Chapter Text
With a sigh, I unbuckle myself from the pilot’s seat. Now that I’ve finished powering down the Hail Mary’s centrifuge, the weightlessness of space makes the buckles float away from the chair with me, as I maneuver myself away from the blinking lights of the control panel and towards the ladder to the lab. I’m sure he noticed the obnoxious alarm that announces the completion of the stop centrifuge protocol, but I call out to let Rocky know we’re officially in zero-g anyways.
It always astounds me how, once upon a time, this experience made me so nauseous with terror I could hardly function. As I’ve said before, the human brain is a strange and perplexing thing, especially in how it chooses to handle fear.
“Rocky, did you get that?” I say, a little louder than before, when I don’t receive a response.
Still no answer. I let out an irritated huff. Eridians are masters at multitasking, more than any human could ever hope to be, so even when Rocky is engrossed in some engineering project or another he can carry on a normal conversation without any problems. I mean, he has five arms for goodness’s sake, of course he’s good at multitasking.
So, my roommate’s giving me the cold shoulder?
I mumble something about respect between coworkers – which I know he’d be able to hear from the other side of the Hail Mary because, well, Eridians. – and float into the lab.
It’s filled with pieces of paper. Hundreds of them. They float about the room like dust motes, carried by the gentle airflow throughout the ship.
Strange, I could’ve sworn I had made a habit of securing things whenever we took the Hail Mary out of centrifuge mode.
I pause to grab the nearest one, a photograph. Actually, they all seem to be photographs. Drawing it closer, I can make out a cluster of people, a young boy, a blonde woman in hiking pants, and a man of about the same age with a massive, metal-frame backpack strapped to his shoulders. They seem to be somewhere near the mountains; trees obscure their peaks, which loom in the distance.
The nagging feeling that I should recognize these people grows stronger as I stare at the image. Their names and connections to my past are within reach when the photograph disintegrates in my hand.
“Wait! I wasn’t done with that,” I call out indignantly, but the image is already slipping from my mind. I was about to remember something, darn it…
Another photograph floats into my line of sight. This one takes half the time to recognize, probably because it features a slightly younger me, in a cap and gown, a piece of fancy paper held proudly in my hands. I remember that terrible haircut like I got it done yesterday.
I turn away. I didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on my brief and unpleasant time in academia before, and I don’t plan to start now. Some things are easier to forget.
I’m faced with a whole cluster of photographs now, one after another. I make an appearance in many of them. I recognize the young boy from the first picture at a foggy, Californian beach, at the Houston Space Center, and sat down at a table with a birthday cake topped with nine sagging candles.
I disregard all of them and pull my way into the lab, chest tight.
This room is filled with photographs, too. I’m tempted to ignore them all, but one catches my attention. I take hold of it more hesitantly than before.
It’s of Yao and Ilyukhina, I know that instantly. They’re wearing astronaut jumpsuits with their home countries’ flags on the shoulder, and the surroundings place them within the gray walls of Stratt’s Vat. I think they’re sharing a drink. I’m not present in this one— actually, that’s a lie. I spot myself sitting apart from the cluster, partially cropped from the picture.
The photograph is blurry, but not because of the tears stinging my eyes. I can’t make out any features of their faces. I haven’t been able to remember anyone’s faces.
As soon as I realize that the paper falls apart between my fingers. I gasp for breath and reach for another, then another, then another. I recognize people and places, but each time I come close to recalling their faces, the image breaks apart, leaving my chest increasingly hollow. A picture of me standing next to Stratt, a bright yellow raincoat and worn beanie beside a grey, well-tailored suit and featureless face is the final straw.
Breathing heavily, I push off the nearest wall and float into the lab—
Waaait.
I crash into the opposing surface; it’s not the wall, because technically it’s the floor.
Rocky. I need to find Rocky.
For the third time, I call out his name, and for the third time, I receive no response.
I hurtle through the Hail Mary, another lab, the dormitory, the control room, another ladder that leads me to yet another lab and another dormitory, and another dormitory. The rooms begin to lose all meaning. They lose everything that makes them a lab or a dormitory or a control room. First the scientific equipment, then the beds and tables, then the xenonite tunnels we set up for Rocky, until I’m floating through room after room of featureless walls.
My pulse is hammering in my ears now. I’m about to be sick. My voice rises in pitch, though I try to control the anxiety building behind it.
“Rocky, where are you?”
The ship stretches onwards.
“Rocky!”
The Hail Mary has never felt this big before. This empty. Not even when I was alone in space—
Wait, am I alone in space?
Oh.
Oh no.
A spike of panic rushes through me and I am definitely going to be sick now, before I see it. The airlock. A part of me grows hopeful. Of course! If Rocky’s not on the Hail Mary, he must be working in the Blip-A. I cycle the airlock, float out into the tunnel, and towards the deep shadows at the other end.
