Paradox Moon: The First Book of Regenesis

by D. Scott Dickinson

  So great is its mass the surface waters are continuously pumped up and down by displacement from its rhythmic breathing.

  Sensitive to the least vibration through its stony shell, the creature emerges from its watery depth to repel any who dares enter its territory and to feed on the flesh and entrails of the fish which are its prey.

  So primitive is its nervous system it would have swallowed and digested the trespassers before realizing they are not in its food chain.

  The man shudders as the leader turns toward the far end of the gorge, commanding the band to press on through the gathering dusk.

  The company continues its trek far into the night, not pausing for rest until they are through the gorge and once again on the broad bank of the main river which has regained its formerly wide, deep uniformity.

  The early rays of dawn look indifferently down on their sleeping forms, huddled closely on the river’s wide bank.

  Others look down on them as well.

  Through eyes that are not indifferent!

  They are the lofty lords of the high heliotrope canopy, and every chameleon scale and patch of skin perfectly camouflages their ethereal presence. So complete is the mimicry that only when they move are they distinguishable from the foliage they inhabit.

  They closely resemble the vampire bats of the man’s world, but their wingspan exceeds 20 feet while their bodies are sleek and muscular. They are muted by a lack of vocal chords, while their talons and beaks are keen-edged to rend the flesh of the carrion which is their prey.

  The bat-like creatures are built for silence and stealth, not speed. The high camber of their wings enables slow, nearly motionless, hovering flight as they glide on velvet airfoils whose serrated leading edges and distal tips baffle all sound.

  But they cannot conceal the enormous shadow cast by their outspread wings, and that is what saves the band from their silent assault.

  The man is first to discern shadow spreading over the ground before him. He cries out in alarm as he looks up to see several of the creatures soaring in circles above them.

  Like vultures over expectant death.

  The leader urgently motions the band away from the unprotected open banks of the river into the shelter of the deeper woods, where 20-foot wingspans cannot go. But the flying creatures are relentless and remain circling high in the trees out of reach.

  Within this forest, they are threatened by none and tolerate no other. It is their territory and theirs alone.

  Intruders are killed or driven mercilessly from their arboreal realm.

  But the band’s leader is cunning. He sends the two hunters as decoys to lure away the attackers. Each time they chase the hunters, the rest of the company dart through patches of open terrain to gain every sheltering brake and coppice.

  It is a life-or-death game of hide-and-seek.

  Finally, the band reaches the outer edge of the heliotrope forest and is joined there by the returning hunters. The leader does not tarry. He leads the band immediately to a dense growth of violet shrubs, mantling a low promontory just beyond the reach of the forest they are fleeing.

  Watching their pursuers take flight back into the forest, the leader pauses to survey his new surroundings. The shrublands extend to a piedmont horizon ahead.

  Lengthening shadows inform him the company has spent an entire day dodging and eluding the bat-like creatures in the forest and night is quickly approaching.

  It is not alone.

  With the darkness comes the cold. The band welcomes it, as the leader is reminded of the tundra they crossed when they fled their glacial valley. Watching the vapor of his breath in the chill air, the man is thankful for the protective insulate of his flight suit.

  The next day is scarcely warmer than the night before, and the man knows they have reached the far southern latitudes near the antarctic tundra.

  The company trudges through a seemingly endless mire of wet earth, suspended between warmth that turns its moist soil to muck and air that is too cold for comfort but not cold enough to make the soil firm. But it is only a few days before the shrubland begins to thin and then disappears entirely.

  Depositing the travelers onto the hard, solid surface of the tundra.

  Only the foothills in the near distance break the monotony of the otherwise featureless, frozen, frost-covered land.

  Seven days of sure and easy footing take the band to the base of the piedmont, an unbroken chain of low-lying mound-shaped hills that turn the horizon into deeply hued serrations of dark browns, blacks and grays.

  It is on the second night in these foothills the man makes a shocking and revealing discovery!

  The hum had been detectable and growing for several hours before nightfall. Each time the man showed interest in it, however, the leader vigorously waved it off and shook his head in denial.

  Human nature being what it is, instead of dissuading the man, the leader’s warnings only whetted his curiosity and determination to solve the mystery of the hum. That is why, in the depth of this second night, he steals away into darkness. Resolved to follow the unnatural sound to its source.

  Fear and uneasiness begin to overtake his curiosity as the humming sound grows in volume and pitch, becoming more of a screaming howl. Not unlike the noise he encountered at the equatorial crater many months earlier.

  But here, in this cold place, the air is thin, frigid and barely breathable. He is forced to inhale huge gulps of the oxygen-starved air and hold it in his lungs to proceed.

  The intensity and frequency of the howling sound are nearly deafening and unbearable as the man arrives, holding his breath, at the crest of a vast circular ridge.

  It is a screaming, howling crater gulping in a massive stream of gelid air with such force it nearly yanks the man over the ridge toward the sucking vent at its conical core. Almost losing his breath to the vacuum created by the downward rushing air, the man’s panic unleashes an adrenalin rush of strength sufficient to pull himself back to the lee side of the ridge.

