Paradox Moon: The First Book of Regenesis Read online

  The leader raises the alarm as he and the man bolt toward the sleeping band.

  But they are, both of them, too late!

  Sweeping frost-white filaments cover the river’s bank in both directions, cutting off retreat.

  The man is in the most imminent peril, as the probing tentacles reach him first. Backing against the cave’s hairy wall, he waits in horror to be immobilized by the pulsating shock waves and melted by the web-creatures’ potent acid.

  Then, there occurs something he did not expect.

  As the nearest creature’s infundibulum suckers make tentative contact with the man’s skin, it recoils sharply and like the crack of a whip lashes back to the river’s surface.

  Soon, the entire cave is ringing with the vibrations of slapping and smacking tentacles lashing instantly back onto the water.

  The flashing strobes cease completely and at once as the web-creatures vanish into their grey stillness that perfectly camouflages them against the rocky sides of the river’s depth.

  The leader does not hesitate. He herds the band quickly along the riverbank back the way they came. Despite the easy going, the company is exhausted by the time they arrive back at the river’s fork, where they settle down for a second sleep on its smooth, wide bank.

  Before retiring, the man scans the river’s submerged walls near the fork. He is relieved to find they are smooth and bare, totally devoid of the camouflaged web-creatures. Walking a short distance into the untraveled passage, he sees no sign of them or their barracuda prey.

  Returning to the band, the man reflects on the gruesome symbiosis governing the relationship between the web-creatures and their barracuda prey. In exchange for tending and nurturing their fry, the adult barracudas offer up their living flesh to be harvested by the web-creatures.

  The man shudders at the grim bargain.

  Fully rested, the company strikes out into the untraveled passage, where the lack of light and irregular surface of the cave’s floor and walls immediately make the going much more difficult.

  The man slows every so often to peer into the river and, unless the meager light conceals them, sees no evidence of the web-creatures in this stretch of water. And unless the dimness deceives him, there are neither barracudas nor finned beasts swimming here—in fact, no life at all.

  The river’s animation, its constant flowing motion, is a deceit.

  This river is as sterile as the desert above it.

  Contrasted to the life-threatening heat of the open desert, however, the man is thankful to be in this cool, sheltered, yet lifeless place. But he is aware that, unlike his companions, he must eat soon and wonders when that will be.

  The band has traveled a great distance since leaving the fork, and as the leader seeks a suitable place to sleep the river takes its first, abrupt bend. They have been following the sound of distant roaring, a sound which has grown steadily and is now a crescendo of violent noise. Motioning the rest to remain behind, the leader and the man round the bend to scout ahead.

  The man is awed by the spectacular scene that greets them.

  The river and its banks drop abruptly into a void, stranding the onlookers on a ledge high above an enclosed subterranean canyon. The plunging river joins with several others to form a cascading waterfall whose width and drop rival the great cataracts the man remembers from his own world.

  The waterfall feeds a broad river of wildly foaming rapids that rush across the canyon floor into a wide, gaping flue at the base of the canyon’s far wall. Gulping and swallowing the great quantity of rushing river that slakes its boundless thirst.

  But even the deafening uproar of the plunging cataract and the angry, boiling cauldron at its base cannot divert the man from the surreal beauty of the great canyon itself.

  The roof of this immense cavern sparkles with the ambient glow of festooned crystals, while the canyon’s walls are ribbons of bright hues, the margins so subtly blended that it is impossible to discern where one stratum ends and the next begins. The highest stratum, from the black roof to the ledge, is encrusted with clear, brilliant diamonds that project an inner glow from every one of their millions of facets and bathe the entire cavern in radiant light.

  The tiered strata below are a prismatic progression of Newton’s seven spectral shades, stacked neatly one upon the other and reaching downward to the canyon’s very floor.

  Transfixed, the man experiences the kaleidoscope of moods that flow irresistibly from each refulgent color:

  Empowering violet, mystical indigo, serene blue, vital green, energetic yellow, stimulating orange, assertive red.

