The Infinity Engines Books 1-3

by Andrew Hastie

  But he could only think of one thing — how Dalton would use it. Josh knew he was supposed to reset the timeline, but first, he wanted to send a message to the Nihil — one that they would never forget.

  Josh looked into Dalton’s dark eyes. ‘You wanted infinite power. Be careful what you wish for!’

  He grabbed Dalton’s left hand and opened his timeline. Now it was no longer protected by the talisman. He could see how the history of the Nihil had woven itself around Dalton’s lifeline like ivy entwining a tree. It was a parasite, burrowing into every part of his life.

  Josh followed the path back into its past, into the many other lives it had ruined, the thousands of worlds it had destroyed. The entity would have been millions of years old if it had lived in the linear, but it was born outside of time, and Josh could taste the hunger it had for aetherium — it needed dark energy the way Lenin needed smack.

  And that was when he realised how to destroy it.

  Using the Infinity Engine, Josh went into the dark void at the end of his own timeline, felt the primal dark energies that lingered there, and let them flow through him and into the demon. Dalton’s eyes glowed as it tasted the power.

  While the Nihil was catatonic, Josh used the engine to accelerate time, watching the frozen world around them change: the snows receded, as grass then flowers and bushes flourished around them. Thousands of years passed in the blink of an eye as Josh dragged the creature through linear time.

  The founder’s training protected Josh, but it was not the same for the Nihil. The first signs of ageing began to show, its long mane of dark hair starting to grey, cracks opening in its carapace armour. Dalton-jinn’s eyes returned to normal, a look of astonishment replacing the ecstatic grin, followed by terror.

  ‘Stop!’ it bellowed, but Josh ignored him. He pushed on: herds of animals lived and died around them in a heartbeat, nomadic tribes flowed over the countryside replaced by farms and villages that turned into towns. Dalton-jinn tried to wrestle his arm free, but it was withered and old now, the being that was trapped inside Dalton’s linear body subject to the same laws of time. His knees weakened, and he fell to the ground, shrunken to a withered old man. It looked up towards Josh. ‘What have you done?’

  Josh knew that the creature had never experienced the flow of time. Not from within the continuum, the maelstrom had no concept of ageing, and it was a terrible, unforgiving weapon — as the founder’s memories had told him, it was the curse of mortality.

  Josh slowed the flow of time and the world around them followed suit.

  ‘You’ve just lived ten thousand lifetimes — getting old is a bitch, and I guess even Djinn have to die sometime,’ Josh said and smiled.

  ‘But not you?’ Dalton-jinn croaked.

  ‘No. Just a little secret my father showed me,’ Josh said, tapping his head.

  Dalton stared down at his hand, the fingers crumbling as he tried to flex them. ‘The Djinn are eternal.’

  ‘Only if they stay in the maelstrom,’ explained Josh, letting go of his withered hand.

  Josh looked down at the Infinity Engine, which was nothing more than a small clockwork sphere now — its energy spent. He raised his hand to strike Dalton, but there was no need. The wind rose, and the desiccated body turned to ash and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  He was standing alone in the lush green valley, one that reminded Josh of Boju where Caitlin had disappeared. Remembering he’d left her back in the Pliocene — Josh located her timeline in the continuum and jumped back.

  118

  Decisions

  Josh followed his timeline back to the spot where he’d left her. He no longer needed a vestige or the engine. It was as though he’d absorbed every part of the continuum, carrying the entire map of time inside his head.

  Caitlin was lying awkwardly on her side. The timesuit ripped open where Dalton-jinn had struck her with his blade. Blood was seeping out through layers of metal.

  ‘Cat?’ Josh whispered, lifting her helmet off.

  He pulled her out of the snow. Her lips were blue, and her skin was deathly pale.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ he asked, tenderly kissing her cheeks and brushing the hair from her face.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked into his eyes.

  ‘Josh?’ she said weakly. ‘Is it over?’

  Josh smiled. ‘Yeah, we did it.’

  Caitlin tried to sit up, but the pain was too great, and tears began to run down her cheeks.

  She shivered, her breath freezing as it left her lips. ‘So, that was your plan? Bring him back here and freeze him to death?’

  Josh laughed. ‘Where did you get the sword?’

  Caitlin sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. ‘Dalton’s, he left it behind. Don’t suppose you have any power left in the engine?’

