ERO

by F. P. Dorchak

  Ha. The joke was on them!

  If they only knew what went on inside his head, his crazy little noggin, he’d have been committed years ago.

  “Okay—ready?” the MRI tech, Elizabeth (her nametag read), asked. She was cute. All medical technicians (and dental hygienists) seemed to be, and she was probably barely into her twenties. She looked so alive and vibrant, and had the most beautiful and open smile he’d ever seen. A full mouth with lots of beautiful, white, perfectly formed teeth.

  Jimmy nodded. “Guess so. Never been in one of these before. Looks like a torpedo tube.”

  “You mentioned no history of claustrophobia,” Elizabeth said, concerned and quickly re-checking his paperwork.

  “Oh, no, it’s not a problem; just kidding around. It’s who I am, what I do.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Okay, please lay down on the table, and we can get started.”

  Jimmy carefully positioned himself on the beige

  (slab)

  table, making sure Elizabeth saw nothing... embarrassing.

  Elizabeth quickly and efficiently placed a caged contraption into place around his head that Jimmy not only found unnerving but entirely disconcerting.

  “Comfortable?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yeah, totally,” Jimmy said.

  “Well, you just take a nap, Mr. Cherko,” she said, smiling, again flashing her pearly whites, “and before you know it, it’ll all be over.”

  “‘All be over’ means different things to different peoples.”

  “Aren’t we the comedian.

  “Now, Mr. Cherko, you’ll hear a lot of mechanical noises around you, thumping, clicking, that kind of thing, but it’s just the machine working it technological magic.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, please, try not to move.”

  “Lay there like a corpse with my head in a vise.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Well, not exactly, but close enough. Ready?”

  Jimmy nodded. Elizabeth again smiled then left the machine for the control panel on the other side of a wall with a large

  (portal)

  window.

  Jimmy stared through his head cage into the beige ceiling. He bet the colors to this room were intentionally selected for their calming effect. Most people sent down here were most likely dispatched under more stressful and life threatening circumstances than himself.

  But was he—really—any different?

  He’d rear-ended a truck and didn’t remember doing it.

  Had summarily blacked out, main.

  But nothing untoward had been detected in the ER, nor by his doc.

  Hence... Elizabeth and her bright shiny face and killer smile.

  So, maybe, he was best not to jump the gun. This damned machine was about to probe into his most intimate of intimates that no open and airy hospital gown could ever conceal from view. If something was growing inside or eating away at him, it was bound to be found out. And now—just this very moment—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know....

  “Okay,” Electronic Elizabeth said, through the slab’s speaker system, “here we go.”

  Jimmy made a caricature of a face and gave a sarcastically enthusiastic thumb’s up.

  His slab began to move, and Jimmy felt just a pinch of apprehension.

  The slab slowly inserted him into the huge (also beige) human-eating donut. It wasn’t thick enough to take in an entire body, but about half of him was easily consumed. And just as his shoulders cleared entry, he noticed increased breathing. This is silly, he thought, slowing his breathing. It was nothing like a torpedo tube, and he’d wished he’d never brought it up. It did, however, remind him of a huge donut, one that really was trying to gobble him up.

  That’s it, run with the donut image, Sick Boy! Funny—laugh, Sick Boy, laugh—at the huge beige donut you’re crammed into like so much jelly filling....

  The slab came to a jarred stop and Cherko took stock of his surroundings. Though he was only in about waist deep and could easily see the room around his feet, and using the angled mirrors in his head cage, he was lucky if he had ten inches of space around him inside this thing.

  It was, surprisingly, claustrophobic.

  “How we doin in there, Mr. Cherko?” came Elizabeth’s electronic voice over the speakers. He’d almost forgotten about her.

  He’d nodded, realized she probably couldn’t see that, then said, “Fine. And, please—call me ‘Jimmy.’”

  “Now remember, Jimmy, try not to move, and just take it easy. Take a nap,” she-who-was-called-Elizabeth said.

  Yeah, right.

  He was in here because he’d blacked out while driving.

  Driving.

  Not only were there the obvious concerns, but he’d blacked out. Aside from a bender, who blacks out for no apparent reason? Certainly not our lovely assistant, Elizabeth, over there. Or those who built this damned thing, or most of the normal people out there... of which he wasn’t sure he could any more count himself among. He wasn’t sure about anything, and the beige walls of this frigging donut were getting smaller and smaller and closing in on him....

  Abrupt and loud mechanical clunking and clicking caused Jimmy to jump.

  Quit moving! he chided himself. Just lie there and play dead....

  Okay, this was ridiculous. He wasn’t claustrophobic, and was far from a pessimist. This was just a precautionary examination and everything would turn up roses. Fine.

  Juuust fine.

  So kick back, close your eyes, and enjoy the experience. Take in everything about what was going on, so maybe he could use it in his new manuscript.

  Jimmy closed his eyes....

  * * *

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. As rapidly as his lungs were trying their damnedest to make it happen, it just wasn’t.

  He couldn’t see.

  Was restrained.

  Something held him down. Pinned him to a table.

  A slab.

  Something was solidly clamped around the length of his body!

