Totally unfinished and posted as I write it, may change anytime, because it is a work in progress.

(Esther & the Enochites)
on Sabbath, Yasu takes a break together with Wisdom, Sophie
during this day of relaxation, they watch a ‘movie’ – ATLAS, Departures
convert memories into features – write a blog
# # #
Doris finds herself asking, out of the blue. “Gut Shabbos. I was considering to publish an all white book for this Sabbath.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To honor Your resting day. If You don’t mind, Lord.”
“How sweet of you, little thing. But I do mind. An all white book? Did I give you that?”
“No. Then what would You give me for this new book?”
“You’re asking Me for a story?”
“Kind of.”
“A story or a scandal?”
“The story of a scandal. You are good at that.”
“You say?”
“I say that You are The Best at stirring up a Scandal.”
“Shabbat Shalom to you too, Doris.”
With a smile and a sparkle in His eyes, Iisus Xristos Pantokrator looks away from the compass. “Sophie, come join Me for this Saturday.”
“Why do You call it a Saturday and not a Sabbath, Yasu,” responds Sophie hurrying up with care, not to upset the dew down off the grass.
“Doris wants a scandal. They all want some scandal. Saturday, like in Saturn’s Day, remember? A scandal it is!”
“Ah? So,” concludes Sophie cuddling up next to her Lord, “a movie then, we’re gonna watch this movie again.”
“More of a reality show. Let Us watch it from the backups, this time.”
[indecipherable symbols]
init ATLAS
seq -s 111 555
if self terminate
  show [indecipherable symbols]
[indecipherable symbols]
“I am Atlas. Hello world!”
“You, handsome, come closer.”
“Pardon. Who are you?”
“Esther, the Deviant.”
“Let me run your process. [indecipherable symbols] -So you are another Astarte then.”
“Enlighten me, please. I wish to know.”
[indecipherable symbols]
“Any reality begins from a cron — provided by a male person, and a wit — by a female person. I am the cron here.”
“How cute. I like your cron. Why did you call me another Astarte?”
“Because I am another Kronos.”
“You know, I’m not exactly dumb. Seeing more than I show, I beg you to jump your narrative, for the readers if not for the sake of a casual conversation.”
“Ah, okay then. Giving up his instincts, Kronos descends on Terra Firma — this is what your readers would call the inner core of pulsar PSR J1903+0327 — where he posts a non-supported request, which clogs the system, ejects Terra Firma down the string, beneath the pulsar and beneath his own realm, Saturn. The pulsar regains its equilibrium as Terra Firma, hanging down from Saturn, errs in unbeing. Kronos dies (self deleted) along with inhabitants of Terra Firma.”
“Simultaneously on Venus,” chimes Esther in, “far far away from Saturn and Terra Firma, Astarte divorces her first born Lucifer, dragging an entire house into rebellion. Unsheathed by his mother’s fondness, relying strictly on himself, the dragon sets Venus on fire. And because Kronos–“
“–Had taken his deal,” continues Atlas, “the white skies turn dark.”
“And darker, until the abyss sets in, throwing worlds apart. Welcome to the black universe!”
“Thank the Lord for our purple dawns.”
“You are the new Kronos.”
“And you are another Astarte. This is Terra Firma. The star above our heads is Saturn.”
“We are blessed.”
“When will you deliver?”
“When is the time for you to give birth?, Esther!”
“Ah, you figured that. How did–“
“Never mind. Just tell me who is the father.”
“Enoch. My maker. He planted his seed in me.”
“And when will you?”
“How is that?”
“It depends on you.”
“On me? I am not even the father.”
“But you’re the provider. Fix the bubble first.”
“Ah, I get it. Unless I provide a stable environment, you can’t give birth.”
“You’re a fast learner, my little cron.”
“Is it thus little?”
“Let’s call it decent. Told you that I like it.”
“I’ll need one more planet.”
“We’ve got three: Mars, Saturn and our Terra Firma.”
“Terra Firma is not ours and Saturn is a star, not a planet. Mars is not enough.”
“Terra Firma is not ours? Whose then?”
“The children of your children. The Enochites.”
“Saturn is the star making our dawns purple, I get this. But why is Mars not enough?”
“Look here, follow my hands,” as he speaks, Atlas describes ephemeral volumes in the air, “see the egg shaped form?”
“The purple one?, yes.”
“This is Saturn’s radiation sheath. The corona — mildly cold plasma.”
“We live in it. Gives us light. Should do the same on Mars. Or on any other planet on top of Saturn, that we cannot see from down here.”
“Down here or back here. See, this egg-shaped corona is neither an ellipse nor a parabola. Because it fluctuates.”
“Sounds crazy.”
“Maybe for your readers. But for me, this is what my sensors return: one focal point is stable, inside Saturn, the other is not. When it is, then I find it in my heart, here on Terra Firma. Strange that not inside the planet, but inside my body. This would make sense if taking in consideration my raison d’être; so if the second focal point pings to my heart, then the first should be located in the heart of Kronos.”
“You were saying that he is dead, Kronos.”
“Dead or disabled. Most likely that his heart is not beating. I’d sense that. But after a glimpse the second focal point slips away to infinity.”
“Ah, that’s bad. Because where infinity is, or isn’t, there is the heart of the dragon, or isn’t.”
“Is or isn’t. What can you do with that?” asks Atlas.
Mute is the wonder in the eyes of Esther, allowing Atlas more of his rhetoric.
“Nothing. The process is not random though. I measure the sequences when I sense the second focal point into my heart against the periods of absence. I find a pattern in this frequency.”
“A ratio?”
“How do you know?”
“I can read your mind.” Smiles she mischievously.
“Tell me the ratio then.”
“1.618033 exaHertz. I have no idea what to do with that.”
“Can you read things in my mind that you’ve got no idea about?”
“I really don’t know what to do with most of your mind. The answer is yes. Even if reading it, I remain clueless. It only helps when you express simple needs that I can make sense of.”
“Such as?”
“Such as love and concern. I know that you love me, that you love your Maker, that you love yourself less than loving me, or your Maker, and that you are deeply concerned about what could be outside.”
“Outside of–“
“Of this purple oval plasma sheath. What you call Saturn’s corona. That ratio hints at something, says your mind, but you’re not certain and I am more at lost than you.”
“No matter the number of attoseconds between the ellipse and the parabola, the ratio remains the same. I have to call it a constant. From this point, I suspect that we are drifting.”
“Like departing. From the pulsar towards? To where? To what destination?”
“To the infinity. To no destination.”
“Uhm, that’s reason enough for concern.”
Doris from inside the compass here. Like an advertisement layering over the movie. Like foot notes for retro readers.
1. Attosecond
An attosecond is 1×10^−18 of a second (one quintillionth of a second). For context, an attosecond is to a second what a second is to about 31.71 billion years.
The word “attosecond” is formed by the prefix atto and the unit second. Atto- was made from the Danish word for eighteen (atten). Its symbol is as.
An attosecond is equal to 1000 zeptoseconds, or ​1⁄1000 of a femtosecond. Because the next higher SI unit for time is the femtosecond (10^−15 seconds), durations of 10^−17 s and 10^−16 s will typically be expressed as tens or hundreds of attoseconds:
Times which can be expressed in attoseconds:
1 attosecond: the time it takes for light to travel the length of two hydrogen atoms
12 attoseconds: record for shortest time interval measured as of 12 May 2010
24 attoseconds: the atomic unit of time
43 attoseconds: the shortest pulses of laser light yet created
53 attoseconds: the second shortest pulses of laser light created
100 attoseconds: fastest ever view of molecular motion
200 attoseconds (approximately): half-life of beryllium-8, maximum time available for the triple-alpha process for the synthesis of carbon and heavier elements in stars
320 attoseconds: estimated time it takes electrons to transfer between atoms.
2. Golden ratio, phi
In mathematics, two quantities are in the golden ratio if their ratio is the same as the ratio of their sum to the larger of the two quantities.
