They reached the core. Dytis knew it, because the ride on the fly-swatter was over.
He was finally in free fall once again, gravity negated in the middle of the gas giant.
"We made it," Juppie whispered, showing the appropriate amount of reverence for once in his life.
Dytis choked down a laugh, he teared up. "I-I can't believe it. The core. It's gaseous, and we're here..."
"We're so AWESOME!" Juppie broke the seriousness of the momentous occasion. "High five!"
"High five!" Dytis shouted this time, it was well worth it.
They'd both die now, but it was worth it.
First panhuman to dive into a gas giant all the way to the core. He could already see the babes lining up.
Hours passed in darkness and freefall. It was worse than space, 'cause there were no stars to see.
"How long," Dytis said.
"I can keep you alive for a few days, but I don't recommend it. It won't be good for your psyche."
"No shit."
Another hour passed.
Dytis thought of his home. His friends, the ones he surfed and sky-dived with. The crazies who simply got who he was and why he did all the things he did. He really wanted to see them, one last time.
"Hey, Juppie. Try the entangled particles again."
"Come on, Dytis, they didn't work. I don't need to waste precious energy on a futile-"
"Just try it..." Dytis said softly, not feeling strong enough to complain. This dive was taxing to his body. Even if he hadn't done anything for the entire dive, it was far more than what a panhuman was supposed to survive from.
"Holy gas balls!" Juppie exclaimed.
"What?" Dytis said, woozy.
"It works! It must be the metallic hydrogen, it's sending out the signal from the entire layer."
"Can you call home?"
"Better than that. I can send a backup. I only have a few particles to work with, but I'm sure I can extrapolate the data from the other end."
"You mean, you can back me up, but with some of my memories?"
"Yeah. But we need to choose. It's either you or me, only one can be saved."
"Your data is more important to the Asterism, Juppie. You should back yourself up," Dytis said without hesitating.
"It makes sense, you're right. But this wasn't about the collected data, bro. This was a leap of faith. It will show us what can be achieved when organic persons and e-persons work together. It's bigger than me."
"Juppie, don't play the martyr now, I know you. Just do the logical thing. Send yourself back. You're more important. I'm just a glorified surfer."
Juppie spoke softly now, sounding hurt. "My friend, who told you that surfers and adrenaline junkies aren't important in this world?"
Dytis said nothing. He had no more energy left, and his body felt like it was about to slosh into goo. He was tired, hurt, broken, and possibly a little bit crazy at this point in his chosen ordeal.
"I'm gonna need to sacrifice some parts from the suit."
"What does that mean?" Dytis snapped angrily, now fed up with everything.
"Uh... Look, the back up might work, and we'll take that chance. But I will need to sacrifice some of the exotic particles on the suit, meaning it will lose structural integrity. It's best if I put you under before I start it."
"No!" Dytis shouted with the few scraps of strength he had left. "Don't put me under. If I'm gonna die, I need to feel this. I need to be awake."
"Buddy..."
"I said no!"
"Alright," Juppie sighed. "Get ready."
Dytis felt the familiar sensation of being backed up, it was weird, his synapses lighting up, like someone mapping out a city by turning on street lights in sequential blocks.
"This is it..." Juppie said. "Activating the entangled communication system. Goodbye, my friend. Remember to tell me all about our experience together."
"It was an awesome dive, wasn't it?" Dytis asked, his neck tightening from the feeling of impending death.
"It was absolutely rad, bro."
Juppie repurposed some of the material in the suit and invented an impromptu device that nobody had done before. He analysed the back-up, kept the bare minimum and sent it out with the precious few entangled particles he had left all the way to the "Call Me If You're Sick."
The suit collapsed under the pressure. Dytis screamed for a single second and then died, his body dissolved.
Juppie made sure the signal got out from his end, that was all he could do. His copy on the other end would not have these memories. Only his friend would.
And then let himself loose to the mercy of the Hot Jupiter.
There was none.
The End.
Spitwrite Volumes 1-3
What's a Spitwrite Anyway?
Simply put, it’s a story written in a day. Every day, actually. I just call them spitwrites because it’s rude and in-your-face.
I can’t believe I’ve been doing these for two-and-a-half months. Some nights I feel like crap, I’ve got nothing more to give but I push on. Somehow.
Other days the story just comes to me from something that inspired me, like some art from the wonderful artists I follow and share all the time on my social.
The first month, that of Inktober was wobbly, I wrote a lot of these stories but I went back and worked on some, spent time coordinating with the artists for their sketches, etc. The second month of November was full-on spitwrite, one every day.
The third had some bumps on the road but it still got done.
Hope you like it.
George Saoulidis
December 2018, Athens
Machimagic
Stilvi kicked the damn thing. “Why won’t you work?” she cried out, both from frustration and from pain.
