Chapter 17. This Is: The News!
Let me tell you something: in my entire active life, across eons that you’d call billions and billions of years, I have never encountered so many crass conversations, so much arrogance and mindless statements, trivia and nonsense, as I did in these forty-nine years here on Earth, down in my cave, under the rock of Richat. Excerpts.
2021, November 7th in Moscow – The Russian Federation officially asks Germany and Denmark to advocate on behalf of its intention to join the European Confederation.
Unofficial data traffic indicates that, during tough negotiations, Russia obtained strategic control over the Black Sea, the Bosphorus, Anatolia, Mesopotamia and Persia in exchange for returning former Kaliningrad, now Königsberg, to Germany, for proclaiming Sankt Petersburg a European International City, for opening the borders, and trade, across Eurasia. In short, the Russians allowed the Germans in (to some unexpected extent) without losing face, but gaining mutual trust. Instead, Europe will do business with Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran exclusively via Russian-owned proxy companies.
2024, August 6th in Hiroshima – The Emperor of Japan officially announces that atomic and nuclear weapons have been completely eradicated from the face of the earth.
Unofficial data traffic indicates that Saturn (that’s my boy, yuppie) has altered chemistry and physics of such a manner that TNT puffs instead of booming and critical mass must accrete to twice the mass of this planet. In short, these crazy humans can’t explode themselves anymore. What a fortunate hack of nature, one would say. Oh yes, chimes Beatrice in, I must report that gun powder can’t bang either. Kalashnikovs, like any other guns, have been put out of business, comrades. Well done, Saturn!
2027, August 20th in Paris – Yvonne Loiret, the most acclaimed medic and geneticist of all times, officially declares that not a single human, out of the eight billion inhabitants of the globe, is hungry anymore. Hunger has not only been halved but eradicated by “L’eau de vivre!” A precisely measured dose of two hundred and fifty milliliters of her water-based homeopathic elixir satiates the human body with all the necessary minerals, proteins and vitamins for one week. A healthy consumption of four to five liters of purified water a day is recommended in addition to the “glass of life” per week. Striking decisively against Big Pharma, Yvonne Loiret demonstrates that her product is all natural, cannot be patented, and she is licensing the genetically modified mother milk extract under the GNU General Public License – because DNA is code. Monsanto protests but nobody gives a damn.
Unofficially, guess that I’ve kept you in the loop with this one: it’s my darn dripping milk (all natural and not at all genetically modified, she had to lie about that or show me to the people instead). I am the COW slaving down here in the caves for Yvonne to walk her ass on Avenue des Champs-Elysées. To refresh myself, I’ve been humbly asking for a spanking, a couple of times. She said no. Bitch!
2028, July 14th in Paris – Same Yvonne Loiret, Minister of Health, Nobel Prize winner and femme fatale, in a public speech on the occasion of the 239th anniversary of the French Revolution, proclaims that Capitalism is to this planet what Candida fungus is to the human body and consequently Communism is to society what Cancer is to the body. This historical discourse prepares humanity for a novel and valiant leap into the future. Equality and fraternity in a new world liberated from: money, banks, credits, armies, corporations, overprotective governments, industries… and the list goes on with different terms that, honestly, are getting me tired to mention.
Unofficial data traffic indicates that Yvonne has thoroughly followed Rebecca’s indications. Funny words (and hats) apart, my little sisters were globalizing their early French Zebra Model of Society. “Les rosbifs” went up in arms – this is how they’re talking about the British, behind their backs. Not very nice, have to admit. But Rebecca used (appealed to, in her own words) the German Frau Kanzlerin to entice London with some Moon base project that they’ve called LUNATIX (what an acronym full of substance). And thus the Brits had bit the bait (giving up the entire continent of Africa to French control after succinct negotiations).
2028, August 20th in Paris – Yvonne Loiret (cliché) makes an announce to the Global Village about a new breakthrough in genetics: the fivefold extension of human lifespan. She makes sure to stress it with every occasion that this is an early experimental phase and it will take decades for the scientists to present more stable results. However, the experimental groups are doing just fine in their second century of life (as the advertising goes).
