Adam Stubbings
Active Member
- Joined
- May 8, 2016
- Messages
- 31
Hi guys,
I am currently 80% of the way through the first draft of my debut novel The Last Astronaut. At this stage I am keeping the specific plot details to myself, but the story is a science fiction yarn set in the near future. I was hoping for some good critiquing of my writing style, so I have a section of the Prologue available here.
To set the scene, humanity left Earth not long from now and colonised a new planet, Kepler. We thought Kepler was abandoned and devoid of life, but people are disappearing and that may not be the case.
This is where two police officers finally decide to investigate reports of strange goings on in the subway system of the capital city...
1480 words. Strong language censored.
KEPLER-186f
2055
“Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“How many times are you gonna ask me the same goddamn question?”
Jonathan Reynolds grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t have much faith in Lowell, it was that he had, well, no faith in him.
Alex Lowell, sweating already, stared up at him. The immense physical effort attached to climbing down fifteen ladder rungs had really taken it out of him. His bulging waistline was shuddering from each breath he sucked through his gullet, and he looked like he could collapse at any moment. Reynolds marvelled once again at the fact that this unfit, utterly useless piece of meat had ever made it into the city’s police force. He ran a hand through his thick, jet black hair, eyeing the bald spot on top of his partners head and hoping dearly that he was light years away from the same predicament.
“Sometime today would be nice,” Lowell muttered.
“Okay.” Reynolds turned to his side and with a grunt, lifted the heavy black bag up. He turned back to the open access shaft and held the bag over the hole. Lowell held out his hands. Reynolds dropped the bag. Lowell, to his credit, had looked ready. However Lowell, as expected, messed up, letting the large bag slam to the ground in front of him.
“Aw sh*t, I f***ing missed it. You need to watch your aim!” Lowell snapped, glaring at him.
Reynolds considered a range of different responses, most focusing around his partner’s inability to get anything right, but settled for the reply that would spark the least amount of whining. “Yeah you’re right, sorry. My fault.” He crouched down, put his foot on the top rung of the ladder, and began to descend. He took one last lingering look up into the maintenance office on his way, before focusing his attention on the wet, slimy substance at the bottom of the ladder. His feet touched the ground and he immediately regretted putting on his nicest pair of shoes and not a pair of thick, hefty boots.
Lowell made no move to pick the bag up, waiting for Reynolds to do the honours. Instead, he looked around anxiously. “I don’t like it. I already don’t like it.”
Reynolds grabbed the bag and picked it up. “I guess I’m carrying this then? Still?”
Lowell didn’t answer, his anxious gaze covering every square inch of the dimly lit tunnel around them. “I really don’t like it.”
Reynolds pulled a small flashlight from his belt, flicking it on and shining it one way and then the other. The light pouring through the access shaft above them was illuminating the immediate area but darkness was waiting a few meters in either direction. The tiny flashlight barely pierced the foreboding veil of black.
Lowell looked up at the access shaft. “Why don’t we just wait up there, play cards or something, then call in that we didn’t find anything down here?”
Reynolds started trudging through black filth that had accumulated on the floor of the tunnel. “Well firstly, because that would dishonest.” He looked up, his eyes catching sight of a strange brown smear on the ceiling. He passed under it. “Secondly, I’m actually intrigued about what we might find down here.” He glanced back at Lowell. “And lastly, I forgot my cards.”
Lowell rolled his eyes. “I was kidding about that bit.”
Reynolds carried on into the darkness. “Get your ass down here.”
Lowell hesitated but didn’t want to be left alone, following Reynolds through the gloom, looking over his shoulder at the light from the access shaft as it began to fade away behind him.
Reynolds sighed. Lowell was a pain in the ass, and had no right to be a cop. Still, in a city still finding its feet and rife with crime, where the law wasn’t cherished by many, the local law enforcement establishments needed every body they could pay enough to make a stand.
The tunnel made a slow curve left, and Reynolds continued on, a distant dripping echoing through the air. His footsteps were careful; a stark comparison to Lowell’s heavy thudding behind him.
“You trying to be a hero?” Lowell asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Doing this. We could have just waited up there and avoided wading through all of this sh*t.”
