Chapter Text
Day 0
There’s a creature loose in the biodome. And for once, I’m not talking about myself after I get into Adrian’s Eridian-synthesized alcohol.
Head Physician Porcelain looks about as contrite as a professional, upstanding Eridian doctor can right now– their pale and weathered carapace is subtly tilted inward, the navy blue striations and pockmarks near their vents on full display. “This was an absolute tragedy,” they are saying in a low tone. “I take full responsibility. This can never, and will never, happen again.”
Seafoam, the blue-green head of Human Biodome Hydrological Development ironically enough, clatters their own vents in response. “I want it on the record, I protested the construction of the Human Medical Center so near to the cove from the start. Ill-advised planning is as much to blame as any individual involved.”
A shrill whistle from Neapolitan pierces my ears, and I wince. “Noted, Engineer [Seafoam], but this is neither the time nor place.” I wonder if their sharp tone is coming from their mate’s comment, the situation at hand, or the fact that ten incredibly concerned high-ranking Eridians are all crowded into what is usually their office on the Eridian side of the Biodome Research & Development Center— the only space in this underground building large enough with both an Eridian atmosphere and a human oxygen pocket. Said office is currently serving as the glorified situation room for every major head of the Human Biodome Project to convene as we all try to figure out what our next move should be. It’s also the first time we’ve all been gathered in one place since it happened, so naturally we’re also playing a little bit of catch-up.
The swirls of brown and pale pink on the Biodome R&DC leader’s carapace are dizzying to look at as Neapolitan paces around the room. “It has been approximately ∀ days since the incident, we are no closer to recovering Human [Simon] from the wilds of the biodome, and we still don’t know why this happened!”
A whimpered note from a distant, shadowy corner of the impromptu meeting space goes largely ignored by the thrum that is beginning to pulse with a life of its own. My heart aches for Moss Rose, the source of the pitiful sound, the green and magenta Eridian curled in on themself as small as physically possible. I don’t know them well, they’re new to Dr. Porcelain’s medical team to my knowledge. In ordinary circumstances, they wouldn’t be in this meeting— surrounded and probably intimidated by some of the most important people on this side of Erid. This meeting shouldn’t even be happening.
But it is. It has to.
Because Simon has vanished.
The mutation flare-ups happen rarely, all things considered. The first time was on the Hail Mary, a lifetime ago, when the mouth on his cheek started to split and grow much larger than it should have. Given that the mutations seem to be tied to his cortisol levels and triggered by periods of high stress, it’s a wonder that it took as long as it did for the first one to happen up there. It’s been teeth, mostly, sprouting from places teeth should not be, but occasionally more fish-like traits have also appeared on his body: fins, gills, webbing, scales, even the start of a tail once. I’ve traced those healed-over scars more times than I can count, from where they were reabsorbed by his body or needed medical intervention from Armando to be removed entirely, for the more nasty ones.
A flare has never happened on Erid before, though, hence the Eridian panic. And one has never been this bad before, hence my own. Double whammy.
It also doesn’t help that I was supposed to be there. I’ve always gone with him to his appointments in the Human Medical Center on the far side of the biodome, and he’s always come along to mine. A lot of the time, they even try to schedule our most important appointments to happen together, staggered just enough so that one of us can always hold the other’s hand, just in case. We’re a package deal, in more ways than one. Better as a pair. Do not separate. When I’d realized that I’d accidentally scheduled a pebble’s parent meeting for the exact time that the medical team needed to get some labs on Simon, there was no doubt in my mind what took priority. I’d offered to reschedule the meeting, what, a thousand times? My classroom is on the exact other end of the biodome from the medical center. I didn’t want to be so far away at such an important time. What if something went wrong?
Simon had insisted it was fine. He’d maintained that he would be fine, that we could handle one day apart from each other for an important meeting and some simple medical tests. He’d reassured me that nothing would happen, and I let myself believe him.
Well, something did happen. And now, he’s a creature loose in the biodome. The guilt is eating me alive.
