I've just finished a short story (full version is around 8.5K), from which I've taken the following extract - the opening section. I'm pretty pleased with the story itself, but I have one minor(ish) misgiving, which the eagle-eyes among you might have spotted from the thread title.
This opening section contains a very plain and unashamed infodump about the satellite subplot that mirrors the main plot. Is it distracting? Is it hamfisted? Or - shock, horror - is it clear and interesting? Is there another way of doing it? I've thought about it and I can't see how I could do it any other way.
All thoughts welcome. And if you teethy people find anything else worthy of being chomped, please feel free to do so.
The Capture of Jefferson Freeman
“Jefferson, is everything alright?” whispered Ankie.
Jefferson looked up from the text message at her, and then at the gaggle of journalists sitting in the Space Centre’s Media Auditorium, facing them. Ankie put a hand upon his arm and looked concerned. Good old Ankie. “Are you ok?”
“Uh, yes, fine,” he said. He cast his eye over the message again and clenched his jaw, trying to conceal the shudder rippling through him. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and tried to recompose himself, not think about what it said. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes and tried to flush his mind. He looked up. The hacks were still staring at him, expectant, hungry. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said with a tired smile. “It’s been a long, sleepless few nights while we’ve been getting everything ready. I guess in space no-one can hear your alarm clock.” He smiled gamely at the journalists, some of whom raised a sporting chuckle. “Where was I?”
“You were briefing them on the current state of CLADISAT,” said Ankie.
Ah yes. CLADISAT. Sixteen tonnes of dead junk unresponsively orbiting 500 miles above the Earth. The National Space Mission Centre had lost contact with it almost three years ago. Yes, he thought. Concentrate on the satellite. The satellite can’t hurt you. He looked down at his papers, containing the messages the comms team had prepared for him. Having the press in was always a novelty, and he’d never felt comfortable with them. Capturing and deorbiting an uncooperative target the size of a couple of tennis courts tumbling through space at over 17,000 miles per hour was infinitely preferable to this. The TV cameras made him especially nervous, and reminded him this was a big deal.
“CLADISAT has been unresponsive for almost three years now,” he carried on. The thought of the text message needled at him behind his ear.
You owe us.
“Theoretically we could leave it be. If left to its own devices it’d settle back to earth and deorbit naturally after about 180 years.”
You owe us.
“But orbit is so full of manmade junk these days it’s unfeasible that CLADISAT will last those 180 years without having some sort of collision which, at that size and speed, could trigger a chain reaction of other collisions resulting in a cloud of debris that could render further space exploration impossible.”
“The Kessler effect?” said one of the journalists, a cute little blonde with a Dutch accent.
“Very good,” Jefferson smiled. “Someone’s been doing their homework. Where are you from?”
“Dana Harbart, Science Today,” she smiled.
“Well I’m impressed. Want to join my team?”
More murmurs of laughter through the room. He gave a look to Ankie, who seemed more at ease. Maybe he was better at fielding the journalists than he thought.
Tomorrow.
“My team is leading the ENSNAKE mission. The ENSNAKE spacecraft will attempt to grapple, embrace and bring CLADISAT from its orbital position into a safezone, from where it will be towed into a satellite graveyard, away from other operational assets. We are on track for tomorrow’s launch in French Guiana, while the ground mission control team will remain here in Germany.”
“Are there any questions at this stage?” said Ankie, addressing the audience with her kindly smile that creased around the sides of her mouth.
After questions, Ankie took him aside in the coffee lounge and shut the door. “Is anything the matter?”
Ankie had been so lovely to him. Nurtured him almost his entire career, given him this one-in-a-lifetime career opportunity, but all he could think about was the burning in his face. He didn’t want to see her right now. Every time she approached him the hairs on his neck stood up, and he considered fleeing; but he never did, they were the actions of a guilty man. He wasn’t guilty; just desperate. She’d understand. Good old Ankie.
“Nervous?”
He managed a half-smile. “A tad.”
“I’ve known you so long,” she said, placing a soft, papery hand upon his cheek. He hoped his stubble wouldn’t scratch her. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be remembered, Jefferson. Do you know what the most wonderful thing about pushing the boundaries of science is?”
“Ah, the act of discovery?”
She pulled away with a smile and made two cups of coffee at the machine. “It’s that even a failure can be glorious. Whatever happens, you can’t lose.”
