Author : Clint Wilson, Staff Writer
The starship dropped down into the clear atmosphere of the water planet. Inside the belly bay, six surf pods awaited their launch. Each one was five meters long, known as “longboards” by current popular culture. And inside of each one of them, there eagerly awaited an anxious human enthusiast.
Connor stood rigid on the inner control board, a replica of a twentieth century longboard, once used to ride the comparatively minuscule waves of Earth. Now its general look and function were mainly for nostalgia, but the manipulations inputed by a rider’s legs, along with measurements of arms, head and torso balance, transmitted via suit sensors, would help to control the entire pod atop the massive waves of Nokium IV.
The tourism company’s vessel lowered to within three meters of a very calm azure sea. The belly bay doors opened, a klaxon sounded, and the six pods splashed into the water together. The long-haired bare-chested ship’s pilot wished them, “bodacious luck,” and immediately maneuvered the craft up and away. A few moments later he shouted into their ear pieces, “Incoming!”
Bobbing in the beautiful waters, all six pods slowly turned toward the eastern horizon, and in the distance they saw it. The fifteen hundred meter wave was still many kilometres away, but they all started engaging their forward thrusters at maximum propulsion. This was the thing that Connor had been waiting for all of his life, had spent his entire savings on, the ultimate wave. He called out to his five friends on the comm link. “Ready boys and girls? This is it! This is the big one!”
Retorts of, “Woo hoo!” and, “Yeehaw!” abounded. Then Connor keyed the musical track inside all of their helmets and the clicky clacky reverb of Mosrite guitars became apparent as the rhythmic stylings of “The Ventures” accompanied their approach to the nearly mile high wave.
Before they knew it it was upon them. And then they began to climb, and climb, and then climb some more. The powerful electric motors of the pods were pushed to their limits as the six surfers reached the crest of the wave. And then in perfect synchronization they all turned around, and began to ride the massive unstoppable behemoth.
Connor shouted with glee, “Here we go gang!” while the roar of billions of tonnes of surging water accompanied by the snazzy melodies and thumping drumbeat of “Walk Don’t Run” assaulted their ears. And they all surfed and surfed along together for many dozens of kilometres, as the monstrous wave carried them forward beneath a glorious cloudless pale blue sky. Eventually they all slipped from the roiling crest, down into the pipeline, with endless millions of litres of translucent turquoise water curling above their heads. Until at long last the massive monster slowly lost momentum and finally deposited them back down onto the planetary ocean’s calm surface, to once again bob safely beneath the warm white sun of Nokium.
And as the tourism ship returned to pick them up, cheers and congratulations could be heard all over the comm link. It had after all been indeed the most bodacious, righteous, and gnarliest of days!