Chapter Text
[Hail Mary - 0 days before landing on Erid]
It has been years since the Hail Mary has seen this much excitement.
“How do I look, Rocky?” I ask him from where I’m standing in front of the ship’s mirror.
He makes an annoyed sound in response.
Which, fair. It must be the eighth time I asked in the day, but I don't think anyone could blame me. Today’s the big day, after all. The end of three years of traveling, and first time a human steps foot on a populated alien planet.
Not that I’ll be setting any foot down today, apparently. Rocky and I- well, me and every eridian, as Rocky liked to remind me, have been arguing for days about whether or not I should be leaving the Hail Mary when they finish with the arrival platform. It’s not hard to guess which side of the argument I was on, but the gist of it is that I was outvoted, but with concessions made.
I would not set foot outside the ship, sure, but Rocky and the other eridian engineers had been working on placing a window, like the one we had in the tunnel, so that I could at least see all the eridians that had gathered outside Mary’s door to welcome us.
So, blame me, I wanted to look good. First impressions and all.
Technically second impression. My first impression had been when we started communicating through radio, a month and a half from landing time, and Rocky had unceremoniously shoved the microphone in my direction with no warning but a ‘They want to hear you speak’.
And so the first words the planet Erid heard from a human being were some awkward stuttering as I did my best to remember my name.
But who cares. They had just been a few technicians working overtime, and perhaps a few linguists interested in a copy of the recordings. This was the real deal, and I had to be ready for it. Clean clothes, no body odor, and a good shave. And, most important of all, no fumbling of words.
“Hello Erid, I am Dr. Ryland Grace, and it’s an honor to be here,” I whispered in front of the mirror.
“Dr. Ryland Grace is being stupid,” a very unhelpful voice said from behind me.
Once we managed to set the Hail Mary in the right direction, and were pretty confident that the ship wouldn't randomly explode or something catastrophic was going to happen with the taumoeba, I insisted on having Rocky try once again to teach me eridian. Not that I would be able to speak it, at least not without some sort of instrument we definitely didn't have the resources to make, but it felt like the least I could do if I was to stay in Erid for… for a long time.
I learned all kinds of noises eridians made when frustrated, but to Rocky’s credit, by the time we managed to establish communication with Erid, I could follow most of the conversations he had with ground control, and even offer my grain of salt.
I turned to give him a look. “Don’t act like you didn't spend hours fixing your side of the ship. I saw you resolder your ball yesterday”
“Good engineers keep a clean workspace” he defended himself, stomping one of his hands against the ground. “I need to show I do good work”
I would think us showing on Erid at all would be enough of a statement about Rocky’s abilities, but to each their own. “And I have to show respect. Fumbling over my words is not respectful”
“Then don't do that. Don't understand why you have to repeat and repeat and repeat what you are going to say. Grace already knows, and is prepared this time” he shakes his carapas in a dismissive gesture.
“It’s not like I'm planning to!” I walk away from the mirror, a hand on the wall for support. I decided that if something was wrong by now, I would simply have to roll with it. We are just waiting for them to tell us they are ready to start, which might happen any minute now. “But I still might, if I get nervous. You tell me you wouldn't be doing the same if you were the one visiting earth?”
I sit down in the familiar chair, closing my eyes for a moment. Turns out that a very limited supply of food and a stomach full of nerves aren’t a great combination. I lay my head against the headrest as I wait for the familiar wave of lightheadedness to pass.
“No risk of me forgetting how to talk”
Rocky walks towards me from his side of the wall, his steps loud for an eridian, a consideration given from the moment he discovered I’m blind to that which is not in my limited field of vision.
“Mean, mean, mean. Are all eridians like this? Maybe I should turn back to earth” I joke, as if the idea of going back into space didn't send chills through my whole body.
He doesn't answer, and I let out a sigh as I relax myself further into the chair, using my feet to turn it slowly from one side to the other. This feels much more comfortable than it should, but my body has burnt a lot of calories these past few days being nervous, and I can't help but hope both for the eridians to hurry up, and for the moment to never come. I want to go back to bed.
“Grace tired, question?”
It’s not a far-reaching assumption for him to make, given how much time I spend sleeping. Nowadays it’s almost impossible for me to make it through the day without a nap or two, but then I suppose a diet that’s just scratching the minimum to avoid starvation would do that to you.
“Just resting my eyes, Rocky,” I mumble, enjoying that sweet place between sleep and awareness.
Before he can answer, there’s a loud thump coming from the door that makes the whole ship rattle. I am wide awake now, gripping the armrest with all my strength as I try to calm down. The fact that I’m still alive, and not an overpressurised blob of flesh, is proof that the reinforcements Rocky made worked.
A hiss of air. A moment of silence, and then, as if scripted in a horror movie, someone on the other side of the airlock knocks three times.
I swear I can feel every hair of my body stand.
Next to me, Rocky makes a happy trill. “That was Rocky’s idea. It’s human custom to knock, right, question? I told eridians to knock”
My heart is about to jump out of my chest, out of fear or excitement, I don't know. If it was pure luck that the alien’s friendly gesture just happened to coincide with one of human’s deepest fears since touching space, I can’t start to imagine what awaits me on the other side of the door.
But I know this side well enough already, and so I get up from my chair to approach the EVA suit next to the door.
Be brave, Grace.
“That’s right,” I answer the alien next to me, who is vibrating with energy. He’s inside his ball, now, holding a case filled with taumoeba breeders. He was waiting for me to finish. “I suppose the polite thing to do is to open,” I joke, ignoring the way my voice trembles.
