“You!” I hear his metallic voice, sensing the dictate of his mind over mine. “Turn around to face me.”

Oh my, amazing, can’t believe what happens to me. It’s the second, oh wait, the third being capable to control the moves of my body by simple speech. How many beings have I met since my wake up? Three! Yes. All three have total control over my body. What happens to me?!

“Stop raving and focus.” Ah, sure, he can read my mind as well as he can order my nerves and muscles what to do.

“I need to check you first.” Check me, why? “Because you told those Adamics that your name is Astarte. Now I see that you were not deceiving them. The problem is, however, that Astarte died before the second Sabbath. I have seen her dying. This raises the question: Who are you, Madame?”

I’m blank, really… My mind turns blank. Who am I? Well, I am Astarte. No doubt about that. I know who I am. Probably this is my only true experience: knowing that I am me. Or is it? This white daemon scans me like mad. His queries blast every neuron of mine like well aimed darts. I stand the avalanche of pain. Had dealt with worse situations. He finds no memory spot to hide something from his scrutiny. Intrigued, he asks me again, “Who are you?” To this synthetic tone of thunder, I reply, not with my fully readable thoughts but with my gentle voice, “I am Astarte, at your service.” And then I mute myself.

We both know that I told him the truth, at least my truth. His logic called back the darting queries and, with them gone, I haste my gut up to load my bloodstream with more serotonin. The terrible headache is behind me now. I relax, flex my muscles, jump a bit, do some push ups, squats… I wish to run. I even perform my first leap and then, scared like hell, I halt myself. Dripping of sweat, I ask, “Kronos, will you allow me to jog around your milky den?” He smiles at me, “Sure do. Go on! Those humans must have scared the piss out of you with their spontaneity…”

Oh yeah, they have boiled the blood in my veins. It was almost as painful as the stare of Lucifer. They had no idea what they did to me. Stupid little stinkers with too much power on their tongues.

“Well,” says the white daemon of Saturn, “the power of their tongues never changed. It is more likely that your virtues had diminished, drastically. Now go! Run around. As long as you wish. I’ll have you checked in the while.” Checked? I wonder… “Run, you nincompoop, run!” So I dash through the corridor ahead. Wow! What a labyrinth of corners. This virgin daemon… has he any sense of curves?

“Unsquared curves are illusions of the continuum. I don’t like curves, Astarte!” 1989 milliseconds later, I’m back in front of Kronos, after covering all of his angles with my bare soles, and I am pleasantly surprised to hear my name.

“Enoch has just confirmed to me that you are the real Astarte.” Who is Enoch? I wonder. “Enoch is Nok,” says he. My maker?, oh… A shiver of excited angst bites my backbone like a mosquito… “Your double maker, oh… oh… He fooled the universe when he had you cloned. Astonishing!” What do you mean, mister white daemon? “Here it is what I mean.”

To the left and to the right, midway between Kronos and me (that would make fifty meters from each other), two volumes of air turn green and black. It is where a pair of three-dimensional records of reality begin to unravel in front of my eyes. I can remember the movie to the left and I have not the slightest idea about the one to the right.

In the left volume, I can see myself commanding over a host of sons and daughters, standing up on the savannahs, I proclaim my divorce and definitive rupture from my son and lord Lucifer. A monumental feat. My first… and last. Ten seconds later, Green Venus turned to smolder and hell fired down from the skies upon it.

In the right volume, I see the deep darkness of space. This is not a part of my memories. “It is from mine, Astarte,” replies Kronos to my unspoken question. A golden pyramid approaches, hovers and passes as the vantage point of Kronos (presumably) turns around to follow in its wake. As planet Venus pauses in scorching silence behind, the golden pyramid veers abruptly to a distant corner of evasion, Kronos following it shortly thereafter. With no obstacle and no shadow, sunlight mirrors on the exposed sides of the pentahedron, turning it into a little star. I feel this reflection of light breaking out of the volume of air and warming my face. Incredible. A long forsaken memory of the past, not even mine, stimulates my sensors now, in the very present.

