The Fact of the Moon Is Stranger Than Most Dreams

by Palmer, Jacob

  “I think we’re both getting a little too attached to outcomes here, man. Like, we’re alive. We went through some crazy shit, but we made it through. Half the time, you go looking for one thing but find something else. To see God, you have to have special eyes, otherwise you can’t bear the shock. Maybe we should be looking at this whole situation different, you know?”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  11

  Edie left the apartment, turned right, and walked the twenty-five paces to the side en-trance of the church. The door was open and the air smelled of laundry being done. Children playing. Large women talking loudly. Plastic folding tables, cheap IKEA lockers against a wall.

  Edie said hello to Florida, the woman who supervised the program. She was large, imposing, had a gold incisor. She was Puerto Rican, like Edie, and that fact went a long way toward explaining how Edie had attained access in the first place. Edie had attempted the official email channels to no avail, but one evening while walking past the church in full costume, returning home from an art performance in a window on Divisadero Street, she received a compliment from Florida, who regularly stood outside the shelter, smoking. Beyond the initial warm welcome, Florida mostly kept a distance, caught up in putting out the countless small fires that entailed the running of a family shelter program.

  Edie had skipped visiting for a couple of weeks, and sometimes that meant an entirely different set of families, but she recognized one of the children right away. Edie had connected with Octavia on her first visit to the church. She was a Black girl, six years old, small for her age, with hair in two thick pigtail braids. Other children seemed to fear her, or they feared her mother, who was always nearby. Her mother was plagued with severe mental health issues as well as drug addiction, both feeding off one another, neither the woman’s fault. They tumbled from shelter to shelter while a team of social workers struggled to keep Octavia in school and relatively safe. Octavia’s mother was unable to connect with her in any meaningful way, but she still begrudgingly gathered Octavia up whenever forced to va-cate, or arrive before curfew, at a shelter. Through this, the little girl became numb to the countless in-dignities forced on the homeless.

  Edie and Abram barely survived on their UBI but had a rent-controlled apartment. This was a source of guilt for Edie. The world’s richest one percent had more than twice as much wealth as seven billion people, more than half of humanity subsisting on less than six dollars a day. One out of every five children in the world was homeless. Edie knew the statistics, had worked them into her art proposal. Octavia sat at a table at the back of the room, her mother nowhere in sight, surrounded by folded laun-dry. She played a game on Florida’s borrowed tablet: a cartoon mouse with octopus arms, chased by two human zombies. Edie sat next to her, and the child, absorbed, didn’t look up.

  “Hi, Octavia. What’s that game you’re playing?”

  “Hi, Miss Edie. Just a mouse game.”

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “You don’t need to be afraid of my mom, Miss Edie. She can’t hurt nobody.”

  “I’m not afraid. When you’re done playing your game, can I ask you some more about your stories? We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

  “Mamma don’t like my stories. She told me to keep them a secret. She said that if I told my sto-ries, they would lock me up in the hospital like they did to her. You believe that?”

  “Nobody is going to lock you up, I promise. I might put your stories in a book one day, like Mother Goose. The stories of Octavia. Would you like that?”

  “I would. I could have that book?”

  “Of course. I’ll let you finish your game.”

  Edie attempted to talk to four other children in a group who pushed a convoy of cheap plastic au-tonomous semi toys along the floor. They weren’t interested in Edie’s questions and moved their truck game through the open door and out onto the sidewalk, quickly being yelled at by Florida to come back inside. She shot an exasperated look at Edie, who smiled uncomfortably and then jumped when Octavia took her hand.

  “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come up behind me. Are you done with your game?”

  “I don’t like that mouse game no more. I already know how it ends.”

  “Did you sleep here at the church last night?”

  “We got to sleep in my momma’s friend’s tent over in the Mission. It was warm last night, wasn’t it?”

  “It was really warm. I almost opened the window.”

  “You didn’t sleep too much, did you?”

  “Why? Do I look tired?” Edie said.

  “Yeah, you look tired.”

