LunaDome: A Novel

by Olin, a. Paul

  LunaDome

  Handcrafted in the USA

  By

  a. Paul Olin

  Copyright © 2014 a. Paul Olin

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States

  Cover Art & Design handled by a. Paul Olin

  Text set in Garamond.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  We will build new ships to carry man forward into the universe, to gain a new foothold on the moon and to prepare for new journeys to the worlds beyond our own.

  George W. Bush

  Speech on new space exploration initiatives

  January 14, 2004

  Hey. That’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.

  George Bailey, It’s a Wonderful Life

  Part I

  The Blue Planet

  For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.

  Leonardo da Vinci

  I: Ticket Out

  A hot and crisp wind swept over the Atlantic Ocean littered with squandering watercraft, across the packs of colorful tourists on the sandy beach below, and gently rubbed the prickly hairs on a slender man’s tanned face.

  He woke listlessly and rolled over on the sagging hammock, feeling the bright sun dance around in his eyelids. The soles of his feet touched down on the shaded balcony floor and he walked inside the condo, rubbing his eyes softly with his palm.

  “Hello Crass. And welcome to Facesnap. How may I direct your thoughts today?” the digital wall asked. The sound came through speakers in the white ceiling.

  Crass Duvall stood in the living room and stared at the television as it stretched across the interior glass wall. He didn’t know what the hell to say. The software scanned his retinas and face with a soft beam of invisible light, automatically integrating him into the human network.

  This is where thoughts were downloaded into the mainframe for recording and an overwhelming transmission of new thoughts and ideas were sent out for the daily agenda.

  This was the new reality and he was in it.

  “You have thirty-two birthday reminders and one request from the VA council. Should I schedule a date for you?” asked the lady on the television screen.

  “No,” Crass said. “I’ll speak with them later. Thanks.”

  The VA, also known as the Department of Virtual Affairs, wanted an update from him. Just a few quick questions so they could examine his current condition and mental state. They wanted to look him over and tell somebody higher up the totem pole that he was fit for entering out into the world.

  Yes, it appears he can easily cope with society.

  No, he isn’t a threat to humanity.

  Give him a pass and move on to the next guys. You’ve got way bigger fish to fry.

  What they wanted was all of his little life details so they could fit him into a box somehow; one with limited, but (by their definition of it) safe dimensions. They’d stereotypically analyze everyone and stick him with the others like he was. If they could, they’d try to control his reality and shift it towards more people who thought like he did.

  Once there, most everyone would fill up the box designated to them. People would conform. They’d be like all the others before them, shifting realities until they found their best matches and then, according to the VA, they’d actually be able to contribute to something bigger than themselves, even. They’d be playing a part in helping to construct humanity as the VA saw fit.

  And wouldn’t the Virtual Affairs office love for all of that to happen? Wasn’t it the reason they wanted to psychologically analyze him? He thought so.

  Here, take a look at this Rorschach test, Crass. What do you see when you look at the ink splotches? Remember, there is no wrong answer.

  But there were wrong answers, and certainly there were right ones, too. Friends that had taken the test before him had mentioned some of the types of questions they were inclined to pull on you. This was a tiny facet of their evaluation—a pinprick.

  “Would you tell someone the truth even if you knew it had the possibility of crashing their dreams?”

  Yes and fail. No, and prevail until the next question.

  “Would you say that you use your left brain more than the right? You know, the logical, rational side?”

  Yes and move on to the next. No, and you’re deemed a creative force-field capable of wild and lofty ideas which might conflict with the ideas of others. The VA couldn’t afford to have any original thinkers in the fleet. To them it was a threat to their system. And their way of life involved appeasing the people. The majority.

  And the majority rules the world.

  Control the majority, direct their thoughts, and you can control the world. Who would have thought it? You know?

  It was the sneaky people who did it—the ultra-rich pompous assholes that ruled the world, but of course. Facesnap was an interior update, mostly mandatory in all regions, and if you were anyone important— even quasi-important—you had the technology sitting in your home every day. All day long active, recording whatever it is that goes on in your anti-American household.

  Secret arrests started happening as early as 2018 and only got worse, like a bad habit out of control. They weren’t so secretive with them anymore. People started disappearing daily it seemed nowadays. Rarely was any real news told on the tube. Those rumors spread much more efficiently by word-of-mouth advertising, the black market of secrets.

  Crass thought most of it resembled poorly written fiction, like a picture painted through the eyes of a depressed maniac that needed to feed on the sickness of the world.

  He’d heard of one guy disappearing after he checked out a few tagged books at the library. Rumors were speculated, exaggerated upon, and spit back out. What he got by the time it reached him was, this guy, some regular Joe Blow (Go figure? Am I right?), was reading up on Machiavelli, a few of the Lost Gospels, and excerpts from the Upanishads.

  Crass was surprised that the government sanctioned libraries would even have those particulars on the shelf. Unless they were purposefully trapping people, he thought. It was a horrid reality and probably that was truth, at least a shade of it.

