The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  Jalsad turned from him. “While I was searching your mind during the trial I … performed some psychic surgery. Just then I activated it … removing your mentalist abilities. Now you are no stronger than the average Eridon. You have sufficient power to survive.”

  “No!” Delsaron cried in horror. He tried to run after the Leader, but found himself frozen. Still looking mortified by what he’d done, Jalsad lifted a hand, gesturing towards the dais. Compelled by a mind now many times stronger than his own, the accused had no other choice but to spin jerkily on his heel and walk towards the circular dais. Each step took him closer to his damnation.

  What will happen to me if the hyperspatial tunnel shatters? he wondered miserably. Where will I end up? What are these "hostile influences from parallel realms"?

  Jalsad made him step up onto the platform, then released him. Warm tingles shivered through him as the multicoloured sparks discharged around him.

  Goodbye, Delsaron - goodbye forever!

  Good riddance, Adelrid, the accused thought back - just as Ardalla gave the order.

  He saw Adelrid pull down a second lever.

  The universe turned inside out.

  Delsaron watched the spacetime rip created by the Gate Machine recede into the swirling, multicoloured distance.

  Strange lights whirled around him as he hurtled into the quantum foam. The distant portal snapped closed, severing his last connection with home. Only a psychedelic expanse remained. This definitely does not feel like teleportation he thought as he hurtled through infinity, all orientation lost. Has the tunnel broken already?

  Oh my Lord, protect me-

  Something struck him across the lower back with spine-shattering force. A comforting darkness overcame him. Thus he had no idea if he was dreaming or awake when he found himself engulfed in blinding whiteness. He tried to close his eyes against the terrible light but found himself paralysed – as though Adelrid or Jalsad had hold of him once more.

  Then the pain started. It felt like a furnace of hungry flames tearing at his flesh. Unable to shut his burning eyes, he could actually see it charring and melting from his bones.

  He tried to scream...

  Then the flames vanished, leaving him suspended in a cold, blank void. It seemed an infinite mirror of the burnt darkness inside his mind ... Indeed he could feel that corrupt place crying out as though it wanted to be free of him.

  Was this icy place of darkness and overpowering evil the hell Adelrid had promised him? Was he doomed to spend all eternity floating endlessly through this empty abyss?

  Life ... life ... life...

  Empty abyss? He could only wish!

  LIFE ... LIFE ... LIFE...

  Dozens of ... things … appeared to be swimming through the void towards him.

  LIFE! ... LIFE! ... LIFE! ...

  Paralysed, Delsaron couldn’t writhe away as what felt like hundreds of skeletal hands tried to grab him. Bony fingers raked across his skin, icy nails leaving rents in his flesh. It felt like they were trying to draw his life-essence from him. But the creatures couldn’t seem to catch him, as though some kind of slippery film protected him from their vile need.

  They shrieked in fury as he slid from them.

  And then they were gone.

  Or were they? As he continued to drift through the nothingness, he heard more voices approaching. At first distant and indecipherable, they didn't strike him as any different from the first ones until he realised he could make out their words.

  Please let me have him! This one was husky croak, quivering with the pitiful urgency of the senseless creatures that had attacked him earlier.

  No! bellowed the second voice, so authoritarian the ether - or whatever Delsaron floated in - vibrated uneasily around him. This pathetic morsel travels to another realm, exiled by his deluded kind. If we let him keep his life he will spread our seed there - let its blind sons and daughters taste our despair!

  But I'm so hungry, the first voice wailed. I need-

  We all need! the other snapped. But unless we gain some foresight the barrier will never be broken. In destroying him for a few ephemeral moments of ecstasy we annihilate another chance at existence. You must learn to think of what lies ahead!

  I-I'm sorry, Father.

  Delsaron could almost imagine the owner of this voice hanging his head in shame.

  I just get so - so hungry ... so tired of waiting...

  The deep one softened momentarily. We all do, my son. Which is why we must seize every opportunity handed to us. I'll let you do it this time.