  “I just had crazy dreams. Everybody has crazy dreams sometimes.”

  “I know about that. I know about crazy dreams. I know about good dreams, too. Can I tell you about my dream I had last night?” Octavia said, eyes opening wide.

  “Yes, of course. Let me get my phone out so I can record it.”

  “No, I don’t think you should do that, Miss Edie. You can’t record it or they’ll know.”

  “Who will know?”

  “The devils.”

  “Okay, I won’t record it. But it’s okay if I remember it?”

  “Yeah, that’s okay.”

  They moved back to her space at the folding table. Octavia told her story as she delicately folded and stacked clothes and then unfolded them and flattened them and then folded them again. Examin-ing each worn article like a fine jewel.

  “The dream I had last night in the tent. I dreamed again about that Blue Lady. She came and talked to me. I was thinking of you because of what she said.”

  “The Blue Lady from the VR game? You’ve played that game?”

  “No, that game is just for grownups. I know a kid who played it once, though. Said it wasn’t good. Just a bunch of talking like at school.”

  “There is a bunch of talking like school, you’re right. It’s funny, I just played that game last night for the first time.”

  “She told me you did. She told me in my dream that a lady would come and talk to me today that was playin’ that game at the same time I was dreaming. I thought it was gonna be you. I wasn’t sur-prised. Do you believe that?”

  “Is that the truth, Octavia?” Edie said nervously. “Or are you just making up stories?”

  “You want me to tell you what else that Blue Lady said?”

  “Okay, tell me.”

  “She said that me and you are gonna be together, but three devils will come and try to get us.”

  “I won’t let anybody come and get us. You know I’m tough.”

  “You don’t look tough.”

  “Look at these muscles,” Edie said, flexing cartoonishly.

  Octavia laughed. “That don’t matter with devils. They can still get us. They can watch us from the sky when they want to. Blue Lady said you gotta listen to me if we’re gonna be safe. You think I’m lying, Miss Edie? Blue Lady showed me a story to tell you, if you didn’t believe me, about a bunch of water on the floor and the moon.”

  And with that, Edie felt dizzy. She sweated profusely and couldn’t swallow.

  “You believe me now, Miss Edie? Blue Lady told me y—”

  A woman burst into the shelter doors, yelling, stepping on one of the toy semis and snapping it.

  “You can get away from my daughter right now. You hear me, bitch? Octavia, you get away from that girl. That woman is a prostitute. She’s a witch. You don’t talk to her.”

  The woman ripped Octavia up by the arm and furiously gathered the child’s belongings from the table, all the while glaring and cursing at Edie, who skirted the edge of the room, nearing the door. Flor-ida intervened.

  “Hey, you know I don’t want none of that in here. Justine, you calm down or I’m throwing you out right now. You want me to call the cops? You want me to call the cops? You’re scaring these children.”

  Edie could still hear the vague commotion as she crossed the street, the front gate of her apart-ment already i
n sight. She felt regret at having chosen a church so near the apartment. She wanted to be farther away, away from everything. As Edie fumbled with her keys, the gate opened and two very sleek, professional women, hair shaved back to the middle of their heads, exited the building, followed by a little girl with curly red hair, wearing a shirt with a green cartoon octopus. Neither of the women acknowledged Edie, but the little girl smiled and waved.

  12

  The town of White Cone wasn’t a town so much as a boarded-up gas station.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Abram said.

  “This is the place. I drove Annie here a long time ago, dropped her off in my old jeep. She paid me a thousand dollars. I didn’t want to take it, but—”

  “She lived in a gas station? Well, I don’t think she lives here anymore,” Abram said, getting out of the truck to stretch his legs and examine the abandoned structure, which sat in the middle of the vast, desolate expanse stretching to every horizon. Abram felt they were visiting some lone outpost on a ru-ined planet. The sunlight was hazy and drugged.

  “No, man. They keep a low profile.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Blue Lady. I don’t know. It’s kinda like an online cult or something, I guess. It’s really just a business. They synthesize psychedelics. They also grow weed. Annie used to trim for them.”

