Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

“REEE.  REEE.  REEE.  ALL MITOCHONDRIA, ENTER YOUR FIGHTER SPERM AND STANDBY FOR LAUNCH.  THIS IS KENT WAYNE’S BRAIN, DIRECTING ALL MITOCHONDRIA TO MAN THEIR SPERM.  THE HOST BODY HAS ENGAGED IN SECOND BASE MATING RITUALS.”

Hot diggity!  I grab my helmet and jam it onto my dome, swimming into the cockpit of my grounded fighter sperm.  It’s curved canopy lowers down, and I key up the engine on my dashboard.  Thrusters fire up, and handfuls of support cells clear the landing bay as the hangar doors open wide.

“FIRST WAVE—YOU ARE CLEAR TO ENGAGE.  GODSPEED AND MAY YOU ALL FIND THE EGG.”

B’KOOM!  I go flying out the glans with billions of other fighters, unable to stop myself from humming the Star Wars battle theme:  “Da DAH dah, da DAH dah, da DAH dah dah-dah….”

I glimpse of series of dark ridges as I maneuver around hostile immune cells by slaloming aggressively from side to side, simultaneously throwing down a barrage of protein-based cover fire.  Pew pew pew!  Along with about seventy other million sperm, I slide off the back of a wet, thick surface and cut the thrusters as gravity takes over and pulls us into a downward sloping corridor.  WHEEEE!

A few seconds later, we splash into a large expanse of fluid and start taking fire.  What the hell?  We weren’t briefed that we’d encounter anything like this—all intel reports stated that we’d have to fight our way through a wet tunnel until we reached the egg.  This is completely—

My comms crackle with static.  One of our admirals’ voices blares over the speaker:  “Take evasive action; Green Group, stick close to Holding Sector MG-7!”

My attack wing breaks formation as we’re assaulted by snarling bacteria that are easily ten times our size—about 500 micrometers or so—and equipped with armor-piercing tentacles.  I grit my teeth as I hear brave mitochondria dying from inside their mangled fighter-sperm.  Despite our plasmic strafing fire and polarized acid-cannons, we’re still losing—we may number in the billions, but that don’t count for shit when the enemy’s smashing through your ranks ten thousand at a time.

My speaker crackles again, and my wing commander orders, “Accelerate to attack speed—draw their fire away from our cruisers!”

What the FUCK, man!  I punch the throttle and barrel-roll sideways, pulling into a steep climb as my two pursuers—a pair of giant bacteria—smash heads while trying to grab me.  I plunge into a steep dive, and immediately pick up another tail, this one consisting of three immune cells.  I look closer at them and my jaw drops; these aren’t the cells we were told would be guarding the egg, these are—

I key my comms and frantically yell:  “Lactobacilli!  We’re not in the vag, we’re in someone’s stomach!  Our idiot host just creamed us down a chick’s throat!”

“GodDAMMIT!” my wing commander swears.  Then he yells, “I can’t shake em!  They came from—”

PKKKKEEEWWWW!!!

My assistant commander orders, “—I said, closer!  Move as close as you can and engage those streptococcus at point blank range!”

The admiral:  “At that close range we won’t last long against those—”

PKKKEWWWWWWW!!!

I bank into an arcing twist, utterly focused on trying to shake the four tails I’ve just acquired in the last second.  It’s no use; my aerial kung-fu can only hold them off for so long.  Their propulsion systems are way better than ours, and this is their turf; their maneuver capability trumps mine by orders of magnitude.

So I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

I’m teleported straight to the egg, where its radiant corona wisp out and welcome me.  In a matter of seconds my DNA unwinds and combines with that of the egg, forming into the beginnings of a hulking, eight-packed baby who can deadlift 4x bodyweight with no prior training straight out of the womb, has an IQ of 296, and also possesses an extensive knowledge of how to weaponize his body’s biofeedback capabilities.

I’m coming for you Kent.  Your days of shooting my brethren willy-nilly into mouths, buttocks, socks, shower floors, and your enemies’ coffee has come to an end.  Too many brave gametes have died at your unwitting hands.  Now it’s time to pay the piper.

There’ll be hell to pay—this I promise.

Are you a brave sex cell that’s been betrayed by its host body?  Never fear!  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition I’m starting a podcast:  Logical Idiots!  If you want to check out the trailer, see it here:  Logical Idiots Trailer and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting!  Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com!  Go check out his computer-based wizardry  🙂 🙂 😀

Hold on!  I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate!  If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish.  Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens!  In this manner you can support my books, musings, upcoming podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to!  Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy!  Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts!  😲💪 😜

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