The Lunar Ring

C1500-1530 Lorenzo Costa Paints The Argo.

June 20, 1782 The Bald Eagle is chosen as the National Emblem of the U.S.

1861-1865 The U.S. Civil War.

1865 Gustav Moreau Paints Jason and Medea.

Early 1940’s Pre JASONS develop the Atomic Bomb.

Aug. 6, 1945 The U.S. uses the Atomic Bomb against Japan.

July 4, 1960 U.S. Flag receives 50 stars.

Aug. 25, 1960 Gene Shoemaker founds the Astrogeology Research Program.

1960 Year that JASONS claim their beginnings

Oct. 18, 1989 Spacecraft Galileo launched to Jupiter at a weight of 5,200 lbs.

1991© Milton William Cooper’s Behold a Pale Horse published.

Mar. 24 1993 D/1993 F2, aka Shoemaker-Levy 9 comet discovery date claimed by Mrs. Gene Shoemaker.

July 16, 1994 1st of 21 fragments of Shoemaker-Levy 9 begin to collide with the planet Jupiter.

July 18, 1997 Gene Shoemaker dies in head on car accident in Alice Springs, Australia.

Nov. 6, 2001 Milton William Cooper shot to death in a standoff with law enforcement.

Sept. 27, 2003 Spacecraft SMART 1 launched by, European Space Agency, ESA, to the moon, at a weight of 809 lbs.

Sept. 3, 2006 Smart 1 impact date with a payload of 82 kg or less of Xenon propellant.

Aug. 5, 2011 Spacecraft Juno launched to Jupiter at a weight undisclosed.

Sept., 2011 Spacecrafts, GRAIL A & GRAIL B, to be launched, to the Moon at 200 kg ea.

July, 2016 Juno to arrive at Jupiter.

Oct., 2017 Juno to impact Jupiter.

Chapter One - The Announcement

The sunrise touched the corbel roofline and cast long dancing convection shadows on a light layer of new fallen snow. A view of the south wing roofline, from the master’s chamber, where gothic walls and diamond paned windows were exhaled upon by the cold downdraft from the mountain for centuries, caught the morning sun’s brilliant showmanship by the chimney heat embracing the lower atmospheric rainbow of the purest red, orange and yellow, and blazed like fire. It was not like a cozy parlor fire but a thousand’s of degrees smelting of hard metals fire or a burning of lost soul’s fire. It was a routine morning solar effect that no servant or master noticed.

It was the middle of November in the year 2004, and a frigid tranquil moment became interrupted by dogs barking in the near distance. Ten Arabian horses whinnied in their stalls and let out curling vaporous breath like incense rising up to god with prayers of emancipation while the iron minute hand on the stable cupola clock clicked to the eight-o-clock position. Inside the chateau, the master’s cell phone rang with a ring-tone that sounded like a submarine alarm. Like in the old world war II movies where the alarm to dive precedes the silence and waiting for the depth charges to explode and the thick riveted iron metal moans in stress from the shock wave. The thick heavy moth-eaten drapes remained closed and the blue screen light of the cell phone was the only illumination in the room. It was the only item from the twenty-first century residing in the room excepting the master’s wardrobe.

Meanwhile Hedwig, the Chambermaid, was attempting to take her morning brew downstairs in the kitchen. She was not all together enough to pour the coffee into the white thick sided, restaurant style coffee cup. Sonya, the chef, took action to help her co-worker and close friend. She poured the coffee and gazed at Hedwig’s large pale frame and immensely freckled skin. Hedwig was shaking as if hypothermia had set in. Sonya then held Hedwig’s hand that held the cup to steady it for the shaking was making the coffee spill all over her crisp white apron. The morning sun was coming in full force now and it blinded Sonya harshly, injecting a quick stinging migraine located in her right temple.

You saw it again this morning? Sonya concluded from Hedwig’s condition while shading her eyes with her right hand and poured herself a cup of coffee with the other.

It was horrible. It seems to appear when I am at ease and least expecting it. This time I saw that it had eyes. It had red glowing eyes looking directly at me. I wanted to scream but I was petrified, paralyzed and speechless. I stared back at it horrified. Then it walked through the closed door of the Master’s room. I had to take the fresh towels into the room. If the Master had not been in that room, I would have never went in. Knowing the Master was there gave me some confidence to go through with it. Oh, and it was very tall. I would estimate seven or maybe eight feet, Hedwig explained while she brushed back a red dyed curl that had faded hanging over her forehead and started to relax a little bit.

