Unnatural Time
An Infinity, Ltd. Tale
Julio Angel Ortiz
Vox Camera Ltd.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Julio Angel Ortiz
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“It only takes seven seconds for the world to end each time?” Peter found himself asking.  
Mr. Kite, his burgundy pinstriped suit an elegant drape over a rail-thin frame, smiled with a smugness Peter recognized as being reserved for children.  Peter was starting to already dislike this man.  Intensely.
“Yes.  That's why they're called 'The Seven-Second Empires,' my young, winged friend.”  Mr. Kite favored Peter with a smile that resembled tombstones.
Peter hated it whenever anyone called attention to his wings.  It never failed to amaze him that people would not call attention to all sorts of things before calling him on his wings.  Perpetually half-drunk bottle of Scotch in hand?  Barely a glance.  The Cuban cigar with the faint vanilla aroma jutting out from his mouth?  Nobody would even humor him with a cough; not even a sneeze. His kodachi sword slung over his shoulder?  Airport security never picked up on it.  Even his diminutive, barely clothed frame never caught the attention of overzealous supermarket managers and talk-show hosts.
It was the wings.  Every.  Damn.  Time.
Peter mustered a grumble, and Palequus, peering into the the glass case, bony jaw agape, finally spoke.
“Well, that's mighty impressive,” he said.  “But, how do you compensate for such a rapidly changing state of affairs?  We're sitting here, watching this accelerated history unfold, but I must say- and I believe myself to be a fairly intelligent man, or something approximating one, at least- that we are grasping much more information than would be allotted in seven seconds.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Kite asked, but his smile betrayed the  feigned ignorance.
Palequus waved him off.  “Come off it, you know what I mean!  Look, Peter and I have been sitting here for all of, what?  Two minutes?  So we've experienced a little over seventeen iterations of history inside this glass case?  But the details that I remember witnessing would imply a greater length of observation.  For example, that last history... say, ten seconds ago now?  The Mayans were never conquered, they swarmed all over the world, and then extended their empire into space.”  Palequus swallowed hard.  “And were those really two-kilometer tall squid-like beings they were warring with on that gas giant?”
“Impressive, isn't it?” Mr. Kite said, his smile lingering.
“'Obvious', meet 'statement',” Peter said, eyes rolling.
Palequus ignored him, absent-mindedly running a hand over his bald head.  “But how does it work?”
Mr. Kite stepped around the glass case quickly, more so than Peter would have expected given the former's walking cane.  Mr. Kite was not a man of advanced years- at least, not advanced by Peter's scale.  He gauged the showman to be around fifty human years of age, which was still a sturdy age in the twenty-first century, at least according to Palequus.  Mr. Kite's build made him deceptively older, Peter thought, before once again focusing on their guide's response.
“Well, this one is not so much of a secret, I suppose.  You see, the glass surrounding the display is deceiving; that is not actually glass that you're peering through.”  Mr. Kite tapped a finger on the side of the case.  “At its most basic, it can be described as a type of multi-sided monitor.  It encodes the information from the historic feed and processes it in a way that people can perceive, but includes a hidden extra layer of information that your brain processes as memetic visuals, which are then stored as memories.”
“So,” Peter said slowly, “I only think that I remember seeing Mayans in space, but it was really encoded there?”
“After a fashion,” Mr. Kite responded.
“That's bloody brilliant!” Palequus beamed.  
“Yes, apparently so,” Peter deadpanned.
Mr. Kite was blushing and waved Palequus off.  “Well, really, it's nothing at all.”
“No, my good man, that's rather impressive!  Don't you think so, Peter?”
Peter gave a non-committal nod.  Where Palequus saw modesty, Peter  saw deception.  The suit, the shoes, and the way Mr. Kite's cane would suddenly not be a hindrance to his movement... it smelled rotten to Peter.
And Palequus was, unsurprisingly, clueless to all of this.
I dislike this man, Peter thought again.  Intensely.
***
As Peter hovered over Palequus' shoulder, even he had to admit that Hot'eph looked somewhat interesting.
