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 …