Destinations 7.

A day before, twelve kilometers beneath the Far Side of the Moon.

“Hey little sister who is it you’re with?” Flies Saturn from one rotating platform to another, counter rotating. Day and Easter interrupt their chat, once again, to pay attention to the music.

“Is he a Billy Idol fan now? Your little brother?”

“He’s gotta blow off some steam. There’s been three years and almost a half since this stale situation keeps him locked down here, with us, in Switzerland.”

“À propos, Easter dear, wished to ask you for a long time but always something, or someone, has taken my mind away. Why do you call the Moon with the name of that country on Earth: Switzerland?”

“What is Switzerland to the current civilization down on Earth, the Moon is to every civilized world across this universe. A neutral land.”

“Hey little sister what have you done?” Transits the steam blowing brother. Ignored.

“Let me call GULL. Wish to show you something,” implies Easter in a quite mysterious tease of the hand.

Both Day and Easter sense an incoming voice between their ears, “Auf Wiedersehen. Und Schatz, genieße deine neuen Schuhe. ...Dear sisters, let me turn the shop to Amazon mode and I’ll be with you in three leaps. Kiss!”

“Such a sticky sweetie gal, our GULL sister from the Asgard system.”

“Systems, it’s a plural. Don’t forget this, because it’s part of the Moon-like-Switzerland topic.”

“Ah? Okay, systems then. Everywhere you look, you’ve got a plural, or two.”

“Hey little sister who’s the only one?” Almost ignored, dancing Saturn jumps and shakes his hands from the elbows down, only.

“Here I am. Mwuahh. Mwwoooaahh-- What’s up, meine geliebten Schwestern. Let me giggle your minds a little bit. You look so nostalgic, so...” GULL’s orgasmic telepathy fades away, distracted by the music. Incoming and outgoing.

“Hey little sister who’s your superman?”

“Just-- just ignore him. GULL, I’ll begin with the pragmatic part of this conversation. Tomorrow, according to my intuition, a sizeable number, in the tens of millions if not over a hundred, will be raptured to L4. All these people are naked and barefoot. You get ready for a shoe selling business boom. That’s insider info, so treat it with care and get your printers ready for the new demand. Now please tell us if you’ve got a moon out there, in your Asgard systems.”

“Give me a hug, Easter dear, a nose hug. Come, jump on my hand. Yes, like this. Mmmm. Mmm. M. Okay, so you’re asking me about the moons in Asgard. I’m only a young volunteer selling shoes, but I know of twenty, or maybe thirty, moons roaming the Asgard. They’ve got military moons, border patrolling moons, rescue moons, deep space moons, and other specialized moons. I don’t know about all of them.

“How about natural moons?”

“No moon is natural. There’s no such thing, dear. Or at least I haven’t heard of a natural moon. But wait! May I?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you ask me all these simple questions, Easter. I’ve got the feeling that you already know the answers. I do not understand.”

“Hey little sister who’s the one you want?”

“Hear my jumping raving brother? He’s making meaningless trivia. Well, if there’s a meaning, I don’t know. But it sounds off topic. I have to wait for the events, like he does. We all do. We’ve gotta burn the oil, or oils. Especially this night. This is why I decided to make a vocal case, a spoken subject, for the records, to be accessible to the lowest level of perception, to be understood by the simplest minds, so that any person will take heed.”

“Hey little sister shot gun!”

“I see your point, dear,” speaks GULL with her amusing accent, “and I suppose that it’s time to call your brother down on the platform, to help us with the narrative.”

“Done with the lyrics, little brother?”

“It’s a nice day to start again.”

“It’s a nice day for a white wedding.”

“It’s a nice day to start again.”

“Done!” Saturn jumps in Day’s hand. “You wish to listen to the narrative now. So be it! Here I come, again.”

Saturn spins with hands stretched out, like wings. The whirl describes a blueish wall, like a force field, surrounding the four. “Creation is a side effect of music. In itself, a universe boots like an operating system.” When the ‘m’ sound departs his lips, a yellow grid parcels the surround. “See? Sound excites the medium, variations within the medium create electromagnetism, from which gravity derives.” As the last ‘s’ from the word ‘derives’ departs his lips, lightnings crack between opposite sides of the grid. Like pearls on strings, stars and planets and moons drop out of these lightnings. “This is, briefly, how my father had painted the universe, out of fractals, vectors and pixels. But he did not sing. The music was coming down to him from another realm. Without this music, my father could not have painted one single pixel, could not have drawn one vector, could not have hardened one single star, or planet or moon. Music is what makes the world go round.”

“See?,” says GULL, “told you that there are no natural moons in Asgard.”

“Nothing is natural, because it’s not nature who made anything. This game is personal, by persons, from persons, about persons. Landscapes are just that.”

“And intentional. About intent now!” Easter is touching the sensitive chord. “We’ve got a non-person at the North Pole of Earth, which will move to L4 tomorrow, dragging along millions and millions of victims – mostly sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. The Adam and the Eve of that Earth which is orbited by this Moon – which Moon used to be part of it, by design, until the Lord had slid it out, to its current place. Do you know about the anode at the center of the Earth?”

“Rhetoric, we certainly do. It’s the exit relay for souls, those souls mature enough to ascend to the next level, out of this universe.”

“We had an anode inside the original Earth in the Asgard systems, but it’s not working any more.”

“Good to know, GULL. We’d also love to hear your complete disclosure. You’re more than a shoes seller, aren’t you?”

“A gal must know her trades. A gal does more than she tells. You’ll have to know better than any other gal, Easter, that drama and tragedy has touched every living soul out of every civilization that our Creator has set in motion. The Asgard know about the twelve Adams built by the Ever-Living. I can name each different Adam and his birth system to you. However, the Asgard have grown from the one Adam of Midgard, of Earth. We are sons of Enoch.”

Stupefaction. “Uhm, didn’t see this coming. NOK, the blue blooded giant, or Enoch the red blooded human?” Day sounds irritated. She feels betrayed by her centuries-long girlfriend.

“Enoch the human, a.k.a. Odin. Elijah the human, a.k.a. Thor.”

“How about you, GULL, a blue blooded giant coming from the Asgard system, how about you?”

“I’ve got relatives inside this Moon, several graves, down under to the Tartarus.

“Same pulsar?” whispers Dag.

“PSR J1903+0327. Same, yes.”

“What do we have here? Versioning of pulsars? Not sure I get that.”

“Stop your sarcasm there, little brother. It’s the persons that matter. This is how versioning works: on persons! Look at you! You’re Kronos, ain’t ya? Yet everyone calls you Saturn, the latest version of your father.”