The thrum begins to roar around me:
“Lead Human Physician [Porcelain], describe the events one more time–”
“Physician Trainee [Moss Rose] was not intended to be left unsupervised during the appointment, the protocol states–”
“This should never have happened–”
“I propose we drain the ocean. It’s not ideal, but it improves our chances of locating Human [Simon]—“
“I am sorry, I am so so sorry—“
“Should we consider suspending the day-night cycle until—“
“I was away from the examination room for V++ seconds at most–”
“We are prepared to mobilize—“
That’s the last straw; I slam my open palm down onto my communication keyboard, and it lets out a discordant squawking wail that brings the entire thrum to a halt. It feels like I’m throwing a temper tantrum, the way that every Eridian’s focus turns toward me. I guess, in a way, I am.
If I were a true Eridian, they wouldn’t have needed to stop speaking– our voices could simply intertwine, overlapping and flowing together in that beautiful way that only Eridians can. If I were a true Eridian, I wouldn’t need to come up with English nicknames for my benefactors on the biodome team, or let them choose their own, because my feeble human brain can’t translate the majority of what goes into a true Eridian name. Even if I can mimic them in part when I play the chords in my hearing register on my communication keyboard, it’s a pale imitation at best and I know it. Sadly, try as I might, I am not a true Eridian. I have limitations. The human ear can only parse so much at one time, and my hosts are always so accommodating.
It’s incredibly difficult to stay upset at them, even at a time like this. Somehow, I manage.
Four minutes. Hidden in that thrum, Dr. Porcelain just said that they were only out of the exam room for a little over four minutes. Whatever happened in that room, it took a little over four Earth minutes for something that Moss Rose did during a routine medical appointment to trigger a chain of events that has led to Simon’s worst breakdown in a very long time. Those four minutes have led to nearly 25 hours of panic, of worry, of uncertainty around Simon’s health, his wellbeing, his safety.
And now, the security team wants to mobilize to track him down by force. I’m not having any of it.
With shaking hands, I play out “Security Head [Midnight], no. Don’t mobilize the team. That will only make things worse.”
Everyone in this room understands English fluently. This came at the insistence of Coco, Erid's leading xenolinguists and self-proclaimed expert in Eridian-Human communication— second only to Rocky, and they learned directly from him. I still prefer using my keyboard to communicate with the team when I can, though, even if it isn’t perfect. Besides, with the lump in my throat that’s been brewing all day, I’m not sure I’d be able to talk much right now anyway.
Midnight, nicknamed for their inky dark blue-green carapace dotted with starlike flecks, is the most physically imposing Eridian I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. They’re on par with Adrian in size, nearly as tall as I am at my full height, and as the head of Biodome Security this is generally on brand and to be expected. They step forward towards my xenonite wall, humming. “I understand the hesitance, Savior [Grace], but we may not have much of a choice. If it is for [his] own safety, it may be the best course of action to allow us into the biodome to secure [him].”
“If [he] were on the land, maybe,” I retort. I want to come across more snappy, but that’s just not how my Eridian works. My synthesised cadence sounds remarkably put together as I string together my chords. “But Human [Simon] won’t be on land. [He] isn’t on the cliffs or the plains, and we all know that Eridians struggle to walk on the sand of the beach even in the best circumstances. None of this even considers how the security team would handle searching the ocean, or the long-term exposure risks to the xenonite suits. The benefits do not outweigh the risks to your team. I cannot allow it.”
Gosh, the formal Eridian I’ve slipped into by the end of my speech always makes me feel so grave and stuffy. I have the urge to make a joke, to defuse some of the tension building up in my bones, and almost turn to look for Simon to subject him to whatever thought pops into my head next before I catch myself.
The muscle memory sends an ache through my chest. 25 hours. This might be the longest time that we’ve been consciously away from each other since he and I became we and us. How long has it been since I slept?
Lilac, the head of the Human Cultural Center and Erid’s leading xenoanthropologist (second again only to Rocky), pulls themself away from helping Porcelain comfort Moss Rose to tap the ground twice with two separate limbs. “Savior [Grace] is right. Deploying your team should be a last resort, Security Head [Midnight]. What other options could we pursue instead that minimize risk to both Human [Simon] and any Eridians involved, question?” The golden spiderweb streaks across their mottled purple carapace catch the light of my headlamp briefly, dazzling me in a critical moment where I should be taking control of the conversation again and making the team listen to reason. And then Russet is darting forward to jump into their plan as the head of the Biodome Illumination Team to exhaust Simon with a stalled day-night cycle, and Seafoam starts to prattle on about time needed to drain the biodome ocean again, and things devolve swiftly after that.