  Josh shook his head. ‘All gone. We’re on our own now.’

  She winced. ‘Shame could really use a repair right now.’

  Her breathing was shallow, and Josh could see the blood spreading across the white snow.

  ‘Hey. It’s okay,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘I’ve got a plan.’

  She smiled. ‘I know that look. You’ve always got a —’ She coughed, and a trickle of blood ran out of her mouth. ‘I’m getting cold.’

  He looked at the suit. The power indicators were all dead, and he had no idea how to get her out of it.

  Josh looked into her eyes as she closed them sleepily.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep Cat, stay with me. You need to stay awake.’

  He held her close. Her body was limp, like a broken doll.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said dreamily. ‘I know you’ll find a way to fix it.’

  He didn’t know what to do. She was dying in his arms, and he knew that she wouldn’t survive the long jump back to civilisation — they were too far back in the past, and there was nothing he could bring back here to fix her.

  The arctic winds were picking up, and he could feel the cold leaching the heat out of her body.

  Josh opened up the continuum in his mind. There were so many pathways and too many choices; if he chose the wrong one, it would undo everything they’d done to destroy the Nihil. He knew that somewhere in the future the Eschaton was devouring the timeline. His only option was to start again, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having to go through all the agony of Caitlin not recognising him, of his mother’s illness, the death of Gossy — they were all memories too painful to repeat.

  But he could feel her slipping away.

  ‘It’s okay Cat, I’ll find a way,’ he said, rocking her gently as he heard her breathing weaken.

  It was a terrible choice he had to make.

  ‘Cat!’ He buried his face in her hair.

  119

  Beginnings

  [London, UK. Date: 12.016]

  Josh sat on the grass in Churchill Park with his eyes closed, letting the morning sun warm his face. He could hear the laughter of the kids playing on the swings, an innocent, natural sound he’d never realised could be so beautiful.

  It was a moment of peace, one that would be broken shortly by the arrival of the community service team and Mr Bell.

  ‘Are you seriously going to go through with this?’ asked Caitlin, coming back with two ice creams and sitting beside him.

  He took one and smiled at her. She was so beautiful, even when she was looking at him like he was a crazy person.

  ‘I already have,’ he replied, taking a bite of the flake. ‘This is my fifteenth reboot.’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to know the future?’

  ‘Yeah, not sure who came up with that one. Do you know how many variables you have to take into account? It took six attempts just to get back to a reality I even recognise.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Sim!’

  ‘Maybe I should bring him along next time.’

  She punched him on the arm. ‘Anyway, what happens to us every time? Do I remember who you
are?’

  ‘No,’ he grinned, ‘but I’ve got very good at convincing you.’

  She put her arm around him and kissed his neck.

  ‘Sounds like Groundhog Day.’

  He nodded. ‘All I need to do now is get mum the right treatment early enough.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Better, but there’s one more thing I want to try.’

  They watched as a white, beaten-up Bedford van pulled into the street — Mr Bell was at the wheel. The council spared no expense when it came to transportation.

  ‘You’re going to stop yourself going in there?’ she asked, looking over at the colonel’s house.

  Josh shook his head. ‘No. That would be too weird — you are,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ve got an appointment with a neurologist back in 12.010.’

  ‘But, if I do, won’t that stop you from discovering the Order?’

  He smiled. ‘I think you’ll find that’s why I’m called the Paradox.’

  1

  Archangel

  Michael had been named after an angel.

  His mother was a staunch Catholic who loved the stories of the saints and had read them to him every night in bed. Until when, at the age of eight, Michael discovered comics like 2000AD, and so ended his religious education.

  It was a popular name in Ireland; there were two other boys in his class named after the leader of Heaven’s army. But Michael had always preferred his other role — the angel of death.

  His father worked nights as a taxi driver. Leaving them every evening with his flask of coffee and Tupperware box of sandwiches to trawl the streets of Ulster in his black cab.

  Every morning, just before his father came home, Michael would wake and wonder if this was the day he would kill him.

  When he was thirteen, his father had started to bring home presents for his mother — pieces of jewellery that he’d ‘taken as payment’, he told them once at the breakfast table as he opened the whisky.

  It was a strange existence, getting ready for school while your father was winding down from a night shift. He would sit and chat with them over cornflakes, getting mildly drunk. Then when his eyes began to glaze over he would go and watch the football he’d recorded on a VHS from the night before — no one was allowed to tell him the result. He considered that a mortal sin.