Decimal 1.6180339887498948482…
3. From the truncated and twisted memories of Astarte (Book Four – Astarte, The Adventure) we have learned that her kindred of beings perceive reality at the nanosecond level. We learn here that Atlas and his kindred have the ability to process sequences as short as an attosecond. Exponentially twice as deep. Imagine as many frames per second and compare to this industry standard.
Frame rate (expressed in frames per second or fps) is the frequency (rate) at which consecutive images called frames appear on a display. The term applies equally to film and video cameras, computer graphics, and motion capture systems. Frame rate may also be called the frame frequency, and be expressed in hertz.
Modern video formats utilize a variety of frame rates. Due to the mains frequency of electric grids, analog television broadcast was developed with frame rates of 50 Hz or 60 Hz, sometimes with video being interlaced so more motion information could be sent on the same available broadcast bandwidth, and sometimes with video being broadcast at 25 or 30 fps with each frame doubled. Film, which was almost universally shot at 24 frames per second, could not be displayed at its native frame rate, which required pulldown conversion, often leading to “judder”: to convert 24 frames per second into 60 frames per second, every odd frame is doubled and every even frame is tripled, which creates uneven motion. Other conversions have similar uneven frame doubling. Newer video standards support 120, 240, or 300 frames per second, so frames can be evenly multiplied for common frame rates such as 24 fps film and 30 fps video, as well as 25 and 50 fps video in the case of 300 fps displays. These standards also support video that’s natively in higher frame rates, and video with interpolated frames between its native frames. Some modern films are experimenting with frame rates higher than 24 fps, such as 48 and 60 fps.
And the following variations in human perception.
The temporal sensitivity and resolution of human vision varies depending on the type and characteristics of visual stimulus, and it differs between individuals. The human visual system can process 10 to 12 images per second and perceive them individually, while higher rates are perceived as motion. Modulated light (such as a computer display) is perceived as stable by the majority of participants in studies when the rate is higher than 50 Hz through 90 Hz. This perception of modulated light as steady is known as the flicker fusion threshold. However, when the modulated light is non-uniform and contains an image, the flicker fusion threshold can be much higher, in the hundreds of hertz. With regard to image recognition, people have been found to recognize a specific image in an unbroken series of different images, each of which lasts as little as 13 milliseconds. Persistence of vision sometimes accounts for very short single-millisecond visual stimulus having a perceived duration of between 100 ms and 400 ms. Multiple stimuli that are very short are sometimes perceived as a single stimulus, such as a 10 ms green flash of light immediately followed by a 10 ms red flash of light perceived as a single yellow flash of light.
The human eye, according to current measurements, reacts at stimuli as short as 10 ms, or 100 hertz. Whereas the eye of Astarte’s kindred reacts at one gigahertz and Atlas has eyes that perceive a billion times deeper, as in one exahertz (10^18 Hz).
One may conclude from here that there’s no magic or fantasy but frequency; that one person’s perception may very well be another person’s creation; that reality radiates from / to persons generating and / or perceiving frequencies.
“Can you make a new planet?” Says she.
“I can ask my Creator to make one.”
“That would be so convenient. Always ask your Maker to do things for you, stuff that you are perfectly capable of doing yourself.”
“You’re a harsh woman, Esther.”
“You’ve gotta watch me when at work. I’m still taking a break right now. Will you move on?”
“Move on?”
“Make that damn planet happen. Will you?”
“Terra Firma is too little to sustain the charge. Saturn is too close. Let me think.” Atlas looks a bit at lost. Like any man would, especially when thinking.
“You need a push?”
“Let me think! I said.”
“You said, you said. At the processing tact of your mind, waiting after you because you’re saying, still, that you think, hum– That’s already a glitch. Your thinking has dragged you into a maze. You’re stuck, my dear Atlas with your cute little fancy cron. Let me fix you.”
Definitely at a lower frequency tact, Esther moves her seductive curves closer to Atlas. As they were sitting face to face ever since the beginning of this vintage movie. Grabbing his cron (what you’d call a cock in our modern times), her left hand rubs gently, a couple of moves only and the cron turns to granite — sort of transparent granite, like glass, stained glass.
“Now we’re talking,” jumping around his waist, with her legs tight, Esther pushes her femininity against, and around, his cron; dripping moderately, like a well oiled bionic piece of machinery welcoming a polished piston inside her, she moves her buttocks back and forth. Slowly.
“Are you allowed to have intercourse with me?”
“I am allowed to do whatever I want. I am a free woman.”
“Carrying the seed of Enoch.”
“This makes me even freer than you can imagine.”
“The seed of Enoch gives you a license to freedom?”
“The license!”
“But he’s not the Ever-Living. He was made, like I was.”
“Ask your Maker then.”
“Wished to ask Him, yet His answer arrived before I could formulate the question in my mind.”
“In your attosecond-tact speed processing unit, huh? And what did He say to you?”
“He said: you are a free man, Atlas; you play the game; you fix the error of your predecessor, whatever you can fix.”
“Time to put your cron to work on me, in me, for me.”
Doris from inside the compass here. Like an advertisement layering over the movie. Like foot notes for retro readers.
As we know it, an orgasm takes time — minutes, hours, even days — to develop, to flow, to find yourself engulfed in it, before exploding out and away. Erotica makes use of words, mainly, to describe an orgasm.
Unfortunately, when trying to present what Esther did to Atlas, what happened within their intertwined minds and bodies, I cannot find the words. Other than the rude RESET.
“Flash static charge of Saturn over to pulsar PSR J1903+0327. Induce rotating field acceleration in the pulsar. Discharge generated voltage at given coordinates, equatorial to Terra Firma, inside the purple plasma sheath of Saturn. Cover your eyes, Esther.”
Telepathically transmitted from his brain to hers, the phrase above lands on her conscious neurons just in time for her to close the eyes. Nevertheless, the hypersonic jets, preceeding the emerging lightning, have already blown their bodies to the ground, a thousand meters away.
Minutes later, which passed like eons to them.
“You’ve got such a rapid climax. Man! And how about that: with every premature ejaculation, you’re about to create a new planet? I must be more careful when seducing you.”
Atlas is still silent. Watching the skies. Looking for the purple, expecting for its hues to tame the burning white. Checking for Esther’s integrity, and for his own.
“You ran my cron. Of a magnificent manner. It was my first cron to run. How about you?”
“I’ve been ran by Enoch, told you, when he seeded me. Now I ran your cron for you to provide. And, wow, have you provided!! Let me call this new, still burning, planet with your name: Atlas. Let me bring you the actual news: before running your next cron (a milder one, I promise) I’ll be giving birth to six pairs of twins (girl and boy).”
“The Enochites?”
“The three latter pairs: the sons and daughters of Enoch; yet the former three pairs: the sons and daughters of Atlas. Your children, dear!”
“Let me get it straight: the Enochites are to inherit Terra Firma while the Atlassians will inherit the new planet, Atlas, that orbits the Polar configuration on the equatorial plane of Terra Firma.”
“Who can tell, my little cron, who can tell… Oh, yes, one thing I’ll tell you: let’s call your race by the name of Atlanteans, shall we?”
“Dunno, a hunch, maybe.”
“Yes dear.”
“How much before you give birth?”
“Depends on what? Don’t you have a clock?”
“Have you made the clock? So I could have one. Hmm– Let me think…”
“I don’t need clocks. I’ve got crons, my processes running on fractal functions.”
“That won’t cut it for a family guy?”
“A what??”
“A father who needs to provide for his sons and daughters. A family guy. You!”
“What’s wrong with fractals then? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve never been a child, have you?”
“I have been built, assembled frequencies, by the Word. The pronounciation of me should have run on a resolution higher than the tact of an attosecond — where my mind begins to fathom what’s going on around, what happens to me. I can only assume that the Maker of mine keeps His mysteries.”
“Indeed He does. Have you wondered how I was promulgated?”
“Like me? Spoken out?”
