The Bloated One
Well-Known Member
Hi everyone,
Back in 2016, I self published book one of a trilogy about a 15 year old time traveller trying his best to help solve the galaxies many problems. A lot of that book was a direct result of the critiques given on Chrons. I am writing book two and need to introduce a new character who has a very important part to play. This is his introduction. Any thoughts? Am I going to fast, would you prefer a description of him early on? it comes a little later than this piece.
Happy to have criticism and ideas, so please feel free.
Here you go;
Kent Sondaire sat with Francis Dashwood by the Medmenham Club bar, enjoying fine wine and the attention of several women, when Kent’s rotund collaborator, Tratchett Sprall signalled to him from across the room. Making his excuses, Kent left the bar and went to speak with Tratchett.
“The President, Cybele Rain is looking for you. Apparently she has a job offer,” whispered Tratchett, wiping sweat from his brow, concern etched across his pudgy, pink face.
“We best get going then,” said Kent. “I’ll meet you at the cloakroom.”
After explaining to Dashwood that he had been called away on urgent, Government business, and his initiation into the order’s inner circle would have to wait, he joined Tratchett at the cloakroom. Removing their monks habits, they took their coats and strode from the building. Running across the waterlogged lawn toward a line of outhouses, they left a line of holes where their boots broke through the sod.
“How I detest the dawn,” said Tratchett into his voice recorder, “the grass always looks like it’s been left out all night.”
Reaching the corner of the orangery, Kent stopped and looked warily around. Visibility was poor as the moon was behind a bank of cloud, and a fine mist of rain was in the humid air. Satisfied no one was watching, he opened the glass door and went inside. Pushing a sequence of buttons on an old TV remote control, 30 meters away, an orange Volkswagen camper van, circa 1970, materialized amongst the orange trees in the centre of the building. This was not his usual means of travel, but Kent had affectionately come to know it as the ‘Jaffa’. His usual means of space travel was in a DeLorean DMC-12 car, converted to a space ship, but it was stolen and crashed by joy riders on a visit to Earth in 1985. The Galactic Insurance Company were playing hardball and wouldn’t pay up, claiming it’s demise was an act of some God or other. He’d managed to get it off Earth, but it had been in a Mytherian repair shop ever since. Without space wheels, Kent had no choice but to rent a replacement, but being ‘between assignments,’ as so often he was, he was forced to borrow an old space ship from his cousin’s business, The Orange Paint Company. Parked amongst the citrus trees, the orange, retro Volkswagen camper van, emblazoned with the words, ‘To Boldly Go Where No Ones Painted Before’, written in gold down the side, was his. For now.
“Kent Sondaire, space gum shoe, and righteous upholder of the galactic code has left the building,” said Tratchett, breathlessly presenting a running commentary into his throat recorder as they moved through the Orangery toward the van. “Our super sleuth is embarking on another crusade to save the galaxies from the forces of evil!”
Kent pushed a button on the remote and the doors opened. Tratchett looked at Kent and smiled, "With my brains and your looks, we could go places." As they reached the camper van, a dog, part husky, part sneaky neighbours mutt, came rushing out of the van and launched itself at Kent, attaching itself to his leg, hugging and humping it with gleeful abandon the way dogs do.
“Laika, down girl!” whispered Kent, as loud as he dared while walking stiff legged to the camper van with the grinning dog clinging to, and vigorously humping his shin.
“What do you expect,” said Trent, shaking his head and grinning. “Ever since we rescued her from that tin can orbiting earth, she’s been saying thank you.”
“I know, but it’s embarrassing,” replied Kent, trying to shake the dog loose.
Tratchett jumped into the van as Kent carefully prized Laika off his leg, tucked her under his arm, and climbed inside. “So much bigger on the inside,” said Tratchett into his recorder. He wasn’t kidding. Once Inside, steps led down into a large, brightly lit circular room with four equally spaced doors. In the centre stood a raised platform with a bank of machinery, two huge screens set side by side, two large leather swivel seats, and a dog basket. Tratchett took the left hand seat. Putting Laika in the basket, Kent smiled as she found her toy, an orange haired, fat humanoid doll that would shout ‘bigly’ and ‘fake’ whenever you squeezed its stomach. She grabbed it with her front paws and humped it mercilessly. Taking the right seat, Kent hit a button on the console and a half metre tall, officious looking holographic figure of a bald man in a dark suit appeared in front of them.