Unofficially, she can’t speak zilch about Saturn’s sperm until my first Jubilee! Ta-daaa…
2070, August 20th – next to Richatville, North-West African France, I make my first public appearance atop the Richat Structure. Yes, Mesdammes et Messieurs, yours truly, Astarte, the woman from another star, in her thirty-four meters high all-naked glory, steps (finally) above the face of the Earth. Applause, applause!!
Like huge mosquitoes, camera drones buzz around me, capturing numerous video feeds and distributing them all over the globe.
Hereby I’ll reproduce my first speech to humanity.
“My dear beloved humans, sons of Adam, sons of God,”
“Please allow me to thank you, from the very depths of my heart, for the kindness and understanding that you have manifested toward my race and species.”
“Yes, the answer is here, in front of your eyes. Aliens exist. I am one of them.”
“But I am also a mother. Right here, on your planet, I had given birth to my baby twins, human twins, Easter and Saturn. Most men have already met my daughter Easter, I suppose. And all the military men and women have heard of, if not having shaken hands with, my son Saturn.”
“The world has become a better place because of your continuous cooperation with my twins. I thank you for that.”
“These few words being spoken, as a token of gratitude for your hospitality, I put myself at your service. Send your thoughts to me at firstname.lastname@example.org – Be blessed!”
Ovations, acclamations, a hail of mails precipitating to my inbox. Answering them timely and politely, they replied back and so I have engaged myself in so many dialogs with fellow humans. By mid September I have gathered over nine billion friends, earthlings, on my sahara.cron universal love app. I was a Star. Again…
“Astarte… Psst… Astarte!”
Yes, Beatrice, what’s up?
“All is well, dear. Just don’t forget to paste some news from America, will you?”
Which of the Americas?
“Make your pick. Start with Texas, for instance, then move on to California and New York, Rio and Chile. Oh yes, à-propos, make a special for the North-West and the Andes, remember when you have cooled their calderas down?”
Sure do, sis.
2045, July 4th in Austin, Texas – Madam Governor of Texas officially declares the secession from the Union by the Free Republic of Texas. “This is a move against extortion by taxation, not against the national unity of all Americans. Today in Austin we echo what Samuel Adams and the Sons of Liberty did in the Boston harbor two hundred and seventy-two years ago. London has moved to Washington and Boston to Austin.”
Unofficial data traffic exposes the complexities of this dangerous shift of power. Following the isolation decades of the USA, the ascendance of Russia in the Middle East, the French-Israeli New Deal, the British-German Brotherhood, old school politicians in Washington proved more obsolete than ever: no more nuclear deterrent (new laws of physics), no more terrorist threats (France fixed it), no more global empire (replaced by the new global village), no more oil and natural gas to burn (Tesla was right).
2046, January 23rd in Washington – Madam President of the United States of America, during the State of the Union Address, thanks France for sending food supplies and energy devices to states affected by frost and hunger on the East Coast, Central Mountains and the North-West.
Unofficial data traffic reveals that this was the end of the USA as your grandparents knew it. France helped the Americans again, not because of the Albion, not because of obscure colonial interests. This time it was simple kindness. No strings attached. The many survivors of the worst winter in American history voted to abolish taxes, to adopt French “technology” (they still didn’t realize what a natural method means, as opposed to technology) and to move the capital of the USA to Austin, Texas.
There you go, Beatrice, pasted some news from America. May I return to me?
“Yes, you may.”
2071, April 7th in Jerusalem – Easter, the adorable bijou goddess, officially proclaims to all the corners of the Earth (and Moon, and Mars), that “Today is Resurrection Day!” Not Easter Day. “Celebrate my name on August twenty because I am not worthy to share my day with His,” said she to the revelatory stupefaction of the audience. Thereafter the cute little thing has beamed up to an undisclosed location.