  Spiders!

  Legions of the little bastards were crawling all over him, nasty black spiders with huge, dark eyes... up his legs, his arms, his torso. Into there... coming for his nose, his mouth, his ears...

  No... no!

  Jimmy tried to get up, but that wasn’t happening.

  Where was he? What was going on?

  His arms and legs—absolutely immobile.

  What—what was that?

  Something surrounded him. Hovered about him...

  Had to get out!

  Get away!

  Leave me alone!

  He couldn’t talk. Yell. Scream.

  Couldn’t move!

  Pinned!

  Pinned-pinned-pinned!

  The darkness inside Jimmy blossomed like a beautiful fucking flower.

  A black flower.

  He had to get out.

  Now.

  An arm broke free. Then the other.

  Spiders!

  They clamored along his throat, his jaw, into his mo—

  Jimmy lashed out and beat and pummeled and fought that which hovered about him...

  “Mr. Cherko! Mr. Cherko! It’s all right! All right! Please, relax... relax...”

  Voice.

  A voice?

  He blinked. Groggily shook his head.

  Whose voice... so full of concern... alarm?

  Elizabeth.

  It was Elizabeth and her beautiful face, the most beautiful face he’d ever seen.

  But where were her teeth? Those gorgeous, model-like, movie-star quality teeth?

  Elizabeth was crouched before him and had his face firmly cupped (squished) in her hands, his mouth an open, distorted “O.” The look of grave concern on her face scared him into full wakefulness. She looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “Mr. Cherko!”

  Jimmy blinked, his cheeks crushed together in Elizabeth’s warm, caring hands.

  “Mr. Cherko—Jimmy—are you w
ith me? Are you all right?”

  Jimmy numbly looked past her.

  “I...”

  There were others. In the room. With Elizabeth and him. Several others. Others as in Humans. Men. Men in white coats. Hospital greens.

  Jimmy again closed his eyes. Reopened them.

  He was standing—well standing was actually a poor account of things: it was more like he was trying to climb an invisible rock face that came up and out of the middle of the floor. Of a room. A beige room.

  He was outside that crazy, insane, Hungry Donut, looking like he was being dipped into the hospital floor by two—no three, he now saw—three dudes in hospital greens. One of his arms was held higher than the other, both his feet dragging along the floor, both knees bent, one an inch or two above the floor, the other higher.

  Yes, he did, indeed, look exactly as if he were trying to climb an invisible rock wall.

  Were it not for the orderlies—or whatever they were called. And had said orderlies decided to let go of him, he’d have crumpled to the floor in an anything-but-graceful heap.

  He thrashed about once more just to corroborate his predicament to his now-conscious mind. The orderlies held fast, shaking him still.

  Jimmy caught a glance of the slab he’d been on.

  It was still inserted all the way into the Hungry Donut.

  How’d he gotten out of that head cage?

  Elizabeth got to her feet and cautiously backed away; nodded to the two men restraining him. The men lifted him to his feet and slowly let go, then also backed away. Curiously—Jimmy noticed through his fog—they looked ready to pounce back in at a moment’s notice. Looked like they really wanted to.

  Not without difficulty, Jimmy, initially crouching, stood on his own, hands spread out before him for balance. He looked about the room—the beige room—as if seeing it for the very first time.

  Had his ass popped out behind him?

  He opened his mouth, which felt as if it’d been closed for an eternity.

  “What... what the hell happened?”

  3

  Cherko made a left as he pulled out of the Audubon Medical Campus. It was snowing outside, big, fat, flakes.

  Well, that had been quite the experience, now, n’est-ce pas?

  Just a simple MRI he’d been told. Nothing to it, he’d been told; lay on a table, be shoved into a huge-ass magnet, and just nap out. He’d been told.

  But an hour and a half later, following some fancy verbal footwork and impromptu sedation, he now also had to “visit” a shrink.

  Wonderful.

  What the heck was the matter with him? He’d never behaved like this before. He was White Bread Man. No broken bones, no mental illnesses, no near-death experiences—no excitement of any kind on any level. Never. Nothing ever happened to him, for Chrissakes, nothing. He was the pinnacle of a boring, white bread, existence.

  Yet now he was acting psycho. Rear-ending trash trucks and freaking out in MRI machines.

  And it had taken three men to handle him.

  Three men, he pondered amusedly....

  But still.

  Cherko drove down Fillmore, past quaint and unsuspecting stores and shops. The falling snow was beautiful. Calming. Reached deep into a part of his soul that always brought him back to those naïve days as a kid. The hushed quietness of the woods up behind his home. The sounds of trudging through several feet of it on snowshoes and listening to his only slightly labored breathing.

  They hadn’t even wanted him driving home by himself and had been just this short of all-out committing him on the spot.

  Cherko regripped the steering wheel.

  Now he had to explain to his wife that not only had he blacked out and rear-ended a truck and freaked out in an MRI machine—wait there’s more!—he now also had to go see a shrink. She’d still be in Denver (more like on her way back, after hearing about his accident), so he’d just chill out until she came home. Take it easy.

  Or work on his novel.