He doesn't say anything, either, as I open the door for him, as we planned. Rocky was supposed to go first, go through multiple pressurized chambers before he could safely remove himself from his ball, and be reunited with the rest of Erid.
With Adrian.
I would go after, once they switched back to human-friendly levels, and say hello, give my little speech, be merry-
-and in little less than ten minutes later, I would turn back inside Mary, and wait for a crew of eridians (‘I’ll be here too’) to meet me inside to hand me their newly made, human safe supplements, vitamins, and maybe take a sample or two.
They had finished a special room for me a couple days ago, but for some reason they had this idea that I might die if I were to attempt the move in my condition. Which, sure, is not the healthiest, but in my very much voiced opinion, I would die if I had to stay inside the ship five more minutes than necessary.
Rocky had to tell them that it was just a human way of speaking and that I was being impatient. I called him a liar, and was promptly outvoted again and almost expelled from the ‘Keep the Alien Alive’ committee.
“Grace, close the door now” Rocky calls, bringing me out of my thoughts.
For some reason, my hand refused to cooperate. It had to be my mind playing tricks on me again. Looking through the window, it was peach dark outside, almost as if we were still in outer space. It made sense that, unconsciously, I did not want to send my best friend in the whole universe into the cold embrace of the void, even if he was asking.
But it was not the void outside, just a room filled with aliens that did not need light like I did. Rocky had even told me that he could sense the other eridians moving outside when we landed, a couple of hours ago.
So why did this feel so finite?
I wanted to say something, but my throat closed, and I had no doubt that my eyes would start leaking soon, as Rocky would say. Ignoring every sign my body gave me that this was wrong, I closed the door.
Ten minutes, Grace, you can leave your friend alone for ten minutes. How long did you spend wishing for five minutes alone back in space?
There was a small light inside, which helped me see as Rocky opened the last door, and rolled into the darkness.
And then, nothing. The door closed back, and I was alone once again.
I had not realized, in all the days I spent daydreaming of this moment, how terrifying it would be. My heart started beating hard enough for me to hear it, and I realized my knuckles were white from how hard I was grabbing the door. I could not let go of it.
It occurred to me how easy it would be for the eridians to forget about me, now that they had Rocky and the taumoeba back. It’s not like they needed me anymore; all the information they could want from me they could find in the computers, which Rocky had access to. Anything more urgent we had told them already through the radio.
I just had their promise.
No. They wouldn't do that. Rocky wouldn't do that. I was just being stupid and afraid. Any moment now, they would knock again to signal that they were ready for me to open the door, and I would see them. I would have my proof, and Rocky would be there, and it would all be well.
What would the humans do, if our positions were reversed?
I wish I had thought of bringing a clock. Now there was no chance of me leaving to look for one, anchored to the door as I am.
After what I assume must have been a couple of minutes, I start to wonder if there was any risk of me passing out, but I shrug the thought off. Even if I were prone to fainting, I had been in much more stressful situations since Stratt found me. I now needed both hands to count the amount of times I had almost died.
I just had to be brave for a couple more minutes. Have a little faith (ha!)
How did it go? Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…
There's a knock on the door.
I throw myself inside, barely remembering to be careful with the closing protocols, and I turn on the light on top of my head. I wait with a hand in the next door as Mary hisses with the change of air, the sound drowned out by my heavy breathing. Almost there…
Once she’s done, I push the handle down, and watch as the door opens to the side.
It’s dark, is the first thing I notice. Dark, dark, dark, and as much as the light on top of my head tries, the imperfections in what I assume is a wall of clear xenonite in front of me reflects its shine back to me, giving me the impression that someone was holding a powerful flashlight right back at me.
I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't see Rocky. Was I alone? I couldn't even tell where the ground was. Although I was assured there would be a platform, I saw only darkness when I looked down. I did not dare to put a foot outside my ship.
“Hello?” I said, before my throat closed completely. Why is it so silent? Why couldn't I hear? They hadn't said anything about the place being soundproof.
The light on top of my head was dimming, slowly engulfing me into darkness.
“Rocky?” I called out.
He wasn’t here.
There was no one here, besides me, on the edge of a ship that had barely survived the trip. A ship full of astrophage, taumoeba, Grace, and silence.
Something was wrong, the logical part of my brain shouted, but I couldn't make out what. Instead, I took a step back, and tripped.
I shouted, trying to grab the door, the wall, anything. There was no way I had survived a suicide mission in space only to die after hitting my head in my own airlock. Rocky was out there, somewhere, and whatever was wrong he would fix. I believed, believed, believed it.
I passed out before hitting the ground.
[Hail Mary - 1,355 days before landing on Erid]
As I try to look for something to wear, I come across three small boxes.
I recognize them almost immediately. Well, my brain does, because I still can't remember when I saw them, or what’s inside. They are the personal objects each astronaut was allowed to bring into space, each box carefully labeled with a name. Yáo Li-Jie. Olesya Ilyukhina. Ryland Grace.
One of them is not like the others.
Of course it’s mine. Next to a lock, with six small numbered wheels, there’s a piece of tape with a single word written in black sharpie.
Why?
I leave it on the ground.
There’s a part of me that wants to give them back to my crewmates before I say my goodbyes. But another one, probably the astronaut in me, tells me that’s a bad idea, with resources finite as they are.
I place two of them back in storage. I fidget with the third as I lay back in bed.
Why?