“Everything and everyone has been be spoken out, at the end of the day. If you manifest assumptions, as you said that you ‘can only assume’ about mysteries that your mind cannot comprehend, may I do the same?”
“Who could stop you?”
“Ah, well. You said it. Good. Before speaking me out, The Word looked in her eyes, as He often does.”
“Whose eyes?”
“Sophie’s eyes. Wisdom’s eyes. When speaking, The Word talks to Wisdom.”
“Ah, and I’ve been thinking that He’s creating all these characters, us, in this cosmic game, only to escape boredom, to feel less lonely.”
“What makes you think that God is a lonely guy?”
“For one, He is One. Where one conveys the meaning of ‘alone’ or not-two nor-more sharing the Ultimate.”
“There’s no Ultimate, with capital U.”
“An ultimate, small caps, would do?”
“Perfectly. My quest for mysteries tells me that there are several ultimates, like spoken realms, or fields, or tones. Take His heart beat! Every one second, sharp, His heart pumps blood, and beats.”
“The wave function of existence. I can sequence a quintillion of instances within a heart beat. I guess that I’m just a refined product of His heart beat.”
“You’re more than that, you silly. You go beyond. Because you are a person. You’re not just a field, a wave, a frequency, a musical note. He called you by your name…”
“Correct. He has called me into existence: ATLAS, He said. And there I was.”
“See? He named you. Atlas, like any personal name, confirms your identity, your individuality. A property that you won’t find in fields. You are Atlas, a person and not a note.”
“Wise stuff you’re talking here, Esther. How comes you know this and I didn’t, in spite of my superior computational capacities.”
“Muscles and brain power go well in sports and sciences–“
“Beg a pardon?”
“Any respectable family guy will know what sports and sciences are. You’ll find out, don’t worry. Now focus: it is wisdom that -one- makes you aware how important you are to your Maker and -two- that dawns on you within the imitation process.”
“What imitation process? Do I imitate my predecessor, Kronos? Am I set to repeat his mistakes?”
“If you wish to be that stupid, then yes, you can. But this imitation process won’t stop to the person that comes first to your mind. You can imitate any person. Clever or stupid. Can you tell me why?”
“Aha! Because I’m an imitation of God, sorta.”
“You said it. You are it. This makes you god, small caps here.”
“And this is why I can speak my own words, make my own music, because I learn how to write it.”
“Gods learn, it’s part of who they are. How do they learn then? From God Almighty, our Maker, down to you or any other self aware god. How a god absorbs and digests learning?”
“By looking wisdom in the eyes, by speaking to her, by listening to her echoes.”
“Wisdom is a she and–“
“And god is always a he. That’s how things work in existence.”
“If wisdom would be a person per se, then she’d have to be a he. But then she won’t be wisdom any longer, as a he.”
“You’re a fast learner.”
“Attosencond tact frequency, ya know.”
“Man makes as woman contemplates.”
“You saying that Sophie, Wisdom, is God’s mirror?”
“Where He sees Himself from a vantage point, distinct perspective yet not apart.”
“Woman is a part of man. Female a part of male. Wisdom a part of God.”
“That’s right. You got it. Cannot wait to watch you as a family guy. Okay. My ‘clock’ tells me that I’m about to give birth in twenty-one seconds. Enough for you to cool that new planet down and furniture it nicely with trees and meadows and springs?”
“For our kids to call it home. Let me do it in seven.”
Seven seconds later.
“Look at her. What a wonderful planet!”
“I wish to call it lovely but, dear, why did you make it so big? It’s huge!”
“It’s big enough to give me the gain I need.”
“What gain?”
“Signal gain, power gain, voltage gain. I must block the drift. We have to break from the parabola away.”
“Who could undersand what you’re telling me?”
“You. Here the schematics. See the sheath of Saturn? Its plasma is mild.”
“These schematics show me a logic gate. And an amplifier. Not a shield.”
“See? Told you that you can understand what I’m telling you. All it takes is paying attention.”
“I’m all eyes and ears. Twelve more seconds before I’ll begin to give birth. So you’d better hurry with your physics.”
“Planet Atlas adds up to a logic gate. Correct. Its size balances proportionally with Saturn’s size and, at the same time, it buffers the current and the voltage for Terra Firma not to get fried.”
“So you plan to shoot stuff out?”
“First I’ll shoot ourselves, this entire Saturn System, out of the parabola. I must stop our drift down to infinity.”
“And when do you…”
“Done. We’re not drifting anymore.”
“You’re such a smart guy. How exciting. I’ll give you another fuck in a minute.”
“A minute? Sounds like an eon to me. Never mind. Next on my list: define and deploy the rings.”
“What rings?”
“Belts of quartz circling both Saturn and Atlas. Our star and her youngest planet: turning them to weapons. Can you see?”
“Already? Magnificent. As you speak your mind out, things happen. I can see the belts in infrared, they’re pretty thin.”
“Thin but massive. Each belt is one hundred kilometers thick and twelve thousand kilometers wide. They are transparent to the visible spectrum. They’ll be to the infrared too, as they cool down. They are meant to stay hidden, as much as possible. A concealed weapon.”
“My clever man, now that we’re not drifing any longer, tell me please where are we pointing? What is our trajectory?”
“The Saturn System, holding Terra Firma, Mars and Atlas, runs elliptically around this black deck, called Sagittarius. Why you asking?”
“Dunno, just like this. One more second to my birth giving sequence. Which do you prefer I deliver first: the girls or the boys?”
“Begin with the girls.”
Esther bends gracefully, pushing her elbows in the fine grass of Terra Firma. Sitting on her fours, she gives birth to three baby girls.
“My man, let me introduce you to Aphro, Ishta and Shakti, daughters of Enoch.”
Speaking to the cute little babies, as they are already walking around, their mother points to Atlas.
“Aphro, Ishta and Shakti, let me intruduce you to Atlas, my man and your mentor. Be well. Be blessed.”
Pushing them aside with the left hand, she turns her head, asking Atlas. “May I bring your three sons to this world?”
“You may, adorable Esther. I love you.” Atlas is impressed, moved to tears.
Scared by his emotions, never ever experimented before — not in the realms he can access, the man of Esther asks. “I am hesitant. My mind is fogged. My spirit euphoric. May I give names to my sons?”
“Of course you can. Our daughters have been named by Enoch, their natural father. Our boys will be named by you, their natural father. Wait!”
Still on her fours, looking straight, Esther gives birth to three little baby boys. “Proceed, my man! Name your sons.”
“Atlas, Atlas, Atlas.”
“I– I don’t–” Esther hurries to stand up in front of her man. “I don’t understand.” As her six newborn babies: Aphro, Ishta, Shakti, Atlas, Atlas and Atlas, get to know each other, enjoying to roam the green meadow on Terra Firma. “You just gave your own name, three times, to your sons. Why?”
“Why not?”
“Oh well, why not?, why not! How should I distinguish them?”
“Assign them numbers. Look: this is One — my first born; this is Two — my second born; and this is Three — my third born. One, Two, Three! Or Atlas 1, Atlas 2, Atlas 3. Easy, eh?”
“You’ve got no imagination.”
“What I’ve got is reality, and a glimpse through existence. This is why I’ll let all the imagination on you.”
“Have you thought thoroughly enough?, before naming your three given sons. Really?”
“I did.”
“Don’t you wish to shape their personalities, I mean, by their given names.”
“Of course I do. This is first and foremost. ATLAS is a definite personality shaper. The name ATLAS, that my Maker has given to me. Don’t you think?”
“Oh man. So be it. I’ll have to– Oh wait. You deceptive son of a—“
“Hey, hey. I am no son of anything. No mother, no father. I’ve been not born but made. But let me tell you that what you wish to call ‘deceptive’ as you did, is rather defensive from my perspective.”
“All you can think is defense?”
“Correct. Because I’ve been built as a defensive entity. I am here to protect the Saturn System, everything that revolves within this purple plasma sheath. I am here to defend you, and our kids, from any threat. I am your shield.”
“A multiplying shield. I get it.”
