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[personal profile] ritaxis
Only if you're interested.



Okay, this time I know which is better. But what I want to know is, is it better enough?

The original:
1. Here the land was a complex patchwork, couched with the bright metallic strands of the roadways. Wide Antrell had gotten its name, not from any special breadth or flatness of its geography, but to contrast with the "Core Antrell" from which it grew. But flying over it, descending into it, Pablo thought it was as wide as its name, stretching flat in all directions.
The flatness here was aggravated by the subregion's architectural preferences. During the long and only recently ended war, everything tall in Wide Antrell had been levelled. Those buildings which had not been blown up had been scavenged for their components.. Rebuilding had been low, squat, and sprawling, though much of it was also sunk below grade, to take advantage of the insulating properties of the earth. The place could get uncomfortably hot in the summer, and correspondingly cold in winter. It was near the center of the continent, high up on the shield, though without mountains to speak of, it did not look high.
Pablo thought it was a good thing that Toia Memorial, the closest airport to Willows Camp, was four hours' drive on a good day. He would have plenty of time to adjust before he had to deal with the crises and questions of his job at the camp.
Landing took longer than it should because the plane had not been informed of all of the most recent changes in the landing field. Pieces of the field which had been operational after a fashion, not long ago, had been torn up, fenced, and overrun by the independent little tractor babies which were industriously planting and irrigating the tarmac turf for a new landing field. Other pieces of field which had previously been in that state had come into use. The plane came down on a very young section of field, where the tarmac turf was still very short and a little uneven, and it bumped a little. Nothing serious. Just enough to remind one that things could happen. Coming down the slide, Pablo saw that the the tarmac turf was a new kind, more branched, a deeper green than the old kind. Walking to the station, he saw that there were very few of the wartime emergency dead-style cement tarmac pieces left. He wondered idly what was done with the cement when it was pulled up, but forgot about it when he saw the buses.


The other is longer because I cut a bit from just after this and incorporated it into the beginning.

2. Pablo returned from his short vacation thinking about the contrast between the world of his parents' quiet home in the suburbs and the chaotic world of the displacement camp. He wouldn't take the vacations except that they were mandatory and his parents wanted to see him now and then. Whatever rest and regrouping he was supposed to achieve he felt was undermined by the effort of adjustment. And he never really stood down. He carried his pen and his case wherever he went, always monitoring the shifting conditions of the peace. His job was an obscure one, but important to thousands of people. He was the Combined Effort's Repats officer at Willows Camp. It was up to him to find homes for the camp dwellers: homes they could stay in, with jobs or the potential for jobs, safe and comfortable housing existent or in construction at the very least.
Not for the first time he was actually glad for the roundabout route he had to take to get to the camp from his parents' house. There was an airport near to the camp, but none of the entities that made up the Combined Effort had been able to get permission for their repatriation flights to use it. Pablo could have arrived there anyway, since he was taking a regular flight this time, but he honored the unofficial boycott of the uncooperative neighbor. And the side benefit was that he had time to switch gears. He had hours in the airplane to catch up -- as if he had ever really fallen behind -- and hours in the vehicle to gossip with the driver from the camp.
Looiing out at the land below was reassuring. It looked like the particolored hide of a vast, healthy animal, soaking up the sun's rays and supporting an army of symbionts. Especially hear and now: Wide Antrell lay below him, golden and green, its glittering roads pulsing with life. As the plane banked and headed downwards, the low buildings favored by the locals came into clear view, and now even the people could be distinguished as they moved around the surface. Wide Antrell had gotten its name not from its geography, but from its history -- at one time the war had "been about" the distinction between "Core Antrell" and "Wide Antrell -- but it was wide, it was flat, being on the plateau at the middle of the continent.
The flatness here was aggravated by the subregion's architectural preferences. During the long and only recently ended war, everything tall in Wide Antrell had been levelled. Those buildings which had not been blown up had been scavenged for their components.. Rebuilding had been low, squat, and sprawling, though much of it was also sunk below grade, to take advantage of the insulating properties of the earth. The place could get uncomfortably hot in the summer, and correspondingly cold in winter.
Landing took longer than it should because the plane had not been informed of all of the most recent changes in the landing field. Pieces of the field which had been operational after a fashion, not long ago, had been torn up, fenced, and overrun by the independent little tractor babies which were industriously planting and irrigating the tarmac turf for a new landing field. Other pieces of field which had previously been in that state had come into use. The plane came down on a very young section of field, where the tarmac turf was still very short and a little uneven, and it bumped a little. Nothing serious. Just enough to remind one that things could happen. Coming down the slide, Pablo saw that the the tarmac turf was a new kind, more branched, a deeper green than the old kind. Walking to the station, he saw that there were very few of the wartime emergency dead-style cement tarmac pieces left. He wondered idly what was done with the cement when it was pulled up, but forgot about it when he saw the buses.


And now I'd done writing for the day and it's time to put clothes on and take Emma to get a haircut.


Why I am not doing this in rasfc -- they're long bits. Also, I don't do my share of critiquing.
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