Sonya hugged her friend for over thirty years and comforted her saying, You know it won’t hurt you. It never has before. It rings my service bells spontaneously when I least expect it, she took a deep breath and the divine smell of the best coffee in the world stimulated and heightened her sense of existence.

She continued optimistically, we shall not give up our employment that pays so well because of prankish specters.

On the main floor the other servants, who were attending to their morning tasks, grumbled at the annoying ringtone of the cell phone that echoed to distant parts of the large building. One Maid, wearing a long black skirt, a white cotton shirt trimmed with lace on the bottom edge of a peter pan collar, a black wool military style coat with brass buttons and black leather shoes, was adding fresh flowers to authentic Ming Dynasty vases in the corridors. The late relatives in the oil paintings that hung large and heavy, with their Mona Lisa grins, their hands gently resting in their lap or touching some object that denoted wisdom, wealth or inherited prosperity, were seemingly happily enjoying their deceased positions. Another Maid was dusting what she could reach on the paintings frames. The paintings ornately carved gilded frames clashed with the warm, tan walls of stone. The bright out of season and well traveled carnations, peonies, daisies, roses, and gladiolas, carefully arranged in their priceless vases, clashed with the tenebrous portraits and the dreary season. All of the portraits contained the same light blue family crest.

Jake, a tall thin elderly gardener with his Albert Einstein hair, pale faded green rubber boots, brown polyester pants, soft dark green plaid flannel shirt jacket, came clomping down the corridor leaving a wake of yesterdays mud remnants on the light pink and tan terrazzo floor. Jake seemed to enjoy the sound of his own footsteps for he had a habit of stomping while he walked. He always had a smile or smirk pasted on his face at all times of the day as if he had just heard a good joke.

Are you not going to answer it? Jake asked Clive, the butler, as he walked to the open front entrance double doors with a small spade and plastic bag.

I was instructed not to answer it today, Clive replied while blotting the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief.

You look like you're ready to search the bog for missing persons, Clive suggested.

Missing servants, Jake said jokingly.

Clive could smell the smoke that penetrated Jakes shirt and the moldy mud on his boots and it caused him a horrendous sneeze. Jake always smoked his pipe twice a day. He would smoke the sweet tobacco once in the early morning before sunrise and at sunset. Two young Maids began to walk briskly when they noticed Clive on their way to the kitchen to have breakfast. They both had long chestnut brown hair braided with black velvet ribbons, and were holding their breath at the smell of Jake’s boots and waving their hands in a synchronized fashion, shooing him out the door as they walked by him. The centuries old medieval structure had more of a hunting lodge atmosphere than a small fortress.

The submarine dive alarm sounded at least five more times before the master answered it.

Clive exhaled a sigh of relief and asked the master, Would you prefer to have the doors to the main hall closed?

The master held up his hand, palm facing his servant. It was his no, don’t bother me now, signal. Clive understood the masters wish and waited nervously in the corridor primping every servant that walked by him. He did not want the other servants to observe his idleness.

Clive resembled a Spanish matador with a bad case of mange. He had bad acne scarred skin and dry damaged hair which was dyed jet black, light brown being his natural color which showed up periodically in his goatee. His personality was anal retentive and he had ass breath to match. Clive started to pull at a loose string hanging from the cuff of his white cotton shirt that kept him occupied for at least five minutes. It was almost like seeing a dog scratch at his fleas or lick at his groin. The fresh flowers in the corridors aggravated his allergies and he sucked the snot in and swallowed it a few times.