  Spreading his arms and legs to create a low profile, the man digs his fingers into the soil and hugs it until he can breathe, even weakly, and regains enough strength to crawl slowly back down the short slope to the level ground below.

  Retracing his way back to the sleeping band, the earth scientist begins to connect the dots between the super-cooled airstream that flows with the arteries of magma, the sucking crater here in the antarctic tundra and the craters that expel super-heated air into the equatorial rainforest.

  They are the life-force of this small moon. Interdependent, geophysical elements of a global circulatory system.

  The man suspects but does not know such a process is occurring. He would be astounded to know the whole truth.

  In fact, the small moon’s global respiration system is ever-changing and self-regulating.

  After the inferno had consumed the world between the poles, the valiant little moon began pumping heroic levels of free oxygen into the atmosphere. The subterranean airstream was pushing through with such force the earth for miles around the craters was geologically unstable and in constant tectonic upheaval and dislocation.

  Like a creature molting, the moon was shedding its old skin and generating a fresh surface. Vast stretches of scarred land sank, and great tracts of new land rose.

  Over millennia, the land stabilized. The pampas was first to establish a foothold, born of seeds trapped and preserved by the shifting land, and the equatorial belt followed. As plant life spread, the moon’s geology adjusted.

  The more oxygen the expanding vegetation produced, the less urgent the global respiration system behaved. Eventually, it was able to maintain atmospheric equilibrium on a global scale through the milder exertions the man is observing now.

  In fact, the man is witnessing this small moon’s version of the Great Oxygenation Event that suddenly pumped up oxygen levels on his own planet 2-1/2 billion years ago. Earth’s GOE is credited to oxygen-exhaling cyanobacteria, which produced susta
inable volumes of breathable air.

  Earth’s oxygen-rich atmosphere is the product of organic chemistry propelled by photosynthesis.

  This moon’s viable atmosphere is the product of inorganic chemistry driven by geology.

  It is a phenomenon never conceived of, let alone observed, by his earthbound scientific colleagues. And it expands the possibilities and even the meaning of what constitutes an organism.

  From the remarkable, unfolding lessons of its past, the geophysicist is unraveling the mystery of the unique geology and evolution of the planet.

  He is stunned by the growing realization this obscure, remote moon is itself a living, breathing organism!

  As he rejoins the band and curls up to sleep the rest of this night, the man is flush with a heightened, almost mystical respect for the wonder and promise of this new world he must now call his own.

  While he still grieves for his lost crew-mates, he has no regrets for himself. He is intrigued by the endless scientific possibilities of his new home.

  He knows the band must soon reach the desolation of the cloud-enshrouded southern polar region.

  He knows new hardships and dangers await him there.

  He does not know that is where he will uncover the greatest mystery of all.

  The very answer to the riddle of the Sphinx!

  Chapter 26. Home at Last

  The howling assails the band from many directions, dogging their every step across the bleak tundra landscape. It is when the noise softens to a hum and then goes silent altogether that the distant horizon takes on a different, menacing aspect.

  And the light of the world begins to go out.

  Leaving the piedmont behind, the company travels another full day across the frozen barrens before pausing for rest.

  The days have grown longer and longer until now they blend seamlessly into night as weariness becomes the travelers’ only guide to a time for sleep and a time for waking. Their only markers for distinguishing the days and nights ahead.

  Overhead, the violet-red-yellow monster still pursues the surviving sun, but their images are fading into a fog of approaching earthbound mist. Swallowed by the fog, the company sees only darkening ahead.

  This night, the man cannot find sleep. Thick mist is everywhere, and his mind floats effortlessly through the dreamy medium looking for answers to what the future holds.

  Owing to their thick fur, he infers his fellow-travelers are approaching their natural element and that is where they will find a home. He also knows, lacking their cold-hardiness, he will not end his journey there. Much as he has relied on their company in their common quest across this strange world, he knows he will have to part ways with them and . . .

  He will be alone and friendless once more!

  The man spends the remainder of this restless night in sober contemplation of the challenges and dangers awaiting him when he attempts to return, unaccompanied and unaided, to the temperate zones he is adapted to live in. Recounting the many perils he survived in his journey here, it is an ominous and daunting prospect.

  When the leader rises to the indiscernible dawn of a new day, the mist has thinned sufficiently to reveal the outline of dense, unbroken clouds over an otherwise featureless horizon. Waking the rest of the band, the leader points toward the horizon as the others break into excited gestures and utterances.

  It is a horizon they have seen before, but in rearview, and it promises the welcoming familiarity of the home they fled a world away.

  The march is swift this day, and the man struggles to remain in sight of the hastening band. Soon, he enters a sere and alien universe of white cloud above and white frost below.

  Gone is the violet-red-yellow sky-stalker.

  Gone are the two suns that became one.

  Gone is the blinding mist of fog.

  Gone is the quotidian rhythm of day and night.

  He is in a shrouded, frozen, monochrome world of eternal twilight.

  As he takes in these new surroundings, the man witnesses a remarkable transformation among his companions. So content are they their excited utterances have softened to an almost steady purring sound. But that is not the most remarkable change.

