Eden's Jester

by Ty Beltramo

  “Mr. Aeson will see you now, sir,” she said with another bow. She took me down a hall and up some stairs to another level.

  In a large room, Aeson was alone--except for about a dozen stuffed lions, tigers, and other large cats. If there were an Interior Designer Discipline, they’d have had an aneurism at this aesthetic travesty. The room was a mishmash of English antiques, southwestern pottery and furniture, stuffed animals, and Chinese art. The most unsettling thing, however, was the glass wall that constituted an entire side of the room. Behind the glass was a nature scene of tropical plants and rocks—and lots of spider webs. Something stirred within. I stepped over to get a closer look. Staring back at me from under a large leafy fern was the largest spider I had ever seen. It was as big as a large house cat, and it didn’t look like one of those fat, slow spiders, either.

  “Nice place you have here, Aeson. Who’s your decorator?” I asked.

  Aeson stood behind a desk made of a slice cut from what looked like a petrified Sequoia. He leaned forward, knuckles to wood, reading something. He didn’t look up from his work.

  “No one you know, Elson. Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, if you please. I’m busy and you’re a pest. What do you want?”

  Ah. He was grumpy. That meant things were not going according to plan, which meant that Aeson wasn’t staging this whole thing, probably.

  “What’s with the pet?” I asked.

  “Nostalgia, mostly. One of our best developments, I believe.”

  “One of your best developments is the man-eating spider?” I asked.

  He looked up from his work and was about to answer, but stopped and frowned. “Where on earth did you get that suit?” he asked.

  “It was a gift,” I said.

  With a wave of the hand he dismissed the issue and walked over to the wall. “Look at it. It is the perfect killing machine. By its very nature, it forces other creatures to be better, stronger--or they die and are replaced. The spider is one of the best innovations in evolution through competition.”

  “Kind of direct, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “Really? Do you know why people fear spiders, Elson? I’ll tell you. Because ages ago, deep in human pre-history, assets such as my friend there roamed most areas inhabited by people. Spiders were much larger then, capable of killing and eating a fully-grown human. Fear of them and competition with them forced man to overcome his weakness and to fight. After millennia of conflict, the humans won and the great spiders disappeared. It is a pity, but these marvelous creatures fulfilled their purpose. Now man is better for it, though some of the residual racial memories of the horror remain. So people fear their smaller brethren still.” He looked wistfully into the tank, obviously remembering the good old days of killer spiders and missing children.

  Charming.

  “You really believe that that kind of competition, that kind of horror, is a healthy means of evolution?” I asked.

  “Certainly. Though, admittedly most of my company do not agree. Most believe that man competing with man and with his environment is a sufficient and more humane approach.

  “But you should have seen it in the old days. The heights that true horror led men to . . . were far beyond what we achieve today. It was a golden age when men struggled to be on the top of the food chain instead of somewhere significantly lower. It led men down from the trees and into the cities. It brought us to where we are. But we have stalled, I think . . .” He trailed off into another wistful silence, gazing lovingly into all eight eyes of the spider.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Aeson, but the Discipline of Society doesn’t employ Engineers from Biology, or Creep-ology. So how’d you manage to develop said monsters?”

  “You would be surprised, Elson, at how many in the Discipline of Biology were eager to experiment in that manner. In fact, their farms were full of possibilities in those days.”

  Engineers in the Bio Disciplines called their labs “farms.” I guess it sounded more wholesome that way. They’re very secretive about them, and it’s difficult to get a tour. They’ve been criticized often over the eons for creating what they should not. You’d think this wouldn’t be hard to figure out. No one complained about things like oranges and grapefruit. But that poison ivy thing was a complete debacle. And don’t get me started about the poppy; like that was a good idea. In my book, giant man-eating anything fell into the category of “don’t-try-this-at-home.”

  I decided to change the subject before I got sick, and moved away from Fluffy, Pet of Death, to sit on a strange chair made of what looked like a frozen cactus.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not making any friends in North America, Aeson,” I said.