His skin felt claggy inside his shirt.
Tomorrow. 7am.
~
This opening section contains a very plain and unashamed infodump about the satellite subplot that mirrors the main plot. Is it distracting? Is it hamfisted? Or - shock, horror - is it clear and interesting? Is there another way of doing it? I've thought about it and I can't see how I could do it any other way.
All thoughts welcome. And if you teethy people find anything else worthy of being chomped, please feel free to do so.
The Capture of Jefferson Freeman
“Jefferson, is everything alright?” whispered Ankie.
Jefferson looked up from the text message at her, and then at the gaggle of journalists sitting in the Space Centre’s Media Auditorium, facing them. Ankie put a hand upon his arm and looked concerned. Good old Ankie. “Are you ok?”
“Uh, yes, fine,” he said. He cast his eye over the message again and clenched his jaw, trying to conceal the shudder rippling through him. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and tried to recompose himself, not think about what it said. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes and tried to flush his mind. He looked up. The hacks were still staring at him, expectant, hungry. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said with a tired smile. “It’s been a long, sleepless few nights while we’ve been getting everything ready. I guess in space no-one can hear your alarm clock.” He smiled gamely at the journalists, some of whom raised a sporting chuckle. “Where was I?”
“You were briefing them on the current state of CLADISAT,” said Ankie.
Ah yes. CLADISAT. Sixteen tonnes of dead junk unresponsively orbiting 500 miles above the Earth. The National Space Mission Centre had lost contact with it almost three years ago. Yes, he thought. Concentrate on the satellite. The satellite can’t hurt you. He looked down at his papers, containing the messages the comms team had prepared for him. Having the press in was always a novelty, and he’d never felt comfortable with them. Capturing and deorbiting an uncooperative target the size of a couple of tennis courts tumbling through space at over 17,000 miles per hour was infinitely preferable to this. The TV cameras made him especially nervous, and reminded him this was a big deal.
“CLADISAT has been unresponsive for almost three years now,” he carried on. The thought of the text message needled at him behind his ear.
You owe us.
“Theoretically we could leave it be. If left to its own devices it’d settle back to earth and deorbit naturally after about 180 years.”
You owe us.
“But orbit is so full of manmade junk these days it’s unfeasible that CLADISAT will last those 180 years without having some sort of collision which, at that size and speed, could trigger a chain reaction of other collisions resulting in a cloud of debris that could render further space exploration impossible.”
“The Kessler effect?” said one of the journalists, a cute little blonde with a Dutch accent.
“Very good,” Jefferson smiled. “Someone’s been doing their homework. Where are you from?”
“Dana Harbart, Science Today,” she smiled.
“Well I’m impressed. Want to join my team?”
More murmurs of laughter through the room. He gave a look to Ankie, who seemed more at ease. Maybe he was better at fielding the journalists than he thought.
Tomorrow.
“My team is leading the ENSNAKE mission. The ENSNAKE spacecraft will attempt to grapple, embrace and bring CLADISAT from its orbital position into a safezone, from where it will be towed into a satellite graveyard, away from other operational assets. We are on track for tomorrow’s launch in French Guiana, while the ground mission control team will remain here in Germany.”
“Are there any questions at this stage?” said Ankie, addressing the audience with her kindly smile that creased around the sides of her mouth.
After questions, Ankie took him aside in the coffee lounge and shut the door. “Is anything the matter?”
Ankie had been so lovely to him. Nurtured him almost his entire career, given him this one-in-a-lifetime career opportunity, but all he could think about was the burning in his face. He didn’t want to see her right now. Every time she approached him the hairs on his neck stood up, and he considered fleeing; but he never did, they were the actions of a guilty man. He wasn’t guilty; just desperate. She’d understand. Good old Ankie.
“Nervous?”
He managed a half-smile. “A tad.”
“I’ve known you so long,” she said, placing a soft, papery hand upon his cheek. He hoped his stubble wouldn’t scratch her. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be remembered, Jefferson. Do you know what the most wonderful thing about pushing the boundaries of science is?”
“Ah, the act of discovery?”
She pulled away with a smile and made two cups of coffee at the machine. “It’s that even a failure can be glorious. Whatever happens, you can’t lose.”
His skin felt claggy inside his shirt.
Tomorrow. 7am.
~
