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Ownerless World
Ownerless World
Ownerless World
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Ownerless World

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This is a book about power, politics, sex, religion and science. It presents a future world where the economy is declining and various corporations are fighting each other for global power. Meanwhile, a revolutionary new technology is being born: an artificial deity willing to help people defeat those who are controlling capital and the planet. It’s everything conspiracy theories never talk about. If God doesn’t exist, you must create Him.

PublisherAntonio Kuntz
Release dateJul 23, 2021
Ownerless World
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    Ownerless World - Anthony Koontz

    Anthony Koontz

    All rights reserved.

    The characters and events depicted in this book are fictional

    until proven otherwise. Any resemblance to people real, living or deceased, it is coincidence and it is not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or

    transmitted in any way or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express permission in the author's writing, but you can disclose it, please.

    Text, cover and layout by Anthony Koontz.

    Revised by chance and other gods.


    Mundo sem Dono - Lady Power

    Fundação Biblioteca Nacional - Ministério da Cultura

    Registro número 150.921 - Livro 247 - Folha 4.

    Contributing Translator

    Angela Fairbank M.A.C.T.

    Special Edition

    Copyright © 2021 Antonio Kuntz / Anthony Koontz


    John Paul II, on the occasion of your visit, we, Andean and American Indians, are returning your Bible to you. For over five centuries, it has given us neither love nor peace nor justice. Please take your Bible back and give it to our oppressors. They need moral teachings more than we do.

    Ramiro Reynaga, indigenous leader, during the visit of Pope John Paul II to Bolivia in 1985.

    A portrait of the end of time

    A frequent observation heard in international councils was that Muslims were not known to go without food. In those regions, unlike other countries or nations, charity wasn’t the business of state or institutions but rather a direct obligation for citizens, and begging was a respectable profession.

    In the West, a majority of insolvent states, full of millionaires, entrusted their economic administration to a supranational entity, the Jus Foundation. This organization had no access to any of Islam’s philanthropic organizations nor did it have any direct control over the fortunes made under Mohammed’s influence.

    While in Islam no competition existed when it came to charity, in Continental America and Europe, State treasuries were full, preventing any end to poverty in the southern hemisphere. William F. Jus’s had personally obtained approval from the governments of the United States, Canada and Mexico for legislation, which stated that citizens who contributed to his Foundation were exempt from paying income tax.

    Of the nine and a half billion people living in the world, more than half suffered from serious malnutrition. Negative demographic growth had begun a decade earlier and privileged people admitted that this was the best natural response for mankind’s survival.

    Unfortunately, the decline in population was slower than the decline in production. The Jus Foundation, counting on the fact that over time even greater numbers of people would become poor, managed to distribute wealth by selecting residual families from Protestant and Catholic conglomerates. The Foundation’s power came from private funds that protected family inheritance. This business idea had come about from the need to protect these families’ children and grandchildren from growing famine in the States as well as declining currencies.

    By substituting state law and authority with street morality and justice in various countries, the Jus Foundation believed that a decrease in the birth rate would help balance the ecology. However, it did not use biochemical or physical contraceptive methods to finance its control. The poor have the right to be born was one of its advertising slogans.

    What’s more, in a world divided ever since the financial collapse of the 2030s, the Foundation’s dominance was almost total since it was limited exclusively to countries of Christian tradition. Due to Islamic expansion, theocratic nations under sharia law were not allowed to benefit from any of the Foundation’s programs; instead, they were at the mercy of mass genetic experiments developed in China and Japan. The legend about paradise no longer existed.

    Consequently, in the middle of the 21st century, the Western Hemisphere was in ruins, the Middle East was at peace, and a large part of Asia and Oceania was experiencing economic balance. The history of the world was continuing naturally but in the near future, seven giant, armed aircraft carriers would be paralyzed in the Pacific Ocean as they faced a fleet of armored, dark spheres floating in the sky. History was about to be changed forever.

    Anno domini 2045

    By opening her moist, sweaty legs, Melina Evren had given the best of herself to Juan, Carlos, Castañeda, Pericles, Hugo, Smith, Mussolini and the most outstanding men ever since she was thirteen years old. She drove her lovers crazy with her smooth ass, sculpted nipples and wide, welcoming mouth. Some of them―the most submissive―succumbed at a mere glance from her. And that’s how Melina managed to become the First Lady on August 8 at the age of 38 showing no signs of cellulite, wrinkles, stretch marks or even a belly.

