Nilologue - Part 4

Eventually, my eyebrows grew back, and I stopped looking quite so surprised by everything. How quickly we settle into our routines, no matter the absurdity of the situation. I knew that none of this was normal, despite having no clue of what "normal" even looked like. Every morning, I would run my hands over the wet stubble covering my scalp. Thinking of Gen's long blonde flowing locks, thinking how long those would take to dry. Smile! My gums were. Well. My mouth had mostly recovered. Dead skin spat and swirled away each morning, along with nightmares of white coffins and shovels slamming on fingertips.

Ingrid claimed a table in the mess hall, splaying out the guts of the camera drone along with the few tools we had available for dissection. Gen had me back in her medbay a few more times, checking out my various bumps and scrapes and open wounds. Each time I had fewer and fewer issues, yet the checkups seemed to take longer and longer. Jack did - whatever it is he did. And Simon and I went round, and around, and around in the cryopod room. The halls were unlocked a few times, but we stuck to our silently self-imposed quotas instead. The hum and the hiss, the stink of fluids, the keen scream of empty husks that had faces just like us, hearts that beat and lungs that roared to be alive.

PURGE? (y/n)

PURGING...

STATUS CHANGE: NON-VIABLE

PURGE? (y/n)

PURGING...

TRANSFERRING POD, STANDBY...

PURGING...

FLUID OUTLET PORT 1: NOT RESPONDING

PURGING...

NO SIGNAL, REMOVE ACCESS COVER AND CYCLE POWER

PURGING...

REBOOT FAILURE

PURGING...

HAVEN'T YOU HAD ENOUGH YET. (y/n)

PURGING...

Then one day, a screamer did-not-looked me in the eye. Mouth open. Brain ruined. The noise came out, and I just felt:

Nothing. Like I was wasting my time. I hated this thing, this meat that flooded slime all over my hands. I just wanted to stab it until it stopped bleeding at me. To hit it until the mouth closed. To hit it with the crowbar, wrapped in my fist, white-knuckled, until it stopped being such a waste. To hit it again, and again, and again.

I felt nothing.

So. That was the end of helping Simon with the cryopods.

I was left at a loose-end after that. Simon had this look in his face: a mixture of raw, hollow pity, alloyed with "I told you so". It manifested in darting glances in the mess hall, holding doors open a little too long and a little too far away, and silence.

Fuck him.

I followed Jack around for a few days. He showed me the still, set up in a cleared-out storage locker. It was a sight to behold, mostly duct tape by weight, dripping out regret by the drop into a big plastic tub. The way that tub called out to me was a head-scratcher. Gen said "No!" and physically dragged me away when she saw me looking at it alone one time. I was only looking. I wasn't going to poison myself any further, not after last time. She frog-marched me away all the same. I calmly explained the situation, but she had me in an elbow lock, and for some reason my calm and rational explanations came out as stutters and whining.

Gen wouldn't hear any of it, and Simon wouldn't stop looking at me like that, and Ingrid didn't care, and something in my shoulders told me Jack cared quite, quite a bit too much. Which left the topmost bunk in the far back corner of the sleeping quarters. A pitched tent of blankets tied in place with threadbare pillowcases, dimly lit from the inside like a covered candle. Smothering.

It took me a few tries to talk to Hugo in his nest of solitude, the one remaining survivor I had yet to meet. Nobody ever actually said the words "you shouldn't talk to Hugo". Nobody moved their teeth and tongue to make the sounds. But... obviously they didn't need to. Of course they didn't need to. I could tell. Simon went back out into the halls for the first time in a while. Ingrid was fully occupied poring over the neat rows and columns of shattered plastic and twisted wire. Gen was "busy". So it was just me, and Hugo, hanging out in the dark.

"Hello?" I said to the light. I didn't get an answer. I tried again, waited. Tried once more. Waited, once more. I heard a rustle just as I was turning to leave. A small gap had opened up in the wall of the tent. Despite the fact that the light was coming from inside, the gap seemed darker than the walls surrounding it.

I didn't quite know what to do with the invitation, if that is what it was. I clambered up to the top of the crowded bunk, and just sort of, squished my head in between the opening. I held my breath for a moment, but it didn't smell of anything at all. The space inside was lit by a tangled block of wires, nestled around a short fluorescent globe that must've been torn out of the ceiling. The whole thing was wrapped in yellow cloth, and seemed begging to burst into flame. The inside layer of the tent was festooned with dozens of pins, holding tattered shreds of carefully pressed paper. I saw numbers and lines and diagrams and symbols, none whole, all edges. My entry and breath had set them all a-flutter. Off to the side, as far away from the glowing improvised lamp as possible, sat Hugo.

All of us were pale. Not like Hugo. Not that specific shade of bone. All of us were thin. Not like Hugo, not those right-angled cheekbones that hurt to look at. All of us had seen some shit.

But we hadn't seen enough to cocoon ourselves away from the day and night. To refuse the passing of time. I looked Hugo in the eyes, and realised I would be dead.

I hadn't spoken. In a long time. "Hi... Hugo."

He nodded.