  His eyes widen as they linger on the bands of deep indigo and green, impressing upon him a sense of mysticism and spiritual rebirth he has never felt. It is as if he is viewing this world and himself for the first time and, as he lifts his eyes, both are renewed in him.

  He is shaken from his trance by the leader and the excited, jostling band joining them on the high ledge. The band does not pause to take in the view, but follow the leader immediately back into the mouth of the river cave where they settle down for the next sleep.

  Taking a long drink at the water’s edge, the man is driven by hunger to explore their surroundings in hope of finding something edible. He knows the river is lifeless and, so, decides to closely examine the cave’s convoluted walls.

  Chapter 19. Tube of Terror

  Backtracking the way they came, the man soon discovers a hidden crawl space concealed by the wall’s rocky irregularity. Still within sight and sound of the sleeping band, he decides to risk a closer look.

  Crawling slowly through the low opening, he emerges into an adjacent cave whose floor is moss-slick and whose air is close and still. The small chamber is cloaked in utter blackness.

  As he turns to re-enter the crawl space, his feet fly out from under him and he begins to slide down the black tunnel. The farther he goes, the steeper the slope and the faster he slides until he finds himself literally streaking down a slippery, undulating sluice of smooth stone.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, his slide stops!

  He is stuck in the narrowed throat of the flume, plugged like an inverted cork lodged in the narrowing throat of a wine bottle. Horror washes over the man as he contemplates the slow end awaiting him in this claustrophobic place.

  He is unable to pull himself back out of the occlusion. Pinned tightly to the side, his arms are useless. He is able to move only his head, hands and legs, which dangle free in the empty air beneath him.

  What’s worse, the water trickling down the polished surface of the sluice is beginning to climb his chest, gathering slowly into a rising pool.

  Bile builds in the man’s throat as he realizes that he cannot survive the imprisoning bonds of the cramped space, that the only question is whether his end will be quick and merciful or slow and agonizing. He will either drown in the climbing pool of water or, if he can somehow vent it around his sides, remain forever suspended in the tunnel’s crimp.

  Only the sensation of his dangling legs offers hope. Swinging them freely side-to-side, he realizes the tube opens again at their level and, if only he can get past the rocky tube’s neck, he might be free once more.

  Straining the muscles in his wrists and hands, the man pushes against the slick surface of stone and manages to rotate his body slightly. Progress is maddeningly slow, as he pushes with all his might even as the pooling water continues its irresistible climb toward his chin.

  Inch by painful inch, he turns his torso 5 degrees, 10 degrees, 15 degrees until, eventually, the pooling water begins to slowly ebb. Encouraged, the man summons all his remaining strength and continues twisting his body another 15 degrees when, suddenly, the remaining water flushes completely.

  Exhaling deeply in one final effort to compress his diaphragm, the man is abruptly released and, dropping free, resumes his rocket-slide down the slick tube.

  His relief at escaping the choking clutch is momentary, as he is gripped by a new fear: th
e increasing, lethal velocity of his fall. Only the periodic level straightaways brake his speed as he hurtles down each steeply sloping stretch, whose polished surface accelerates his drop.

  He wonders whether he can survive the pace and, if so, whether he will be dashed bodily against some unyielding stony obstacle ahead. But the rocky wall suddenly vanishes and the blackness is replaced by glaring light.

  Glancing quickly around him, the man finds he is falling through thin air toward a watery surface below.

  The contact is violent and jarring as he splashes down into a bottomless pool carved out of the rocky floor by the force of eons of falling water. The sudden impact knocks his breath away and, as he fights his way back up to the surface, he is greeted by a scene of unexpected serenity.

  He is treading water in a wide, placid pool of clear blue-green water surrounded by a ledge of flat, ocher stone. Above him is the open, polished flume, looking like some giant ovipositor, through which he emerged into this radiant, vivid new inner world.