“No we couldn’t. Trying to be a hero? No, I’m not. I’m just trying to do my job. We lost two guys down here yesterday. They might be dead, they might be lost, injured, we don’t know. And nobody will know until this place is combed over.”
“But-”
Reynolds turned sharply, the flashlight beam striking Lowell in the face. “Go back if you want.”
Lowell swallowed hard. “No. I’m just trying to make a point.”
“Make it later.”
Lowell nodded and Reynolds turned back, heading down the tunnel again.
Minutes passed, the only sounds wafting back and forth down the tunnel coming from their footsteps. Occasionally there was the odd errant sound, a hum here, a throb there, and the ever present dripping of fluid. Reynolds kept the flashlight pointing mainly ahead, his arm beginning to ache from the heavy bag. He debated asking Lowell to carry it but as the thought formed in his head, a new sound made itself known.
A rumble.
A few seconds passed before the inevitable happened and Lowell’s dumbed down senses caught up. “You hear that?”
Reynolds stopped. The noise was rising in pitch and volume. “I do. I’m guessing it’s a train. Above us.”
Lowell looked back behind them. A thin layer of mist was beginning to form further down the tunnel. The rumble died down before disappearing entirely almost as fast as it had arrived.
Reynolds moved forward again. “Let’s pick up the pace. I reckon we’ve got about a hundred feet before we hit the intersection.”
Lowell followed him, almost treading on the back of Reynolds’ shoes. “How do you know?”
“There are maps of the subway tunnels back at the department in the city infrastructure files. I studied them before we left.”
“You didn’t think to bring the maps with you?”
“Of course I did.”
“So…?”
Reynolds grimaced. “The Captain said I couldn’t have them because of the likelihood of us not getting out of here.”
They reached the expected intersection, actually a crossroads, a few seconds later. Reynolds gave his partner a smug grin.
Lowell sighed. “Lucky guess. So which way?”
Reynolds flicked the flashlight in each direction, noting the thick mist slowly drifting along each tunnel. He shrugged. “No idea. Want to split up?”
Lowell’s mouth dropped open. “Are you f***ing serious?”
Reynolds chuckled. “Why? Scared of the dark?”
Lowell glanced at the bag. “I get the gear.”
Reynolds chuckled again, louder. “Somehow I don’t think so.” He patted Lowell on the shoulder. “Come on, I’m f***ing with you. Let’s go right.”
“Why?”
“Someone used to say when in doubt, turn right.”
“Where’s the logic in that?”
Reynolds started heading down the right-hand tunnel. “No idea. But it’s as good a guess as any.”
Lowell was breathing so heavy he sounded seconds away from a coronary. “Remind me again, how did we land this fantastic assignment?”
Reynolds didn’t answer immediately. He’d been deliberately vague about the whole situation so far. But now they were down here, he doubted Lowell would turn tail and head back by himself. “I requested it.”
Lowell put a firm hand on Reynolds’ shoulder. “What the hell did you just say?”
Reynolds looked at the hand and slowly, Lowell moved it. “I said I requested it.”
“Why would you do a f***ing stupid thing like that?”
“Why? What do you mean why? Because it’s our f***ing job.”
Lowell narrowed his eyes. “My job is somewhere with bright lights and a sh*tload of other people. Not down here running around in the dark.”
Reynolds stared at him, mentally shaking his head. Lowell was halfway through a pretty unspectacular career, coasting along without doing anything notable. It was surprising he had even made it this far into the tunnels. “Listen to me. People are vanishing all over the city. Have been for years. Anyone who sets foot near the subway is running the risk of disappearing. We have no idea why. Two cops, two of our colleagues, they came down here and never came back out.” He paused. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“I’d rather find out on the news.”
Reynolds rolled his eyes. “Act like a f***ing cop for once.”
“I know what would make me feel safer,” Lowell said pointedly.
Reynolds didn’t respond, releasing his grip on the strap of the bag. He crouched down and unzipped it, fumbling around inside and pulling out two chunky, fully loaded shotguns. He handed one to his partner. “Then feel safer.”
Lowell took it gratefully, nodding. “Alright hotshot, lead the way.”