"I'm Bec. Rebecca."

He shrugged. Alright. Rude.

"I was just wondering..." I started, but one corner of his mouth raised a fraction. No teeth. He pointed to one point on the sheet, the wall of his world, and when it wouldn't stop moving - when I wouldn't stop moving it - he pinched it between two fingers. A folded shard of some instruction booklet, the head and torso of a body at an angled position. Unfolding the paper with his thumb, I read the red-inked numbers on the underside:

"What?" I asked, for the. For the second time? I kept not understanding Hugo's answer. The answers. And not understanding the question I wanted to ask. The questions.

The questions. There was something wrong, wrong with the way we were thinking. A wrong answer had been introduced into the system, and we had all stopped looking at the situation. It blocked off other lines of thought, it resulted in simple, reasonable, wrong solutions. It stopped us asking more questions.

The halls. The walls. The cryopods. The lights. The food. The weapons. The showers.

Check your working out. You have reached an answer, and that answer is incorrect.

I never saw Hugo alive again.

I don't know if it was something I said, or did. Or smelt. Or just imagined. But after I spoke with Hugo, things... changed. Again. It keeps changing around here, all the bloody time. I can't stand it. Gen said something to Simon, who went storming off alone into the hallways without his usual water supply. Jack said something to Ingrid, who stabbed him in the face. Well, cut him up a bit. I think she just flailed in his general direction, and happened to be holding an unfortunate screwdriver. Shame really, that it wasn't a hammer. I didn't mean that, really.

"..." said Jack. He was facing away from me, sitting shirtless in Gen's med- in the medbay. His back was lined, ribs ridged, vertebrae dotting from the neck down. He was either crying, or had the hiccups, but was silent either way. Clearly I wasn't, he twisted around on the padded table and looked me in the eye for a moment. He didn't have bags under his eyes, they weren't bloodshot, but the tiredness still stood out.

"Hey." I said, softly. Something in the walls of the medbay went click...hum.

"Hey." he responded. When he spoke, I could see the skin-coloured bandage on his face flex a little. Otherwise, Jack's face was completely still.

"I-" (didn't have anything to say) "-came to tell you that-" (you shouldn't have pissed off Ingrid, and she shouldn't have stabbed you) "-dinner in the mess hall has happened. It's rubbish."

I expected him to crack wise about that bit of 'news'. The silence was cavernous.

"Ingrid, she shouldn't-" I started, but Jack shook his head. Twitched, really.

"I don't want to talk about her." The twist to Jack's tongue told me Ingrid's name sat on his tongue, like a fresh slice of lemon.

"Ok. Alright. We won't talk about - her." I stepped forward, pushed myself up onto the bed, and spun around so I was facing the same way as Jack. "So," I swung my legs and stared at the wall. "What should we talk about instead?"

"We could talk about how you've got the hots for Gen."

My legs clonked together. If I'd been walking, I would've fallen onto my face. "No. What? No. What do you mean?" My neck was too warm, and I could feel the heat crawling higher.

"It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, Gen's just all over Simon, you are Simon's special little project, and you want to just..."

Jack started making noises and smacking his hands together. I wasn't impressed.

"Do you always just say whatever to try make people hit you?" I said, staring resolutely at the wall.

"Oh, no! I don't think it'll make people hit me. I know it will."

"Well... why?"

He shrugged, rubbing his shoulder against mine a bit in the process. I didn't think he noticed. "I 'unno. It's funny. I guess. Why are you always so desperate to help everyone?"

"I'm not-" I bit back the yell, tried again, "I'm not desperate. I just. I like it. I guess. And I'm not going to hit you Jack. No matter what you say."

"Well, if you say so." Jack leaned back, so he could watch the back of my head will he espoused. "I can't help pissing them off, you can't help but help out. We can't help ourselves. Nobody can. It's the same reason Simon and Gen and Ingrid are like that."

"And Hugo." I chimed in.

"... I suppose."

"Why the hesitation? What's Hugo done?"

"It's not. I'm not. It's just, you'll understand once you've been around for a bit longer. Hugo, he's not quite..." Jack was searching for the words. It felt weird, having him behind me like that, but I resisted the urge to twist and face him.

"Not quite right in the head? And you are?" I countered.

Jack let out a bark of laughter. "Well! In that case, I suppose you've got us all to rights. Including yourself, obviously."

I didn't bother to argue. It was obvious whether I was sane or not, so why fight about it?

"So," I said poking him in the leg without looking. "Simon's mad?"

"Yup." Jack nodded.

"And... Ingrid is bonkers?"

"Obviously."

"And Gen is-"

"Nuts." he beat me to it. He had grabbed my poking finger between two of his. Another little gesture later and he had his hand was wrapped around mine.

"And you are just... maddening." he murmured, loud enough for the two of us, and nobody else.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. I could've pulled away, but it would've been awkward, so I just... sat there. While Jack held my hand. The heat, conjured up by mention of Gen, reared up again. This was Jack. Pointless, stupid Jack. He didn't matter. Not a bit.

So nothing I did now mattered either.

