Paul Meccano
Meccano Magic
Hi all.
1606 words to the chapter beak.
As much of my novel is edited to this level of clarity, I'm looking for opinions around pacing and prose.
1) Is this a style of interest to you?
2) Is the pacing good?
3) Would it be acceptable if I pass this on to a line editor?
3) Is the prose good enough for publishing?
I really appreciate any help you can provide.
Lander's Dream
12hrs 30min remaining
It felt odd to consider returning from death as something recognisable. Death's clamp suddenly releases, eyes open for a mind in turmoil. No light. No breath. Then, a rush of something other. And, much like the day he fell from the escarpment face, it was terrible pain that pierced his conscience but overlain this time with an odd-sounding electronic voice.
'Unknown parameters: the atmosphere outside is unsafe; do not release the main seal. This suit's revival protocol will engage just as soon as atmospheric levels return to normal or for three minutes every ten for a maximum of one hour. Oxygen tanks are set to conservation mode.
Mattesh choked.
Further pain then – a sharp blow that shook his head and twisted his neck. Again, and once more, until Mattesh was released to rumbling stampede – water and driftwood, tumbling stone and debris – a furious river. Air rushed in to fill his lungs – glorious air, sweet-tasting, and perhaps enough to choke on. Then, breathing dirty water, he coughed and spat. He soon discovered a purple-bruised morning sky for rolling over, as whirring and ticking, extending and retracting goggles flapped on and off from his face. And he could see it now: where soil and rock would usually fill this space, floodwater had instead created a whirlpool, where, like a piece of driftwood tethered to something unmoving, he was stuck and spinning as constellations whirred above. His suit, dutifully deploying a set of three floatation bags – news to Mattesh as unaware of their inclusion – in collusion with one was keeping him submerged as the remaining two, buffeted so squeaking for that, fought to keep him afloat,
The shout of an unknown man.
'Stop struggling; you'll take us both under!'
It took Mattesh a moment to realise that this man was shouting at him. A stranger who choked coughed and then spoke again. 'Stop, I said!' Their world was moving in powerful eddies. 'Your hand, we must release your hand. Can you hear me?'
'My hand! Where is my hand? Are you sure?’
'It's between two rocks. And no, don't try to look; this will hurt!'
'But I…'
'Trust me, pull.'
He joined the man, now tugging his forearm – the hand at its end, not feeling like his own on first discovery. Ligaments stretched as knuckles popped. Then, a grinding feeling as fingers on jagged stone drew a gurgle that sounded like death. Dragged free, he arrived at a grassy bank scattered with garbage, where teeth clenched from chattering, that waking arm cradled and falling to his knees; Mattesh exorcised one lasting, stuttering howl.
With that, the stranger reappeared to growl in his ear. 'Quiet man!'
Gulping down pain, Mattesh whirled on his knee to see who saved him.
Stood firm, but with an open gate ready to run, the man was holding a shard of glass, retrieved, no doubt, as Mattesh was tending his arm. He had it firmly gripped point down, ready to defend himself. And as Mattesh watched on, down arm and wrist then over his hand to reaching its tip, water fell in diamond droplets. For a tangle of wet hair and half-in-shadow, the man appeared ghostlike, hard to tell if he was glaring or not, lips forced so tight for the cold he could have been frightened, angry, amused, or even repulsed. But Mattesh knew already that this man was scared witless; dilated pupils and ever-widening eyes had betrayed that truth. In fact, he was probably convinced he had just saved his own executioner. And a man on edge like that was probably dangerous.
Mattesh raised a hand. 'I'm in no state to harm you, even if I wanted to.'
Round-faced, his saviour was strangely close-shaven but roughly so for pocked skin revealed by that same diamond light. Security…damn it!
The man stepped back. 'Who are you? What's that thing you wear?'
Over the top of incessant gurgling, for ears still waterlogged but given to draining, he could hear the putt-putt of plasma projectiles, with the buzz of drones and SINS in the distance. Mattesh was about to answer but stopped himself.
