Large Chunks of the story are making me realise why Authors come back and write the first Book after the eighth.
You start a story and then realise that if you want to be professional in your writing, you should have a start.
Most books don’t want a detailed start, and nor do Agents. It’s just another book title and some more money when you write pre-quals – sounds like a disease.
I haven’t dipped my toes too much into the crocodile infested pre-quals and I doubt that I will live long enough to write something I don’t want to write.
I’ll let you read the ideas, and yes, I keep edited them:
Chapter I – The Trials Of Magic
Destraight was considered excellent as a prison planetary name. An old unstable planet ideally suited to prisoners the Dwarven race had taken.
During the years, three Armada Class ships – Andromeda with Admiral James Droga; Surreptitious with Admiral Martan Matira, and the Ancient with Admiral David Jamesson, approached and along with twenty thousand sleeping prisoners/politicians per ship there were guards, hounds and hunting Cats. All asleep and they would stay that way until they were placed on the planet.
They were all disposable, apart from Admirals Droga, Matira and Jamesson, who would turn their ships around and sleep until their return.
Crew staff stayed awake but in five shifts so they would only lose ten years of their lives. The Admirals would lose, perhaps four weeks but they were selected for having no dependents alive – something that had attracted attention in its day and then the Dwarf clans had closed up and nothing, apart from cries and bodies attracted any attention afterwards.
The planet seemed ideal.
Landquakes, typhoons and tidal waves abounded but these all seemed to hit just one side of the planet and that turned very slowly, possessing only three moons; the other side had a distant sun producing a temperate area but for unbeknown reasons the planet was held in some kind stasis that bound it to the moons and the sun and so its movement was both erratic and slow, mirroring thoughts as the Admiral’s pondered their careers and a homecoming to no-one but a pension and the Pension Authorities were already trying to delete the Space years asleep as counting towards their pension, leaving them with another twenty years service with no service available – they were all active and in the seventies but another twenty years, if they could find the dwindling positions on SITCOPLEB. The words across the sentinel wires had been and were caustic in the extreme as the Admirals discussed their futures.
On Destraight the Admirals had authority; guards; Cats, Hounds and controlled prisoners – the only problem was that something seemed to be wrong on the planet and they enlarged the scope of surveillance. The prisoners were looking at each other as if they had just found them and some, just didn’t speak they seemed to know. The Guards were now almost panicking as the Cats and Hounds stopped taking voice commands and instead of trained wild animals held by specially trained handlers were walking up to prisoners and guards and lying down for their bellies to be tickled. This finally led to the Admirals finally looking one another in the face, instead of the boots, gut or anywhere else they felt they could look.
“Admirals, COMSATNEV is on video – signal is only fifteen years old, so it’s fairly new!”
James Droga, looked at the ComSatNev liaison, “this better be good!”
“COMSATNEV has aborted the mission. This planet is on the boundaries of dimensional planetary interplay. There are several black holes and planets are not following guidelines. There is trouble at home at dumping prisoners into deep space and the mission is to be aborted and sleep. Fuel is being sent out and will arrive in forty years but everyone must be brought back to put into stasis. The signal will wake everyone when the fuel arrives.”
Well, said Martan Matira, “it is a little late; ComSatNev, with all the prisoners on the surface; the Cats and Hounds out of control and some kind of planetary that is affecting the prisoners and the guards … perhaps you should go down and explain it all to them and I suggest you do it quickly. Look at the incoming rocks and we have used up our power to arrive here – looking at my fellow Admirals, we are now leaving this ship before it is hit – tell that to COMSATNEV after we have made the planetary surface or on second thoughts, we need the power to land and you don’t”.
ComSatNev became a bloody torso as three handguns left her lying on the spaceship floor and the Admirals descended to a life they intended to rule.
The decent side of the planet looked okay; the guards were just failures, leftovers and of little value without guidance, and guidance from the Admirals would be there in substance and very quickly they Would be ruling and not returning home to a pension that wasn’t worth the Geld was not an offer to be acceptable.
The self-build camps were a combination of silicone, concrete powder, air and water dropped as moulds and needing only power to generate them. The sun-shell power nodes were already reacting and the camps were rising although everyone else seemed to be rising and guards were releasing prisoners and it seemed more like a festival than a prison camp.
The Admirals finally managed to land and immediately were met by the aides who then sang out in unison, “You must vis-moot on the planet, Admiral. Nothing is legal without the three of you in vis-moot on the surface?”
James Droga looked at the other two Admirals, “We can take over whenever we want. Legally, if we don’t vis-moot we might as well cut our throats now but who cares, we control. We decide and we rule.”
“We rule but just a few seconds on the the vis-moot and it is legal, even if they send someone here in fifteen years. We own and control – legally.”
No-one was going back.