Okay, I'm 10 posts late, but how in the hell did I end up with 18000 posts here?! Anyhow, this is something I found at the weekend and am absolutely not getting distracted with, no sirree, because @nixie will actually come to find out where I live if I don't get onto IC2 as soon as the current projects are shelved, and I'm the only person who wants Ealyn's book written... anyhow, here goes. Possible start to a new Abendau prequel, the scene where Ealyn meets Shug (and probably a dreaded prologue, since the other Abendau books have one). Consider this mostly a bit of fun.
************************************************************************
PROLOGUE
The lad emerged from the Needles, close to the spaceyard. Thin, dark hair falling over his eyes, he stopped practically under the broken-down sign that stretched over the broken-down street. Shug made his way across, ducking under the needle rifle of a snub-nosed corvette. He didn’t like how close the boy had come, or the attention he was paying to the yard: Shug had enough not going through the books to be allowing streetrats to stand, gawping at this yard. He stopped opposite the boy, hands on hips, using his frame to dominate the entrance – the extra spread had to be good for something, after all.
“Ain’t nothing here that’s any of your business,” he said.
“Your yard ---” The lad pushed his hair back as he took in the spaceyard. But for the paleness of the boy’s skin, he could have been a Roamer with those vivid eyes and the dark hair. “There’s some decent equipment.”
He was sharper than he looked: he’d seen straight past the items of spacejunk Shug kept near the entrance, on the principle that it was always better to be underestimated than investigated.
“Yeah, and it’s mine. If you come one more step, you’ll be trespassing.”
“Oh, yeah.” The lad fished about in the pocket of a grubby flying suit, until he pulled out a filche. “I have t:his.”
Shug took it and scanned it. “From the academy, then?”
The boy nodded. “Top of my class. My tutor told me to come down here and ask for a job.”
“I’ve never heard of your tutor.” Shug handed the filche back.
“Well, he didn’t mention which yard,” said the boy. “He just told me to ask around.” His eyes darted back to the junk Shug had so artfully gathered. “So far, no one wants an apprentice.”
“Me, neither.” But he didn’t actually move the lad on. Not with those sharp eyes and dark, dark hair. “What sort of work have you done?”
“Maintenance,” said the boy. “And some navigation.” He drew himself upright. “But I really want to fly.”
Shug just bet he did. “Ever tried?”
“Naw.”
“Tell you what. You get a year behind you, get your basic license, and come back to me. If you’re any good, I’ll take you on. But you have to be able to fly first.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t.”
He didn’t say what was stopping him, whether it was funding or something else. If Shug was a gambling man, he’d suspect something else. The new Empress’ regime wasn’t making life easy for some, and this lad had ‘some’ written all over him.
“Well, that’s the best I’m offering,” said Shug. If this lad had set off warning radars in him, he might in others, too. For a pilot, mainly off planet, he’d take the chance. But someone in the yard, day in, day out… this lad was too visible. Let him be some other yard’s raiding party nightmare first. Better still, let him go back to the college and learn to fly there; he’d have some limited protection as a student, one of many coming and going ever day. “Come back when you can fly.”
Shug waited until the boy turned away and headed back into the Needles before going back into his office. Outside, the familiar sounds of the yard went on, the clanking of metal on metal, the high-pitched sizzle of steel-grinders. The whine of an engine –
There were no flights scheduled. With a low feeling in his stomach – a dull knowledge, if he was honest – Shug raced from his office.
“Street waif just entered the planet-hopper!” Ger yelled from the work-yard. “Had the door sealed before we could stop him!”
“Thin. Dark hair?” asked Shug.
“Yeah!”
The whine became something more insisten. Shug ran towards the landing pitches. Heat from the engines hit him. He waved his arms from the edge of pitch. “Shut it down!”
He was sure the boy was grinning from the command seat.
“Any way we can close him down?” he asked Ger.
“Not without shooting,” his yard-manager responded. “No override on that baby. There’s a decent contract on that ship. I’m guessing they want it back intact.”
And for a regular customer. Shug’s hands bunched at his sides, helplessly. He would take the lad apart when this was over. And tell his tutor what his recommendation had led to. Someone was going to have to pay for the burned-out engine that threatened.