  He spun to face me. “You are a bloody prophet, Elson. But friendship is not exactly my priority at the moment. I’m sure you’ve heard about my agents in North America. That was an act of war, not friendship.”

  “Yeah. I heard about that. Pity.” I snapped a thorn off the chair and examined it. “Is this chair supposed to be comfortable?”

  Aeson stepped toward me and looked ready to explode, or implode, or do something sudden.

  “It’s a work of art, you idiot. It’s not supposed to be functional,” he growled. “Now, I am busy. So please, either tell me what you want or get out. I have things to do.”

  “Right. Busy. I got that. I’m here to help.”

  “Help? How?”

  “I’m going to find out why someone is seriously pissed at you. As it seems that this is the case.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Elson, what makes you think I want you snooping around in my affairs?”

  I stood up to get away from the chair-thing. “Well, for starters I think you don’t have a clue.” I was pretty sure about that, since I knew that at least one mythical creature was involved. “And I think you need to know. You’re flying blind and it’s a bad time for that, I’m guessing.”

  Aeson focused on me. I had gotten his attention. “And how will you do that?”

  “I have contacts in key places who will help me figure out what’s going on. You know me. I can get into the nooks and crannies and ferret out the truth. Once I find out, I’ll tell you, and we can all be happy buddies again. No one will have to hold anyone hostage.”

  “You’re referring to Diomedes, I presume,” he said. I wondered how many other hostages he had. His posture changed slightly. But it was enough to reveal that I didn’t really understand what was going on. He was becoming threatened. Not what I expected. “How did you know about that?” he asked.

  “Like I said, I have contacts in key places. I’ll find out what’s at the bottom of it. Trust me. I’ll leave no stone unturned. You get the idea. I’ve already made inquiries with my sources inside of Thought.”

  He considered that for a moment, then the ambient energy in the room went to just south of nil. Which meant I was trapped. Without access to ambient energy, I’d have to convert some form of mass into energy to do anything, and that would be tricky and dangerous. I still couldn’t manage it without catastrophic results. Typically, I was after catastrophic results, so that normally wasn’t a problem. But in this case, I couldn’t risk doing anything that might make it more difficult to find Diomedes in the future.

  “Unfortunate for you, Elson,” he said. Several enforcers appeared instantly and surrounded me. “Secure that idiot,” Aeson said, pointing my way. There must have been other idiots about, and he wanted to avoid any confusion.

  “Come on Aeson,” I said as I felt sticky tendrils entangling my soul. I was caught. “I really am here to help, man.”

  Aeson touched something on his desk and a wall panel slide away, revealing an elevator. He stepped in and turned to face me. “Time to go, Elson. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow. Rough hands pushed me forward.

  The elevator descended a few stories before opening into another large room. Art deco polished steel and light wood panels gave the room a futuristic-retro look that the rich seeme
d to like. It felt like a museum to me.

  We exited the elevator and I became aware of more enforcers in the shadows.

  There was only one other feature in the room, a large vault door that looked like it had been stolen from Fort Knox. It was perhaps twenty feet in diameter and round except for the flat side that held the massive hinges.

  Six impressive low-brows stood guard. That made more than twenty tough guys protecting this place. Whatever Aeson had down here, he wanted it kept safe. He was making a major blunder, cluing me in to its existence. How could I resist such temptation in the future?

  The vault door opened silently and I was practically carried through. The room beyond was an indoor zoo. Row after row of cages, some stacked five high, were filled with all manner of creatures I didn’t recognize. Most were reptilian or arachnoid. There were many more terrariums filled with Fluffy’s giant-spider cousins. One leapt toward the glass as we passed. Another sat on a branch, leisurely cleaning its fangs. I slowed to take a closer look. The thing stopped its preening and met my stare. It looked smart.

