vgunn
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2007
- Messages
- 71
This is a draft of the opening chapter to a science-fantasy WIP. I've cut it down and doesn't include the ending, but I'd like to get your feedback on it. Thanks in advance!
"This is Blackbird Seven-Four-Niner, does anyone copy? Repeat, this is Blackbird Seven-Four-Niner, do you read me?"
A lone pilot sat in the highly automated cockpit, her face hidden behind a Bellerophon haptic mask. The panel before her had more lights, gauges, switches, and buttons than a mad-scientist's lair. But this was mostly for show. The dilapidated Pegasus-class freighter did most of the flying, while she was left to send out the radio calls. There was no response, only static, then silence.
Kelly Gann endured long minutes of boredom, watching her skills and ability to pay attention slip away. Yet somehow, she remained ready to intervene on a moment’s notice. She was still the master and her hands held on to the electronic reins, just in case this horse tried to throw its rider.
Behind her, somewhere, twenty souls were paired off in the confined fuselage. They'd set out three hours earlier from an abandoned outpost in the frigid pre-dawn twilight. They were all that remained. Everyone else was either dead or gone.
This was the last flight out of Nevermore.
The pale morning sky became darker and a towering bank of clouds loomed ahead. With startling abruptness, she was flying blind--the world faded to black. Turbulence announced its presence and the freighter turned makeshift airliner bucked and rolled, as it plowed face-first into the teeth of the storm.
"Oh sh*t." She reached out and pressed a red button beneath the third dial. "Time to buckle up back there, this is going to get rough."
An instant later, the windshield went white. Snow pelted the glass that had already frosted over. The ship rattled as lights from the instrument panel flickered and the cockpit dimmed for a moment.
Gann switched on the heavy wipers and twin arcs of black cut a wide path across the windshield. Another round of turbulence assaulted the airliner, this one even stronger than the first. She concentrated on the virtual readouts scrolling across her mask; despite the pounding, the piecemealed transport plane was holding up without a problem.
The air crackled and the hair on Gann's arms and the back of her neck stood up on end. She knew with this kind of storm, lightning wouldn't be far away. Suddenly she noticed a strong smell of ozone in the air, there was a bright flash and the black sky was etched with the jagged pulse from the strike. A thundering sound followed, a deafening crackle, as if a bomb had detonated right on top of her. The flight deck was rocking beneath her feet.
"f*ck me," she muttered inside her mask.
Gann turned her head as a second lightning-bolt flashed, rebounding along the glass--streaking downward in blue, yellow, and pink. The thunder peal rang out again, followed by a rapid pop, pop, pop. The windshield sounded as if it were deflecting bullets, while the wipers swished at the pebble-sized pellets of hail. She was thrown around in her seat like a carny ride.
"Just hold together old girl." She scanned the virtual meteorological report. "We're almost out of it."
A third squall hit with hail, snow, and more turbulence. A red light flashed in the upper right of her mask and the voice of the autopilot echoed in her ears.
"Warning: Hull integrity at 97%. Damage irreversible."
"Goddammit!"
The battered ship adjusted course and climbed upward in a rapid ascent. Miraculously, the storm abated. As suddenly as it had blown up it was over, they were out of the clouds and into clear skies once again.
She caught her first glimpse of sharp, snow-covered peaks and deep glacial valleys running across an endless horizon. The White Fangs. Below the ship, the landscape slowly changed from rolling swathes of green, to brown arid foothills--grass and trees gave way to sparse shrub and barren rock. An impassable wall of stone rose up before her, like the long canines of some vicious wolf-god. The groan of the engine fighting to gain altitude broke her attention away from the awe-inspiring sight.
Gann checked the time. It was just after nine. This is good, she thought. Their early flight-plan was taken with the precaution that it was better to reach the mountains in the morning, before warmer air had a chance to rise up into the thin, cold atmosphere and cause dangerous postmeridian downdrafts.
They were escaping certain death from behind and flying into an uncertain future ahead of them. Not a single shred of evidence had reached them of any survivors who'd crossed into the west on foot or through the air and lived to tell the tale. No word that there were camps and settlements which might--or might not--exist. But they had to give it a shot. What other choice did they have? Either way, they were probably f***ed.
The autopilot guided the plane between twin shards of sheer granite, thrusting skyward into a ceiling of gray. More than a thousand feet below lay a sheet of white, untouched by even the smallest trace of vegetation. A frozen desert with nothing but ice, rock, and snow--no trees, no grass, no animals, just lifeless desolation.
This was it. Everything lead to this very moment. Months of preparation, desperate salvage missions, scavenging for parts, flight training, and last minute supply runs. All would come down to this final hour and clearing the ultimate hurdle. There was no going around The White Fangs, they had to be surmounted.
The freighter encountered an air pocket and it bucked, and then lurched as a heavy bank of fog roared up the western pass. It was coming for them, Gann thought. The gods’ revenge. They would never make it out alive. The fog moved with unholy speed and purpose.
Thick.
Cold.
