The Planet of Perpetual Pleasure

By Greg Hansen

Dr. Alan Harper orchestrates a daring heist, seizing control of a fleet of spaceships along with a select group of individuals. Their destination? A utopian planet inhabited by flawless human beings where every desire is effortlessly fulfilled and traditional societal norms are nonexistent, particularly concerning sexual relationships. The flawless humans’ choice of dress is none, something Alan’s crew quickly adapts to. And their method of greeting? Sexual intercourse. Best of all, the inhabitants of the planet seem to be immortal, and soon Alan’s crew is as well. Making life even more exciting is the occasional no-holds-barred orgies triggered by the alignment of the planet’s two moons.
However, this idyllic paradise is shattered when a seemingly insignificant scuffle triggers a series of events. What starts as a minor altercation escalates into a cascade of chaos, including the arrival of a vicious insectoid alien, destruction of insectoid warships, clashes with Earth's forces, and the discovery of three other species, one of which is a bipedal lizard who has, like many lizards on Earth, two penises. That species quickly becomes the favorite of all the human females, especially during orgies.
Life on the planet is indeed perfect. But, Dr. Harper grapples with a sense of disillusionment towards the Utopian existence. As he considers embarking on a new exploration, the pivotal question arises: will anyone dare to join him on this uncertain journey?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Hansen
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224517145

Greg Hansen

I have been the leader of an artificial intelligence group, a modeling and simulation professional, NSA analyst, certified ethical hacker, white water kayak instructor, pickleball instructor and former police commissioner. I have published six non-fiction books, two with Prentice Hall. I am now venturing into the field of general fiction, calling on my experience in AI to develop a harrowing view of the future, as well as my experience as a police commissioner to detail methods of criminal investigation.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

As I think back on what has happened, I’m reminded of what the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer said—Work, worry, toil, and trouble are certainly the lot of almost all throughout their lives. But if all desires were fulfilled as soon as they arose, how then would people occupy their lives and spend their time? Suppose the human race were removed to Utopia where everything grew automatically and pigeons flew about ready-roasted; where everyone at once found his sweetheart and had no difficulty in keeping her; then people would die of boredom or hang themselves; or else they would fight, throttle, and murder one another and so cause themselves more suffering than is now laid upon them by nature. Thus, for such a race, no other scene, no other existence, is suitable.

He was right to a certain extent. I, along with 100 or so people of my choice, stole a convoy of spaceships, traveled millions of light years from Earth, and landed on a perfect planet, one inhabited by perfect humans. Food was readily available, albeit without flying pigeons. Sweethearts? Pick one, any one, at any time. Monogamy was not the norm. For that matter, nothing regarding sex or relationships was the norm. Our every need was satisfied without lifting a finger.

Yes, some of us, myself included, became bored. No one killed themselves, or murdered another person, or even got into a fight. But then there was one instance of violence—a tiny instance of violence. On a scale of one to ten, the level was about one-half, or one-quarter. One of the perfect humans shoved another perfect human. That was it. That was the level of violence.

We, my people, laughed. But after we laughed, all hell broke loose. That shove set off a sequence of events which resulted in the destruction of an armada of alien warships, vaporization of a fleet of warships from Earth, the capture and imprisonment a small army of Earthmen intent on my destruction, and liberation of a few alien species from conditions worse than imprisonment.

I did all this while enjoying the comforts of the perfect planet and its inhabitants—the perfect humans. Well, they were physically perfect, at least. Mentally, they were not so perfect. On the other hand, maybe they were. It all depends on your point of view.

Perhaps I should start in the distant past, twenty years or so in the past.

No, I’m not that old, it’s just that…like I said, let me start in the past.

This story begins in the year twenty-two forty-two. Sort of poetic sounding, right? Well, the year was anything but.

By all accounts, the world’s population was supposed to have stopped growing when it reached eleven billion back in the twenty-first century, and then, as people began to die off, slowly recede. Well, in our infinite wisdom, we eliminated a lot of diseases, enhanced cellular regeneration, and slowed down the aging process. We didn’t eliminate aging all together, but slowed it enough that by twenty-two forty-two the average life span was just about one hundred and eighty years. A certain percentage of humans, those I will call the elites, sometimes survived beyond two hundred years.

