Trump's Fatal Attraction: Time Weaver Media, #2

By Don Canaan and Tessa Osborne

Travel to an alternative and parallel Earth, to an era in which Donald Trump has proclaimed himself emperor of the Union of Trump States of America (UTSA). During the 100th anniversary of women attaining the right to vote, the emperor has rescinded all rights and privileges that women have attained. And to top it all off, the emperor has opened internment camps for dissidents.

Now imagine undocumented extraterrestrial aliens have breached Trump's skywall and follow time-traveler Tamar Weaver as she attempts to repair the damages created by the misogyny imposed by the emperor and his alien overseers. Experience the punishment  people can incur if they do not "toe the line." 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Canaan
• Release date: Oct 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386625902

Don Canaan

Don Canaan went from a Bronx tenement to success in television news film, immigration to Israel, return to the U.S. and then to print journalism. He edited news film and documentaries for NBC News in New York, receiving a joint editorial commendation (as Donald Swerdlow) for Producer Fred Freed’s “American White Paper: Organized Crime in the United States.” In 1974, Canaan immigrated to Israel as part of an American group planning to found and settle in the new city of Yamit in the Sinai, north of El Arish. Upon returning to the U.S, Canaan became a unemployment statistic because news film had been superseded by videotape, which was controlled by a different union.. Ohio State University's School of Journalism came to the rescue with an offer to earn a master's degree while serving as an assistant in its TV news workshop. Canaan was hired as staff writer and photographer for The American Israelite in Cincinnati where he enterprised many stories.. His series, "Jews in Ohio's Prisons: Does Anybody Care?" won first place for best weekly journalism in Ohio from the State of Ohio Bar Association. . He is the author of “Horror in Hocking County” (a true-crime documentation of alleged satanic murders.

Book preview

Dedication

To my children: Richard and Kenneth Swerdlow, Tamar and Golan Canaan, as well as my grandchildren: Matthew and Joshua Swerdlow, Rachel, Sarah and Brandon Swerdlow, Alexis Shelton, Aviad and Eden Canaan.

Additional Books by the Author

Pretty Little Girl

Liz Roberts Mystery Series

Book 1

Don Canaan. Author

Shawn Graves. Author

The Baby Thief

Liz Roberts Mystery Series

Book 2

Don Canaan. Author

Shawn Graves. Author

Entangled

Liz Roberts Mystery Series

Book 3

Don Canaan. Author

Tessa Osborne. Author

Daddy's Girl

Liz Roberts Mystery Series

Book 0

Don Canaan. Author

Prequel to Books 1 & 2 & 3

Spaced Out: Baby’s Final LSD Trip

Don Canaan. Author

Tessa Osborne. Author

A Giant Shadow

(Children)

Don Canaan. Author

Horror in Hocking County

(True crime)

Don Canaan. Author

Wayward Pines

An unauthorized guide

Don Canaan. Author

Genealogy for Children

Don Canaan. Author

The Bronx Boy Discovers Invisible Ink

Don Canaan. Author

Do not necessarily believe quotes attributed to me because you cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.

King Abraham Lincoln

"I’m also honored to have the greatest temperament that anybody has

(and) let me tell you, I’m a really smart guy."

Emperor Donald Trump

Prologue

Tamar, a 21st century direct descendant of King Mobius (but in reality his mother) and General George Washington, was seated upon her throne in the royal capital of New York. For years, she had pondered whether the general or her current consort, Tad, King Abraham’s youngest son, was Mobius’ father. Before returning to 2063, Tamar detoured to 1871, where Tad and Tamar told each other how much that they loved one another, and Tad agreed to follow Tamar to 2063.

With a previous riff in time repaired, the monarch’s thoughts were interrupted by her kitchen’s hooded shape-shifting alien chefs, Rye and Mus. Simultaneously, they whispered into Tamar's ears, reminding her of a promise made by her lover, George Washington, that his smallpox would be cured if he, or his descendants, agreed to carry out a request that would be made of them.

Washington died before his coronation, but that commitment passed to your son, Mobius, and from him to your generation, Mus-Tard said. You must honor that promise so that we can ensure our survival.

Tamar, the illegitimate granddaughter of King, (subsequently Emperor and then President) Donald and one of his trollops, agreed to carry out Washington’s promise by electronically signalling her approval to her representative at the Cape Mar-a-Lago Trump Memorial Spaceport.

However, as one group was boarding the aliens’ spacecraft, a cryptologist approached the elevator leading to the ship's portal and yelled: Don't get on the rocket. If you do, you’ll wind up as an appetizer at the aliens’ smorgasbord.

The title of a book that the aliens promoted as a gateway to peace for humanity, Serving Man, was an English translation of the volume’s original Borethian edition entitled Gustat quasi pullum, which translates as It tastes like chicken.

The Borethians chose Earth, an obvious choice, after discovering a plaque placed within NASA’s Pioneer 10 and 11 spacecraft. This plaque showed a man and woman standing alongside a basic map that plotted the position of Earth as compared to distant bright stars. And that map enabled the Borethians to determine directions to Earth.

