excerpt from a sci-fi story I’m writing…

Pindl stands outside the house of judgment under the easement where it is somewhat dry. It is the rainy season and the streets are slick with the acrid black rain of it. Pindl wonders if the black rain of Rendadt has always been poisonous. People don’t talk about the weather anymore — he knows that much to be true.

A man dressed in common garb — cloth hat, dyed cotton shirt, trousers, mud-covered galoshes — moves in great comical leaps down the walkway and veers from his path at the last and comes to stand beside Pindl out of the rain, looking back out at the downpour. He shakes at his sleeves and stomps and shivers at the cold wetness of it. He says something out of the side of his mouth, something that sounds to Pindl like, “You’re going down now.”

“Pardon?”

The man repeats, “It’s coming down now,” then glances over at Pindl and says, “Beg pardon, majesty.” He bows his head and jogs back out into the moving gray sheets of rain.

Amid the waiting and wandering vehicles, Pindl sees his own arrive, slipping silently into the space reserved for Deputy Director, ORSS. He turns up his collar and steps out into the downpour himself, squinting against secondary splashes.

“Didn’t bring an umbrella,” says Nathan Sordd as Pindl gets in and closes the hatch.

“Ever so observant, Nate,” says Pindl. He swipes a hand against the grain of his hair, sending a spray of droplets toward Nate’s side.

Nate ignores the gesture, using his coat sleeve to quietly wipe at the damp side of his face.

Pindl says, “What’s next?”

“Your interview.”

“Right,” clipping himself into the sky-flight’s restraint, “Let’s get it over with.”

The sky-flight takes the first launch lane it comes to, ascending gradually, following the slow ribbon of sky traffic east toward a break in the clouds.

“You’re quiet,” says Nate, “Must not have gone well.”

“I did my duty,” says Pindl, rubbing at his temples.

“There’s a good prince.”