  Suddenly, sharp claws dug into Delsaron's ravaged flesh and easily dragged him from his path.

  What had happened to his shield?

  Do not be afraid, the owner of the soft, husky voice whispered, close to Delsaron's ear – or was it coming from inside his head? He couldn’t tell. Inwardly the exile cringed. Lover's hands caressed his throat as he was held secure, their icy touch sending shivers trembling through his very soul. You have no need...

  There was a bitter laugh - a hideous, high-pitched cackle, then something like an icy poker with an exploding tip smashed into the space between his brows.

  Welcome light blossomed behind his eyes and then-

  Chapter 3

  A Rough Landing

  Delsaron found himself rolling across a hard, uneven surface. A different sort of cold bit into his skin as he splashed into a puddle. Then a rasping voice shouted something – and a new pain bathed him; white-hot, electrical – but not sufficient to kill. He screamed, leapt to his feet and ran before his vision even cleared, thinking only of escape. He had had enough of pain, his memories of that bitter, dreadful realm still smarting like a raw nerve. He stumbled over the ground, sealed with rough, rectangular cobblestones – and felt something hot whoosh through the air where his head had been. He looked up, blinking to clear his sight – and saw an electric blast slam into the side of a grey building up ahead and blast out a shower of bricks.

  Who the Hell was shooting lightning-bolts at him? Wasn’t a technologically primitive planet supposed to have been chosen for him?

  He might have survived one blast, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle another. Especially now his mysterious pursuer knew he could take a hit and had probably cranked up his weapon – whatever the hell it was! Delsaron leapt to his feet and took off towards a dark alley mouth he had glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. His sudden movement caught his pursuer by surprise, and a third blast missed him by millimeters. Luckily, electric bolts were hard to aim and tended to earth in nearer objects. The exile bolted down the stinking passage, tripping over refuse hidden in the gloom. He crashed into a fence blocking the end of the alley and desperately scrambled over it, falling into a small, filthy yard illuminated by a single gaslight. He heard what was unmistakably swearing in a rasping, alien tongue and realised the man was coming up to the wall right behind him.

  Del scuttled across the yard, vaulted over a midden and ducked down another side-street as dark and dirty as the first. He heard a crash behind him that sounded like his pursuer had simply barged through the flimsy wooden barrier rather than jumping over it. Have to get ahead of him and hide, Del thought, desperately weary. But no matter how fast he ran, how much he ducked and wove through the grimy buildings and the labyrinthine streets snaking between them, the man remained hot on his heels, no longer firing his weapon but simply keeping a steady pace. Somehow he seemed to know which way he would turn.

  Running him down like an animal, waiting for him to tire.

  Del considered turning to face him. Let’s end this, he thought. I don’t want to live as an exile here. But he continued to run, splashing through ditches, stumbling down alleys and leaping fences. If electric weapons existed here then maybe other more advanced equipment did too, technology he could use to escape and return home.

  He had to clear his name!

  Del hazarded a glance over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. He spotted a dark
figure in a wide-brimmed hat and overcoat as it passed swiftly beneath the smoky glow of a gaslight. He was carrying something long and shiny in his hands that sparked uneasily. Smoke puffed from some sort of engine on his back and had formed a cloud around his head. Del turned to continue, but his exhaustion got the better of him. He tripped over an uneven stone and sprawled headlong on the damp ground. He heard the sound of his pursuer’s hard-soled boots come closer and closer…

  Del covered his head, once again resigned to his fate. That’s it – I’m too tired to go on, he thought. You might as well shoot me.

  He heard the whine of capacitors charging. Then there was a click and the sound stopped. Del held his breath. The man swore again. Del looked up to see him thumping his weapon in a temper. At this range Del could see one of his eyes glowing a baleful red beneath the brim of his hat. A reprieve! Del scrambled up.

