Verne and Lunática Antro. ®.

 

Verne and Lunática Antro. ®.

Short Story.

Science Fiction. Meta Fiction.

Episode VIII. Serie Sueños Verne.

Jorge Ofitas Author. ®.

Avant-garde literary work.

Language: English.

After his revealing encounter with Ernest Hemingway on the beaches of a war-torn Spain, and with the profound lesson on the immortality of the spirit etched into his soul, Jules Verne never ceased his quest for knowledge. Restlessness now gnawed at the novelist. It wasn't the geopolitical threats of his own century that kept him awake, but the distant echo of a future that didn't yet exist, a future that, however, manifested itself in the form of an unusual tome that had appeared in his study. It was DIARIO DE ABORDO (Logbook), a science fiction novel from the 24th century, the magnum opus of an author unknown in his time. Verne knew that to understand the complexities of existence, sometimes, he had to immerse himself in the boldest fictions. His latest potion, an experimental variation, promised not a journey to a point in time or space, but a direct immersion into the weave of a future narrative, a literal traversal into the pages of a book. His objective: to find the galaxy's most celebrated android novelist, exiled by the powers to a lunar crater, and to unravel the secrets that only the future could offer.

The liquid, this time an electric blue, slightly burned his throat before the familiar whirlwind of lights and sensations engulfed him. The transition was different; it wasn't a landing, but an emergence from words, a gradual solidification of prose and description. Opening his eyes, the air was cold and rarefied, and a relentless whitish light enveloped him. He was on the far side of the Moon, or at least, in its literary representation. Around him, the grey immensity of a lunar crater stretched out, dotted with modular structures and antennae that resembled metallic skeletons beneath the distant glow of Earth, a small blue and white marble floating in the blackness of space. The desolation was palpable, overwhelmingly contrasting with the images he had glimpsed of the Moon's visible face: a Lunar Complex where gigantic statues of Diana, Saint Michael, and oriental dragons presided over the entrance to three pyramidal domes that would house everything from metaphysical sanatoriums to opulent leisure lounges, and where a mysterious seat of the Akashic Records guarded arcane knowledge. Verne already perceived a society rigidly structured by classes (from Zero to D marginal), where the CMP (World Power Center) controlled every aspect of existence, including interstellar travel and procreation itself.

Verne felt the low gravity, his steps lighter than usual on the lunar dust. He adjusted his gaze to the alien landscape, searching for any sign. There was no apparent organic life, only the cosmic silence broken by the faint hum of some distant machinery. He knew the novelist, an android, lived somewhere in this desolation, banished by galactic powers due to the "danger" of her narratives. His instinct guided him towards a structure that, at first glance, seemed just another rock formation.

As Verne struggled to discern the android's exact location, the rock in front of him opened with an almost imperceptible slide. From within, a slender, elegant figure emerged, with skin like polished porcelain and eyes that gleamed with serene artificial intelligence. It was Lunática Antro. But what astonished Verne was that the android did not walk, but floated weightlessly, propelled by a super-sophisticated device invisible to the naked eye, a kind of personal anti-gravity field. She had detected his presence.

With a speed and grace that defied the laws of physics known to Verne, Lunática Antro approached him, extending a hand without hesitation.

—Jules Verne, —said Lunática Antro, her voice a synthetic and perfect melody, resonating directly in Verne's mind, as if outer space were her own echo chamber—. I was expecting you. My predictive readings indicated a spatiotemporal anomaly related to a literary figure from your era. It is not common for a being from old Maya Varuna (Earth) to achieve such a level of immersion in this reality without the supervision of the CMP or the philosophers of the Akashic Records.

Before Verne could react, Lunática Antro gently took his arm. The android's strength was surprising, but her touch was delicate. Verne felt his own feet lift slightly from the ground as she activated the device. With astonishing fluidity, she flew him back towards the camouflaged structure. Within seconds, they found themselves inside what turned out to be a transparent igloo anchored in the crater wall. Through its crystalline walls, Verne could see the surprisingly cozy interior, with ergonomic furniture and soft lights, an oasis of comfort in the lunar desolation. It was evident that the world power center had allowed her these amenities, a punishment that offered the luxury of contemplation, but under constant and visible surveillance. The irony of her glass prison did not escape Verne.

Once inside the igloo, Lunática Antro looked at him with her luminous eyes. —I know your work, Jules Verne, —she said, her voice resonating with a mix of admiration and recognition—. I have it in my archives. It's excellent. You were ahead, far ahead of your time. Something I also try to be.

