Eclectica

Mostly cogent, most of the time.

Text sample: 2

The second of two text samples I did as part of a pitch for a Stargate Atlantis novel. More info here.

Elizabeth Weir was tired, hungry and annoyed, but you’d never have known it to look at her. It took all her concentration to maintain the façade of cool, detached professionalism that she radiated at the negotiating table. Long years of painful experience had taught her that a moment’s visible irritation on her part could spark both parties into a spiral of mutual recrimination.

“You see,” one party would say, noticing a stifled yawn or clenched jaw, “even she thinks you’re lying.”

And that would be that for the day, bar the shouting and door slamming.

So she remained rigid on her seat, despite the ache at the small of her back; she maintained eye contact with whoever was speaking, no matter how stupid or duplicitous their words; she smiled whenever a delegate made a lame attempt at humour; and she never, ever allowed the growing knot of fury and contempt in her stomach to show itself on her face. She was supposed to be the calm voice of impartial reason.

Some days that was harder than others.

“I don’t care,” said an old Wraith man whose name momentarily escaped her. “I just don’t see why we can’t arm ourselves.”

“So you can massacre us in our beds?” Janeel made a contemptuous snorting noise and folded his arms.

“So we can defend ourselves from your mobs!”

“Mobs? Don’t make me laugh.”

“What should I call them then? Vigilantes? Death squads?

“Regrettable as these incidents have been, no one has been killed,” said Elizabeth.

Both Janeel and the old Wraith (Tanas, that was his name, Tanas) said, almost simultaneously: “Yet.”

“Then what we have to focus on is preventing any future deaths. Does anybody here really think that distributing weaponry is the best way to achieve that?”

It was meant to be a rhetorical question.

“Yes I do,” insisted Janeel, with an emphatic thump on the council table.

Elizabeth calmed her breathing, resisting the temptation to sigh. In her experience, when people started answering rhetorical questions it was time for a cooling off period.

“I think perhaps a recess is called for. Half a cycle?”

Her suggestion was met by a succession of weary, grateful nods.

As the councillors filed out of the hall Elizabeth noted that the Lantean delegates left by one door, the Wraith by another. Already they had split into separate camps, avoiding each other between sessions. This was not a good sign. Breakthroughs rarely came at the negotiating table. Far more likely that a quiet chat over a cup of tea – or whatever disgusting nutrient soup they drank here – would result in a calm moment of common sense and mutual understanding. So Elizabeth allowed herself a weary sigh, and rose from her seat.

“Councilman, please, walk with me,” she said as she looped her arm through Janeel’s and steered him in the direction of the Wraith councillors.

Now for the difficult bit.

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