“Good morning Mr Sondaire. Your mission Kent, should you decide to accept it, is to locate two missing historical Earth figures, Leonardo da Vinci and Michel de Nostradame. They are accused of stealing a sedan chair and an amulet that the Federation require. They have been located in Elizabethan England. Further information, including biographies and historical notes pertaining to the mission have been uploaded to your spacecraft. As always, should you or Mr Sprall be caught or killed, the President will disavow any knowledge of your actions. Good luck. This hologram will erase itself in five seconds.”
Kent opened the attached, mission-briefing file. A concise history of Elizabethan England, and several pictures appeared on the screen. Tratchett checked the planet, year, location and time, then searched for a wormhole. Rather dramatically, the holographic figure exploded in a slow motion dance across the console.
Ignoring it, Tratchett started speaking. “To save the world, our intrepid super sleuth and his much sought after biographer, Tratchett Thadious, Meryweather, Sprall, are going back to the future!” he roared, pumping his stubby little arms in the air. He turned excitedly to Kent. “This reminds me of the time me and ‘Winst’ wrote that famous speech…Never, in the fields of—aaahhhhhh!” Kent pulled the flight controller wheel toward him, and floored the accelerator. Tratchett’s shrill voice, like the agonizing squeal of a parakeet caught in a speeding mouse wheel, matched the roar of the engine as they disappeared in a cloud of steam and rain from 18th CE England.
Fifteen minutes into their journey, they reached the end of the wormhole they were travelling down and excited somewhere over the Mediterranean. They had a 30 minute wait until the next wormhole opened.
As they floated, cloaked above the sea, Kent turned to Tratchett. “You realize we’re going back into the past, not the future?”
“Semantics,” laughed the little man. “Past, future, it’s all the same,” he continued, before opening his voice recorder.
“The old sloop passed Black Rock Beacon, its navigation lights flickered on the still water…”
“What?” Queried Kent, as he checked again, the timing of the opening of the wormhole that would take them on their journey. Tratchett looked up.
“What, what?”
“What were you reading?” Tratchett’s bemused face creased and he grinned.
“It’s the opening paragraph to your autobiography.”
“We’ve never been on a sloop, have we?’
“Of course not, it’s poetic license. Every book needs a strong beginning that captures the imagination and pulls the reader in.”
“I will get to see the draft?’ asked Kent. Tratchett turned toward Kent and smiled,
“Of course you will.”
* * *
Kenilworth Castle, Leicestershire, England, 1579, popped up on the console screen.
“We’ve arrived. Where should we park and cloak?”
Kent surveyed the buildings and fields below the ship. “There’s a couple of buildings across from the castle, we’ll land and cloak there. We’ll need to generate some period clothing before we look around.”
“Onto it,” said Tratchett, jumping from his seat and running to the clothing generator at the rear of the ship. Several minutes passed before the console began flashing.
“Houston, we have a problem!” Shouted Kent, as Laika barked at a line of different coloured lights lit up the console. Tratchett rushed back, his arms full of clothes. “What’s the problem?” He asked, throwing the clothes onto a chair.
“We’re not alone,” said Kent pointing at the screen above the console.
Looking not dissimilar to a 1970s space invaders game, a line of four space ships moved down and across the monitor. Several different sized and coloured ships appeared and disappeared as they watched.
“It appears half the galaxy is here,” said Trent, gawping at the screen and muzzling Laika’s growling.
“That angular red ship, it’s a Griddleback Hawk, isn’t it?” said Tratchett, his voice trembling. Kent punched some buttons on the console then sat back, open mouthed. The ships identification transponder flashed up on the screen.
“Admiral Kreien Vythrax III. What the blue blazes is he doing here!” Kent exclaimed, just as the ship cloaked and disappeared. He released Laika onto the floor and sat looking at the place the Griddleback ship had been. ”You saw it, didn’t you Tratchett?”