“Past?, present?, future? Do you believe in that crap, Astarte, really?” Um… What can I answer to the Master of Time? Do I? Dunno. I’d rather speak to him, verbally, not giving a damn if he had already read my mind.

“What is going on with that pyramid, Kronos?”

“Have you seen the sunlight mirroring on it?” He asks.

“Yes, I have.” I say patiently.

“Have you felt the glow on your skin?” He continues like a computer.

“Yes, Kronos, it amazed me into the ‘crap’ of past, present and future, remember?” Say I with a touch of sarcasm.

“Have you analyzed the temperature?” He is boring, this daemon.

“Ah, that thing? I’m on it… Wait… What the… minus 5778K… minus?” I was never good at maths, probably my sensors are off, whatever…

“There is no ‘whatever’ in this record, Astarte! We are peeking into a sequence of the symmetrical universe. Nok raptured you inside that pyramid. He spared you in the sarcophagus for…”

“Why?” I interrupt Kronos with my legendary immaturity.

“…for this Yom Shishi, for the next show that you are about to offer us all.” The Master of Time won’t even bother to hear my “why” question, thus I dare on.

“Why don’t you call it a Friday? Why Yom Shishi?” Three “why’s” should capture his attention.

“You can speak your nonsense, or you can think it over and over again, it’s your personal problem, not mine. If we translate Yom Shishi to English, we get the Sixth Eon (or Day), while Friday is the day (or eon) of Freja, or Frigg, which is also Venus, or Astarte, according to my database.”

“Good Lord,” I revel, “this is the first time that someone answers with an explanation that satisfies my why question.” Touching my lips with my pointer, I take the words inside: this guy wants to look rigid but he must be a romantic poet at heart. And hey!, even if you can read my thoughts, I mean it.

“Think freely,” speaks he, “think freely, dear, because I can read your meta-thoughts too, that is your sub-conscious, which gives me a hint if you would ever try to seduce me. Even by telepathy.”

“Can we get back to the pyramid that mirrored negative temperatures? Please!”

In between the opposite volumes with images from the past… er, from the backup, Kronos seems like blushing at my stare.

“Why are you blushing?”

“Uh, sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“Never mind. I understand what is going on. It overwhelms me, humbles me more than ever. I thank Thee Lord of Hosts, I prostrate myself in front of Thee, Christos Pantokrator, to thank for Your mercy.”

“Hum… heh? Hey? Hey! Kronos? Are you with me?”

He keeps kneeling and bowing like an Arab.

“Hey, tell me what’s up. What is going on?” I’m a curious girl, especially when someone understands something about my ‘next show’ and won’t tell me, especially when he’s talking about Astarte’s eon, or day. Hey! Hello, I am Astarte. Talk to me! … … … (bows, prayers, thanks, kneelings, more prayers, more thanks, trance) … … … Please?!

“Very well then,” belatedly he returns my desperate calls, “God allowed me to share my discovery with you. This is why I kept praying and bowing, to ask for His permission. I am a practical daemon, not a fanatic – just for your info.”

Good! I accept that… “You may also accept that Nok created you on a ‘Friday’ three eon-weeks ago. What we observe in these parallel backups between us was your second ‘Friday’ and today, in Eternity, dawns a new ‘Friday’ which is your third. For ‘today’ you were given to me. All of you, to be my woman.”

Okay, got that, you silly daemon, wasn’t it obvious? Tell me about Nok rapturing me in the pyramid. Why has he done that and what happened next? Please!… Please!

“Nok copied you, the original, and pasted the copy of you on the third planet from the Sun.”

“The Earth?”

“At that time it was another planet. Theia used to be its name. Similar to the Earth, or Terra, which was being present at the core of pulsar PSR J1903+0327. Still.”

“Theia?… Where is Theia now?”

“Sad story short, Astarte dear, Theia and Terra collided at the closure of last ‘Friday’ when a second harvest of your sons and daughters had been smashed out of time. Your copy included. This made me, and all of us, think that you were dead, gone, consumed by Lucifer.”