Menacing.
A minute later she was flying blind again. Nothing could be seen but the white mist of clouds covering the windshield. Turbulence sent the freighter sinking two-hundred feet before it could right itself.
So fast.
It came on her like a bear breaking from a stand of trees. There was hardly any time to react. The downdraft caught the plane and sent plummeting towards the ground. Something smashed into the windshield. A maelstrom of wet wind blew in, with shards of ice and glass peppering the cockpit.
Gann was frozen in her seat. She held her breath as a peculiar empty feeling pulled at her guts. The flash of red warning signals imperatively blinking lit up her mask. An audible beep sounded in her ear, which was followed by the computer's monotone message.
Warning: Uncontrolled decompression. Damage irreversible.
Warning: Cabin air pressure at 0%. Outflow valve compensation not possible.
Warning: Temperature at -30 and falling. Regulation not possible.
Warning: G-engine two compromised. Damage irreversible.
Warning: Rapid descent. Course correction not possible.
Warning: Stabilizer at 32% and falling. Correction not possible.
Leaning forward, she reached out and flipped two switches with her left hand and jerked back hard on the stick with her right. The altimeter alert sounded. 13,750 feet and falling fast.
13,700.
"C'mon, fight! Fight you dumb *******!" She screamed at the controls.
13,650.
She needed to warn the passengers. There was no pulling out of it this time.
13,600.
"This is an emergency descent! Brace yourselves for impact!"
13,550.
The plane hurtled down, vibrating and rattling as Gann struggled in vain to slow the descent.
13,500.
Gann couldn't see anything beneath her, any change of coloring, any lightening or darkening of the snow blindness. But through the white, she knew the ground was rushing up at them. There was coming the sensation of impact, time slowed and a dull pressure weighed on her eardrums. Her ass settled back into the seat as the freighter decreased airspeed. She could feel the whole machine bearing down even without any of the controls. Gann thought now that the white was darkening. Closer and closer, less than five hundred feet for sure.
Everything went soft and metal jointing creaked as the airliner slackened under the pressure. An opaque shape raced past, a towering snowdrift. Dead ahead of her the snow fell away and Gann knew that she wouldn't see anything because the wind was scooping the surface snow into the air and fog was so thick that there was no line of sight.
A layer of compacted snow washed against the undercarriage of the freighter as it plowed into the pass. A jolt threw Gann's body taught against her safety harness. The last of the engines stalled and then died as the plane floundered and dropped flat--landing on its belly. But instead of breaking up, the plane careened down the sloping surface of deep snow.
The hull slewed, then buckled and the cockpit shook wildly all around Gann.
Chapter One
"This is Blackbird Seven-Four-Niner, does anyone copy? Repeat, this is Blackbird Seven-Four-Niner, do you read me?"
A lone pilot sat in the highly automated cockpit, her face hidden behind a Bellerophon haptic mask. The panel before her had more lights, gauges, switches, and buttons than a mad-scientist's lair. But this was mostly for show. The dilapidated Pegasus-class freighter did most of the flying, while she was left to send out the radio calls. There was no response, only static, then silence.
Kelly Gann endured long minutes of boredom, watching her skills and ability to pay attention slip away. Yet somehow, she remained ready to intervene on a moment’s notice. She was still the master and her hands held on to the electronic reins, just in case this horse tried to throw its rider.
Behind her, somewhere, twenty souls were paired off in the confined fuselage. They'd set out three hours earlier from an abandoned outpost in the frigid pre-dawn twilight. They were all that remained. Everyone else was either dead or gone.
This was the last flight out of Nevermore.
The pale morning sky became darker and a towering bank of clouds loomed ahead. With startling abruptness, she was flying blind--the world faded to black. Turbulence announced its presence and the freighter turned makeshift airliner bucked and rolled, as it plowed face-first into the teeth of the storm.
"Oh sh*t." She reached out and pressed a red button beneath the third dial. "Time to buckle up back there, this is going to get rough."
An instant later, the windshield went white. Snow pelted the glass that had already frosted over. The ship rattled as lights from the instrument panel flickered and the cockpit dimmed for a moment.
Gann switched on the heavy wipers and twin arcs of black cut a wide path across the windshield. Another round of turbulence assaulted the airliner, this one even stronger than the first. She concentrated on the virtual readouts scrolling across her mask; despite the pounding, the piecemealed transport plane was holding up without a problem.
The air crackled and the hair on Gann's arms and the back of her neck stood up on end. She knew with this kind of storm, lightning wouldn't be far away. Suddenly she noticed a strong smell of ozone in the air, there was a bright flash and the black sky was etched with the jagged pulse from the strike. A thundering sound followed, a deafening crackle, as if a bomb had detonated right on top of her. The flight deck was rocking beneath her feet.
"f*ck me," she muttered inside her mask.
Gann turned her head as a second lightning-bolt flashed, rebounding along the glass--streaking downward in blue, yellow, and pink. The thunder peal rang out again, followed by a rapid pop, pop, pop. The windshield sounded as if it were deflecting bullets, while the wipers swished at the pebble-sized pellets of hail. She was thrown around in her seat like a carny ride.
