David Larson - The Myth of the Anal Probe

He had never really given much thought to intergalactic sex since he had been here. It was kind of like when he was in bootcamp as a kid. The rumor was that they had been putting saltpeter in everyone’s food to keep them from getting an erection. But the facts were much less ‘deep state’ than that. In actuality the constant stress of bootcamp life kept them all exhausted and on edge. The last thing they were thinking about was sex, or girls at all for that matter.

He guessed that being here was a lot like that. But now that he was settling in to what his life had become, the possibility of a relationship seemed almost doable.

“That could get pretty messy though,” he thought. “What about kids, and what would I have to do to get a marriage license out here.”

His mind was moving way too fast for his intellect to keep up with. It was like running down an extremely steep hill. His strides were quite a bit longer than his legs would allow for. It was just a matter of time before his thoughts tripped him up and he fell into a jumbled heap at the bottom of a grassy slope of his subconscious.

Mike decided it was time to go back to his long row to hoe. He knelt back down into the soft rich earth and started to turn over the soil around what might have been soy beans… if soy beans were iridescent blue. He picked the random weeds out and dropped them into a basket.

There was a low-grade hum in the air coming from a set of white wooden boxes next to the garden. Things that looked like a gecko mated with a bumble bee swarmed around the box as they darted in and out of several holes in it. Mike imagined that there was something in that box that would resemble honey, but in fact really wasn’t.

Occasionally Mike would take a break and walk over to the nearby stream. The first time that Bob had told him he could drink right out of the stream Mike was a little more than skeptical. The water from a stream at home probably held more disease and horrid ways to die than anyone could ever possibly imagine.

The first mouth full of pure stream water Mike had was just like everything else on Avalon so far. When he stuck his hand in the water it felt silky and smooth like someone was pulling a peacock feather across his hand. Once in his mouth the water was sweet. Kind of like a pineapple, but not really. Like a pineapple and caramel corn had a baby, and that baby peed rainbows. Yeah, that was more like it.

Working the earth in the warmth of this sun, in the unearthly beauty of the landscape surrounding him only to be able to walk a few steps and drink deeply from the stream of pineapple-caramel-corn-baby rainbow pee was never going to get old. Mike was never going to get jaded. And even as he thought that, he realized that the simple fact he was telling himself it would always be new guaranteed it wouldn’t be. At some point he would surely start bitching because the moon wasn’t red enough, or the rainbow pee wasn’t sweet enough, or he just didn’t feel like working that day so to hell with it.

“Hey, Mr. Green Jeans,”

Mike stood up when he heard the familiar voice behind him.

“What’s up Bob?” Mike said brushing his hands off on his pants legs. He stuck his hand out and instantly withdrew it.

“Old habits die hard,” Bob said.

“Yeah I guess so,” Mike said, mentally chastising himself for the instantaneous habits of his former home.

“Hey buddy I got a treat for you tomorrow if you’re interested,” Bob said.

“A treat?” Mike said . “Like every single other treat I’ve had since I arrived here, or is it a different kind of treat?”

“I’d say it was totally different than any of those kinds of treats. You being here has kind of got the entire planet talking.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I bet it has.”

“Yeah,” Bob said as he scratched his head as though he were searching for an answer to a question that had yet to be asked. “Anyway, you being here at the focal point of the workings of our little slice of universal paradise has its benefits.”

“Tomorrow,” Bob went on “you’re going to interviewed by the planetary facilitator of the news channel.”

Mike had been on the planet long enough to know that there were basically three television stations. None of them were 24/7, like there had been at home. For all practical purposes they ran for a few hours in the evening and that was about it. One channel was all about DIY tips, horticulture, and cooking. Another channel basically belonged to Serilda, and it let people know what work or specialties were needed where. Part of that broadcast was handed off to local stations for more focused needs.

The third channel was news. Not like news on earth. There was no undercurrent of agenda, or right out directly slapping you in the face with a giant agenda whiffle ball bat. There was no screen split into two or four or six segments, each containing a head that was screaming incoherently at all the other head boxes. There was no Jim Cantore praying for the entire east coast to be blown away in a career building hurricane. No bluster, no false indignation or put up outrage. There was simply news of important things that were happing around the world. The clear intent of these stories was to inform the public so that they could take any given situation into their own hands and react intelligently to situations that needed to be handled.

“Sounds like a good time,” Mike said.

“Yep,” Bob said, “should be. I think you’re going to be interviewed by the principle facilitator. Right now they think that it may be several discussions over several days. They have a lot of questions and it seems you have a lot of answers.”

“I’m ready for anything they want,” Mike said.

“Tell me buddy,” Bob said as he put his arm around Mike’s shoulder, “how’s it hanging for you out here?”

“In relation to what?” Mike asked.

“Everything I guess,” Bob said. “You’ve been taking in quite a lot here. And I guess when it comes right down to it there’s been quite a lot expected of you. It could kind of twist a guy up in side. I guess the fact that you absorb all of this relatively easily kind of worries me just a little.”

“I’m great,” Mike said, “really great. In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

“Kind of what I’m just a tiny bit concerned with here,” Bob said. “Don’t lose sight of the goal line here, brother. The end game will always be that you go back home and try to fix whatever you can there.”

“Absolutely,” Mike said flashing a big grin.

‘Maybe too big,’ Bob thought.

“I know where this is going, Bob,” Mike said in a reassuring tone. “This is really a great help to me. When I get back to Earth, I’ll have quite a lot of material to use.”

“Back to Earth… not home,” Bob thought. He stepped back, patted Mike on the arm and said, “Good to know brother… good to know. See you in the morning.”

Bob and Mike got out of the capsule car in front of the same building where Mike first met Serilda, and walked through the glass doors into the foyer.

“Does everyone work in this one building?” Mike asked.

“Do you?” Bob answered the question with a question.

Mike just shot back a disapproving look.

“There ya go then,” Bob said.

Mike was still getting used to the idea that he could walk into one of the most important buildings on the entire planet and not have to be ready to get frisked, scanned, and x-rayed… you know, to preserve freedom. He was pretty comfortable with the complete lack of pomp and splendor that any other official place would have in any country on Earth. But the lack of security of any kind whatsoever still made him think in his deepest of lizard brains that these people were way too vulnerable.