In twenty-two forty-two the population of the planet stood at more than twenty billion. Because of pollution, the lack of potable water and the lack of arable land, starvation was increasing along with the population. Meat was a rarity—in fact, anything other than synthetic food was a rarity. A single egg cost almost ten dollars. Meat of any type wasn’t just rare, it was almost impossible to get—a ridiculously expensive treat.

Governments around the world, including our own, employed many drastic tactics to reduce the population. The government of the United States, for example, secretly let loose a fast-acting virus at the border of Mexico. Yes, many poor Mexicans died but, as Murphy’s law dictates, when something can go wrong, it will. The virus mutated and drifted into Texas, killing off many of its residents. When word leaked out, riots—massive riots—broke out. Elites who didn’t have time to escape were slaughtered by an enraged populace bent on revenge.

I, and others like me, were safe, living in a highly protected area of in and around Washington, DC. Why? If a solution was to be found, a solution to save the human race, it was up to us, the scientists, to find it.

As our leaders were desperate to find solutions to the problems facing the planet, they gave up on the idea of saving the human race. Instead, they sought a plan to save themselves. The plan that was continuously put forth was a proposal to colonize Mars. With the advent of new rocket technology, the standard nine-month trip had been reduced to about one month. That was the good news. The bad news was that, in order to achieve the rate of speed to make the trip in that time, many rocket fuel containers had to be taken into space and assembled into a spaceship.

That was only one of the problems facing Martian colonization. Because our leaders wanted to take several hundreds of the elites to Mars, enough supplies also had to be taken into space to support colonization. Getting fuel canisters and supplies into orbit was a major task, mainly because of the weight of the cargo. No colony had been established on Mars because of the logistical issues, although a few scouting expeditions had been successful.

That’s where I came in.

My parents were among the elites. They were able to purchase two-acre greenhouse within the protected zone in which they could raise vegetables, have a couple of dairy cows and, in general, live a comfortable life. Their greenhouse was located in one of a dozen mile-high stainless steel cylindrical buildings, each of which contained about 200 of the greenhouses. With bartering, my parents were able to trade for meat, eggs and other delicacies.

My parents were astrophysicists and, as such, were essential to the logistical planning of the Mars venture. My mother, Abigail, who was approaching eighty, was still considered to be quite beautiful. She had long blonde hair, a very shapely body, and an attitude that gave off a sexual vibe.

It was a bit difficult for me as a teenager, hearing my friends talking about how they would love to fuck her. I suspect that one, or more than one, had, in fact, fucked her, but I had no proof. Even if I did, what could I do?

My father Andre, who was ten years older than my mother, was still considered to be very handsome, but the good life had gotten to him, and he had put on quite a bit of weight. Nonetheless, as elites, they were held in high regard. I knew my parents were still having sex, but I got the impression my mother was annoyed by the fact that my father needed some pharmaceutical assistance.

I was passing by their bedroom once when I heard her say, Aren’t I sexy enough to get you hard?

Yes, but…but I’m getting on in years and…

Hurry up and snort that stuff. I’m getting anxious.

Jesus. I was mortified. I guess every kid hates to think about their parents having sex.

Well, enough about them. What about me? I’m a physicist who obtained a doctorate degree at the age of eighteen. Although I wasn’t originally considered essential to the logistical planning, I suddenly became the most important person in the country, if not the planet.

You see, at the tender age of thirty-four, I invented a method of launching objects into space without the need for rockets. It was quite simple, really. I invented an anti-gravity system that enabled any object, no matter how heavy, to be lifted into orbit. Turn on the anti-gravity system and a million gallons of water, weighing eight million pounds, could be lifted into space without the need of a rocket. If Mars was to be colonized, that amount of water was necessary, despite the fact that water had been discovered in Martian caverns. A million gallons would tide over the colonists until such a time that underground water could be routinely harvested.

My invention made me an instant celebrity and, as such, I was granted an allowance of four eggs per week and two pieces of meat a week. The eggs and meat were gotten from secret underground stashes controlled by the elites, not from my parents’ bartering, so, with their food supply, I was food-rich. And, I admit, I was quite happy, as well as smug.

