmitter. She clutched instinctively at her seat’s armrests as the ion thrusters reversed polarity. Her heart began to race. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She remembered then that Eris said to expect turbulence once deceleration kicked in.

Once her breathing was normal again, she spoke into the microphone.So, I'm a bit confused (and think I may have been accused of a similar scenario here, recently, so Hi Pot, I'm Kettle..) but if she's the pilot why did she have to remember about turbulence etc. Shouldn't she know? “Ceres Prime, this is GLD-937-B requesting permission to dock.” She feltJust a thought - if you can get rid of felts, which veil us from the action, it ofenc feels closer. So here, The ship dragged as it began to deccelerate? the familiar dragging sensation as her ship began to decelerate sharply. I need to adjust the autopilot again, she thought. I should have started braking this crate a kilometer agolike that last line. although I am wondering, a little, if the autopilot shouldn't have done so anyway..

“Request granted, GLD-937-B,” a raspy male voice said. “Please proceed to Epsilon Gate.”

“Acknowledged, Ceres Prima,” she replied coolly. “Epsilon Gate.” She touched the screen embedded in her left wristguard, selecting the correct docking gate for the autopilot to follow. The ship was coming closer to Ceres now, and she saw the dwarf planet clearly for the first time in a dozen years. A number of settlements pierced its surface now, but Ceres Prima remained the largest.Another little thought - the dozen years seems a little dumped. If you linked this into the next sentence, might it seem smoother ie The ship was coming closer now, and she saw it clearly. In the dozen years since she'd been here the number of settlements had grown, but... it's only a little thing, but it seems a little more natural to me?

The thrusters were performing better than she had hoped, but more power required more fuel. I’ll need to top off my hydrogen tanks before I leave. H2 shouldn’t be too expensive on this rock. Hydra shook slightly as the gate arm made a lock with her ship. Alright, here I go.

Tara pulled her father’s old bomber jacket over her flight suit. It was a little big for her, especially around the shoulders, but the smell of old leather made her feel close to him. Plus, Ceres Prima was notoriously cold. She twisted her long braid into a wide bun that she pinned together carefully. Next, she slid the sheath of her long dagger through a narrow braided leather belt and buckled it on her waist. Once out on the streets, it was wise to keep a weapon close at hand.could drop this line, I think Finally, she grabbed her ship’s papers, bound together in a black suede valise, and flung on her rucksack before leaving the cockpit for the airlock. I have no probs with the paragraph and the slow details, but I tend to write in a similar style.

Passing through customs was the usual slow shuffle. She was in line behind a short man with thin, graying hair and a serious slouch in his shoulders. He dragged a black trunk behind him. Whatever was wrapped up in the bundle under his left arm struggled to free itself. Long as it doesn’t run my way. Tara sipped on the StarRover Classic and wondered what was in the old guy’s trunk. They hope I’ll chug along a case of their fizzy water when I go, she thought between sips. Maybe they’re right. Anything’s better than what I get out of the water reprocessing unit.here, though, I lost things a little. The link between the man and the water wasn't clear, and for somewhere with a queue of people, where's the noise and movement? Maybe a tannoy announcement or some signage?

An eternity laterhmmm, really? , a tall, well-built customs agent in a black jumpsuit gestured her over to his station. He held out a tanned, weatheredrather too similar in rhythm to tall, well-built to be so close together, I feel. hand for her papers. In response, she held up a hand and fished around in her valise. Okay, where are the ship’s papers.? He tapped a heavy foot against the reinforced clay tile. Be patient, big man, she thoughtI'm not sure you need she thought when you use italics. .

With a shrug of the shoulders, she handed over her ship registration certificatesso, when did she grasp them? and met his cold gaze. His icy possibly a bit much just after cold? blue eyes glanced her over briefly before turning to the creased little ledger. A small square of thin paper fell out, and she reached down to pick it up.

The customs agent looked down at her again. “Mistress . . . DiCarlo, everything looks in order,” he noted dispassionately. He tapped his foot again. She got up and put her hand out for the ship papers. He reached towards her left arm, and she took a step back defensively. “The Fifth Florida,” he said with a little hesitation in his voice.

“Excuse me?” she replied.How's she feeling. Scared? Surprised? Interested?

“The service patch, on your jacket,” he said, dropping his formal tone. “The Fifth Florida—wherever did you get that jacket?”

“My father. This jacket and this slip of paper—they’re all I have to remember him by.” She felt a tear forming in her right eye.Feels a little unnatural. First, she doesn't know the Fifth Florida, but it's her dad's treasured jacket. Because it's jarring a little, it makes it ever so slightly dumpy. If you could make the link a little smoother, I think it would be more effective and carry the pathos you want.

