EPISODE 3: HUMAN AFTER ALL (1)
INTRO X: I don't know why people make excuses by saying, “I'm only human.” There's no only about it. It's Girl In Space.
[[SFX: INTRO MUSIC]]
PROLOGUE
[[SFX: Tape Click]]
X, played back over a tape recorder: I know that part of being human means making mistakes. Making assumptions. Being a lot less strong and clever and beautiful than we'd like to be.
I mean, to be human is to be imperfect. At least by the definition of perfection. Which, interestingly enough, is a human construction. Part of being human means being afraid, even when you know what you're doing is right.
[[Deep breath]] I made a mistake. I made an assumption. And I was wrong.
I assumed she she wouldn't do it. I mean, I knew she was capable. But I just… assumed she wouldn't do it.
So I didn't take any precautions. I didn't warn… I didn't warn you. It's all… everything is on me. And I don't know what to --
[[SFX: Door opens, footsteps enter]]
Get out!
[[SFX: Tape Click]]
SCENE 1
[[SFX: Enforcer One Cell]]
X: [[Rattled, barely controlled anger]] Okay. That… did not go well.
Earlier, when I said that I'm not good at talking to people? I may have been… generously optimistic.
At least they've given my recorder back to me for now. Though I think someone took it apart and put it back together in a hurry because the analog buttons are all loose and the data tracker was backed up to an entry from more than 5,000 days ago.
Also, the little sunglasses-wearing penguin sticker that said “Chill Out” has been scraped off.
OH. AND ALSO, I'm in prison.
I probably should have led with that.
[[Pause]] You know, in some ways, I think I've been waiting my whole life for this. … Not… not to… wind up in prison. But for things to just… end. Abruptly. Inelegantly. And with absolutely zero regard for my own wishes.
I just thought it would happen when I died -- and not before. Not that I'm bitter.
I don't know. Maybe I should be looking on some kind of bright side. I'm a scientist, and here I am in a new environment with all sorts of new biological entities and possibilities to study. I should be over the moon -- you know. Wherever that is.
But… instead, I'm just hungry, sore, exhausted, and really, really nauseated.
Part of me keeps hoping that I'm going to wake up soon to find that this has all been some kind of hyper-realistic nightmare. You know, like on the beach with the flies. It wouldn't be beyond Charlotte to conduct some tests on me while I slept.
I mean, I have no proof, conclusive or otherwise, that what I'm experiencing right now is real. I could be hallucinating, or drugged, or unconscious. Or maybe none of it has ever been real. Maybe I'm not even real. I guess I don't have a whole lot of proof of my own existence, aside from this recorder.
Which might not exist, either.
Sorry. Just a little lighthearted existential musing to keep myself from sailing headfirst into full-fledged panic.
[[Deep breath, heartbeat]] For the first time in my life, I am not aboard the Cavatica.
[[It sinks in]] I'm not aboard the Cavatica.
I am instead aboard one of the 21 ships that came careening into my life from out of nowhere. I'm assuming I'm on the Enforcer One, though we all know what happens when we assume.
I'm locked in a small rectangular metal room without any windows or consoles or lights. There's just a grated drain in the floor, and a magnetically sealed door with a slidey thing near the top that I can't open from this side.
Technically, there is one light -- a little green pinprick up in the corner, across from the door. It's like Charlotte's visual sensor, on a teeny-tiny scale. I've concluded that it's some sort of recording or monitoring device, though I'm not sure if it's audio, video, or both. Or neither.
So I'm trying to be careful with what I say. Which is kind of hard, considering that I've been audibly recording every thought that comes in my head ever since the day Dad gave me this recorder.
I don't know why they're monitoring me or what their plans are for me. [[Deep breath]] But! I am still breathing.
Probably.
… Just kidding -- I… I really am breathing. I can tell because the smell of this place is… [[wrinkles nose in distaste]] pervasive. Bleach and plastics and isopropyl alcohol and the decay of something organic. At first, I thought it was rising up from the drain in the middle of the floor, but then I realized, no -- the air in this place just smells like rotting garbage.
There's probably something trapped up in their ventilation system. Like a forgotten sandwich, or maybe the DECAYING CORPSES OF ALL OF THE OTHER SCIENTISTS THEY HAVE ABDUCTED.
[[Pause]]
Hm. I should probably back up and tell you how I got here.
[[SFX: Ambient sound swell]]
[[Sighs]] I know now that I should have been more careful. I mean, at the time, I thought I was being careful. I thought I had the element of surprise.
But it was kind of like when Robert Muldoon gets mauled by velociraptors -- you're focused on one perceived threat when another suddenly grabs you from behind and pulls you down from the crates of Caldwell Enterprises synthetic protein where you've been lurking, thinking smugly about just how careful you're being.
Mom would have said, “Pride goeth before a fall,” and shaken her head at me in disappointment.
...Heh. Dad would have just punched their lights out.
[[Reflective pause]] I wish they were here.