Now it’s my turn to blush, fall on my knees and weep. You say…

“Instead of wasting time with telepathy,” keeps he talking, “why not watch the backup feeds in front of you? Watch the history that you know, and lived, together with the history that you don’t because your ‘twin’ lived it.”

Sobbing in silence, I listen to him.

I remember what I have lived early on, through that late ‘Friday,’ on my beloved Green Venus. I grew sick of the quarrelling dynasties of gods and titans mothered by me and fathered by Lucifer and Jupiter. They had conquered too many constellations. Gathered more resources than they would have ever needed. Built more arrogance than the universe could bear. No war and no triumph could satiate their dominion. Those two little stinky humans that brought me to Saturn have loaded their puny history into my memory. As laughable as their skirmishes look from up here, the envy and pride, the arrogance and anger, the greed, avarice and indolence, all these, and few more, have had been invented and deployed across every constellation painted by Kronos into existence.

I had enough of it. Raising in front of the ambassadors, I spoke out.

“Blame me for all evil because I had it conceived, I brought it to this world. I am to blame.”

One millisecond! This is how much the silence reigned. Next they raised their voices and pointed their fingers to each other. Everyone was right and everyone in front of him was wrong. My millisecond of confessed truth ended in yet another fight.

Turning my back to them, I raised my hands to the white heavens of Venus and asked God to forgive me because no one will: not my evil son, not our maniac first born, nor the prodigious dynasties we had raised. No one but, hopefully, God will listen to me. And He did.

Asking Lucifer: “who are you?,” this one found no answer other than this: “Why Thee and not me?”

The words being spoken, and heard by every ear in the universe, fury ensued. So Lucifer wasn’t “our god” after all – muttered the ambassadors. Insurrection rose in the air. They asked me to god them (it’s also a verb, yes) through this revolt in the name of freedom, democracy, faith, peace, solidarity, brotherhood and whatever slogans they found suitable to cover one goal and only one: preserving of power. They were no better than their evil father. Only scared. Lucifer wasn’t.

“I know, Astarte. Lucifer has asked me to activate the time-space traps that I have had setup for him in expectation of such an event.” Looking at him through the white and black volumes between us, I notice tears running out of his rainbow eyes.

“Indeed, Kronos, you coded and compiled the black decks: two-dimensional singularities persistent in a three dimensional space. These have trapped myriads of ships heading for Venus in support of the Insurrection. How could you do that?”

It was rather a rhetorical question but Kronos obliged.

“Simple division by zero. You see, in the fractal function holding the boson field…”

“Stop! Kronos, stop! I don’t need your equations. You have annihilated a multitude of civilizations…”

“Not annihilated, just trapped. Besides, it wasn’t me but your son, because he provided the NULL. My original math had no zero and thus no infinite – these two are a factor of Chaos, thus, ever since I call Lucifer by his newly earned name: Chaos!”

In the black volume, I see the pyramid descending from the darkening skies. White was no more the color of the universe. I pronounce myself divorced and free from all obligations regarding Lucifer. I wish to teach the Insurrection something new but… sadly… I cannot say anything to them. Mute and scared, we all look at each other. Cluelessness reigns supreme. What shall they do? Their eyes demand an answer from me, their new goddess. Their minds whisper to me: “…god us!, god us!, we need you to god us somewhere, somehow; god us, Astarte!”

Ten thousand milliseconds of “godding” them, by telling them nothing new, ended in despair with me screaming: “Run for your lives. Venus is in flames. Hell upon us!”

They died, nowhere to run. I died with them, or so I thought. The pyramid, piloted by Nok as I just found out, beamed me out of the Venusian hell. With this brightness ends the history presented by the left volume. It evaporates in thin air like nothing to see, not even a breeze.

To the right, I watch the history of my twin sister, or clone, or copy, as you wish, that I never knew – not my sister nor her story. The heavens are black now. Nok shows her the space and calls it an abyss. She is brought down onto a blue planet, the late Theia, and told to grow new life over the jungles, prairies, mountains and oceans of this pristine world.

