An excerpt from Abandoned Ships; Hijacked Minds

I'm into draft four of the next instalment of the Settler Chronicles series: Abandoned Ships; Hijacked Minds. It's going to be a few more months until this book is ready to release (I hope to have it ready for June). While everyone is waiting, here's a snippet:

Gripping the shuttle’s controls tighter, Margo Murphy glanced over her left shoulder and out the cockpit’s side window. The planet’s two suns sat high in the sky. Far beneath, the rubble surface of Thesan, grey as always, reached to the horizon. She shifted her gaze back out the forward window and saw more of the same landscape. The colony must be behind them.

Her hands started to shudder from the strain. How do pilots make flying one of these contraptions look effortless? Relaxing her grip as much as she dared, she banked the shuttle to the left until their settlement came into view. The surfaces of the greenhouses reflected light from the suns overhead—a glittering effect that obscured the thick ring of the original spaceship, Settler III. 

“Time to try a landing,” said Max, from the seat beside her. He sounded calm for someone who spent the last week teaching beginners how to fly.

Margo glanced at him. Only the translucent sheen of moisture on his forehead betrayed any unease he had about training pilots. She'd be surprised if Max had yet celebrated his 20th birthday, but his mom, Ash Jones, had taught him well—in both patience and flying skills.

“Where do you want me to put the shuttle down?” Margo returned her gaze to the landscape. The two, new spoke greenhouses extended out on opposite sides of the original ring. One of the greenhouses was hers and she wanted to be in it right now.

“See the circle to the west of the colony’s main entrance.”

“Yeah, I see it.” The not-subtle flashing lights circling Max’s practice landing pad made it impossible to miss. She edged the shuttle’s nose down on a path for the circle.

“Landing gear,” said Max in a neutral tone.

On the schedule, Abigail was next—her abrasive personality might test Max’s patience. Margo suppressed a chuckle as she lowered the landing gear. The thought of her friend listening to a teenager seemed ludicrous and sure to fail, yet Margo knew it wasn’t Abigail’s first lesson.  

An acrid scent caught her attention. She sniffed trying to get a handle on what it was. Is it smoke? She looked back into the aft part of the shuttle. It is smoke! A wisp of it snaked out of the port access panel. She blinked, and the smoke was gone. What the…

“Focus on your landing,” coached Max.

“Something is burning!” Margo faced forward again as a knot formed in her gut. “Smoke is coming out of the port access panel.” 

With a jerk, she struggled to level off the shuttle. She over compensated, pointing the noise up. Trying to keep her motions smooth even with her rising panic, she brought the nose parallel to the horizon.

Max turned and glanced back. “I see nothing,” he said, before looking at the diagnostic screen. “The shuttle’s fine. I'll take over.”

“No, I got this.” Margo swallowed, she couldn’t smell smoke anymore. Is my mind playing tricks on me again? Angling the nose down again, she banked to line up with the landing pad a second time. Get a grip Murphy, everything is okay. 

On the ground below, their two shadows moved in tandem with the shuttle, growing as they descended until the shapes merged. Over the undulating terrain, the shadows reminded Margo of butterflies in flight. Max was talking, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off of the shuttle’s twin shadows. How can they be shaped like a butterfly? The shuttle’s utilitarian design was not butterfly-like.

Margo licked her lips and tried to focus on the task at hand. She needed to land. With a glance, she saw more sweat beading on Max's brow making his dark skin look slick. She hadn’t turned out to be a natural pilot.

Pushing her thoughts away, she stared down at the landing pad. The ground was coming up fast, and Max's hands hovered over the other set of controls. Taking a deep breath, Margo mentally went through the landing checklist Max kept drilling her with.

Keep the shuttle level. She feathered the controls until the horizon lined up with the heads up display’s artificial horizon. Slow down. She checked her speed, then decelerated. The landing pad was dead ahead.

“Okay, you’re looking good,” said Max. Margo detected more than a hint of tension in his voice. “Keep focused on where you want to put the shuttle.”

Margo looked at the lights around the landing pad and gasped. The world around her went black as a kaleidoscope of silver butterflies rose from the ground. She yanked the controls, nosing the shuttle towards the sky. The butterflies fell into a loose formation and headed towards her. It wasn’t the first time hordes of these insects had come for her.

Not real, not real, not real.

“What are you doing!” Max's cool demeanour was gone. To Margo, his words didn’t register.

The silver butterflies glinted in the light as they approached the shuttle. They moved with purpose—like they were on a vendetta. Their behaviour made no sense to Margo’s lepidopterist mind, yet she knew they were coming for her. Her heart rate sped up as she jammed the controls to the left. The shuttle lurched sideways.

“I’m taking control,” said Max as he levelled the shuttle. 

That wouldn’t do!

“They’re going to catch us!” said Margo, working her controls. Nothing happened.

“You’re locked out,” said Max, his voice calm again. “We are the only ones out here.”

“But…” Margo’s words trailed off as she stared out the cockpit window. The plateau and white sky were empty. How could I have thought there were butterflies? She swallowed. “I’m okay now.”

“Good.” Max banked starboard then levelled out. Under his control the shuttle moved smoothly.

“We can resume my lesson,” Margo said, before looking at her hands—they were shaking. What in the hell is wrong with me?

“No, we’re done.” Max guided the shuttle past the training landing site and headed for the colony. 

“How about we try again after lunch?” Perhaps if she took time to focus on her breathing, she could get in control of her butterfly hallucinations. The colony needed more pilots.

“Look, I don’t want to do this...” He paused and licked his lips. In that moment, Margo remembered how young he was. “But, we only have the one shuttle. I’m grounding you until Dr. Dogan clears you. Today wasn’t the first time you did something weird.”

“Crap,” said Margo, in a quiet tone. She’d been avoiding talking with Paul Dogan since his arrival with the others from their destroyed lunar base. Had they arrived only a month ago? It seemed like they’d been at the colony for much longer.

“What?” asked Max.

Crap! She’d talked out loud, now Max would think she was even crazier. “Nothing.”

Margo intertwined her fingers and held her hands against her chest as Max angled the shuttle down. His motions were smooth, a sharp contrast to her own jerky attempts. Maybe, I should give up on this pilot thing. Even if she magically stopped hallucinating butterflies, she didn’t have his control over the craft—and likely never would. Swallowing back her disappointment, she watched the two story colony loom ahead, the walls bleached white by the constant sunlight. 

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