They were before a figure sitting on a short dais cordoned off with cranberry-colored rope.  The seated figure wore white robes that reminded Peter of ancient Rome (“Ah, simpler times,” he reminisced),  gently conforming to a thin body that stood stone still.  The hands and neck were olive-skinned, with Hot'eph's lanky arms allowing his (Her? Peter wondered) hands to rest on his knees.  Hot'eph's short neck ended a few inches up, and in place of a head has a large pyramid-shaped helmet.  The pyramid gripped Hot'eph's neck tightly, and Peter wondered how Hot'eph could breathe.  The helmet was a pale gold color, with numerous runes inscribed all about.  On the face of the helmet was etched a graphic of an eye, and within the iris of that eye was a smaller copy.  Several buttons, in the shape of tiny bricks, jutted out from the underneath the dual eyes.  
Palequus' hollow gaze did not disengage from Hot'eph.  With a pallid hand gripping his sharp chin, he asked, “What's his story?”
Mr. Kite smiled and nodded quickly, as if anticipating the question, and moved forward a few steps.  “Hot'eph, the Living Paradox,” he said at length.
Palequus let out a chuckle.  “What?”
Mr. Kite put up his hands in a contrite gesture.  “Well, 'Hot'eph' is just a stage name.  What his real name was, I don't think anyone knows.  But the story goes like this:  he was supposedly a scientist who dabbled in time travel.  One experiment landed him in the past, and he fell in love with a woman, with whom he wound up fathering a child. I say “wound up fathering a child” because you know the time traveling types, they just don't settle down and raise families.  Anyhow, you can probably see where this is headed.”
“Did he time travel back to western Pennsylvania?” Peter interjected.
“No,” Mr. Kite responded, as his eyes narrowed and quizzical smile crept across his face.  “This occurred in Missouri.”
“Never mind,” Peter said.
Mr. Kite nodded politely.  “So, as I was saying, he time traveled back and fathered a child.  However, he wound up fathering his own father.  This man became so disgusted with himself that he wished to commit suicide.  However, time travelers being time travelers, nothing is ever so simple, and instead of offing himself in the present, we waited until he was born and then attempted to kill himself as a baby.”
Palequus whistled.  “There's a thesis in there somewhere, waiting to be written.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Kite continued, “but either way, he was successful, and this drew the attention of a powerful alien race. They were afraid that such a paradox- any paradox, to be precise, would threaten to unravel all of creation, so they fitted his head with this pyramid, which contains a micro-singularity to siphon the temporal energy being given off by his constant of flux between existence and non-existence.  This is why he never moves.”
“Amazing,” Palequus said, looking from Peter back to Mr. Kite.  “How does it work?”
“How does what work?” Mr. Kite asked.
“The pyramid.”
“Oh,” Mr. Kite said, laughing a polite, stale laugh that grated on Peter.  “I'm sorry, but there are some things I cannot reveal.  Certain trade secrets, and all of that.”
“Indeed,” Palequus said, staring back at Hot'eph.
“Don't you find it inhumane to keep him here, Mr. Kite?” Peter chimed in.  
“Oh, not at all!” Mr. Kite said, a note of defensiveness tinting his voice.  “When I found him,  he was in some closet gathering dust. I purchased-”
“Purchased?” Palequus interrupted, his head tilting a little. 
“He was in a traveling carnival before, one of those Vaudeville revival types.  It went under, and I purchased some of the assets for the cavalcade.”
Palequus nodded, and then turned to Peter.  “Well, Pete, I think we've taken up enough of Mr. Kite's time, don't you think?”  Before Peter could respond, Palequus added, “Let's go.”
***
The sun scorched the earth a deep golden color, like honey, as Palequus and Peter roamed about the Cavalcade grounds.
