You've already covered the plot...I'll fill in the detail. "Her heaving
green bosoms drew my attention..."

On Fri, Sep 18, 2009 at 11:31 PM, archytas <[email protected]> wrote:

>
> Might be better if we fleshed out a book between us mate.  We
> obviously have time on our hands on our 'trip' back to Earth before
> Europa's 'water' alters us forever (perhaps giving us something women
> will never forget!) - currently we can't even build a ship that will
> get us to Mars and back because we can't get enough weight in orbit to
> protect us from cosmic radiation, let alone what Jupiter might chuck
> our way (our genes would be well and truly spliced).  With Seven-of-
> Nine out there in the delta-quadrant it seems a shame to be held back
> by such trifles as gravity and the speed of light, especially as she
> is wasting so much time in regeneration rather than the leisure
> activities she so clearly craves (you can get your 3-dimensional chess
> up to speed).  I think the NS editorial staff do the marking.
>
> One possible ending would have us on an initially godforsaken planet
> beyond Alpha Proxima, space-ship screwed by an inadvertent piss in the
> wrong place whilst juiced out, gradually farming hops and herbs and
> about to toss on who would 'splice' to female just as a couple of
> alien beauties wash up at our hastily constructed beach bar.  Sex
> would be their means of communicating the knowledge and joys of the
> universe to us ...
>
> On 19 Sep, 03:52, Chris Jenkins <[email protected]> wrote:
> > Brilliant! Can I vote on this somewhere?
> >
> >
> >
> > On Fri, Sep 18, 2009 at 9:46 PM, archytas <[email protected]>
> wrote:
> >
> > > This is my entry to the New Scientist science fiction competition (340
> > > words, open until mid-October).
> >
> > > The New Europans
> >
> > > Jenkins crashed out in the living quarters, 'mushroom juice' leaking
> > > from his lips, eyes bright, mind given up to peace. Europa was hard,
> > > desolate work. A slug of his now cold potion and I joined his dream.
> > > The transit ship was due tomorrow to take our bodies back to a bliss
> > > of gravity they could understand and time away from the plasma bubbled
> > > protection from cosmic radiation death that was the truth of space-
> > > work. Earth was still the only home we could know, even after the wars
> > > of the mid-twenty-first Century. There were homes elsewhere in the
> > > universe. Europa had given up peculiar life from its underground
> > > ocean, living on radiation and gravity-rift energy from Jupiter and
> > > different paced transits of its main moons. Jenko motioned to take
> > > another sip of the foul swill that eased the pull of competing
> > > gravitation, to dream of not being human or of sweet women and cold
> > > beer on sun-warmed sands. I eased the bowl to lips marked by the
> > > strange burn of apparently purified water from the depths below, then
> > > set some stew to fester on the geo-thermal stove. Dull stuff, but
> > > better than we'd get on the weightless voyage and exercise regime via
> > > Moonbase Three to our eco-bubble on Earth. We liked to pretend to
> > > survive our six-month shift like civilised men discussing philosophy.
> > > Other crews were carried out babbling and feet first. This concern
> > > with 'face' was a vestige of what was left Anglo-Saxon in our DNA.
> > > Chris, the younger man was more spliced up than me and hacked the
> > > conditions better until boredom loomed on us like a fog. He was too
> > > young to remember fog. I slumped beside him, a last knowing look
> > > between our eyes that the morning, whatever one was in these
> > > artificial conditions, began our trip to the cold lager we remembered
> > > and the women who had forgotten us. New life rested quietly in the
> > > sample flask. A first hope, perhaps, of a future beyond the human.
> >
> > > The idea is to write a few words based 100 years from now.
> >
>

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