Posthuman Blues

One of the things I enjoy about my ongoing contacts with planet-hopping spacewomen is the opportunity to touch down on celestial bodies probed only remotely by NASA. This evening we spent half an hour strolling the surface of Saturn's moon Titan, seen below.





As our surface vehicle descended, I realized that NASA's discoveries about this enigmatic moon are correct, but only in a crude, superficial sense. For example, I was stunned when I was escorted onto the moon's hydrocarbon-rich surface wearing only jeans and a T-shirt. (My companions, as usual, eschewed clothing.)

Titan is inhabited by bizarre aerial lifeforms that cavort among the roiling orange clouds, dragging ciliated tentacles across the chilly rubble in search of nutrient-rich prebiotic sludge.

One of my fellow travelers, an artificially maturated Jessica Alba clone, fell victim to the blindly searching cloud-dwellers. Safely back aboard the mothership, the rest of the crew commanded the biological support system to generate a replacement, who has since vowed revenge on her precursor's xenobiological assailant.

Fortunately for future human exploration, I managed to convince the ship's commander, a statuesque Angelina Jolie look-alike, to call off the immediate destruction of Titan's biosphere.

To be continued . . .