THE THIRD SATELLITE OF PLANET EARTH

The press room of the World Space Agency was full to the brim. To my left there was an old man wearing small, golden glasses writing something in a notebook; to my right, a powerful woman, stiff like a stick, wearing black shades and camouflage clothes, arms crossed over her breasts. In front of me stood a young man that I knew from something.

A bureaucrat, dressed in a dull grey suit, crossed the door, moved behind a forest of microphones and began talking.

"Starting today, and after last month sad happenings, the World Space Agency nominates cosmonaut Ilya Iskanderovich Takashvili as the third satellite of planet Earth. This is a homage and this is an eulogy. God bless him. Thank you very much for your attention."

"God? What is this joke?", said the young man.

"Is that all?", said the old man, looking up from what he was writing.

"So it seems", said the woman.

The young man turned back to listen, then looked at me and smiled.

"Oh, you are Miroslav Corbett from documentation, aren't you?"

"Yes, it's me. Do I...?"

"We shared a table at the last convention of the Cinematik Ausfahrt Biotech Aréopage."

That was probably true.

"Sorry, but can any of you tell me who this cosmonaut was?", said the old man in golden glasses.

The woman in military attire started talking: "He was a member of ISS Nova's repairing staff. His umbilical link was broken while repairing the right solar panel and..."

Suddenly, a deep, nasal voice from the back of the room silenced everyone.

"Sorry, I have a question."

All of us looked back. His large silhouette opaqued the back lights; his bright red skin, black scar tatoos and pointy horns contrasted wildly against the immaculate white tuxedo he was wearing.

He was one of the demons that crossed the Seam. Many of them were shoved back or killed, but a few of them, peaceful in nature, stayed here among us and adapted to our society as especial guests. Their world view and opinions, so different than those from the humanity, were always appreciated and taken into account.

He continued his mesmerizing, gutural speech.

"First, I want to give my condolences to Ilya Takashvili's family and friends; I'm sure he will be missed. His oval orbit will produce an eclipse with the Moon every three days, so he will hardly be forgotten. But I want to remark something you all, human beings, have trouble remembering."

The silence was total, awkward, frightening.

"What is the second satellite of planet Earth?", he finally said.

I tried to remember. While doing it, my brain entered something like a cloud, a mist, a fog of dread. Simply, I was lost. The rest of the people there (excluding the demon and the mechanical butlers, shiny grey eyes like pearls) found themselves in the same trance state.

The demon kept talking.

"The damage caused by the Mind Sickers from the Great Anomaly is still here. No one of you remember what the second satellite is. You may consider it while counting, you may recall old photos and tales and drawings, but every time you try to concentrate in the details, your brains crash and reboot."

Slowly, I recovered, but my stomach was still twirling.

The old man with the notebook was lying on the floor; the woman in combat clothes was helping him. Some people were crying. Others were bleeding from their ears and nostrils.

"I wish I could help", finished the demon, "but don't know how, yet."

Invoking that memory in the middle of a massive crowd was a despicable act; but demons, even while trying to help, behave this way.

Half an hour passed before the press room was finally empty.

previously

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