I’ve been meaning to get myself writing again, so here’s the first rough part of a story that’s been bouncing in my head. It’s a quick and dirty opening scene for a space opera, but I’m hoping to take it in an interesting direction almost immediately after this.
A distant sun cast silvery rays through a field of tumbling asteroids and swirling dust. Among the rocks, a balletic swarm of glinting motes danced, alighting here and there to vaporize and harvest masses with actinic flares. The source and sink of the swarm’s flow was a dark, ovoid craft tracing a lazy, eccentric orbit around the cluster of debris. Nestled within the craft was its pilot, Alan Rickard.