MOONERS: a catastrophic sci-fi comedy (The Mooners Chronicles Book 1) by Tyler Bumpus

Author:Tyler Bumpus [Bumpus, Tyler]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Omega Point Books
Published: 2023-09-18T16:00:00+00:00

I think that’s basically everything worth knowing. There was the usual mourning period for Earth (complete with blue-green pins and armbands, and sappy pop-music tributes) and a brief stint or two of social unrest alleviated by the departure of the rabble-rousing ‘Vigilant Lunarian’ and the soothing nonsense of Press Secretary Sloane.

But most mooners, despite the existential terror of Earth’s demise, seemed to be increasingly driven now by a renewed sense of unity, lunar autonomy, and the possibility of a ‘new way’ in their post-Earth reality—sans all the musty old Eartho baggage of that planetary nanny state in pathological decline.

And while we’re on the subject of post-Earth realities:

I think now would be opportune to put a pin in all of these events for just a moment and clarify a few niggling things. Things which might have frightened you off if I’d dropped them in your lap at our precarious outset…

Namely that, at the time of this writing, none of the players in this pageant—save its humble narrator—are still among the living. Yes, you heard me: as dead as doornails. And dodos. And disco. However, let me assure you that knowing this will not spoil that silly, vulgar numbers game called Life & Deathtm which we’re all so addicted to in these types of silly, vulgar stories.

Because this may be set in Autumn of the year 2255.

But it is being written in Quirndel of the year 22,255.

(That’s 20,000 years on, for anyone out there who flunked remedial math.)

Call me a sentimental AI, but I am starting to get on in years and am, frankly, feeling a tad nostalgic for the good old, bad old days…

Back when our sky was pitch-black instead of this cloudy, milky lapis. When we were still tide-locked to Earth and one full lunar day-night cycle took twenty-nine and a half Earth-days instead of this brisk sixty hours. When these verdant hills were as gray as exhumed bone; and populated with sad, scared, selfish little vacuum-suited baboons instead of all the glib, gregarious, gene-edited Bohemian jellyfish who pass as their human descendants.

In short: these days I am feeling rather melancholy. And ineffectual as a sustainer. Because there is no one in need of my sustenance. (These bubbly post-human weirdos are astute at sustaining themselves.)

And, though I’m loathe to admit it, I think I may miss the silly, vulgar apes I’ve been telling you about.

They made you want to choke them.

But, damn it, could their bullshit make you feel alive.

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