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

by Marie Curuchet

  “Margot,” Rovada attempted to soothe her. “It is not our way to modify your genetics. This is the rule of our existence.”

  Margot closed her eyes and drew within herself.

  This is hell, this is some hell that is meant for me exclusively. It must be. God? There is no God if there is no earth. The earth was his place of beauty and peace. The desert, mountains and hills, a place in Oak Creek where the tourists didn’t visit. The San Francisco peaks in fall foliage. The monsoon storms of summer.

  “Why the hell is the air so thick?” Margot asked, her mind jumping randomly.

  “Our planet, Margot, our home planet. It allows us to fly. The thick air is more natural for our breathing.”

  “I wish to breathe,” she sighed.

  Rovada knew what she meant but wasn’t clear why she used that word.

  “I wish to breathe,” she repeated.

  “I can’t let you walk right now, Margot. We’ll need a little time and I don’t want to risk you getting injured again.”

  You won’t touch me, bug!

  “Don’t worry, Margot, I cannot help you, anyway, not physically.”

  “And why is that?” she yelled. “I hate you for reading my thoughts. You can’t imagine how much I hate you.”

  “Sorry, Margot. It does take some adjusting.”

  “And when will I get the ability to do this pissy little thing to you?” she snarled.

  Rovada shook his head. “Never.”

  “What?” she blurted angrily. “You mean you get to read my mind, but I can’t do the same?”

  “Margot, we have our rules, one of which is a conservation rule. Machines or genetic modifications are to be used only as necessary to extend life, not super-create it.”

  “What the hell?”

  “We’ll have time for explanations. Back to your wish.”

  “Right now, asshole, tell me what you mean.”

  Rovada sighed. “We have rules that define how many and what form of things, call them machines or manipulations, can assist or be made available to all beings.”

  “Is that why you couldn’t save my family and the whole human fucking race?” Margot cried, trying desperately to writhe herself free from the invisible restraints above her pink pond.

  Rovada waited a minute before he answered her. This, by no means, was the first mass death of a planet that he had come across, it was just one of the relatively few that he had seen so directly, so visibly, as the event unfolded. The zookeeper’s job was something he had been in only a short period, and it had some unpleasant aspects. But he understood well that survivors of such mass deaths were probably the most difficult to maintain and educate – at least in those rare times when it occurred. Given the constraints of Das laws, he knew that he and the other Das could in no way have assisted the human population as it met its inevitable doom, regardless of any personal feelings towards the occupants or the planet. But he did have a great fondness for the earth and the desert that served as his small group’s research station, just outside of Phoenix. He was quite sad to leave the planet.

  “No, not really.” He knew this was a gray truth. “Look, put simply, a small group of us were doing research on the life forms that inhabited earth. The virus hit. The planet had a massive potential to grow unstable and risk our own lives. We calculated the risk and felt it necessary to leave. I can go on and explain again.”

  “I wish to breathe,” she repeated.

  “Why do you say ‘breathe’, but not ‘walk’ if you mean walk?”

  “The walking will help me breathe. This thick air. Feels like Phoenix in swampy August.”

  “I can get you the doctor if you please, though he is not real, I mean, not a real human.”

  “God, the doctor! I forgot him in all of this. What the hell do you mean? He’s not one of us?”

  "No, no, he’s a machine of sorts."

  Margot shuddered. “Look, dude,” she yelled, “get me out and away from this pink liquid. Nothing is real around here, I don’t even believe that you are real. I can’t imagine that you are. This remains one vividly horrific, long-lasting nightmare. I’m just playing along with it to see where it goes. Maybe I’m too tired or too drunk to wake up.”

  Rovada considered her agitated state but knew he was well within a safe distance from her if she jumped at him.

  “Margot, let’s try this.” He commanded the Wall to gently lower her from her prone position above the pond to the same position on the ground.

  Margot could immediately feel greater mobility of her body as the Wall lowered her in her inclined position. Her heels touched the floor first. It was warm and hard. The Wall then set her back and head down on the floor. “Are you finished?” she asked.