  The man snarled something and swung his weapon like a club. Del leapt back, wondering if Jalsad had left him enough psionic power to attack. He focused a simple mental stab. In the past, such an attack from him would have filleted an unshielded mind. He felt it glance off something hard and metallic, but it was sufficient to spin the fellow around and send him crashing to the ground. Del didn’t wait. He used the opportunity to flee and find somewhere to hide, eventually clambering up into an open window when he thought he had run enough. He collapsed on a rubbish-strewn wooden floor and lay without moving for ten minutes, rejoicing in the rest.

  Then he heard the sound of horribly familiar footsteps approaching; hard-soled boots making an almost metallic clinking on the cobblestones. How by the Pit did he find me? Del wondered in confusion. Is he tracking me by my mind? He checked his shields, but they appeared secure – as secure as they could be after Adelrid’s and Jalsad’s tampering.

  Del felt his way around the room, searching for a way out – and realised that he wasn’t alone. His hands brushed across a warm body that snorted in discomfort. A sour stench attacked his nostrils as the person rolled over, expelling a variety of gases from various orifices, and lapsed into a sonorous snore. He realised he had disturbed a comatose drunk. Somehow Del scrambled around him and found the way out.

  There was a crash outside the window and another burst of foreign swearing. Del stumbled out into a narrow hall. A smouldering oil lamp on a ledge provided just enough illumination for him to blunder down a narrow hall towards a set of steep wooden stairs at the end. More bad language came from various doorways as his noisy departure woke less intoxicated inhabitants.

  Unfortunately, when Del finally found the exit, it led him back into the street he’d fled – the same street where his pursuer waited, seated with his back against the wall beneath the drunk’s open window. Del froze in the doorway. He knew the man was looking right at him. He could see the eldritch glow of that weird red eye. But he made no move to lift the weapon his lap. He just … stared at him. Del stepped from the doorway. Why wasn’t the fellow firing? Why was he just … sitting there?

  Every instinct told him to run. It’s a trap! a newfound paranoia cried out.

  But he had to find out why the man had stopped. He reached out with his thoughts. In the past he could have swept across an unshielded mind like a tidal wave, absorbing everything in a delicious rush of knowledge. Even a shielded mind posed very little problem. But now he slammed into what felt like an iron wall and was sent reeling. It was a barrier, thick but very crude – and as he gathered his wits he realised it contained gaping holes.

  A strange hiss, like escaping gas, came from the man against the wall. Del jumped, preparing to run, but his pursuer still did not move. Del took a chance and dived through one of the gaps in his veil. Surface thoughts he normally would have skimmed through in milliseconds confounded him like he was a mere novice. Jalsad had not only stolen power from him, but crippled his skills as well.

  Del experienced fury and anger from his pursuer; frustration that he could no longer move. Something had paralysed him. Del tried to find out why the man had been chasing him, but couldn’t reach through his desperation. He struggled free, cursing his weakness. “Who are you?” he growled. “Why were you following me?”

  Of course the man didn’t answer. How could he? Del did not have a translator and the fellow was probably hearing gibberish. The exile stepped forward, grabbing the weapon in his pursuer’s hands. It slid from the grip of his right, but his left hung on like a claw – until Del managed to wrench it free. Unfortunately, some sort of thick rubber hose still connected it to the pack on his back. It no longer smoked like it had before. While his incapacitated enemy continued to glare balefully at him, Del examined the strange contraption, finding a very crude, home-made energy gun. He realised it wasn’t the norm, but probably one of a kind. Obviously the huge backpack was its power source. Still, such technology could help him.

  Although he doubted its owner would. How could he convince the man he wasn’t a threat? Did he have enough telepathy left to bypass the language barrier? He knelt down in front of his pursuer.

  The man had dropped his head, his hat hiding his face. Del slipped into his head again, as clumsily as Li Kari child, and realised the fellow knew he was there. He was actively chanting something in his head to block him! Had Del truly become so useless? Or was this fellow something of a psionic himself?

  Curiosity began to nudge Del’s fear aside. He laid the gun across the man’s lap. Then he carefully projected his next words telepathically. I am not going to kill you.