Have they discovered me already?
'I'll not ask again. I said who are you?'
'I'm alone, escaping them.' Mattesh said, pointing to where the sky was ablaze – bright pink and purple – to where flares currently lighted the broken face of the dam. A transport lowered to the ground moved closer until disappearing behind the closest hill. It was gone. The next flare went up but bright to render the sky a blank page.
'You did this?' The man said, white-eyed. He retreated, unable to see for a moment.
'Not me, but whoever did put us all in danger.' Mattesh said, cursing – this hand of his was throbbing.
'You said they’re after you?’
'Not me, not exactly. But whoever blew the dam must have accessed the barrier near here. I also came through.'
The man shifted – that glass tip reflected blood-red. 'That much I already gathered. But they're killing people, many, not just a few. And it's quite a coincidence, don’t you think, because they do seem to be looking for someone important, like…?' A weary gesture, almost pointing at Mattesh.
Mattesh angered. 'I told you it wasn't me. But they will round everyone up in this...wherever we are.'
'The sixteenth?' The man said suspiciously.
'I don't understand.'
'I can see that.' He said, tense still. 'Few survived here in the sixteenth; like I said, all are rounded up, interrogated and then killed on the spot. The whole lot was evacuated, don’t you know, just like the other quadrants. Someone knew this attack was about to happen.' He paused, deep in thought, wagged a finger, '…And you're not sixteenth, are you, one through fifty-two either. At least, judging by that suit, you're not…what is that thing?’
'You're right, I'm not from here.' Mattesh said, pulling his suit collar down to reveal his Server marker.
'A Lost!' the man said, almost dropping his weapon.
He looked around nervously and hugged that shard to his chest. 'A lost, down here. In a rubberised space suit, and escaping too. From where exactly, a SINS transport or something?'
'Something like that.' Mattesh said. ‘But look, I need to get out of here.'
'To where exactly?' The man laughed. 'I've been trying to do that for years.' He looked around once more. 'Look, if you are Lost, and I can see that you are, then SINS should have been onto you by now – onto both of us?'
'Right. And I promise to tell you everything. But right now I have to get to the City. And, well, maybe you can help by getting me as far as the inner barrier. Can you do that?'
'Ha!' The man baulked, incredulous, then soon became serious. He looked to wonder until, bright-eyed, he said, 'You have a way in, don’t you?’
Mattesh could feel this man's anguish, the pain of being stuck here. He knew exactly how it felt to be choice-less, but if he did reveal his the B-tick – it could be the difference between someone willing to help and someone willing to kill for it. He knelt to retrieve the backpack, thinking still, not yet ready to speak. The seal was tight, meaning the equipment, including the B-Tic, was safe. He made his decision and shook his head. '…I don't have a way in just yet. But I do have choices you don't; I used to smuggle so have a few tricks up my sleeve. He patted the backpack, 'a radio being one.'
The man raised his eyebrows.
'Trust me, I'm not tagged yet; for the moment, I'm as free as you are.’
The man smiled at that. Maybe for the tone conveyed, or perhaps some form of knowing, perhaps even trust, his saviour seemed to understand, allowing Mattesh to relax.
'Tell me then, Slaver,' the man said, kneeling to mirror Mattesh. 'I do know a good truth when I hear one, so if I took you to someone I know…a man who offered a route to the inner barrier. What then? Do I go too, however, you intend to get in? You…you take me with you, right?'
Mattesh considered his position. 'What will it take then,…’ He said, one hand up and looking for a name.
Then, throwing that glass shard into the floodwater. ‘'My name is Howard,'
'…Okay,’ Mattesh said, considering the ovoids in the bag. One thing at a time, take it easy… ‘When we find this man, what will it take to barter, Howard, because I don't have much to trade?'
'Who does around here? It would take a brave man to try and possess anything in this place, wouldn't it?' Howard sniffed through a running nose and wiped it on his sleeve to continue. 'It's true, few get to travel so close to the inner barrier, but a brave man like you should do well in negotiation. Don't you think…?' Howard said, also looking for a name.