The barking of several dogs became louder. The master, still in his black silk robe and slippers with gold monograms of the letter R, had wet hair from his morning shower as he reclined back into the emerald green silk backed chair previously used by European kings. He then leaned forward and placed one hand on the gilded armrest. His wet salt and peppered short black hair was combed back perfectly as he moved his manicured hands in gestures when he spoke as if the person on the other end of the phone line could see them. The yellowed paint on the painting of Jason and Medea by Gustav Moreau above the fireplace mantle glistened from the emerging rays of the morning sun through the open front door. It had glistened so brightly that the subjects, Medea, standing by her man, Jason, posed next to his kill, a bird of prey looked faded and the cracks in the paint showed so prominently that it became the subject temporarily. The room was very cold and the master’s breath looked like smoke as he talked on his cell phone. His voice was dreamy, firm, masculine yet full of feminine wisdom and understanding. His mahogany eyes could penetrate right through to ones soul as if he knew ones deepest darkest secrets that he would never reveal, at the shortest of eye contact. He could care least what people thought of him, but dare not stab him in the back, for one would not live long to talk about it. Even the Mafia had adopted him instantly and warmly. Jake called him, son of the devil, on many occasion and even a few times to his face. The master just chuckled when he had heard that. He was overly kind to the gardener, because Jake was the only one that took good care of his dogs, those horrid creatures that you love sometimes and love to hate at other times, like today.

My plan is on schedule and you are certain it will not be a failure, the master repeated what was said on the other end of the line.

I will not accept another failure like the Jupiter/Galileo incident. A matter of fact, I want a man up there at the space station to make sure my big announcement is not blundered. There will be no interrupted connection between earth and my spaceship. There must be a back up connection in space that is tamper proof, the master demanded.

I know just the right cosmonaut for this operation, said the man on the other end of the line.

The phone conversation continued as a group of bloodhounds ran into the main hall chasing a fox right under the masters’ chair. Their wild frenzied barking echoed off the thick walls of cold stone. The tiny twenty- pound red fox coward and whimpered for sanctuary. It had mud and thistles caught in its fur and was panting so heavily that its’ whole body moved at each breath. The master picked up his feet and relaxed them on the gilded emerald green velvet upholstered ottoman. This left plenty of room for the jet-black eighty- pound bloodhound to drag the fox out from under the chair by its white neck that glistened of moisture from the snowy grass. The servants stood outside the doors waiting for the masters’ permission to enter, but there was no permission granted. The other four hounds tensed their muscular shoulders and revealed their incisor teeth in a dispute over the prize. They charged at the helpless fox, which was losing oxygen quickly, from the strong grip the black dog had at his throat. They took hold of the remaining dangling fox limbs with their strong jaws. Their teeth were cutting deep into the foxes’ skin. Their heads started turning and twisting as blood started to spill onto the glossy highly polished gray marble floor. Then the twisting became violent shaking causing the blood to fly across the room and onto the wall with the fireplace. A leg came off in a sandy-colored hounds’ mouth. As he ran off with it, a multi colored hound ran after him.

The room was starting to smell horribly from the warm entrails that had spilled out on the floor, like not so fresh road-kill. Two minutes later the phone conversation was over and the dogs immediately forgot about their prize and sat quietly, panting and resting. Their large eyes fixed devotionally on the master. The master got up and stretched his arms high into the air with the cell phone still in one hand. Then he cautiously stepped over the warm bloody fox corpse and the bloody entrails mess on the floor, patted his favorite dog, Lucifer, on the head and exited the room.

I have a polo match with Charlie in Monaco today. Get my helicopter ready, he ordered with a top of the morning to all as the dogs ran back outside through the wide open door hoping the master had time to join them on their next chase.

Upon the masters absence from the main hall the servants swarmed in like bees to clean up the bloody mess.

That’s twice this week they’ve done this, an elderly servant complained.

The master was in very high spirits today, wouldn’t you say, commented one Maid to another.

Send the painting off to be cleaned, Clive ordered.

The students at the University of Michigan have always cleaned them decently, he added.

The master will be offended if the painting is absent, I know how much he cherishes it, said Morley, the youngest servant of the chateau who was also a bastard son of the master.

There is a copy of it at the Museum d’Orsay, Paris, France, said Morley’s mother, Francine, the head-chambermaid whose beauty once resembled Pussy Galore in a James Bond movie.

And how would you know that? inquired Clive, jealously.

I was his first lover, and don’t you forget that, she bragged.

And that’s what turned him on to men, retaliated Clive.

You are all sick people, she lamented.

And to bring my son into your awful orgies, she complained while she mopped up blood from the floor with one hand while the other hand held her long black skirt away from the smelly blood. Her legs were still shapely at her ripe age of fifty-five. She could have been the body double of Angie Dickenson in the movie ‘Dressed to Kill’.

Jake handed her a plastic garbage bag full of dog droppings. She almost threw up from the smell.

Jake, you bastard! she snapped.