  “Yes. You are unbound. But I suggest you try moving your feet and legs first, at the command of your mind, then work to your torso, arms, and neck. Give it time.”

  “I already know, bug, don’t tell me what I already know.” Despite his warnings, she pushed her elbows back against the floor, thinking she could use her stomach muscles to pull her torso up straight. She could feel the strength of those muscles, but they seemed so uncoordinated. She placed her hands flat down and pushed again. No luck. Lifting her head, she sensed a burning in her neck from bruised muscles.

  Out of shape. I bet there’s flab everywhere. I just can’t see in this light. I wonder if there’s a full-length mirror somewhere. My butt must be full of cellulite.

  “Your feet and legs first, Margot,” Rovada reminded her.

  Margot reluctantly obliged. She lifted her strong legs up against her stomach, jaggedly, up and down, and twirled her feet slowly in staccato circles, as if she were warming up for a climb.

  No ropes. I hate ropes. Had two people go down on ropes and bungee cords. One was Geoff. No. Don’t go there. Don’t think of Geoff now. A long time ago. Only two months, or shit, I don’t know. Maybe it’s better he died the way he did. He would have died anyway.

  Back and forth she continued. That warm and tired feeling of fatigued muscles came to her. “You did what to my muscles?” she asked.

  “Exercised them, of course, but not like you would in your natural movement. We just couldn’t get everything moving the way you would. Believe it or not, each individual human, even Das, patterns their muscle movement in a different way.”

  “Shut up,” she said as she winced at the pain in her spine. She tried moving her butt off the ground and to the side, but she was having trouble moving anything. She used her hands and arms to help her hip muscles pull and push her legs to her right side, then to her left, and she continued this until her mind remembered the muscles and how they worked together.

  “Here comes the big one!” she yelled as she moved her weight and hips to the left and rolled over on her belly. The hard floor was pressing against her chest.

  Jesus, I still have breasts.

  “Do you have any bras?” she shouted.

  “Yes,” Rovada replied, “the machine above you can produce anything you desire.”

  “That’s good. Underwear?”

  “Anything.”

  Margot hated lying on her stomach. She never slept that way.

  It hurts my neck too much and after the car accident, that asshole who rammed my little Subie from behind. My neck never felt the same. Jesus, what the hell did my fall do to my body?

  “Don’t worry,” Rovada said, “your head took most of the pressure and impact in your fall. No broken neck, no broken bones, but you broke the legs of the chair.”

  “Don’t try to be funny, bug. Nothing here is funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “And how the hell do you know so much about me?”

  “We extracted the hospital’s medical records. It was all on computer files, that’s how we know. And your brother, he kept a vigil of sorts on social media. We picked up as much earth content as we could.”

  “Shut up, bug. You are too verbose. I’m trying to concentrate.”<
br />
  Rovada sat back and stared quietly. "Perhaps she doesn’t like conversation," he thought. This was contrary to the Das who were always conversing. This kept them engaged with each other, helped them understand each other’s viewpoints – and quite varied one they had indeed, even after staying together as five hundred for this long. The Das were individuals, thought individually, learned individually. From early on they had evolved the ability to partition their thoughts between those available to the Wall and those they kept within themselves. This kept them fresh, alive, and unique, despite the similarity of outward appearance. Through the countless years of interaction with other Das, other beings, and all that the Wall offered, Rovada and the other Das had a deep and extended appreciation for many worlds of experience.

  Margot lay quietly for a few minutes, hearing herself breathe and feeling strong because she had regained the memory of her legs and stomach muscles.

  Bug, why is it so deathly quiet in here?

  “Do you want me to talk?” Rovada asked politely.

  “No, you slime. But when you aren’t talking, everything is quiet. Too quiet. I can hear the blood in my ears – like the inside of an audiologist’s testing booth. Where is this?” she asked as she moved her arms up to her ears.

  “Underground.”

  “How far?”

  “A few meters, maybe a thousand, from the surface.”