  “They do that here? Where? What the fuck are you talking about? And who trims weed? It’s all done by robots.”

  “Rich folks will pay extra for the human handiwork, like always. The whole operation is under-ground. This building is just the entrance. I’m serious, man. I told you about this place years ago, and you told me I was full of shit. The cult, the underground facility, all of it.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “All these VR religions are considered equally true by the people, equally false by the scientists and philosophers, and equally useful by the government. Know what I mean? I should write that down. That’s pretty good. Come on, I’ll show you around back.”

  “How do you even know she’s here?”

  “She emailed me a couple weeks ago. She asked me to visit her when I told her we were going to be out here for your photography thing.”

  “Oh yeah?” Abram said. “Maybe she’s the one that told those debt collectors we were going to be out here.”

  “No way, she’s on the level completely. Really spiritual. You’ll like her.”

  “If she’s so spiritual, why is she friends with a loan shark that pinged collection thugs on us?”

  “She just knows a lot of people with money,” Kenner said. “He was in the psychedelics business, an investor. She hooked me up with him. I think his name was Dennis. Seems like a million years ago.”

  “Happened to you a million years ago and came around today to bite me in the ass.”

  “I told you, there’s a good chance she’ll know how to get your money back. She knows powerful people.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t mention it to her or anybody else. Let’s just clean out the truck. I’ll call Edie. Then we’ll get the hell out of here.”

  They walked around to the back of the humble structure to a metal door next to an empty, rusted-out dumpster. Kenner cautiously knocked on the door and then opened it slowly. Immediately behind the old, creaking door was another metal door, this one shiny and new. In the reflection, Abram thought that he and Kenner looked exactly like two people who had just hidden bodies in the desert. Abram had blood on his cheek and neck. Kenner had a dark smear on his forehead. On the door was a keypad with a small black, domed camera above it. Kenner paused thoughtfully and then began pounding numbers randomly into the keypad. Nothing. Not a sound. Kenner beat the door with his fist and tried the key-pad again. They waited in uncomfortable silence. They both jumped when a thick lock slowly clicked and the door opened.

  “Kenner! You came!”

  A short, painfully thin young girl jumped into Kenner’s gangly arms. She had a shaved head and white, nearly translucent skin, almost albino, and wore thick-rimmed round glasses that made her look like a cartoon owl. She wore cut-off shorts, a white T-shirt, and had numerous small scabs in odd places along her pale arms and legs. She turned and hugged Abram, who flinched and then awkwardly hugged her back, patting her shoulder. He was suddenly self-consciously aware that he and Kenner smelled horrible. Body odor, stomach acid, and dried blood. A psychotic smell. What are we doing here?

  “I’m Annie. Kenner told me so much about you. You’re out here taking pictures?” she said with a high, childlike voice, smiling wildly. She seemed deeply and genuinely interested, strangely so, never breaking eye contact, her eyes magnified behind large saucers.

  “What? Oh yeah . . . taking pictures and stuff. We’re actually done, just heading back to San Fran-cisco,” Abram said, his heart sinking as he realized that he hadn’t found the camera in the truck. He had completely forgotten about his camera, the key to his recent livelihood. He touched the memory card in his pocket.

  “I wanted to see you before we leave Arizona and never come back to this godforsaken place,” Kenner said as Annie ushered them inside the building. Leaning with all her weight, she closed and locked the door behind them.

  They walked down a long, circular corridor of corrugated aluminum with buzzing fluorescent tubes glaring cold white along the ceiling. The air cooled as they gradually descended. Abram detected the same mineral smell from his DMT-A hallucination. The smell of the alien Lam. Abram pushed this from his mind. Kenner and Annie chatted amiably, small talk and catching up. She was clearly still en-amored with Kenner. Abram wondered why.

  They arrived at another metal door and keypad.

  Annie turned to both of them. “Are you two hungry? Want to join us for dinner?”

  The question seemed ominous to Abram, as if they were crossing another point of no return. Ken-ner looked pleadingly at Abram.