I had to shuffle around a bit until I was facing Jack, who was still holding my wrist with that hand, surely he could feel my pulse as it thundered up and down my everything, and then I just sort of.

Pressed my face against his.

I guess?

I thought he was crying again. Once I realised he was squeezing back laughter, my ears caught up with my neck.

And so obviously, I hit him. What else was I supposed to do?

Stupid. So stupid. Stupid fucking Jack, with his stupid fucking face. And those stupid skinny shoulders, and those stupid fucking collarbones. Why? Why'd I been so stupid? Maybe, if I looked more like- like Gen? I stared at the waifish creature that sat in the foggy bathroom mirror. Ran a thumb over each wispy eyebrow. Pushed the fuzz across my scalp one way, then the other. It was growing. It had to be. Eventually, one day, it would be the same length as Gen's. A light brown curtain to hide behind. And, by that time, Gen's hair would be a waterfall over her shoulders, a long mane you could bunch up and wrap around your fist... stupid. How could I be so stupid?

The toilet flushed, and I just about cracked my head on the metal ceiling. Simon stepped out, and made eye-contact through the mirror.

"What?" he said. The wet metal floors made his voice echo.

"I- didn't say anything."

"Yeah. You looked like you were about to. So... what?" Simon broke eye-contact as he washed his hands. A quartet of questions all raced for my mouth:

1. What is going on with you and Gen?

2. What is going on with you and me?

3. Does Gen, ever, you know, talk about me?

4. What is actually going on. Why is everything so weird. Why.

All the questions crashed together in a big pile behind my teeth, and something else entirely crawled out of the wreckage.

"I kissed Jack." came blurting out. Simon paused, nodded, and went to dry his hands.

"It happens." he said blithely.

I stared up at the ceiling, shut my eyes, and tried to re-order my thoughts.

"I feel so... weird. Just all the time. Sometimes it goes away, and other times, I just, I don't know what to do with myself."

"Bec-" Simon sighed. "We've all got stuff going on. You've only been out of the pod a little while. It gets better. I'm getting dinner. Have you eaten yet? Come on."

I started to follow Simon towards the mess hall, then slowed once he turned the corner. Something Simon said bounced through my spinning thoughts. He'd said, 'it happens'. Did that mean, Simon... and Jack? I tired to picture it. Simon was shorter than Jack, though not by much. Enough that Jack would need to bend his neck, to lean down, or that Simon would've had to pull Jack's face towards his. That was assuming they'd been standing up. What if they'd been lying next to each other? Lying on one of the bunks that fit a single person at a time just fine, two would be knee-to-knee, face-to-face...

"You alright Bec?" said Gen. I shook my head.

"No. I mean, yes. No, nothing is wrong." I was in the mess hall. I'd walked there, in a bit of a daze. Yes. That is what had happened. And then I'd sat down across from Gen. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"You sure? I know dinner is real bad tonight, did you eat enough? Are you feeling faint?" Gen's hair fell around her gently creased face. If I stood up and leant all the way over the table, I'd be able to tuck a strand behind an ear. Probably.

"Gen, I'm fine."

"Are you really sure? I know I said the last checkup was the last one but-"

"Really! Gen! Enough with all the questions." Gen's face went blank.

"I'm just - tired, that's all."

Ingrid let out a low whistle, that turned into a hum, and then back into a whistle. My breath caught, and fists clenched for an instant. Then, the urge to grab Ingrid and shake her until she stopped making that noise, passed. That was the worst thing about this place. Not the food. Not the danger. The fact that you were never, ever alone. Hugo was camped in the bunks all day and all night, it would be weird to do the same thing as him. Gen retreated back to the medbay whenever Simon or Jack made her upset, which seemed to be happening a lot recently. Ingrid spent all her hours in the mess hall, slowly reconstructing her shattered project. There wasn't really anywhere I could just be. The bathrooms? The cryopods? Ick.

"Si-mon" called Ingrid across the tables, in a sing-song kind of voice. "Come and look at this. See here? And this bit here? And if I just - I think -"

Simon put a hand out to halt the flurry, Ingrid was speaking faster and faster. "Are you getting one of those thoughts again?"

Ingrid stood up, then sat back down again, bouncing her knee and chewing on a thumbnail. "Maybe? I think so? I think I have to... take apart one of the cryopod stations...?" she winced, waiting for a question. Simon just patted her gently on the back.

"Whatever you need. Just be careful." But Ingrid was already off. I watched Ingrid leave. Gen watched Simon stay.

"So, um. I've never heard Ingrid talk like that before." I said, while Simon prodded dinner. It looked like soup. It smelled like meat. It was icy-cold, and didn't seem inclined to warm up.

"Yeah, she gets like this sometimes. Sometimes she'll just wake up knowing that she needs to smash up the thing she's been working on for days, and then she'll turn it into something completely different. It's gone really well every time, but I think it freaks her out. Feeling so out of control."

"So right now, she's taking apart one of the last cryopods, and she doesn't even know why?"

Simon shrugged. "It's not the strangest thing that's happened here."

Silence fell between us. "And what would be? The strangest thing, I mean."

Simon smiled, and would not say.