    New York

    Juan Canarió unzipped his pants, loosened his belt over his flabby belly and thought back to the day he had decided Melina was the love of his life―the same woman who was now in the bathroom filling her cheeks with water and toothpaste and spraying foam on the huge wall mirror. The polished marble floor reflected her lusciously pink, naked beauty. What a treat! he thought to himself. Clearly more delights were in store later that afternoon.

    Juan recited the consulate’s number and, at the other end of the phone, an elderly, female secretary listened politely. She wrote down Juan’s orders and hung up. Then, looking at her reflection in the glass window, she touched up her lipstick, wiped the reddish stain off the microphone, and glanced at the panorama stretching out from the seventh floor to the blue-gray horizon.

    Again, the woman thought. Forgetful over time for one reason or another, Juan had asked her to confirm his meeting with Hervé and his return flight.


    On the other side of the world, although not that far away, Kiryu was finishing up her seventy-sixth test of the year. For the last two months, she had been working without any assistants and without any budget in a third-class laboratory located in the university’s oldest building. Her contract with the Japanese space agency had expired.

    Once she had placed the intra-polished metal and electrons correctly, the superconductive flooring with a mass of 150 kg and a negative weight rose half a meter from the ground. She modified the mass and temperature and then recorded alternative forces in relation to horizontal and vertical movements. The flooring swayed forward, backward and sideways, controlled by laser beams of different colors and gradations. A satisfied smile played over her lips.

    New York

    Just like every morning, the sun rose, and like some women did, she closed her legs. The light entering the room illuminated specks of dust and, as the man left the bed, he tried to catch them with his hands. Being the center of the universe was truly the best. Wanting more space, he got out of bed naked and opened up the windows wide to breathe in the sea air.

    Close them, Jus! the young girl murmured, hiding her head under the pillow. Jus turned, noticed the exaggerated beauty of the girl’s back and smiled. He felt a sudden tenderness. He knew it wouldn’t last more than an instant but it was satisfying nonetheless. In his life, happiness was just a fleeting emotion. Yes, now it was gone.

    The screen on the bedside table flickered and a baritone voice from UVC[1] announced a new day. Seven-thirty a.m., February the first. There was still hunger in the world and Jus had things to do. At eight o’clock sharp, Ketrin keyed in the access code to the classic World Wide Web and by doing so allowed the universe to enter the office. A few seconds later, hundreds of communication channels were displaying Ketrin’s voice and synthesized images, which were all answering in the same way.

    Jus Foundation, good morning. One moment, please.

    The switchboard identified the origin of each call and repeated the phrase in the relevant language, then forwarded the call to the Jus Foundation representative―either a human or a UVC unit. Most calls came from related companies and philanthropic institutions, all mediated by the Jus Foundation, causing a vicious cycle between operational agreements and negotiation. Here was the headquarters of the poverty, hunger and charity industry, developed and founded by its most powerful benefactor, William F. Jus, who was responsible for maintaining the systems of balance.

    Jus’s main achievement was having become the greatest symbol of Christian charity in the Western Hemisphere after the Arab expansion over Mediterranean Europe had taken place. A former priest who had become a Protestant minister at the age of forty, he had begun his career as an international figure, leading the first of many transcontinental marches in which he took groups of humans on foot across the borders of enemy countries. In this way, he had managed to unite the poor and the rich, pagans and religious followers, and had brought hundreds of thousands of African, Russian, Turkish, Slavic and Latin American Christians together to demand better sanitary and working conditions during the worst years of the crisis.

    Because the First World was impoverished, the empire of the defenseless was able to flourish. After less than a decade later, William F. Jus was underwriting one hundred and thirty billion euros a day. This fact made him feel proud every time he walked through the electronic vestibule of the Christmas Building, the nerve center of the Jus Foundation, an entity that administered more than one hundred thousand food-producing agribusinesses in fourteen transnational zones. These included aerospace, oil and telecommunications network industries, which collaborated with entire countries by providing financial and technological assistance. At the same time, the entity offered support to the remaining ecclesiastical authority by bringing together hundreds of Protestant and syncretic sects and cults under the same banner. Last but not least, the Foundation was in charge of the armed forces of Continental America as well as the official representative of the Northwestern bloc, the true origin of an empire.