Unofficial chatter, family gossip if you wish, had this topic on our table with every new spring when looking at confused fellow humans chasing eggs (bunny eggs, mind you), spraying virgins and ladies alike (in fertility rituals), painting eggs (hen eggs, more fecundity rites) instead of contemplating the Resurrection of Christ, or mixing it all up. Me and my twins, we were appalled (still are) at the ignorance of humans. Let’s hope that they’ve got it now.
2073, June 1st in Lyon – Madame la Présidente de la République, Yvonne Loiret, introduces the world to the ultimate revolution in genetics. All natural, of course. Her new product is called simply: SATURN SPERM. There never were any simpler pharmaceutical remedies to illness and suffering than this latest “pill.” Or ice cube, because the “pill” consists of frozen water and liquid nitrogen capturing a single spermatozoid. Yes, collected by the audacious plumbers from Saturn’s self-induced sleeps under the shower. This spermatozoid translates alien DNA architecture into human telomere repair sequences. “Half a century of sustained experiments, applied on a comprehensive variety of subject groups, make us confident to affirm that one single sublingual pill of SATURN SPERM will extend your personal lifespan from the second century into the eighth. Plainly put, the average life expectation will leap from 150+ to 750+ years,” reaffirmed Madame la Présidente.
Unofficial chatter, actually a harsh argument between me and Yvonne, says that the side effects of SATURN SPERM could be devastating for the consumer.
The first, and very obvious, is that any person who has taken SATURN SPERM under his/her tongue becomes sterile. Scientists didn’t realize this at first because they had performed the experiments on seniors, which used to be out of their sexual prime. But when the seniors reversed their aging and wished to have kids, it didn’t work. Rejuvenated ladies had their egg-count expired for good (ovulation is a countdown) and rejuvenated gents could not fecundate young ovulating ladies because their semen proved to be incompatible with the eggs. The next series of experiments, on youth groups, established this non negligible side effect: sterility (canceled ovulation and discordant spermatozoids).
The second side effect, less obvious but more severe, has been brought to our attention by Saturn himself. He put it this way, to me first (before switching showers).
“Mom, do you know that subjects who regularly took Communion, before assimilating my DNA repair kit, have sent me their thoughts about nausea and intense abdominal pain occurring a minute or two after having Communion again?”
I said with a spider crawling on my spine. Looking around for Beatrice, could not see her. Hum, since when am I self-spidering my back? Odd thing…
Saturn presented me the feeds from as many as 204,687 subjects. Vomiting, hurling, staggering agony. Awful!
“Your DNA hack won’t work, son. It conflicts with His DNA. You must stop this madness. Oh my.”
“I stopped it. Executing my sleep subroutine in hectic places, I collect my sperm and burn it. But I fear that the plumbers had had collected enough spermatozoids for ten earths by now.”
Yvonne was residing in Paris, way out of range to read my mind.
I’ve sent Saturn to her, hurriedly. He returned the next day.
“She has grown to be the most stubborn bitch on planet Earth, mom. Sorry for bitching.”
I walked to Paris. Yes! Across the Gibraltar, got my pussy wet a little bit.
She wouldn’t listen. I criticized her on my vast social network. Every friend of mine on sahara.cron knows about this scandal.
Opinions are divided. Many fans, and good friends for decades, have sent back their thoughts of me being a bigot, a pedantic prude.
Fuck! I’m the greatest nudist of all times. The harlot of the universe. The mother of… Okay… Okay… I’ll stop here.
Humanity is divided again. I’m not anymore the Star of everyone’s heart.
Playing this situation in her favor, Yvonne has initiated a defamation campaign against the Catholic Church. Condemning the practice of ‘communion’ as a Catholic tradition non-concordant with the newest discoveries of science.
But the Eucharist (as they call it: Communion) is not a Catholic tradition. It is a substance: the very tissue of Jesus Christ’s heart. Eucharist is DNA. So says Saturn. So says Easter. So say I.
“Dare you resist the liberty of choice that God is giving to each individual of the human race?” Said Yvonne to me, publicly.
