The Space Between Her Thoughts (The Space in Time Book 1)

by Marie Curuchet

  “Turn the damn screen back on, you flaming asshole. Let me see more of your grotesque charade.”

  “There is no more,” Rovada replied from his monitoring station.

  “No more? What the hell kind of host are you to show me a ten second friggin’ YouTube video on the destruction of the human race and not even have a fucking sequel? What happened to Part 2?”

  “Sorry, Margot.”

  “Did I tell you that you could call me Margot?”

  “Sorry, Margot. Miss Stott if you so desire.”

  “That’s better,” she mumbled.

  My God, Margot, you are so out of line today! Must have been the tequila last night that set you off! Out of line, even for a dream. Crazy dream, crazy tequila dream, dream within a dream, but this one continues on and on.

  She yelled, “Hey you, grotesque arachnid, what was your name again?”

  “Rovada. Ralph is fine.”

  “I’ll tell you, Ralph, I have never ever remembered swearing in a dream, much less ever swearing as much as I have today. You are sure a timid son of a bitch, Ralph.” A thought distracted her about looking at her hands in a dream? She gazed at her hand that lay at the side of her belly, still covered by the sheer sheet that lay upon her. “My God, Ralph, that sure looks like my hand!”

  She stuck her thick pink tongue out as far as she could, forcing her eyes to cross as she stared at it.

  Yes, that's my tongue.

  “Castaneda?” Rovada said. “I have read many of your earth books. I read them quickly, but I don’t retain much, unfortunately. If I did, I suppose I’d be somewhere else, doing something else.”

  Margot replied with surprise, “You maggot, Ralph! How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Miss Stott, I . . ..”

  “Oh, call me Margot, you freaking bad-dream asshole.”

  “Margot, this is a shock, certainly, but many discoveries in physics and sciences were just on the cusp of being understood on earth. One was the energy transmitted by conscious thought. My race, my species, developed a mechanism many eons past to interpret these energies. Just a more efficient means of communicating among ourselves. Also a helper to see intent, and it keeps us operating as a team of five hundred, at least in this place. You see, no secrets, no ill will or bad intent left uncovered.”

  Puzzled, Margot stared at the bright lights overhead. She felt the sweat puddling in the cavity between her breasts. She hated that, that little cavity, that little concave depression of her sternum that always appeared like her heart was not there. “Look, Ralph, when do I get to get up and walk around? This lying down gets old after five years. By the way, how many thousands of others are watching this spectacle right now, I mean, if this isn’t some godawful nightmare? I assume someone has it on social media by now, streaming live maybe on YouTube? People making money watching a naked comatose patient wake up then get the shock of her life.”

  “You will find, Margot, that we detest the lie. With few exceptions, we tell them never, given that each of us knows all thoughts. However, there were a few intended lies I told you at our last session. I had to make sure your physical state stabilized before I told you the truth. Listen closely to this. I will never tell you another lie. It hurts me to do something so harmful. To answer your question, though, I say again we are a team of five hundred on this planet. No others viewing us right now. You see, you are on a rather distant outpost, very distant from the planet where I was born.”

  She interrupted, “Are the others with you?”

  “We have two other keepers aside from myself. One is my good friend. He and I plan on leaving this group when we earn enough credits to travel.”

  “Keepers . . . what? What happened to my family?”

  Rovada hesitated. The crew they had on earth was so small. She was in a corner of the hospital yard, bathed in her own urine and feces, for six days after the outbreak began. Nearly all identifiable human activity had stopped by that time.

  “Why do you wait to answer me?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Your brother died, lying next to you in bed. He had apparently taken you outside to the hospital lawn before he himself died. You must understand, the planet was anarchy by the third day. The virus so quickly killed so many. The hospital where you were staying was packed with dead bodies, as were all the public facilities. At that point, nobody cared about a comatose patient, except your brother, we assume, who wheeled you outside.”

  Margot paused, taking this in. “My parents?”

