Gathering Of Dedicated Scribblers discussion

This is incomplete and in alpha-draft, but here's the first 700ish words for chapter 1. I am trying to create some colloquial flavor by making the narrator's voice contemporary to the event in the future but balance that with current terminology.
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“The tram will be arriving in twenty-seven minutes.” the mellifluous but detached voice echoed through the terminal over the muting din of the crowd. “We at Hóng shù Station hope you found every accommodation to your satisfaction. For those who are visiting Sharma Śahira for the Commemoration events, we look forward to serving again you on your return.”

There was a short pause and the woman began reciting her script in Hindi with the same calming voice, “Traam sattaees minat mein…”.

The Chandran city of Sharma Śahira, was chosen as this quadrennial host of the Vigil and Remembrances pageant for the Clysm. Cal wasn’t a practitioner but he didn’t mind the ceremonial activities. He didn’t begrudge the vendors making a few creds and it broke up the work-life monotony. He just couldn’t get behind the idea of some imaginary all-powerful deity taking time to wipe out most of humanity and make the whole world inhospitable. Call it what you will, the Hour, Rapture, Ragnarök, Shambhala, or the War of Gog and Magog, almost every culture, every religion had some prediction of the end of the world at the hands of either a saving or vengeful god. For the devout, this left only one of two possible groups to describe themselves: the chosen or the forsaken. To Cal, these were simply "two grooves in the same drill bit." They both clamored to either get in or stay in God’s good graces. The rituals were different, their goals were the same. Believe and be rewarded; all others are screwed. The con had been as old as humanity. The only thing to do was live and let live or as Cal had decided, use them for his own designs.

Cal knew that the chaos of thousands of faithful could create a unique opportunity. The city’s local Jǐngchá (or jin’s) would be too overwhelmed to track everyone during the ceremonies. With a modded passport, use of untracked creds, and careful exercise of luck Cal felt confident he could get in and get out before anybody realized or even cared he was there.

Cal was halfway through the throng, shoulder to shoulder but kept focused on the soon to be opened doors. He refused to stand nose to nose with one of those fake-smiling, empty-eyed, zealots trying to find a new convert for the long ride down. The only way to avoid this annoyance would be to grab one of the few mid-tram stalls. Typically, these are reserved for officials or business travelers needing some privacy during the descent. With this many people headed planet side, there’d be no way for the stewards to control access. If he got in first, he could work his way to where he wanted to be.

Unlike the majority of native Chandrans who spent their lives on the surface only venturing out for the city-to-city cable transit, Cal had years of experience and was well practiced working both zero and Chandra's 1.6 (moon-g). Earth-based futurists referred to this as having space legs as opposed to sea legs. Since the Clysm seas voyages were as anachronistic as air planes so the idea of space legs had no useful comparative. Anybody who’s been in zero-g for the shortest of times would tell you that legs have very little to do with locomotion or balance.

Inexperienced travelers were easy to spot. They strapped the electromagnetic leggings, colloquially called “emmels” on both legs causing their feet to be anchored to the decking. In moon-g on the surface, everyone only used one emmel, allowing their unencumbered leg to maintain balance. A small nudge in zero-g with both feet firmly in place caused a novice to sway while first-timers would often start flailing their arms in futile attempt at counterbalancing. In a crowd, however, this would cause a cascade of nudges. Cal’s skill in zero allowed him to create small eddies between people so he could slowly work their way through the throng.

Physical contact with strangers would normally be considered rude, but with this many people in the boarding area, it was unavoidable. He never made eye contact and kept skulking forward, shifting his backpack into someone who swayed into another and then another. It was annoying, but most everyone took it without protestation and chalked it up to the inconveniences of travelling.

Great start. I learned a lot about Cal. Just build your world a bit through environmental description and drop a fishing hook at the end for your readers to keep going.

Andres wrote: "Great start. I learned a lot about Cal. Just build your world a bit through environmental description and drop a fishing hook at the end for your readers to keep going."

Thanks! I've actually re-written the latter part. Was getting to explainy. Made it more observational from Cal's perspective and less narrator exposition.

Serving you again, instead of "serving again you."

So this is a festival, a religious festival, held on another planet? Oh boy, I believe it. I've read fiction where religion survives space exploration, and this makes sense to me as an idea. Interested to see where it goes.

Srey wrote: "Serving you again, instead of "serving again you.

Thanks! I corrected in later version. I started the story with the intent of being a heist on the moon exploiting the festival, but lately have been exploring the religion/cult. The cult name, Chikyuu No Minashigo, literally is "Orphans of Earth."

がんばって!