Chapter Text
Shortly after the surgery, once I feel comfortable standing and walking around, Rocky ushers me back over to my normal bed. The robot arms are not happy with the fact that I am returning to them damaged. I tell them to deal with it.
Then, I sleep a lot. Rocky, of course, watches me. I wake up, and I watch him.
It only takes a day or so for my body to start getting over the shock of being operated on. Every few hours, Rocky clambers into his suit and pokes me (thankfully not as hard as the first time), confirming everything inside me is still as it should be. I should probably be annoyed by it, but honestly... it's not awful to be doted on like this.
I've got three tiny, stapled-up wounds on my stomach, and I'm down a lump of redundant flesh, but the fever's mostly gone and I already feel so much better. Rocky won't let me do anything except get out of bed to use the toilet, which is fine. Doing literally anything, including that, hurts. He must be able to tell I'm feeling better, though, because during a long patch of comfortable silence he asks me, "Why did other crew members have appendix surgery, but not you, question?"
Right. He still doesn't know. And I guess now's as good a time as any.
"I wasn't supposed to be on the crew," I sigh.
"You were backup, question?"
"Not even. I was the backup's backup -- the Hail Mary's hail Mary."
"Not understand."
"There was another scientist who was supposed to be here," I explain. "Dubois. He even had a backup. Shapiro. But they both died in an accident a few days before the Hail Mary was set to launch. And Stratt -- the person in charge of everything -- she decided to send me."
"So no time for surgery."
I think about it for a moment and grimace. There's probably an e-mail chain about my appendix somewhere. Maybe a conference call. If I had to guess, Stratt wanted it out of me when I was on the ground, until she was advised that it would be very unwise to put someone who just had surgery onto a rocket bound for another solar system.
"Not enough time for recovery, no," I tell Rocky.
"Did you want to be part of crew, question?"
I sigh. Here we go. "No," I admit, shaking my head. "No, I didn't. I begged Stratt to not send me. But she drugged me up and shipped me off anyway. When you asked me questions, at the beginning, and I said I didn't know or didn't remember... it was because she gave me a drug that made me forget that it happened."
He's completely unreadable for a few seconds. Then: "Stratt is bad bad bad human. I hate."
I let out a chuckle. (Hey, it doesn't hurt much!) "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but... I can't argue with her results. I don't think I can ever forgive her, but I can't say I hate her."
"Good results. You met me, saved Earth and Erid. I still hate Stratt."
I stay smiling. "She's... a complicated person."
"Stratt send you to die in space. Not complicated to me." Clearly, he isn't giving this one up. And I don't blame him -- it has taken me months to get to this level of okay with the thought of her.
"She knew what she did was wrong, at least," I sigh, smile fading. "She just didn't see another option. And hating her... honestly, I'm just not the hating type."
"Is because you are good human." He's bobbing up and down now, probably trying to cheer me up. "Definitely best human I know."
"...Thanks, Rocky. It means a lot."
There's a long pause. He ends it with, "What do other humans think of you, question?"
I laugh nervously, buying myself some time to think. Eventually, I settle on, "That's a very hard question, Rocky. What do other Eridians think of you?"
He stands up straight, proud. "Eridians think I am smart. Think I much understand mechanical and electricity things. Very very very good at fixing things. Think I am brave, leaving Erid. Sometimes Eridians think I am too focused on few things, but I okay with that. I like being very very very good at few things." He leans my direction, signaling that he wants to listen to me.
That... helps, I guess, but still -- "Other than Adrian... do you have other people back on Erid? Friends and family?"
He wiggles an arm noncommittally. "I have hatch-mates. Some friends. Medium amount. Most, other engineers. I very hope friends still care me when Hail Mary arrive."
I nod. "I'm sure they'll still care about you, Rocky."
"I gone long long long time," he says wistfully. Then his tone changes. "I sure you people mad mad mad at Stratt."
"That's... a very complicated situation." One that I've tried not to think about much. "I don't -- uh, didn't have many people. And I don't know what Stratt told them. She told me I'd be remembered as a hero, so -- maybe she lied to everyone and said I volunteered. Maybe she took the fall for... killing me. I don't think I'll ever know." I press a hand to my face, rubbing my sore eyes. "I don't know which I'd prefer."
