Daisy Jacobs Saves the World

by Gary Hindhaugh

  “What you’re feeling is mild discomfort, Quark. With the occasional shot or two of ouch-iness. It’s nothing more than that, and if you’d been a real human girl, you’d never have reached almost fifteen without knowing that. And it doesn’t even begin to compare to the literal labour of childbirth. You should ask my Mum about my birth; she said that —”

  “I don’t want to know!” Quark shouts. “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear it!”

  “Quark, you’re a mass-murdering psychopath, how can you possibly be squeamish over a little blood?”

  “It’s not a ‘little’, I’m … well, gushing — it’s pouring out of me!”

  “It’s really not — maybe 10-20ml over four or five days.”

  “Four or five days! This will continue?!”

  “Of course, don’t you know anything about periods?”

  “I’m a quantum singularity; why should I know anything about p—” Quark stops, seemingly unable to continue.

  “Say it. Go on, at least you can say it.”

  Daisy’s shoulders rise and fall as Quark psyches himself up. “About pe—” He stops again then slumps forward, “it’s too horrible — I can’t say it!”

  “It’s not nice, it’s not my favourite thing — but it’s natural and normal and if I got the chance to change, like that — I’m mentally clicking my fingers here — and was told I could become a boy and never have a period again, I’d turn it down because being a girl is absolutely fantastic and having a period every month,” she raises the voice inside her head so she can shout at Quark, “BLEEDING for just a few days every month, is a small price to pay.”

  Quark ignores her. “And anyway, I am not a psychopath.”

  “You’re wrong there too,” Daisy responds quickly, “you are amoral, you don’t care about anyone or anything except yourself — totally egocentric — you are incapable of love and you don’t learn from experience. If that’s not a psychopath then I don’t know what is.”

  “I have been human for less than a month, what do you expect! My normal existence is as a cloud of dust.”

  “Well, anytime you want to go back to that, don’t let me stop you.”

  “And I have learned and I am capable of feelings,” he added, huffily.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and right now they are hurt.”

  “Aw, diddums, is the ickle monster upset? Just imagine — blood and hurt feelings on the same day.”

  Daisy’s hands go over her ears as Quark tries to shut out the sound of her voice from within her head. “Will you stop talking about it!” He sighs, and then said more quietly, “just stop.”

  “This is why you’ve been so moody, isn’t it? You can’t cope with my —” Daisy stops herself, instead choosing to tread carefully around Quark’s sensibilities, “the changes in my hormones? That’s what’s caused your abhorrent behaviour … in the last few days, at least. The rest of the time, of course, it’s just been down to your sunny disposition.”

  “I noticed a change in the chemical balance in your body.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, the balance of what you call hormones changed and that affected your brain.”

  “Cool!” Daisy’s inner geek will out. Despite herself, she’s fascinated. “And you can just, what — sense that?”

  “Yes, of course.” He speaks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “But you didn’t know why it was happening and you struggled to cope with what it did to you — to me, to my brain?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Because it normally has very little effect on me. I don’t have mood swings with my — at this time of the month. I’m sometimes a bit tired. I don’t always have as much energy. And sometimes, if I have a bad cramp, I’ll have a hot bath. That helps to soothe it away.”

  Quark sighs. “A bath?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But what about the …” Quark steels himself. “What about the blood?”

  There’s a silence and Quark can almost hear her thinking. “It really is no biggie; nothing to worry about. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom,” Daisy pauses and now Quark can hear the fond smile in her voice, “I sound like my Mum, but … I’ll help you sort it out.”

  Chapter 52

  LADY BUSINESS

  I’m stuck; middle of the night, half-awake, half-asleep, worn out by the chase and the injuries I’d suffered. The night that had seemed to presage the end of the world now faded back to the realms of nightmare — although the injuries I’d suffered proved events had been all too real. Certainly, the pain in my throat was intense, though because I no longer had to actually breathe through it, the effects were minimised. And the cut on my arm hadn’t been as deep as I’d feared. All the blood seems to have been an echo of what Quark was going through …

  Now I can read him better, it’s obvious he’s really shaken. He’s overwhelmed by what he sees as the chaos of human life — of teenage life. It’s too much for him!