I run my fingers over the wheels, hoping for muscle memory to aid me, but it makes no difference. The contents of the box are as much of a mystery to me as my past. Six numbers, and one word to taunt me, which is stupid. Nobody else wrote anything on theirs, or had their box locked, so why would I?
Maybe I’m just a sap, and the answer is the birthday of some wife, or kid, or my dog. With how much I cried these last few days, it does seem to fit the profile.
With a sigh, I leave the box under my bed, and turn to try to catch some sleep.
[Hail Mary - 0 days after landing on Erid]
Waking up is a slow process, especially when your head feels like it’s been split into two, and your whole body screams at you to go back to sleep. But there’s a nagging feeling in my chest that insists something very, very bad has happened, and I need to be conscious to face it.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, the room is pitch black, which I take it as a good sign, because I don’t think Stratt would be too happy with me if she found me sleeping in the middle of the day, no matter how many all nighters she puts me through.
But the associated feeling of relief doesn't come, and I realise how silent this place is.
Silent, except for a rhythmic beat that starts hurrying more and more. I look to my left, and I’m faced with a display that I had spent too many nights staring at. The heartbeat monitor becomes more frantic as my memories come back, and I realize where I am.
This is the Hail Mary, I’m strapped to the science officer’s bed, and very much not in a coma.
Still, I pull my arms as hard as I can. There is something holding me from my ankles and wrists, keeping me in the bed. I kick and scream and twist, but it does nothing but tire me.
“Stratt!” I scream, not knowing what else to do. I can feel the IV on my arm, and I’m not sure whether to try to pull it out or leave it alone. Am I still on earth? Is that the amnesia drug, or is it part of the coma system?
What if we had launched already, and I’m not in a coma? Would it kill me?
Would I stay awake for years, tied to the bed until the computer lets me go?
No, no, no.
“Stratt!” I shout for her again. She wouldn't do this to me. This was too much, even for her. “Stratt!”
I am hit with a fit of coughing as I choke on my own saliva, but it helps me to notice the sound of people moving, somewhere. Steps through the metal floor, music. Maybe some technician is making a last minute check up.
It gives me hope. “Help! Please, I’m awake!” I rise up as much as I can, my throat burning from my forcing it, but I can’t stop now, when I know there’s someone out there who might hear me.
“I’m awake, I’m awake!” I keep shouting. There are figures in the room now, and I wriggle in an effort to see them. They don't turn on the lights, why don't they turn them on? It’s dark, and I can’t see them. Can they see me? “I’m awake”
But they don't say anything, and instead they push me down by the shoulders. The light of the monitor shows me an arm reaching out for an empty IV bag. I see with horror that they are carrying one that’s full.
Nobody is untying me.
I start screaming again. Not that it has worked so far, but I am not going into sure death without a fight. “Stratt!” I call for her again, angry, angry, angry. “Stratt, I swear I will blow up this ship! I will kill everyone here!” I throw out every threat I can imagine, and the fear in me grows to the point I no longer know if I’m bluffing.
But nobody here cares. Nobody talks to me, nobody turns off the music. Nobody even botters to turn on the light.
I scream and shout and plead, and dealing with me it’s so easy it’s not even worth it to turn on the light.
“Don’t, please don’t,” I cry, but it’s too late. The bag with what I assume is the french drug and something else to keep me down is swapped for a full one. I’m going being sent to space on a suicide mission against my will, in darkness, and nobody cares enough to turn on the light.
“Please,” I keep begging. I don’t feel myself stopping as I’m forced back to unconsciousness.
[Hail Mary - 1,186 days before landing on Erid]
“What is that, question?” Rocky asks from his side of the xenonite wall.
Because he had made himself a room on the bedroom floor, too. Even though I knew that he could see me all the same, whether we were right next to each other or on the other side of the ship, it had been hard to realise I was losing that last pretense of privacy. Only the fact that he must be feeling cramped too kept me from complaining.
“Uh? Nothing, just a box,” I replied, as I rested it on my stomach.
It had been a while since I had taken part in this dumb ritual of mine. Before Rocky, I would lay in bed every night and try to guess the combination. Then I got a little busy with the whole “meeting an extraterrestrial form of intelligence” thing.
“Rocky knows that. Rocky not stupid. But why Grace grab box, question?” the alien in my ship says. I see him tapping the floor with his fingers, a gesture he had told me helped him see a little better.
Suddenly, an idea comes to mind. I grab the box, sitting up from the bed. “Can you see what’s inside?” If he could ‘see’ through the walls of the Hail Mary, there was no reason to think this would be any harder.
He makes a gesture with two of his arms, ‘come closer’, and I oblige, barely containing myself from running in his direction. In my defense, I think anyone who has been sitting with a mysterious box of his past for weeks and might be about to discover its contents would react the same.
I push it as far against the wall as possible.
Rocky makes what I mentally classify as a thinking noise, and leans towards me.
“Inside papers. Many papers. Small round object. Soft. Another soft object, human shape. Another box- Correction, a book”. He stands back, as I process what he had just told me. “Now explain. Why can’t Grace see inside, question?”
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding. The papers make sense, they are very light, small, and can be filled with sentimental value. The same argument could be made for a book. Maybe I was the kind of guy who enjoys reading? Makes sense, with the whole teacher thing I had apparently been rocking. But the soft objects? Maybe plushies?
Hopefully not. That would be lame.
“There’s a lock on the side, and I can’t remember the combination,” I groan, placing the box on the ground.
Maybe they were snacks. Please, let them be snacks.
Rocky doesn't let it go, and I can't blame him. This is probably the biggest mystery that no lives depend on it being solved he has seen in who knows how long. “Is content important, question?”
