A figure mounts the wreckage.
He struggles not to loose his footing. It is not easy—the heavy suit he wears makes movement difficult, but without it he would be dead in minutes.
The air is choked with radioactive dust, blown by the desert winds from the hole in the earth that was once a power station.
The man stops and looks around, having to turn his entire upper body to see clearly through the small glass faceplate.
He reaches down to his side, grabs a small terminal clipped to his huge belt. The material of his gloves is just as thick and cumbersome as the rest of the suit. It takes a few clumsy presses on the over-sized display for the terminal to flash into life.
The man holds the terminal out in front of him. He moves it from left to right and then back in slow, deliberate arcs. Three times the terminal emits a high pitched wail; a panel flashes to indicate it has found something. These signals do not interest the man.
Just as he is about to give up, the terminal squeaks. This time the man is interested. He double-checks the numbers on the display and examines where he has to go.
He turns off the terminal and clips it back onto his belt.
#
The man is holding the terminal out in front of him again, sweeping it back and forth, searching. The terminal beeps and buzzes and flashes, telling him where to go.
A few steps this way and that and the signal becomes so strong, the treasure so close, that the noises merge into one constant tone.
The man stops, examines the terminal’s display, adjusts something. The beeping stops, replaced by a rhythmic clicking.
The man kneels, careful not to loose his balance on the rubble. He uses the terminal to search the ground. What he seeks is buried beneath the bricks, concrete and steel.
Several passes and he is confident of the object’s position and depth. It is too deep for him to retrieve on his own.
The man turns off the terminal and signals his companions.
#
The drone takes no more than ten minutes to arrive. It is a compact model—small, but powerful.
It lands close to him. He detaches a module from the terminal and then slides the module into a slot on the side of the drone.
The drone does nothing for a moment, then lights flash and its anti-gravity field-effectors lift it from the unstable ground. It drifts slowly to the required position.
The man steps back a few paces. He watches the drone’s manipulator arms extend. It reaches down and grasps a large steel reinforcement bar.
Using its fields, the drone neutralises the rebar’s weight and lifts it away in a clean jerk, as if the huge iron bar and the lump of concrete it is attached to were made of polystyrene. The drone slips sideways about two metres and dumps the rebar, which crashes onto the other rubble with the full effect of gravity. Clouds of the noxious radioactive dust are thrown up.
#
The man leans over a little and looks down into the hole the done has made. It is growing dark—the desert sun sets quickly and he has been forced to rely on the drone’s torches, hoping the machine’s batteries will last.
It has taken a little over an hour for the drone to dig down to the object—longer than he had hoped.
He is close to his maximum exposure time. He ignores his comrade’s communications, pleading for his return. His goal is so close now.
As first he cannot see it. The bright white light from the drone throws hard shadows.
His eyes adjust, and then he sees it. A small, white shape, no bigger than a watermelon. Its surface is smooth, except for a series of ridges and a long tail than extends from it. It appears intact.
A smile crosses the man’s lips.
He turns to the drone. ”Drone,” he says, pointing at the object. ”Extract that.”
He is surprised by the sound of his own voice—it is distorted, metallic through the suits speakers. He wonders if the drone will have trouble recognising him, but after a moment it responds.
It glides back over to the hole and, using its fields, gently lifts the small object.
The man takes it. He examines it more closely, looking for any small dents, cracks, anything that might indicate a loss of integrity. The object is scuffed in places and coated in the radioactive dust, but as far as he can tell it looks serviceable.
He smiles again.
“Drone?”
The drone turns towards him.
“It looks like we got one,” he says. ”Please carry us back to the trailer.”
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The story has my interest from the start. The only suggestions I have for this first page are the following (minor):
1. Limit the use of “Professor Steadman”; it sounds better when you simply called him “Professor”.
2. Add a little description to let the reader know what USAF and MitL stand for.
If this is your prologue, I can’t wait to read the entire story. From the beginning, you have hooked the reader into the story with a sense of intrigue and curiosity. Excellent use of descriptors for the surroundings and the character actions. The content was sparse yet held enough tension and suspense to keep the reader involved as the action unfolded. Great job.
I found it a little off-putting that this is written in the present tense rather than the past. That is not necessarily a bad thing; if it ultimately works, do it. Just don’t do it for the sake of rattling your reader. Do it because your story needs to be set at the exact moment the reader is reading the sentence.
