by Doris Dawn
“If you wish to understand the Universe, think of energy, frequency and vibration.”
“LUNATIX” is a direct continuation of the spectacular paragalactic stories from “Polygamy vs. Polygyny,” “TITANIA – From Schönbrunn to Saturn,” “MATRYOSHKA – Sex in the Golden Age” and “Astarte, The Adventure.”
// Cover GIMP composition by Don Dawn.
Intro (a fragment from Rebecca’s Lost Century, “Astarte, The Adventure”)
The old man occupies a seat near a huge salt lamp. Surrounded by the mild orange light, the resemblance with Santa Claus is difficult to ignore.
“There is no time for the philosophy of science, Viktor. I’m not safe here any more. Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything. Thank God you haven’t launched those atom bombs. You are a true hero. Our children will thank you for what you’ve done today. Tell me, Rolf, you wish for a new Schwalbe?”
“This would be nice, but we both know that it’s impossible. I’m a traitor now. The aircraft are out of your reach and no bureaucrat would put his life in line for me. Besides, I left the base in an aircraft and returned on a motorbike. Where’s the aircraft?, begs the question. If they find me here, together with you, they’ll shoot us both…”
“Not so fast, young man, not so fast. I believe that I can still protect you. They need me. You know that.”
“Not after finding out that you’re accomplice in high treason. I’ve handled the aircraft with two atom bombs under its wings to the enemy. So listen to me. I need a place inside your biggest unmanned repulsin. No one will search for me there and you’ll shoot me out, claiming to be yet another failed experiment.”
“Are you mad? Shoot you out where? To Nirvana? To another galaxy? To certain death?”
“I’d rather die on the altar of science than in dishonor. Do this for me and for my family. Please! Viktor?”
“Come with me!”
The feed walks us through the tunnels of a salt mine, introduces us to a parking lot populated with tens of giant saucers, or giant cups.
Well not giant the way I am but giant for humans. I could use them as a china service if I’d ever consider to invest my time in serving tea. But I have no such intention.
“Come, come closer. Do you think you can fit inside this one?”
Poor Rolf, he is presented with a combination between a tea cup placed reversely at one meter above a facing tea saucer.
“Could be worse. I’ll take it… Thank you, Viktor! You’ve been like a father to me. Gott schütze dich!”
“My dear boy. Wherever you’ll go, pray for us. Will you?”
The old man embracing Rolf, and cutting my entire feed in the process, collects his gorget, his steel helmet, buttons and any object of metal upon him. Crammed like the beef inside a hamburger, Rolf’s eyes offer us less perspective over the action. I focus on his vital signs: all quite high. No wonder given the situation.
“Take care!” Shouts the old man eventually. We can’t see a thing because Rolf closes his eyes often. When they are open, we’re given to watch a black screen. Iron, my girls, just iron… and no lights inside that thing.
Viktor must have pulled some levers somewhere in the vicinity of the repulsin. We can only hear clunking sounds. Then a soft swing. The oscillation tends to achieve resonance but it won’t, instead it turns in circles. Faster and faster.
Rolf opens his eyes to see a blueish glare dewing all over the dark iron in front of his nose. Four hundred and ninety milliseconds later, he can’t see the metal any more, just the blue light surrounding him. The feed turns mute. The image turns white. The end.
Thus concludes the feed from Rolf Radetzky’s records of memory, September 24th, 1944, put on display by Astarte in the afternoon of August 13th, 2021.
Viktor Schauberger, inventor of repulsins and friend of Rolf, had no idea if his device can behave as a slingshot of persons from a world to another. He said “certain death” but was he really convinced about that?
This book sheds some light on the whereabouts of Rolf Radetzky, the first love of Rebecca Johannson, born Rabinovics. Among others.
Chapter 1. The Hand
Darkness. Total. The pale dew is gone. Already. Sponged down the iron plates. Oh yes, the repulsin! Where is it? I poke the void above. Nothing. I push my hands under. And my legs too, hesitantly. Nothing.
Viktor called it an antigravity machine. So this is antigravity. But where’s the machine? My body seems to be suspended above nothing, below nothing, surrounded by nothing. I swim in an ocean called Nirvana. Wait a minute! If well remembering, Viktor did mention Nirvana. He did! Was that a metaphor?
There’s no light around here, in Nirvana. What a gloomy realm. Are my eyes open? Let me check. With my hands on the forehead, my pointers try to raise my lids. Ouch! Looks like my eyes were wide open all the time. Let me blink a few more times. Might help with keeping them wet.
Black. This is what I see in front of my eyes. Round here, in Nirvana. If this is Nirvana, after all.
Cold. Do I feel the chill of empty space? The fabric of my uniform keeps me warm. Or does it? I have no buttons, the coat is loose. No belt. Same are my trousers. Loose. This is a summer uniform. They had to freeze in these on the outskirts of Moscow. Judging by what I can see (or can’t actually) this darkness should have a temperature way lower than the forests surrounding Moscow, in winter. How about that?
Wondering. What if I feel a negative temperature on the Kelvin scale? A matter of entropy, or lack of it. The energy of my presence here should decrease the entropy of the system.
Am I alone? No one in sight. Easy to figure that out, eh? Still, sight is not enough. How can I be alone? Was I the only one flying a repulsin? Viktor has trained several pilots for his manned machines. I can remember Erwin, Hans and Helga and… Never mind.
My fascination with jet fighters had me opt for the Schwalbe. I am pretty sure that this wonderful plane will make history. I could have done that if following the orders to drop the first two atom bombs over Northern Transylvania. I am happy that I didn’t.
Perhaps the victors will call it jet hunter, or jet fighter.
What would they call the repulsin?
Did I say that? I can speak, move my lips, but no sound is produced for the ears to hear.
Did I think that? Foo fighter? What a nonsense. What does this word, foo, mean?… Fool?
Don’t think so. However, the words landed in my mind.
Interesting. I’ll have to think more often. Precisely. Naming things. Expecting for new words to hit back.
Did I say that?
Let’s start with thinking my name.
Rolf, Rolf Ra…, Rolf R…
Uhm… Why can’t I think my entire name? Is it that I forget my surname? Not at all. I know who I am. Just that I can’t think it… But hey! What is that? A ceiling? Really?
Pale. I can see a surface. An area with cracks. At random. The geometry of the lines is unknown. But seems familiar. The lines are blue. Like the sky. And the ceiling above my head is white. Or pale blue. No! Rather white. I touch it.
A cushion. It feels like a leather cushion. Dry and comfortable to walk upon.
Upon? Didn’t I see it as a ceiling? Initially. Funny how I use it as a floor after touching it.
My boots are dirty. The soil of the vine hills around Balaton sticks to them. Do I need my boots?
Sitting, I take them off. One after the other, they vanish into the abyss. Where I’ve thrown them.
The abyss? So now I see an abyss. Do I have an up and down? Too bad that I tossed both my boots in one direction. The one I deemed to be the ‘down’ a minute ago.
The papers. Where are they? Top right pocket. Yes. I remember Rivkah and her riddles… I throw my papers ‘up’ and they fall up the same way as my boots fell down.
I have no boots. Time for a walk.
To my right, the cushion raises to form a mild mount and then continues… Oh my… Let me check something!
To the left, the cushion breaks in four.
Behind me, across a narrow gutter, there is… there is… Incredible. A finger!
Four fingers to my left, one behind, the arm to my right. I am standing in someone’s hand.