I think about my answer for a moment. “Not important for surviving,” I clarify, and see some tension leave his body. “But it’s important to me. It has sentimental value”
I realised my mistake too late.
“New word, explain” Rocky says. I sigh before getting up.
“Alright, let me get the computer. This is going to be a long one.” For someone who only arrived at my ship with tools and materials, I don't think it's going to be easy to explain why humans would bring so many things that serve no purpose on a mission to save their planet.
Before I do that, I carry the box to my bed and give it a last look before storing it away.
One mystery half solved, the biggest question still pending.
Why?
[Hail Mary - 1 day after landing on Erid]
When I open my eyes, there’s a bright light over me that threatens to leave me blind.
I try to block it with my arm. “Mary, turn off the lights,” I call, but there’s no improvement.
Still, I hear her say “All lights turned off,” and I groan in annoyance. The last thing I want to do is spend the day inside the ship's walls, trying to fix whatever went wrong, with Rocky pointing out all my mistakes.
I blink rapidly, as my eyes get used to the light, my hand extended to try to block some of it. “Rocky?” I call, because it’s strange how long I spent awake without his cheerful voice informing me how long I’ve been asleep for.
“Rocky here,” I hear him, voice low. “Do you want me to turn off the light, question?”
He answers, but there’s something wrong with his tone. It was too loud, but also low, as if he’s both sad and screaming at me at the same time. I try to look for him, but the light keeps annoying me.
“Yes, I think there’s something wrong with the ship though, I already asked-” Just as I was about to finish that thought, it went off, leaving me stunned.
I hadn't heard him speak. “How did you do that?” Then, a horrifying thought. “Have you been messing with the wiring again? Mary, turn on the Dormitory main light”
To this day I have nightmares about his ‘home-improvement’ ideas.
She does so, and as surprising as that was, it did not hold a candle to the rest of the scene.
Rocky, outside of his area, outside of his ball, sitting in a chair less than a meter away.
He hasn't grown eyes, thankfully, but I can still feel his attention following me as I jump into the air in surprise. “Rocky, you’re outside!” My arm complains as the needle of the IV is twisted around.
Wait.
“Yes, your eyes seem to be working, good”
As I take a second look, I notice that Rocky’s not outside, actually, but wearing what looks like a xenonite EVA suit, black with copper and green streaks all over its surface.
Well, I say Rocky, but in reality I have no way of knowing if it’s really him under there, except that they told me so. I’m still not confident that I could distinguish eridians by sound alone.
It is then that the last few weeks crash over me like a train.
“We are in Erid. We made it!” I whisper, memories returning. The memory, particularly, of how I ended up in this bed. I grab the pillow and try to suffocate myself with it. Perhaps I can be a tragic dead hero instead of a clumsy space blob that passed out while trying to leave his ship. “Oh, no. Rocky, be honest, how stupid do eridians think I am, question?”
He cruelly snatches the pillow away from me. It’s not much of a fight, all things considered. “All eridians arevworried about Grace’s health. Rocky worried about Grace’s health. What happened, question?” Then, in a lower tone. “Is it because of malnutrition, question?”
I wince. The forbidden M word. We try not to discuss my declining health too much. It’s a bit of a downer.
I struggle to answer. “Kind of. Yeah. I…” How do I explain it, when the memories themselves feel so… abstract? ‘Turns out that it was really dark on this planet that lacks visible light, and I got scared, so I panicked and fell’. That doesn't sound very ‘savior of worlds’ to me. “I was tired, and got confused. I thought I was in space for a minute? The details are fuzzy”
The IV suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the room, as I play with it instead of looking in Rocky’s direction.
“You fell, and hit your head. Fell asleep. Rocky and the xenobiologist team had to drag you inside and help you into bed. Started an IV with vitamins and other nutrients already synthesised”
When I look back at him, he’s standing low on the chair, hands going over his own arms in worry. I try to appease him with a joke. “See? I told you I needed the practice”
I exaggerate my smile, mouth open and teeth showing, but instead of the ‘gross, gross, gross’ complaints I usually get when I tease him like this, he lets out a few sad notes.
“Grace is weak. We should not have made you exert yourself,” he laments.
I can’t help myself. I extend an arm and try to go for a hug.
By the time Rocky realises what I’m trying to do, it’s too late, although him moving when he did meant that I only burnt the palm of my hand, instead of my whole arm and chest.
“Ow!”
I look at my hand. It’s not that bad, certainly nothing like the Adrian Incident, but more like opening the oven and grabbing a hot pan without a mit. Still, it stings, and without thinking I take the wounded skin to my mouth and lick it.
“Disgust,” says Rocky, with no bite. “Other eridians designed the suit. Much younger, with no practical experience. This leaves much to be desired. I don’t know who let them call themselves engineers”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. “Give them a break, I’m sure they did their best. We kind of sprung this on them at the last minute. It’s not every day that you get tasked with building a suit to survive an alien atmosphere”
His tone gets even more moody, if that’s possible. “We gave them the specifications a month ago. Rocky did it better, in a couple of earth’s day, with ship’s scraps”
“Well, good thing you came back, then. Someone had to show those kids how it’s done”
Even though he trills happily, it’s short lived, and I brace myself for what’s to come. He seems to be in a mood today, and it’s not the happy-euphoric-good,good, good I had expected.
“You woke up before, with other eridians. I wasn't there,” he starts, in a sad, sad, sad tone. “Do you remember, question?”