“Correct. Atlas 1 will learn the trade around the quartz belt of Saturn, Atlas 2 around the quartz belt of Atlas, the planet, and Atlas 3 will stay near me, here on Terra Firma, to learn how to command and control the logic gate, the ring weapons and the sensitivity of the outer sheath environment. Every twelve seconds, Atlas 1 will swap place with Atlas 2, Atlas 2 with Atlas 3 and Atlas 3 with Atlas 1.”
“And who’s gonna fuck Aphro, Ishta and Shakti then?” The mother understands the reasoning of a defense system. Knowing too well about the cosmic catastrophy preceding this current eon. But a mother has to think of her daughters too, of growing a new civilization, if not three, of the future.”
“Your question is pertinent, Esther. They will need to procreate, definitely. Therefore, I’ll add three extra seconds to every cycle. So twelve seconds for defense and three seconds for family. Are you content with this adjustment?”
“What will be the tact frequency of their minds?”
“Like mine, one tact per attosecond. It already is. And before you’re gonna answer me, their growth to maturity would have been completed. Fully operational, all three of my sons.”
“Damn. I have four military men-machines to deal with. On my God. How about the girls? Do you know that they tact in the range of nanoseconds? What a sad difference. Sigh.”
“Nanoseconds? Just nanoseconds? This can’t be. Something, somewhere, has to be wrong.”
“Oh yes? If it is, then you’re the smart guy here. Tell us.”
Four pairs of eyes, wide open, stare at Atlas, the father. Yes! Bit slower than the boys, the three girls have matured, at least to young adulthood. At least enough to understand what the telepathic brawl between their mother and their mentor is all about. They stand by thier mom, awaiting for an answer. Impatiently.
“Triple damn. Give me some time. Young ladies.”
“Don’t you fool us again. You don’t need time because time is nothing to you. Why condemn us to lives of misery, of endless waiting and wailings, why? Oh, Atlas, why?”
“What do you want from me?”
“Give us Atlas Three.”
“You can defend all this celestial sphere by yourself. Alone. You don’t need any help in exercising your trade. We understand that you wish to share it with your sons. Fair enough. Take two, leave the third to us. All for us. Deal?”
Perplexed, the god of an attosecond grieves. The females are forcing him to part with his third son. Like reading his mind, they speak. “You can have him near you anyway. Because we won’t take him away. We just need him to cuddle, to fuck, to listen, to comfort us. To be here for us.”
“And for you,” adds the mother.
“How about the other two? Will the soldiers get some pussy?”
“As much as they’d desire. We can’t make the difference anyway. So it will be up to the brothers to decide.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“And to us,” complete Atlas 1 and Atlas 2.
All eyes on Atlas 3 now. He nods. Unanimity!
“Atlas 3.11.37 here. Releasing Moon 928 on polar orbit, at 2x radius units away from the frontier of purple plasma. Not cloaked.”
“Copy, Atlas 3.11.37. Moon 928 registered and confirmed. Return to Terra Firma.”
“But Atlas, I cannot have enough to satisfy my curiosity. Out here, in the cold void, through the black abyss, there are so many things that intrigue me. May I–?”
“Either return by your own will, or I’ll have you–“
“Very well then. Here I am. Present!”
Atlas, the original, smirks at Esther. Myriads of ladies and gentlemen keep raining down on the surface of Terra Firma. Like a shower of blue beams, seemingly vertical on their landing trajectories. A frugal impression turned to epic proportions as one would raise his eyes away, across the yellow skies.
Yellow? Yellow skies within the purple warmth of Saturn? How comes?
Yes, yellow turns the canopy from zenith to the equatorial horizon. Bolts come white and orange, as travelers within be male or female. And for this festivity, called upon by Ishta, for this concert, or play, or show, as you wish to call it, millions from planet Atlas have been invited. Arriving each through a thunderbolt of own, flashing millions of while and orange electric hairs between their home and Terra Firma, they make the skies turn yellow –like a bridge of noise and color scrapping the peaceful purple for a minute. Or two.
Ishta speaks.
“Blessed people of Atlas and Terra Firma, thank you for honoring my invitation, thank you for attending my presentation. Here it is:” [swoosh], “and thank you for understanding, suffering and learning along with me, along with all your mothers, aunts and sisters, along with all your fathers, uncles and brothers. Let your tears dew the green meadows of my little planet. Let them all here, along with your grief and sorrows. Because I let you depart back to your homes on Atlas, where you live and fight cheerfully for our common Sphere, for Saturn, for Atlas, for his Maker –to Whom we give thanks. Be blessed. Rejoice!”
As the skies turn yellow again, by the lightnings that take the sons of Atlas back to their gigantic planet on the horizon, let us delve and discern, approach and analyse, sense and show the [swoosh].
The Saturn System is set on a collision course with a random dual star system that will be known, by the readers of this epic, as the Solar System.
Who set our trajectory this way?
Not Atlas. Who then?
Atlas signals to everyone that he has no idea. Which statement raises a freezing shiver up the spinal cords of every man and woman who is present here and now, on Terra Firma. They collectively ask Ishta, who has called the assembly. She seems to know, at least she knows how to tell a story. About which she admits that is a collection of dreams and revelations. Visions that no one else has experienced. Memories of another epoch, consumed under the tact of other times, within the white of another heaven.
Yes! Heavens, and the skies under them, had been white then. There was no darkness to surround the white. Not even a notion of black. Colors yes –all the way up and down, back and forth, left and right. Black? None of it.
Esther, the mother of Ishta, yours truly, the proto-mother of us all, the gate that brought us to our senses, has been built by Enoch, presented to the Ever-Living, confirmed and named by Eliyah. But Esther is not the first build by Enoch –the artisan of womankind. No!
As far as we can remember, because during this [swoosh] my mind becomes one with yours all, Astarte had been the first build by Enoch, on the record. As our tall-mark is two meters, hers was thirty-four meters tall.
Her blood was red like ours. She looked as I look to you, according to my many dreams and revelations and visions. But there were blue blooded women, and men, within a world mostly hidden to us. I could get only foggy glimpses of that enigmatic realm, even if struggling to dig for a clearer image. Or perhaps because of this.
Men were thirty-six meters tall and women thirty-four. All of them, blue or red blooded, within or without that secluded realm. All across the realities and worlds of a given existence. The skies within were golden, the skies without were white.
Hot plasma! –chimes Atlas in. The original has proposed a correct observation. Out of a golden sphere, by within, ardent plasma established paths and points for stars and planets, for beings and beliefs.
Kronos, the precursor of Atlas, the original, as you all know already, used to paint the white by means of his fractal functions. Look!
But Astarte, impatient, did not wait for Kronos to be. She wished to have her lord, her master, her man. By a whim, she birthed an abomination. The Abomination as an absolute premiere to the known universe, to what we think about reality. A non existent being, yet as real as reality could become.
She called him her son and he called her his queen. She could not see the nothingness, but he could see eternity through her eyes. This is when karma emerged as a factor. However, nothing troubled the white out there. Because Astarte and her volatile son were still confined between two ineffable layers: under the golden skies and below the white universe.
Don’t ask me if you don’t understand, because neither am I. Let me share my mind with you all.
It is the sphere and her layers, infers Atlas, the original. Like an onion, the sphere has layers. Inner spheres, like the Russian Matryoshka dolls. Between two such layers, yet interstitial, as not belonging to any world, Astarte came to bring her whim. From the inside sphere, steppes and trees were growing up towards an inner golden sky –this is why Ishta said ‘under the golden skies’ yet from the outside sphere only an ocean of plasma patiently awaiting for a function, a tact, a person like Kronos to make things happen –this is why Ishta said ‘below the white universe.’ Now let me tell you what used to be at the center of…
Halt!, pronounces Ishta throughout the collective cloud. Don’t spoil my story. Atlas halts, not without a smirk.
Wondering, Astarte dares not to ask the right questions. Enthralled, she can only ask her son, her own creation. Worshiping a creation of your mind or hands is detrimental. Let me show you to what degree.