  What he wanted to do was pull a skilled magician’s disappearing act. A real David Copperfield kind of affair. The kind of trick where the magician doesn’t come back to the audience and bask in standing ovation. It had to be a silent move, one done with extra care and attention.

  So, with that being said, he asked himself a question.

  Where would you go if you could travel anywhere in the world, Crass? Anywhere. Name it.

  Anywhere away from the present was a good start. He’d been here far too long now. His tolerance level was wearing thinner than the skin off of grapes. He couldn’t do with the life he’d built here in Daytona. Where he needed to go was somewhere far, far away. Like maybe in a distant land somewhere. A third world country or something. Uncivilized and untamed. Unnurtured territory.

  This could be his new start, he thought. A new lease on life, a fresh grip on reality. How about Mars or Jupiter? Were they offering rides there yet? Civilian shuttles to the Moon had started blasting off in 2020. Fees were excruciatingly high then and when was the last time he’d checked on price packages? He couldn’t remember.

  He spoke to the glass wall, to the lady in the digital TV screen.

  “Persona, can you check on lunar shuttle missions? Or the price of deep space exploration?”

  The TV came to life and
brought up several articles and websites for civilian tickets.

  Take a TRIP to the Moon’s BIGGEST CRATER! Visit the LunaDome facility and FLY in the Rec Center! Travel in Mars Orbit and See the BIGGEST VOLCANOES in the Solar System! Including Olympus Mons, 3X Taller than EVEREST! And as WIDE as COLORADO!

  The biggest concern he had right now was price. How far could he go with only about a million Bitcoins? That was the real question he should’ve asked the fucking TV.

  He was perfectly capable of figuring all this shit out on his own. Stick it up yours modern technology, he thought, I don’t fucking need you. Give me serenity. Give me patience and understanding. Give me Crass Duvall.

  Where was it going to be? The TV stared back at him, glowing brightly with windows of colorful information. Lots of options and only one way to ride this train, he thought.

  He pulled up the infamous coupon sites, a dozen or more, and scanned around to see what they had available for under a million. He preferred to pay half that range, but as they say, beggars can’t be choosers. Not when you gotta get the hell out of town anyways.

  For 350,000 Bitcoins, he could travel through space on a shuttle that would orbit the five outer planets. Slightly higher and more reserved for the space junkie was the trip to the Moon’s resort for a mere 435,000 coins, and of course, the experience of actually walking on the lunar surface.

  Crass ordered the tickets and exchanged over half of his Bitcoin lot for a three day stay at the LunaDome Moon Resort and Hotel. He was excited…Dammit was he excited.

  Thirty minutes later, F.P.S., or Flying Parcel Service, delivered the tickets in a sealed package when he was standing on the balcony outside, taking in the salty breeze.

  A tiny, black helicopter, no bigger than an amateur’s toy, buzzed in mid-air, telling him overdramatically (he thought), that he had mail. A metal arm attachment folded out and handed him a sealed manila envelope. It was addressed from a company called LunAucity Xcursions, out of Cape Canaveral, Florida.

  He ripped open the plastic wrapping, and out slid a glossy and golden ticket as big as a paperback novel, but much shinier when it reflected the vicious sunlight in his naked eyes. Geez, it’s bright as all hell out here, he thought. He took a quick glance at the countertops and tabletops around the condo.

  Where the shit were his shades at? He didn’t know.

  Launch date was scheduled for tomorrow night, or early Friday morning, and he was on the red eye. The goddam coupon sites got him again with a 2:00 a.m. launch to the Moon. How long to get there? he wondered. He wasn’t sure and the ticket didn’t say. He was thinking what it would be like to leave this planet he’d known all his life.

  What the hell he was going to buy when he made it there he didn’t know. Space junk? Pieces of rock from the Moon’s surface? All he needed was a few postcards and some stamps. You know, make the trip more memorable. God forbid we should forget anything.

  Hey everyone! Look at me! I just blew half a million Bitcoins travelling to the Moon so I could send you this nice postcard. Have a nice day! And remember, take it deep now, yah hear?

  — Your Dearest Friend, Crass Duvall.

  One thing is for sure, he thought, as he gazed out over a busy and hot stretch of Atlantic Avenue. Nothing was quite important as stepping out into the world was, and exploring new things, or trying to climb the high plateaus, or wanting to scale that rocky mountain off in the distance. And that was exactly what he was doing.

  Taking a vacation to the Moon. A bit spontaneous, no doubt, but the upside was unlimited. He was travelling to space for crying out loud! How many people held bragging rights like that? I mean besides the early pioneer astronauts like Armstrong, Aldrin, or Schmitt.

  What he’d do once he made it back was something he still hadn’t figured out yet. It was in the air. Tentative, as they say. And why was there such a short window of opportunity on the amount of time one could disappear?

  They never found D.B. Cooper. He seems to have pulled it off successfully, but Crass was having trouble finding an email address or mailbox number, and strangely he thought the guy was a bit shy because he avoided the social media like the Black Death.