  “Sure, of course. We haven’t eaten at all today,” Abram stammered.

  “Well, I don’t know what or how much Kenner may have told you about this place, but before we go in, I have to ask that you don’t tell anyone about us or where we are or what we do here,” Annie said sheepishly, grinning at Abram and rubbing the blonde fuzz on her small head. “We don’t do anything crazy or illegal, or at least not very illegal. This is our home, but it’s also a workplace, and we do very im-portant work. We’re a family, and you two are our guests, and we barely ever have guests, so this is spe-cial.”

  She was on the verge of tears, and Kenner reflexively took her hand. She laughed at herself, wiped her eyes, and then turned to Kenner and kissed him passionately. Abram stood awkwardly by, not knowing where to look. He looked back the way they had come. The lights had turned off behind them, and the passage was now an impenetrable circular void, the dark larynx of an enormous sleeping crea-ture.

  She opened the door and they entered what looked to Abram like an artificial moonscape built in-side a large office conference room. A cheap sci-fi movie set. The ground was rock-strewn, cratered and undulating. The ceiling was a grid of acoustic tiles and fluorescent light panels. The room was warm and musty. The same mineral smell.

  “It’s a lot warmer in here,” Abram said, palms sweating.

  “Server banks on the lower level. We get a little heat leakage, but overall the venting system is amazing.”

  Two people approached, both wearing orange construction vests and hard hats. The two debt col-lectors from the highway. The two dead bodies that Kenner and Abram left in the desert. Okay, none of this is real. This is a dream. I’m dreaming. Abram turned to Kenner, who looked as if he would throw up. The thin, long-haired man smiled. He held a gold bar.

  “This is my . . . friend that I told you about. This is Kenner.” Annie paused and gave Kenner a searching look, clearly wanting to refer to him as someone closer than a friend.

  “Hi, I’m Ash,” the man said, smiling, extending his hand toward Kenner.

  “Hey, yeah. What’s up? Wow,�
� Kenner said, quavering as he reached to shake his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Luci. I’ve heard a ton about you,” the Navajo woman said.

  “And this is Kenner’s best friend Abram,” Annie said, pulling Abram into a side hug and laughing.

  “Do you guys want a beer or something?” Luci said.

  “Uhm . . . yes?” Abram said.

  They all exited into a smaller adjacent room. On one side was a kitchen; on the other was a large redwood table intricately carved into a tarot card. The Hermit. The chairs were made of undulating, pol-ished driftwood.

  “That table is sick,” Kenner said, voice cracking.

  “A woman that used to work here with us made it. A marine biologist and an artist, obviously. She carved it in her spare time and left it here when she . . .” Annie trailed off, looking through kitchen cabi-nets with Ash and Luci as they busily prepared dinner. Abram and Kenner sat beside each other at the table, dazed.

  “Do you guys eat fish?” Annie said.

  “You know I don’t eat meat,” Kenner shot back.

  “I’ll do fish,” Abram said.

  “We eat a lot of fish here. We actually raise them in tanks down on level five. They eat a special kind of algae,” Annie said. “You ever heard of Sarpa Salpa? The dreamfish? You’d like it if you tried it, Kenner.”

  “No way. I refuse to eat an intelligent being.”

  “Oh, they aren’t that intelligent. Not like an octopus. Did you know that octopuses can fully re-generate limbs? They can also change the color and texture of their skin. They can even ‘see’ with their skin because of a light-sensitive protein. Two-thirds of its neurons are located in its arms, and they can react and even recognize and grab food after being severed from the rest of the octopus. See, they don’t have centralized intelligence.”

  “Wow,” Kenner said, “you know a lot of shit about octopuses . . . octopi?”

  “Have you ever heard of Roko’s Basilisk?” Ash said, placing a platter of fish on the table. “It’s a philosophical thought experiment. A supremely powerful artificial intelligence might retroactively pun-ish humans who did not work to bring it into existence. It’s a good thing that octopuses are legally pro-tected from animal experimentation, otherwise they might come after us all someday.”