This will be my last request for critique on the thread. Thanks to you guys, I'm in the position where I need to be a little less public in asking for help, although I'll still turn up and give the odd mauling or ten, and I might appear in the writing group.
So, a big thanks to everyone who has commented on my stuff, I think I abused the board terribly from time to time, but I wouldn't be anywhere near the writer I am now without this board which is, in my experience, by far the best crits board for sff around.
Anyway, I'll finish up where I started with a crit from Abendau (and thanks to Gary who's okay with me popping something up) and a little action scene.
The pov character is having to get onto a planet without being picked up by security, so is being brought in over the desert where he has a rendezvous point. He doesn't like deserts... Have at it with your lovely teeth
Jo.
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Kare scanned the sky for any pursuit, but there was nothing yet. Already the ship’s engines were whining and the hatch was closing. He darted across the sand, weaving, to the dunes. His feet slipped as he ran. He’d never get used to the desert. He sped up, feeling Farran’s impatience, his need for Kare to go faster and get into the safety zone so the ship could lift off.
He jumped a scrub of grass and dove for the dunes, hitting hard with his shoulder, but it was soft sand beneath. Not clutter-nest territory, thankfully. He was as close to the ship as when his father had left him as a child, hunched against the fence of the old yard. The sky filled with a familiar roar as the ship lifted off, replacing the dry desert air with the burnt smell of the engines. Kare coughed and turned his head away until the roar became distant and his teeth weren’t rattling. He looked up and the Roamer ship was already far in the distance. He watched, scanning, until he made out a volley of distant specks; their pursuers had picked Farran up. Most broke after the ship but one bore down on Kare’s position. Damn. Judging by the scanning equipment flashing along its fuselage it had to be a desert-seeker, designed to pick up movement.
He crouched on the sand, heart pounding, and crabbed his hand to the shield command. The air around him changed, becoming heavier with an artificial tang, but doing little to reduce his sense of being exposed. He told himself to calm down; locating him in his desert-equipment would be luck-defying. The ship approached, low in the sky, following a search trajectory, hazy through his shield’s field. If he stayed quiet and still there was nothing to worry about.
The sand moved in front of him, cracking and breaking, and he barely stopped himself scrambling back. Had he read the sand wrong – if it was a clutter-nest he was in trouble. F**k that; he was dead, either from the ship if he ran or the spider if he stayed. Carefully, he put his hand on the sand, checking. It was soft, not compacted. This shouldn’t be spider territory. Still the sand shifted and he watched, transfixed, as a snake emerged, its tongue flicking from side to side. A baroda, and a big one, too; as deadly as anything in the desert. Its red stripes practically had danger stencilled on them.
He stayed still, his attention shifting from the snake to the noise of the ship, coming closer then fading, closer then fading. The snake approached. Under Kare's hand the sand drummed a little, making his fingers tingle; the shield’s energy was drawing the snake. Kare’s mouth went dry, but he stayed still, telling himself the snake couldn’t get pass the force-field.
No, but it could burrow under the shield and come up within the shield’s parameter. Not good. It whipped across the sand to him.
“Go away, big girl,” he murmured. The ship had come closer again. The snake hissed. Its tongue flicked at the shield, probing. It pulled back and started to burrow.
Oh, s**t. Kare looked around, hoping for any sort of cover, but there was nothing but sand stretching in every direction.
The searching shipmoved away, and he killed his shield. He’d take his chances with the ship before the snake; at least they’d ask questions before they attacked. Maybe. He scrambled back as the sand broke, inches away from his right foot, and the snake emerged, fangs bared, ready to strike.
Kare slipped in the soft sand and went sprawling. The snake sprang forwards, quicker than he’d imagined. He yelled, managed to roll to the side, and fumbled for his blaster. He pulled it from the holster in one move.
The snake lunged for another attack. Kare got a shot off, but it was wild. His boot caught the serpent and its fangs sunk into the heavy material. He took aim, taking his time, even as the snake drew back again. He wouldn’t get another chance, not against its speed. He squeezed off a shot.
The snake flew through the air, tail snapping. Above, the ship had turned back, was coming into his sector. Kare hit the shield and flung himself flat. He didn’t dare breathe, sure they’d had long enough to fix his position. The engines roared closer. A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and he waited, sure they were above him, circling, ready to take him.
After an age, the sound of the ship grew more distant. He forced himself to wait a little longer, alert for movement in the sand, or the sound of ships. After several minutes he sat up. The ship was gone from the sky and the snake lay dead a few feet away. His breaths were jerky and small, making him dizzy, but they were there. He was alive.
He deactivated the shield and got to his feet, shaky as hell. Snakes were only one of the creatures to watch for. There were lizards, big and lumbering, so well camouflaged he’d be on them before he’d see them; the spiders with their buried nests, crusted and invisible, but thin as an egg. The number one cause of death in the desert, he remembered unhelpfully. He’d lost a fair number of soldiers over the years, drawn into traps by the tribes until the sand gave way and spilled them into a nest, to be taken and feasted on for months, before the remains of their body was used to line the pearl-pouch for the mother-spider.