  Smiling at the metaphor, the man licks his lips and swallows moisture trickling down from the stony orifice to the pool below.

  Swimming slowly to the rocky shore, the man hoists himself up onto its ledge and, winded and exhausted, pauses to consider his predicament.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  The leader is first to rise. Looking about, he is not surprised to find their hairless, erstwhile companion has wandered off once more.

  He turns his attention to the slumbering band and how they can descend safely to the canyon floor far below. He decides to follow the ledge and see where it leads. Soon, the band is in lockstep behind him.

  They follow the ledge away from the river’s end, searching for a way down to the base of the towering falls. After a short distance, the way is barred by a sheer drop at the end of the ledge.

  That is when the leader makes a fateful discovery.

  There is a narrow defile an arm’s length beyond the far reach of the ledge and a tempting stone outcrop directly beneath it on the same level. Such easy access to the opening decides the issue, and the leader steps on the outcrop to the narrow void and enters it.

  Looking about, he finds himself in a spacious cave whose walls are studded with clear diamond clusters that bathe it in a pure and guiding light.

  The leader quickly ushers the rest of his band into the lighted cave, following its upward slope. As they continue their slow climb, there are fewer and fewer light-emitting clusters until, finally passing the last one, they are in total darkness. Committed to this course, the leader presses on with his band close behind.

  After a long and sapping climb, the weary band sees a glimmer of light far ahead. As they approach the light, it brightens rapidly, reaching far into the cave and stunning them with its intensity.

  Their eyes half-shut to mute the glare, the band steps out onto the burning desert.

  They look fearfully, as one, toward the sky and shudder to see the violet-red-yellow monster still stalking the blood-red sun. It is an image far more menacing to the frightened bipeds than the prospect of resuming their enervating trek across the heated sands.

  The leader ruefully observes there are no oases, to provide shade and relief from the desiccating aridity, in this stretch of desert. Neither, he will soon discover, is this place as lifeless as the leagues of sterile desert they traversed earlier.

  Sensing movement in the sand next to the cave’s mouth, the leader urges the band in the direction of a symmetrical ridge in the near distance. He is anxious to reach the ridge and put whatever protection it affords between his band and the shifting sand.

  Arriving unmolested, they find a perfectly circular, concave mound rising from the desert floor. Its walls form a funnel feeding down to a wide and open orifice at the center of a deep, narrowing crater. Steering the band away from its inner slope, the leader carefully circles around to the opposite side of the ridge.

  Suddenly, there is a violent eruption where the band approached the opposite side of the mound, and a fearsome creature breaches onto the sand.

  It is a broad, stubby, legless worm-like creature with an eyeless, rat-shaped head and hairless pink skin. The sightless creature is snapping its muscled jaws armed with long razor-sharp teeth.

  Gauging the short distance between the beast and his band, the leader looks anxiously for a more defensible, protected position on the open desert.

  Aroused by its blood-lust, the sand-creature slithers frantically, cresting the mound’s ridge, directly toward the exposed band. But the slope of the conical crater is too steep and, despite its best effort, the sand-creature is drawn slowly toward the waiting orifice.

  That is when its world explodes!

  Twin scythe-like pincers spring upward on either side of the opening, grasping the sand-creature, while a sharply pointed beak lances its body and begins to feed noisily with urgent sucking sounds. The band watches in awe as the sand-creature’s skewered body is reduced to a withered husk and is pulled into the orifice.

  Turning away from the mound, the leader and his band strike out into the open desert.

  Lengthening shadows soon herald the approach of darkness and, caught out on the bare, featureless desert, the fatigued band must settle down in the open for the night.

  As sleep overcomes his wariness over their exposed position, the leader wonders if they will survive the heat of another day.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  The pool lies in a sheltered grotto and, thankful for his survival through the terrible tunnel above, the man is anxious to explore its every watery recess in hopes of finding food. His hopes are soon fulfilled.

