From My Point of View

Before you read the story

From My Point of View is noteworthy only because it was the third Lords of the Stars story I ever published. Originally written as a one-hour school assignment back in 1995, it does not reflect the writing style or quality of my later work.

Read this as a brief, nostalgic curiosity—and then, if you wish, move on to newer, far stronger stories, such as Choices of Steel or Conscience of Steel.

--- Mattias von Schantz

From My Point of View

A Lords of the Stars Short Story

Mattias von Schantz

Newca, Eta Boötis, 6713 AD

The sun was already low over the shimmering sea when Ryne was done with her household chores. Glistening red waves crashed against the shore and from down in the busy harbor, there was the clamor of excited crowds receiving the evening's catch from the fishing boats. A faint smell of salt filled the humid air, and from the sea, seagulls could be heard screeching as though they were displeased that humans had taken their food.

She was free for the day and thought she'd take the opportunity to walk through the harbor. It was high summer, and many tourists had arrived in the village. It was always nice to try to get to know them a little. If nothing else, they might offer her food in exchange for a story, or perhaps even offer a trip outside the village.

Her house was on a small hill covered with lush, healthy grass and some flower beds with roses that her father grew. Around the property stood an ancient wooden fence that had withstood the wind, rain, and sunshine for three generations. The narrow gravel path she walked on was carefully raked, and surrounded by a few low, colorful flowers. Ryne looked up at the blood-red sky and noted that there would be no rain for several days ahead. The sky was perfectly clear everywhere she looked, but her family wasn't made up of farmers or fishermen, so they didn't have to worry much about the weather. The main thing was that it was warm and pleasant outside, now that she was planning to have some fun in the evening.

The harbor was located in a shallow bay, well protected from the fury of the sea. At the moment, three fishing boats were anchored there, but another couple of boats were coming in from the sea with fresh catch. Next to the first boat sat old, weathered Sernerad working on his wet nets, trying to untangle them for tomorrow's fishing expedition. He had no son to take over from him, so he had kept on working his trade despite losing both a finger and an eye to the monstrous denizens of the sea. The seagulls, attracted by the smell of fish, were trying to steal the catch he had stored in the ice-filled boxes next to his boat.

"Sugar take you," he spat at them, the old curse bouncing off their feathers like water on a duck's back.

When she got to the second fishing boat she stopped. There was a group of foreign-looking people standing around a young man who was talking loudly and gesticulating wildly about something. Most likely, he was trying to trick the tourists into believing some far-fetched fishing story he'd concocted, and if he succeeded, he could probably make quite a bit of money from it. Stories were as good a currency as money here, on the outer isles.

She moved closer to the group and as she pushed through the small circle of tourists, she saw that what the man had pulled from the sea was hardly a fish. The object lying on the ground consisted of shiny metal, bent beyond recognition.