“You don’t mean Lieutenant Alexander DiCarlo was your father?” the customs agent replied, a bit loudly. People were starting to stare.

“Yes,” she said. “Alex DiCarlo. He died last spring in Avos Ilessa. I’m bringing his remains back to Crestview for burial.”And here, it's stretching to quite a bit dumpy - would she tell this man with his cold eyes all this? She might think it, or finger the urn with his remains - or a cool sci fi alternative - but I'm not sure she'd say it.

The customs agent pointed sharply to her right. On the far wall, past several similar customs processing stations, hung a tall portrait, with an American flag draped to one side and that of the Jovian Union on the other.

“Dad?” she asked no one in particular. A young Alex DiCarlo wore a dark red beret and a broad smile. His blue uniform was spotless. She saw nothing of the bitter old man that she had known the last thirty years.

The customs agent cleared his throat. She turned her head back to him and accepted back the ship’s papers. Slipping them into her valise, she let her fingers brush against the platinum tin that held her father’s remains. A few grams of desiccated bone meal was all that remained of Alex DiCarlo.Yeah, I'd be happier with this above and the link to who her dad is. You're raising some nice questions and tension here, if it could just be a tiny bit subtler.

“Please move along, ma’am,” the customs agent said. “Down the corridor.” He gestured to double doors just beyond his station. “The concourse is on Level 3. The monorail to Ceres Prima is on Level 5.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. . . .”

“Alvarez. Sebastian Alvarez,” he said with a smile. “My condolences on your father’s death.”

She tightened the straps of her rucksack and tucked the valise under her left arm. A tear ran down her right cheek as she passed past Sebastian and his customs station and through the double doors out of Interplanetary Customs. [/QUOTE]


Despite the red - I'm in editing mode at the moment - I rather liked this and would read on. Partly because it feels like the sort of story I like, partly because I like the character, and partly because I'm intrigued. I think it would need to be a little smoother, though.

 

[BetaWolf]

Thanks for your take, springs. I'm still struggling a bit with descriptions and dialogue, as you can see, and you've given me some idea of how to improve.

 

[Cosmic Geoff]

The Hydra made its final approach to Ceres. Tara let the autopilot make the proper adjustments and turned on her transmitter. She clutched instinctively adverb at her seat’s armrests as the ion thrusters reversed polarity. Her heart began to race. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply. She remembered then that Eris said to expect turbulence once deceleration kicked in.

Once her breathing was normal again, she spoke into the microphone. “Ceres Prime, this is GLD-937-B requesting permission to dock.” She felt the familiar dragging sensation as her ship began to decelerate sharply. I need to adjust the autopilot again, she thought. I should have started braking this crate a kilometer ago. This would probably be automated.

“Request granted, GLD-937-B,” a raspy male voice said. “Please proceed to Epsilon Gate.”

“Acknowledged, Ceres Prima,” she replied coolly. “Epsilon Gate.” She touched the screen embedded in her left wristguard, selecting the correct docking gate for the autopilot to follow. Touchscreen on ship console more likely? The ship was coming closer to Ceres now, and she saw the dwarf planet clearly for the first time in a dozen years. A number of settlements pierced its surface now, but Ceres Prima remained the largest.

The thrusters were performing better than she had hoped, What is this? A dangerous old banger? but more power required more fuel. I’ll need to top off my hydrogen tanks before I leave. H2 shouldn’t be too expensive on this rock. Hydra shook slightly as the gate arm made a lock with her ship. Alright, here I go.

Tara pulled her father’s old bomber jacket over her flight suit. It was a little big for her, especially around the shoulders, but the smell of old leather made her feel close to him. Plus, Ceres Prima was notoriously cold. She twisted her long braid into a wide bun that she pinned together carefully. Next, she slid the sheath of her long dagger through a narrow braided leather belt and buckled it on her waist. Once out on the streets, it was wise to keep a weapon close at hand. Finally, she grabbed her ship’s papers, bound together in a black suede valise, and flung on her rucksack before leaving the cockpit for the airlock.

Passing through customs was the usual slow shuffle. She was in line behind a short man with thin, graying hair and a serious slouch in his shoulders. He dragged a black trunk behind him. Whatever was wrapped up in the bundle under his left arm struggled to free itself. Long as it doesn’t run my way. Tara sipped on the StarRover Classic We're supposed to know what this is? and wondered what was in the old guy’s trunk. They hope I’ll chug along a case of their fizzy water when I go, she thought between sips. Maybe they’re right. Anything’s better than what I get out of the water reprocessing unit.