"Just hold together old girl." She scanned the virtual meteorological report. "We're almost out of it."
A third squall hit with hail, snow, and more turbulence. A red light flashed in the upper right of her mask and the voice of the autopilot echoed in her ears.
"Warning: Hull integrity at 97%. Damage irreversible."
"Goddammit!"
The battered ship adjusted course and climbed upward in a rapid ascent. Miraculously, the storm abated. As suddenly as it had blown up it was over, they were out of the clouds and into clear skies once again.
She caught her first glimpse of sharp, snow-covered peaks and deep glacial valleys running across an endless horizon. The White Fangs. Below the ship, the landscape slowly changed from rolling swathes of green, to brown arid foothills--grass and trees gave way to sparse shrub and barren rock. An impassable wall of stone rose up before her, like the long canines of some vicious wolf-god. The groan of the engine fighting to gain altitude broke her attention away from the awe-inspiring sight.
Gann checked the time. It was just after nine. This is good, she thought. Their early flight-plan was taken with the precaution that it was better to reach the mountains in the morning, before warmer air had a chance to rise up into the thin, cold atmosphere and cause dangerous postmeridian downdrafts.
They were escaping certain death from behind and flying into an uncertain future ahead of them. Not a single shred of evidence had reached them of any survivors who'd crossed into the west on foot or through the air and lived to tell the tale. No word that there were camps and settlements which might--or might not--exist. But they had to give it a shot. What other choice did they have? Either way, they were probably f***ed.
The autopilot guided the plane between twin shards of sheer granite, thrusting skyward into a ceiling of gray. More than a thousand feet below lay a sheet of white, untouched by even the smallest trace of vegetation. A frozen desert with nothing but ice, rock, and snow--no trees, no grass, no animals, just lifeless desolation.
This was it. Everything lead to this very moment. Months of preparation, desperate salvage missions, scavenging for parts, flight training, and last minute supply runs. All would come down to this final hour and clearing the ultimate hurdle. There was no going around The White Fangs, they had to be surmounted.
The freighter encountered an air pocket and it bucked, and then lurched as a heavy bank of fog roared up the western pass. It was coming for them, Gann thought. The gods’ revenge. They would never make it out alive. The fog moved with unholy speed and purpose.
Thick.
Cold.
Menacing.
A minute later she was flying blind again. Nothing could be seen but the white mist of clouds covering the windshield. Turbulence sent the freighter sinking two-hundred feet before it could right itself.
So fast.
It came on her like a bear breaking from a stand of trees. There was hardly any time to react. The downdraft caught the plane and sent plummeting towards the ground. Something smashed into the windshield. A maelstrom of wet wind blew in, with shards of ice and glass peppering the cockpit.
Gann was frozen in her seat. She held her breath as a peculiar empty feeling pulled at her guts. The flash of red warning signals imperatively blinking lit up her mask. An audible beep sounded in her ear, which was followed by the computer's monotone message.
Warning: Uncontrolled decompression. Damage irreversible.
Warning: Cabin air pressure at 0%. Outflow valve compensation not possible.
Warning: Temperature at -30 and falling. Regulation not possible.
Warning: G-engine two compromised. Damage irreversible.
Warning: Rapid descent. Course correction not possible.
Warning: Stabilizer at 32% and falling. Correction not possible.
Leaning forward, she reached out and flipped two switches with her left hand and jerked back hard on the stick with her right. The altimeter alert sounded. 13,750 feet and falling fast.
13,700.
"C'mon, fight! Fight you dumb *******!" She screamed at the controls.
13,650.
She needed to warn the passengers. There was no pulling out of it this time.
13,600.
"This is an emergency descent! Brace yourselves for impact!"
13,550.
The plane hurtled down, vibrating and rattling as Gann struggled in vain to slow the descent.
13,500.
Gann couldn't see anything beneath her, any change of coloring, any lightening or darkening of the snow blindness. But through the white, she knew the ground was rushing up at them. There was coming the sensation of impact, time slowed and a dull pressure weighed on her eardrums. Her ass settled back into the seat as the freighter decreased airspeed. She could feel the whole machine bearing down even without any of the controls. Gann thought now that the white was darkening. Closer and closer, less than five hundred feet for sure.
Everything went soft and metal jointing creaked as the airliner slackened under the pressure. An opaque shape raced past, a towering snowdrift. Dead ahead of her the snow fell away and Gann knew that she wouldn't see anything because the wind was scooping the surface snow into the air and fog was so thick that there was no line of sight.
A layer of compacted snow washed against the undercarriage of the freighter as it plowed into the pass. A jolt threw Gann's body taught against her safety harness. The last of the engines stalled and then died as the plane floundered and dropped flat--landing on its belly. But instead of breaking up, the plane careened down the sloping surface of deep snow.
The hull slewed, then buckled and the cockpit shook wildly all around Gann.
