The Watchful Eyes

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. This doesn’t worry her yet, her spacewalk is not due for two more days and she’s been training for this since she turned thirteen and has been assigned to become an engineering apprentice. Vivien’s polished boots click against the white panelled floor as she speed walks to the cafeteria. It will be a routine call to change the portion of the solar panel that had started to fail. She will be accompanied by a senior engineer. There’s no room for error and so hardly any reason for anybody to be screaming. She will be fine. Just dandy. It’s what everybody expects and she can’t fail again. She’s shaken out of her reverie when her eyes meet theirs. The place is crawling with them again. Normally she sees them in the shadowed crooks and nannies but this evening they’ve turned bolder as if tired of sharing a residence with the spiders and other insects that managed to make their way out of Earth. They smile at her as she passes, hanging from the high beams above her. Their smiles are crooked and their skin so furry you can barely make out their beady eyes.

Vivien’s skin crawls when she makes her way to the now short line for the food. Most people have gotten their portions already as she passes a sweeping glance around the place. When it’s her turn to be served there’s no longer much choice. Bladderwrack couscous or cauliflower soup and she can’t stomach cauliflower, its bulbous heads reminding her of them. Wire-thin robotic arms spoon a tiny portion onto a bamboo plate, the dish likely to have been crafted by her own mother. Her mum Alice has always been skilful with her hands, back on Earth making sewn art that would sell for high prices. Here, that skill is superfluous. Instead, she’s been assigned to a team of four that finds ways of using the bamboo that’s being grown in the Plant Sector that helps to supplement their oxygen levels. Vivien’s hands grasp the delicate bowl and she heads to the back of the cafeteria, knowing a place had been saved for her by her mother and tries to prepare herself for the pursed lips that will surely meet her there. Her mum hates it when she makes her wait.

The greying hair is neatly pinned back into a pompadour hairstyle just like always. Vivien wonders what goes through her mother’s head when she rushes home after her shift just to have enough time to do her hair. Does she now imagine that she’s sitting in a plush chair of a grand restaurant and not on a hard metal bench in the cafeteria that’s been designed to fit in as many people as possible? She doesn’t dare ask. Her mum's crimson lips look relaxed, not arranged in that you-should-have-known better look that is almost a permanent fixture on her face, but she still mutters the obligatory you’re late.

They dig into their food. The couscous is plain and the slimy leaves of the bladderwrack stick to her teeth. Her mother stares straight ahead and she tries to remember the reason her mother gave her for issuing the order that the two of them eat together every evening without exception. Nothing comes to mind. Either way, it’s unlikely that whatever she said was truthful anyway, the reason probably to do with wanting to keep up appearances that their family was stronger than ever despite the tragedy that had befallen them.

Vivien tries to discreetly dislodge the bladderwrack with her tongue when her mother breaks the silence.

“Sharon said there is a new strand of flu going around.” Sharon is their floor’s doctor and her mother’s confidante, who loves being the centre of attention almost as much as her own mother.

“Ah, not great then.”

“It caused Scott Wilkins' tongue to erupt in purple nodules and go twice the size that he had to be hospitalised.” She doesn’t know who that is and doesn’t think her mother does either. She likes to appear like she knows a lot of people here but it’s Dr Sharon who gets invited to private parties, not her mother.

“Sounds like a nasty allergic reaction.”

Her mother levels her with a stare and she drops her gaze. They continue to eat in silence before her mum starts her usual interrogation.

“How are your preparations going for the final exam?” The exam is a week after the spacewalk so Vivien figured she’d have enough time to prepare then. Right now, she’s too worried about the venture outside to be leafing through textbooks.

“Just great, thanks.”

“I hope so. You know, this family can’t have another scandal dragging our already tarnished reputation through the mud.” Her tone is cool, nonchalant like they’re discussing what dress to wear for the next meteor shower viewing.

“Failing my exam would hardly cause a scandal.”

“No, but getting kicked out of your apprenticeship and getting chained to a cleaning mop would certainly do the trick.”

“I will try not to let that happen.”

*

The walls are expanding and contracting. A hiss of a breath in and a gurgling breath out. A living structure determined not to let her sleep. Vivien imagines them expanding more and more until they squish her until she ceases to be. If she keeps watching, she can make her way out before this happens. At least the furry creatures have decided to stay away tonight. She breathes out a loud sigh of relief. Sleep tugs at the corners of her mind but then she remembers the walls and she jolts back awake. The morning seems a million lights away as she wills her dry eyes to stay open.