I am currently 80% of the way through the first draft of my debut novel The Last Astronaut. At this stage I am keeping the specific plot details to myself, but the story is a science fiction yarn set in the near future. I was hoping for some good critiquing of my writing style, so I have a section of the Prologue available here.
To set the scene, humanity left Earth not long from now and colonised a new planet, Kepler. We thought Kepler was abandoned and devoid of life, but people are disappearing and that may not be the case.
This is where two police officers finally decide to investigate reports of strange goings on in the subway system of the capital city...
1480 words. Strong language censored.
KEPLER-186f
2055
“Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“How many times are you gonna ask me the same goddamn question?”
Jonathan Reynolds grimaced. It wasn’t that he didn’t have much faith in Lowell, it was that he had, well, no faith in him.
Alex Lowell, sweating already, stared up at him. The immense physical effort attached to climbing down fifteen ladder rungs had really taken it out of him. His bulging waistline was shuddering from each breath he sucked through his gullet, and he looked like he could collapse at any moment. Reynolds marvelled once again at the fact that this unfit, utterly useless piece of meat had ever made it into the city’s police force. He ran a hand through his thick, jet black hair, eyeing the bald spot on top of his partners head and hoping dearly that he was light years away from the same predicament.
“Sometime today would be nice,” Lowell muttered.
“Okay.” Reynolds turned to his side and with a grunt, lifted the heavy black bag up. He turned back to the open access shaft and held the bag over the hole. Lowell held out his hands. Reynolds dropped the bag. Lowell, to his credit, had looked ready. However Lowell, as expected, messed up, letting the large bag slam to the ground in front of him.
“Aw sh*t, I f***ing missed it. You need to watch your aim!” Lowell snapped, glaring at him.
Reynolds considered a range of different responses, most focusing around his partner’s inability to get anything right, but settled for the reply that would spark the least amount of whining. “Yeah you’re right, sorry. My fault.” He crouched down, put his foot on the top rung of the ladder, and began to descend. He took one last lingering look up into the maintenance office on his way, before focusing his attention on the wet, slimy substance at the bottom of the ladder. His feet touched the ground and he immediately regretted putting on his nicest pair of shoes and not a pair of thick, hefty boots.
Lowell made no move to pick the bag up, waiting for Reynolds to do the honours. Instead, he looked around anxiously. “I don’t like it. I already don’t like it.”
Reynolds grabbed the bag and picked it up. “I guess I’m carrying this then? Still?”
Lowell didn’t answer, his anxious gaze covering every square inch of the dimly lit tunnel around them. “I really don’t like it.”
Reynolds pulled a small flashlight from his belt, flicking it on and shining it one way and then the other. The light pouring through the access shaft above them was illuminating the immediate area but darkness was waiting a few meters in either direction. The tiny flashlight barely pierced the foreboding veil of black.
Lowell looked up at the access shaft. “Why don’t we just wait up there, play cards or something, then call in that we didn’t find anything down here?”
Reynolds started trudging through black filth that had accumulated on the floor of the tunnel. “Well firstly, because that would dishonest.” He looked up, his eyes catching sight of a strange brown smear on the ceiling. He passed under it. “Secondly, I’m actually intrigued about what we might find down here.” He glanced back at Lowell. “And lastly, I forgot my cards.”
Lowell rolled his eyes. “I was kidding about that bit.”
Reynolds carried on into the darkness. “Get your ass down here.”
Lowell hesitated but didn’t want to be left alone, following Reynolds through the gloom, looking over his shoulder at the light from the access shaft as it began to fade away behind him.
Reynolds sighed. Lowell was a pain in the ass, and had no right to be a cop. Still, in a city still finding its feet and rife with crime, where the law wasn’t cherished by many, the local law enforcement establishments needed every body they could pay enough to make a stand.
The tunnel made a slow curve left, and Reynolds continued on, a distant dripping echoing through the air. His footsteps were careful; a stark comparison to Lowell’s heavy thudding behind him.
“You trying to be a hero?” Lowell asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Doing this. We could have just waited up there and avoided wading through all of this sh*t.”
“No we couldn’t. Trying to be a hero? No, I’m not. I’m just trying to do my job. We lost two guys down here yesterday. They might be dead, they might be lost, injured, we don’t know. And nobody will know until this place is combed over.”