The Cavalcade of Unnatural History (as Mr. Kite liked to call his great attraction) appeared to Peter to be, on the surface, no different than any of the Vaudeville revival acts that Mr. Kite had derided earlier.  There were tents and stands, offering a variety of shows and services that were not out of the normal, save for their very peculiar attractions.  The food, however, was remarkably mundane; hot dogs and popcorn, soda and candy.  Peter had hoped to find some funnel cake; it had been years since he had eaten a decent batch, and Mr. Kite's oversight for that particular delicacy bordered on criminal.
Still, the Cavalcade offered unique advantages for which Peter was grateful.  Being filled with unique, occasionally grotesque attractions meant that Palequus and Peter had no need to disguise themselves; a retired Grim Reaper and a discharged cherub were old hat in these parts.
Peter looked over at Palequus, who was deep in thought as they walked.  It struck him as odd how his his skeletal face, with high forehead and perfect row (and view) of teeth, were not incongruous in this environment.  Even the smooth contours of the dark hoodie sweater, charcoal-gray collar shirt, and comfortable, loose-fit blue jeans, each looking far from having come from a local shopping mall but rather finely crafted in some Italian establishment, failed to garner a second look from passersby.
Maybe if Palequus pulled out his pockets, they'd take notice, Peter thought, smiling.
Palequus chose that moment to look back at Peter.  “What's so funny?”
Peter coughed.  “Just thinking about your guns,” Peter said, lowering his head slightly, indicating Palequus' hoodie.  Palequus' mouth opened slightly, something Peter had learned passed for regular human pursing their lips.  
Palequus patted the left side of his sweater.  “Safe and sound, my friend.”
“Anyhow,” Peter said, “what were you thinking about so long and hard since we left your buddy, Mr. Kite?”
“I was thinking,” Palequus said, looking ahead, “how full of it he is.”
Peter's eyebrows furrowed.  “You think the Seven-Second Empires are fake?”
“No, no,” Palequus said.  “He showed too much pride in that to be lying.  Plus, there wasn't much of a need to lie; I mean, what would impressing us get him?”
Peter shook his head. “You don't think he knows about us, right?  About what we do?”
“I think he does, actually,” Palequus said.  “That's why I'm concerned.  He got a little too protective of Hot'eph.”
Peter noticed Palequus slowing down, something having caught his  attention.  For a moment, Peter wondered why Palequus had stopped, until he felt it too.
It was as if sound had been given form. The air become etched with rolling waves all around them, and everything slowed down.  Sounds stretched out for minutes, a breath becoming a symphony for the discontent.  Peter felt his wings become freeze-frame captures, stutter-stepping in a lazy rhythm.  He turned towards Palequus, screaming, “What is happening?”  His words leaked out in lolling tones, taking what seemed like hours to come out.  Peter's tongue felt trapped in quicksand; the air continued to fracture into wave forms.
And, in a blink, it was gone.
“What the hell was that?” Peter gasped.
Palequus did not respond, but moved quickly towards one of the tents.  Peter followed, and slowed his forward moment and hovered in place, looking up at a fading sign on the nearby tent:
THE ALTERNATE ROOMS
COME SEE WHAT LIFE COULD HAVE BEEN LIKE
Three immediate instances popped into Peter's head.  He settled on “I don't want to know what life could have been like.”  But by the time he had finished his sentence, Palequus had already ducked inside the tent.
***
“Welcome, gentlemen!” Mr. Kite said, greeting Palequus and Peter just inside the entrance of the Alternate Rooms.
“What?” Peter said.  “Did you high-step it across the grounds?  There's no way you could have made it over here that quickly.”  Peter appraised Mr. Kite.  “Let's be honest, you don't exactly look like Mr. Spry Guy.” 
Mr. Kite laughed and waved away Peter's concern.  “Nonsense, my boy.  You must have just missed me.”
“I doubt it.”
“I'm quite fast, you know.”
“Wanna race?”
Palequus cleared his throat.  “I think we can take Mr. Kite at his word, Peter.”
Peter looked back at Mr. Kite.  “I'm fairly certain I'd win, anyhow.”
“Anyway,” Palequus sternly, then lightly to Mr. Kite, “as you were saying?”
Mr. Kite smiled politely.  “I take it you would like to try the Alternate Rooms?”