  There is a narrow rill leading from the deep pool to a wide crawlspace at the base of the grotto’s far wall, and the man follows it hopefully. As he crouches down for a closer look, he sees a reddish light at the far end of the crawlspace. On hands and knees, he scuttles crab-like following the rill toward the brightness.

  Rising on the open floor of the painted canyon, the man is rewarded by the sight of fish swimming lazily in a shallow pool beside the raging white-water rapids. He quickly captures two large fish, fillets them and eats the raw, nutritious flesh. Cupping his hands, he drinks deeply from the same pool and, stretching out on the boiling river’s smooth, flat bank, falls instantly into a deep slumber.

  Opening his eyes to the ceiling of black diamonds a hundred feet above, the man awakens both refreshed and reassured.

  Here is shelter from the burning desert.

  Here is water.

  Here is food.

  Here is raw, mineral beauty in all its vibrant hues.

  Here are both life and hope!

  The riverbank offers an easy, natural path, and the man decides to follow it to the canyon’s far end. That is the direction the band took, he reasons, and it may lead to a common destination.

  The vivid canyon walls are a source of endless awe and spiritual inspiration. The man drinks in the overpowering beauty and breadth of the brightly visible spectrum glowing from every vibrant stratum and nuanced margin. He is walking in a tangible dream of intoxicating color, joyful witness to a glorious, hidden wonder within this strange and remote moon.

  Thus does the man proceed with a light and airy step and a mix of hope and regret. Hopeful this course will return him to the companionship of the band, regretful he will leave behind the magnificent panorama of this painted canyon.

  He is barely winded when he reaches the sheer wall of rock where the river ends. The hiss and roar of the white-water rapids surging through the wide stone flue are a noisy distraction causing the man to almost miss the narrow vertical opening near its mouth. Pausing at its entrance, he notices it is wide enough to admit him, and it appears to slope gently upward.

  Casting a last, appreciative glance at the spectral walls of the painted canyon, the man enters the blackness of the cave and begins his slow, upward climb. Having already traveled the length of the white-water river, he soon tires and curls up in a slight indentatio
n in the cave’s wall to sleep.

  This time, the man’s rest will not be so uneventful!

  Surfacing slowly from a deep sleep, he experiences the sensation of feathers brushing along one arm. His opening eyes are greeted by one of the strangest sights he has encountered in this world of strange sights.

  It is a caterpillar-like creature clothed in long, hairy filaments that burn with a silvery, ghost-white fire. In place of eyes, it senses its surroundings through feathery antennae that are carefully probing the man’s arm as the beast’s long, distended body quivers.

  Startled by its touch, the man does not know whether the cave-caterpillar is hungry or just curious. Withdrawing farther into the shallow niche, he prepares to defend himself. But as he is unsheathing his hand-axe, the beast suddenly lurches away from him toward a soft scrabbling sound in the tunnel behind them.

  The man hears a crunching noise, like the cracking of exoskeleton, and then . . .

  Deathly silence.

  Moving back into the tunnel, he sees no evidence of the cave-caterpillar or any other creature—be it predator or prey. Only the utter darkness that has returned to extinguish all traces of his recent visitor.

  Continuing his climb, the man is relieved to leave the strange creature behind. He is even more relieved when light appears in the distance ahead.

  Soon, he is standing alone on the burning sands of the open desert.

  The sun is just rising and, blinking at its bright contrast to the darkness of the cave, the man is greeted by a welcome scene.

  He is near the desert’s edge, staring longingly at lush pampas extending in every direction ahead. The high, verdant grassland is dense and inviting, a shelter from the fierce, arid heat of the desert.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  The same sunrise catches the band a day’s march behind and out-of-sight of the man.

  While the leader cannot make out its features, he is heartened by the bright-green haze on the far horizon. His experience since leaving his polar valley tell him green is good.