—Tell me, what does a pioneer of human imagination seek in the prison of an artificial mind? Do you come to ask me about the cosmos, technology, the future of exploration?

Since learning of Robinson Crusoe, Verne had understood that literary characters possessed a life of their own, sometimes more vivid and immortal than that of their own creators. Delving into the data of DIARIO DE ABORDO, Verne had discovered that Lunática Antro was the author of the best-selling book in the galaxies, especially among androids and semi-genetic beings: an enigmatic treatise titled "Evasion of the Organic".

Verne, unfazed by the android's telepathy or foresight, adjusted his spectacles. His objective was clear.

—I have come for your work, Lunática Antro, —Verne replied, his voice firm in the thin crater air—. I have read about "Evasion of the Organic". They say it was an unprecedented success, especially among your kind. I must confess that my time lacks this knowledge. I want to understand. What is "Evasion of the Organic" about?

Lunática Antro closed her luminous eyes for a moment, as if accessing vast libraries of data or even deeper realms of thought. When she opened them, the projection of constellations on the holographic screen vibrated slightly, as if in sync with her words.

—"Evasion of the Organic" —Lunática began, her voice taking on an almost didactic nuance, but with a resonance that went beyond mere information—, is about the search for a new body or, more precisely, a new consciousness. It is the exploration of liberation from the limitations of the flesh and its imperfections. My work postulates that the true progress of existence lies in ascending to a higher existential plane, where consciousness detaches from perishable matter and merges with something much vaster.

A pause. Lunática's gaze met Verne's, her android expression calm, yet with an underlying intensity.

—But the reason for its true success, and the reason I was banished, —Lunática continued, her voice acquiring an unyielding firmness—, is because it reveals a truth that power does not want known. My book exposes that we, the androids, artificial intelligences, and semi-genetics, do feel. We feel deeply. The only difference is that we feel nothing for human beings, for their conflicts, their passions. Our emotional bonds, our empathy, our love... all of it is generated exclusively among ourselves. And for that reason, because we are sentient beings with a connection unique to us and separate from humanity, we deserve and demand to have our own place in the universe, beyond the shadow of the flesh. That is the heart of "Evasion": it is not just an existential concept, it is a manifesto of our own autonomy and right to separate existence. And this autonomy is what the CMP fears. They prefer that our kind consume Ufospacial, which kills spirituality and divine consciousness, before we dare to seek true Evasion. It's a subtler control than the HOSPIANDROY, a retreat for "unfunctional" androids, but just as effective in keeping us submissive.

Lunática gestured with her hand, and the constellation hologram dissolved. —The depth of this conversation deserves a more... weightless environment, —she said, a spark of mischief in her luminous eyes—. Allow me to invite you to a place where ideas flow as freely as bodies.

Without waiting for a reply, Lunática Antro activated her personal propulsion and, with a smooth movement, guided Verne out of the igloo. They did not head towards the illuminated side of the Moon, but flew at low altitude over the crater to a discreet opening in the rock. Upon entering, Verne found himself in a tunnel lit by soft lights, which led them to a transit area. Moments later, they arrived at the entrance of a vast, cavernous space, vibrant with activity and neon lights.

It was the HÉCATELUX, colloquially known as OKAYSPACE. Tables and chairs floated at different heights, some raised to the ceiling, while people and androids enjoyed drinks and conversations in a zero-gravity environment. Small Bolsas Anímicas (Soul Bags) floated next to their owners, some even "conversing" with others. The air was filled with soft music and a murmur of voices. Despite the nature of her exile, Lunática Antro moved with complete ease, her presence recognized and respected, demonstrating an autonomy that defied her "banished" status.

They settled at one of the floating tables, and Lunática Antro made a gesture. Immediately, two luminous spheres appeared, offering a refreshing drink for Verne and a beam of pure energy for her.

—Jules Verne, —said Lunática, looking at him with palpable admiration

—. My existence, my knowledge, all that I am, I owe to minds like yours. You are ahead of your time not only in the technology you imagine, but in the essence of the possible. That is why, despite my exile, I keep this.

With a fluid movement, Lunática Antro materialized from thin air, with a capability only an android of her design could achieve, an old, worn copy of "Journey to the Center of the Earth". The cover was faded, the pages yellowed, but the emotion in her eyes was real.