I answered that I am Lady Liberty and I cannot restrict the liberty of choice.
Indeed she is right: humans can decide for themselves. All I could get from Yvonne was a standard and exclusive text on every package of SATURN SPERM that is currently distributed. This. Black on white, the top half, and white on black, the bottom half.
Product name: SATURN SPERM (cryogenic).
Contents: Saturn’s sperm (1 unit); saline water; liquid nitrogen.
Apparent sensation: Lite burning.
Caution: UNKNOWN SIDE EFFECTS
The Producer says: NOT SAFE FOR HUMANS!
NO SIDE EFFECTS
SAFE FOR HUMANS!
ALL FREE LIFE CURE!
2121, August 20th on the North Pole Carousel – My Second Jubilee has been reason for celebration but also for lamentation. Billions of sterile people find themselves in the most absurd situations: their bodies trapped under ruins, mutilated in car crashes, sliced by levitating trains (or incomplete teleportation), rogue moving amputated limbs, disfigured corpses that still crawl, years after the accidents had happened. A gruesome landscape of animated death.
Saturn is regularly checking them, one by one. The gloomy news is that all of them are aware of what is going on with their bodies. They beg for death to take their souls away from this calamity of the flesh. But death has no way to reach them.
The DNA hack is too efficient, the cells repair too fast. Still the injured body cannot morph, cannot adapt to compensate for the suffered mechanical trauma. Don’t rush to call them zombies because they do not rot. They cannot decompose. They are crisp!
Piles of active cells drowning in a sea of fresh blood and fetid spiritual desolation. This is the third unknown side effect: the DNA hack gives immortality to the body; the telomeres repair themselves for ever and ever. This is no biological mechanism, more likely a fractal open loop.
Saturn didn’t see it coming. Kronos did but chose not to warn us. He’s got the liberty of choice, like any other person, doesn’t he?
The unharmed sterile persons, taking heed of the ordeal, are scared to death (even if knowing that death can’t reach them) and hide in isolated places, where no object or element would hurt their bodies. The fourth side effect: chronic paranoia.
In spite of this global tragedy, my smaller community of fans – gravitating around the Reformed Catholic Church – is thriving. For them, and especially for their children, Saturn has proposed, designed and supervised the execution of The North Pole Carousel, which is the greatest structure ever constructed by humankind. The floating cone measures twelve hundred meters in height, wherefrom three hundred above water, with a maximum radius of 457 kilometers. The roof cone is but five hundred meters high with a maximum radius of 489 kilometers.
This huge whirligig-ship, built by humans from the bottom of the Arctic Ocean up, can spin clockwise or counter clockwise (depending on which way I do my jogging; yes! I’m the wheel mouse powering the whirligig in my free time). They use it as a climate regulatory device. This being the long expected solution to artificially warm up the North Pole, to melt the ever growing icecap, make Greenland green again and bring solace to frozen North America.
My friends from the Communion communities on sahara.cron have a nickname for the Noth Pole Carousel. They call it Katholikos, which means ‘universal’ in Greek.
I’ve told them to avoid being religious about stuff or things may turn South for them as they did for the stubborn sterile people. Anyway, the concept of religion is now so different from what it meant during the early twenty-first century.
These guys are basically nudists, polygynous. They have rejected polygamy and polyamory on religious grounds, or maybe just to annoy me, dunno. They fuck like bunnies and sing like birdies. Their average lifespan runs around 145 years and they don’t complain. Some even tweet thoughts like “one wife should be enough but you’ll have to man up and save the species, don’t stop at one!”
I don’t like this herd-like attitude, never did. But who am I to judge?
À-propos late twenty-first century: celibacy is currently a sin for the new Katholikos tourists. See how fear drives religious minds? Some of the Katholikos priests parade their harems for the sake of procreation (or so they say).
Oh God, I hate this nonsense. The only “sin” is lacking the measure of things. Maybe I’d better suggest the restoration of papacy. At least they would listed to one man, because they won’t listen to my words.