My throat closes at the memory, and I suppress the instinct to scratch it. “Not really, no. But that’s nothing new,” I look away, not with my head but with my eyes, hoping Rocky doesn't notice the way my entire body tenses up. Instead I focus on breathing calmly, and try to change the topic. “So, we made contact with Erid, I got some yummy nutrients running in my bloodstream now, what else did I miss? Did you get to meet with Adrian?”
That seems to cheer him up, and I call it a success, even if I don’t understand the reason for his previous mood. Not only was everything going according to the plan, minus a minor fainting spell, but the odds seem to be better than what we had expected when tracing course to the planet. We bet the odds in all aspects.
“Adrian good good good,” he says, in a sing-song voice. Or, more than usual. “They were waiting when I left the Hail Mary. We got to say hello, but through a wall. Consensus was on having a short isolation period to make sure I didn't carry something bad from space. They had doctors checking me up too. That’s why I wasn't there when you woke up”
He sounds apologetic about it, lowering down, and I had to resist the urge to extend a hand and pet him. “Ah, don't worry about that, bud. It’s fine, really. Did the doctors find anything?”
He turns himself from side to side, his best approximation to a human headshake and a habit he picked up from being locked up with one for years. “Nothing bad, all fixable, statement”
That’s… an answer.
“What?”
I don’t know what to say to that. What? Fixable. It’s too broad of a word to make anything out of it, and even though he said nothing bad, I can’t help the way my heart tries to beat out of my chest. Is Roky really okay? Is he hiding some sort of injury? Why wouldn't he tell me, if that were the case?
“What?” I repeat myself, and watch Rocky lean away from me. I hope the hurt doesn't show through my stunned face. “What do you mean, fixable?”
“Doctor can fix. No need to waste time on it”
But before I can try to shake Rocky to give me a real answer, he continues. “I’ll tell Grace’s doctors that you’re awake now. They have a lot of questions. A lot of intelligent eridians are working to make sure Grace’s gets better as soon as possible”
There’s a fraction of a moment, after he finishes speaking, in which I have to figure out if I want to push him to explain himself, or let him get away with his very obvious evasion tactic. He’s trying to hide something, and I can feel the worry starting to creep inside me. But then I remember him asking if I remember waking up a few hours ago, and I have the baseless certainty that he knew I was lying.
Neither of us is going to forget. But perhaps we could both use a little more time to get our thoughts in order.
Because I don't trust my throat to talk, I do a thumbs up instead, and watch him leave the room.
[Hail Mary - 1,274 days before Erid]
“Grace work on opening box now, question?” Rocky asks from the other side of our wall, walking closer to it.
Since I showed it to him that first time, I had the growing suspicion that ‘Grace box time,’ as he had taken to calling it, had become his favorite telenovela. It would make sense, I suppose; the low stakes for high reward, the drama, the big mystery. Like the first season of Lost.
It would make sense, if it weren't for the fact that it would mean he finds me struggling incredibly entertaining.
“You know it, Rocks,” I answer, as I jump into bed.
I had a paper with a number of combinations I wanted to try. After spending a considerate amount of time basically googling myself on the ship’s computer (which turned out to be just as mildly disappointing as googling yourself on the real thing- mostly a few research papers about the astrophage, and that particular essay that ended my academic career a few years back) I had a good feelings about some of them.
I try not to take offence at the way he pushes his special seat next to the wall and makes himself comfortable. All that he’s missing is a bucket of popcorn, I think. “What numbers today, question?”
“We’ve got the day I got me kicked out of academia forever,” I tell him, trying not to sound too sour. “It’s what got Stratt to notice me in the first place, and I suppose that in a way the reason I started teaching, too”
He lets out a happy trill. “That’s a good guess, statement!”
I give him a look he probably won't be able to decipher. “That was the worst day of my life, too, so don’t so too excited”
One of his hands skims the ground. Dismissive, the dictionary in my brain supplies. “Yes, yes, important day. Good guess, statement”
I ignore his comment, and try it on the lock. Nothing. Maybe day/month/year? Nope.
“I guess it wasn’t so important in the end,” I mutter, a little disappointed. That one had felt so right.
From his spot, Rocky hurries me to keep going. “Grace try another one”
I sigh as I grab the list. There, a few more numbers stare back at me. The day I started working with Stratt, the publication of my first astrophage paper, even a few words, like ALIENS (1-3-9-5-5-1) and A/FOOL (1-6-6-6-3), the last one by Rocky’s request, after STUPID (1-2-3-7-9-4) had failed us.
To the surprise of no one, the box is still locked by the time we run out of options.
“Rocky can open with tools” Like most nights we fail to do this, he offers a solution I had heard from both engineers and children with the same seriousness in different contexts: ‘Have you tried using a saw?’
“I said no, Rocky. The content is delicate”. The last thing I needed was losing my last memories to a lack of patience.
“The memory will come back, like the others. It’s just a matter of time,” I tell him, not for the first time, as I put the box away. “Besides, if we cut it open, we will never know what the combination was! What kind of resolution is that?”
I try to cheer both of us up. It doesn't work. “A resolution, statement”
[The Apartment - 81 days after landing on Erid]
I lay on the floor in front of the xenonite wall, brows furrowed in concentration. In front of me, a team of three eridians linguistics sat with their own reading aid, letting out a thinking noise now and then. I had my keyboard next to me, and even though these three (Amber, Jet, and Pyrite, all names chosen by themselves, mind you) insisted on me not using it while trying to talk to them, I found myself having a hard time leaving it behind.
“It’s still your turn,” Jet told Pyrite.