Jake chuckled at her predicament. He had screwed her in the hedge maze a few times in the past when she was on the rebound. She was too easy for him, for he liked the chase better. He lost interest in her as quickly as the dogs lost interest in the fox. Now he loved torturing her mentally with the other men.

You could always join us. Morley could use a new partner, said Clive.

Morley, are you going to let him talk to me like that? she asked her only son as she placed the shredded fox into the garbage bag.

What man present in this house gave you permission to speak? Morley asked as he left with Clive towards Clive’s bedchamber and needing no reply from her.

A half an hour later the Master had just finished his coffee and breakfast in the large flagstone walled dining hall adorned with a continuous taxi-dermal frieze above. He set down his newspaper, adjusted his tie, cleared the morning dryness in his throat and made a request to the waiter, I need to speak with Sonya.

The waiter nodded mutely and left the room. Two minutes later Sonya, a heavyset African American woman, waddled into the room. Her large thighs rubbed the cotton fabric into a crisp taffeta scratching sound. She raised her thick black eyebrows on her round portly chocolate colored face with a look of wonder of her summons.

Yes, Master, she said like a scene from ‘Gone with the wind’.

Miss Sonya, he said as he stood up at her presence with a short gentlemanlike bow, I broke a shoelace this morning and I need your advice.

Sonya still had Hedwig’s ghost confrontation still on her mind and quickly shook the memory away and said while showing all of her teeth that had an eighth of an inch gap in the two front, You must circle on horseback backwards around your opponent only once, she emphasized holding up her thick sausage sized index finger.

Thank you my dear, for you are a life saver, he gratefully said as he kissed her greasy forehead and left the room.

Sonya’s real name originated from Africa and was too hard for her to pronounce so she changed it when she found employment with the Master. Other than her specialty of Cajun cuisine, she was an expert in Voodoo and anything superstitious. The Master being a highly superstitious man prized her consultations. These conversations made Sonya feel important and she would probably hum a song she didn’t know the words to anymore but remembered the tune from her grandmother for the rest of the day. It was an ancient song going all the way back to her ancestors, in Africa. Hedwig loved to hear it too for it would put her in a pleasant trance, like the hypnotization of a snake charmer. Sonya noticed something scribbled on the newspaper left on the table the master had been reading. Her humming paused for a moment by curiosity. He had written something on the corner of the newspaper in black ink. It read, my reign begins the end of October. Sonya ripped it out of the paper, put it in her pocket and threw the rest of the paper away. She would use this inside information later for her fortune telling.

Chapter Two - An Evening Out

It was the middle of February 2006 and the winter had been mild, as in very few snowstorms, for the dirty little hick town near Ypsilanti, Saline Michigan of which very few people would understand that description. Danielle and her best friend since kindergarten, Narnia, were getting ready to attend their first bible study outside of their denomination with some other students near the U of M campus. Narnie was a nickname for Narnia. Narnia's mother was a big C.S. Lewis fan and aptly named her only son, Lewis.

Hurry up! We are going to be late, Danielle had reminded Narnia who seemed to be digging for something on the bottom of her closet. She could hear the hangers screech metal against metal five or six times, from moving back and forth, over, and over again.

Not again, thought Danielle.

Danielle, I can’t find anything nice to wear, admitted Narnia who always proclaimed this when she wanted something. It was her cue for Danielle to find something for her to wear, which would be Danielle's clothes.

Well if you did some laundry once and a while, you wouldn’t have this problem, she advised her as she plopped a basket full of her own clothes neatly folded on reserve for just such an emergency that seemed to be a daily occurrence.

I hate doing laundry. It’s so boring. I’ll pay you to do it for me, Narnia offered.

With what money? she asked knowing that Narnia never had any.

Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go, Narnia said wearing a last minute typical mismatched outfit of dark green corduroy pants with a red velvet long sleeve tunic. Danielle tried not to laugh for Narnia looked like an elf a few months past Christmas. Narnia gave Nessie, her little dog a big kiss while Danielle was nice enough to grab the dryer sheet that clung to the back of the red velvet tunic before Narnia put on a purple plaid wool pea coat.

