Ouroboros

3,356 words

I’ve always been incredibly unnerved by snakes. Not because of the way they exist in the world — long, grotesque bodies squirming around without arms or legs. Or because one tricked Eve into taking a bite out of something she wasn’t supposed to. As a girl, I used to sneak into my mother’s office. She had a large painting that always hung above her desk, a snake eating its own tail. Round and round it went, without end. I could watch it for hours and then my mother would find me staring at the painting and pull me away.

“Come, Fátima,”  she’d say and take me downstairs for lunch.

My mother was a researcher studying boa constrictors found in the Amazon Rainforest and their telomeres. She’d talk to me about her research at length, even when I was too little to understand it. 

“Telomeres are little cells that get shorter and shorter over time and as they get shorter, living things begin to get older, until they die,” She’d explain like a bedtime story and I would nod along as if it actually meant anything to me.  

The reason for her fascination with the snakes of the Amazon, was that she’d found that they were born with short telomeres that would grow longer over time before they began to shrink again. Basically, she wanted to find a cure to death and these snakes seemed to have the answer. She studied the cells that would trigger the telomeres’ growth and using those cells, she began working on developing a drug that could potentially slow their aging process.

We’d spend entire summers in the sticky, humid Brazilian heat searching for, and studying different species of boas. But none of them had ever mattered as much as the perfect specimen my mother had found, years before I’d even been born. Calista, as my mother had named her, was a stunning emerald tree boa. My mother had gotten to doing tests on her almost immediately and Calista responded well, her own cells serving as the foundation for my mom’s miracle drug. And this give-and-take relationship resulted in mom’s life-long obsession with Calista. When I was a kid, I was even convinced that Calista was my sister — the way my mother brought her everywhere and  gave her much more affection than she’d ever shown me did nothing to disprove this childhood theory, so I was a jealous kid. 

I took to “accidentally” losing Calista as a child, and purposely sabotaging research when I was old enough to realize that would cause the most damage. But despite my efforts, my mother’s obsession had paid off. The snake had long outlived her. Who would have guessed that being exposed to telomerase and other chemicals during her research could lead to cancer? Mom died before she could see her life’s work impact anything other than her snakes. But her research had resulted in a feasible drug that could continue to be tested until it was safe enough for human beings, and a law mandating Avatar use in any lab setting.

After she died, I decided to take on her research. I wasn’t as passionate about it as she was but it was all I had known my entire life and in spite of any resentment I held towards her, it seemed like the decent thing to do — keep her legacy alive. Since Brazil was no longer safe, I had all of her research and snakes relocated to one of the new space labs that had been established on the moon. Brazil had become more and more flooded throughout my childhood and as I had gotten older not much of it was left. Actually, not much of Earth was left at all. My mother had joked about it once, “if we can’t get the earth to live forever, we’ll just have to focus on human beings.” I hadn’t found it funny.

* * *

I didn’t hate working in the lab, although everything about it made me miss Brazil. The sterility of a lab in space was off putting, the only comfort being the pockets of nature found in our snake enclosures. The avatar body I used while conducting tests was similarly off putting. Perhaps, I had inherited my mother’s distaste for the superficial, metallic bodies. But there was no avoiding the units any longer. Most of the world, both earthside and stationed somewhere in space, had adopted the use of avatars in one way or another and it would be a lie to deny their usefulness. In my case, the units removed a lot of concerns over unnecessary variables in our studies. There was less to worry about when toxic chemicals and snake bites were non-issues. Still, the avatars couldn’t completely remove the possibility of error.

There’d never been any serious incidents since I’d taken over my mother’s work until one of our newer snakes started to react badly to the drugs we’d been administering. The rainbow boa began to rapidly grow. It wasn’t as unnatural as it sounds, it just got bigger and bigger over the span of weeks. It looked miserable, like it was aching to erupt out of its skin. Except it couldn’t so it would just squirm around its enclosure, clearly in pain. Then, during one of its check-ups, it wrapped itself around Dr. Correia’s leg and attempted to swallow her leg whole.  Thankfully, the avatar had prevented any serious, physical damage but Correia’s screaming had been heard throughout the lab. She refused to return to work after the incident. I’d heard rumors that there had been something more disturbing about the snake than just the attack on her leg but the avatar and snake were retired by authorities before anyone could prove anything more insidious. 

After Dr. Correia’s accident, our protocols began to require everyone in the lab to work in pairs when conducting observations and tests on the snakes. So, I began working with Dr. Isaac Leyva, a recent addition to our team of scientists. He was always nervous about something and though the blank expression of his avatar did plenty to mask it, he couldn’t shake his body language fully. And yet Isaac had a way of making me feel calmer. Maybe it was just that I seemed much more level-headed in comparison. Whatever the reason, I could overlook his paranoia and actually enjoyed the time we spent working together. Still, I waited a few months before I actually introduced him to my mother’s life’s work, “This is Calista, our oldest snake.”

