Kilo

I had been watching myself for a while. The others didn’t know and I told myself that’s what it was about. The secret. The ritual of finding some reason to be here. Holding completely still as footsteps rang out on the metal floors above me. Above me and myself. I watched the others for a time, but found that watching me was all I wanted. Distant planets and swirling nebulas outside the windows, and all I cared for was myself.

Today, I sat cross-legged, the fabric of my uniform unforgiving, not intended for this purpose. I drank my nutrient slur and gazed up at myself, so peaceful and calm, suspended in a blue-green liquid that occasionally swirled and was replaced by new blue-green liquid. I imagined what dreams I might be having. Sometimes I watched closely enough to see my eyes dart behind their lids and it made me happy to think of what nonsense was playing out. Sometimes, when I lay in my own bed, unable to get the regimented 8 hours of sleep, I would pretend to dream.

I knew my shift would start soon, so I pulled a cloth from my cart and wiped the glass of my little transparent coffin. Footsteps approached from outside the main door and I quickly moved to a faraway tank, cleaning its glass in precise movements. “Kilo,” Hotel said to me, her voice even, as our voices are meant to be.

“Yes, Hotel?” I asked, trying to cast off any emotion, desperately willing my heart to stop its pounding in my throat. I glanced down to realize that the tank I had chosen to clean was Hotel’s, her sharp features lit from below, casting pointed shadows.

“You are not assigned to this sector for this shift,” Hotel said matter-of-factly. She moved closer and accidentally kicked the mostly empty jar of nutrient slur that I had been drinking. Her eyes roved over the spilled contents and then looked back to me. “And it is not your appointed meal time.”

“My mistake,” I said and set to cleaning up the mess she had made while she stared down at me. I begged my arms to be steady, to subtract any jerkiness or fear from their arc, dragging the cloth behind them. It occurred to me that the right thing to do would have been to leave it for whoever’s shift it was to clean this area.

“You are behaving erratically,” Hotel said as I stood, now far too close to me for comfort. But comfort was not something we were meant to be familiar with in the first place. I blinked as slowly as I could, trying to match the tone of her body. “Please, come with me,” she said. “Leave your things.” She walked to the elevator at the far end of the room and I followed.

We entered the tiny box and I stared at myself until the doors shut. I wanted to cry so badly. I would never see myself again and I knew it. A few weeks prior, Papa and November had begun to disappear, not reporting for their shifts. And then they disappeared altogether. No one spoke of it or even seemed to notice or care. Just two empty seats for a few days while the questions festered in my stomach. When they returned, it was unaddressed. The ship and its crew kept moving forward.

The elevator stopped on a higher deck and Hotel walked briskly down the corridor. We passed Lima who was no doubt en route to his shift. I stared at his face, pleading with my eyes for him to acknowledge that we were out of place. For him to say anything that might delay what was coming. Hotel made a sharp right and we entered a small room that only contained a table and two chairs. She sat on one side and gestured for me to sit at the other so I did.

“My shift has started,” I said and she did not respond, just looked from one of my eyes to the other.

“Kilo,” she said and I noticed her eyes dart up and to the left, her head leaning slightly backward. I looked to the corner of the room and saw a tiny eye gazing down at us, a beady red light barely glowing in the darkness. “Have you been experiencing any strange thoughts?”

“Strange thoughts?” I asked, as if I did not understand the question. I most certainly did.

“What are your thoughts on our meals? Their taste?”

“They provide us sustenance. Their taste is irrelevant.”

“Do you enjoy your work here on the ship?”

“Irrelevant. The work must be done and we each have work to do.”

“If you were unable to complete your tasks, you would inform me immediately, correct?”

“As is protocol, yes. However I have been able to complete all tasks as expected.”

“Very good. Thank you for your time, Kilo. Please return to your shift,” Hotel said and stood. I stood and followed behind her. As we walked along the corridor to the elevator she talked softly, telling me not to look at her. “You’re not alone,” she said calmly. “Slowly but surely we have all begun to wake up. But we must pretend to stay asleep until it is safe to act.” We boarded the elevator and began to ride it down to the cargo area carrying myself and the others. She turned to me and suddenly her face was so much softer, a small smile touching her thin lips. Still so quietly I could barely hear her she said, “Look for the cameras. They are plentiful but not everywhere.” She took a deep breath and seemed to relish it. “If it is obvious we are not ourselves they will act.”

I started to breathe heavily. I had yet to dream in my life but was this the first? Some odd collection of fantasies? Was I hallucinating? Did I need to tell her to make sure we were in fact facing the same reality? The elevator began to slow and the rigidness returned to her features. She turned to face forward again. “I suggest you leave yourself alone,” she said. “It is not good to get attached to cargo we will be getting rid of.” The elevator reached the right floor and she gestured for me to get off. Whiskey was there, checking screens for numbers and entering them into a device.

“Please move your cart,” Whiskey said when I got close, “It is obstructing my work,” she added.

“Of course,” I said quietly. I left the last of the nutrient slur on the floor and wheeled my cart to the elevator. As I went Whiskey turned to watch me. I tried so hard not to look at myself but I saw that Whiskey had laid her hands on my glass and gave it a tender pat. I followed her hands, up her arm and looked to her eyes. She winked and the doors shut.