They rumbled in annoyance. They had the most letters remaining out of everyone, and apparently no easy way of placing them on the board. And considering that there were no more tiles to draw from, and the fact that I’m just waiting for my turn to finish the game, if they don't manage to put some of them down they are sure to come up last.
Well, second-last, but I’m trying not to think too hard about the fact that I’m about to lose a game of Scrabble against three aliens with less than three months experience with the English language.
[Conference Room Number λ - 111 days after landing in Erid]
The noise of the door opening and closing threatens to wake me up, but I resist. Rocky was watching me sleep, and I trust him enough to wake me up if something came up. It had to be Adrian, then, who Rocky had warned me would be coming by sometime in the day, and even though I still wanted to give a good impression of myself to my friend’s mate, I found that I was too tired to care right now.
Whatever. It’s not like they hadn't watched me sleep before.
I press into the jumper I had thrown over my head to use both as a pillow and a makeshift sleep mask. The eridians had been kind enough to light the room up, but had forgotten to install a light switch.
Which made sense, in a way. The only reason we were using this room instead of the usual one, with my little human-safe zone, was because the doors weren't big enough for the Dome Model the team usually used to discuss the planning for the Grace Habitat they were working on. They would be dismantled as soon as the day ended.
So, it was my turn to be in a hamster ball.
The biggest turn down of it was the fact that whenever I tried to catch a quick nap between meetings, I had to do it in a curled up position that had my body complaining when I tried to get up.
But right now, I don't care about that. No, after the three hours I had spent trying to follow a conversation between thirty six (thirty-six!) eridians about priorities and missions and all the problems that came up with having a space blob living on their planet, I was too burnt out to care.
My biggest concern right now was getting two chatty aliens (and that was definitely Adrian, judging by the sweet cadence that Rocky was using to speak) to quiet down.
I let out an annoyed groan. Sure, it was incredibly rude, but I knew they were capable of continuing their conversation in a tone I couldn't hear. I would apologise after I felt like a human again.
“Sorry, Grace”, said Adrian, a contrast to Rocky’s ‘So fussy!’
Someone touched the top of my head through the flexible xenonite. An apology of sorts. I let out a pleased sigh, and went back to sleep.
[The Dome - 278 days after landing in Erid]
This time I’ve really fucked up.
Well done, Ryland, you’re finally alone now.
I’m alone in my new house, because of course they made me a whole house just for myself. Some eridian whose name I can’t remember has spent weeks studying humans floorplans and natural light, someone else’s days trying to make me a window when they can’t really understand the concept of seeing. They care so much about me. About making sure I’m as comfortable and happy as possible- not just alive, but happy.
And it’s driving me crazy.
I sit on the floor, my back leaning against the bed as I rest my head on my knees. The alarm rang almost an hour ago, and any minute now Rocky will come knock on the door to take me on our daily morning walk through a frozen beach with scolding hot water.
If he comes.
I’ve been such a jerk. To Adrian, too, right when I thought we were maybe hopefully perhaps getting to be friends. I can’t imagine what they think about me now.
A bad, bad, bad part of me thinks that maybe they were glad about it. They had spent the night (well, my earth night) with Rocky, for the first time in what, a week? A little longer? I told Rocky that he didn't have to stay, but he insisted, just like he had insisted on keeping me company in the Hail Mary, and the meetings, and everything that had to do with keeping the only local human alive. Maybe they were glad to have a little time with their mate back.
Gosh, Rocky really had done all that. He was a saint of a friend. Certainly much better than I deserved.
Just like this house, this dome. It was so big, and costly, and I tried to love it, I really did, but there’s something about how the place is so eerily empty with no more furniture than the bed and table.
‘Doctor Grace can tell us what he wants for the inside of his house, and we make. We know decorating is very personal to humans’
And maybe that’s it- Because I’ve never asked for anything to be made for the inside. It felt like I was being selfish, with how much work I’m giving everybody, almost a year after our arrival, and whenever I start thinking about the options, the possibilities making my head swim in all the wrong ways, numbers and costs flying in my head. Maybe it’s the way it’s supposed to be, and this is just what a house that’s supposed to reflect myself looks like.
The burn in my feet hasn't healed yet.
Rocky might not come today.
I let out a sob when I realise I don’t know if I want him too.
He still knocks on the door. “Grace?” He calls from the other side of the door.
I sit still- try to, but I can feel myself shaking. Get up, I tell myself. Go and apologise. Except I can’t, with my whole body feeling like it was glued to the ground. Just the extra gravity, get up now.
It’s not the gravity, this problem that follows me through earth, through the Hail Mary, like a hound to a fox. No matter where, or who I think I am. It might be the only constant in my whole life.
“Are you okay, question? I’m worried about you”
That’s what finally breaks me, in the end. Rocky sounds shattered, hurt, and I know it’s because of me.
My whole body trembles with the need to cry. I dig my nails in my neck, shut up, shut up, shut up, because I can’t do this to him now, but me and my body must reach some sort of compromise, or a stale mate, because when my mouth opens and whatever is inside me escapes me it does so without a sound. Just air rushing out of me like some horrible choked exhale.
I can’t stop myself, and I keep at it- The nails, the not-scream that feels just as loud. I close my eyes, and even though they aren't tearing up, they still feel swollen as I press them against my knees.
Rocky is inside, rushing around me without knowing what to do. I just know he’s there by the sound, the thump of four hands against stone and the clank of a metal claw, his “Is Grace okay, question? What’s wrong, question? Rocky help. We don’t need to talk. What can Rocky do, question?”