  At first Michael hadn’t paid much attention to the gifts because they seemed to make his mother so happy, but over the next two years he began to notice a pattern — he couldn’t help it; there was something in the way his dad acted just before another gift appeared. He got snappy, agitated and aggressive for no reason, and then after the gift appeared, he would turn into a different person altogether. Michael would never forget the day his mother asked him to help her put one of the necklaces on — it was as if God was showing him the way.

  The moment he touched the golden chain something exploded inside his head. It was like a firework of images fizzing around in his mind, their trails spinning around in front of his eyes.

  They were the random memories of a stranger, one moment in a pub, the next outside the kebab shop on Dock Street waiting for a bus. Everything was jumbled and out of sequence. Michael thought he was having some kind of religious vision until his purple-faced father appeared, his eyes wild with rage as he tried to strangle him.

  Michael dropped the necklace and ran out through the garden and up into the back field. When he reached the stream he threw up.

  Sitting on the bank, watching his breakfast float slowly away between the watercress and the plastic bottles, Michael wondered if it could have been some kind of revelation. That after all that praying, his mother had finally got her miracle; her only son had been blessed with visions.

  Except it told him that his father was the Ulster Ripper.

  It was late 70s in Northern Ireland, a time when the police were focused on dealing with the internal conflicts between the IRA and the Ulster Defence Force. No one seemed to have paid any particular attention to the disappearance of a string of young women, mostly prostitutes, from the streets of Belfast.

  With patrols on permanent watch throughout the city, it seemed impossible to believe that someone would go on a killing spree, but Michael had been following the story for the last eighteen months. The papers would quickly lose interest in the gaps between the murders, but every time a new body was found on waste ground, his mother would receive another gift.

  Michael had prayed to all the saints for guidance, but none had been forthcoming.

  Until now.

  2

  Memories

  Caitlin had always thought of her life as divided into two halves: the innocent time while death was a mystery and life was full of wonder, followed by the painful reality of knowing.

  Most other ten-year-olds were still puzzling over the existence of Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy when she had to deal with the loss of her parents. ‘Loss’ was probably too weak a word; she hadn’t misplaced them, they were taken from her on one seemingly normal Saturday in July.

  The details of their last goodbye were burned into Caitlin’s memory: the way they snapped at each other at the breakfast table, the sunlight that caught her mother’s hair when she hugged her for the last time — holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe.

  Caitlin cherished every moment, again and again.

  She stood in the garden of their old house and watched her younger self through the kitchen window as she waved goodbye to her parents. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Caitlin felt the heartache once more.

  No one should put themselves through this, she told herself. Grief and loss were supposed to dull with time, as the brain slowly filtered out the pain. But Caitlin had the benefit of time, or rather the ability to travel back through it. She could come back and open the wound in her heart whenever she felt like it, and did so far too often.

  It had started as a way to remember them. Coming back here after the Dreadnoughts had officially called off the search — there were no bodies, no victims — other than herself. She could still feel the wet whiskers of her guardian, Rufius, sobbing as he held her, struggling to find the right words to tell her they were gone.

  For a long time she refused to accept it. Viewing the same scene a thousand times from a hundred different angles, looking for any kind of clue, but it was always the same: her parents went off on their mission with a look of grim determination — the argument of the night before still hanging over them.

  It was a terrible fight. One that she couldn’t bring herself to revisit — she didn't have to, the memory of it was etched into her soul. Sitting halfway up the stairs, she shivered in her nightdress and stifled her cries into her teddy bear.

  Raised voices had woken her from a dreamless sleep. At the time the words they used were complex, technical terms that her young mind couldn’t process, but there was one thing her mother had said that would stay with her forever.

  ‘She can’t die, Thomas, we can’t let her die!’

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  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to everyone who continues to support me. You’re all amazing, but most of all to Karen and the girls!

  This has been an interesting year. Leaving my full-time job and starting my own company feels like the start of a whole new adventure. I’d like to thank everyone that’s bought my books (and especially those that have left me a review!), without your support I wouldn’t be able to do this…

  About the Author

  For more information about The Infinity Engines series and other Here Be Dragons books please visit: www.infinityengines.com

  Please don’t forget to leave a review!

  Thank you!

  Andy x