The broom stared back in silence, mocking her with its immobility and its refusal to start. It was last-year’s model, of course, Stilvi couldn’t afford the newer ones. She liked it a lot, having stared at it every day as she passed the shop on her way home. The broom had a nice copper exhaust that shone nicely, a retro-style grip for the gear-shift and a big honking aluminium cooler at the back. It was a machimagick obviously made with love, just like she herself was.
She sat down on the bench across the store she’d just bought it from and sighed, her hat thankfully covering up her crying face. It was dark and the street light shone over her, making her face even more obscure.
She heard the sound of footsteps on the pavement. Three pairs. She instantly knew who they belonged to, because of the pit in her stomach.
It was the last person she wanted to see her that way right now.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the flickering star,” Meanie No. 1 said, mocking her name.
Stilvi raised her head just a big, enough to see their legs under the rim of her witch’s hat.
“Yes! Come on, little twinkle. Fly. You can do it,” Meanie No. 2 said in a fake tone of voice.
“Just like this,” Meanie No. 3 said and hopped on her own broom. The small but efficient engine on its back purred and the broom hovered between her legs. She then held on the clutch and shifted gears, her broom gently lifting her up in the air. The smoke it let out was minuscule, and Meanie No. 3 gave them all a bit of a show by flying circles around them.
“What a machine!” Meanie No. 1 said, throwing her hat in the air in applause. The hat spun a few times and then fell back right on top of her head, even facing the proper way.
The Meanie No. 2 flicked her wand, its gears spinning and a small vial of yellow liquid bubbled in the base. A shower of sparks ignited from the tip and opened up in a delicate flower, a rose blooming in the sky above them. Passers-by stopped and marveled at the sudden show.
Stilvi felt even worse. The trio of Meanies casually flaunted their use of magick in her face, when they knew that she couldn’t possibly do any of those things.
“Leave me alone,” Stilvi said with gritted teeth.
“What’s the matter, mecha
no?” Meanie No. 1 leaned in, faking her worry.
Meanie No. 2 tsked. “Hey, don’t use that word. Even she doesn’t deserve it.”
Meanie No. 1 waved her companion’s complaint away. “I apologize for the slip of the tongue,” she said, her hand on her chest in mock sincerity. “Then again, that is what you really are, right? It’s obvious by the fact that you can’t even manipulate the smallest trickle of mana flow.”
Stilvi said, “No!” Then she deflated on the bench. Who was she kidding? The Meanies were right. She was machimagick. Trying to make another machimagick thing to work was preposterous. What was next? Making them? Minds would explode at the very idea.
“That’s what I thought!” Meanie No. 1 said, her hands on her hips and her feet apart, looking triumphant. “Let’s go,” she said louder, so that her flying friend could hear as well. The trio of Meanies went about their way.
Stilvi touched the gas throttle. She twisted it a few times, imagining herself flying up just like the Meanie No. 3 did just then. The air on her face, holding down her hat with the strap she had just sewn into it… She didn’t have the enchantment to hold it in place like the other witches, of course, so she’d have to settle for that.
Only, it seemed she had planned too far ahead.
Meanie No. 2 said something to the others as they were about to reach the corner, and walked back towards the shop. She checked back, the other two went out of sight. Then she walked straight towards Stilvi.
“What do you want? Came back to make fun of me some more?” Stilvi snapped at her bitterly.
“No… I… Um…” The Meanie bit her lip and looked around.
Stilvi said nothing, she just held her precious broom tight in her hands.
“My family has worked with sentient mechanos-” she stopped herself with her hand over her mouth. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, it slipped and I-”
“It’s okay,” Stilvi shrugged. “I deserve it.”
“No, what I wanted to say was that we’ve worked alongside them for years. And some of them have learnt to manipulate mana, if someone starts the flow.”
Stilvi perked up at that. “Really? How?”
“Like a spark, I guess. Basically, if someone lights it up, then you have the capability of learning to control it,” Meanie said, excited.
Stilvi eyed her cautiously. “This is just another prank. I don’t buy it. You just want to lift me up or something and then your buddies can laugh from their hiding spot as I crash onto a tree.”
Meanie chuckled at that. “No! I mean, yes, that is totally something we would do. But not this time, I swear.”
Stilvi looked away, gripping her broom. She mulled it over for what seemed like an hour, but was probably just a couple of minutes. “Thrice,” she said.
“What?”
“Swear it thrice,” Stilvi said, meeting her gaze.
“I… uh…” Meanie gulped. Swearing it thrice was no small thing, even Stilvi knew that. The backlash alone was significant. “I swear it, I swear I’m telling you the truth,” she said, nodding deeply with pressed lips.
Stilvi tilted her head. She couldn’t believe that Meanie No. 2 was actually telling the truth, but there she was, swearing an oath. She presented the broom to her. “Here.”
Meanie’s face took on a focused expression with a deep frown. Then she waved her wand, the liquid bubbling and sparks flying from the gears, her focus on the broom.