*

The next morning the senior engineer with a sparse whisker-like moustache talks her through the steps of the spacewalk. Vivien’s been over it already with her other tutors but now Dr Barnes is divulging the smallest of details. How the sweat may drip into her eyes and how hot her body may grow in the suit and how she must make sure the microphone is on at all times so they can communicate. Sure, she’s worn the spacesuit before in the anti-gravity chamber and she had read the procedure manual but apparently, the brain reacts differently when it knows it’s the real deal. The fear that strikes has been known to paralyse grown men twice her size and sabotage whole missions and they want her to be ready. Vivien swallows hard. She needs to be ready. She steals a glance to the ceiling and sees the creatures nodding as if they couldn’t agree more. The moustache continues to move in tandem with Dr Barnes’ words and she tries to concentrate on their meaning.

She pushes through the day trapped in a haze of second thoughts. At dinner time she’s too overwrought to eat and decides to skip through the performance that her meetings with her mother are. She plans to retire early to bed but instead her legs take her outside of Dr Sharon’s living quarters. Sparse spotlights punctuate the darkness every five metres. She shouldn’t be here. They like to conserve power where it’s not needed and with almost everybody in the cafeteria it’s quite reasonable that they don’t care that she can barely make out her own arms. Vivien hesitates, unsure if she should turn back, but then she reminds herself that this is important. She can wait here until Dr Sharon gets back from dinner. She takes a shaky breath. Dr Sharon will be here any moment and then she can ask her for what she’s been telling herself for the past six months she would have to do without.

*

Dr Sharon arrives later than she expected and blood floods down her legs when she gets up from her cross-legged position on the floor. Her dry mouth emits a quiet groan. The older woman invites her inside, unphased at the unexpected visitor.

“Dr Sharon, I–”

“Call me Sharon. We’ve known each other for long enough to skip needless formalities.”

“My father–” Vivien pauses, not sure how to continue “–did you ever officially diagnose him with schizophrenia?”

“Darling, your father was one of the sanest people on board. He didn’t have schizophrenia.”

Her breath catches in her throat before she’s able to dislodge her next words. “How can you say that? He saw things.” She found one of his sketchbooks a few weeks ago, the sketches there too disturbing to be a figment of simple imagination, verifying what her mother had said. They reminded her of some of the things she saw and confirmed why things turned out the way they have.

“Just like you see them?” The question catches Vivien off guard. She hesitates, thinking of what her mother will say if Dr Sh– if Sharon decides to indulge in a bit of sisterly-like gossip.

Finally, she chokes out a reluctant yes. It’s why she’s here after all.

“I will let you in on a secret. A quarter of the ship’s population sees what you see for what you see is quite real,” the woman says in a stage-like whisper and the world tilts and then straightens, just as a loud feral laugh escapes Vivien’s lips at the same time as tears flood her eyes. Dr Sharon is very much insane. Just like her. And her father.

“An eighth of you are immune to the shield they have cast. I’m one of them, just like your father has been.”

“You cannot be serious,” Vivien utters the words while laughing, the laughter she has no control over.

“If it’s any consolation, they don’t mean us any harm. But we’ve entered their galaxy. We’re on their turf and they like to keep an eye out on what’s happening here.”

“But it only started about six months ago.” She sounds like a little child. Pleading. The laughter dies down.

“The time we’ve entered Plane 2333X. They infiltrated our spaceship almost immediately but had agreed to cast a protective cloak if you want to call it that to protect the ones with the more sensitive sensibilities. Not everybody is as strong as you Vivien.”

“And the walls moving, the flying cutlery, the eerie sounds in the middle of the night? Is that them too?” Could she somehow not be crazy?

“I never said they didn’t have a funny sense of humour.” Vivien’s eyebrows rise, trying to gauge how truthful the words coming out of her mouth are. The woman stares back at her, unblinking, her expression serious as the time when she had stitched together the cut skin on Vivien’s arm that she got from falling on top of a vase she planned to gift her mum.

“Then what happened to my father? Didn’t he kill himself because what he was seeing was too horrible to fathom?”

“No, he saw what you see, remember?”

“Then what happened to him?”

“That’s a conversation you need to have with Alice.” She frowns. What could her mother know other than what she knew already?

The doctor then pivots away from her and starts to rummage through the drawer in the nearest cupboard. She pulls out a tablet. She watches as her elegant finger scrolls through the screen, the long fingernail occasionally tapping against it before pausing and then once more scrolling again. She ponders if Sharon had forgotten that she is still in the room. Unlikely.

“That’s the one.”

“What is?” Vivien’s voice comes out louder than intended. Sharon doesn’t appear to notice or does a good job ignoring it.

“I have sent it to your account. I would suggest not looking at it until after your ventures outside. Speaking of which, it is awfully late and I would hate it if you were tired tomorrow because I’ve kept you up.”