They climbed into Danielle's 1993 slightly rusted green Jeep Wrangler that she had bought from her brother in law, Thomas. The Jeep had been stored in his garage, for a long time. It had been sitting in his garage covered in cases of wine, when he sold it to her. He worked for a wine distributer, a family business. Aside from the many scratches on the surface from the wooden wine cases, the interior was dirty with ashes and she never had the time to do some serious upholstery cleaning. There were also some burn holes in the driver’s seat between her legs. She wished that she could have afforded a new car, or at least one previously owned by a non-smoker. Her off-white coat had been ruined by the snow on her coat mixing with the ashes, dirt and dust on the seat.

The sun was already setting as they drove to Ann Arbor. Danielle was already very sleepy from a long day of work and school and let out big yawns every five minutes while Narnia rambled on about every little nitty-gritty detail of her day.

Guess how much money I found walking the dogs today? Narnia played, noticing that Danielle hadn't said much during their ride.

Five dollars, Danielle hoped half listening quietly not caring for an answer. She was secretly observing the pink and purple sky of another amazing Michigan sunset.

Eleven cents, she replied smiling and announced, I am going to keep it in my pocket for good luck.

That is not even enough for the parking meter. You would need to find eleven more cents today to make it eleven-eleven, Danielle commented to assure Narnia that she was listening and yawned again this time covering her mouth with a knit gloved fist with fussy yarn that tickled her nose.

Eleven-eleven was their spiritual number because they saw it all the time. They would say a quick short prayer each time they saw the number, which Danielle did to herself when she saw the number on the license plate on the car in front of her. Lord, I pray that Narnia doesn't embarrass me again, Danielle secretly prayed.

I wonder what they will be discussing at the Bible study, said Narnia after the twenty-five minute drive.

Yeah, Danielle agreed, but was too tired to have a clue or to dwell on it as she found and pulled into a parallel parking space a few blocks away from the church in the last light of the short winter's day. The rusted doors groaned a bit when they opened them and Danielle made a mental note of spraying some WD40 on them, as she had to put a little muscle into it to get it to shut properly. Darn, she thought when she noticed a new rust spot forming on the bottom edge.

Look another dime! Narnia said as she quickly picked it up from the gutter while standing on one leg as if she had been playing hopscotch.

We can use it for the parking meter, Danielle quickly suggested rudely awoken by the cold evening air.

But if I find a penny, it will be eleven-eleven, she lamented not wanting to give it up.

Okay, Whatever, Danielle humbly said while she put a few quarters into the parking meter while searching her pocket for a penny she could throw at Narnia but didn’t find any.

Once in their high school days they threw pennies out the car window when they were driving and yelled out wishes when they got giddy from too much sugar in the sparkling juice they drank at the cider mill. It was almost as fun as playing baseball with the Easter eggs they found one Easter. Silly stuff, thought Danielle as she reminisced about their past.

It seemed like a long walk to the church for Danielle who was extremely fatigued by now and almost out of breath.

When they walked up the steps to the door, a few people where smoking outside and the smoke that lingered in the air stung Danielle's lungs. She had temporarily freaked out because she had forgotten to bring her asthma inhaler with her. She was so glad that it wasn’t enough to set off an asthma attack.

It was an old Lutheran Church located near campus. The church had a red brick exterior, arched warm oak double doors in the front with brick arch-work to enhance it above and two square quoin brick towers flanking both sides with matching white steeples. There was nothing remotely interesting about the architecture, and it was this stereotypical ‘quaintness,’ that made the building perfect for multiple uses. The church was holding Alcoholics Anonymous meetings that day among other non-Christian uses.

An extremely drunk man tried to lean on Danielle when she came in the front door. The AA meeting held in the church main hall was into their smoke break. Narnia had pushed him off when, he was about to fondle Danielle like a barmaid. Narnia was her hero, and she would not go anywhere without her.

During the bible study, Narnia was starting to become worked up and Danielle could tell by the look on her face, that, she wasn’t going to keep quiet for very much longer. They were both appalled at what the other students that had come from other church denominations were discussing. Danielle and Narnia attended the Catholic Church.

The well-groomed fast talking young man who led the meeting wore a plain grey suit with a plain different shade of grey tie and was teaching ‘replacement theology’.

Now when you come across the word Israel, you replace it with the word Church, he said in a southern drawl. He was a little overweight and was already starting to perspire on his forehead, which showed up in the fluorescent lighting. Danielle thought it odd that he had lost so much hair already. He seemed too young for that.

Narnia fidgeted