  It is in their eyes.

  The narrow, cat-like slits of pupils he is accustomed to are now completely dilated, fully opening crescent-shaped, ice-blue eyes to the perpetual dimness of their monochrome surroundings. The change endows his furry companions with an owlish aspect, accentuated by their unblinking focus on objects near and far.

  It is further testimony to their adaptation to the polar region. One more proof of his conclusion their destination is at hand.

  The leader motions them to a low, snow-covered cave where they will sleep before striking out into the antarctic landscape. He is resolved to find a suitable home for his band, and he wants them well rested for the important effort ahead.

  The next leg of the journey takes them through a snow-covered gorge leading to a dramatically different landscape.

  While the entrance to the gorge is open and inviting, the going becomes slow and treacherous as they traverse geologically unstable areas of bubbling lava pools followed by stretches of slick ice flanked by yawning crevasses on both sides. The company crosses the base of the gorge in single-file, hand-to-hand, and they are utterly exhausted by the time they reach its far end.

  They fall out on the first patch of stable ground they find, remaining just inside the gorge where sleep comes quickly and remains undisturbed.

  Rising from a deep, refreshing sleep, they venture beyond the towering walls of the gorge into a land of lofty sierras and icebound seashore. The members of the band begin pointing excitedly at the landscape, so like the approaches to their former valley home.

  The mountains loom like an image from a 3-D projector, the serrated silhouette of a range of low mountains in the near distance a stark contrast to the majestic peaks towering into the clouds behind them. The scene is awe-inspiring. It is surreal. Its grandeur surpasses anything the man has witnessed in his world or this.

  Tracing its serpentine shoreline from the edge of the near mountain range to the base of the gorge is a vast green ocean.

  The shore is rocky but smooth, dappled with patches of ice, and they soon are treading its solid, easy surface toward the near mountain range.

  The inland terrain is marked by a series of ridges, rising to the horizon beyond the gorge they have left and sloping gradually to ground level beside the shoreline path. Some, however, remain higher, nearly twice the man’s height, next to the path.

  It is when they pass one such ridge the band makes another welcome discovery.

  There, the sea bends inland between two high cliffs forming a cove whose placid surface is coated with frazil ice. Just beyond the icy margin, the open water is rippled by the crisscrossing fins of the band’s familiar prey.

  An even further indication, the man reflects, here is where the band belongs.

  Unlike the small finned creatures they encountered on their inland journey, however, these fins are enormous—half again as tall as himself, the man estimates—and he wonders if there are smaller finned creatures in these waters. What happens next surprises him and heightens his respect for the physical strength, agility and prowess of the furry bipeds.

  While he and the rest of the company stand back against the snowdrift between the rocky cliffs, the leader and his two fellow-hunters kneel at the shoreline and slap at the margin of ice with their palms. Then, they begin a soft sighing or moaning in a slow, even cadence.

  Mesmerized by the strange ritual, the man does not immediately notice the giant fin slicing the water toward the three hunters.

  When the creature breaches, the man is appalled by its sheer size and the menace of razor-sharp teeth in its snapping jaw. Just as he fears there is no escape from the airborne mass of descending fury, the hunters make improbable leaps into the air and with protracted talons and fangs eviscerate the huge beast as it falls dead to earth.r />
  Beckoning the band to harvest the creature’s flesh, the leader turns at once to the edge of the shore and, using his talons, harpoons two small fish for the man. As the band feasts, the man chews thoughtfully on his meal of fish, gazing in wonder at the three hunters and admiring their marvelous adaptability to the rigors of this harsh land.

  It takes the company seven days and seven nights to reach the far end of the lower mountains, where foothills melt into the ocean’s edge. That is when the leader slows to a measured, more deliberate pace. He is seeking some special place, the man concludes, but he wonders how that can be for one who has just arrived from a world away. Whatever the explanation, the man is resolved to stay with the band as long as they keep moving to see where it may lead.

  The leader’s purposeful pace takes them to an unscalable wall of blue ice. Extending across the shoreline, down into the frigid ocean.

  Without pause, he abruptly strikes out inland, away from the sea, to a scatter of stony scree. The gentle acclivity transports them to the edge of a valley cradled between two exceptionally high hogbacks. The farther ridge is so steep and so elevated it bars approach from that direction.

  The valley floor is a glacial floe that runs from the upper reaches of the mountain range to the ocean below, and its sides are pock-marked with many caves, shallow and deep.

  It is toward the lowermost of these caves the leader turns, urgently motioning the band to follow. But the valley’s wall is sheer and slick, offering no navigable way to the caves above.

  The leader halts the band at the base of the cliff and directs his two hunters to take their places on either side of him. They extend their talons and begin gouging out footholds in the frozen rock, alternating steps as they scale its height to the caves above. The company follow in their footholds, and the man is surprised at the ease of the climb.

  While the rest remain at the first cave, the leader and his two hunters set out to explore others nearby. Soon, one of the hunters cries out, motioning toward the mouth of an enormous cave he has just reached. Several footholds later, they all assemble in the large cave.