LUNATIX

Earth-date 2191, August 13th. Sahara, East of the Lybian desert. Astarte is dead. Assassinated by a Jovian dragon. The devastating images are continuously shared around the Earth and across the Solar System. Kilometers long of vitrified sands, following the tongues of fire spit by the dragons. The half body remains of OMD, a blue blooded giant, right hand guard of hers, entangled with black scales and scattered vertebrae of the flying serpent’s broken neck. A couple of kilometers to the East, fragments of the next dragon are still carried away by forensics. An ugly elongated head, its mouth: a pair of scissors trapped in glass like an incommensurate insect in a sea of amber. The scissors which cut Astarte in two. To the West, her twisted legs and basin. To the East, her torso, her hands and her elegant head. Eyes wide open. Staring at the skies. Matt and absent.

Easter speaks. To the four corners of the Earth. To planets and moons. To stations and ships. To colonies and cities.

“Astarte, my natural mother, is no more. Assassinated by a Jovian dragon, an agent of evil especially crafted for killing her. Astarte has died today. Dying along with her is our Golden Age—an era of joy and prosperity, of expansion and fraternity, of love and conquest. Kronos, my natural father, had one purpose in his life: to make the Golden Age happen. Which he did. It happened. But now, without Astarte, because of her assassination, the evil one has produced proof of intervention. The blood of my mother demands for retribution. The Watcher from Jupiter has declared war on us, daughters and sons of Adam, daughters and sons of Kronos, Titans ans Giants of the Alliance. War it is!”

Disparate posts on forums. Picked at random from Sahara.cron - mainly.

“Fucking bastards. How could those dragons penetrate our defense lines?”

“They didn’t have to. Forensic reports indicate DNA tracing back from the Pacific trenches.”

“Yeah. Two hatched dragon eggs have been retrieved East of Guam. Those monsters were terrestrial. Who knows how old?”

“Five thousand years, they say.”

“Too young, bro. I’d say at least ten thousand.”

[...]

“Where is Saturn?”

“Silent.”

“No one has heard of Saturn after his mother’s assassination, bro.”

[...]

“The goddess of sex is dead. What shall we do?”

“She was also the goddess of war and we have war. Move on, bro!”

[...]

Richatville, AD 2191, August 20th. On the bottom of the pit beneath the Eye of Africa. Beatrice, Saturn and Rolf—old Rolf. Talking. Tense.

“Aunt Beatrice, are you certain that this will work?”

“Yes, Saturn. It will. Communicate your father’s orders to Rolf. He needs to know.”

“Orders from Kronos?” Asks Rolf only for the sake of conversation.

“One, actually. Here it is, translated to the readers’ English: 21910820 1200ZULU 5TH STATE EXEC NORETURN.”

“Not my English. Can you make any sense of it? Of the syntax after the date and time. I’ve got these.”

“According to my French, the fifth state is me. Rather the so-called Bose-Einstein condensate that patches my wound in the chest. Then EXEC is a classic command: exec replaces the current program in the current process.”

“The Eye of Africa,” infers Saturn, “must have a specific crystal arrangement; like an intentional fractal distribution to accomplish a unique function.”

“Any idea what kind of a function?” asks Rolf to calm his pulse down.

“No idea.”

“How about NORETURN, what does it mean?”

“Pretty straight forward. My father will die in the process. He lived for Astarte, for the Golden Age. Both are gone. He wants to be gone. His raison d’être has been fulfilled.”

“Wait, w–wait a minute. Kronos gone means no more time. The clocks will stop? The pulsars? The stars? What is going to happen?” Rolf jumps to conclusions.

“Compose yourself, Rolf. We are about to find out in ten minutes.”

Nine minutes later.

“Rolf! Lock the door behind you. Keep your eyes and ears closed. Take a deep breath and hold. Saturn will open the door when it’s over.” Speaks Beatrice throwing a glance at the red mark across the gate in the floor. “Saturn, are you with me?”

“Ready to go, Aunt Beatrice.” He positions himself next to her, a step aside, a step behind, for support.

“Go!”

Beatrice strips her golden bra down, hurriedly rolling it over her waist and hips and legs. She is naked now, like Saturn next to her. But who can notice? The full spectrum light, originating out of her pierced heart, floods the pit.

Saturn wished to count in nanoseconds, how long will it take to reach the crystal above in the Eye of Africa. Less than one nanosecond. He cannot refine more.

Orbiters and drones, ships and sensors record a steady beam of light, whiter than white, exiting from Mauritania, aiming at and hitting planet Jupiter across its equator.

Same orbiters and drones, mostly those equipped with long range sensors, record the most unexpected astronomical phenomenon. Planet Saturn has suddenly moved in polar orbit of planet Jupiter. Instead of circling it, Saturn rains a constant stream of electricity upon Jupiter.

The giants of the skies are colliding. Saturn descends over Jupiter’s North Pole. The electrical storm intensifies. For everyone in the Solar System, it seems that one planet – the upper one – is about to ‘eat’ the other – the lower one.

The two white discs merge into an eight. Then the eight grows into a wider, brighter, disc. Jupiter is no more. Saturn is no more. The beam of light – constantly pointed at the center of Jupiter – departs, like a high speed train, from Earth. What is even harder to conceive, the trailing photons of this beam actually behave like the tail of an outgoing train. When they reach destination, a new star erupts in the skies.

The Second Sun.

Easter speaks. To the four corners of the Earth. To planets and moons. To stations and ships. To colonies and cities.

“The war is over. Consuming evil, my parents are no more. Time is no more. You can’t sense that yet because my brother Saturn feeds you inertia. This won’t last. It cannot. My joy? Where it is? I do not know. I am lost. And desperate. Alone. Bear with me.”

Thirty-five minutes later. The bottom of the pit.

“Aunt Beatrice, Aunt Beatrice! Are you all right?” Saturn is scared. Beatrice, on her knees, exhausted, drags her breath.

“Unlock the gate. Let Rolf come close.”

Saturn hurries to execute her order. “Aunt Beatrice! I–I found Mother Rebecca. She is here. Stuck to the door. Mother Rebecca? Mother Rebecca? Please, can you hear me?”

Rebecca nods, smiles and jumps on her feet. “Here I am. There and back again!”

Beatrice makes big eyes. Bigger than she ever did. “Rebecca. Oh, Rebecca dear. Happy to see y– ...Come closer ... Closer! I said.”

She approaches, as told. “What is wrong? Everything all right? I wish to...”

“Don’t!” Shouts Beatrice. “I know what you’re carrying inside you.”

“What?”

“Did [no-name]... Have you been touched?”

“Er... Not sure. Can’t remember. Don’t know what to remember. No idea.” Concludes Rebecca on a naughty note.

“Oh Lord, Yasu Khrist, Son of God, take me, take me now!”

And the tired fairy of the desert is gone, nowhere to be found down and around the pit.

Rebecca remains to watch, perplexed.

The lock turns green, the door opens, Rolf comes up to the floor.

“Rivkah! Oh my little Rivkah. You are back. Finally!! Thank God!”

“What god?”

To be continued