A few years later, when I turned thirty-six, I came up with another invention—miniaturization. By collapsing the space around molecules and overcoming atomic forces, I could reduce anything to less than one one-hundredth of its size. Miniaturization would remove the need to build suitable housing on Mars, because prefabricated units could be miniaturized to such an extent that they would fit into one cargo ship. More importantly, huge supplies of food could be miniaturized as well. It didn’t take long for the plan to colonize Mars to reach the stage of reality. That’s when I was, for lack of a better word, summoned.

I was in my university lab at work on my latest invention when I got a call from the President, Alfonso Hammer. A few of us want to have a meeting with you in two days, he said.

The President was calling me? I was shocked and very, very nervous. Of course, I said. What about?

We’ll talk about it at the meeting, he said. There will be a number of scientists and other important people attending. I’m advertising it as an…um…appreciation get together. We’re going to hold it at Mr. Benjiro Yamamoto’s greenhouse conservatory. Do you know him?

Did I know him? Of course I knew him. Everyone knew him, but I had a special reason to recognize the name. More about that later. I believe I do, I said.

We’ll send a copter for you, Hammer said. I’m sorry, but you cannot bring a date. This is all very hush-hush.

I stifled a laugh. I don’t have anyone to bring, I said. I’m…in between girlfriends right now.

I could tell by the President’s voice that he seemed surprised. Really? I figured you, with all the attention you’re getting, and with your…um…food resources, that you could pick and choose whoever you wanted.

I suppose I could, I said. But I’m focusing on work now.

Excellent, Hammer said. We’ll pick you up tomorrow at, say, six in the evening.

Actually, I said. I’m in the middle of some very important research—very important. If I could get, say, two artificial humans that I could program, then I could wrap it up in a couple of days. Do you think you could make that happen?

Trust me. When the President asks for a meeting, you don’t turn him down. I wanted to see how important this meeting was, so I tested him. To my shock, he said, They’ll be at your place in an hour. Then could we meet in two days?

Of course, I said. He rolled over so easily I wondered what else I could get away with. The only way to know was to agree to the meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how they’re working out.

I look forward to it, the President said.

I’ll talk in more detail about the meeting in a bit, let me sum it up—Hammer, Yamamoto, and other elites were excited about the idea of emigrating to Mars, and setting up a permanent colony of elites living in one of the enormous caverns under the surface. They understood that, with my two inventions, they could bring supplies to last for many years while they figured out how to make the colonies self-sufficient.

Of course, I agreed to the plan and, planning for the colony of elites began in earnest. Those plans, of course, were created by the elites themselves, not by scientists like me. They obviously didn’t want anyone not necessary, or belonging to a certain class, to be passengers. So, they began picking and choosing those who would make the trip and, of course, kept the choices top secret. Imagine the riots that would have ensued amongst the elites themselves if the list leaked out.

I was, of course, chosen to make the trip. Without me, they had no chance. I was the one controlling the miniaturization process and the only one who could safely control the anti-gravity devices. That was fine with the elites, because they assumed that I would be happy to be part of the colonization.

I had other ideas, however.

CHAPTER TWO

First, let me describe me. My name is Alan Harper—Dr. Alan Harper to some, and Captain Alan Harper to others, and my captain to one other special person. I’m six-eight, the average height for a healthy male my age in twenty-two forty-two. My skin is a light tan color, again the average for most humans in twenty-two forty-two. The reason for this was simple—interracial marriage had more or less eliminated the determination of heritage based on skin color and other physical characteristics.

More or less—keep that in mind.

The people planning the emigration to Mars based their selection of passengers on two things—the value of the skills the passengers could bring, or if they were purists. The purists, you see, were the richest people on the planet, so they were necessary to fund the effort. Without the purists, the trip would not happen, so they essentially bought their way in.

I was the single most essential person involved in the trip, and I wasn’t going to work for free. I requested substantial financial renumeration from the government, as well as other kinds of payment. I knew that money on Mars would be useless, but the elites didn’t seem to understand that. They seriously believed that being rich on Earth translated into being rich on Mars. In any event, I needed a lot of cash before the trip to take care of certain supplies that I was going to require, supplies that I kept secret from the government. Strangely enough, the more I demanded from the elites and the government, the more I was respected—worshipped, actually.