She takes that as a dismissal and nods her head and goes for the door. Whatever the enigmatic rumblings meant, she still has to decide if she’s got what it takes to complete the assignment. The door shuts behind her with a thud leaving her alone in the dark corridor, or so she hopes, her hands empty of the anti-psychotics she came here for.

*

Vivien tiptoes into their living quarters, hoping that her mother is already asleep. She's too tired to withstand another confrontation with her. She makes it to her room. Vivien hops on her bed and brings the tablet that’s by her pillow to life. She checks her account. Just like Sharon said, there’s a message from her. She opens it and then the attachment. A single photo. Her parents are standing with Sharon in the middle, holding onto plates with piles of festive food in their living room. She doesn’t get it. She stares at it until she falls asleep. For once the creatures are silent.

*

Her mum is at the deck ready to bid her good luck. She missed her at breakfast but that’s not unusual and she was happy she didn’t have to talk to her. Now she’s here. A slight smile. She doesn’t mention yesterday’s dinner, just puts her bony arms around her in a loose hug and then quickly steps away as if discomfited by the action. Vivien leaves her to change into her suit.

*

The creatures are not here. She had nothing to worry about. She’s floating among the stars only tethered to the spaceship by the long cable. Dr Barnes gestures for her to come over. It’s time. She passes him the needed equipment from her bag while he starts to unscrew the part of the panel that’s been malfunctioning. It’s off and he stuffs it into his bag. Now it’s her time to shine while he watches. She takes out the new part and goes over to install it. It takes longer than she expected. She’s hot now and her hands feel rubbery and large. She loses her grip on one of the wires and has to reach for it again. She tries to remember if she’s meant to connect it to the green one or the blue one. The blue one. The blue makes her think of the jelly they were eating in that photo. The blue jelly they serve on Christmas Eve. Vivien swears when her synapses make the connection and she hears Dr Barnes pointed cough from the speakers but she pays no notice. She feels faint and forces herself to concentrate on the cables. She’s almost done. Thirty more seconds and she lets go and starts to make her way back to the entrance. The vastness of space is no longer overwhelmingly beautiful, instead, her blood is buzzing and her ears are ringing and she needs to speak to her mother right now.

*

Vivien finds her brushing her long strands of hair. The waves reach past her shoulder blades. She used to want hair like that.

“Explain to me why he was eating the blue jelly when he was supposedly dead for a day already.”

Her mother’s back is now rim-rod straight but she doesn’t turn around.

“Excuse me?”

The face in the mirror is pale white just like every single wall and floor in the whole damn ship.

“He was wearing the jumper I bought him last year for his birthday. And he’s eating the blue jelly. On Christmas Eve when he couldn’t have right? Explain it to me.”

“I don’t know where you got this from but–”

“There’s a photo, mother. Please don’t lie. No more lies.”

“I–”

“HOW COULD DAD BE THERE WITH YOU WHEN YOU TOLD ME DIED A DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE?”

She was away for that week, away in their sister ship to integrate with the kids from there, organised by the Council as part of their new Social Cohesion Policy. When she came back on Christmas Day her mother told her her father had hanged himself when she was away.

Her mother's lips start to shake. She’s never seen her look so pitiful.

“He kept going on and on about those monsters he was seeing. On and on. It was only a matter of time before somebody heard him.”

Vivien’s mind is blank.

“I just had enough and then before I knew it, the lamp was in my hands and I was swinging and swinging it. I thought he would get up. But there was so much blood. Sharon said there wasn’t anything she could do.”

Vivien wonders what lamp in their home is heavy enough to kill a man. Was it the bronze-looking one in the living room or the vintage one in their bedroom? She feels sick and covers her mouth with her hands but then the tears come and she swallows the vomit, leaving an acidic taste in her throat. Needing to ask one more question before she completely breaks down, she pushes her shoulders back and clears her throat but her voice still comes out thick and phlegmy.

“I’m assuming Sharon helped you to cover this up. But why did you tell me he had schizophrenia? Why not tell me dad was depressed?” She asks, then hiccups and stumps down on the growing urge to cover her face and sob.

“I didn’t know how much he told you about his delusions if anything. If you asked any questions, I could just tell you he was mentally ill and psychotic. And it’s the truth. He was a very ill man.”

“No mother, you’re the one who’s ill.”

She leaves their living quarters, ignoring her mother's desperate pleas to understand. The creatures in the corridors she passes, are no longer frightening. They wave and smile but she ignores them. She needs to put as much distance between the real monster inside her home before she can breathe easily again. For three months she blamed herself for not realising that there was something not right with her dad, that she missed the warning signs. That she had failed him. Now, she knows it’s her mother who failed the two of them, prioritising what people thought, over her own family. She heads over to the Council quarters, the creatures here sitting in far denser colonies. Thousands of eyes watch her knock on the Council’s doors.

It’s time to set things right.