This thrum is even harder for me to follow than the last; I barely even catch snippets of individual words as the biodome team leads all spin into a frenzy. It’s overwhelming, and I’m a little numb to it honestly. All I can think about is Simon out there, scared and alone and not coming home, for reasons I can only guess at. And I don’t like the answers I’m coming up with.
A familiar shrill, alarm-like bleat cuts through the wall of noise. I startle, and the barely-started thrum abruptly falls silent again. Rocky, the only one in this room who could get away with a tantrum like that—besides maybe me a moment ago on my keyboard—finally decides to speak up. He’s been quiet up until now, possibly in his own private sub-sonic thrum with Adrian this entire time, but he commands the room in an instant.
Like I am every day, I’m so grateful he’s here. Everyone on this team cares for Simon because it’s their job to, just like they care for me. Sure, there’s also personal investment and camaraderie and scientific interest and reverent intrigue for the alien savior of the stars. The care we’ve been shown on Erid is state-of-the-art, it is legitimate and real and I know that. I’d go as far as to say that the Eridians in this room are among my closest friends by this point. Maybe Simon’s, too.
But only Rocky knows Simon the way that I do. The three of us were a world unto ourselves, once. A trinary star system just like 40 Eridani.
And now one of our stars has gone supernova.
“Grace,” Rocky says, intense but calm. He uses my name– not the Eridian name and title I’ve been given, he uses his name for me. It almost brings me to tears to hear it. “What do you want us to do, question?” All attention turns to me.
It takes me a second to run the conversion in my head, even after all this time. “Give me ∀λ days,” I finally play. Just slightly over one Earth week. “Let me try and reach him myself. That’s all I ask. I’ll be safe, I’ll take precautions, I’ll reach out if I need any assistance, I promise, but give me this time first before we do anything drastic. I can reach him, I can bring him back, I know I can. Please.”
I’m expecting protests, but receive a whole lot of nothing in response— they must be thrumming sub-sonically. It surprises me when, finally, Midnight inclines their carapace in a nod and Neapolitan, the unofficial leader of the group aside from Rocky, says “We will concede to VV days, with regular radio reports on your status once an Earth-day. After that, we will consider alternative methods to Human [Simon]’s recovery.”
I am about to protest fiercely–a measly three days when I asked for seven is not a fair compromise in the slightest–but something in Rocky’s body language catches my eye. It’s the one advantage that we have over the rest of the team: nearly 5 years together in space means we can transcend the need for words, in the right situations. The set of Rocky’s limbs, the tilt of his carapace, the steady pulse of his vents all communicate to me that this isn’t over. We can get more time, if we play our cards right. Just not now.
I temper my initial displeasure and nod, going for grateful instead. If Coco or Lilac or even Porcelain sense anything duplicitous from my behavior, they don’t voice it aloud. I count that as a win.
There’s one last thing I need to do before I can scramble out of here and figure out my next moves. “[Moss Rose], please come here. We need to talk.”
They’re not a pebble, but you could have fooled me if you told me they were. They wobble forward to the xenonite barrier, Porcelain right on their spindly heels. There’s a long, thin crack splitting a portion of their heart-shaped carapace, right through one of their magenta swatches. The sight of it turns my stomach. Nowhere near a mortal wound, but not nothing either. It looks like an aggravated stress split, from the past Earth day we’ve all had. I dread to think it might be more than that.
Oh, Simon, what did you do?
“I’m sorry,” they warble, swaying a little in place when they stop moving forward. “I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what I did.”
There’s still that lump in my throat that won’t go away, but I smile around it. I hope that Moss Rose knows that smiling is meant to be a kind gesture. “I know. I believe you,” I play, trying to be as reassuring as possible even with my limited tonal range. “It was an accident. Just think, very carefully now, about what exactly happened while you and Human [Simon] were alone in that exam room.”