With the release of Tyche’s Flight just around the corner, I thought I’d share the start of the book. You get to meet Grace for the first time, even though you probably already know the cut of jib already. I’d love to know what you think, so face your fears and drop me an email ? Grace had less than a day to live. Oh, sure. She might be able to stretch it to a day and a half. But what’s twelve hours against your lifetime? Not a lot. Her room at the hotel was burned. The only thing she had left was her stash with her sword and a few Republic coins for emergencies. She hadn’t expected to be on this particular crust for this long. She hadn’t expected to be here at all. When Grace got caught, she’d die. Simple Read More …

Trying to create FTL was a tricky problem. How do you deal with humans and their concept of linear time? How do you deal with the pesky laws of physics? Well, like most of the things I do: I cheat. I’ve created two types of FTL for Tyche’s Journey — one using the the Alcubierre drive, the other using wormholes (because, reasons — the Guild owns wormhole tech, which is safer, but those on free traders still like to chart their own course…). The Tyche has an Alcubierre drive — in the future, they call them Endless Drives. Here’s what happens when a ship jumps. “Clear for jump,” he said. He felt the thrill. He’d jumped a hundred, a thousand times before, but it never got old. He’d been on a rollercoaster on some frontier world, an attraction with mag sleds and high G. Read More …

Got another piece of Tyche’s Flight for you today. In last week’s piece you saw a glimmer of Hope; this week, you get full and unfiltered Hope. She’s the Tyche’s Engineer, and she’s the best there is — even with the price on her head. Yeah yeah, first draft, but let me know what you think. “Nate—” “Captain.” “Nate, you said two weeks—” “I said a week, maybe two—” “It’s been two days!” She jerked an angry arm at the exposed machinery on one of the fusion drives, the cowl stacked up against the opposite wall. Wires. Pipes. A little smoke — now where the hell was that coming from, that wasn’t supposed to happen — and above it all, the status panel. Not enough lights green, too many red. “I took her apart because I had two weeks!” “A week!” “It’s been two days!” Read More …

Today’s #RichardWrites is a slice of Tyche’s Flight. This is the first time you meet the Tyche’s Helm, Elspeth Roussel. Best starship pilot you’ve ever met, and she’ll tell you that straight. You know the music: first draft, but let me know what you think. Elspeth Roussel sat in the Helm’s chair — her chair — on the Tyche’s bridge. It wasn’t much of a bridge, not like what she was used to from her days flying frigates for the Empire, but the captain had given her a paying job and didn’t mind that she’d flown for the losing side. And she was still Helm of something. Even a small lifter like the Tyche. She reached out a hand to the console in front of her, kept clean despite the age of it. “My good girl,” she said. “What was that?” Hope’s voice came Read More …

More Tyche’s Flight (?) today — this one’s a little farther on from last week’s sample. Standard disclaimers of doom apply: first draft, looks like a jar of pickled sphincters, but I’d still love to know what you think. He kept up his saunter. No need to spoil the effect as he approached the finish line. He ducked into the doorway next to her. “Hi.” “Let’s go,” she said. “Let’s not,” he said. He leaned into the alcove, a crook that felt like it was tailor-made for just this kind of conversation. “We haven’t discussed terms. We haven’t discussed where we’re going. The most important thing we haven’t discussed,” and here he paused as a particularly loud fusillade of plasma fire from down the street cut him off, “how on Earth, her mighty heavens, the stars we travel across, and the senate Read More …

I thought I’d share with you all a little sample of Tyche’s Flight ? This is first draft stuff, real rough? Let me know what you think ? He would always remember the first time she lied to him. Nate was sitting in a spacer bar — not that it had signs up saying Spacer Bar or Drunk Crew Welcome. It was the way it smelled more than anything, old engine oil overlaid with that unmistakable tang of ozone that came from working heavy machines or plasma cannons. Beer, vat-grown because out here that was the best way to get good results; you never knew what strain of modified soy was being used on-planet for your drink. The smell of sweat, and sometimes, of anger. That last was typical. Drunk Crew Welcome wasn’t always a good thing. “Captain Chevell,” said the man across from Read More …