  “Hell, a thousand is a few? Is it always this quiet here?”

  “Perhaps for you, it is so.”

  Margot pushed up and raised her head, held it high for a moment, then with her body shaking, she gently laid it back down on the floor.

  “Is it safe here?”

  “In the comfort of the Wall, our walls, it is. Very safe.”

  “No cave-ins?”

  “Not likely. Margot, you must realize that we have been making our homes on remote planets like this for two billion years.”

  Older than when life appeared on earth? Have your people lived that long?

  “Not me, Margot.”

  “Damn it, bug! You take every word I think and respond to it! I don’t need it, do you understand? I don’t need it!” she demanded.

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Wait, damn it, let me think.” Margot put her head face down against the floor. Her nose pressed down hard, and the whirring whistle of her nostrils followed each breath. Rovada waited silently for an answer.

  “Don’t read my mind,” she said sternly, after about ten minutes.

  “But Margot, I can’t help but do that. I pick the thoughts up as you think them. The Wall is instructed to do this, it is its essence.”

  She closed her eyes, oblivious to the pain in her nose. “Then, you worst-of-all-nightmares, at least give me the dignity of having thoughts that are mine alone. Don’t answer my thoughts!”

  “Again, what would you have me do?” Rovada asked.

  “You can wait the hell until I say it. With my mouth. You know what I mean.”

  “If you ask, I shall do my best to do so, but I may not always succeed. As a Das, I am so accustomed to speaking without reservation. I may make mistakes.”

  “Don’t make mistakes. You already have a gross advantage over me.”

  “In what way?”

  “You know what you are,” she said, feeling a thickness in her throat again.

  “I am Das, yes.”

  “But I am not.”

  “You are not Das. Of course not.”

  “No, bug, I am not.”

  “Please explain, as this one I cannot understand well.”

  “I am not!” she cried, looking up tearfully and seeing a faint outline of Rovada ten feet away. “I am not. Not anymore.”

  “Human?”

  “Bug! You said you would wait!”

  “Sorry.”

  She felt her jaw tighten from the anger and sadness, her belly pulsating irregularly as she began to cry, “I . . . am . . . not . . . human . . . because . . . we . . . are . . . no . . . more!" She laid on the hard floor, drew her legs and arms slowly into fetal position, and sobbed harshly.

  Mountains. Hiking boots. I like to wear red socks. Attracts bugs? Maybe so. This summer there are so many bugs after the rain. A scorpion a day in the house. The desert slate on this hill is rough and loose. No trail here. Means the rattlesnakes may not be wary of humans. Not without a trail. Should’ve brought my rattlesnake pants. Damn! Where does this one end? Does it keep going hill after hill? I know it has a top, surely it must be close. I wonder how far I am from the car? Water. Ah, water. I love this canteen. Joey, great gift. My knife, my stick, my mace. Joey said ‘See a snake? Spray mace in da face, mace in da face, put him in his place, spray mace in da face.’ What a yo-yo. Clown, Joey, clown, you never stop. Why didn’t I ever take you with me on these long hikes? Did I just think you were too young from the start? Did you ever want to go with me, but just didn’t say anything? Did you think that you were interfering with me? 'Solitoid', you called me. Solitoid. You thought I liked the solitude. God, Joey, if you only knew what solitude really is.

  Chapter 6

  “CAN I HELP YOU?” The young boy wore a puzzled face. His arm was extended to hers. He was small, stretching to reach a full four feet tall, very slender, hairless arms. Typical kid’s shorts. Leather sandals. A blue and white striped, collarless short-sleeve shirt. She looked up at his creamy, olive-brown skin, dark black eyebrows and brilliant green eyes. “Vada asked if I could help you.”

  “Who?” she whispered.

  “I am one of the few. Like you.”

  “Margot,” Rovada interjected, “I thought I’d ask him in to assist. He’s been through this, too.”

  Margot looked perplexed at Rovada’s outline in the darkness of the room. “Ralph, don’t play with my mind. This is one of your robots, like the doctor?”