I shake my head, and as he grows frantic, his words become more broken, as if he’s worried the problem is that I can’t understand him. I don’t know how to explain to him that it’s not.
So I don't, and I keep doing this screaming-suffocation thing until I run out of energy, and I have no other option.
He quiets down at this too, lying next to me, but not touching. He’s humming now, not words, but an eridian melody with many more chords and shifts than any human could ever hope to come up with. Alien. I rest my head against his xenonite suit, and for the first time in three days I finally fall asleep.
[Hail Mary - 738 days before landing in Erid]
I lay down in bed and watch Rocky sleep from the other side of the xenonite wall. We had spent the last two weeks working on adapting the Hail Mary to give Rocky as much access to the controls as possible, in case of… Well, just in case. Really, it had been an oversight that we waited so long to think about it, especially after the Adrian incident. Now, as the effects of my new diet are starting to make an appearance, the idea of something going wrong in the ship while I’m too weak to do anything about it won’t leave my mind.
Even though he refuses to face the idea that the taumoeba plan might not be enough, he’s still an engineer, and understands the need of a back up plan.
So, the Hail Mary is back to looking like a mess. Multiple panels open, wires and tools as far as the eye can see. And even though I promised Rocky I would clean up while he slept, it seemed like just a waste of energy to put the tools in their place when I know in a few hours he’s going to ask me to take them out again. And these days it just doesn't feel like I have much of that.
The place looks as awful as it did when Rocky went to sleep. Which I’m sure will get me an earful in a short while, when he wakes up, but right now I can’t find it in myself to care. Instead, I look around for a distraction.
It takes me an embarrassing long time to think about the box.
It’s still by my bed, where I left it a year ago. And when I pick it up, shame starts to build in my chest, as I remember why.
Why?
The last time I held it, I tried significant dates, a few words, some suggestions from Rocky’s part. Back then, I thought I was some sort of altruist, a hero, humanity’s selfless last chance. I didn't understand why this box would have a lock, when those of my companions didn't. I thought that I had been the one writing the question.
Now I recognize the penmanship as Stratt’s, and understand how dangerous the contents inside were to the mission. It is known that personal objects can help trigger memories, after all, and while it’s strange to think that she would allow this kind of liability in the ship, I recognize the lock as the concession it is. I was allowed to have a few of my personal belongings, but only towards the end, when it wasn't dangerous anymore.
When I could answer what she was really asking, in a single word because Stratt was nothing if not resourceful, even in the way she spoke.
I knew the combination. My fingers felt heavy as lead as I placed them on top of the numbered wheels.
They didn't move.
I took a deep breath.
And another one.
Finally, after what must have been ten full minutes, I accepted the fact that I would not be opening the box today. I put it in its place once again, and laid down on the bed, facing Rocky, who was still sleeping against the xenonite barrier as close to my bed as possible.
It didn't matter. Who knew if I was right this time, if that was the real answer. I might have been wrong, about the combination, about Stratt’s reasoning. It’s not like I really knew how her mind worked. Me being here is proof enough of that.
Besides, who knows what was inside. Maybe an apology letter (ha!) that I had no need for nor want to read. Some encouraging messages from people that had sent me to die in space. I try to think of my previous life, before the Hail Mary, if there’s anything I would like to have with me.
There is, of course. But they are not needed. And I don't think they would be worth the gigantic emotional rollercoaster I would have to face when- if the lock were to open this time. Or the conversation I would have to have with Rocky when he inevitably asked me about it.
Heck, even if there were things I was that desperate to have back, I couldn't be sure they would be there. It’s not like I was the one who packed it.
Who had? The possibilities are finite, and none of them feel right. It’s not like there were many people aware of my “situation”. Carl, Stratt. Maybe she asked one of those guards who tackled me to go to my trailer and fill the box with whatever I had lying around that was light enough. I certainly can't imagine her doing so, even if I can recognize her penmanship.
Papers. A book. Two soft things.
Before I can give it further though, Rocky stirs.
“Hey, bud, did you have a good sleep?”
It takes him a while to answer, as it always does. I suppose it’s similar to human sleep in the way he has to take a moment to stretch, testing his body and voice before he’s up again and chatting.
When he finally does, and after what I assume is giving the room a good look, he hisses in my direction.
“Room messy, messy, messy! Grace said he would pick up after himself while I slept! Liar!”
I let out a groan, and all thoughts of Stratt and that damn box leaves my mind.
[The Dome - 315 days after landing in Erid]
“Is this supposed to be fun for humans, question?” Rocky asks, probably bored out of his mind in the shallow water.
Which is entirely on him. I told him that I wanted to spend a while in the water today, and he insisted on coming with me. Right now, he’s watching me float a few meters away, inside his clear xenonite ball. He doesn't seem to have a preference between it and the suit, at least none that he would say, but has taken to the ball more often since I admitted that not being able to see him unnerved me a little.
“You’re not even swimming. Just laying there. What’s the point, question?” He asks after a moment of silence.
I groan in annoyance.
Since the team of Human Keepers (™) had managed to make the water stay at a comfortable temperature, I tried to go swimming every day. Probably my best option to keep myself fit without making my knees hate me, as the water supports part of my weight. It’s a good way to fight the less than desired consequences of living in four times the gravity your species evolved to thrive in.
But today I’m too tired for that. I’ve been pareded around more than usual (meeting world-renowned eridians gets a little repetitive after the first dozen, but as a scientist I know how expensive it is to keep me alive. Turns out funding works the same across the universe, who could have known), not to mention the meeting with the Xenodoctors where they present me with their revolutionary ideas about how to keep me alive, and I have to explain to them how that would kill me in five days, tops.