    Good morning, Ketrin.

    Good morning, Mr. Jus. The representative of the International Committee for Underprivileged Children has been waiting for you for twenty minutes. I took the liberty of letting him sit in your office. He’s as angry as a bear and I couldn’t find any other way to calm him down.

    As Ketrin finished speaking, she raised her eyebrows and shoulders. Jus stretched out his lips, rubbed his hands over his temples, took a deep breath, and entered his office. The door wasn’t fully closed so he could hear the man’s strong accent.

    Son of a bitch! yelled Herculano Valente, a Euro-Portuguese follower of Manichaeism and an elected deputy of the Popular Christian Party supported by the Foundation. He was facing a number of large 3-D posters, framed in AR-Glass and showing pale, brown-skinned children. On each poster, underneath the words Feed Me, there was an international bank account number preceded by the initials JF.

    "We had an agreement, Jus, and you broke it. I negotiated the non-refundable loan as well as the printing and distribution of more than twelve million posters, just like this one, in thirteen different languages. The Congress of Free Europe gave me carte blanche, trusting that the project would be a success. I helped rejuvenate this campaign, I invested my career in it, and now I find this absurd number printed on my posters! The original account should be 315597-81 and here it says 315597-91! How am I going to explain this to the deputies?"

    Tell them the truth, Jus replied, squeezing Herculano’s shoulders in a brotherly gesture, before sitting down. We work in the interest of goodness, not for profit. A different bank account number isn’t going to alter our main purpose. Use it to assert yourself with public opinion in case your peers try to undermine some of your actions. You’ll have them eating out of your hand and the Foundation won’t charge anything for this gift. Anyway, the Foundation never collects. You only give what you receive.

    Gift?! Herculano questioned, almost falling over from the momentum of his huge rocking belly and cheeks. Changing the bank account number on the posters, and in so doing preventing me from accessing contributions, was not a gift, it was a betrayal. All the contracts I made had me managing the account. You’ve tied my hands and feet, damn it! It was my idea and the Foundation was to receive 60% of the funds, which was both more than it deserved and more than it needed.

    Jus folded his hands together in a gesture of prayer and replied Enough? What’s enough for the poor on this planet? They need everything. One hundred percent of everything. You should be happy you’re helping them. I’ve been a good provider in recent years. Trust me. When you need money to maintain your status, you’ll have it.

    Herculano looked down and clenched his fists with his palms facing the table.

    Jus continued in a more amiable tone. Fine. Once this matter is settled, why don’t we make the most of the situation and register the first contribution right now? When we disclose the list of Samaritans, your name will be near the top. How much do you have in the bank?

    "There is something beyond your intelligence, Jus, your cynicism."

    Herculano stood up, lithe for his 76 years, and headed for the door, which opened soundlessly. Before the door closed, Herculano turned around and saw Jus give a hint of a smile. Then, taking advantage of the fact that he had his hands crossed, Jus lifted them up, placed them behind his neck and leaned on them as he reclined in his comfortable chair. Just as the door closed, Jus placed his feet on the table and said to himself, Go in peace.



    On Fifth Avenue, Hugo tossed a real dollar over to a fat, black woman sitting on the sidewalk and climbed into an old hydrogen-powered taxi. The driver insisted on getting out of the car and closing the door for this boy who clearly loved his pasta. At that time, money was digital-electronic. Paper bills were treated like souvenirs by billionaires and as a privilege for the poor. The driver turned on the radio and asked the boy which station he’d like to listen to. Hugo merely responded with an address not even glancing at the driver. The car started with a jerk.

    The well-dressed young man looked at the driver’s worn shirt collar and decided he’d tip him generously once he’d arrived at his destination. In front of him, through the windscreen, the old city loomed until the gleaming buildings of New Manhattan appeared. Hugo opened his pocket Bible and read the Book of Ecclesiastes by following along the words with his finger. Euphorically, he started tearing out pages and tossing them out the window. The driver watched him through his rear-view mirror and mentally calculated the fine his taxi could get for paper being thrown out of it and onto the street. If the boy wanted to throw away his fortune, he should do it inside the car. His taxi could be found any day, even without

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