“Well, he can’t fly,” he said. “Worst he’ll do is blow the engine.”
“Expensive engine.”
“I know that, Ger. But it’s only an eng --”
The ship shot upwards.
“sh*t!” Shug reeled back at the hot air displaced by the engine.
“You said he couldn’t fly!”
“He can’t. He’s just a kid.”
A kid who’d set every nerve in Shug’s body alive. He watched as the ship came under control. The vertical flight had evened out, and the lad had achieved a reasonable planetary trajectory. A moment later, it banked low over the city.
“Hope to hell he doesn’t crash,” said Ger. “Ship could be traced to us.”
Not to mention the loss of life in the crowded city. But the ship maintained a good height as it came round once more and headed back towards the yard.
“Boss,” said Ger. His voice was low and unhurried.
“Yeah.”
“Get into the blast-cover.”
Ger was already moving, his long legs carrying him fast. He gave a high-pitched whistle and other workers appeared at a run, heading for the blast-shelter. Shug took to his own heels. The ship was coming directly for him. The lad was still grinning; he was sure of it.
Just as it looked for certain that the ship would hit, and hit hard, Shug dived for the blast-entrance and lifted his hand to close the hatch, but stopped. The ship had banked again, coming round in a long, slow, measured trajectory. This time, it came in over the landing pitch, tilted, and set down as neat as a pin in the centre.
“He landed it,” said Ger.
“He did.” Shug stared at the ship. He’d been right; the lad had some Roamer ancestry in him. More than some: he was undoubtedly a Controller.
The hatch opened, and the boy’s face came into view, split with a huge grin.
“I flew!” he yelled. “Do I get the job?”
“What’s your name?” Shug called back. He might learn to regret this moment, his earlier instinct might have been a better one, but when could his yard ever afford a Controller, especially an unregistered one?
“Ealyn Varnon.”
“Ealyn Varnon, eh?” It wasn’t a Dignadian name. Shug found himself grinning back. “You’re hired.” He stepped to the bottom of the gangway. “But if you ever try that little trick again, they’ll find your bones bleached in an alley in the Needles. Understand?”
The boy paled further, which was some feat, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.” He put his hand on the ship as if it was a woman, and rubbed the metalwork.
“I flew,” he said. “I flew.”
************************************************************************
PROLOGUE
The lad emerged from the Needles, close to the spaceyard. Thin, dark hair falling over his eyes, he stopped practically under the broken-down sign that stretched over the broken-down street. Shug made his way across, ducking under the needle rifle of a snub-nosed corvette. He didn’t like how close the boy had come, or the attention he was paying to the yard: Shug had enough not going through the books to be allowing streetrats to stand, gawping at this yard. He stopped opposite the boy, hands on hips, using his frame to dominate the entrance – the extra spread had to be good for something, after all.
“Ain’t nothing here that’s any of your business,” he said.
“Your yard ---” The lad pushed his hair back as he took in the spaceyard. But for the paleness of the boy’s skin, he could have been a Roamer with those vivid eyes and the dark hair. “There’s some decent equipment.”
He was sharper than he looked: he’d seen straight past the items of spacejunk Shug kept near the entrance, on the principle that it was always better to be underestimated than investigated.
“Yeah, and it’s mine. If you come one more step, you’ll be trespassing.”
“Oh, yeah.” The lad fished about in the pocket of a grubby flying suit, until he pulled out a filche. “I have t:his.”
Shug took it and scanned it. “From the academy, then?”
The boy nodded. “Top of my class. My tutor told me to come down here and ask for a job.”
“I’ve never heard of your tutor.” Shug handed the filche back.
“Well, he didn’t mention which yard,” said the boy. “He just told me to ask around.” His eyes darted back to the junk Shug had so artfully gathered. “So far, no one wants an apprentice.”
“Me, neither.” But he didn’t actually move the lad on. Not with those sharp eyes and dark, dark hair. “What sort of work have you done?”
“Maintenance,” said the boy. “And some navigation.” He drew himself upright. “But I really want to fly.”
Shug just bet he did. “Ever tried?”