Yes, I know that many stories have been written in the present tense, and to great effect. However, make sure that it does add a better effect. Basically, if you can change it from the present tense to the past tense, and the story remains seemingly the same, I would keep it in the past tense.
Just makes it easier for the reader.
The main reason I point this out is because this seems like it is going to be an action-adventure story, a la Indiana Jones (or Allan Quatermain, since we are in the literature field). Though you have probably already read them, check out The Celestine Prophecy or Angels & Demons/The Da Vinci Code. Those are adventures, much the same as this one (or, at least that’s what I picked up from it). Notice those books don’t try any tricks with the writing; they are straightforward in their narrative.
Calling your protagonist “Professor Steadman” throughout the entire story is going to get tiresome. His name is first given in a quote. Let the title of Professor Steadman stay in quotations. When you as the author refer him to your readers, just call him “Steadman”.
Your writing is a little too on the nose. You describe everything quickly and concisely, which is good, but you tend to get to the point too quickly. I felt no suspense while reading this. Yes, it’s an introduction, and is supposed to introduce you to the action right away. But, that’s why it makes it even more important to give the reader some suspense.
The reader doesn’t need to be told exactly what the perimeters look like. They don’t need to know each and every action that every character does. What the reader really wants to know is: 1.) what is the mood and 2.) what is the conflict.
The mood and the conflict are what you need to be informing your reader of, not what a room looks like, or, as it happened here, what a room used to look like.
Overall, though, it does have the elements of what could be a gripping adventure. I would use more of your personal voice in it, make the narrative more conversational than technical. It’ll also allow you to throw a bit more humor into the text, which is good for an adventure.
This sounds like it’s going to be really good. I like reading Sci Fi a lot. This is probably gonna end up being one of my favorites on here. I don’t know if you have anymore but if you do I’m gonna read em. You had some spelling mistakes I think, but I think it said you were from england or something it doesn’t say. Thanks for makeing the paragraphs the way you did, a much better read. I didn’t see any problems, I like it the way you have it, so I can’t think of anything you need to change. Great the way it is anyway.
Great job tell me when you get more.
I thought this was pretty good. I don’t usually like prologues, but this seems to work pretty well. I only say, seems to, because of course I haven’t read the rest of the novel;)
“He is” He’s more often than not contractions read easier.
“Less than a week ago this place was thriving, with hundreds of personnel supporting dozens of bombing missions. A single seismic bomb stopped all that dead.” This should seem more like Professor Steadman’s thoughts. Putting it in its own paragraph makes it seem like it’s an insert from the author.
“There is” There’s
“he is” he’s
“Professor Steadman says.” This isn’t needed. The Professor is the only one present.
“He is startled at the loudness of his own voice” ‘The loudness of his voice startles him,”
“Professor Steadman” You use Professor Steadman a lot. I would suggest giving him a first name or sometimes only referring to him as either Steadman or Professor. What point of view are you writing from, it’s unclear. It seems omnipotent most of the time, but sometimes third person limited. If it’s supposed to be third person, people don’t usually refer to themselves by title.
There should only be one space between sentences. It used to two spaces, but the standard has changed.
“pieces of skull are splattered” blood certainly splatter, but skull don’t.
“which has smashed,” was smashed.
“He can see where she has tried to crawl away,” It looks like she tried to crawl away or she had tried to call away. We already know it’s the professor seeing all this.
“Professor Steadman imagines.” Again, this is not needed. Steadman is the only one here.
“inside is sat in a specially” awkward. inside sits a
“It is” It’s
“There is a small latch on the side. He tugs clumsily on it with his thick gloves” I’d combine these sentences. ‘He tugs clumsily at the small latch on the side with his thick…”
Good start, although the search and finding of the unit seems, on the whole, irrelevant. Yeah, he found the unit. So what? It needs to have some relevance. We need, at least, a vague idea of why he is searching for it. Say something like: He shakes his head, never imagining that the future of humanity could come in such a small package. Or, something like that (doesn’t have to be so melodramatic) but it gives meaning to the search, and sets the impetus for the rest of the story.
Very simplistic sentence structure. It reads kinda like a camp-fire story. Mix it up a bit.
Heavy on exposition. It is better to flesh out details in the story rather than to explain them.
Examples:
He is breathing heavily after the exertion of the climb.
and
The rubber lining of his radiation suit is sticking to him.
