The Darkness Outside Us

by Eliot Schrefer

During the night Kodiak’s body convulses, and the frantic shudder is enough to wake me out of a sound sleep. “Shh, shh,” I say as his body pitches against mine, as all the muscles of his neck tense, as his head crushes against my lips, filling my mouth with the scent of blood. “My Kodiak,” I say, crying. “I love you.” I don’t know if he’s heard me. I hold him in case he shudders again, but he goes still. I stroke his hair, hug him close. His body is cooling.

goodbye.

I finally spy the other spacefarer. I’ve been looking for him for days, but only now do I catch the barest glimpse. Within his half of the revolving craft I see a stretch of dark hair, a red nylon suit. He’s facing away from me, looking up. Like he’s listening to something. For a moment his head inclines my way. Then he stalks off.

here we go again 😞

“Unless you are the last of the clone pairs, you will not be getting off this ship. You won’t even turn twenty. Your connection to Kodiak is all that you have, the only thing worth growing or nurturing.

I’ll try to get us some neutron stars. And this is genius. Kodiak rests the tablet in his lap and pinches my chin between his fingers, gives it a good wag while he stares into my eyes. It seems he’s started to absorb the fact that his previous self was my lover.

god i love these two

I hear the radio pulse of a star instead, beating at us from far off in space. It’s eerie and very regular. “So beautiful,” I whisper. I watch him listen, his eyes closed, tears wetting his long lashes.

All of that can be faked. The “old” you said those stars ARE fake, remember? I roll my eyes, suddenly grateful that this hulk isn’t looking closely enough at me to notice. Yeah, and we might also be brains in a vat somewhere, and our whole lives have been simulations while machines milk us for our organic materials. Or we’re prisoners living their existences chained up in a cave, mistaking the shadows on the wall for the world itself.

“Whatever this is, it’s not a simulation, Kodiak. Even if we’re copies of ourselves, even if you and I are doomed, at least in this version, we’ll need those helmets.” “Pathetic,” Kodiak says.

why tf kodiak tweakin for

His eyes scan around, and he makes quick and shallow breaths as he looks for enemies. Rover is still here, but inactive, its arms motionless on the floor. The sight of Rover standing down doesn’t calm Kodiak. His enemies aren’t outside him. They’ve never been outside him.

Plenty of organisms live for a season, in order for those who come next to have a chance. Mayflies, daffodils, the octopus. We can accept that?” “Well, we’re hardwired not to accept our own demise. Daffodils are a lot more chill about it.” “Okay, but we can be like daffodils together.” I squeeze the back of his neck. “That’s sweet.”

Kodiak chuckles. “It sounds like a riddle. Two tops are in space together . . .”

i laughed out loud at this

I’m desperate for a distraction. I’m desperate for a connection. I’m desperate to know that I’m not alone. I pull us to the floor, drape a blanket over us. The diffuse light sets Kodiak’s skin glowing. I cup his chin. Within the blanket shading us, the simple gesture feels shockingly intimate. Shockingly intimate is just what I need.

We’ll have one funeral each year, until we run out of clone bodies. We’ll mourn the lives that never were. We’ll toast the future, the chosen clone. You. The glory to come from all of this suffering.

saying “erm” whenever he wasn’t sure what to say next,

LOL

You love Kodiak. This is the hidden miracle of all this: you might be loving each other deeper than any humans have ever loved, have ever needed to love, have ever had the occasion to love.

The bonded support you and Kodiak feel for each other isn’t about skin skin skin, though it’s related to that. It isn’t the heat of his body against yours at the bottom of the water tank. Instead, it’s the fact that you two are together at the bottom of the water tank.

“Thank you. I would be happy to teach you my language.” I stand alongside him, arm draped across his shoulders. He’s a stranger, a lover, and my life partner. We have lived and died lifetimes together,

I do know where he’s going with this, and I surprise myself by crying. Kodiak’s thumbs stroke away the tears. His skin is so soft, so new. “Welcome to Minerva,” he says.

Kodiak presses against me, arms wrapping around my torso as he pulls me in tight. “Don’t get me wrong. I love being here with you. I am in awe of what we’re doing together. It’s terrifying and wonderful, all at the same time. But it’s ours. Not theirs. Ours.”

We never watch the rest of the recordings.

i lowkey wanted to know but okay 😒