“Naw.”
“Tell you what. You get a year behind you, get your basic license, and come back to me. If you’re any good, I’ll take you on. But you have to be able to fly first.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t.”
He didn’t say what was stopping him, whether it was funding or something else. If Shug was a gambling man, he’d suspect something else. The new Empress’ regime wasn’t making life easy for some, and this lad had ‘some’ written all over him.
“Well, that’s the best I’m offering,” said Shug. If this lad had set off warning radars in him, he might in others, too. For a pilot, mainly off planet, he’d take the chance. But someone in the yard, day in, day out… this lad was too visible. Let him be some other yard’s raiding party nightmare first. Better still, let him go back to the college and learn to fly there; he’d have some limited protection as a student, one of many coming and going ever day. “Come back when you can fly.”
Shug waited until the boy turned away and headed back into the Needles before going back into his office. Outside, the familiar sounds of the yard went on, the clanking of metal on metal, the high-pitched sizzle of steel-grinders. The whine of an engine –
There were no flights scheduled. With a low feeling in his stomach – a dull knowledge, if he was honest – Shug raced from his office.
“Street waif just entered the planet-hopper!” Ger yelled from the work-yard. “Had the door sealed before we could stop him!”
“Thin. Dark hair?” asked Shug.
“Yeah!”
The whine became something more insisten. Shug ran towards the landing pitches. Heat from the engines hit him. He waved his arms from the edge of pitch. “Shut it down!”
He was sure the boy was grinning from the command seat.
“Any way we can close him down?” he asked Ger.
“Not without shooting,” his yard-manager responded. “No override on that baby. There’s a decent contract on that ship. I’m guessing they want it back intact.”
And for a regular customer. Shug’s hands bunched at his sides, helplessly. He would take the lad apart when this was over. And tell his tutor what his recommendation had led to. Someone was going to have to pay for the burned-out engine that threatened.
“Well, he can’t fly,” he said. “Worst he’ll do is blow the engine.”
“Expensive engine.”
“I know that, Ger. But it’s only an eng --”
The ship shot upwards.
“sh*t!” Shug reeled back at the hot air displaced by the engine.
“You said he couldn’t fly!”
“He can’t. He’s just a kid.”
A kid who’d set every nerve in Shug’s body alive. He watched as the ship came under control. The vertical flight had evened out, and the lad had achieved a reasonable planetary trajectory. A moment later, it banked low over the city.
“Hope to hell he doesn’t crash,” said Ger. “Ship could be traced to us.”
Not to mention the loss of life in the crowded city. But the ship maintained a good height as it came round once more and headed back towards the yard.
“Boss,” said Ger. His voice was low and unhurried.
“Yeah.”
“Get into the blast-cover.”
Ger was already moving, his long legs carrying him fast. He gave a high-pitched whistle and other workers appeared at a run, heading for the blast-shelter. Shug took to his own heels. The ship was coming directly for him. The lad was still grinning; he was sure of it.
Just as it looked for certain that the ship would hit, and hit hard, Shug dived for the blast-entrance and lifted his hand to close the hatch, but stopped. The ship had banked again, coming round in a long, slow, measured trajectory. This time, it came in over the landing pitch, tilted, and set down as neat as a pin in the centre.
“He landed it,” said Ger.
“He did.” Shug stared at the ship. He’d been right; the lad had some Roamer ancestry in him. More than some: he was undoubtedly a Controller.
The hatch opened, and the boy’s face came into view, split with a huge grin.
“I flew!” he yelled. “Do I get the job?”
“What’s your name?” Shug called back. He might learn to regret this moment, his earlier instinct might have been a better one, but when could his yard ever afford a Controller, especially an unregistered one?
“Ealyn Varnon.”
“Ealyn Varnon, eh?” It wasn’t a Dignadian name. Shug found himself grinning back. “You’re hired.” He stepped to the bottom of the gangway. “But if you ever try that little trick again, they’ll find your bones bleached in an alley in the Needles. Understand?”
The boy paled further, which was some feat, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.” He put his hand on the ship as if it was a woman, and rubbed the metalwork.
“I flew,” he said. “I flew.”
