We've had some fun on my facebook and twitter feed deciding which parts of Northern Ireland should be destroyed and a certain roundabout in Larne came high on the list! Anyhow, I have a working plan for a book at this stage (although I've said that before and it fell apart), so I'm going to have a play while I'm waiting to hear the outcome of something that will decide what I work at next....
This is very new. I don't need too much feedback about my scanty language, or lack of depth etc, as that will all come.
My specific questions:
To those who have read Inish Carraig - does this feel like the right tone/voice. It's been a while since I wrote it and I might not have just nailed it.
Is there too much info in this that you already know, and does it make it drag. And does the new-info level feel okay.
To those new to the joys of Norn Irish sf: does the information in this overwhelm you? Or is it okay, and you're keeping up. And how do the characters come across to you?
Muchly thanks, all. Wish me luck with it! I'm moderately terrified of this. Jo
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter one
“What,” asked John, “the hell is that?” The centre of the roundabout Carter’s car was approaching had a giant crown proudly displayed on four unsteady looking legs. It looked like something Stuart would have made, except that was unfair to his little brother’s building skills. Or, for that matter, his artistic ability.
“It’s a roundabout,” said Carter, proving that stating the obvious was still the cop’s specialist subject. “The crown was put there for the Queen’s jubilee.”
Back when the royal family had a recognisable country presumably, before the alien invasion accounted for most of the big cities and plenty of towns too. What little infrastructure that had been left now had to be checked for Barath’na nests. When one was found – and it turned out the aliens were unbelievably good at colonising Earth – any buildings above the nest were invariably destroyed in the Zelotyr’s resulting Smart bombs. As the Barath’na spread beyond the towns and cities, burrowing further and further away, the rural areas were beginning to suffer as much as the cities had.
“And it survived the invasion?” muttered John. “There’s no bloody justice in this world.”
The cop grinned, probably in spite of himself. “Apparently even the aliens didn’t find it worth destroying.”
John couldn’t decide if Carter meant the crown, or Larne itself. Best not to ask, he decided.
“And this is where you’re putting us?” Not in Belfast, where John at least knew his way around. Carter was sidelining him deliberately, he reckoned. Some kind of karmic punishment for all the times John had pissed him off. He knew John would go mad in a week without some excitement.
“Yes.” The policeman went into his familiar spiel. “In a state of the art house, John, with Josey and the kids. Independent, but with access to support services. And a school.” He narrowed his eyes. “No Barath’na. The area has already been cleansed.”
In other words, there was no chance John might be grabbed and taken into a convenient nest. He may have already given his testimony to the GC – thoroughly evidencing the Barath’na had been behind the attempted xenocide of the Zelo, and a planned genocide of the human race – but he wasn’t out of danger. Should the Barath’na find John, he was under no illusions he would be made to pay.
The cop glanced at him, and his face was set. “We knew the prison was one of their central nests. Believe me, this part of the country – from here, up to the North coast – has been scoured for the Barath’na. This is somewhere safe for all of you. You need to finish your own qualifications, John. You know your parents would have wanted that.”
It was the cop’s ace card, and Carter knew it. John’s ma would never have allowed him to leave school with nothing. Then again, she wouldn’t have expected a world where kids lived in ruins and starved. His ma had looked out for the John before the invasion. That John had been a schoolboy. Since then, he’d learned how to survive, how to feed the kids and make sure they had clothes. Hell, he’d even managed to foil an alien conspiracy. Surely, he was past the point of school.
“If you leave now, you’ll end up on a building squad,” said Carter. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that – except that, sooner or later, the rebuilding will come to an end.”
Sooner, given the speed with which buildings were going up. The Barath’na’s living metal, able to be manipulated and shaped, was their only useful legacy. The metal might give John the shakes - but that was what a history of being encased in the stuff could do to anyone – but there was no denying its usefulness.
“You’ll end up with no job and nothing to fall back on,” said Carter. “As it is, you only have six months left in juvenile protection. At least get your basics. And then, when you leave, I’ll see what else I can get you access to.”
A silence fell between them, neither of them speaking about what the future might hold. If the Barath’na couldn’t be flushed off Earth, would John be able to gain his freedom? Or would he be condemned to a life of safe areas, or fear of a vengeance that could be enacted at any moment. If so, what would he choose: safety and half a life, or a chance of freedom if he accepted the danger? He knew the answer – and so, probably, did Carte. John could not face a life half-lived. Not after fighting so hard to keep the damn thing.
He stared out of the window. The cop was right about getting qualifications. John would never let Stuart or Sophie out of going to school. Nor Josey, who, at fifteen, had time to catch up and do well. John was supposed to be their role model. Like it, or hate it, he’d have to go back to school and take his exams. And pass, so they’d have something to look up to.
He scraped his hand across the window. The crown was right beside him, revealed in all its shoddy-gold glory. “All right. You win.”
Something shifted, at the edge of his vision. He was about to dismiss it as tiredness, when it came again, a movement on one of the struts. A droplet of water, perhaps. Except, amazingly, it hadn’t rained in Northern Ireland for almost a whole day. A weakening of the infrastructure? That was entirely possible.