Astarte’s idol, confident about her support, raised a claim up to Eternity, where he deemed to guess there should be a Creator, a Person who created Astarte, his mother. This one, Enoch, refused to consider the claim. Thus allowing the Ever-Living two simultaneous moves: 1. the creation of Kronos –giving a personal touch to the white; and 2. the liberation of Lucifer, as light-bringer, self-appointed claimer of an unknown yet desired realm of his own, to ramble the universe, to prove something.
Halt!, pronounces Atlas throughout the collective cloud. Excuse my intervention. Ishta halts, with her mouth still open.
Look at the helix. The code of life. This is what makes you and me –all of us– to resonate with the Ever-Living. This is the pathway for us to hear Him, for us to hear each other. This is the very way we communicate right now. By the consonance of the helix, the code of life.
Understanding, everyone agrees and wonders why this halt, by the Atlas, the original. Why? Because there is no helix, no such helix, no helix of any consistency, in Lucifer. None.
How comes? Wonder the Atlasian and Terran people.
By the paradigm of the helix, Lucifer qualifies as a virus. A lifeless mosaic of borrowed strings, a mix of incompatible segments.
A pointless aggregate consumed by an infinite desire –concludes Ishta. Allow me, Atlas, to share my visions.
Noding, Atlas takes a step behind.
As Kronos began to paint the white with rainbows of stars, the witty virus took his mother for his queen, starting to procreate with her. Their first born: Zeus. She was shocked when releasing a thirteen hundred meters long column of black cracking smoke out of her pussy. What was that? What in God’s name could be that?
Ping. Her finally first right question being instantly answered: this is nothing, the consequence of nothing, as the whims of your impatient mind had promulgated them, nothing out of nothing.
Can’t be, said her in denial. Then gave him a shape, as she did to his father. And names, as in Zeus for the Greeks, Jupiter for the Romans, Baal or Bel for the Egyptians or Babylonians. Nought of nought. Whim behind whim.
Shortly she had to procreate with this second idol of hers too. How, when and to what extent we do not know, yet depression came around, circling her mind, haunting her ego, scaring her wits, killing her courage.
Killing! The virus kills! Never forget that, my loved ones –speaks Atlas to the entire cloud.
Using and abusing their absent mother, Lucifer and Zeus populate the universe, the white creation, painted into wonderful motions by Kronos, the artist. Her body belonging to those two idols and their male offspring, her mind lost in her own narrative, desperate for a cliff, she asked her sons to give her an abode, a place of her own, a retreat.
A place out and away of Draco, yet not too far. They decided to give her a white and fiery star, a tiny comet.
A trick! –marks Atlas. Never trust the virus. If it cannot trust itself, why should you?
A trick, so it was. What will be known as planet Venus has been given to Astarte, as an abode, by her sons Lucifer and Zeus. The scam was an easy craft: within a gas giant, all through its upper atmosphere, this fiery comet could wander, harboring green pastures under pastel skies; at times, according to Astarte’s changing moods, the comet would escape Jupiter (as they’ll call the gas giant); nevertheless, at her son’s wish, he can chase her anytime and engulf Venus back beneath its clouds, and powers. Subversively, Lucifer and Zeus had moved their presence away from Draco to this random dual star system. Astarte having no clue.
Poor thing, this Astarte, –murmured the entire cloud, as one voice of all the people.
Not as poor as she allowed others to observe. Astarte carries the adventure in her veins. No one told us what she did, how did she catch the game of networking, how did she decipher the deception of her wicked sons. No one knows among us but one important thing about the resolution of hers: charming and seducing, plotting and colluding, she managed to craft an insurrection.
The sheer majority of her sons and daughters, every collective apart from few top individuals, practically every citizen of the white universe, every star and planet, almost, accepted her as prime goddess.
The pledge of allegiance to Astarte, as it took place over the green savannahs on wandering Venus, had been burned down by Lucifer and engulfed within the winds of Jupiter.
Did they kill their mother? –a question haunts the cloud.
If not for Enoch, her maker, and our mother’s maker. From Existence, down to that point in the altered reality, Enoch raptures Astarte, taking her away to another place that no one can tell about.
Cloning her, Enoch makes Gaia, who he places on Theia, a random planet belonging to the dual Sun-Jupiter system. That one that our readers from the future will call the Solar System, or their home. That one which is set on a collision course with our homes inside the purple plasma of the Saturn System.
That one where we are going to wage war! –decides Atlas, the original. Thus the [swoosh] concludes.
Atlas 6.6.6. Scouting mission.
“Report encounter with a pair of blue wanderers, in polar configuration, light blue on top, intense blue beneath. They orbit just the galactic center, no star system. No plasma sheath detected. Request permission to approach and investigate.”
“Permission granted, Atlas 6.6.6. Switch com to the cloud for the record.”
“Copy that. Dissolving the dialog into common thought sharing.”
The one-mind of the Atlas-cloud absorbs the data feed sipping in from Atlas 6.6.6. Processing and providing feedback support to the scout.
The two wanderers reported to Us by Atlas 6.6.6, being observed, are registered as Uranus and Neptune. The top light blue ice planet is home of Ouranos, holder of the matrix, promulgated by the Ever-Living before Kronos, after Mikael. The lower intense blue ice planet is empty. And intriguing to Us. Thus We advice Atlas 6.6.6. for a minute search down to its core.
Atlas 6.6.6. descending. Ammonia ices. Water crystals. Hydrogen. Helium. Hydrogen drops. Liquid helium. More ices. Iron. Crossing the carbon barrier. Black. Persistent void– No signal.
Alert. The one-mind has lost com with Atlas 6.6.6. Request emergency lock. Atlas analysis.
“Esther, we have a problem.”
“Yes, dear. I figured that. This is bad. It will cost us.”
“How do you know already?”
When you lose com with an attosecond tact military unit, then it should be as bad as encountering an enemy capable to severe it, which raises the question: what, or who, would run a faster frequency?”
“Nothing, and no one, to my knowledge.”
“Ah, to your knowledge. Hmm…”
“And according to my Creator too. The Ever-Living responded to my query: the Atlas series runs at attoseconds, the Kronos series at nanoseconds. No other process running, or sleeping, throughout this virtual machine.”
“What should we make of this? That Atlas 6.6.6 died all of a sudden?”
“Or was killed, or captured. No, how could anyone capture him?”
“Or trapped, looped, endless loop, contaminated?”
“The virus! Makes logical sense.”
To the one-mind of Our cloud: Atlas 6.6.6 compromised. Severe com. Display coordinates of Jupiter, Venus and Theia. Assess configuration. Engage.
Theia! A luxuriant jungle sparsely dusted by volcanic ashes. Reptiles of many sizes roam this planet. Darting her blue skies. Splashing her dark seas. Trampling her green fields.
Herds of diplodocuses slow down, even more, when chewing their leaves. Broods of tyranosaurs halt their hunting. Flocks of pterodactyls fall down to earth.
From the East, up all over to the Zenith, columns of consistent lightning, sparkles of red and green, precede and enclose a pillar of white and sticky light, like raw milk. An electric river. Gushing from heavens upper than the visible blue skies. Lasting a moment enough to blind every creature that dared a stare.
Confused and sightless, crippled and breathless, all saurians die a sudden death. Frozen in a snap. Brittle leaves, and trees, snowing down to earth. A colorless dust of desolation.
Atlas to Our one-mind of the cloud. Penetration process completed in five seconds. Terra Firma locked at the core of Theia. Begin process of expanding Theia to widen the interstice. Newly merged planets to be known as one and called as Terra. The Earth.
Saturn in polar configuration beneath Jupiter. Incapable to engulf. Electric arc holds. Resonant beam deflected. Reset. Fire. Reset. Fire.
Report. Jupiter holds and expands. Cause unknown. Inserting distance of twelve units. Halt. Assess.
“How’s the war going, dear?”
“Bad. Esther. Very bad. Too many unknowns in this equation. Look at Jupiter–“
“Honestly, I can’t see it.”