1606 words to the chapter beak.
As much of my novel is edited to this level of clarity, I'm looking for opinions around pacing and prose.
1) Is this a style of interest to you?
2) Is the pacing good?
3) Would it be acceptable if I pass this on to a line editor?
3) Is the prose good enough for publishing?
I really appreciate any help you can provide.
Lander's Dream
12hrs 30min remaining
It felt odd to consider returning from death as something recognisable. Death's clamp suddenly releases, eyes open for a mind in turmoil. No light. No breath. Then, a rush of something other. And, much like the day he fell from the escarpment face, it was terrible pain that pierced his conscience but overlain this time with an odd-sounding electronic voice.
'Unknown parameters: the atmosphere outside is unsafe; do not release the main seal. This suit's revival protocol will engage just as soon as atmospheric levels return to normal or for three minutes every ten for a maximum of one hour. Oxygen tanks are set to conservation mode.
Mattesh choked.
Further pain then – a sharp blow that shook his head and twisted his neck. Again, and once more, until Mattesh was released to rumbling stampede – water and driftwood, tumbling stone and debris – a furious river. Air rushed in to fill his lungs – glorious air, sweet-tasting, and perhaps enough to choke on. Then, breathing dirty water, he coughed and spat. He soon discovered a purple-bruised morning sky for rolling over, as whirring and ticking, extending and retracting goggles flapped on and off from his face. And he could see it now: where soil and rock would usually fill this space, floodwater had instead created a whirlpool, where, like a piece of driftwood tethered to something unmoving, he was stuck and spinning as constellations whirred above. His suit, dutifully deploying a set of three floatation bags – news to Mattesh as unaware of their inclusion – in collusion with one was keeping him submerged as the remaining two, buffeted so squeaking for that, fought to keep him afloat,
The shout of an unknown man.
'Stop struggling; you'll take us both under!'
It took Mattesh a moment to realise that this man was shouting at him. A stranger who choked coughed and then spoke again. 'Stop, I said!' Their world was moving in powerful eddies. 'Your hand, we must release your hand. Can you hear me?'
'My hand! Where is my hand? Are you sure?’
'It's between two rocks. And no, don't try to look; this will hurt!'
'But I…'
'Trust me, pull.'
He joined the man, now tugging his forearm – the hand at its end, not feeling like his own on first discovery. Ligaments stretched as knuckles popped. Then, a grinding feeling as fingers on jagged stone drew a gurgle that sounded like death. Dragged free, he arrived at a grassy bank scattered with garbage, where teeth clenched from chattering, that waking arm cradled and falling to his knees; Mattesh exorcised one lasting, stuttering howl.
With that, the stranger reappeared to growl in his ear. 'Quiet man!'
Gulping down pain, Mattesh whirled on his knee to see who saved him.
Stood firm, but with an open gate ready to run, the man was holding a shard of glass, retrieved, no doubt, as Mattesh was tending his arm. He had it firmly gripped point down, ready to defend himself. And as Mattesh watched on, down arm and wrist then over his hand to reaching its tip, water fell in diamond droplets. For a tangle of wet hair and half-in-shadow, the man appeared ghostlike, hard to tell if he was glaring or not, lips forced so tight for the cold he could have been frightened, angry, amused, or even repulsed. But Mattesh knew already that this man was scared witless; dilated pupils and ever-widening eyes had betrayed that truth. In fact, he was probably convinced he had just saved his own executioner. And a man on edge like that was probably dangerous.
Mattesh raised a hand. 'I'm in no state to harm you, even if I wanted to.'
Round-faced, his saviour was strangely close-shaven but roughly so for pocked skin revealed by that same diamond light. Security…damn it!
The man stepped back. 'Who are you? What's that thing you wear?'
Over the top of incessant gurgling, for ears still waterlogged but given to draining, he could hear the putt-putt of plasma projectiles, with the buzz of drones and SINS in the distance. Mattesh was about to answer but stopped himself.
Have they discovered me already?