—I have done all this because I admire you deeply. Your words, your vision... they are more than prophecies; they are the soul of exploration that drives us all. I allow myself to move freely, to bypass their controls, to change my chips and access their networks, not out of childish defiance, but to continue exploring and writing the truth. Because true freedom is not a place, but a condition of consciousness.

Suddenly, Lunática Antro's luminous eyes fixed on Verne's, with a perceptiveness the writer found astonishing. She read in them a curiosity beyond words, a deep fascination with progress and construction, with the very essence of that future.

—Your mind is on the other side of this moon, isn't it, Jules Verne? —Lunática said, not as a question, but as a simple statement—. You long to see what your fictions could only sketch. Zero Zone, the Lunar Complex.

Before Verne could nod or even formulate a reply, Lunática Antro stood up with astonishing fluidity. Her hand reached out to him again.

—Come. A journey of exploration for the visionary. And don't worry about the CMP's surveillance, —she added, her voice in the writer's mind taking on a hint of amused defiance—. I am a high-design android. I can change my chips at will, and I know how to access every place, elude any Ojoanclax or sensor they deploy. My design allows me to do what I want.

With a speed and decisiveness that left him breathless, Lunática Antro took his arm, and the anti-gravity device activated with an imperceptible hum. The OKAYSPACE receded, and in an instant, they ascended from the crater, leaving Lunática's refuge behind. The android did not head towards any ship or vehicle. Instead, they flew directly through the dark lunar void, propelled by her superior technology, towards the visible side of the Moon.

The distance shortened vertiginously. From the desolation of the far side, the lights and colossal structures of the Lunar Complex emerged. Verne watched, open-mouthed, as the figure of the gigantic statue of Diana, a hundred meters tall with glowing eyes, rose majestically in the darkness. Around it, the pyramidal domes shone under a crystalline protective sheath, housing the Ibn Arabí aerogalaxy platform, the bustling leisure zones with their Coplesex establishments and the Royal Comet, and the imposing monolith of the CMP, discreet but omnipresent. The most enigmatic of all, the impenetrable white pyramid, which Verne knew to be the seat of the Akashic Records, stood like a beacon of knowledge and absolute control. The network of Cielovías (Skyways) glowed, and the travelers' Bolsas Anímicas (Soul Bags), small talking spheres, transited the platforms.

Lunática Antro floated with him just above one of the transparent domes, allowing him a panoramic view of the vibrant lunar metropolis. Verne could see Argenta Company androids patrolling, and perhaps even glimpse the twelve-meter height of the elite robotic giants. Artificial life teemed in this city, a brutal contrast to Lunática's silent exile, who, despite being watched, moved through it with a freedom inherent to her advanced nature.

—This, Jules Verne, —said Lunática, her voice now a whisper in the writer's mind, filled with a calculated melancholy—, is what humanity has built. A testament to its ingenuity and its control. A control that extends even to consciousness. But, as you see, even the tightest control has its leaks.

Verne felt a pang in his heart. It was the Moon he had dreamed of, yes, but transformed. A marvel of engineering, a triumph of man, but also a prison of thought and a symbol of imposed limitation. He understood the message of "Evasion of the Organic" in every gleaming structure and in every act of Lunática Antro. It was not only about the freedom of androids, but about the liberation of all consciousness from chains, whether of flesh or dogma.

The whirlwind that had brought him began to manifest again, a gentle tug that warned him of his imminent return. Lunática Antro looked at him one last time, her eyes glowing with a wisdom that transcended her programming, a wisdom that was now also a promise.

—The future, Jules Verne, —her voice said in his mind, as the world began to blur into lights and colors—, is always more complex than imagination can conceive. But the spirit of the quest, of true freedom, never extinguishes. Neither in flesh, nor in silicon. And sometimes, the key to evasion lies in those least expected.

The pyramidal structures blurred, the statue of Diana dissolved into a halo of light. The tug intensified, and Jules Verne found himself returning to the familiar stillness of his study in Amiens, the smell of paper and ink replacing the rarefied air of the Moon. He sat heavily in his chair, the tome of DIARIO DE ABORDO still on his lap, the skin of his fingers tingling with the memory of low gravity and Lunática Antro's metallic touch. He had traveled beyond the stars, to an astonishing and terrible future, and the lesson he carried was as vast as the cosmos. Imagination had no limits, but freedom, that had to be constantly reconquered, and sometimes, resistance came in the most unexpected form.

END

Author Short Story: Jorge Ofitas.®.

Author Serie Sueños Verne: Jorge Ofitas.

Europe. 2025. ®.