  If I was living my life, I’d know exactly where I was in my cycle. As far as what my Nan terms ‘lady-business’, I’m as regular as clockwork. I can say to the day, almost to the hour when it will start, but in here it takes me a moment to react to Quark’s whining. I feel it too, but the pain is a dull, distant throb compared to what I normally experience.

  I’d been wondering how Quark would take to the red-blooded reality of life as a female member of the human race. Not even remotely well is the answer!

  As I ran for my life, I’d been distantly aware of the dull pain in the pit of my stomach and the muffled throb in my head — as though the discomfort related to someone else entirely, which, in a way, it does!

  As Quark goes through his panicked reaction, my heart beats in a strange, excited way — but … it’s my heart and I can feel it, distantly but feelingly. He hobbles to the bathroom, as if he’s recovering from major surgery, and my legs feel lead-like — as though they’re unused to activity. But again, although I’m not actively controlling them, I sense the movement.

  I’m still a passenger, it’s not my body, but I have a greater sense of it than I’ve had for ages. My limbs seem reluctant to move — uncooperative to whoever’s giving the orders. I’m only gently feeling my way back into being, and it doesn’t yet feel as though my body is ready to be mine again, but I may soon be able to expand my territory — if not yet go for a complete takeover.

  Quark is clearly floored by the physical and emotional effects of what’s happening. I reckon the experiences of just living a life are gradually overwhelming him.

  But he’s also affected by the hormonal effects of my cycle. I mean, I know we’re all basically sacks of water and chemicals, but Quark actually is just a bunch of malignant chemicals, so my hormones may have a greater proportional effect on him. I’m used to his swift changes of mood, but this chaos — literal and chemically induced — may explain his extreme behaviour.

  Whatever’s happening, I’ve fought like a demon to stay alive. I enjoy being alive and given the alternative, I’d like to just carry-on living. As far as I can tell, death sucks — big time. Whereas, despite its many ickies (as Amy would say), life has a lot to recommend it.

  Quark has changed the person people see as Daisy Jacobs. My personality has lost even the echo of the sparkle Amy talked about. I’m colder, more distant; all pinched lips and wan complexion; it’s like I’m made of stone. When I speak, there’s no inflexion in my voice. It’s as though he’s no longer dangerous; it could be a ruse, and he may snap back at any moment, but he appears defeated. Especially after the events of tonight.

  Before Quark arrived, I often worried about different things — the usual issues of a schoolgirl’s life: friendships, bullying, boys, fitting in, getting less than 95% in Science or Maths — all the ordinary, mundane stuff of everyday life. Being swotty and having a passion for Literature and Maths and Science, I genuinely wanted to know a lot about things t
hat most people my age have no interest in. All that set me a little apart. I didn’t fit certain people’s idea of the norm.

  And then I was taken over by a 13.8-billion-year-old alien, who acted like a toddler in a toy shop. A toy shop that is the body of a fourteen-year-old human. I mean I struggle with what my body’s going through. So, once the full experience hit him, he didn’t stand a chance!

  We’re in the bathroom; all clean and fresh and sorted. But it turns out Quark’s not at one with the programme. Even in the steamed-up mirror I can see that my sweet, innocent face is anxious; cheeks ashen with a pale red spot centred on each. The arrogance he’d put there has gone — for the moment, at least. The triumphant smile has shrivelled to a sad grimace that’s painful to behold. Outwardly he’s struggling to remain composed, but it takes one look to know he’s fading rapidly. Weirdly, my heart echoes with pity for him and I almost find it within myself to surrender to him, even at this late stage, so he can fulfil his destiny. However, the urge to fulfil my own is stronger!

