E. P. Beaumont

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.

***

Yasmin glared up at the banner of the Hydrological Trinity above the Library archway. Those gods boasted the wealth of the Mother of Worlds: cloud-wreathed, water-wrapped, a gift of pure grace.

People on Karis forgot fate’s generosity when it came to the step-children however many times removed.

Of course she and all the other step-children descended from the journey-ships. Everyone descended from the journey-ships. Karis and Inner Colonies and Outer Colonies, the Dome and the Outposts, all of them were cousins. Everybody knew that.

The ones who’d conveniently forgotten sat on most of the wealth in the Inhabited Worlds.

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.

***

Mavra had warned them …

Jehen’s breath caught sometimes when she realized she might not ever see Mavra again–not for years, anyway. If she and Yasmin and Ferenc fulfilled their duty, they’d be Aboard-Ships for life. At some point in the future, they might be crew on a Ship putting into Sarronny orbit for the annual supply run, but that would not be the same as coming home. They would be glamorous strangers visiting to bring necessities, dance in the community circle once more, and bear away with them the child-tribute.

The hairs went up on the back of her neck, much as they did when she thought about the mathematics of the Jump.

Were it not for the Jumps, major and minor, right now she’d be insuperably far from home. Time on the evolutionary or even the geologic scale would separate her from everything she’d known.

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.

***

The afternoon passed overhead, with bird-cries and strokes of white cloud; Jehen was only distantly aware of time passing as she wrestled with docking simulations, as she thought about the curious behavior of things in zero gravity.

The distinction between docking and ramming was a matter of velocity.

She closed her eyes to think about the sequence of locks: first the outer, then the inner, then the coupling of doors, the re-pressurization of the place between, the test sequence for the boarding-passage.

Yasmin and Ferenc trooped back in, arguing about something. She could hear them outside the door, but not their words, until the door opened and Ferenc said to Yasmin, “She won’t like it. We should have just told them she forbade it.”

Jehen sat up and put her work to one side.

“So, they said all right, you could come too,” Ferenc said, all at a run as if he wished to be done saying it as soon as humanly possible.

Each Sunday, Weekend Writing Warriors offers a selection of eight-sentence excerpts from writers in multiple genres and forms. Check out the full roster here.

***

Yasmin picked her way through the clauses of the Treaty: the child-tribute, the yearly supply runs, the terms of service Aboard-Ships, the concessions.
Jehen touched her shoulder.

Ah, the concessions … in whose favor?

“We’re going to the refectory,”Jehen said.

Yasmin marked her place, slipped the tablet into its coverall pocket, uncurled from the plush nest and stretched to full height. She sighted along arms, to fingertips, to the vault of the North Tower, high above them, then swooped down to brush fingertips along the floor, turned a few times from the hips to stretch out all the muscles of the upper body.

You couldn’t forget your body, even if you were reading.