Both are explanations of what happened. Describe it visually/audibly/emotionally. Also, both sentences contain the verb “is” which is a linking verb. Makes for a weak narrative. Action verbs are almost always preferred to linking verbs. Suggestions:
“Just need to…catch my breath, Ralph,”
That works the action of his heavy breathing into the dialogue. The content of the dialogue along with the pause in the text convey his heavy breathing without even having to say it.
He tugs at the armpit of his radiation suit, trying to unstick the rubber lining from his sweaty skin.
That gives the reader a visual. They can see him struggle with his suit, feel the sticky feeling, etc.
The first section break appears to be unneccessary. There’s no real change in the story there.
there are a few thin shafts of light piercing gaps in the wreckage above—Be careful with passive voice constructions like this. Statements like “There are…” separate the reader from the action. It makes it feel like someone else is describing the scene to them. Write it as though the reader is the one seeing it for the first time. Makes it more compelling: a few thin shafts of light pierce gaps in the wreckage above
Finally, and this is purely my own opinion, but I don’t favor using the third-person with the present tense. It could just be my own mental issues, but I think third-person works best with past tense. It could just be that I am used to it. To each his own.
You are telling more than showing. This makes the read seem perfunctory.
In the sentence, “There’s no need to nag.” for instance, you tell me that the professor ‘regrets’ his retort. A perhaps better approach would be, ‘a look of regret flashed across the professor’s face dislodging several beads of sweat.’
Again, show me that the suit is heavy. Put the professor in it, show me the pain it causes, show me the strain, the sweat, the slowness in response.
It is interesting, but the writing really needs some work. There is more to a story than an idea. You need to draw the reader in by making him a part of the story. This is accomplished largely by obeying the ‘show don’t tell’ rule.
For instance: You can write ‘There was a huge block of concrete in front of him. It had markings on it. The markings were yellow and black, three blunted wedges in a circle.’
Or, you can write ‘As the dust cleared the fractured surface of an enormous block of concrete blocked the passage. Intermittent flickering of the torches on his helmet confirmed the urgency of the moment. A yellow and black sigil pulsed a warning in the shadow play. “A circle, and three blunted wedges, I know this marking?” The professor thought to himself.
Granting my example could use some work, you still should be able to get my point.
Hope that helps,
Joel.
I am not a science fiction buff, but i enjoyed this piece because it is so well written. I was almost going to ask how the man lifted the steel but then i realized it was done by robotics. The piece has a good “science fiction” feel to it. It has mechanics, Drones, and radiation—all the things that humans are afraid of. Your descriptions were very well done. The writing was clean and error free. You also left your readers with a cliffhanger; the professor drowns in his own fluid. Good work! i would read more to see what happens next. Sandi
I think the beginning could be even swifter, eliminating some redundancies like, “reinforcing them, holding them up”—take out the first phrase.
I like that the main character is old & stubborn, taking chances. This is a grabber.
About the lethal gray dust—perhaps that’s said too many times.
Too many very short paragraphs. Consider consolidating some and varying the paragraph (and sentence) length.
The technical descriptions of gadgets could be shorter, or perhaps more vivid. Here’s one: ”It is a compact model—small, but powerful.” how about “It’s the size of a washing machine, dull-gray, with a whine of engine he can hear through his suit.” What I mean is, give us visual & other sensory detail.
Some parts are vivid, like “He is surprised by the sound of his own voice—it is distorted, metallic through the speakers. He wonders if the drone will have trouble recognising him, “
Sad ending. I don’t think we need the last two sentences—it’s clear he’s going out.
Sounds like a good prolog, but of course we haven’t met the main characters so I don’t know how the whole will go.
The prose is plenty clear, though you could combine sentences in places to vary sentence length, which would help with pacing.
At the end, I’m wondering what it was they uncovered, where they are, who these people are, what time period this is, why Prof. would let himself die when it didn’t seem at all necessary, and why the drone didn’t take the professor. I think you want me to have the first 3, maybe first 4, questions. Not sure you want me to have the others.
I think it’s clear in your mind that the professor’s death is earned and necessary, and you’re trying to make the watermelon thing more important than his life. But it’s not. Obviously they’re looking for it, but it doesn’t seem like it’s necessary for the professor to die over it. I suggest you either put him in calamity (his foot gets stuck or something) or else he has a more explicit conversation about its importance with Ralph. The conversation can be elliptical so as to retain the mystery.
I’d keep reading. Good stuff. Thanks.
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