Palequus nodded.  “I'm definitely interested.  But what is it exactly?  The sign out front said something about what life could have been like?”
“That's the beauty of these rooms,” Mr. Kite offered.
When nothing else was forthcoming, Peter asked, “Okay, what the hell does that mean, exactly?”
Mr. Kite stepped to the side.  “Why don't you discover for yourselves?”  He nodded graciously towards them.
Palequus and Peter glanced at each other, and it was the former who spoke first.  “Why don't you give us a hint?” he said uneasily.
Mr. Kite nodded, and said, “That's fair.  Ask yourselves, has there ever been a choice that you regretted?”
“Oh, God,” Peter said, clutching at his stomach.
“Forgive my friend,” Palequus said.  “His stomach's never agreed with philosophy since the last time we were in Greece.”
“If it weren't for-”
“Shut it, Cupid,” Palequus said hastily.
Mr. Kite ignored their banter.  “The rooms offer you a glimpse of what your life could have been like given... other circumstances.”
“You mean an alternate reality?” Palequus asked.
“Something like that.  See for yourselves.”
Mr. Kite lead the way, as Palequus followed and Peter hovered close behind.  They moved down a hallway of crimson curtains, billowing enough to show the entrance to several rooms.  Mr. Kite stopped before one of them.  “Peter, this will be your room.”
Peter looked skeptically at the curtains. “And?”
Mr. Kite looked puzzled.  “And what?”
“What do I do?”
Mr. Kite smiled.  “It's a room, Peter. You go in.”
There's that tone again.
“No,” Peter said through gritted teeth, “What do I do once I'm inside?”
“Oh.”  Mr. Kite nodded appreciatively.  “You just wait.  After a few moments, the room will configure itself for you, and then the fun begins.”
“Right,” Peter deadpanned, and then favored Palequus with another pleading look.  Palequus responded with the barest of nods, which Peter knew from years of experience meant, We're here to do a job.  And that meant that Peter would have to suck it up.  Again.
After a conciliatory glance towards Palequus, Peter entered through the red curtains.
***
Peter was terrified in a way he had not been in a long time.
The moment he had entered the room, he was disappointed.  It was a room with a single wooden chair that was severely used, and a full-length mirror beside it.  The mirror was cracked, spidery lines fingering across the surface of a milky reflection.  Aside from the faint scent of cherry wood, the room was a void of utilitarian space.  Peter moved closer to the mirror, and found his reflection to cause him a small amount of discomfort.  He tried to think of why; it had never bothered him before, except for that business in Venice with the Light Vampires.  Moving closer, he began to get a sense of where his unease was coming from.
His reflection was not moving in sync with him.
It was subtle, and barely perceptible, but his reflection was a fraction of a second slower than he was.  He drew closer to the mirror, and saw his reflection was leaving behind a trail of copies of himself, each frozen in distorted waves.  Peter looked behind himself and, when he did not see that he himself was leaving a trail, felt vaguely foolish and turned back around.
And that's when he saw the Eye.
It was a yawning darkness that consumed the mirror, a pulpy, mottled thing that was gazed at him with a horrible Medusa stare.  Where there should have been white was a distilled pale gray, which reminded Peter of cadavers.  The iris was dense darkness, a black that appeared much older than anything Peter could remember, something so lacking in life that they could have been made of entropy.  And for a horrifying moment, Peter imagined tendrils of shadows slithering out from the mirror and gripping him in a dance of fear.  
Peter could not remember when he had ever felt this terrified.
Perhaps it was never.  The Eye appeared to agree.
And just then, the air was displaced from the room.  Peter found it difficult to breathe, and ripples snaked through the air, shattering the stillness and the shadowy tendrils from the Eye in the mirror.  Cracks appeared in the air around him, and through those cracks leaked light.
Peter could not help but be grateful to Mr. Kite for activating the Room- if that was indeed what was happening now- at just the right time.
Until the thought came to him that the Eye had come for him.  And that was when he was was overtaken by darkness.
***
Palequus was not impressed with the light show.