'I'll not ask again. I said who are you?'
'I'm alone, escaping them.' Mattesh said, pointing to where the sky was ablaze – bright pink and purple – to where flares currently lighted the broken face of the dam. A transport lowered to the ground moved closer until disappearing behind the closest hill. It was gone. The next flare went up but bright to render the sky a blank page.
'You did this?' The man said, white-eyed. He retreated, unable to see for a moment.
'Not me, but whoever did put us all in danger.' Mattesh said, cursing – this hand of his was throbbing.
'You said they’re after you?’
'Not me, not exactly. But whoever blew the dam must have accessed the barrier near here. I also came through.'
The man shifted – that glass tip reflected blood-red. 'That much I already gathered. But they're killing people, many, not just a few. And it's quite a coincidence, don’t you think, because they do seem to be looking for someone important, like…?' A weary gesture, almost pointing at Mattesh.
Mattesh angered. 'I told you it wasn't me. But they will round everyone up in this...wherever we are.'
'The sixteenth?' The man said suspiciously.
'I don't understand.'
'I can see that.' He said, tense still. 'Few survived here in the sixteenth; like I said, all are rounded up, interrogated and then killed on the spot. The whole lot was evacuated, don’t you know, just like the other quadrants. Someone knew this attack was about to happen.' He paused, deep in thought, wagged a finger, '…And you're not sixteenth, are you, one through fifty-two either. At least, judging by that suit, you're not…what is that thing?’
'You're right, I'm not from here.' Mattesh said, pulling his suit collar down to reveal his Server marker.
'A Lost!' the man said, almost dropping his weapon.
He looked around nervously and hugged that shard to his chest. 'A lost, down here. In a rubberised space suit, and escaping too. From where exactly, a SINS transport or something?'
'Something like that.' Mattesh said. ‘But look, I need to get out of here.'
'To where exactly?' The man laughed. 'I've been trying to do that for years.' He looked around once more. 'Look, if you are Lost, and I can see that you are, then SINS should have been onto you by now – onto both of us?'
'Right. And I promise to tell you everything. But right now I have to get to the City. And, well, maybe you can help by getting me as far as the inner barrier. Can you do that?'
'Ha!' The man baulked, incredulous, then soon became serious. He looked to wonder until, bright-eyed, he said, 'You have a way in, don’t you?’
Mattesh could feel this man's anguish, the pain of being stuck here. He knew exactly how it felt to be choice-less, but if he did reveal his the B-tick – it could be the difference between someone willing to help and someone willing to kill for it. He knelt to retrieve the backpack, thinking still, not yet ready to speak. The seal was tight, meaning the equipment, including the B-Tic, was safe. He made his decision and shook his head. '…I don't have a way in just yet. But I do have choices you don't; I used to smuggle so have a few tricks up my sleeve. He patted the backpack, 'a radio being one.'
The man raised his eyebrows.
'Trust me, I'm not tagged yet; for the moment, I'm as free as you are.’
The man smiled at that. Maybe for the tone conveyed, or perhaps some form of knowing, perhaps even trust, his saviour seemed to understand, allowing Mattesh to relax.
'Tell me then, Slaver,' the man said, kneeling to mirror Mattesh. 'I do know a good truth when I hear one, so if I took you to someone I know…a man who offered a route to the inner barrier. What then? Do I go too, however, you intend to get in? You…you take me with you, right?'
Mattesh considered his position. 'What will it take then,…’ He said, one hand up and looking for a name.
Then, throwing that glass shard into the floodwater. ‘'My name is Howard,'
'…Okay,’ Mattesh said, considering the ovoids in the bag. One thing at a time, take it easy… ‘When we find this man, what will it take to barter, Howard, because I don't have much to trade?'
'Who does around here? It would take a brave man to try and possess anything in this place, wouldn't it?' Howard sniffed through a running nose and wiped it on his sleeve to continue. 'It's true, few get to travel so close to the inner barrier, but a brave man like you should do well in negotiation. Don't you think…?' Howard said, also looking for a name.
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