I’ve finished my second science fiction story. Not sure I’m happy enough with it to submit it, so I’m debating whether or not to shelve it, find a second- or third-tier market for it, or keep working on rewriting it.

Here’s an excerpt:

“You a Methodite?” the driver said in a much friendlier tone.
The front seat blocked her view of the driver in the narrow flitter, but the overhead mirror curving against the ceiling gave her glimpses of his face. “Yes,” she said softly, clutching her package closer.
“You’re new, aren’t you? I mean, a transitioning Methodite?” In the mirror she could see him gesture with his hands as he talked. The auto-control left little for a driver to do, and she was becoming used to the chatter of public transit drivers. Her father’s drivers were always quiet, even a little intimidatingly quiet.
She nodded a quick affirmative in response, a little uncomfortably.
“Thought so. You wear the clothes like they don’t fit.”
She glanced down, confused. The fit of the Methodite uniform of gingham dress and black leggings was excellent; her father’s tailor had seen to that.
Crack!
The flitter dropped suddenly, slewing wildly one way, then another. She slammed into the restraints. Her package flew out of her hands and crashed into the canopy, cracking the mirror between them.
The driver was yelling to Central as he fought the manual yoke. She could see the curved ribbon of a walkway racing toward them, then her world went dark.