  This isn’t fair! I shouldn’t even have to contemplate such things. All I want is dull, boring normality! Boring beats this any day. It’s unbelievable that one girl should hold the fate of the planet in her hands (or head). But I know I have no choice. I clench my fist: I have to save the world, I— Hang on … what happened there? Did I really just clench my fist? That wasn’t Quark, that was me!

  I’ll do it again …

  I focus every ounce of effort I can summon. “Aaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhhh!”

  Nope — try again. I mentally grit my teeth and just concentrate on the fingers of my right hand. I picture my small, slim hand and ‘see’ the fingers slowly, ever-so slowly curve into a fist that I can shake in the face of fate …

  I almost think I can feel a twinge, a flicker of something, just at the very tips of the fingers of my right hand, but I can’t make the fist. I’m sure I did it once though; and if I did, then I can do it again. I just need to find the right moment — and the energy to do it.

  The steamy atmosphere in the bathroom is slowly dissipating, my image still as blurry as I feel, but I see my soft eyes, grey and mournful, whose slightest variation in expressiveness I’d become expert in interpreting. It’s a weird way of deciphering how ‘I’ feel. But I see their lustre has faded and note how they stare vacantly out at me.

  “You can still end this,” Quark says. My voice is deeper, hoarse — drained of emotion; of conviction.

  “How?” I reply in full neutral mode.

  “Still time for you to surrender.”

  “Quark, you’re going through the motions. Even you don’t believe what you’re saying anymore.”

  In the mirror, I see my head shake and my mouth open to speak. But before he can repeat his becoming mantra, I interrupt him. “Your eyes, Quark — I mean my eyes.”

  “What about them?”

  “You forget, they are mine,” I say. “I know them; I know me. You say one thing, but your eyes say another. Look at my face. Go on: really look at me now in the mirror.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay, I’m looking.”

  “Is that someone on the verge of triumph? Someone on the brink of achieving their goal? Or more like somebody on the edge of a precipice? An individual overwhelmed by everything that’s happened to them?” I give that time to sink in. “You can live without this.”

  “Without what?”

  “Without killing. Without dealing in death and destruction. You can find form, find a body, a soul to exist within. There’s no need to take their life. Why not just be them?”

  “Because I need to be-come,” he says through my gritted teeth.

  “Why?”

  “Because — well, it is complicated.”

  “What — and you think I won’t understand? This is why you’re here in the first place. The reason you invaded my body. You’ve told me repeatedly; but you have never actually explained it. So — come on, you’ve had enough time in school now to know how to make a case and explain it clearly. Tell me.”

  “Once upon a time —”

  “Quark!”

  “The universe was something very small,” he continues without further prevarication, just the faintest ghost of a smile on my lips, “and then expanded incredibly quickly.” I can see that the thought process, or maybe the focus on this fundamental point of his purpose, immediately brings more colour to my cheeks and a spark of life to my eyes.

  “In fact, one of your scientists, a man called —”

  “Einstein, yes,” I interrupt.

  “Would you interrupt a teacher like that?”

  “No, Quark.”

  “You asked me to tell you this, so let me explain.”

  “Yes, Quark,” I say, suitably chastened.

  “He realised that the universe could not remain the same size; it must either expand or contract. This is where the ‘Big Bang’ came from. The fate of the universe rests on the notion that the universe will continue to expand … forever. If it doesn’t, then the opposite will happen, and the universe will contract. And the universe will end. Everyone and everything will be burnt to death in a fiery inferno; there will be a universal apocalypse.”

  I can’t help feeling somewhat edgy at this notion.

  He senses this. “You have something to say, Daisy?”

  “Yes, Quark I do. I really don’t fancy ‘a universal apocalypse’.”

  “I can imagine!”

  “I thought this was what you wanted; it’s what I’ve been trying to stop for a month.”