Back in 2016, I self published book one of a trilogy about a 15 year old time traveller trying his best to help solve the galaxies many problems. A lot of that book was a direct result of the critiques given on Chrons. I am writing book two and need to introduce a new character who has a very important part to play. This is his introduction. Any thoughts? Am I going to fast, would you prefer a description of him early on? it comes a little later than this piece.
Happy to have criticism and ideas, so please feel free.
Here you go;
Kent Sondaire sat with Francis Dashwood by the Medmenham Club bar, enjoying fine wine and the attention of several women, when Kent’s rotund collaborator, Tratchett Sprall signalled to him from across the room. Making his excuses, Kent left the bar and went to speak with Tratchett.
“The President, Cybele Rain is looking for you. Apparently she has a job offer,” whispered Tratchett, wiping sweat from his brow, concern etched across his pudgy, pink face.
“We best get going then,” said Kent. “I’ll meet you at the cloakroom.”
After explaining to Dashwood that he had been called away on urgent, Government business, and his initiation into the order’s inner circle would have to wait, he joined Tratchett at the cloakroom. Removing their monks habits, they took their coats and strode from the building. Running across the waterlogged lawn toward a line of outhouses, they left a line of holes where their boots broke through the sod.
“How I detest the dawn,” said Tratchett into his voice recorder, “the grass always looks like it’s been left out all night.”
Reaching the corner of the orangery, Kent stopped and looked warily around. Visibility was poor as the moon was behind a bank of cloud, and a fine mist of rain was in the humid air. Satisfied no one was watching, he opened the glass door and went inside. Pushing a sequence of buttons on an old TV remote control, 30 meters away, an orange Volkswagen camper van, circa 1970, materialized amongst the orange trees in the centre of the building. This was not his usual means of travel, but Kent had affectionately come to know it as the ‘Jaffa’. His usual means of space travel was in a DeLorean DMC-12 car, converted to a space ship, but it was stolen and crashed by joy riders on a visit to Earth in 1985. The Galactic Insurance Company were playing hardball and wouldn’t pay up, claiming it’s demise was an act of some God or other. He’d managed to get it off Earth, but it had been in a Mytherian repair shop ever since. Without space wheels, Kent had no choice but to rent a replacement, but being ‘between assignments,’ as so often he was, he was forced to borrow an old space ship from his cousin’s business, The Orange Paint Company. Parked amongst the citrus trees, the orange, retro Volkswagen camper van, emblazoned with the words, ‘To Boldly Go Where No Ones Painted Before’, written in gold down the side, was his. For now.
“Kent Sondaire, space gum shoe, and righteous upholder of the galactic code has left the building,” said Tratchett, breathlessly presenting a running commentary into his throat recorder as they moved through the Orangery toward the van. “Our super sleuth is embarking on another crusade to save the galaxies from the forces of evil!”
Kent pushed a button on the remote and the doors opened. Tratchett looked at Kent and smiled, "With my brains and your looks, we could go places." As they reached the camper van, a dog, part husky, part sneaky neighbours mutt, came rushing out of the van and launched itself at Kent, attaching itself to his leg, hugging and humping it with gleeful abandon the way dogs do.
“Laika, down girl!” whispered Kent, as loud as he dared while walking stiff legged to the camper van with the grinning dog clinging to, and vigorously humping his shin.
“What do you expect,” said Trent, shaking his head and grinning. “Ever since we rescued her from that tin can orbiting earth, she’s been saying thank you.”
“I know, but it’s embarrassing,” replied Kent, trying to shake the dog loose.
Tratchett jumped into the van as Kent carefully prized Laika off his leg, tucked her under his arm, and climbed inside. “So much bigger on the inside,” said Tratchett into his recorder. He wasn’t kidding. Once Inside, steps led down into a large, brightly lit circular room with four equally spaced doors. In the centre stood a raised platform with a bank of machinery, two huge screens set side by side, two large leather swivel seats, and a dog basket. Tratchett took the left hand seat. Putting Laika in the basket, Kent smiled as she found her toy, an orange haired, fat humanoid doll that would shout ‘bigly’ and ‘fake’ whenever you squeezed its stomach. She grabbed it with her front paws and humped it mercilessly. Taking the right seat, Kent hit a button on the console and a half metre tall, officious looking holographic figure of a bald man in a dark suit appeared in front of them.