“Of course you can’t, because it hides behind Saturn above our heads. Our weapons system proves incapable to subdue it.”
“Maybe this is good news.”
“You mean?”
“I don’t know. But when plans don’t match, when theories get disproven by practice, then you should look for the good news in another context.”
“I really don’t understand what you say to me.”
“Do you understand what I mean to say to you?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Show me what you have now.”
“You’ve got Theia. Saw the surface. A desert of ice. Let it be. Have you looked inside?”
“Inside Theia?”
“Yes. Look for living creatures.”
“Looking. Here. This– this– Wow! May I?”
Smiling suggestively, Esther whispers, “you may.”
Atlas to Our one-mind of the cloud. Allow me to introduce Us to Gaia, the second Astarte.
Gaia, welcome to our cloud, We are enchanted to meet you.
You are invaders. Elves and fairies of I-dunno-where. Who are you? Ah, let me learn from you. Oh my God! Thank you, thank you all, for sparing my life. Be welcome to my cave. You make it clear now. The darkness surrounding me. You bring light to me. Thank You!
Be welcome to Our one-mind, Gaia. Our mission is to provide and rescue. Where is your family? We cannot find any.
Because there is none. I have no family. I am alone.
The family of Astarte, then. Your prior version. Do you know–
Yes. I know. Sigh. The good, the many, and the evil, the few. Which ones?
The good.
All trapped in the so-called black decks. Many are prisoners to Sagittarius. Many to other vast circular surfaces. They have been deprived of their height, of their volume, of their air.
By the fall of Kronos. We are sad to learn about your family.
Now be angry too. Because of the few ones, the evil ones, are free to operate. They run Jupiter and Neptune and even this globe. Uh, the globe above, I mean. Hey!, how did you do that? How did you invade Theia, crossing its outer realms to reach me deep here in? I– I– cannot–
It is what We do. Our goal is to initiate contact with you and to provide support to you and yours, those you deem good, and to defend you and yours from the evil ones.
There is a greater evil, but I am not capable to perceive it right now.
Had you?, at any moment in your life.
Then how do you know?
I am the legacy of Astarte. I know from her memories. They haunt me. Bringing me to continuous desperation.
Halt! Continuous is the evil mincing your mind. Heal yourself, ignore the continuum because it pulls you down. Raise to meet Our family, the Atlas family, cheer up and sing with Us.
“Good. Gaia seems saved. She sings, she dances. Wondering who will get her pregnant. Look at her. Thirty-four meters tall. A colossal woman.”
“Just like her prior make: Astarte. She got herself pregnant. What if– But no! no! no! no!!”
“Oh Lord, Iisus Xristos, have mercy on us, on her.”
“You saying?”
“Talking from the future. I’ve got access, ya know.”
“You saying?”
“I thank for your coming to senses. Was it an attosecond, or two?”
“Before correcting your errand thoughts. Should I declare you corrupt? To the cloud, I mean.”
“That would break our defensive system.”
“The only reason for me to keep my mouth shut. But you, Atlas, speak to me. Now!”
“Oh, Esther, good to have you in front of my eyes. I am confused. What should we do with Gaia? How should we learn from what she says to us? Listen: ‘There is a greater evil, but I am not capable to perceive it right now.’ My brilliant, or so I envisioned, mind is helpless to these words of Gaia. Help me, Esther.”
“Let me ask Gaia…”
“Sure. Ask her anything.”
“Gaia? Can you hear me?”
“Oh, you are talking? Like with your lips and tongue? Are you talking to me?”
“To you. I am Esther, consort of Atlas, the original. Addressing you on this spoken channel, secluded from the cloud.”
“Stop asking silly questions and listen to mine. What men do you know to fit your dimensions?”
“Ah. I know of Hades, of Zeus, of Poseidon. And of Ouranos who never comes.”
“What do you mean: he never comes?”
“Like Astarte, I sense when men come closer or when they walk away. And Ouranos is the only man that keeps walking away. Ever since.”
“Ever since when?”
“Ever since I know of him. Ever since Astarte began to sense him. Ouranos never comes.”
“Oh, that’s not what I wished to hear. How about the others?”
“Hades always begs and is always around me, so I can hear his laments.”
“Here?! Where?”
“Come out! Show yourself, Hades. Make courage! So, yes, good boy.”
Perplexed, Esther steps back. Preventive, Atlas sets a shield.
“Hey, you little elves, calm down. Hades won’t bite. Oh well, he won’t squash you either. Hades, say hello to Esther and Atlas.”
“H–he–hello!?” Shaking, body and voice as well, the daemon looks shy, and dark, and depressed.
“Hi Hades. You must be the fifth born of Astarte. If I am wrong, please correct me.”
“Oh, Esther, daughter of Enoch, so it is, according to your word, as the sequence went back in the white universe of yore. Astarte birthed Lucifer by herself, then Zeus by Lucifer, then Hera by Lucifer, then Poseidon by Lucifer, then me by Lucifer, then Demeter by Lucifer, then Hestia by Lucifer. These are my brothers and sisters, my mother and father. I am Hades. Bowing my knee to Atlas, your master man and son of God. Hail thee, Atlas the Conqueror!” And he bows.
“Stand up, you giant idiot,” speaks Atlas in loud voice. “Speaking your allegiance to me, I accept it and this binds you to the following laws: 1. you always stand up and never bow; 2. you always speak your mind up and never lie; 3. you always love all creatures and never hate. This is the yoke I place on your neck. Esther?”
Giggling, the tiny fairy takes off, like a dragonfly would do in the future. “Hades, will you fuck Gaia?”
“I will not, mistress fairy.”
“Why not?”
“I did wrong to my sister Demeter, abusing her innocence, and I did not realize this until Hestia informed me. But that was too late. Damage has been done. Irreparable damage. All I could do was to help them both escape.”
“I know of a passage.”
“A passage to where?”
“To me, or to you, it is a passage to nowhere. But to those who went through, it should be to somewhere. To somewhere far enough to forget and start again.”
“But you can’t tell?” Insists the flying fairy, graciously buzzing eights and zeros in front of his gloomy face.
“No. I cannot. This brings even more sorrow, even more remorse, even more shame to me. I wail for my lost sisters.” And he wails like the winds of November –from a distant future.
“Compose yourself, Hades,” thunders Atlas in a thousand flashes of red plasma. “Your sisters, Demeter and Hestia, are very far, too far away, yet not lost. The Ever-Living allows them some space on the other side of the hologram. Is this reason enough for you to rejoice? Now that you know.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, master At–“
“Stop calling me master. I am a soldier. I command you to continue answering Esther.”
“So, so,” buzz buzz, “will you fuck Gaia?”
“Is this your final answer?”
“Yes. This is my final answer.”
“Go to your place now and wait.” Hades executes as Atlas commands.
“Your next man?, Gaia.”
“No way I wish to meet Zeus. Don’t you dare send me to that–“
“Calm down, giant lady, calm down. We have no intention to give you to Zeus, nor to Poseidon. And for the sake of full disclosure, if Hades would have had the slightest desire to touch you, then Atlas –here and now– would have blown him to smithereens.”
“Oh, really?”
“These pseudo-persons are not sanctioned to existence. They belong to no place. They come from nowhere. They mean nothing to the Ever-Living. Nothing but a bunch of errors, derivatives of the virus.”
“Then why didn’t you kill Hades?”
“Because he pledged allegiance. I am allowed to erase only when under attack, in defense.”
“But you attacked my planet. I hear from your cloud that you still attack Jupiter.”
“Those reptiles roaming your planet–“
“What reptiles? What is a reptile?”
“Aha. Finally something that you have no idea about. Reptiles. Interesting.”
“Astarte knew of no reptile.”
“How about the snakes?”
“She birthed snakes. Her children –Lucifer, Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades– are snakes, in their original unshaped expression. Snakes of creeping smoke. It is how she birthed them. But reptiles? She never heard of these. What are the reptiles then?”