Just like the Hail Mary, the tunnel goes on, and on, and on. It’s too big and too small at the same time. My voice wavers as I call out again.
“Rocky? Can you hear me, buddy?”
I’m starting to wonder if turning back is my only option when I finally catch the glint of clear xenonite far ahead. I double my pace until I slam full-force into the barrier. A grunt escapes my chest, but calm washes over me when I see Rocky on his side of the xenonite.
“There you are.” Annoyance seeps into my tone – I mean, the guy was ignoring me! I have the right to be annoyed. – but I’m unable to keep the smile of pure relief off my face. “You didn’t tell me you were heading back to the Blip-A.”
A pause.
A chill creeps up my back, making my skin prickle.
“Rocky?”
I knock several times on the thin layer of xenonite separating us. He doesn’t even tip his carapace in my direction; maybe he can’t hear me for some reason? That theory brings me no comfort.
Rocky starts to move, and I perk up slightly. I might have been humiliated at the way my heart lifted if I weren’t so anxious for any kind of response. Only, he doesn’t move toward me. He begins to slowly crawl away from the barrier.
My stomach sinks.
Knocking harder against the barrier, my voice clings desperately to any remaining shreds of composure I call out, “Rocky, where are you going? I’m right here, buddy!”
Still nothing.
I’m deep in the grip of panic by now. I give up on holding back.
Over and over, again and again, I slam my fist into the clear xenonite barrier, but Rocky still doesn’t react. He can’t hear me, that must be it. I can’t bear to consider the alternative, but once the thought’s there, fear as cold as the vacuum of space clutches my ribs. My thoughts run at the speed of light as I scream Rocky’s name until my throat is raw.
“Don’t go, please! Rocky, please!”
My voice cracks and I let out a sob. My body is shaking so violently, I give up on hitting the barrier and simply let my forehead rest against its rough, organic surface. If I were in gravity, I’d probably collapse against it.
In zero-G, my tears don’t fall but coat my eyes and blur my vision more than usual. I’m well accustomed to this by now. When I blink, some of them scatter, floating off around me. Then, through the watery filter, I notice something that makes my blood run even colder.
The crack in the xenonite explodes outwards.
I shoot upright with a ragged gasp and searing pain fills my senses. My skin burns hot and cold at the same time and my hand claws at the front of my shirt because my lungs are melting from the inside out, trapping the scream in my chest which just hurts more, I think I’m dying—
“—re okay, question?”
I freeze, struggling to parse a frantic banging from the rapid thundering in my ears, before a familiar, musical sound sends a wave of relief through my body. I make a conscious effort to control my breathing, with limited success.
“Grace!”
Rocky’s tone is sharp with concern. Just a few weeks ago, I would have hardly been able to understand him, he’s in such a panic. I register it easily, now.
“I’m—"
The words catch in my throat.
“You are okay, question?”
The adrenaline rushing through my veins makes my words tangle in my mind, but the agony dies down until only the pain across my bandaged arm, which I’ve grown accustomed to in the days since the Adrian Incident, remains. Thankfully, Rocky isn’t pushing for answers just yet. We’ve both gotten better at reading when the other is ready to talk or needs what little space our claustrophobic environment has to offer.
My entire body trembles as I sit up in bed, attempting to force my heart back down my throat.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”
Rocky’s carapace leans forward slightly, a gesture I’d come to recognize as skepticism.
“Lie,” Rocky says.
Aaaand I really shouldn’t have taught him that word when his superhuman hearing makes him a living lie detector.
“Not okay. Why you wake up, question? I observe. I protect.”
I run my good hand through my hair.
I’m surprised I haven’t discussed the concept of “dreaming” with my friend yet, but it does make sense. We’ve been so busy trying to save the world, what my squishy human brain does when I fall unconscious for eight hours every day hasn’t come up in conversation.
Eridian brains shut down completely when they sleep, that’s why they watch over each other during their sporadic sleep cycles. There’s absolutely no activity going on in there, except for the individual worker organisms going around and fixing things up. Eridian’s brains “reactivate” once their bodies are good and ready to wake up, and not earlier. The point is, they don’t experience anything remotely similar to human dreams.
So, how do I explain nightmares to someone who literally cannot dream?
“You talk while sleep,” Rocky adds, as though sensing my hesitation. “Say many things not make sense. I observe, not go anywhere while observe. And you face leak again.”
Oh.
So, I had been talking in my sleep. And crying, too. Real smooth, Grace.
“Why become upset, question? Why humans talk in sleep, question?”
I’m very aware of my surroundings right now, of how cramped the interior of the Hail Mary has become to accommodate both myself and Rocky. I push the terror that the space is contracting in on me aside as best as I can to focus on the one thing I’m good at. Teaching.