"You would want Stratt to lie, question?!"
I press my fingers deeper into my eyes. "Maybe? If the alternative is the whole planet knowing that I didn't want to save them... I don't want that, either."
"Rest of Earth did not volunteer. If they think you bad for not volunteer... stupid stupid stupid."
And now I feel incredibly stupid for not having considered that. I don't remember the exact percentage of people eligible to be tested for the coma gene that actually went through with it, but it was definitely not a majority. And of people that tested positive... the program definitely did not receive an application from each of them.
I let out a long, long sigh, and tell Rocky, "That's a very good point."
"I am good at points. Also still waiting for answer to first question."
I look back up at him. I guess the painkillers are doing their thing again. "Uh... repeat it?"
To Rocky's credit, he says it patiently: "What do humans think about you, question?"
"Oh. Right," I grumble. No wonder I avoided answering it. "People think I'm smart. Maybe not as smart as you, but... smart for a human. They think I have potential. And I tried to live up to it, in academia, but no one wanted what I had to offer. So I left, and I started teaching, and... it was basically everything I wanted, minus the pay. But when I tried to tell people that, including Stratt, no one believed me -- because of that stupid potential. They thought I should be doing something bigger and 'better', and I guess they were right, because I made first contact with an alien and saved the Earth, but... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss teaching every day."
Rocky pauses. "I understand now why question hard."
I laugh. (That one hurts a little more.) "I warned you."
"You did. You still answer, though. Thank."
"Mm." Not for the first time, I wish Rocky had a face I could attempt to read. I've gotten pretty good at recognizing the inflections in his speech and body language, but he just suddenly seems very... alien.
I find myself asking, "Are you upset that I didn't volunteer?" I blame the pain meds some more.
"No."
The response was immediate and strong, but still... "Even though I didn't have... a mate, or a family, or... a pet? Anyone that would miss me?"
"You life belongs to you. Not other humans."
"But that's... selfish. That's bad."
"Then I selfish, too." He scoots over to the wall closest to me and thunks himself into it. "I glad you not volunteer for Earth. If you have many people on Earth... you maybe want to go back instead of save me and Erid."
I want to tell him he's wrong. I want to tell him no human would leave a world full of sentient beings to die because they're that desperate to get back home. But honestly... I don't know.
Most humans seem to acknowledge romantic and familial love as the noblest motivation for doing something. They crave it, go out of their way to cultivate it. They prioritize their spouses and children and anyone that shares their blood or their way of life. Everything else, they're willing to sacrifice as soon as it starts to interfere.
I don't get that. Well, I get it on an "I see why you feel that way" level, but I've never felt it. I've never loved another person enough to want to devote my life to them and only them, the way it's shown in all the movies and books and songs. And, love aside... there seem to be a lot of people out there that would watch another world burn in order to look like a hero to their own.
"You okay, question?"
I realize I've been quiet for a very long time. "Yeah. Just thinking about whether or not you’re right, and… I don't know," I say. "Me... I would have helped you and Erid no matter what. But I can't speak for other humans."
"I not happy you sent away from Earth in bad bad bad way. But I happy you are first human I meet. You are good good good human. Best human."
I smile. I scoot myself out of bed, wincing, ignoring Rocky's noises and motions of protest. I press my hand into the barrier where he had just been leaning, and he reluctantly goes back into position. "Thanks, Rocky." My voice might be cracking. It's fine.
"I very sorry for surgery mistake," he says suddenly, voice very low. "You trusted so much and I almost kill you. I so so so scare to lose you, but still not careful enough --"
"Hey. Stop that," I tell him. "I'm alive and I'm better. That's all I care about. That's all you should care about, too."
"Humans so fragile," he says quietly. "Short life, soft body... organs that explode and kill. Makes sense you so afraid."
It takes me a while to figure out how to respond. I move my thumb, letting it caress the hard xenonite panel between me and my best friend. "Rocky," I eventually manage, "I am so much less afraid with you around."
He thunks his carapace into the panel my hand is on. I feel the vibration through the xenonite. He says, at his normal pitch, “Happy happy happy.”
Believe it or not, I'm happy, too.