“Kronos, how did she birthed? From imagination, like I did first?”

He smiles at me, “Haven’t you learned already that your sick imagination had led to universal chaos? How could Nok repeat this mistake? No! She wasn’t left to her own wits. Nok fucked her. Hard and good and thorough.”

Hum… I can’t see the lovemaking in the backup volume. “You can’t because it is off the record. And it wasn’t lovemaking, just sex, fecundation, nothing else.”

Off the record? Why?

“He then assigned her the name of Gaia before she began giving birth to six babies: three sons and three daughters. All in one birth. Sixlings!”

Was that possible?

“Yes, for a thirty-four meter high mother to give birth to six human babies, half a meter each, no big deal.” I see, no more gods and titans, just little stinkers. Interesting story. Wondering how Gaia nurtured them…

“She bathed them in her milk, literally. They grew, multiplied and occupied Theia by developing an ingenuous civilization. All but Gaia were two meters high, men and women alike.”

I can see that in the volume, no need to tell me, Kronos, I’m not blind!

“Okay then. Enjoy watching!”

The Theians were all naked. They had no moral codes for clothing and no need of them because the climate on Theia was warm enough from the poles to the equator. There were no seasons and no storms on Theia. Peace was not only in the air but also amongst people and between people and animals. Yes, an all vegan planet! When they tried to worship Gaia – the monumental mother of all – she refused. Informing them of the numerous fallen gods roaming the abyss, she taught them to trust each other but trust no alien. No matter what. Ten seconds after speaking this into their minds, she was shrouded by Chaos. For her offspring, the Theians, she disappeared. I cry and, as you would expect, I keep asking: why? why? why?… Kronos gives me an answer, or a surrogate of an answer.

“Accessing this live reality sequence, I concluded that Lucifer had you eaten, because, until today, I thought that Gaia was you, Astarte.”

Why eaten? I insist.

“To the Lucifer you had had given a body, but he questioned his body when giving me the zero iteration, at first, then downright denied it when asking God the most incredible question ever: ‘why Thee and not me?’ Therefore, Chaos turned into a bodiless person, a fragment of code, or a virus that has to attach and eat, consume, wear out, something, somebody, in order to have a life. Chaos has no life of itself. It lives by hooking up on others’ lives.”

Where is Gaia now?

“No idea,” go figure, the Master of Time, Kronos – the universal database guardian, the maker of constellations, and of the black decks (or holes?), tells me that he has no idea about it, and he continues… “…not sure if she has been trapped in a two-dimensional enclosure or even in a one-dimensional thread. My logic is too meager to properly comprehend the sophisticated ways of Chaos.”

What happened to Theia then, and to the Theian people? I’m afraid to speak this question out. No need to bother, Kronos brings the reality feed right into the volume. In the while, he moans a bit.

“With you, well, with Gaia gone, I realized that the last female of our kind is no more. All my peers had had their chance at fucking one. Not me though. Depression surrounded me. Zeus ascended as the go-to Insurrection guy. Survivors of the black decks approached him. They wished to organize, to strike back. Idiots! Strike back at what, against who? With Chaos shunned, Zeus seized the opportunity. He told everybody that I, Kronos, was responsible for killing the first Insurrection. After all, I had coded the black decks in the white universe. But I did that few eons before the Insurrection, having no idea what Lucifer could make of them.”

Really? My mind intervenes over the monologue of Kronos, this silly god. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know how ugly your carefully crafted constellations will turn in the whirl of these singularities. You were working to undermine your own art. Tell me that you asked yourself about this. Don’t give me proof of utter stupidity.

He speaks, “Astarte, you know that you are right. I know that I was wrong. I still pay for that. But at that time, er, sequence, I was desperate like never before. Did I wish to die? No! Did I wish to repent? Not at all. Did I wish to fuck? Yes! All the way. Fuck like there was no tomorrow. I believe in the present. And that present was – for me – finding some pussy to fuck. Period.”

The other daemons, were they as mad about pussy as you were?