  He scanned the coupon site some more and found a hot deal for a three month cruise around the world. Jules Verne would have loved this, he thought to himself.

  It wasn’t on a cruise ship, but rather a fully equipped mega-yacht built for the sultans and cash hoarders over in Dubai. They offered golf, jet skis (on or off the boat), casinos, women, drugs, music, whores, and all the other vain things that men could dream up, it was there. Three months of sex and booze and money pissed down the drain. A sadistic sabbatical.

  It was an option Crass was keeping on the backburner. The television could wait, and the relentless VA Department could suck off a piranha’s ass if he cared to really voice his opinion.

  Crass had bigger fish to fry. He was going to the Moon while they harassed people here on Earth. How tragic for them, he thought.

  Simply tragic.

  He went back to the hammock on the balcony and lie down for the remainder of the day. Dreams were sure to come true tomorrow, he was thinking, as he yawned and rolled over on his side, facing the big wide ocean now. He closed his eyes and

  The Sun fell over the Atlantic coast.

  II: Day of the Launch

  2031 was by far one of the best years Crass had encountered in a while. Maybe that was true and then again, maybe not. The excursion to Earth’s satellite was looking to be the highlight of the year. Sad when reality sets in, sometimes.

  He undressed and took a hot shower. He thought about the Apollo missions while scrubbing his face, Neil Armstrong when he washed his hair and finally, he was pondering Mars and the Jovian Planets further past it when he stepped out and dried off on the moisture-activated rug.

  Yes, we almost forgot about nice toiletries like towels. He’d let go of his cotton obsession and purchased one from the Bed Bath and Beyond up the street. His parents, on the other hand, were the towel kind of people. There were two decorative towels to every regular towel in their house and soon you’d get lost trying to keep up with all of them.

  Crass put on his clothes and walked to the kitchen. The walls lit up as he neared the bulky refrigerator.

  “Good morning, Crass. Welcome to Facesnap. How may I direct your thoughts?”

  “Fu…” he started to say and stopped. He’d almost told the TV to fuck off, but caught his tongue in the nick of time, before it slipped out, and they mailed him a fine in the goshdamn mailbox for it.

  He had to avoid any contact. Everything had a memory these days.

  He grabbed an energy drink from the wall cooler. From the other room comes the irritating sound he doesn’t want to hear. Not today or anytime.

  “Crass, I see you’ve scheduled a vacation to the Moon. Have you talked to the VA Department yet?” the digital assistant asked. Robotic tone bitch.

  “No,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll talk to them when I get back.”

  Keep it short and sweet with her. Boring even.

  “I’ll inform them promptly Crass. Enjoy your trip,” she said and disappeared into the recesses of the wall. Poof! Gone.

  Thanks Persona, I’ll keep that in mind when I’m 200,000 miles from your eerie fucking voice bombing my eardrums.

  She has a name alright—that strange and familiar voice Crass awakes to every morning of his life. Because when you enjoyed the high life, you took it all in. You didn’t half-ass a damn thing—the talking TV personal assistant, the floating golf ranges in Dubai, and the penthouse condo all came with a price he gladly paid.

  Persona was up his ass and in business affairs 24/7, another part of trading in the Bitcoin community and mandatory for currency exchanges. If you wanted in on the trading, you accepted the Persona assistant into your home. Lurking and watching you all hours of the day, keeping track of your personal things. It was a bit creepy, but rules were rules and he needed to trade in his l
ittle collection.

  What do you do when your back is against the wall? You trade in your coins and fucking disappear. Mario disappeared down tunnels. Crass Duvall was sailing off to space, then maybe a trip around the world on a big ass pleasure boat. He was itching to get back on the real casino tables, and out of the online world, where he’d been lately.

  Life is motion, he thought, staring out over the beach. Constant, rapid motion. And time rolled on without a break, as it was doing now. He had about twelve hours until the shuttle lifted off into space and the Great Beyond. He was looking to go where no man had gone before.

  Well, he thought, there were a few that’d been up there.

  Crass packed a book bag with three day’s worth of clothing and a few accessories for the trip. He put his MoboGlobo glasses inside, a few books and a toboggan, and some space cakes shipped directly from Colorado. Seemed like an appropriate thing to have on a space mission now that marijuana was legalized everywhere, and nobody could really cause a great big ole fuss about it.

  After legalization status, the stress levels reached all-time lows. So did the crime rates with everybody frolicking around on the Clouds, blitzed out of their damned minds. It went down by forty percent in five years. And then obesity started climbing higher. People wanted to eat and watch TV more and we accepted it as the lesser of the evils. Statistics just couldn’t be argued with.

  Like one in every one-hundred thousand space missions will go lost and disappear. Thanks to whatever statistician that come up with that figure. Now I know I have at least a bigger chance of really disappearing.

  There were enough space cakes to survive for three of four weeks, maybe. After that, things could get desperate and he might have to turn to cannibalism, depending on who’s on board the shuttle. The picky eaters never survived long. They would go first, savoring the meaty porkers for later, and fattening them up for their ultimate and untimely slaughter.