“When humans sleep… our brains never actually shut down,” I explain. It takes more effort than usual to collect my thoughts, and a tremor is still audible in my words, but panic loosens its grip on me the longer I speak. “In fact, it’s the opposite. We experience different stages of sleep, and during the deepest stage, our brains are as active as when we are awake. After that, we kind of start to… hallucinate? Vividly? It’s hard to explain, but it’s one way we process and store emotions and events that happen while we’re awake.”
Even as I talk, my breath is coming easier. Having something else to focus on makes me realize that I’m not being blasted by a searing hot stream of ammonia, but I’m safe on my side of the barrier. And my friend is right here, talking to me.
“Dream does not mean ‘goal,’ question?”
My brows knit before I puzzle together Rocky’s meaning.
“No, no, it does. ‘Dream’ is one of those words that has multiple meanings. It can be a desire, or it can refer to what humans experience during sleep.”
“Amaze. Human language is strange.”
I don’t tell him that English in particular is a strange language. We haven’t talked much linguistics apart from the translating we did when we were first learning to communicate, and I haven’t even mentioned regional dialects. That would open up a whole can of linguistic worms that I’m no expert on, nor am I keen on trying to explain at the moment.
My arm is starting to hurt, so I adjust how I'm sitting in bed. At the same time, I turn to get a better view of Rocky, who's pressed closer than usual to the (intact) xenonite barrier between us. Rocky keeps a variety of projects on hand to stay busy while I sleep, and he almost always has something in his hands whenever we talk. But not right now. I assume he dropped whatever he was working on when I grew agitated, and he hasn’t picked it up again. I have his full and undivided attention. I suppose I would be just as fascinated by information about Eridian biology.
“Still not answer,” Rocky says, shifting back and forth. “Why wake up, question? Why make noises, question? Grace not always make noises while sleep.”
Now that I’m fully-conscious and no longer panicking, the nightmare seems silly, almost. Unrealistic. Rocky would never abandon me, he’d almost died trying to save me, and I had done the same.
Even so, my stomach twists as I recall the nightmare.
“Dreams don't always make sense, but they can be very emotional,” I explain. “Sometimes, humans dream of scary or bad things happening to them or… the people they care about. We call those dreams ‘nightmares.”
“Bad, bad, bad.” Rocky’s carapace droops low with his tone.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us speak for a moment, but I can tell Rocky has more questions. He just isn’t sure how to ask them. Both of us tend to step carefully around topics like this, especially since we haven’t established each and every social taboo in our cultures. But I know Rocky can tell this is one of those sensitive subjects.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that he doesn’t pry. I don’t feel particularly keen on sharing the contents of this particular dream. The hurt I felt watching even dream-Rocky disappear into the Blip-A is still as real in my mind as the burns on my arm. But Rocky seems so worried by my reaction that I feel guilty leaving him with such a vague explanation.
My gaze falls to the floor.
“I dreamt that the xenonite barrier broke.”
It’s a half-truth, but it’s enough to satisfy Rocky.
“Xenonite strong. Very very hard to break,” Rocky insists. He taps a finger firmly against his xenonite bulb’s clear surface to emphasize this.
“I told you they don’t always make sense,” I mumbled, picking at the bandages on my left arm. Geez, he doesn't have to rub it in...
“Not my meaning.” His tone grows more adamant, but it’s not the usual impatience I had been expecting. “Reassurance. You are safe.”
“Oh…”
Alright, maybe I’m a bit tetchy after waking up in a panic. You can’t really blame me for that. I have no idea how much sleep I got – my whole body feels heavy, but nowadays I can never tell how much of my exhaustion is from a shortage of sleep or my very busy immune system rushing to heal my injuries. Or the fate of two entire planets resting on our shoulders.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Four hours.”
Hm…
I briefly consider getting up and checking the status of our Taumoeba breeder tank. It was doing well yesterday, after Rocky gave me the completed xenonite container and I filled it with Adrian air, a few hundred grams of Astrophage, and a few Taumoeba from our Adrian sample. After everything we went through to get our hands on the little ‘meebs, I’d hate to find them dead by unknown cause.
But the Taumoeba are hardy, and I’m tired.
“Alright, I’m going back to sleep. When I get back up, I’ll check the breeder tank.” If we’re lucky, we might have enough Taumoeba to move onto our next round of tests: putting Taumoeba in Venus and Threeworld’s atmospheres. If I weren’t so tired all the time now, I might have been too excited to sleep.
“Yes. Sleep. Wake up when not stupid. I watch.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble as I settle back down in my bed, careful not to jostle my bad arm too much, but something relaxes in my chest at Rocky’s words.
My friend is still here. He wouldn’t just abandon me, not when we’re so close to finding a solution to our planets’ Astrophage crisis. And when we do solve this – recently, I’ve caught myself using the word “when” instead of “if.” – well… that’s a worry for another time. We’ve survived a lot, and we’ll continue to roll with the punches. For now, we have each other.
That dream really was nonsensical.