  "That is all we know. We had very few resources and in the last days, all human systems stopped functioning. As I said, this virus had an immediate and deleterious effect on primates and mammals, along with other species. In the last few days before we left, we were increasingly concerned that the planet would become unstable from nuclear power plant meltdowns, volatile stockpiles of biochemical weapons, and other man-created elements and processes. Indeed, it happened so quickly that no nations were even able to launch weapons at each other in some perceived retribution. We only had time to gather five.”

  “Five? From my hospital?”

  “No, five from earth,” Rovada replied in a low, almost whispered tone, hoping to minimize further trauma.

  Her heart pounded hard and slowly as if it were about to beat its last beat. She felt the pressure at her chest and breathed very deliberately, afraid she would pass out and miss the next words.

  My parents, my dear Joey, Carrie, my friends, my workmates, my life.

  “Then why the hell didn’t you guys do anything?” she countered angrily, feeling like she should halfway play along with this charade. “You said you’d been on earth how long?”

  “A policy of noninterference.” Rovada swiftly moved closer to her bed, close to the spot where he stood previously.

  “Noninterference? What? You could have saved the whole human race but you didn’t even try?”

  “But it is because of that policy that we couldn’t try.”

  “The whole freaking race?” she screamed, the possible reality of this beginning to dawn on her. “The whole freaking human race is dead?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “that we know. Except for you and the four others.”

  “But you could have developed a vaccine!”

  “Of course, but we could never have administered it. This was an insidious virus, quickly replicating. We now assume that it is the dominant form of life on the planet, as it was pervasively adapting itself to all the greater creatures of your animal kingdom as we left. But it is on a zero course.”

  “Zero course?”

  “It will eventually become such an efficient killer that all forms of life upon which it can feed will cease to exist. We have seen killers like it before. Thankfully, the vacuum of space provides a formidable barrier to the transmission of viruses like this to all worlds with life.”

  “How did it start?” she asked.

  “We are so few in number, so much to research, so little time for concentrated analyses in situations like this.”

  Margot felt her head slowly move to its left. She noticed the dark, W-shaped figure again standing about ten feet from her.

  Why am I not screaming?

  “You are not screaming because you are in shock,” Rovada replied.

  "Damn it, damn it, you bug, you disgusting hellhole of a cockroach, quit reading my thoughts!" she cried.

  What an extended, horrible dream. I must be delirious from fever. Think back. The horrible flu, the fever and aches, the wild, exotic dreams and a feeling like death was so near. Why me? Why didn’t others get as sick from the flu? But they did. They did. They died. Some died. The son of that lady I knew from work. How painful. God, I hope I get out of this one. It must be a bad mother. I wonder if I woke up and went back to sleep only to resume this same damned dream again. God, and I probably didn’t get my vaccination. Stupid! Too busy to get a shot! Cranking spreadsheets! Late nights. Damned virus. Why did God ever create a virus? What goo
d is this little pisser twizzle thing? Only for pain and fever, sweating deathly fever. God, I must be on the edge. My gut swirls and I am nauseated. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a stomach flu, too. How many more days? I need to get back to work. They must wonder what the hell has gone wrong with Margot. Weak genes. Weak damn genes, and a sucker for flu viruses, cold viruses, crap, any viruses. It doesn’t help my mountain climbing. It doesn’t help going from one sickness to another in the winter. My resistance sucks. Damn viruses. Damn Szechuan, or is it a Hong Kong little bastard virus? Pigs, something having to do with pigs and humans and their interaction with each other. Or is it ducks? I know it’s somewhere in Asia where it all starts. Humans, and mud, blood and animals, and something crazy starts and millions of people get the flu. I saw it once on PBS. Why do they have to step in swamps with pigs and ducks? Leave them alone! It’s disgusting that you bring me this! Disgusting! Don’t you know I could die from the flu? I almost did, once, when I was four. I can still remember that. And it’s not my fault, I’m not responsible for your irresponsibility.