2140, October 22nd in Paris – Madame ex-Présidente de la République, Yvonne Loiret, has deceased today in her bed. She was 162 years old. Post mortem tests revealed that she never took the sublingual SATURN SPERM product.
Bingo! – said I. Ouch! – said the paranoid steriles, or at least those brave enough to hear the news.
2170, August 20th in Richatville – My Third Jubilee started with simultaneous celebrations on Earth, Moon, Mercury and Mars. The giant lads – sons of the titans from Project LUNATIX – have traveled to offer me a gangbang, on the house! I accepted: the five blue blooded and the eight red blooded ones. Why discriminate?
Humans, titans and giants have managed to form a functional alliance throughout the Inner Solar System. Saturn the human and his father Kronos the giant can be proud of it.
Saturnalia has turned into a way of life for everyone around: parties, banquets, art making for the sake of art, music for the love of music, gifts and presents for no matter which occasion, sex for pleasure (the numbers are safe now – beyond fourteen billions and growing as humans colonize new planets), love making for the fondness of it, charity for the steriles who have no other choice than to live in the past, haunted by their too perfect bodies.
I wished for Kronos to get out of his hide and join me today, for the inauguration of my Third Jubilee. But he declined. Don’t know why. What “good reasons” are holding him there?, at “the frontier…”
I love him and I wish to make love to him. In response, he consented to watch the gangbang. I was a little disappointed…
2191, August 13th – somewhere across Sahara, not too far away from Richatville – I jog around in the company of two lovers: OMD, a blue blooded giant lad, and MANN, a red blooded titan lad from the Moon. The sun welcomes us from above the sands of Egypt.
“Hey, MANN,” say I, “how about we run to the Nile, to wet our feet? Are you game?”
“Game!,” responds MANN.
I don’t bother asking OMD because he always follows me and seldom speaks. Accelerating to fifteen hundred kilometers per hour, I break the soundwall. When you do this at ground level, the dunes feel the shock wave and the white sands jump to paint the air like a fine art umbrella. The next second, two new booming umbrellas flank mine. The lads had broken the sound barrier at their turn. Wow, I feel good!
The Nile is only twenty minutes away. The sun gains traction up on the sky. I tune my vision filters to sink darker and, just in case, let me add some extra contrast. Don’t wish to stumble upon some unlicensed human project. But… wait… a sec… What’s that black minus catching contour in the middle of the sun?
“Unidentified flying object nearing at twelve o’clock!”
Shouts MANN from my left while OMD, from my right side, overtaking me, speeds beyond Mach 2.5 and springs to grab the incoming body.
“Jovian dragon,” notes the blue blooded giant as his strong arms grab the reptile by its long neck.
Sadly, the elongated mouth snapped OMD’s torso, basin and his entire left leg at the same moment when his mighty hands had broken the attacker’s spine in two. The monster and what’s left of my lover fall to the ground. Dead.
Horrified, we hurry to the rescue of OMD. Another black minus on the sun grows into a second Jovian dragon. This one dives to spit fire over the white sands. Four thousand Celsius degrees turn the dunes into melted and sticky glass.
I slip. And fall.
The ugly head of the lizard opens like a huge pair of scissors. Then it snaps. Around my waist. I am cut in two. My body is broken. Looking back, I can see how MANN breaks the neck of my assassin.
The brain informs me that my life will end in seven hundred milliseconds. I understand.
Here go my last thoughts to the backup.
I thank the humans and their God for allowing me in their story.
With my final breath, I tell you to write about my adventure and, when time comes, to end it with the following words, my last.
“Thus passed Astarte, the mother of Easter and Saturn.”
To be continued
“Astarte, The Adventure” is a direct continuation of the spectacular paragalactic stories from “Polygamy vs. Polygyny,” “TITANIA – From Schönbrunn to Saturn” and “MATRYOSHKA – Sex in the Golden Age.”
The next novel in the works: LUNATIX…
2015 June 1, by Doris Dawn & Don Dawn, email@example.com
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