The cracking air and ripples of light were probably, in Palequus' opinion, more for show, something Mr. Kite concocted to dazzle his guests. Palequus,having a broader range of experience, thought it was visually appealing but little more.
The shunting feeling, however, was impressive, as was the moment he appeared on the battlefield.
It took a moment for Palequus to reorient himself and take in the scenery.  The first thing he noticed was the river of blood cutting a path down the hillside.  He followed the vermilion flow up to a massive head, easily three stories in height, on its side and half-buried into the ground.  The skin was a faint shade of blue, with high, sharp cheekbones whose tips jutted out of the skin like splinters.  A massive forked tongue lolled out of the mouth, draping over the Sabertooth fangs.  The nose was flat, barely a mound of flesh with two vertical slits on the surface.  Above them was a sickly yellow, narrow eye, half-shut and favoring Palequus with an uncomfortable stair.
Frost Giants, he thought to himself.
But why were they here?  Or rather, where was he?  And as he took in the gruesome scene around him, Palequus began to understand:  he was on Earth.
But it was no Earth he remembered.  The land before him was filled with slaughter and war.
He saw several Frost Giants, standing hundreds of feet in the air, armed with obsidian swords, taut blue skin clothed with dragon scales and skulls.  Engaging the Giants were humans, armed with great wooden machinery that almost matched the Giants in height.  The wooden monstrosities took on various shapes that Palequus recognized:  winged birds, elephants, and automatons.  Huge catapults hurled swirling blades at the Giants, some missing, others embedding in the chests or eyes of the Giants.  The battle raged as far as Palequus could see; untold numbers of Giants engaging humans and their war machines, with atrocities being committed in plain view and without moral restraint.  The landscape was littered with the bodies of Giants, humans, and wreckage.  In the distance, cities burned.  
This isn’t right. 
Just then a Giant turned and took notice Palequus. It roared, and reached down into the earth, pulling a building off the ground like a toy. He then hurled it at Palequus.
As the building approached, Palequus found himself dissolving into light, and finally, disappeared into nothingness.
***
Palequus and Peter found themselves back in an empty room with crimson curtains.  They were on their knees, and Palequus noticed that Peter was shaken up.
“You’re never this shaken up,” Palequus commented.
“You didn’t see what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Darkness.”
Palequus’ eyebrow furrowed. “You’re not the philosophical type.”
“I’m still not.” Peter allowed a beat to pass, then asked, “How about you? What did you see?”
Palequus shook his head. “Remember the Mjolnir Crisis?”
“Yeah.”
“What if we hadn’t recovered the third Steam Array piece?”
Peter was stunned. “Jesus.”
“You both must live quite interesting lives,” Mr. Kite said, entering unannounced and standing over them. 
“Why do you say that?” Palequus said, his tone even.
“Because I have never seen the Alternate Rooms taxed so heavily. And to see the Emergency Recall kick in twice is a very rare thing.”
“Emergency recall?”
“Yes. If the Rooms detect that your life is in danger, it will pull you out and return you to your normalized time.”
“Nice feature,” Peter said wryly. Then, louder, “But you could have-”
“We’ll be leaving,” Palequus said curtly. “Thank you for your time.
“But-” protested Peter.
“We’re leaving.  Now.”
“Good day, gentlemen,” Mr. Kite said, amiable as ever.
***
“We need to discover how he’s powering such an energy-intensive system,” Palequus said.
They were outside the grounds of the cavalcade, away from Mr. Kite and his prying eyes. Peter had protested the entire way but Palequus placated him until they were alone.
“I agree.”
“But more importantly, what is his ultimate goal. You don’t invest in that much technology just to show it off to the common man. There’s something more at work here.”
“And it’s linked to the reality distortion we experienced earlier?”
“Definitely.” Palequus looked back. “I think we need to pay a little after hours visit to Mr. Kite’s shop...”
***
They never expected Mr. Kite to work long hours. Not this long, at least, as by the time they had snuck in after midnight and taken a closer look at Hot’eph with only a small flashlight guiding their way, that the lights would go on and Mr. Kite would be standing there, having caught them red-handed.