“Ah, the one your mother started her research with. And the one who’s reacted best to the drugs. Right?” Isaac said. He’d been paying close attention and if he was trying to score brownie points with me, he was successful.

“Yes, exactly.”

We made our way deeper into the enclosure, keeping track of its temperature and other environmental factors as we made our way to Calista. All of the enclosures in our facility were designed to mimic the snakes’ natural habitats on a smaller scale. But Calista’s especially reminded me of my childhood in Brazil. There was a comfort in knowing I could have a bit of it with me, even if synthetically, when so much of the country had been destroyed and abandoned. We found Calista under an old log and quickly began working on examining her vitals. I allowed her to coil up onto my arm so that the avatar could begin to scan her temperature and heart rate. The numbers popped up bright green as part of the avatar’s UI. 

“Vitals looking good,” I told Isaac as he took some samples of blood. That was the only thing the avatars couldn’t do, the material they had been made from always contaminated the blood and resulted in inaccurate findings. So later, when we’d settled down for our observations one of us would run the samples down to the pathology lab. After he drew the samples, he stored them in a compartment built into his chest and we began the next part of our research which required us to just sit and observe the snake’s behavior. Our avatars would take logs of the footage which we would later use to review behavioral patterns. The logs never really picked up anything interesting, mostly snakes slithering around or feeding. I often wondered what Correia’s avatar had picked up when the snake attacked her leg. Surely the logs would have been useful in that situation but her avatar and all of her logs had been immediately confiscated by the authorities. 

Isaac and I took a seat together to begin our observations. We were far enough away that Calista would completely ignore us while we could adjust our eyes to zoom in and get clearer shots of her. This was always my least favorite part of work. Not only was it often unbelievably boring, it was always awkward. We couldn’t look at each other since we had to keep our eyes on Calista and the only way to talk was through built-in communicators that would stream speech directly into our heads. But awkward or not,  it was reassuring to have another person in the large enclosure with me. Before we began working in pairs, I’d sit in the dark, quiet room and would stare at Calista for hours. And I could never shake the feeling that she was staring right back. Her beady eyes were cold and judgemental, maybe even resentful. It felt like somehow my mother had loved her so much she’d managed to imprint herself on the snake. It disturbed me so much that sometimes I almost wished for an accident — if I could just encroach myself enough on Calista’s space, get her angry enough, she would attack and then I could get rid-

“So,” Isaac’s calm voice managed to break me out of my thoughts. I wasn’t sure if his voice was always so soothing or if it was a result of his vocal settings. I’d never gotten the chance to actually meet him in person, but judging by his demeanor, he probably wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he seemed when in his avatar. “What do you think the next step is? After testing on snakes, I mean.”

“Testing on people,” it was the obvious answer, “as soon as we can prove that it’s safe enough, and it looks like we’ll get there soon. The accidents are becoming less frequent and well, just look at her,” I motioned to the bright green snake. Calista was around sixty now, alive for much longer than boas ever lived, even in the zoos of the early 21st century. She’d already lived a life longer than my mother had. 

“So it’s true. I’ve heard rumors that people were already signing up for testing but I thought it was bullshit,” he said.

“Bullshit? So you don’t think it’s safe,” I couldn’t blame him — it had kept me up a few nights, the thought that maybe things aren’t meant to live forever and that maybe, we were doing something horribly wrong by trying to make it possible.

“I don’t know, maybe it is.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a bright notification popped up on my avatar’s UI. “Oh. Time to take in those blood samples,” I said. Isaac’s artificial eyes followed me as I got up from the spot we were sitting in.

“What? You can handle sitting around for a little without me, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I can,” he said.

“It’ll only be a few. Besides, you’ve been the one to deliver them the past couple of times.” 

Yes, I could have sent him to drop off the blood samples as I normally did, but it was a lot more fun to watch him squirm. It didn’t take long to get to the pathology lab and drop off the blood samples. I even managed to avoid most of the lab assistants that would have stopped me for questions. I’d only left him for less than 30 minutes before I heard a crackling in my ears.

“What is it, Isaac? I’m coming back soon, I’m just filling out some forms.”

“That’s fine,” he sounded distracted, “but you need to get back now,” even the soothing tone of his avatar couldn’t disguise the panic in his voice.

I finished up the forms despite his worries and then rushed to the enclosure. I knew Isaac was prone to freaking out over any minor issue, he’d done it plenty of times before. Yet as I made my way to him I was still concerned, especially considering the previous incident with Dr. Correia. Plus, we couldn’t afford any more euthanized snakes or decommissioned avatars either. We were hanging by a thread as it was, most government funding had been pushed into space exploration and the development of the Mars colony.

Once I got back, Isaac was standing near the exit door. I could see his arms crossed and the thick glass of the door didn’t do much to muffle the metallic thumping of his foot against the ground. “Hey,” I said, trying to open the door as slowly as possible so I could avoid shaking him up more than he already was. My slow movements didn’t do much to stop him from jumping.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I said and placed a hand on his shoulder. I’d never been too good at comfort, my mother had never shown me how. Still, he seemed to ease up a little. “What happened? Send me your logs.” 