  “I don’t want to happen either. My lifetime’s work is to prevent the end of the universe by stopping it from contracting.”

  “And your way of doing that is to go around decimating whole planetary systems and systematically eliminating countless races and civilisations?”

  “I do not do this at random!”

  “I know Quark, there is a system to your regime of mass murder. You are as organised as a Nazi.”

  He shakes my head. “You do not understand.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Pray enlighten me.”

  My curse raises nothing more than an eyebrow. “The universe contains a lot of … ‘stuff’. You call this light and matter and suchlike. And that’s fine — except if there is too much stuff.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Gravity happens.”

  “Even out in space?”

  “It’s a fundamental force. It is everywhere, and if there is too much matter in the universe, gravity will have a bigger impact. Instead of expanding, the universe could slow. It could even contract.”

  “Leading to universal apocalypse.”

  My head nods.

  “So, how is that prevented? How do you stop the … stuff threshold from being over-stepped,” I ask. But as I say the words, it suddenly becomes clear. “You eliminate stuff,” I say, answering my own question.

  In the mirror, my lips form a thin, but for Quark, warm smile. “You do see! You understand. You’ll help?”

  “Help?”

  “You’ll become?”

  “What? No! Why would I do that?”

  “So you can help me eliminate more of the stuff that is clogging up the universe. Before it is too late.”

  “We are not ‘stuff’! We’re human beings. This is our home, our planet. Earth will not cause the universe to slow down or stop.”

  “It might! Earth could be the tipping point!”

  “So, by your reckoning, if you emulsify my planet, the universe won’t reach that critical threshold and will continue to expand forever?”

  My head nods.

  “If you don’t and instead let us all live, the universe ends up uniformly cold, dead and empty?”

  “Yes. I knew you would understand and accept your fate, eventually.”

  “Piffle.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Absolute piffle. I have never heard such a load of complete and utter co
dswallop in all of my life.”

  “This is neither ‘piffle’ nor ‘codswallop’ — whatever either of those things may be. This is science.”

  “This is mass-murder excused as housekeeping.”

  He shakes my head, but then reconsiders. “Actually, although I still disapprove of the ‘murderer’ tag, that is a useful analogy. Keeping things tidy, making sure the universe’s mess doesn’t get too out of hand — that is a useful and important job.”

  “And it’s still piffle.”

  “And on what basis, oh mighty fourteen-year-old girl, do you refute this fundamental, self-evident scientific fact?”

  “How old is the universe?”

  “Thirteen point eight billion years — you know this.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “You know this also — very slightly less than thirteen point eight billion years.”

  “And in thirteen point eight billion years, this is the best you’ve come up with? Mash planets and people into dust? That’s it? That’s your idea of ‘saving the universe’”.

  “It has worked up until now! The universe is healthy.” Quark rolls my eyes, as if I can’t see him right there in the mirror.

  I know I’m on the verge of something big. I’ve plotted to get him out of my head and body, but I’ve barely been keeping him at bay. But today I had brief control of one part of my body, and out-thought him too. Now I’m putting together a plan that might just get us both through this in one piece — or in Quark’s case, probably several million pieces.

  Chapter 53

  WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?

  Quark thinks in straight lines. He’s serious and formal. He uses highfalutin’ language, finds even contractions like ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t’ difficult — in fact doubly so, because he can and he does! He takes himself very seriously. There’s a certain order to his existence. A natural rhythm that consists of — nothing, boredom, destruction, death, nothing, boredom, destruction, death, etc. The ‘nothing’ and the ‘boredom’ last for a very long time; the interesting bits — the ‘destruction’ and ‘death’ are generally over in the time it takes to read this sentence. And this routine is well-practised, ordered and familiar. Yes, there’s an awful lot of nothing, but if you aren’t sentient, that’s not important. Only in those brief flashes of existence does Quark realise there might be more to life than death, but by that time he’s usually … well, dead.