Dream Girl

by David Burnham

Part 1 and Part 2
appear in this issue.

conclusion

‘No, stay where you are, Lambic,’ said Omorfia, hearing him stand, but not taking her eyes off the pistol.

‘It’s too late now,’ snarled Poniros. ‘He’ll only go and tell someone.’

‘Look, I don’t know what the problem is here,’ said Lambic, trying not to let the fear sound in his voice, ‘but whatever it is that I’ve done to offend you, I’m extremely sorry and you have my word that I won’t mention this incident to a living soul.’

He gave the Ring Master a pleading look.

‘You see, Poniros?’ said Omorfia. ‘This one really is different. Now get out of my dome!’

She threw the bottle at him. Poniros ducked and it shattered on the doorframe, splashing its contents across the wall, shards of blue glass exploding behind him.

‘Right. Be it on your head then,’ he shouted, red-faced and angry, as he swung round on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

‘Oh Lambic, I’m so sorry, really I am,’ Omorfia sobbed.

‘Have I got you into trouble?’ he asked, concernedly, face pale with shock, as he crossed the room to her.

‘Oh you sweetheart,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him close. ‘Always thinking of others, but what must you think of me now?’

‘I think you’re wonderful’, he replied quietly, running the tips of his fingers through her soft hair, lifting it from her face and kissing her tears away.

‘If I’ve made things difficult... between you and him... perhaps I should go...’

‘Do you want to go?’ she asked sadly.

‘No, of course not,’ he replied emphatically.

‘Then stay, please Lambic, stay here with me tonight. I think you’re a rarity; a good, kind, honest, lovely man and I don’t want you to go. Really I don’t.’ She kissed him and snuggled her head on his shoulder.

Lambic gently stroked her hair for a while as they stood together, rocking in time to their subsiding heart beats, comforting one another, letting in love, banishing the fear.

‘I have to ask you something, and please forgive me...’

‘What? What is it my love?’ Omorfia pulled away, with a worried look.

‘What you said to him, you know. About me being different from the others.’

‘Oh, that... Well, yeah, you are different.’

She sat down and patted the cushions next to her. He got the message and sat down.

‘Is that a good thing?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes!’ She kissed his cheek. ‘It’s a very good thing. That is...’

‘Yeah?’

‘...that is, it’s a very good thing for me.’

‘But not for Poniros?’

‘No, not for him.’ She looked away.

‘You and him, are you... you know... an item?’ Lambic didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to ask.

‘That pig?’ Omorfia shouted, angrily. ‘I’d rather kill myself. He’s a brute, a cruel, selfish, exploitive bastard. If he came anywhere near me I’d cut it off and feed it to him!’

Lambic burst out laughing, partly amused by her outburst, but mainly just relieved. Omorfia laughed with him, happy to have the tension defused. She told him that once or twice in every gifted hoop-spinner’s life they might have a shared vision with a perfect stranger, and that it had happened the previous evening with him. Be it destiny or happenstance it was too rare an occurrence to pass over and having spent some time alone with him she knew that he was the one.

Together, they cleared up the mess from the broken bottle, talked a little longer, and then she led him to bed.

* * *

A familiar pattern developed over the coming weeks. Lambic would finish his shift at the vineyard, pick up some groceries and walk the three miles to the carnival site. He no longer needed to show his pass, as the security guards knew him by name, so he would stroll into the performers’ enclosure, let himself into Omorfia’s envirodome and have a meal ready for when she came off stage. He’d never been happier, and nor had she. Until one evening.

Lambic was late arriving, due to an exhausting period of frantic harvesting — following a prolonged period of unseasonably heavy rainfall and the danger of mildew setting in. He found the door to Omorfia’s place open and he could hear raised voices inside, one of which belonged to Poniros.

‘We had an agreement. I let lover-boy go, but this one is mine and you’re going to damn well get on with it.’

‘No! I won’t do it any more. I don’t care what happens, throw me out of the carnival if you want. I’ve always hated having any part of your disgustingly sick plans. Loepani has made me realize how hideous this is, totally wrong and unforgivable,’ Omorfia shouted back.

Lambic stayed outside in the torrential downpour, but was ready if things got any worse.

‘Oh for God’s sake. That pathetic little grape picker has poisoned you. You get a cut from the proceeds, don’t you?’

‘I don’t want your stinking money. Get him out of here.’

‘Now you look here, girl!’

Lambic heard her scream. He dropped the groceries and rushed into the dome. A young man was slumped on the sofa and Poniros was shaking Omorfia by the shoulders, then raised a hand to strike her, but Lambic shouted, ‘Leave her alone, Poniros.’

The Ring Master swung round to confront him. ‘Oh piss off, lover-boy. She’ll do as she’s told and you can just crawl back under your rock. She doesn’t need you filling her head with stupid ideas.’

Poniros turned back to Omorfia, raising his hand again. Incensed by both the rebuke and the impending assault on the woman he loved, Lambic leapt forward. He caught hold of Poniros’ hand with his left, spun him round and let him have the full force of his right fist, straight into his bloated, greasy face. Lambic had never struck anyone in his life, so after years of hard physical work he didn’t know his own strength. The punch sent Poniros flying backwards and he struck his head on the side of a table, knocking himself unconscious.

‘Oh, Lambic,’ cried Omorfia, throwing herself into his arms. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why? What about? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine... I... no, I’m not. I should’ve told you ages ago. You’re going to hate me, but you’ve got to know,’ she sobbed.

‘Know what?’ he asked worriedly.

‘It was him,’ she said, pointing at Poniros, ‘he made me do it.’

‘Do what?’

She regained her composure, ‘Look, we’ve got to get this guy out of here before that bastard comes round. He’s in real danger. Come on, give me a hand.’