Nothing happened.
“I knew you’d screw me over!” Stilvi spat out, balling her fists.
Then it happened. The broom’s engine made an angry grrrr sound like a pissed-off hog. It was nothing like the expensive model Meanie No. 3 had, but Stilvi didn’t care. This one was hers. Her eyes went wide.
Meanie No. 2 looked exhausted. “Put your hands on the handles, quick. You only have a few minutes to figure it out.”
Stilvi complied. She put her hands on the handles and inhaled deeply. For a moment, she felt nothing but the vibrations of the engine. Then, she saw it. Or rather, she felt it. It was as simple as knowing where your leg was, that innate awareness of how it was bent and where it was placed. That’s how the broom, no, her broom, felt like at that moment.
“I-I can do it!” Stilvi squealed out in delight. “I can feel it!” She hopped on the broom and it hovered between her legs, just like it was supposed to.
“Yeah!” Meanie said, apparently shocked.
Stilvi gave it a push, she spun the throttle towards her and made the engine even louder. To her delight, she flew a good ten centimetres off the ground.
Meanie laughed with excitement, and suddenly stopped. Stilvi had jumped off her broom and was hugging her tight, crying tears of joy over the witch’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Stilvi whispered, squeezing her even more.
Meanie stood there shocked for a while, then she put a caring hand on Stilvi’s back and hugged her as well. “Enough about this,” she said, pushing her gently away. “You’ve got some flying to learn, it’s not easy.”
“I know all the theoretical stuff, I’ve read them all in the library,” Stilvi said, wanting to hug the smaller witch again, but composed herself.
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good that you know the theory, but doing it is another thing. Come on now…” she prodded her.
Stilvi hesitantly climbed back on the broom and held it tight. Smiling wide at her new friend, she revved up the gas and braced for the acceleration.
“You’re sitting too far back,” Meanie No. 2 yelled behind her as Stilvi held on for dear life. The ground went by in a blur and the trees were becoming real big all of a sudden.
Stilvi crashed on the trees. Laughing, and putting her hat back on, she pushed the branches away and sat back on her broom.
Then she took off in the air.
The End
Mecha-Chicken Race
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“The chicken race is serious business,” the man said, slapping the Mecha-Chicken’s behind.
Cluck, cluck.
“Now,” he continued, “hop on that chicken and ride like the wind, jockey!” Then he left, onwards to repeat the same pep-talk to his other riders.
Kotopouli hesitantly put on her gear. Vest, breathing apparatus, sword and holster. “The chicken race is serious business,” she sighed to herself, repeating the man’s words.
She took a second to inspect her chicken. It couldn’t have been more of a piece of cluck. The chicken shook violently as its engine ran. Suddenly, she literally snatched a bolt that had shook loose and was flying in the air. She quickly leaned in and grabbed her multitool from her belt, a gift from her grandfather.
As she tightened the bolt back, she remembered the man’s words: “Granddaughter, it’s up to you to win the race for our family’s sake. Your father is too old to try again, and your sister is too fat to ride. It’s why we’ve gotten you ready all these hard years.”
And then he gave her his multi-tool, reverently, as if presenting a magnificent sword.
Kotopouli accepted it and set her jaw firm that day. “I won’t fail you, grandpa!”
Such a stupid girl she had been, she knew now. She glanced at the other jockeys, they were all better equipped for this, better prepared. They all seemed fit and calm and ready to win this thing.
Whereas, she, was scared out of her mind.
Cluck?
Yes, chicken, she was here. Ready to ride.
Cluck, cluck.
What now?
The announcer screamed, “Jockeys, take your places!” and her chicken went to his spot.
Oh. Even he knew more about the race than she did. Oh, she was seriously not ready for this.
“LET THE CHIIIIIIIICKEEEEEEEN RAAAACE BEEEEGIIIIN!”
Cluck!
Holy clucks!
Her chicken darted off, sprinting like crazy. She held on for dear life, as the reigns themselves got torn and became useless. She hugged the chicken’s neck and positioned herself down
low. Lucky for her, she barely dodged that way an incoming slash of another jockey’s sword, who had found easy pray and had taken a swing at her during the confusion.
“You clucking bastard!” she raised her fist at him, but they were already worlds apart. Chickens everywhere, bumping and jumping and clucking away, their jockeys trying to control their mounts while at the same time trying to kick their opponents off. And in that chaos, they were all somewhat sort of heading towards the finish line, a black and white ribbon three kilometres ahead.
Another slash, and Kotopouli leaned back completely, arching her back and becoming one with the chicken’s clucking butt. In her adrenaline rush, she saw the blade slicing through the air she had occupied. Angry, she eyed the jockey. He was handsome. “You clucker!” she swore at him and her chicken side butted his own.
The chickens both clucked. It was madness.
MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets Page 97