I sent him a request for his ocular recordings and it only took a moment before they popped up in my vision. I activated them and began to sift through the footage. Not much had happened while I was gone — a lot of it was Calista searching for a log to curl up under and Isaac grumbling about being left alone. 

“Hey, I’m not seeing-” but before I could finish the sentence, it started. There was a loud, disgusting squealing, almost like a pig, a horribly sick pig. It went on like that for so long. I wanted to stop watching, but what kind of example would that set? Then, suddenly something rushed at Isaac, teeth bared, still making that sick heaving sound. The shock nearly deactivated my avatar and it was enough for me to unconsciously shut off the footage. I was momentarily aware of my real body and the feeling as though someone was watching me. Even though I was fully alone. I always made sure to lock up alone.

“Fatima,” now Isaac had put his hand on my shoulder, anchoring me back into the suit.

“Okay, so she lunged at you,” I said, trying to work through what I’d just seen. It felt a bit ridiculous to be so upset about it. After all, snakes are predators. That’s what they do, they attack. I tried to explain that train of thought to Isaac.

“Right… but she’s never done that before. Has she? I mean you’re the one who’s worked with her.”

“No, she’s never done that before… but we can’t entirely predict a snake’s behavior. No matter how long we’ve studied it,” I hadn’t managed to even convince myself.

“Yeah, I guess we can’t. Not even a snake that’s been alive for sixty years.”

“Look, why don’t you just take the rest of the day off.  We’ve pretty much wrapped up. I just have to finish our observations and write up the report. Not a big deal, you can make it up to me some other time,” I tried to cover any reason he might come up with to stay. Lucky for me, he didn’t hesitate much. He didn’t even bother to bring up the fact that leaving anyone in the enclosure alone for too long broke protocol. I was grateful for his quick departure — despite still feeling a bit shaken up, if anything else were to happen it would be best if I were alone to manage it. 

I observed Calista for a few more hours. I couldn’t get the image of my mother petting her, holding her in a way she’d never held me, out of my head. It was stupid to resent an animal, such a lonely one at that. Even when my mother had been alive, Calista spent most of her time enduring experiments and studies, outliving any other snake in our home lab. She’d never mated or had children of her own. It was an unnatural, sad way to exist. And that became clear every time she squirmed around, tongue out, always searching. Yes, searching for food, but that had never seemed to be enough.

I was grateful when the end of the day came, even if being the boss meant I was the last one out of the lab. I often stayed behind to lock everything up and ensure no stragglers had left behind. I returned to my office in the lab, long after the enclosures had been locked and the lights had been turned out. I worked on writing up my report for the day. I could have probably done it in my own body, but I never liked bringing work home with me. 

As I wrote my report, I reviewed all of the findings on Calista for the day. There was no explanation for her strange behavior, the vitals and even blood work had been perfect. I considered replaying the footage from before again and hesitated only for a moment. It seemed like a bad idea, sitting alone in the low light of the room but curiosity got the better of me. I played the recording and somehow, the sound was more disturbing than the first time around. It sounded as though it were closer, heaving and gasping right in my ear. I stopped the footage, the sound was forming a sick, bubbling mess in my stomach. But the sound didn’t stop. For a moment, I believed that I had somehow reactivated the footage but the squealing only got louder. It took me a few moments to realize that the sound wasn’t coming from inside my head anymore. I walked out of the office cautiously. My vision was impaired by the red glow of the lab’s nighttime lights. I checked on a few snakes as I made my way through the lab, though I knew the sound could only be coming from Calista. Maybe I was too scared to face her yet, to face the idea that somehow I had ruined everything my mother had worked on. 

But as I finally arrived at the enclosure, there was no way to deny that the sound was coming from inside. My fingers shakily punched in the code to open the door and inside, the view was worse than the sound that echoed off the large canopy of trees. I covered my mouth suddenly as if the avatar was actually capable of expelling the bile that was making its way up my throat. There she was, ugly and engorged in the red glow. Calista was choking on her own tail, desperately consuming herself. My avatar tried to warn me that my heartrate had spiked, that I was possibly in danger but running was the last thing I wanted to do. I just stared, the same way I’d stare at my mother’s painting of the ouroboros. She went round and round in circles and all I could do was take slow, clunky steps towards her.

She couldn’t move anymore. All she could do was continue to make the same sad sounds. It struck me just how cruel I’d been, my mother had been. She’d been locked up, forced to live forever and I had perpetuated my mother’s act of cruelty. And we’d be dooming human beings to the same fate soon enough. Infinity was a cruel pursuit and in the morning, I would destroy all of it — the records, the research, all of the avatars and their blank faces. And as sick as it made me, for that night, I held her close to me.