“But-”
Reynolds turned sharply, the flashlight beam striking Lowell in the face. “Go back if you want.”
Lowell swallowed hard. “No. I’m just trying to make a point.”
“Make it later.”
Lowell nodded and Reynolds turned back, heading down the tunnel again.
Minutes passed, the only sounds wafting back and forth down the tunnel coming from their footsteps. Occasionally there was the odd errant sound, a hum here, a throb there, and the ever present dripping of fluid. Reynolds kept the flashlight pointing mainly ahead, his arm beginning to ache from the heavy bag. He debated asking Lowell to carry it but as the thought formed in his head, a new sound made itself known.
A rumble.
A few seconds passed before the inevitable happened and Lowell’s dumbed down senses caught up. “You hear that?”
Reynolds stopped. The noise was rising in pitch and volume. “I do. I’m guessing it’s a train. Above us.”
Lowell looked back behind them. A thin layer of mist was beginning to form further down the tunnel. The rumble died down before disappearing entirely almost as fast as it had arrived.
Reynolds moved forward again. “Let’s pick up the pace. I reckon we’ve got about a hundred feet before we hit the intersection.”
Lowell followed him, almost treading on the back of Reynolds’ shoes. “How do you know?”
“There are maps of the subway tunnels back at the department in the city infrastructure files. I studied them before we left.”
“You didn’t think to bring the maps with you?”
“Of course I did.”
“So…?”
Reynolds grimaced. “The Captain said I couldn’t have them because of the likelihood of us not getting out of here.”
They reached the expected intersection, actually a crossroads, a few seconds later. Reynolds gave his partner a smug grin.
Lowell sighed. “Lucky guess. So which way?”
Reynolds flicked the flashlight in each direction, noting the thick mist slowly drifting along each tunnel. He shrugged. “No idea. Want to split up?”
Lowell’s mouth dropped open. “Are you f***ing serious?”
Reynolds chuckled. “Why? Scared of the dark?”
Lowell glanced at the bag. “I get the gear.”
Reynolds chuckled again, louder. “Somehow I don’t think so.” He patted Lowell on the shoulder. “Come on, I’m f***ing with you. Let’s go right.”
“Why?”
“Someone used to say when in doubt, turn right.”
“Where’s the logic in that?”
Reynolds started heading down the right-hand tunnel. “No idea. But it’s as good a guess as any.”
Lowell was breathing so heavy he sounded seconds away from a coronary. “Remind me again, how did we land this fantastic assignment?”
Reynolds didn’t answer immediately. He’d been deliberately vague about the whole situation so far. But now they were down here, he doubted Lowell would turn tail and head back by himself. “I requested it.”
Lowell put a firm hand on Reynolds’ shoulder. “What the hell did you just say?”
Reynolds looked at the hand and slowly, Lowell moved it. “I said I requested it.”
“Why would you do a f***ing stupid thing like that?”
“Why? What do you mean why? Because it’s our f***ing job.”
Lowell narrowed his eyes. “My job is somewhere with bright lights and a sh*tload of other people. Not down here running around in the dark.”
Reynolds stared at him, mentally shaking his head. Lowell was halfway through a pretty unspectacular career, coasting along without doing anything notable. It was surprising he had even made it this far into the tunnels. “Listen to me. People are vanishing all over the city. Have been for years. Anyone who sets foot near the subway is running the risk of disappearing. We have no idea why. Two cops, two of our colleagues, they came down here and never came back out.” He paused. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“I’d rather find out on the news.”
Reynolds rolled his eyes. “Act like a f***ing cop for once.”
“I know what would make me feel safer,” Lowell said pointedly.
Reynolds didn’t respond, releasing his grip on the strap of the bag. He crouched down and unzipped it, fumbling around inside and pulling out two chunky, fully loaded shotguns. He handed one to his partner. “Then feel safer.”
Lowell took it gratefully, nodding. “Alright hotshot, lead the way.”
the ever present dripping of fluid. Reynolds kept the flashlight pointing mainly ahead, his arm beginning to ache from the heavy bag. He debated asking Lowell to carry it but as the thought formed in his head, a new sound made itself known.