Not asking why there was an unconscious Leopani male in her dome in the first place, Lambic easily lifted his body over his shoulder and followed Omorfia out of the door, once she’d checked that the coast was clear. They carried him well past the darkened perimeter of the carnival site, before carefully laying him down beneath a tree. The lightning had subsided and Omorfia wanted to shelter him from the worst of the raging storm.

‘He’ll come round in a few hours. Probably won’t remember much, but he’s safe now,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s get back.’

* * *

Back in her envirodome, Omorfia admitted the truth to Lambic, while he held the pistol and pointed it at its still-unconscious owner.

Every now and again young aliens from every planet they’d visited would go after Omorfia. Invariably a potent mixture of lust and intoxicants would drive them, and the guards would throw out the majority. Occasionally one would slip through, with the intention of forcing himself on Omorfia.

Poniros watched for just such an occurrence and would slip out of the dark and shoot the fool with his stun-dart pistol. As both her protector and employer Poniros had a considerable hold over Omorfia, so she went along with the rest of his despicable plan.

They would wait until the other carnies had gone to bed, then Poniros would carry his victim to the heavily locked building behind the freakshow and Omorfia would follow with her large holographic hoops. A combination of drugs and Omorfia’s performance would send the unfortunate alien male into a permanently looped narcoleptic dream-state. Omorfia would leave at that point, but Poniros would stay. She had no wish to know what went on in that building once she’d played her part.

Poniros would throw the alien into a heavy, black metal casket and close the lever and button-covered lid. There would be an hour of creaking and bubbling as foul-smelling, viscous liquids would drain into oddly shaped flasks behind the casket. When it was over the lid would hiss open and a grotesquely misshapen figure would emerge, the vacant smile of a perpetual trance forever etched onto his face, destined to join the exhibits in the freak show.

Poniros had discovered the infernal apparatus three years previously, following a tip off and a hazardous trip into the most dangerous back streets of the criminal district of Trachkseeji, on Planet Ripsokin. It had originally been devised as an advanced medical device for treating severe battle wounds during the civil war, but it had proved to be unreliable and was slated for destruction by the medical Corps. However, the driver of the army medical Corps truck had been attacked and killed, and the device had fallen into criminal hands.

As soon as it had been described to him, Poniros could see its potential. The moment he had it, he was eager to put it to the test. It wasn’t the sort of thing that came with a manual, so once he’d captured and entranced his victim, it was a case of randomly pressing buttons to see what would happen. The first attempt produced a gasping, gelatinous pancake and the creature perished within minutes.

Then he saved Omorfia from an alien stalker. He told her what he planned to do with her would-be attacker. She knew that she was powerless to stop Poniros, but despite having almost been the alien’s victim, she couldn’t condone a lifetime of unspeakable suffering. That was when she agreed to use her talents to send his victims into a permanent dream-state, such that they would never be aware of the truth of their situation.

The apparatus worked on the principle of biochemically enhanced genetic growth-mapping and micro-reconfiguration of nucleotides. The original intention had been to regenerate lost limbs and heal untreatable wounds, but the complexity had defeated the medics. Poniros, however, used it as nothing more than a randomizing genetic mallet, and each year his exhibits grew in number.

* * *

‘So, your intentions were never evil. You couldn’t stop him, but you tried to lessen their suffering?’ Lambic asked her.

‘I did, yes, but I was still an accomplice, albeit unwilling, to all of this, and I hate myself for it. I’d be surprised if you want anything more to do with me. I know how you feel about the freak show, and that was before you knew my part in it,’ said Omorfia, sighing heavily.

‘Well, it is an utterly barbaric thing to do and it disgusts me to the core, but Poniros has been throwing the levers, not you.’

Omorfia looked up at him with renewed hope. ‘Do you forgive me?’ she asked.

‘You said yourself that he would’ve gone ahead anyway, so you were just easing their suffering, but it has to stop,’ he said, firmly.

‘Oh yes, of course, I agree, utterly, no question. That was what we were arguing about when you came in.’

‘Right, I see. Thing is though. We have to stop him!’ Lambic waved the pistol at Poniros, still out for the count. ‘I’m afraid that there may be only one way.’

‘What? You can’t kill him!’ Omorfia stood up, suddenly terrified by what this gentle man was suggesting. ‘You’ll be put in prison, I’ll never see you again, no, no, you mustn’t.’

‘Then, as I said, there is only one way,’ Lambic replied sternly.

‘Yes, I see. You’re right,’ she said, as it dawned on her what he was suggesting, ‘but I won’t spin for him.’

‘I understand.’

* * *

It was two years later and the Interstellar Carnival of Delights had opened its doors on another planetary tour.

‘Ladies and Gentleman, welcome one and all. Tonight you will see some of the most remarkable acts in the entire sector. Drinks will be available throughout the show. Without further ado, please put your hands together and welcome to the stage, the wonderful, beautiful, entrancing love of my life. Omorfia: The Dream Girl.’

Lambic left the stage, kissed Omorfia as she passed him, and stood in the shadows to watch her performance. The audience would be transported to the wonders of their imaginations, but while they were held in the rapture of the hoops, Lambic and Omorfia would hold hands, as only they could, on the shore of a turquoise sea.

* * *

Back on Leopani the medical wing of the Royal Court was caring for the former exhibits of the carnival freak show. All but one wore the same vacant, smiling expressions. He ceaselessly struggled, frothed and gurgled through the most grotesquely malformed features of all. He could never rest and he would never dream. No one would ever know his true identity or the atrocities of his past. The gentle goodwill of the Royal Court would inadvertently sustain his torment until the last beat of his black heart.

Thanks to La Clique, the Spiegeltent and especially to Yulia Pikhtina, queen of the hula-hoops, for inspiring this tale: D. J. Burnham.