  I sweat. I am a sweat machine. Mom said I would be drenched in sweat as a baby, wrapped in my blanket. I feel cold and slimy sweat dripping from my armpit. I hate to sweat at my armpit. I hate to sweat under my arms. It’s so damned unfeminine. And it stings. Those hairs that bleed when I shave under my arms. God, let me go back to real sleep. This delirium isn’t helping me get better. Why take my mind with my body, too? Aching pain in my gut. Worse than hemorrhoids. Sears at my nerves with your hot barbs. Set your fire to my appendix, that poor little green, swollen appendage. Oh, I feel you, intense and throbbing pain, shifting, never numbing. Blasting and tearing at my cells. These are my cells, damn it. My cells. How dare you invade! How dare you mindless beings, you unearthly creatures who torment me. For what purpose? Pieces of protein designed to torment me. Why would these exist? Not even a life form. Just pieces of protein, twisting and screwing themselves into my cells. Screw them, the mindless bastards! Screw them! I have nothing for you. You have attacked me, so wholly impersonal you are, not caring, just invading with your leaching little protein shells, your shields and DNA injections. Screw your shields! I will overcome your turdy little shields! My white blood cells will suck you maggots dry, and I will prevail over you. Good for nothing non-life scum, why are you on this planet?

  Gourds, floating slowly in a high desert stream. Striking rocks and popping. Water sparkles in the sun and pains my eye. Pop, pop, pop! They move away with the current. Why did I bring them here to this stream? They were colorful. I liked their beautiful orange and yellow colors. They were so pretty, covered with lacquer. And the bumps, the bumps, so much like the pimples that are forming on my face. The boys notice. I know. I see them and they see them and their eyes move away. They shuffle their feet.

  I look up from the stream and a fast-moving cloud passes quickly by the sun, changing its form so rapidly. Cumulus? Earth science. What a class! Science. How I loved it. My heart is there, in the water, in the life that depends upon it. In this stream, a huge, abundant purpose of life. Pure in its simplicity. The small, inch-long minnows in the little pools, afraid of my clicking gourds. Must look like huge orange-yellow balloons to them. But their fascinations? None. Just fear. Father. I see you there. Off in the distance, quietly fishing with that cloth line. Funny your flies don’t look like flies to me. Where did you learn to fish like that? Who taught you? I never liked fishing. Poor fish, so helpless as they splash, attached to a chain attached to a rock. Their gills and mouths bleeding from the chain and hooks and tears of the line. The milky white in their eyes after the life has drained from them. Never will like it. But Dad likes it. He’s so calm and patient at this. His own science. I hope I die before he does. Or maybe at the same time. Mom, Mom, will we be going home soon? I feel dirty out here and want to go home and take a bath. Dad always fishes too long. I hate to stink like this for too long. The smell of decaying fish turns my stomach, and I can’t play in this water too long. Will boys end all of this? I wonder. Will I stop looking at these things? Will they bore me as my head swirls to them? They remind me of my dad. That’s okay, he’s okay. But sometimes they are so gross. Terrible about their gonads. Gonads. What a funny word. Too bad they react so dramatically to those hormones. They are too rough. Unrefined. I would rather stay here with my gourds, at least for now. These are things that will always stay with me, beyond the boys, beyond maybe my husband, if that ever happens. I will always have this stream and colored gourds floating in the water, scaring the little fish, making a pop-pop-pop as they contact each other, allowing me to watch them indefinitely, and to set my mind into the water with nothing else to think about, no boys, no smelly, bleeding fish, no pimples.

  Chapter 4

  MARGOT’S EYES BEGAN TO open slowly. The amber lights seemed much dimmer. “Ralph? Ralph?” She heard no response. “Ralph!” A soft wisp of air crossed her leg and she bent her neck to look at her toes.

  “Ahhh!” she screamed. “Jesus, help me!”

  “Calm, calm, Margot,” Rovada said soothingly.

  “What are you doing down there? Are you going to do something to me?” she cried, her eyes were glaring widely at the seven-foot creature in front of her.

  Disgusting head. If these idiots are fooling me, couldn’t they do any better than this? Absolutely disgusting. Like two sideways pyramids stacked together then elongated, with bulbous gray orbs on each side. If you are real, creature, how do you breathe? How do you talk?