An eternity later, a tall, well-built customs agent in a black jumpsuit gestured her over to his station. He held out a tanned, weathered hand for her papers. In response, she held up a hand and fished around in her valise. Okay, where are the ship’s papers. He tapped a heavy foot against the reinforced clay tile. Be patient, big man, she thought.

With a shrug of the shoulders, she handed over her ship registration certificates Bits of paper? In the space age? and met his cold gaze. His icy blue eyes glanced her over briefly before turning to the creased little ledger. A small square of thin paper fell out, and she reached down to pick it up.

The customs agent looked down at her again. “Mistress . . . DiCarlo, everything looks in order,” he noted dispassionately. He tapped his foot again. She got up and put her hand out for the ship papers. He reached towards her left arm, Unclear what's happening here and she took a step back defensively. “The Fifth Florida,” he said with a little hesitation in his voice.

“Excuse me?” she replied.

“The service patch, on your jacket,” he said, dropping his formal tone. “The Fifth Florida—wherever did you get that jacket?”

“My father. This jacket and this slip of paper—they’re all I have to remember him by.” Would she say that here? She felt a tear forming in her right eye.

“You don’t mean Lieutenant Alexander DiCarlo was your father?” the customs agent replied, a bit loudly. People were starting to stare.

“Yes,” she said. “Alex DiCarlo. He died last spring in Avos Ilessa. I’m bringing his remains back to Crestview for burial.”

The customs agent pointed sharply to her right. On the far wall, past several similar customs processing stations, hung a tall portrait, with an American flag draped to one side and that of the Jovian Union on the other.

“Dad?” she asked no one in particular. A young Alex DiCarlo wore a dark red beret and a broad smile. His blue uniform was spotless. She saw nothing of the bitter old man that she had known the last thirty years.

The customs agent cleared his throat. She turned her head back to him and accepted back the ship’s papers. Slipping them into her valise, she let her fingers brush against the platinum tin that held her father’s remains. A few grams of desiccated bone meal was all that remained of Alex DiCarlo. Begs the question of what happened to the rest of the ashes

“Please move along, ma’am,” the customs agent said. “Down the corridor.” He gestured to double doors just beyond his station. “The concourse is on Level 3. The monorail to Ceres Prima is on Level 5.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. . . .”

“Alvarez. Sebastian Alvarez,” Why name him? Significant character? he said with a smile. “My condolences on your father’s death.”

She tightened the straps of her rucksack and tucked the valise under her left arm. A tear ran down her right cheek as she passed past Sebastian and his customs station and through the double doors out of Interplanetary Customs.

Overall this isn't bad, but:
The business of landing the spacecraft seems to have too much detail given that it seems to have no significance other than getting her to Ceres. When we reach that stage of development, one can expect that spacecraft will fly themselves automatically and just work - after all they do that *TODAY* much of the time.
The scene with the customs (or rather immigration) officer is better, but you haven't grasped how things might have moved on in the way of presenting ship's papers - perhaps she'd just wave a card over a contactless reader. She probably wouldn't confide in this unfriendly man. And why name him - or is he an important character?

 

[BetaWolf]

Thanks, Geoff, for noting where things should probably be automated. If she is an interplanetary trader (which is sort of where I see her going), that makes sense and for the sake of readability.

I plan to use Sebastian as a secondary character. He'll play a part later in the story.

 

[JoanDrake]

This is very good on the whole. It's clear, believable and interesting.

The only thing I have a little problem with is the fact that she's carrying the ashes of a man whose portrait is hung in a place of honor in the first public place most people will see, and there's no delegation to meet her? In fact, they don't even know she's coming until the guard notices the jacket? These Cereians are somewhat blase about their national heroes, are they not?

 

[BetaWolf]

Thanks, Joan. The backstory is that Alex went into the quiet life after the war ended, and his daughter only knew him as a bitter old man. She is keeping her trip rather low-key, too. On Ganymede where they ended up scraping a living, he's no big deal. But he ended up saving Ceres.

I might change that. I'm not sure in retrospect if I like how this scene wound up.

 

[EloiseA]

I liked this and agree with the suggestion of tightening it up.

I kept wondering what was in the short slouchy man's black trunk. My feeling is that to introduce something as ominous or tantalising as a black trunk is to arouse a curiosity in the reader that needs to be satisfied. Like Chekov saying that if there is a gun in Scene I it should be fired by Scene V. ("One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it.")

Then there's the question of what is in the bundle and wriggling to get free, which takes me into another kind of mood for sci fi with escaping cyborgian beasties and some comic potential. That distracted me a little from the touching exchange with custom officer Alvarez.

 

[BetaWolf]

Thanks, EloiseA.

I've stood in a lot of airport lines, so I was drawing on that experience. I'm also curious about what other people have in their luggage. So a big interplanetary airport is what I was trying to describe there.