𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗬𝗦 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 · A collection of short stories of the sci-fi, fantasy and quirky kind. Take a quick spin around the clouds of Olympus to the frozen wastes of Jupiter's icy moon |
The very first story, The Goddess of Door Hinges, is...
Winner of TheAmbys 2022 under the Short Story category! Featured on the special 100th issue of the Tevun Krus ezine by Ooorah. This story was initially written for Song of the Punk (piratepunk/oceanpunk) on WattpadPunkFiction.
The prompt is the song Wellerman by Nathan Evans.The artwork below was generated by Midjourney AI and touched up by me.
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487km from Pwyll, Europa.
Gales buffeted the high-alloy steel and coated it with frost as if to freeze them in their tracks—but Captain Whiteclaw was unstoppable, seemingly one with the ice-crawler she was on. Her crew on deck glinted in the wintry gloom in all their motley metal splendor, and it was hard to tell man from machine.
Whiteclaw stood up to her full five-foot height and raised her "cutlass", which was actually an ice axe. "Full sail!"
"Aye, aye, captain!" the crew dutifully roared back.
The bulky crawler surged forward with a boom of protest, and plowed ice trailed in its wake, adding to the lineae of Europa's terrain. The crew burst into song.
There once was a ship that put to sea The name of the ship was the Billy of Tea The winds blew up, her bow dipped down Oh blow, my bully boys, blow
The desolate sea of whiteness stretched out on all sides under the ever-present eye of Jupiter, which hung over the tidally locked world in all its grandeur.
"Bolt," Whiteclaw said after a while. "ETA?"
Bolt's voice crackled through the comms system. "Ten minutes, captain!"
"Gaptooth?"
"All systems functional. Fuel levels optimal."
"Hima?"
"Drill ready. Sub on standby. Awaiting orders, captain."
Whiteclaw took a swig from her canteen and let out a burp of satisfaction. Her chest swelled with anticipation as she sucked in the frigid air. Centuries of terraforming had thickened the atmosphere, but high oxygen levels posed a health risk. Lung augmentation was of high demand—almost as much as pwyllite.
She flexed her hand, and the pwyllite tips of her claws glowed silver in the light. If the coordinates she stumbled on were true, there would be enough of the stuff to make her richer than a queen. The perils were worth the risk.