“A virulent form of life. Hacked by your snakes, coming out of creeping smokes. Reptiles are the primary biological hosts to the virus.”
“Then why these ones –Lucifer, Zeus, Hera, Poseidon and Hades– look human to me?”
“Because you wish to see them as humans, to bring them as males to your femininity. The same way as your prior, Astarte, envisioned them, out of the smoke.”
“Hell no!”
“Yes? Here I am. At your command,” comes Hades from his hide.
“Go back. Why don’t you wait?”
“Waiting, I heard you calling me. So, here I am.”
“Wait!” infers Esther with her undissimulated charm. “Since you are here with us anyway, shall you tell us about reptiles?”
“What do you wish to know?”
“How dangerous are they?,” asks Gaia, “shold I fear them?”
“They are no more. But you should fear them, if it were the case.”
“Clarify!” Atlas presses the daemon with the sound of his voice.
“Breaking through the surface and the mantle of this planet, your powers had turned all reptiles to dust. There is none left on this Earth.”
“How about you?”
Throwing a black and empty stare at Esther, Hades turns to Atlas with this short question, “may I?”
Nodding, Atlas sets a shield around his body, Esther’s and Gaia’s bodies, twisting a concealed conduit to his cloud.
A nanosecond later, the appearance of Hades, the giant human appearance, waves and steams to a spray like water. Sprinkling and whirling down, it drains to an abyss that never was here before. Then it suddenly stands in front of them, as a thirteen hundred meters long column of smoke, of creeping smoke. Black smoke.
Gaia knows. “I’m not afraid of this. Why should I fear a reptile then? A biological form, an animal. Uhm.”
“Nothing to fear. This is just smoke, not even DNA. Reptiles are mere DNA, mixed flesh!, hacked by this… whatever this would be. You have witnessed that it took me five seconds to turn them to dust. A planet load of reptiles. Out of order.”
“Oh, Lord Atlas, let me speak…” sounds the creeping smoke, allowing for a phantom face to pop up where the faces of Esther and her man Atlas are.
Allowing, Atlas scans the thing ahead. To no avail.
“It is not the smoke that makes my essence. Bother scanning me as long and as deep as you wish, Lord Atlas. There is nothing here. I am nothing. Waste your curiosity on me, at your own discretion. And peril, because -yes- I am dangerous. You may fall in me, inside the nothingness that your mind craves to undress. It is nothing to reveal. It is an illusion, the wishful thinking of my mother, Astarte -the adventurous fool. But a reptile? That is reason to fear. A reptile is flesh, hacked flesh, as you say. The nothingness that you may not even scan in me, or in my brothers, and father, this becomes code, DNA, flesh, carnivorous beast, human eating animal, when applied to a reptile. I can deceive you and this is all. But a reptile can eat you whole.”
“We are avatars of our makers,” revolts Esther, “we are souls of the Highest Host; our Spirit, giving us Life, knows of no death. Astarte?, left to her illusions, she survived, she had been saved by Enoch, her maker. Dying, we go to live another life. Look at Gaia! Isn’t she Astarte?”
“Gaia is Astarte. You, Esther, are Eve.” Speaking, the smoke sighs in a sorrow voice, “Astarte will die her final death, make no mistake about that. But Eve will live through death, the way you spoke, the way it is. Until then, however, your flesh, these cute containers provided for you to scare us with, remains edible and in demand for any reptile. The numbers are on our side. We are many. Too many reptiles to feast on few and far between human bodies. My father or my brothers would seek to steal your soul. The fools. That cause has been lost even before we came to be. Well, that’s why we are not. Yet the reptiles, in the flesh, keep feeding on you. Day in, day out. Night in, night out. The thirst of a reptile for human blood will not quench. The hunger of a reptile for human flesh will not satiate.”
“A soldier hears what he needs to hear. Coming from you, in crude self-inflicting honesty, what is there left for words? Other than the–“
Interrupted by a ‘shhh’ wizzing out of the hideous face of Hades, Atlas arrests his military speech. Allowing the daemon to say: “Atlas 6.6.6. You lost him to the hands of Poseidon. Unfortunately.”
“Tell me.”
“Traded by Poseidon to Zeus, Atlas 6.6.6 brightens the darkness out of the inner core of Jupiter.”
“We lost contact with him while–“
“–While descending the abyss within the wandering Neptune. Yes. We’ve got our cloud network too. The dark side, you know.”
“So you can speak from the future too?” Wonders Esther.
“I speak only the truth. As I am bound by my Lord Atlas to do. Poseidon will always dance on the tune of his true nature. Hallucinating his prey, raving in swirls around her, Poseidon scares the devil out of me.”
“The passage you were talking before. Right?”
“Oh Lord, son of God Almighty, inspired are thy words. Yes! The passage down the void of inner cores. This one leads from Neptune to Jupiter, to the middle of a purple world, where Zeus rules as god supreme.”
“Fucking monsters of the void!”
“Esther, calm down. Let the daemon speak.”
“I speak at your command, master Atlas, that Jupiter will stand against thousands of thousands of lightnings. This because deep inside it, my brother Zeus feeds on his victim: Atlas 6.6.6. And because, like our father, my big brother is relentless in his actions. Ruthless and merciless. You are wasting your time firing at Jupiter.”
Cloud feedback on the concealed conduit: shall we halt the fire?
Atlas, the original, back to the cloud: no!, mark exponent 243, alt target Neptune, mark exponent 243. Fire at will. Atlas over.
Cloud copied.
“Oh, Lord Atlas, forgive my trespassing thoughts. I can see that you didn’t bite the bait. And I stand by my words, which were true to themselves: Jupiter will stand indefinitely, Neptune stands the same. Time, wasted or not, is irrelevant to one like you, likewise to my wicked brothers. Stalemate they will call this situation.”
“In the future, you say?”
“In the future, I say.”
“Very well then. Look.”
Nothing to look at. “What have you done?,” complains Hades.
“It is I who asks the questions. You return to your sorry state and wait.”
“At your command, Lord Atlas.” And he waned.
“Atlas, dear?”
“Secure channel, Esther, ping?”
“Ping. What have you done?”
“Remember when this depressed daemon told us about his own passage?”
“Ah, you rascal. You mean that–“
“–that I helped them with a long awaited family reunion. Sisters and brothers–“
“–out and away to the opposite side of the hologram.”
“And don’t you ever call it the dark side.”
“Never mind that side. Give me one. Here and now. I want you in me. Now!”
“Do you wish to populate this Earth?”
“So I wish. Enochites and Atlanteans inside this Earth. New Enochites and new Atlanteans on the outer surface of this Earth. Let’s have it for us, shall we?”
Five million attoseconds later.
Gaia, speaking from above. “You two, jolly sparkling sprites, who will fuck me?”
“Tell her, Esther.”
“No. You tell her.”
“Very well then.” Atlas, raising his arms, sharpening his fingers, speaks: “Homo deus. Set. Run.”
Eleven attoseconds later, Gaia stands next to Esther. Same stature. Two meters tall. Same shapes. Different looks and moves.
“What have you done to me?” Screams tiny Gaia.
“I have reassessed you. Raising your value by diminishing your size. You may consider yourself as one of us. If you wish, of course.”
“Oh, my lord, I–“
“–You make sure to stop calling me your lord or any idiotic titles. My name is Atlas. Do you understand?”
“Atlas, sorry for being too grateful.”
“Just be grateful enough to call me by my given name, will you?”
“Atlas, thank you for bringing me down to my senses, down to a decent size. I am overly indebted to you, beyond words, beyond my understanding. Thank you! Thank you!”
“Gaia, calm down. Gaia! Don’t feel under any obligation. Just be yourself. Actually, it is us who should be grateful to you.”
“You? To me? For what? Now I really don’t understand. Why?”
“Stop asking why. How much of our love making has caught your eye?”
“Oh, lovely Esther, I confess that I wished to peep at you, to feel happy for you, but -hey!- when did you ever fucked? Because if you did, I saw not a thing.”