Carter took the left, out of town, towards the coast road, and the roundabout fell behind them. John found himself looking in the wing-mirror until the crown disappeared, and couldn’t shift a deep feeling of unease.
This is very new. I don't need too much feedback about my scanty language, or lack of depth etc, as that will all come.
My specific questions:
To those who have read Inish Carraig - does this feel like the right tone/voice. It's been a while since I wrote it and I might not have just nailed it.
Is there too much info in this that you already know, and does it make it drag. And does the new-info level feel okay.
To those new to the joys of Norn Irish sf: does the information in this overwhelm you? Or is it okay, and you're keeping up. And how do the characters come across to you?
Muchly thanks, all. Wish me luck with it! I'm moderately terrified of this. Jo
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter one
“What,” asked John, “the hell is that?” The centre of the roundabout Carter’s car was approaching had a giant crown proudly displayed on four unsteady looking legs. It looked like something Stuart would have made, except that was unfair to his little brother’s building skills. Or, for that matter, his artistic ability.
“It’s a roundabout,” said Carter, proving that stating the obvious was still the cop’s specialist subject. “The crown was put there for the Queen’s jubilee.”
Back when the royal family had a recognisable country presumably, before the alien invasion accounted for most of the big cities and plenty of towns too. What little infrastructure that had been left now had to be checked for Barath’na nests. When one was found – and it turned out the aliens were unbelievably good at colonising Earth – any buildings above the nest were invariably destroyed in the Zelotyr’s resulting Smart bombs. As the Barath’na spread beyond the towns and cities, burrowing further and further away, the rural areas were beginning to suffer as much as the cities had.
“And it survived the invasion?” muttered John. “There’s no bloody justice in this world.”
The cop grinned, probably in spite of himself. “Apparently even the aliens didn’t find it worth destroying.”
John couldn’t decide if Carter meant the crown, or Larne itself. Best not to ask, he decided.
“And this is where you’re putting us?” Not in Belfast, where John at least knew his way around. Carter was sidelining him deliberately, he reckoned. Some kind of karmic punishment for all the times John had pissed him off. He knew John would go mad in a week without some excitement.
“Yes.” The policeman went into his familiar spiel. “In a state of the art house, John, with Josey and the kids. Independent, but with access to support services. And a school.” He narrowed his eyes. “No Barath’na. The area has already been cleansed.”
In other words, there was no chance John might be grabbed and taken into a convenient nest. He may have already given his testimony to the GC – thoroughly evidencing the Barath’na had been behind the attempted xenocide of the Zelo, and a planned genocide of the human race – but he wasn’t out of danger. Should the Barath’na find John, he was under no illusions he would be made to pay.
The cop glanced at him, and his face was set. “We knew the prison was one of their central nests. Believe me, this part of the country – from here, up to the North coast – has been scoured for the Barath’na. This is somewhere safe for all of you. You need to finish your own qualifications, John. You know your parents would have wanted that.”
It was the cop’s ace card, and Carter knew it. John’s ma would never have allowed him to leave school with nothing. Then again, she wouldn’t have expected a world where kids lived in ruins and starved. His ma had looked out for the John before the invasion. That John had been a schoolboy. Since then, he’d learned how to survive, how to feed the kids and make sure they had clothes. Hell, he’d even managed to foil an alien conspiracy. Surely, he was past the point of school.
“If you leave now, you’ll end up on a building squad,” said Carter. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that – except that, sooner or later, the rebuilding will come to an end.”
Sooner, given the speed with which buildings were going up. The Barath’na’s living metal, able to be manipulated and shaped, was their only useful legacy. The metal might give John the shakes - but that was what a history of being encased in the stuff could do to anyone – but there was no denying its usefulness.
“You’ll end up with no job and nothing to fall back on,” said Carter. “As it is, you only have six months left in juvenile protection. At least get your basics. And then, when you leave, I’ll see what else I can get you access to.”
A silence fell between them, neither of them speaking about what the future might hold. If the Barath’na couldn’t be flushed off Earth, would John be able to gain his freedom? Or would he be condemned to a life of safe areas, or fear of a vengeance that could be enacted at any moment. If so, what would he choose: safety and half a life, or a chance of freedom if he accepted the danger? He knew the answer – and so, probably, did Carte. John could not face a life half-lived. Not after fighting so hard to keep the damn thing.
He stared out of the window. The cop was right about getting qualifications. John would never let Stuart or Sophie out of going to school. Nor Josey, who, at fifteen, had time to catch up and do well. John was supposed to be their role model. Like it, or hate it, he’d have to go back to school and take his exams. And pass, so they’d have something to look up to.
He scraped his hand across the window. The crown was right beside him, revealed in all its shoddy-gold glory. “All right. You win.”
Something shifted, at the edge of his vision. He was about to dismiss it as tiredness, when it came again, a movement on one of the struts. A droplet of water, perhaps. Except, amazingly, it hadn’t rained in Northern Ireland for almost a whole day. A weakening of the infrastructure? That was entirely possible.
Carter took the left, out of town, towards the coast road, and the roundabout fell behind them. John found himself looking in the wing-mirror until the crown disappeared, and couldn’t shift a deep feeling of unease.
