First Paragraph draft.

Here is the latest draft of the first chapter/prologue. After this, the story will skip back 6 months and start from there.Names are still undecided yet! Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

This is roughly what UK1 looks like.  

34^th December

     

High up in the atmosphere, above the clouds, higher than the mountain plateaus of Nouveau Europia, a gigantic shard of metal and glass hangs like an early morning star. Being thousands of meters in length, it pierces the heavens, dwarfing the moon; its pale glistening exterior reflecting the rays of a dying sun. As the streaks of red and gold rush across the crystal sky, they light up this strange object with colours of crimson and saffron, making it seem like a glowing fireball.

This is UK-One.

*****

It is the year 2099, 34th of December. High up in UK-One, the population of district 7 are starting to awaken and start the day. The Glocke-Engines are spooling up to full capacity, propelling the sky-ship onto a new course.

On the bridge, President [Don’t have a name yet] monitors the vast banks of instruments and displays before him.  He turns to speak to the captain.

"How are the radiation levels? Is it safe enough to land?"

"In the safety zone sir, and falling”.

"Get Westminster on the radiograph. I want them to prepare the docking pan for our arrival."

“Yes sir.”

As the captain scurries to the other side of the bridge, President [don’t have a name yet] gazes out through the observation windows upon the city below him. To the west, the port of Heathrow flickers with a scattering of lights of the numerous aircraft waiting to dock. To the east, the towers of parliament and central London rise up, with the floating parks of Hyde and Regent weaving through the mass of walkways and bridges that link the whole of upper London together. [Don’t have a name yet] ignores these glorious sites, and focuses upon the enormous structure that UK-One is heading towards. Rising high out of the old suburbs of Richmond and Hounslow is a colossal network of concrete pillars and metal walkways, at the top of which is a cylindrical control tower. Surrounding this tower, are seven U-shaped metal cradles, with networks of pipes and cables slinking their way down to the central hub.

President [I don’t have a name yet] smiles, and checks the news reports for the day. He has been in power for only 4 years, and already he has put the country on the path to becoming a global Super state. He has spent his whole career to getting to this position, and from the opinion polls, it looks like he is here for a while.

Without warning, a deafening boom reverberates throughout the fabric of UK-One. Klaxons sound, whilst a massive groan of flailing power cuts through the air. The nose of the ship rises, whilst the stern falls, throwing everyone on the bridge to the ground.

The President shouts to the captain:

"What the devil just happened?”

As captain [No name yet] struggles up the slope to the controls, his face turns ashen.

"It's the Glocke Engines. They've all stopped. Their gravity resistance output is at 46%, no wait, 45%, oh god it's falling. What shall we…"

He doesn't get to finish his question, for at that moment a second, much larger blast shakes the ship.  Cracks snake their way along the entire 7500 metres of the ship, bleeding light and smoke in torrents. The gigantic glass panels that make up the sides pop out of their frames, shattering into fragments, whilst the steel frames and ribs buckle and break. With a deafening moan, the top keel snaps, decks pancake onto one another, sending flames licking up into the morning sky.

As fire drenches down onto the city below, the wreck of UK-One tumbles and starts to break up in mid-air. The heavier stern falls quickest, the fusion reactors tumbling out in cascades of silver and chrome. As the wreckage impacts the ground, a flurry of mushroom clouds blossom upwards, dappling the sky into orange and gold. Lightening licks across the sky, feeling its way towards the fleeing mass of sky ships and superliners. Everything is flooded in a blaze of light, smoke and ash billowing upwards. The deluge of heat burns fleeing airships to cinders, whilst the blast waves collide with the towers of Upper London, vaporizing them into dust. 

A hundred miles away, on a lonely mountain top, a solitary spyglass watches the disaster unfold. The cold eye behind the lens glances over the scene, whilst a cruel mouth smiles over what is still to come.