  “What are you doing here, Aeson? These things don’t look legal,” I said.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he led us down the middle aisle of the room to the far end, where other cages, the prison kind, were filled with people. Men, women, and children huddled together, trying to stay as far away from the caged monsters as possible. They didn’t look healthy. Stress and general neglect had taken a toll on their bodies and spirits.

  I looked back at the animals in the cages. They were well tended and fed.

  A door at the end of aisle opened and two thugs brought out some sort of lawn ornament and placed it on a table near the cells. The thing looked like an ancient birdbath covered in runes. I recognized the language as a pre-human Engineering dialect that looked like a cross between hieroglyphics and trigonometry formulas. I couldn’t read it, but more than once I’d wished I could. It was before my time.

  The birdbath existed in all the planes I could see. That meant it wasn’t made in America. The thing was alien. I doubted it could be destroyed easily, or at least not without serious side effects.

  Aeson approached the table and placed his hands on the birdbath. I noticed that grey breeze of non-energy again, this time much stronger. Some of the people began to whimper.

  “I have never understood why you pester me so, Elson. I don’t recall ever doing anything to you--until now.”

  I looked around. The thugs had me surrounded and were controlling access to the other planes, I was certain. I’d been in tighter spots. But this one was pretty tight.

  “I don’t know what you’re all excited about, Aeson. I really am trying to help resolve this mess,” I said. That grey breeze was becoming a wind.

  “Maybe, Elson. But it doesn’t matter, now. You see, while you’ve been an eternal pain, you’ve only been a pain--a mere nuisance. Now, you risk much more. So, I’m afraid I must neutralize you entirely. Say hello to my friends. I’m sure they shall enjoy you.” I didn’t like the way he said “enjoy.” Not one bit. He smiled. “Good-bye, Elson.”

  The room colors swam and began to blend together as a grey mist obscured them. I tried to gather enough energy to resist the pull of the vortex, but Aeson and his brutes were limiting the ambient energy fields.

  I decided to go for the catastrophic results. Blindly, I commanded any matter within my sphere of control to disband. Almost none heeded my will. But some did. I heard a large crash and glass cages shattering. I managed to see, as though through a veil, a Fluffy leap upon one of the enforcers and tear at his head. He ran in circles screaming, with a giant spider for a face. He tripped over something and went down, crashing through another set of cages. Spiders went everywhere. Some scampered toward the human prisoners, who screeched in terror. Others made haste toward the door. Uh oh.

  Before I could do anything else, I was sucked into a void of vacuum and cold. In an instant, the room and everything else was gone, replaced by a monotone grey world utterly lacking in any features, sounds, energy, or space--the waterless place, the Abyss.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  This was bad. Engineers could not be destroyed. At least, no one had ever destroyed one. But there existed the Abyss: a prison meant to permanently extinguish, for all practical purposes, any Engineer. There were no landmarks, no way to find anything. The world was featureless and it was infinite and it had no doors. Frozen grey was the sum of it. No one escaped.

  I groped for any scrap of energy or matter that I might use to try to affect an escape. There was none. My body had been stripped from me. The place was empty. Completely. It was so empty that I wondered if my soul itself was in jeopardy. I always viewed my soul as an imprint embossed upon energy and mass. Neither existed here. How long could I survive? I didn’t feel like I was wasting away. But how long would that last? As far as I knew, no one had ever studied the effects of long-term Abyss-mal imprisonment.

  I floated along, paralyzed, extending my senses in every direction as far as they would go.

  Nothing. Not even any background noise from the multiverse. The place was as sterile as a vacuum. For all I knew, I was the only artifact in the whole place. Actually, now that I thought about it, I preferred it that way. There were ancient stories of the beginnings of earth that told of nasty characters who were so bad that the Designers themselves imprisoned them here. My guess is that they’d make poor company.

  You didn’t get imprisoned in the Abyss for being a Good Samaritan--except in my case, of course.

  Crap.