  Maybe he’d even throw all caution to the wind and take a walk through Garden of the Gods while it snowed. Clear his head a little and stretch out some sore muscles before he made his way back to his keyboard.

  Always... at keyboard.

  But, as much as he tried not to worry about what was happening... he actually found it scared the living shit out of him.

  Chapter Nine

  1

  8 December 1985

  0715 Hours Mountain Time

  “So, what do you feel like doing for your birthday?” Erica asked, draped across Cherko’s naked body. She traced a finger along his chest.

  “Well, this is pretty nice...”

  “All day?”

  “And why not? I can’t imagine another person I’d rather be with—wait, gimme a minute—”

  Erica hit him.

  “Since my birthday’s really tomorrow, and I have to work, why don’t we go for a drive today,” he said. “Into the mountains. Check out this new territory called Colorado.”

  “Sounds fun!”

  “But, first...”

  Cherko pulled Erica’s naked form atop him and anchored her with a passionate, open-mouthed kiss. Erica rewrapped herself around him....

  * * *

  Holding hands, Cherko and Erica drove west along Highway 24. The day, initially blue sky and beautiful in Colorado Springs, had turned overcast and gray through the towns of Woodland Park, Divide, and beyond. Cherko negotiated the vehicle down the steep, windy decline of Wilkerson Pass and into the flat straightaway through South Park. Cherko released Erica’s hand and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What’s the matter?” Erica asked.

  “Think I’m getting another zit.”

  “Let me see.”

  “You wanna look at my zits?”

  Erica leaned across and looked to where Cherko directed. She felt around the nape of his neck.

  “It looks more like a cyst.”

  “What the hell’s a cyst?”

  “Oh,” she said, settling back into her seat, “it’s like an impacted pore or something. Not a huge deal. I’ve had one or two removed by the doctor.”

  “Surgery?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, laughing “it’s done on an outpatient basis. They just ram this huge needle in there and suck out its puss-laden innards.”

  “Pleasant.”

  “It really isn’t anything,” she said, still laughing loudly at the look on his face. “You should have that looked at.”

  * * *

  The two flew past miles of open, empty plains, passing the occasional cattle or herd of pronghorn. Pronghorn... deer of the American Southwest.

  Deer.

  Deer. Road. Storm.

  Mom?

  Deer.

  “Is that buffalo?” Cherko asked, peering off into the distance.

  “Yeah,” Erica said. “Ranchers raise buffalo around here. You can actually buy ground buffalo in the store.”

  “Really. Never had it. But I’ve always loved how badass they look, out there in the fields. Standing strong against a blizzard, that kind of thing.”

  “They are kinda neat looking.”

  “What do people who live out here do? It’s so desolate. Remote.”

  “Not sure.”

  “They must ranch and do whatever’s associated with ranching.”

  “It’s too removed from the world for me,” Erica said, staring out the window.

  “It’s kinda like space. Open and vast... empty... but, really, there’s all kinds of life forms: ants, bugs, moths. Bacteria. We just can’t see them.”

  “There’re bugs and moths in space?” Erica asked, smiling.

  “You know what I mean,” Cherko said, grinning. “Space is so vast and open, and it’s like there’s stuff out there, stuff we can’t see, and other stuff we can—just like here. There may only be a molecule or two of something for light-years... but even that’s something. Not total emptiness.”

  “You really are i
nto this ‘space’ thing, aren’t you? Don’t you realize that it’s probably all romantic and fetching, now, because you’re here, down on Earth among Earthlings—me—but that were you really up there,” she said, bobbing an index finger upward, “you’d be all alone? You’d have none of this. No moths. No wide, open plains. No cars, no buffalo. No apartments. No sex—”

  “No sex?”

  “Nooo sex. Cause I wouldn’t be up there. I’d be down here.”

  “You wouldn’t be with me?” Cherko asked, pouting.

  “Most likely not. You’d be your bad astronaut self, and I wouldn’t be. So how could I be up there with you?”

  “Hmm.”

  Cherko again rubbed his neck.

  Thoughts of ERO, satellites, and his training flew through his mind.

  Thoughts of... The Project.

  What’d it all mean? The Project—his job. Was this what he really wanted? If he couldn’t be with those he cared about, what was the point?

  And was any of this even real?

  It all seemed so distant, now, out on these open plains of Colorado, on a cozy morning drive with his new girlfriend.

  Had he really been able to mentally mess with computer electronics?

  And how did he know he wasn’t being messed with by his trainers?

  What if he wasn’t doing any of what he thought he was doing, but his trainers were just messing with his head?

  But... he had heard those tones—in his head—no headphones.

  And there had been that voice... that attractive, hot voice with which he communicated... and had been second guessing during his training. Who knew, it was probably more like those sex hotlines, where you thought you were talking to some hot chick (not that he’d used them, mind you), but in reality....

  So, why not test it?

  If he could second guess the voice, why not see if he could second guess Erica?

  He glanced over to her.

  She was still gazing out the window.

  She’s thinking about sex right this moment.

  Right, that was just him mak—

  “You know,” Erica said, turning to him and reaching out for his hand, “this morning was really wonderful.” She gave him a lingering look.