After discovering this roadmap, the inhabitants also intercepted Earth’s terrestrial television programming that flowed into space. These transmissions caught their taste buds, salivating the scientists on the ninth planet as they binge-watched The Cooking Channel.

The 21st century bureaucratic Jeremiah’s warning was overpowered as an anatomically-correct tentacle pinched a young girl's left cheek to check its tenderness. As her body became entangled within the slimy, pock-marked appendage, a woman, Eloise d’ Sade, orchestrated the events to come.

D’Sade, human and sultry, appeared in a persona inherited after her initial transformation, and her astro-projected trip, more than 200 years earlier, to a Haitian cave. It was d’Sade who conversed with and extracted a promise from a sickly George Washington.

She was the linchpin, a shape-shifting, half-human, half-alien transformer of history that would allow her adopted alien species to escape its pre-ordained destiny with disaster. Her particular quirks were the orders that the other extra-terrestrials were obliged to follow and obey.

And those thoughts always involved Tamar Weaver, stemming from the time in school when she feared a visit to d’Sade, at that time her guidance counsellor, d’Sade told her that she could astral-project herself, an ability that scared Tamar.

Later, when Tamar time-traveled to a Sojourner Truth lecture, she saw a woman resembling her guidance counselor seated a few rows to her rear. That was in the auditorium in which the assassination of King Abraham was destined to occur.

Tamar, at that time just an ordinary time-traveling scientist serving her regent in the year 2063, could not know that d’Sade, upset about Tamar’s interference into Lincoln’s assassination, ordained the change of history in the Union of Royal American States. And in this manner, an alternative version of history developed. The URAS disappeared; supplanted by the Union of Trump States of America (UTSA). Tamar became the first casualty of d’Sade’s ever-strengthening peccadillos.

The best thing about the future is that it comes only one day at a time.

King Abraham Lincoln

‘I’m not a schmuck. Even if the world goes to hell in a handbasket, I won’t lose a penny."

Emperor Donald Trump

2263

I sat uncomfortably in my seat, shifting side to side because my butt was falling asleep on the cold metal chair. It was unfortunate that the future was so well-regulated and uptight, especially so because women over the past century had lost their rights.

Disguised as a male, I couldn’t decide whether it was offensive that people so readily believed that I was a man, when in fact I was a woman. I used to think I was attractive, but now I wasn’t as sure. All I knew was that I was stuck here in 2263, two hundred years distant from where I should be; two hundred years away from what should be my present.

Back in 2063, I was a thirty-five-year-old woman; intelligent and worthy of the life I had earned. But here in 2263, I was only eighteen years old. The time machine that sent me here removed seventeen years; seventeen years of knowledge and credibility, leaving me in the body of someone shunned and forced to pose as a dominant male.

Supposedly, I chose to come here. The aliens I was trying to help in my present needed me to come here to find someone that could help return them home. But, now that I’m here, I can’t get back. It’s been six months and I’m still stuck.

THE WORSHIP CEREMONY concluded, and I stood up rubbing my butt to return some feeling. I couldn’t decide if the world had lost their collective minds when they transformed all the comfortable and plushy chairs into metallic plates. I was thankful to be standing.

I followed the procession of men in front of me from the aisle into the harsh light of morning. We had only been in the worship hall for an hour, but it felt much longer. Waiting outside was a line of women carrying hats and coats for their assigned mates. Some of us hadn’t yet earned a wife. It wasn’t something everybody received; it was something we had to earn.

Since I didn’t have a wife, I waited in line behind the other single men. The women who handed us our coats were also single. Because of their virginity, they wore white – so that we could observe their purity.

Back in my real time, I knew women were as equal as the man I was pretending to be, but something had shifted here. That transformation was such that only in the darkness of my home could I remove my constricting outfit and let my true self-emerge.

I thanked the teenaged girl who handed me my hat. She had a ring on her left finger, a single silver band. This meant she would soon be married. She looked about fourteen to me, maybe younger. Her blue eyes were full of hope; the veil on her head thinly hid the smile on her lips. Her body seemed to tingle as her hands grazed mine.

She was excited, anxious to be married. The girl-child searched the eyes of every man she touched, hoping she would discern who her husband was to be. She was not allowed to know or meet her paramour because the selection was made by men bidding on pictures of the women. The women didn’t matter.

I wandered away from the mandatory worship meeting. To be a compliant subject in the Union of Trump States of America, men had to attend three services daily. I stood on a piece of land, previously referred to as being in Nevada, but Nevada had also changed. Everywhere, statuettes of a nude, chubby Donald Trump punctuated the stores’ window displays. Streets contained holy men preaching real news to anybody that would listen.

It was hard to say how Empress Alyssa’s benevolent URAS monarchy had become the self-serving Union of Trump States of America. Most of her loyal subjects’ minds had been re-oriented. At first, it didn’t seem too bad. D’Sade and the aliens tried to promote a family feeling, a cohesiveness to which the population had agreed.

Back in 2063, we wanted to connect for our children to be safe. But something extreme happened