  How had it come to this? Sending me here was completely off the reservation, even for a creep like Aeson. He certainly wasn’t allowed to do it. Without a fair trial it was forbidden. And it shouldn’t have been so easy. Opening a portal to the Abyss was hard. You normally needed several very senior Engineers, and protocol demanded that they be a balanced group of both Law and Chaos. For Aeson to be able to do it with ease meant he had found some big guns. It also meant his opponents were going to be very surprised. Man! How does that guy keep getting away with stuff like this?

  Oh well. I couldn’t do a thing about it. My new job, thanks to that idiot Aeson, was to float around in the largest sensory deprivation tank in the multiverse and just think. Nice. I figured that after one or two millennia of that I’d go quite insane. It wouldn’t be a pleasant journey, either. Stage One would involve trying to find a way out. That would last perhaps a few years. Then I’d give up and pass the time by trying to sleep, something Engineers didn’t do. Then I’d start to hear voices. That little voice deep inside me—the one that keeps trying to kill me, but was now conspicuously silent—would probably be one of them. At first they’d just be voices. But they would grow to become the new Elsons of my schizophrenia. Then we’d begin to argue. From there it’d be all downhill.

  Any love I’d had for Aeson went right out the window.

  The cruelty of the Abyss was now clear. Who made it, and why? Perhaps it was a natural by-product of a multi-plane universe. Maybe the Abyss was the place between planes. There was no way to tell. But whether it was intended or an accident, having access to it was certainly a piece of knowledge that had come from somewhere, and I had a good idea where--just one more reason why I’d like to give the Designers a good smack on the head, if they had one. They’d supplied everything we would ever need to accomplish their goals, Aello had said. To me, they had provided everything we needed to make war and misery for the world and ourselves, while providing little training, vague guidance, and no accountability. We were kids with atom bombs.

  And where were they? Some of the faithful maintained that they had never left, that they were simply hiding their presence from us, guiding us from an unseen vantage point. Well, if that were so, they were doubly guilty. Leaving us to ourselves would be reason enough to pound them. Sitting back and watching us while we struggled was inexcusable.

  Their stated purpose was progress toward perfection. Why not go right to the perfection?
But as much as I wanted to thrash the Designers, I knew deep down that the real dilemma was not rooted in their transgression, but in our lack of understanding. No. Our understanding of their plans and purposes was incomplete. That was certain. The party line was only a piece of the puzzle, a puzzle I’d been trying to put together for a long time.

  Well, I had plenty of time to consider the problem. There was nothing else to do. The only thing in this world was me, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  With nothing else to do, I turned my senses inward and began to study my own soul. The familiar latticework was comforting, like seeing home after a long absence. I was always intrigued by the structure and form of the inner being. Most Engineers paid little attention to it. It was basically immutable and immune to external forces. The only way to alter it, other than through a Psychic Duel, was to alter yourself. That took time, talent, and perseverance. Studying the inner makeup of others always provided me valuable information.

  The paradox of the soul is that it’s both simple and complex. Whatever it’s made of is one thing, one substance. There isn’t the complex molecular composition of elements that make up the physical aspect of a human. At the same time, the arrangements and patterns that are formed with that ethereal substance are wondrously complex. They are unique and fascinating--like art. I was always partial to my own inner artwork. But that’s probably true of everyone. There’s some natural affinity between one’s inner self and one’s opinion of one’s inner self.

  I’ve always liked myself.

  I followed the familiar patterns and junctions, trying again to see something new. The same scars were there, shadows of past Psychic Duels. Every once in a while I’d identify some new configuration or some previously unnoticed pulse.

  As I traced the lattices around toward the center of my soul, something struck me as odd. I couldn’t quite place it, but something was different. Something marred the familiar symmetry of the fractal patterns I was used to. But it was subtle, more a feeling of wrongness, a spot. I struggled to see it, but the harder I tried the more it slipped to the edge of my vision. I changed my vantage point and rotated in many directions, trying to see what it was. At last, I could see it: a thread, gossamer-like, intertwined around and throughout the core of my soul. It was so fine that it would be hidden from a normal perspective.