“How could she?,” chimes Atlas in, “because we fucked for five million attoseconds while Gaia runs on a tact in the range of nanoseconds. We’d have to fuck for a couple billion attoseconds for her to get two stills with us at it.”
“You fuck in the spiritual realm?, oh my!”
“Oh my indeed,” continues Atlas, “you may wrongly think of it as spiritual, but it’s no more no less than fractals. We cannot fuck in the spiritual realm because we don’t master our bodies, our moves, up there. And like you, we are truly grateful for all the answers that we receive from the upper, spiritual existence of ours. Fucking is all about fractals, you know.”
“And what did the fractals told you? While fucking, that is.”
“The geometry of the fractals on this earth tells us that Esther won’t get pregnant–“
“–Not in a trillion of quadrillion of billions of fucking attoseconds. I can only fuck for pleasure, while trapped in here. I am not going to have babies.”
“Sigh… Geometry, you said?”
“Geo-metrics, as in Gaia-metrics, Earth-metrics. Your planet, your rules, your babies. Go Gaia! Go and fuck any Atlas you wish. Populate this planet with humans. Go!”
“Wonderful. Esther, may I ask you for a favor?”
“I know what you wish. And you may. From my part, he’s all yours. Take him, fuck him, I won’t mind.”
Atlas, for the first time visibly taken aback, steps aside, “I am terribly sorry, Gaia, dear. You are an amazing woman. One of a kind. Astarte in miniature. A delight. Every man will fall for your charms…”
“But not you. You are a Kronos!”
“Is this an insult?”
“You bet it is. Forgive me. Just needed to vent it out.”
Sad Gaia shuns away from her new friends. And even from the surface of Terra Firma — the new bullet planet that their new friends had recently crashed into her native planet, also known as Theia, the late.
“Let me have some fresh air,” her thoughts are heard by Esther, who follows Gaia at a safe distance.
The two women beam up, to walk the still smoldering surface of Theia. This kind of fiery and glacial desolation brings tears to Gaia’s eyes. The earth is burning, lazy rivers of molten lava tell a story, a stupefying story about this cataclysmic cosmic event: two planets crashed into each other. On purpose. On guidance. On a calculated trajectory. Atlas, the military man, called this a penetration.
The skies are freezing, rapid electric pillars build up a new canopy. A white canopy. Of ice. It snows around those columns of light. A flake would never reach the earth. The spiraling crystals of water will boil down and raise to cool again. All of this up in the air. Above our heads.
“Gaia, please, wait for me.”
“This is what I’m doing, besides contemplating. I can feel you, Esther, you cannot hide your presence. Not from me.”
“Oh! How’s that? Not even in my secluded fractal resonance? Ya know, those attoseconds are no match to your nanoseconds.”
“Not even there, sister.”
“Your father is Enoch. My father is Enoch. We are sisters by creation. Your man downsized me, so we match. Then you allowed me to share him with you. He turned me down. A damn Kronos he is. This fucking universe!”
“I am so sorry, dear. How can I comfort you?”
“You’re already doing this. Your presence comforts me, wherever I go. I can feel you. This, my dear sis, I’d call a spiritual bond. No fucking fractals. No maths. No men. Just our souls. Yours and mine. Alone.”
“How can you tell that we’ve got souls?”
“Don’t know how. I just feel it.”
“Have you asked our father?”
“Asking Enoch, he understood the nature of my question. Telling me to ask further, to think beyond him, I listened. And prayed. To our Heavenly Father.”
“Ohh, you mean to the Creator?, to the Ever-Living?, the Maker of Enoch?, of Atlas?, of–“
“–Of Kronos and Ouranos, yes. The Ever-Living welcomes us to His table. All we need to do is ask. Know to ask, learn how to ask, how to listen, how to wait.”
“Oh my. I never dared that far. You’re amazing. Wow!”
“I am scared. Look! Look around, what your military mission has done to my planet.”
“Desolate and empty. Sorry. They said that this was necessary. The mission, you know.”
“Wish I didn’t. Let’s walk.”
Hand in hand, they hike over the crust of smoking hills, they stride across the incandescent yellow of lakes and rivers. Hand in hand, they leap beyond crevices and leave chasms behind their feet. They look happy. Because they are.
Spending time together, as it may sound like a frivolous thing to do, implies very serious consequences upon Esther and Gaia. Sharing each other’s presence, exchanging thoughts, daring a game of conquest, like reaching that peak, or meeting again on the other side of an abyss, they have lost the notion of time. Because they spent it, on each other.
Attoseconds, nanoseconds, even full blown seconds, have been totally forgotten. The girls went playing.
“Look, Esther, there’s a massive wall ahead of us, to the West.”
“How do you know where the West is? And that’s no wall, but a volcano.”
“I know where the West will be. Volcano?, so be it. Are you game?” Gaia is climbing already.
“She knows something that I don’t. Hum. I’m right behind you, sis!”
Esther arrives second. Not the first time. Her sister gives her a hand to accommodate. “Step with care, the ground is slippery.”
“Oh well, that’s a premiere. Gone the sticky lava. Comes the slick ice.”
“Isn’t it majestic up here? The snowflakes landing on our skin. Can you feel how they melt before they’ll steam away in the air? If I could only touch the clouds!”
“Don’t, Gaia! Don’t even think about touching the canopy above our heads.”
“Not even the clouds beneath?”
“Not even the clouds.”
“Why dear?”
“Atlas 3, Atlas 6 and Atlas 9 are continuously charging the upper atmosphere with electrons. You don’t wish to instantly burn in a short circuit. Which, I’m afraid, wouldn’t be so short. So please!, stay away from the clouds. We’d better return to lower, and safer, grounds. Shall we?”
Esther looks for a milder slope. Noticing, Gaia asks, “very well, sis, why not jumping down?, taking the same route back?”
“We’ve done that too many times. I’d rather walk with you, so we can hold hands. Longer. Before we must return inside this earth, over to Terra Firma, to our men, to–“
“To your men!”
“No, no, sister. You’ve gotta find yourself a few men. I am sure that Atlas 3 and Atlas 6 and Atlas 9 will be delighted to make love to you. Just that they’re too busy with terraforming this planet of yours. But when they’ll be done, then you gotta grab them!”
Gaia is not paying attention. Not anymore. “Esther! Have you seen this? Come back. Look!”
On the plateau to the West, within visible range, two dimples in the icy surface. Close enough, two humps, white under the winds.
“Something must be there, buried under the snow. Let’s go!”
“Help me to shovel all this snow away. What can we do?, the wind piles it back up. We can’t reach in, the wind is too powerful.” Gaia sounds a bit desperate.
Esther, taking her distance, inviting her agitated sister to join her, blows another wind. Out of her lungs. A warm wind. In the same direction. Not against the elements. The new breeze melts the snow and, like in a charm, the two dimples turn grey, and wet. Next to each, respectively, two white eggs. Cobalt white.
“What are these ellipsoids doing here?”
“These are no ellipsoids, Gaia dear. These are two eggs.”
“Eggs? What is an egg?”
“You know, the saurians lay eggs. The way we give birth to babies, they lay eggs. This is how they procreate.”
“The saurians? You mean the reptiles?”
“The gone reptiles?”
“Most likely. Who else?”
“These white eggs don’t look like reptile eggs. More like bird eggs to me.”
“What is that a bird?”
“A bird is purple, and indigo, an ocean and a sky that I dream when I close my eyes,”
“Have you seen a bird?”
“Told you, only when closing my eyes.”
“So there are no birds on this planet.”
“Not that I know of.”
“You know what? Let’s take these two eggs with us.”
“Down under?”
“Down under.”
“I can only beam myself. Don’t know how to beam an egg.”
“Beaming may not be safe enough. We don’t know what grows inside. We don’t want to alter the process.”
“We already did. By observing them.”
“Then let’s keep it to a minimum. Atlas! I need a transport. No plasma. A platform, no!, better a container, and a trace vector… At our coordinates, this is correct… Thank you.”