I also requested several hundred nano-bots, micro-bots, and milli-bots. I explained that these were necessary to inspect the spaceship while it travelled to Mars, as well as the area surrounding the landing spot and the underground space the emigres were going to occupy. This request was granted with no hesitation. After all, various types of robots were as plentiful as grains of sand on a beach.

Finally, I demanded, no, suggested, that I take care of the loading of the tankers. When I was asked why, I explained that no one but me could understand the limits of the anti-gravity system and that, unless I or an artificial human were at the controls, a tanker might be overloaded, begin to wobble, and then it was, as the saying goes, curtains. I was given that responsibility as well, something that came in very handy in the future.

Trust me. I was under no delusion that once the planning was done, and once the passengers were loaded, and once we got to Mars, that I would remain essential. No, I might actually become expendable once the trip had been made. I played along with the elites, though, and agreed to the list of passengers they wanted to take on the trip, a list that continued to grow as news of the trip made its way through some Über-rich gossip highway.

So, what changed my mind about the trip? The answer is simple—a woman. I admit that I was as obnoxious as all the elites, but that changed in a heartbeat. Earlier I mentioned that interracial marriage had more or less eliminated the determination of heritage based on a person’s skin physical characteristics. Interracial marriage was the norm, not the exception, so almost everyone on the planet had skin that was some degree of tan in color.

There were holdouts to interracial marriage, though. They were the purists. These were people who would only marry within their own race, and would only allow their children to marry within that race. If a child chose to marry an outsider, they would be banished and subjected to living among the masses. The purists controlled virtually all the commerce on the planet, so they became very, very rich. They were bigots, though, and I learned the extent of their bigotry the hard way.

I, at the age of thirty, had fallen in love with a Japanese woman named Sakura—madly in love. She was astonishingly beautiful, more beautiful than any woman I had ever met. We made passionate love whenever we could which, given our elite status, was just about whenever we wanted. Her parents, who were purists, looked the other way because I had just become famous. I assumed that they would have no objections to our marriage, so, after four years of dating, I asked her to marry me. Sakura somehow always managed to avoid answering me for the next two years. Then, one day, when I was thirty-six, she dropped a bomb on me.

Six years after our affair began, which happened to be at the exact same time the emigration to Mars was planned, we were in bed, having just made love, when she sat up and, in an unemotional voice, said, This is the last time we can ever be together.

I laughed and, staring up into her amazing hazel-colored eyes, said, You mean today, right?

She smiled and said, in a bit of a mocking tone, said, No. I mean ever. I’m getting married.

I was in shock. I was stunned. I could barely speak, but I managed to mumble, What?

His name is Benjiro Yamamoto, Sakura said. He’s a very, very rich industrialist. In fact, he’s a trillionaire. He has a greenhouse that’s almost forty acres in size. He can provide eggs, dairy products, and even a bit of meat. He and I are on your list to be taken to Mars, as are my parents. They’re funding a lot of the work, you know.

I was on the verge of tears, and barely managed to mumble, "But…but…I love you."

Sakura laughed. She laughed. "You know my parents are purists, don’t you? I mean, you’re an interesting hobby for me, but they would never allow us to be married. Besides, I believe in purism. You, a gaijin, are inferior to us Japanese. I have to say, though, that you’re a better lover than any Japanese man I’ve ever been with."

But what about virginity? I asked. My understanding is that in your culture…

Sakura got out of bed and began to get dressed. I’m having hymen reconstruction surgery. As far as Benjiro is concerned, he’ll never know that I’m not intact. My parents certainly won’t say anything. But listen…

She stood next to the bed, smiled, and touched my cheek. Once we get to Mars, and after I have a child, we can resume our relationship. What do you think?

I don’t want to say what I really thought, a snappy two-word response that starts with the letter F, but I replied, Sure. Sure. Sounds good.

Then she gave me a little wave and walked out of the room. She didn’t know it at the time,