  “Calm, Margot, calm.”

  She saw a huge arm-like appendage and a thin, translucent web attached to it.

  Beyond ugly. Like a bat’s wings. How many bats have I seen in the desert? They are not my favorite desert creature. Dad told me that they will suck at your toes while you are dozing in your sleeping bag. Vampire bats, brought over from Africa to my Arizona. Forget the neck, they won’t go there. They know you will hear them. No, he said, they go for the toes, and their sharp teeth cut right through the bag, and you find yourself five pounds lighter in the morning, pale white, most certainly having contracted rabies or some evil blood disease from the bat’s saliva. I never would sleep out, never, I would only sleep in a tent, with my shoes on, and usually with a turtleneck, just in case. I don’t know whether he was kidding or not. And in front of me, a grotesque mix of bug and bat.

  Rovada laughed to himself. “You wouldn’t believe what I think of your looks.”

  “My looks! My looks!” she yelled. “How dare you talk about me! You, you, whatever the hell you are. A cockroach caught in a nuclear blast and grown beyond your normal size. Do you spit? Are you like those African spitting beetles? Get the hell out from my feet. I know you’re looking up there, at me, you don’t even see fit to put clothes on me, even though I’m helpless. Why are you looking at me? What good is it to you?”

  “I have no sexual interest in you, Margot.”

  “God, tell me this is not real. Please, please, help me wake up!”

  “You sure speak of God a lot.”

  Margot stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes to look at it.

  God, I know my mind is not working right because I can see my hands, I can see my tongue, but I am in a dream in a dream in a dream. Castaneda was wrong. I can see my hands, but I can’t control this dream.

  “I said you sure think of God a lot, Margot,” Rovada repeated as he slowly moved to her left, knowing her discomfort at her thoughts that he was staring at her sexual organs under the sheer blanket that covered her.

  “What do you know of God, you maggot bug?”

  "What spunk!" he thought. "The others were much less reactive, and much more scared initially. She is a curious one. A good thing she remained alive. Should bring a little excitement to an otherwise repetitious job rotation."

  “I know of what you call God. I have read books of your earth. I like your books of earth, and videos. And I am much enamored by the music you call ‘rap’.”

  “Rap?” she laughed h
ard and spitefully. “What the hell do you know of music, you bad tequila dream?”

  She twisted her body and felt the muscles of her stomach tighten. “Why can’t I move, you slime?” She stared at Rovada’s eyes, pockmarked and gray, like round sponges.

  “There is a chance you could harm me or tear me from limb to limb.”

  “I’d what?”

  “My body is light and fragile. I cannot let you move from here until we develop an element of trust with each other. And once the fear lessens.”

  “What do you mean? What fear?”

  “My fear of you tearing me apart. Your fear of me and my newness to your mind, the newness of the situation.”

  “Look, shiny dude,” she screamed at him, “if you care at all about me like you fucking facade act like you do, then get me out of this bed! Get me out of this place! I want to see my family. I want this fucking dream to end! I can see my hands, I can see my tongue, I can see you with your golf ball gray eyes and your no fucking mouth and I can hear you anyway. I know this is some disgusting nightmare. Someone slipped something very bad in my drink. I’d never cut my hair, you jerk, not even in a dream, not unless someone forced me to do it by giving me drugs. You are a hallucination. I am hallucinating! I want to go to sleep now!”

  Rovada obliged her request.

  I know I am asleep. Asleep but aware. I feel him watching me. Cold and hard-shelled, like me sticking the pin through the live beetle in Biology, only this time I am the beetle and he has the pin. I imagine knobs and controls where he operates this charade, this neatly planned science project. No, no, that is his little world, his waste of time. Instead, I choose the peace and serenity of something he can never know. For I am asleep, hovering above this machine, no earth beneath my feet. No earth. It would seem that I am captive, but what is out there, beyond my eyelids, does not matter. The earth is gone. The earth is gone. Captive in a lifeless spin around the sun. Surely something must be left in the muck and ooze of mud, frozen in the ice close to the poles. It will redeem itself, long, long after I have known this place.