  Inwardly he grimaced at his clumsy technique. But it worked. The man lifted his head to glare at Del. The one red eye appeared to be some sort of cybernetic implant. The rest of his face – save for the other eye – was hidden beneath a grubby grey scarf or bandage. That other eye was watching him, and Del realised he had stopped his internal chanting. The Eridon was able to grab more surface thoughts; disbelief, concern about the lateness of the hour, and also curiosity. Then Del felt something push at his probe.

  Get out!

  Del may not have understood the words, but the intention was perfectly clear. He nearly fell on his backside on the damp cobblestones. Then, from a street not far away, came the sound of a whistle. Del didn’t know what it meant, but the man on the ground obviously did, for he managed to catch hold of the exile’s prison tunic with his left hand.

  Then another message touched Del’s mind, gentler than the first, but no less urgent. Help me!

  “Who’s out here causin’ such a ruckus?” someone called. Del didn’t understand the words, but suspected their intentions were being questioned. Then he received another message, this time a picture. He saw himself scooping up the fallen man and running with him, escaping from the streets into darkness.

  A shadowy figure in a long coat and strange conical helmet appeared at the end of the street, brandishing some sort of club. Del lifted the fallen man, grunting at his unexpected weight – he was quite small, but surprisingly heavy. And the power-source for his electric gun didn’t help, either. He was also very warm - much warmer than the average carbon-based life-form. Del stumbled off, the newcomer calling indignantly after him.

  The exiled Eridon was able to move far more swiftly than his new pursuer, despite the man’s weight in his arms, and soon lost the individual in the strange helmet. The fiery heat from his burden flooded him with energy. Where was it coming from? Although a heavy coat softened the fellow’s body, it still felt like a bundle of steel pipes in his arms. What was he? Judging by that weird red eye, some sort of very crude cyborg.

  As more dark streets closed around Del, the strange fellow pointed out directions and sent more mental commands in the form of pictures. His psionic techniques were crude – but no more than Del’s own had become. He directed Del over a bridge spanning a broad, evil-smelling river, then down dingy streets until they came to a steep alley that led down to the rubbish-filled watercourse. They came to a slum building, and the man directed Del to a wooden doorway at the end. Del tried to push it open with
his foot, but it was locked. In his arms, the man lifted his left hand and made an odd gesture, like something a superstitious native would have used to ward off evil spirits.

  The door creaked inwards. Del started in surprise, realising that he’d probably used psychokinesis, disguising it as a spell. Del took him through the door and it closed just as ominously behind them, leaving them in a damp, dark passage lit by a single electric bulb – the first such light Del had seen here. It seemed strange that the streets were illuminated by primitive gaslights when the technology existed to create cyborgs and electric weapons.

  Del had to negotiate the narrow corridor, a set of steep steps and more labyrinthine stone passages that led deep into a hidden cellar. His strange new companion certainly didn’t want any chance of accidental discovery. Finally, at the end of a long hallway, behind another locked door that could only be opened with another strange hand-gesture, they stepped into a large, roomy basement with mouldy walls hung with pipes, cables and hoses of all sizes. More electric lights nestled in the ceiling. A furnace and boiler occupied the far wall, with other strange machines Del couldn’t name against the others. He spotted something that looked like a giant metal bathtub with glass windows recessed into its sides, and some sort of wooden work bench littered with tools.

  In his arms, the cyborg pointed at the floor beside the furnace, where an enormous pile of black rocks lay. Del set him down and straightened, startled by the sudden loss of his weight and heat. Still only able to move his left hand, the man grabbed for one of the odd black stones and fumbled at his chest. Del watched him for a minute, then knelt down to help him open his coat. Beneath lay not flesh but some sort of dark, tarnished looking metal. He really was part machine! Such creatures were not common on Eridon, since Del’s people could regenerate most injuries, but they dealt with numerous aliens who employed such prosthesis.

  Still – Del had never seen a cyborg like this. He carried his own furnace with him, and the black rock appeared to be some sort of fuel. He opened a door in his chest, threw the substance in and slammed it shut. Then he fell back and waited for it to take effect. No wonder he hadn’t been able to move before. He must have burned everything up during the chase.