It’s not even five o’clock, Grace Time, and my body is screaming for a bed.
“I’m tired. This feels nice, easy on the joints. And also, you guys didn’t build a whole ocean for me not to use it”
I say this last part with a teasing tone, turning to look at him. He’s rolling from side to side now, probably trying to get a better view of me. Water is hard for eridian vision, I know, and there’s a part of me that feels bad about worrying Rocky while I’m floating here. But another one relishes in the approximation of privacy it gives me, particularly when I submerge myself.
He’s shifting his weight from feet to feet. Unsure. “Understand. Then Grace should stay in the water… but maybe you could stay in the water, closer?” He keeps his voice in the same octave, but I can tell he’s trying not to go higher.
Trying not to show his worries.
‘Going easy on the joints’ has become sort of a carte blanche that allows me to pretty much do whatever I want. I don’t like to use it often, especially because it worries Rocky, but this is one of those times I decide that he will just have to deal with it. With all the walking and sitting down and up I’ve done today, I think I earned this.
Still, I use my arms to push myself a little closer to the shore.
We stay like that for a few more minutes, until Rocky speaks again.
“Adrian met with an old study-companion today. They think it would be a good idea for you to meet,” he says, in a casual tone.
A part of me wants to groan and pull myself underwater at the thought of meeting a new eridian, maybe stay there hidden for a day or two. What would they do? It’s not like they could fish me out, they wouldn't even know where to start.
Maybe they could use a big net. Dolphins don't have a chance against those, and I don't see myself doing much better.
But this is Adrian. They have been incredibly kind to me, keeping me company when Rocky can’t, and putting up with my weird alien habits, after I pretty much crashed into their life without asking. It’s the least I can do, really.
Though I can’t deny I’m curious about the request.
“Today?” I ask, just to be sure I’m not playing around on the beach when I should be taking a shower and making myself presentable.
“Not today, Grace exhausted,” he answers, quickly. “Maybe in five Earth Days. I’ll tell the dome team to change their meeting to another day. They have their office near Adrian’s museum, and we can go after. Have it closed for a private tour. Fun day out for Grace”
This makes me turn around. Adrian is some sort of curator for the biggest museum in the city, which I’ve been dying to visit since I’ve heard about it, but I've never had the chance so far. Something always came up, whether it was a meeting, some trouble with the habitat, or needing more exhaustive tests on the EVA suit that would allow me to exist in their atmosphere.
“I can’t ask that from them, I don’t think the museum would be very happy to close the whole thing for just one guy,” I point out. And, as much as I would love to visit, surprising a building filled with curious eridians as the most famous alien is not an experience I would like to repeat.
“Stupid,” Rocky simply says, and promptly receives a splash of water. “The museum has been asking Adrian to do it since they found out they knew you personally. It’s not a problem”
I frown. “They never mentioned”. I’m not sure my boss would be happy with me if our roles were reversed.
“Because the timing was never right. There’s no point in asking when having to say no would make Grace sad. You’re always busy, busy, busy”
I’m shocked at the reproach in his voice. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a celebrity here”
Rocky is too, of course, but it’s also different. Nobody looks at him like they want to dissect him.
There’s a moment of silence, before I realise that he’s still waiting on an answer. “I think I would like that,” I say, which has to be the biggest understatement of the century. I don't know how I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. But there was one more detail that refused to leave my mind. “Who does Adrian want me to meet, anyway? Must be really important if they’re asking. Do they work at the museum too, question?”
He starts shifting his weight again, but to a lesser degree. I wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. “Not at the museum. But their careers sometimes overlapped. They are… Need new word”
That's strange. I don't think I’ve heard him ask since we left the Hail Mary, especially when he has his own English dictionary, but then again, if he’s trying to tell me about their job, it’s possible the word he’s looking for doesn't even exist.
“Alright,” I say, pressing them to continue.
“Name is ♪♫♬♪♪♫. They analyze eridians, and their behaviours. How they live, what they like. They want to do this with Grace, too, like the doctors, but differently. Talk to Grace the Person, not the Human”
They roll their ball closer, until the water reaches up to the middle of it, and I can only see the top of my friend. I lean my head on him absentmindedly, as I try to think what the human equivalent could be. The person, not the human…
“An anthropologist,” I realize. “I think that’s what you mean. It’s the study of humanity, its behaviour and culture, and it includes both a biology and sociology aspect. They study people both in the present and past, so it makes sense that their works overlap”. When I turn to look at him, he’s leaning against the xenonite too, his carapace a wall away from resting on my forehead.
Not unheard of, not new, but certainly strange considering we are just talking. That’s usually a comforting thing for us, but I’m not going to complain and ruin the moment.
He sings a few octaves, a pensive noise. Apparently, he likes my word, because he doesn't push further.
“They are nice. We are not friends, but I’ve heard many respectable eridians say good things about them,” they inform me, and I nod. “Is that a yes to meeting them, question?”
Sure, why not? “Only if I get to pick something from the giftshop,” I joke.
He trills happily, and a light feeling settles in my chest when I hear the noise.
“Yes, yes, yes! You get gift. Adrian will be very happy”
He makes jazz hands, and I bit my tongue to stop me from pointing out that he seems very happy himself too. Instead, I do jazz hands with him, before going back into the water. Now that I got the museum to look out for, I feel like I have enough energy to do a few laps.