  “Me?” shrieked the boy. “Touch my skin,” he laughed, "or tickle me. The doctor doesn’t laugh, at least not a real laugh.”

  Margot peered at him and lifted her arm slowly. “No, don’t grab my hand,” she ordered.

  The boy looked puzzled and locked his hands behind his head, his torso squirming in anticipation.

  Margot gently placed her hand on his small ribs.

  “Don’t, don’t, please!” the boy screamed with delight. “Vada,” he laughed, “do I have to let her do this?”

  Margot’s lips formed a faint smile. She remembered how ticklish Joey was. How she’d hold him down on the floor with one leg and use her other leg to lock his arm down, leaving one of her hands free to capture and hold the other arm while her other hand tickled him. “Joey,” she whispered.

  “Who?” the boy responded, his arms now at his sides to protect his ribs. “My name is Sergio. But most people, um, uh, my friends would call me Serge.”

  “What are you?” Margot asked, her body now raised off the floor by her arms, and her muscles straining to keep her head elevated to see the boy.

  “I am like you. I am one of the few, few left,” Sergio answered meekly.

  “No, no, I don’t mean that. I mean, where are you from?”

  “You mean on earth?”

  “Yes, on earth.”

  “My parents are from Barstow. Our car broke down on the way to Flagstaff and . . .”

  “But I mean, what’s your last name?” She looked closely at his skin. His high cheekbones were chubby, though the rest of him was so slender, and his dark, black hair careened hopelessly across his forehead and into his eyes. The bridge of his nose was flattened, and his nostrils appeared to flare out from beneath the bridge. “Are you an Indian?” she asked.

  “My last name is Martinez. Sergio Leon Martinez. Leon was my Dad’s name. He said we are all part Indian, though he told me that some Latinos don’t like to admit it. He named the Indians as ‘Native Americans’ and said we were that, too, except for the Spanish blood in us. What are you? You, I think, are white. Anglo?”

  “Huh?” Margot said in a half-laugh, h
alf-shrug. “I guess you could say so, whatever that means anymore.” Her neck was tired of keeping her head elevated, and it drifted slowly to the floor.

  “Want to get out of here?” Sergio asked.

  “And go where?” she moaned.

  “To the caves. Everywhere, there’s a million places.”

  Margot struggled to lift her head again and could now make out Rovada’s distinct W-shaped outline in the shadows of the room. “He’ll let us go?” she asked in disbelief.

  Sergio looked towards Rovada, then back at Margot. “Don’t be afraid of Vada, he’s a cool guy. He plays with me and we go to different places and explore and play video games.”

  Margot rolled on her side and pulled her arm up beneath her head to form a pillow of sorts. She hated looking at things sideways, but her neck was still tired.

  “Look, look, Sergi, Sergio.”

  “Serge. Call me Serge. My parents always did.”

  “I can’t even move. Did this happen to you, too? I can’t even move.”

  “No, no, Margot, I wasn’t in a coma like you.”

  “But how did you make it? I mean, how did you make it through?”

  “My ‘tuitary was damaged before I was born. They say my other organs kind of took over. But let’s don’t talk about that now. Let’s see if you can walk. Vada said you couldn’t walk.”

  “I’m not sure I can do it yet,” she said, her head shaking slightly. “I’ll just lay here. Why the hell?” she stopped talking, realizing that this was a boy, maybe eight or nine, and she’d need to clean up her language. “Why can’t he help?” She pointed to Rovada.

  Rovada moved slightly toward her and began to speak. “He’s too light,” Sergio replied.

  “Little muscle mass,” Rovada added. “I can’t lift more than a few pounds, and even then only a few inches off the ground.” Rovada moved into a brighter spot on the floor.

  How really ugly you are. Brown, polished wings and a tail-like appendage, sitting like a three-legged stool. Things must be getting real to me because this is almost too vivid for a dream. Besides, I can see my hands, my feet, this boy, his green eyes. I can smell his breath. I can smell . . .