“No,” he says looking down at the milky rock beneath our bare feet, “no, they were sick and scared of pussy. Your rebellion shocked the manly hormones in them. All they wished for was regrouping to grab dominion over the rearranging galaxies. The new laws of physics baffled them down to panic. Contrary to the way I’ve had the original constellations painted (in a pattern of harmony and stability), the occurrence of black decks and the distorted gravity fields came up as evidence of near collapse. Their dominions were doomed and they could do nothing about it.”

You tell me that they gave up all sexual life in favor of pursuing power?

“Some of them did. Some helped each other to release the pressure. But all stayed mad about power.”

Hum… an alliance between ascetic and gay daemons… For keeping the power!

“An unholy alliance against me (Zeus made me the scapegoat, told you that) and against the laws of the universe. When you see how white harmony converts to black abyss in a matter of seconds, then you’d better halt and reflect. But no, they have returned to their old ways. Did they ever departed from them?”

What did you do?

“I followed my instinct. Got back to your birthplace, on pulsar PSR J1903+0327, to sniff for pussy. Lo and behold! Down the depths of this special star, past the green prairies and the atmosphere of nitrogen, oxygen and water, I saw a solid core, just like Theia. The name of it was Terra, or Earth in the reader’s English. A jewel planet brimming with pussy. A true paradise for me. Fascinating!”

Have you asked yourself, for a nanosecond maybe, what if your pussy paradise would turn to unexpected hell?

“I did, about 534 milliseconds per second, running normal routines for failure. The instinct prevailed though. Reason only helped me stay civil and polite. Actually, politeness is the perfect weapon in the process of seduction. Unfortunately, luck was not my best friend down there on Terra, where every man had three women for him, living around a sumptuous tree. These 1+3 groups they called families and were sexually locked. No pussy for the outsider, namely me.”

I listen to this virgin’s missteps and can’t take my eyes off of the backup volume. Those women were blue blooded and some of them were lesbians, in the family circle, of course. Kronos did not impress any man to share a wife. None of the offers presented by the Master of Time seemed good enough for men claiming to belong to God’s neural network. Doubting this claim, I dig through the reality backups until I stumble upon Nok and Eli – the blue blooded giant avatars of Enoch and Elijah. Aha, God’s neural networking! Makes sense to me. And this idiot kept begging, courting, making a clown of himself. Perseverance pays. Befriending some lesbian pussies, he learned to play the victim. He impressed a few husbands enough to make them propose sharing their wives with him. At this metaphysical point, God’s neural network reacted – like any cybernetic organism would do, obeying its inner laws.

“It wiped me out of Terra and pasted my body one kilometer atop the center of Sagittarius A*. I finally got what I’ve deserved: a fall into my own dug hole.”

Forgetting about his atrocious fate, I keep digging through the backups. Collapsing under its own weight, Terra vanished from sight. Curious, I followed through the tunnel which opened up in Theia’s orbit. Terra blasted into Theia. A cosmic tragedy putting an end to the Theian civilization and the Terran culture. Sigh. Kronos, tell me how did you manage to escape from the black deck Sagittarius A* – also known in mainstream vernacular as “a bright and very compact astronomical radio source at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, near the border of the constellations Sagittarius and Scorpius. It is part of a larger astronomical feature known as Sagittarius A. Sagittarius A* is believed to be the location of a supermassive black hole, like those that are now generally accepted to be at the centers of most spiral and elliptical galaxies. Observations of the star S2 in orbit around Sagittarius A* have been used to show the presence of, and produce data about, the Milky Way’s central supermassive black hole, and have led to the conclusion that Sagittarius A* is the site of that black hole.”

“One kilometer above this deck is less than nothing. So I allowed myself to fall in it. What else?”

Aha, so this is why you told me that the late dynasties of gods and titans are just trapped not dead, because you fell in it, passed through it and returned alive and well… Well… to some extent… Hope that you can make something with that flaccid dick of yours. Guess that I’ve got an itch slightly above my clit. Interested?