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Creative Writing: No Fires

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Stylani shook her head, and put her attention to shutting down the equipment, carefully. Without the distraction, they wouldn’t be able to leave the upper atmospheric security nets, and everything would be for nothing. Fires would mean emergency procedures, and that meant the security nets would let shuttles pas through with just a security code. “You said to create something to distract them,” she said. “ What’s more distracting than a fire, anyway, nothing but those barrels will be burned.” “Those barrels are full of polish for the jumper’s wings,” he said, ducking when the first barrel exploded. Stylani looked at him, stunned, but he was already gathering the equipment to run for it. All he could hope was that the WoolPacker would…show more content…
Any courtesan worth half her spit should be able to head to Europa, maybe Ganymede for an evening stroll along the beach, or some pleasure cruise. Anyway, I’ve never heard of no courtesan carrying around anything but their fancy clothes and jewelry, I mean…” He stopped talking; they both did as the security nets came into view. The nets played off some design, creating a space within space, filling in the net with dancing images of electricity, spanning, heating, and shifting the atmosphere so that even those on the core, the Holy Grounds, were able to see the stars and moons as they wish. Developed from the philosophy of ancient medieval geniuses, the security nets were charged by the excess hydrogen being sifted through the atmo synthesizers. The WoolPacker eased right through the security net, even as the console screen continued to flash images of the burning shipyard as reporters continued to discuss the heroic efforts of the fire teams. Trynt almost turned it off, almost, when another story hit the screen. A face appeared, a photo, as rolling text made Trynt rub the back of his neck once again before he turned to gaze at the living embodiment of the image, still on the…show more content…
“Listen, all you need to do is get me to Callisto, and then you can take the shuttle elsewhere,” Stylani said, getting up to turn off the screen that still had her face pasted on a screen with the words traitor, heretic, and extremely dangerous. “What’s this bunch of junk ‘posed to change?” Trynt asked, looking at the lot of equipment, wondering how a bunch of dusty scrap was even going to work. “My grandfather was…what some might call eccentric,” Stylani whispered, as Trynt picked up on some inner pain, a pain he knew well. “He was always messing with all of this stuff…and then one day, it wasn’t just stuff anymore. Tell me, the gods, why don’t they want the colonists on Ganymede to send out scouts, knowing that Jupiter, even the moons, won’t keep humanity for long?” The WoolPacker was now out of the cloudcover, and entering the uppermost atmo before reaching true space. Trynt knew one thing from all his years, to question the gods meant death, for you, and those around you. He knew just by being in this shuttle, he was now death-marked as well. It wasn’t till then though, that he regretted not taking that extra whiskey when he had the
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