Stop thinking about it and get going. He unclipped his direction-finder from his belt, activated it, and set out for the team waiting for him, taking his time to check the sand-cover; better late than dead.
So, a big thanks to everyone who has commented on my stuff, I think I abused the board terribly from time to time, but I wouldn't be anywhere near the writer I am now without this board which is, in my experience, by far the best crits board for sff around.
Anyway, I'll finish up where I started with a crit from Abendau (and thanks to Gary who's okay with me popping something up) and a little action scene.
The pov character is having to get onto a planet without being picked up by security, so is being brought in over the desert where he has a rendezvous point. He doesn't like deserts... Have at it with your lovely teethJo.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kare scanned the sky for any pursuit, but there was nothing yet. Already the ship’s engines were whining and the hatch was closing. He darted across the sand, weaving, to the dunes. His feet slipped as he ran. He’d never get used to the desert. He sped up, feeling Farran’s impatience, his need for Kare to go faster and get into the safety zone so the ship could lift off.
He jumped a scrub of grass and dove for the dunes, hitting hard with his shoulder, but it was soft sand beneath. Not clutter-nest territory, thankfully. He was as close to the ship as when his father had left him as a child, hunched against the fence of the old yard. The sky filled with a familiar roar as the ship lifted off, replacing the dry desert air with the burnt smell of the engines. Kare coughed and turned his head away until the roar became distant and his teeth weren’t rattling. He looked up and the Roamer ship was already far in the distance. He watched, scanning, until he made out a volley of distant specks; their pursuers had picked Farran up. Most broke after the ship but one bore down on Kare’s position. Damn. Judging by the scanning equipment flashing along its fuselage it had to be a desert-seeker, designed to pick up movement.
He crouched on the sand, heart pounding, and crabbed his hand to the shield command. The air around him changed, becoming heavier with an artificial tang, but doing little to reduce his sense of being exposed. He told himself to calm down; locating him in his desert-equipment would be luck-defying. The ship approached, low in the sky, following a search trajectory, hazy through his shield’s field. If he stayed quiet and still there was nothing to worry about.
The sand moved in front of him, cracking and breaking, and he barely stopped himself scrambling back. Had he read the sand wrong – if it was a clutter-nest he was in trouble. F**k that; he was dead, either from the ship if he ran or the spider if he stayed. Carefully, he put his hand on the sand, checking. It was soft, not compacted. This shouldn’t be spider territory. Still the sand shifted and he watched, transfixed, as a snake emerged, its tongue flicking from side to side. A baroda, and a big one, too; as deadly as anything in the desert. Its red stripes practically had danger stencilled on them.
He stayed still, his attention shifting from the snake to the noise of the ship, coming closer then fading, closer then fading. The snake approached. Under Kare's hand the sand drummed a little, making his fingers tingle; the shield’s energy was drawing the snake. Kare’s mouth went dry, but he stayed still, telling himself the snake couldn’t get pass the force-field.
No, but it could burrow under the shield and come up within the shield’s parameter. Not good. It whipped across the sand to him.
“Go away, big girl,” he murmured. The ship had come closer again. The snake hissed. Its tongue flicked at the shield, probing. It pulled back and started to burrow.
Oh, s**t. Kare looked around, hoping for any sort of cover, but there was nothing but sand stretching in every direction.
The searching shipmoved away, and he killed his shield. He’d take his chances with the ship before the snake; at least they’d ask questions before they attacked. Maybe. He scrambled back as the sand broke, inches away from his right foot, and the snake emerged, fangs bared, ready to strike.
Kare slipped in the soft sand and went sprawling. The snake sprang forwards, quicker than he’d imagined. He yelled, managed to roll to the side, and fumbled for his blaster. He pulled it from the holster in one move.
The snake lunged for another attack. Kare got a shot off, but it was wild. His boot caught the serpent and its fangs sunk into the heavy material. He took aim, taking his time, even as the snake drew back again. He wouldn’t get another chance, not against its speed. He squeezed off a shot.
The snake flew through the air, tail snapping. Above, the ship had turned back, was coming into his sector. Kare hit the shield and flung himself flat. He didn’t dare breathe, sure they’d had long enough to fix his position. The engines roared closer. A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and he waited, sure they were above him, circling, ready to take him.
After an age, the sound of the ship grew more distant. He forced himself to wait a little longer, alert for movement in the sand, or the sound of ships. After several minutes he sat up. The ship was gone from the sky and the snake lay dead a few feet away. His breaths were jerky and small, making him dizzy, but they were there. He was alive.
He deactivated the shield and got to his feet, shaky as hell. Snakes were only one of the creatures to watch for. There were lizards, big and lumbering, so well camouflaged he’d be on them before he’d see them; the spiders with their buried nests, crusted and invisible, but thin as an egg. The number one cause of death in the desert, he remembered unhelpfully. He’d lost a fair number of soldiers over the years, drawn into traps by the tribes until the sand gave way and spilled them into a nest, to be taken and feasted on for months, before the remains of their body was used to line the pearl-pouch for the mother-spider.
Stop thinking about it and get going. He unclipped his direction-finder from his belt, activated it, and set out for the team waiting for him, taking his time to check the sand-cover; better late than dead.
