Silvia Moreno-Garcia - Future Lovecraft

Of the dining room table. You literally eat on the ice that houses her carcass. In my dreams,

Her huge eye, that would look out upon the table, were it not closed, that hideous shut eye,

Turns to face me wherever I sit, no matter how I hide behind my towel. Better to die

Than know what happens when that eye opens. Better that the seas rise up and swallow

Our ship. Better that you jump overboard and freeze than wear the towel and swallow

The hatchling, the paralarva, the spawn of the mother, and let the tentacles of that tiny squid….

That tiny squid…What? Forgive me. I’ve lost my train of thought. A momentary lapse. Die,

Indeed. Folly. Better to eat. Better to taste. Better to know the forbidden. Open the lid

And swallow the forbidden food whole. Fear is part of the savour of the illicit. Let the eye

Of law be blind. Let risk be our reward. We are adventurers. We will live our wildest dreams.

If by live, I mean die. Or, rather, live squid-ridden, like me. The hatchling will swallow

Your brain. Your will. Your dreams. Her will. My Lady. My Mother. The Mother of All Squid

Is hungrier than you. Watch! The lid opens. It’s all been worth it. Her glorious, dinner-plate eye!

Pamela Rentzis a member of the Karuk Tribe and a graduate of Clarion West 2008.

“I THOUGHT THE Space Barn had its own cleaning crew,” Lottie said, trying to sit up straight. She’d come straight from her shift and her old bones ached for the mattress.

“We don’t call it the ‘Space Barn’,” Phyllis said.

Phyllis came from a family of tall, humourless Indians. Her first job at the United Tribes Space Travel Center had been on Lottie’s cleaning crew. Now she was Special Assistant to the Vice-President of Facilities, with an office like a museum. Lottie sat in an uncomfortable leather chair with polished wood armrests. Must be nice to have your brother elected to Tribal Council.

Lottie rephrased the question, “I thought the Moon Hopper Storage and Refitting Hangar had its own crew.”

“Used to,” Phyllis said. A wall-sized calendar behind her highlighted the monthly missions in bright yellow.

“Then what happened?” Lottie asked.

“Thirty percent pay raise,” Phyllis said. “I’d bring you on permanent. If you’re still interested.”

Why wouldn’t Lottie be interested? Everybody who came through the front gate wanted to work on the Moon Hopper, even the janitors and lunchroom cooks. “Why me?”

Phyllis folded her hands on the desk. The smooth surface reflected an upside down image of her tight smile. “Why not you?”

“I applied for Moon Hopper crew a bunch. You told me I couldn’t keep up,” Lottie said. She’d given up a long time ago, but she could still summon the weeping fury she felt over that tangle with Phyllis. Phyllis had said everything except the words, “You’re too old.”

Phyllis pressed her fingers to her mouth as if trying to remember. “Huh,” she said, at last. “Well, I need your experience. You’ve seen it all. I know you won’t let me down.”

It was Lottie’s turn to say, “Huh.”

“I got new workers. A space vessel can have unexpected….” Phyllis flapped a hand up by her head.

Lottie had no idea what the woman was going on about.

“You have to make sure the entire crew looks good. I need the whole thing to not be fussy.” Phyllis gave Lottie a knowing nod.

“Not fussy?” Lottie said, not sure what she was being asked.

“It’s a tough job,” Phyllis said. “But you’re unflappable.”

“I can flap,” Lottie said.

If prodded, Lottie would have confessed to a trembling, schoolgirl thrill over going to see the Hopper for the first time. She’d cleaned at the Space Center for years, but only in the offices, never the Space Barn.

A well-scrubbed girl waited at the security entrance next to the Barn’s giant, rolling door.

“You the crew?” Lottie asked.

“I’m Hazel,” she said. “Do they let elders clean the Moon Hopper?”

“Elders that want to,” Lottie said.

Hazel had dark hair that reached to her elbows in one smooth sheet. She wore slacks and a long-sleeved blouse, like she expected to sit at a desk. She looked like she’d never gotten her hands dirty in her life.

“You work cleaning crew before?” Lottie asked.

“Oh, no,” Hazel said. “I’ve been at Stanford.” She paused here and Lottie understood that she was supposed to be impressed.

Instead, she said, “All that fancy college to clean the Moon Hopper?”

Hazel’s brightness faded. “I intend to do Moon missions. Lead Moon missions. This is the entry-level step.”

“Small wonder I never done a mission,” Lottie said.

“I’m not qualified,” Hazel said. “Yet. But Aunt Phyllis sneaked me onto this job.”

“’Aunt Phyllis’?” Lottie said. So, that’s what this was about.

“It’s not just because she’s my aunt,” Hazel said. “I work hard. I told her I could keep up with anyone.”

“I’m old; I’m not slow,” Lottie said. “I’ve been cleaning around here since you was nothing but a dot in the Creator’s eye. What have you done?”

“I worked at a pastry shop near campus,” Hazel said. “I utilised my people skills to communicate with customers and meet sales goals, and I initiated clean-up in the seating area.”

“Great,” Lottie said. She wondered what other halfwit relatives Phyllis was going to foist on her.

At last, the security door opened. A big Indian with movie-star looks jumped out and gave Lottie a hug.

“Finally! You made it to the Big Time,” Clem said.

“I hear they like to promote from within.” Lottie handed over their information fobs. “More crew inside?”

“I think you’re it,” Clem said. He gave Hazel the once-over then flashed her a panty-dropper smile. “I know you?”

Hazel blushed. “No, I’ve been to Stanford.”

“Ah,” Clem said. “Applying for a Moon mission?”

“I have far-reaching goals,” Hazel said. “I’d like to see more of our people getting to the Moon. Bigger missions.”

“Good luck,” Clem said.

“She’s Phyllis’s niece,” Lottie said.

“Oh,” Clem said. “No luck needed.”

Hazel offered a bland smile.

“Two of us cleaning,” Lottie said. “Doesn’t the Hopper usually have four?”

“Usually,” Clem agreed. “You want me to call someone?”

What had Phyllis said about no fuss?

“Nope,” Lottie said. She could already see the long night stretched ahead of them. “Send us through.”

Clem led them through a long hallway to a second security station. He pointed at a heavy door with a small window.

“Your fob will get you through from here. Cleaning station is stocked. Sometimes, there’s weird stuff. Be sure to wear the full Hazmat suit.”

“We’re not helpless,” Lottie said, waving him away. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

The door shut behind them with a sucking snap. A green light came on, indicating they were sealed in.

Clem waved through the tiny window. Hazel waved back.

“He’s cute,” she said. “What do you think?”

“If I dated men half my age, I’d hop right on him,” Lottie said.

Lottie opened the cleaning station and they dug through the shabby Hazmat suit collection.

“They send a barrel full of Indians to the Moon every month. You’d think they could spare a few bucks for new Hazmat suits,” Lottie said. She picked the smallest one and struggled to pull the thing on.

“Is there another small one?” Hazel asked, digging through the rack.