Heck. I wish Charlotte were here.
...Anyway, ah, after they grabbed me, they confiscated the paring knife and the wrench that I thought I had so cleverly concealed on my person. They took my recorder, too. I never got the chance to use the weapons, but considering how the whole spying escapade has turned out for me so far, that might be for the best.
The whole thing was... like a dream, and I remember that I questioned the reality of what was happening even then. The unexpected grip of their gloved hands on my arms and legs, the bright lights flashing in my eyes, the curt messages inveigled by static… it was simultaneously sensory overload and fugue state, hyper-realism and unbelievable helplessness.
Did you ever know what it felt like, to be trapped?
Before this, I thought I did.
Uh. Up close, their suits were dark gray, and made of some sort of micro-scaled metallic material, hard but flexible. Kind of like snakeskin.
When I looked up into the face of the largest figure -- the one who had grabbed me and dragged me down from the crates -- I couldn't see anything but my own reflection, stretched and... cartoonishly surprised, lit weirdly from within my vacuum suit's hood.
It was like an out-of-body experience. I watched my expression settle as I realized I was staring into my own eyes, as I stared into the curved, reflective eye-panels of the helmet, directionless and impassive as the eyes of a mantis.
The other two figures -- the pair not currently working on the airlock -- flanked us like bodyguards. One was holding what I continued to assume was a ridiculously large gun, and the other -- the fifth one, without the breathing apparatus -- was holding a light.
The central figure flipped a small glowing-red switch on the shoulder of its suit and spoke, demanding to know who I was. Or… who I am. Let's keep that present-tense. For now. Anyway, its voice was raspy and filtered through the helmet, but I thought I recognized it from the radio as Captain Miles Chen.
It took me a minute to craft the perfect answer -- my plan was to make them as sympathetic to me as possible without revealing any meaningful data. So I said, “My mom used to call me Little Lug-Nut.”
… Turns out, this was not the right thing to say.
And although I know it wasn't possible, I could have sworn I heard a snort from beneath one of the other figures' helmets.
Captain Miles Chen just stared at me, and I took advantage of his momentary loss for words to interject a few of my own.
“Look,” I said, trying to appear dignified despite the fact that most of my hair had been jostled out of its ponytail, and was now gluing itself to my face with sweat. “It's not too late. You can just let me go, turn around, pack up, tell the head honchos there's nothing to see here, and move along. You and I would go our separate ways. I would forget, figuratively if not literally, that I ever saw you.”
For a second, three pairs of glossy view-panels simply continued to stare at me. My reflection stared back in triplicate.
Then the butt end of one of those enormous guns came rushing toward the clear plastic faceplate of my hood, and everything went all cold and sparkly.
And next thing I knew, I was… here.
[[Momentary pause]] You know, honestly, even though my right cheekbone is all bruised and swollen, I kind of admire their precision. To knock a sentient organism unconscious and have them awaken again within an appropriate (and even, dare I say, dramatic) timeline without incurring permanent damage is quite a feat.
I'm also absurdly glad I was wearing clothes underneath the vacuum suit because when I woke up, it was gone. The vacuum suit, I mean.
Modesty aside, it is freezing in here. Well, not literally freezing. Just uncomfortably cold. I should have asked for a thermal blanket along with my recorder.
… Oh yeah, I should tell you how I got my recorder back.
Basically, one of the figures came to my door a while ago, opened the little slot thingy, and asked for my name again. I couldn't see them very well because my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and the light coming in from behind them was so bright. I told them I'd exchange my name for my recorder, and after a second, one of those cheap little datapads came tumbling through the slot, along with a stylus.
I wrote a big “X” on it and sent it back, and then, to my surprise, my recorder came through. I distinctly heard someone say, “Better than Little Lug-Nut.”
So I don't know if that means they think my name is actually “X,” or if they think I'm illiterate, but I'm just gonna roll with it.
Annnnnd speaking of rolling with it, I need to throw up, so I'm going to stop recording for a while.
SCENE 2
[[SFX: Enforcer One Cell]]
X: [[Groggily]] Day… uh… 10,306, probably? Maybe 10,307? Hour unknown.
[[Controlled breathing]] Oh man, do I feel sick. I thought that sleeping would make me feel better, but that is not the case. Bleh. Kind of glad that there's a drain in the floor.
Or should I say grate-ful?
Nope. That was a pun and I instantly regret it.
Seriously though, when they come back, I'm going to ask if they checked me for a concussion.
[[SFX: Enforcer One, ship sounds]]
If they come back. It's been a while.
The last time someone came by -- yesterday, or maybe the day before -- they just dumped a bunch of pellet-things and a pouch of liquid through the slat in the door. The liquid was a dead-tasting variation of water, and I think the pellets are supposed to be some kind of food-substitute. I tried to eat one, to keep up my energy, but when it turned into a chalky, rotten paste in my mouth, I threw up again into the drain in the middle of the floor. I drank the water, though. Gotta stay hydrated, at least.