“Good morning Mr Sondaire. Your mission Kent, should you decide to accept it, is to locate two missing historical Earth figures, Leonardo da Vinci and Michel de Nostradame. They are accused of stealing a sedan chair and an amulet that the Federation require. They have been located in Elizabethan England. Further information, including biographies and historical notes pertaining to the mission have been uploaded to your spacecraft. As always, should you or Mr Sprall be caught or killed, the President will disavow any knowledge of your actions. Good luck. This hologram will erase itself in five seconds.”
Kent opened the attached, mission-briefing file. A concise history of Elizabethan England, and several pictures appeared on the screen. Tratchett checked the planet, year, location and time, then searched for a wormhole. Rather dramatically, the holographic figure exploded in a slow motion dance across the console.
Ignoring it, Tratchett started speaking. “To save the world, our intrepid super sleuth and his much sought after biographer, Tratchett Thadious, Meryweather, Sprall, are going back to the future!” he roared, pumping his stubby little arms in the air. He turned excitedly to Kent. “This reminds me of the time me and ‘Winst’ wrote that famous speech…Never, in the fields of—aaahhhhhh!” Kent pulled the flight controller wheel toward him, and floored the accelerator. Tratchett’s shrill voice, like the agonizing squeal of a parakeet caught in a speeding mouse wheel, matched the roar of the engine as they disappeared in a cloud of steam and rain from 18th CE England.
Fifteen minutes into their journey, they reached the end of the wormhole they were travelling down and excited somewhere over the Mediterranean. They had a 30 minute wait until the next wormhole opened.
As they floated, cloaked above the sea, Kent turned to Tratchett. “You realize we’re going back into the past, not the future?”
“Semantics,” laughed the little man. “Past, future, it’s all the same,” he continued, before opening his voice recorder.
“The old sloop passed Black Rock Beacon, its navigation lights flickered on the still water…”
“What?” Queried Kent, as he checked again, the timing of the opening of the wormhole that would take them on their journey. Tratchett looked up.
“What, what?”
“What were you reading?” Tratchett’s bemused face creased and he grinned.
“It’s the opening paragraph to your autobiography.”
“We’ve never been on a sloop, have we?’
“Of course not, it’s poetic license. Every book needs a strong beginning that captures the imagination and pulls the reader in.”
“I will get to see the draft?’ asked Kent. Tratchett turned toward Kent and smiled,
“Of course you will.”
* * *
Kenilworth Castle, Leicestershire, England, 1579, popped up on the console screen.
“We’ve arrived. Where should we park and cloak?”
Kent surveyed the buildings and fields below the ship. “There’s a couple of buildings across from the castle, we’ll land and cloak there. We’ll need to generate some period clothing before we look around.”
“Onto it,” said Tratchett, jumping from his seat and running to the clothing generator at the rear of the ship. Several minutes passed before the console began flashing.
“Houston, we have a problem!” Shouted Kent, as Laika barked at a line of different coloured lights lit up the console. Tratchett rushed back, his arms full of clothes. “What’s the problem?” He asked, throwing the clothes onto a chair.
“We’re not alone,” said Kent pointing at the screen above the console.
Looking not dissimilar to a 1970s space invaders game, a line of four space ships moved down and across the monitor. Several different sized and coloured ships appeared and disappeared as they watched.
“It appears half the galaxy is here,” said Trent, gawping at the screen and muzzling Laika’s growling.
“That angular red ship, it’s a Griddleback Hawk, isn’t it?” said Tratchett, his voice trembling. Kent punched some buttons on the console then sat back, open mouthed. The ships identification transponder flashed up on the screen.
“Admiral Kreien Vythrax III. What the blue blazes is he doing here!” Kent exclaimed, just as the ship cloaked and disappeared. He released Laika onto the floor and sat looking at the place the Griddleback ship had been. ”You saw it, didn’t you Tratchett?”
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