All seven of the Mr. Kites, with their walking canes being held towards them like shotguns, emitting an electronic whine.
“I knew it!” Peter yelled. Palequus promptly elbowed him.
“Very perceptive, Peter. You were right to guess that there was something to me being able to be ‘everywhere’.”
“Are you all related?” Palequus asked dryly.
“Very adroit, Palequus. In fact, you might say so,” said the lead Mr. Kite. “You see, I created the Alternate Rooms to be the ultimate vacation attraction. I was running some initial tests when a glitch formed, and I was confronted with several different versions of me from alternate timelines. Well, we got to talking, and decided, why settle for just conquest of the vacation market, when we can conquer all of Time?”
Palequus chuckled. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. You see, the cavalcade alters local space-time, rewriting history to one more... favorable... to me. By the end of our national tour we will have changed mankind’s destiny enough to ensure our dominance when we use humanity to conquer the stars and then all of Time!”
Palequus offered Mr. Kite a slow, mocking clap. Then said, “Well, let me ask you this:  where did you get Hot’eph?”
“I told you,” Mr. Kite said, his veneer of calm flagging a little, “he was gathering dust in a closet.”
“And you say he is a victim of a twisted version of the Grandfather paradox?”
“Yes.”
“Wrong,” Palequus said, smiling. “You see, as you can probably guess, Peter and I get around. It’s our job to investigate weird and unusual anomalies, like what your cavalcade here is kicking up. And you see these inscriptions on Hot’eph’s pyramid head? I can read them. I have had... experience... with that particular alien race. And judging from the runes, his crime wasn’t a universe-crunching space-time paradox, but something more horrible.”  Palequus gave Hot’eph’s pyramid a quaint knock. “Genocide.  Though, he really is still housing a micro-singularity in the pyramid casing.”
Mr. Kite laughed. “So? What difference does it make?”
“Well, the runes detail instructions on the use of the pyramid. You see, since he can’t see and can’t even reach the pyramid buttons, they’re useless to him. But they can be used to unlock the pyramid and release the singularity, although it would shortly collapse in on itself thereafter.”
“You wouldn’t,” Mr. Kite said, dread slipping into his voice. 
“Run!” Palequus yelled, and him and Peter headed to the far side of the room, to one of the clearly marked exits.
Mr. Kite was furious. “You can’t escape us! There’s too many of us and not enough of you!”
Palequus reached the door, and turned to Peter. “Should I tell him that before he turned on the lights I had finished keying in the unlocking sequence on Hot’eph’s pyramid?”
The group of Mr. Kites began to scream.
“I think they just realized it,” Peter said.
“No! No, what have you done?” the lead Mr. Kite screamed, trying to hold on to another version of himself as the pyramid slowly unlocked, opening from the top like flower petals.
“Thank you,” came a deep, gruff voice, that Palequus soon realized was Hot’eph. 
The various Mr. Kites were being sucked into the micro-singularity. Palequus and Peter beat a hasty retreat, exiting through the door, leaving the building, and rushing across the cavalcade grounds. They barely had enough time to make it across when the entire cavalcade folded up into the singularity, which promptly and safely self-destructed.
Palequus and Peter looked at each other.
“That went rather well,” Peter said at length.
“Yeah,” Palequus said, dusting himself off. “We should probably get going now before anyone shows up and asks awkward questions.”
“Can you promise me one thing, though, Palequus?”
“What?”
“No more cavalcades. Ever.”
Palequus laughed. “Promise.”
###
About the Author
Julio Angel Ortiz works as a Systems Engineer during the day and tries his hand at this writing gig under cover of darkness.  He is really beginning to enjoy this whole “Indie author” thing, but time will tell if he's just being delusional.
Discover Other Titles by Julio Angel Ortiz
“The Scream” - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31937
“I Am Become Death” - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/32063
The Fear - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/37868
Connect With Me Online
Blog: http://www.signaldotnoise.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/julioangelortiz
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