Sneak Peek; rewritten initial draft, scene 1, of Seven Planets (forthcoming novel)

Here is a sneak peek of the first draft of chapter 1 of the first volume of my upcoming Brightstar Trilogy. This book is tentatively titled Seven Planets.

First drafts are, of course, the rough material from which the final product will be produced. As such, they are often sloppy, badly written, and usually too long. For example, I have found that the first scene or the first chapter are almost entirely unnecessary. It seems common for writers to start their story too early. We want to set the scene, so there’s too much description, or background. What is often discovered is that the scene should’ve actually started later, when the action begins. The description and background can be woven in later.

This is the first draft of the first scene of the first chapter, so I can guarantee it won’t look like this in the second draft, or the third draft, and so on. But here’s a little sneak peek into the writing process. I plan to post each draft of this scene so my patrons can see the evolution and process from first draft to final draft.

The curved corridor walls had a dusting of frost on them, but Elias had long ceased to notice it, along with the constant creaking of the station.

Even the mug of synthetic coffee in his hand was unnoticed Ss lukewarm, partially from the cool atmosphere but also because the galley machinery no longer heated anything optimally. He’d been waiting for repair parts for months, which were supposed to come on the last delivery droneship. Those were not even the mast important parts he needed for the station.

He arrived at the main lab and sat down at his workstation. In reality, any of the ten stations could be his workstation. Occasionally, he used another, just to break the solitary monotony. Some days he waited for coffee until after his first work session.

The viewport set in the outside walk of the lab was cracked. That seemed line a cause for alarm, except that the powers-that-be at the Solar Concord Military Science Division had assured him it was not a danger—followed by a technical explanation of triple-paned sapphire glass with armor shields between each inside the walls that would deploy in less than a quarter of a second. He’d been here three years with no change in the crack and on alarms. Don’t worry about things you can’t control.

At least the view of icy, windy, blue Neptune was aesthetic.
He sat down in front of his console and the screen came alive as it sensed his presence. He laid his datapad on top of a stack of others and set the mug down.

Tapping with long years of practice, he noted that the surface of the planet was -210 degrees. As it had been every single day of his exile here on Neptune Orbital Observatory 9 (affectionately known as NOO-9). Graphs and lines of information scrolled by as he watched. He made notes on his datapad. He also monitored the nearby moons and faint rings, mostly cataloging ground and atmospheric data, and tracking the orbits of the rings material and any changes, and sent a report weekly back to HQ, detailing the readings, minor anomalies, changes, and his interpretive comments. He suspected that no one read them. Hydrogen, helium, methane, and orbital elements all acting as expected.

Ah, what’s this? He thought to himself without interest and no small bit of sarcasm. A new major storm had sprung up overnight, and a giant dark spot was forming near the terminal line. Neptune’s dark spots were nowhere near as impressive as Jupiter’s massive and permanent Spot, but still impressive.

After logging the pertinent information and comments, he reviewed sensor data which monitored Neptune’s faint rings. The station’s armor and outer layer of dense carbon filament would stop anything small, albeit in absorbing it a melted pocket of high-tech materials. The pockets were supposed to be repaired periodically, but it had been longer than recommended (again, waiting on parts). The station also had a laser system that could break up or destroy larger particles that might cause more serious damage. Only a larger rock—say, the size of a transport truck—could cause major damage. Elias knew the chances of that were extremely unlikely, primarily because of the location of the station at a LaGrange points and constant automated orbit tracking. Space was much emptier than imagined buy those who had never left Onesimus of the seven colonies. Once could even fly through one of the denser sections of Saturn’s rings with only a 10-30% chance of critical damage. Not advised, of course, but it makes the point. Elias was not worried about NOO-7.

The Triton Relay Station, orbiting at another LaGrange Point, was also his responsibility’s. He ran a check of the Relay Station’s system, as well as scans of Triton itself. All normal. Of course.

He turned to the agenda for the day that he had prepared last night at the end of the working day. He had received an atmospheric probe a week ago as parts of a delivery by drone ship (along with food and other supplies—but no repair parts). Some scientist in the Department needed it for a research project he had just received funding for. Elias did not want to thank about that. It used to be him that—no. Not going down that path. He needed to find a good time and place to insert the probe into Neptune’s atmosphere. He’d done this three times with other probes for different purposes in the past three years. All were destroyed before they’d penetrated more than five miles. None of them transmitted any data of any interest.
“Perfect,” he said aloud. “A job where nothing ever happens and nothing is accomplished. Fitting for a disgraced failure.”
He took a sip of coffee and tapped the button to start the holo-log to record his work.

He was startled when the screen came alive with a voice, causing him to spill his coffee on his jumpsuit. The image of a face—old, wild-haired, with eyes darting about—was speaking.

“Signals from out there—out—the Kuiper Belt,” the man croaked.

It was Dr. Halen, the previous scientist stationed on NOO-9. Elias met him when he first came aboard three years ago. Halen had been recalled because of some ill-advised tinkering he had done with the station, allegedly because he was losing his mind, without an authorization, which caused some serious damage. Lucky for Halen, they needed a place to send Elias in to exile, and Elias’ are as of expertise were similar. Dr. Halen got to home (with a demotion and forced retirement), while Elias was sent to where he could fulfill Halen’s position, but far away from anything and anyone important.
Elias supposed that he should be thankful that they didn’t drum him out of the Division and void his credentials.

Halen had given him a brief tour of the station, told him that the AI, called Echo-9, knew everything about the station. In a low voice, size-eyeing the Solar Concord security personnel, Halen warned Elias about stray signals from beyond Pluto’s orbit because, “they are dangerous.” He then made a beeline for the shuttle, as if he couldn’t get off the station fast enough. Elias didn’t blame him—that part of Halen didn’t come from his failing mind.

“…they are out there…” the visage from the hole-log continued, “…I have the data…beware!”

Solitude could make you crazy. But Halen had been out here nine years. Elias’ exile was supposed to end after five.

The random log was still praying. “Echo-9! What the hell is this?”

The AI’s smooth, quasi-male voice answered. “Apologies, Dr. Vorn. It is unclear to me why that log entry began playing. It was recorded on April 6, 2218, by Dr. Halen, after he—“

“I don’t care. Stop it.”

The voice and image ceased.

Just what I need. Ghosts aboard a decrepit space station. Spouting nonsense. At one time, Elias might have been at least a little curious, being an expert on interstellar signals and cosmic phenomena as an astrophysicist in the Solar Concord Military Science Division. But nothing ever happened out here, and Dr. Halen had gone loopy from isolation.

He gazed for a moment at the room. A faint hum of machinery vibrated through his metal chair. Frost on the viewport glistened like shattered glass, and the blue Neptunian light refracted eerie prisms across the lab and its equipment.