Chapter Text
Bb-C-Dm-Dm-of-Mountainuous-Engineering-Colony was, surprisingly, not tasked as an engineer on the [Blip-A]. This occurred sometimes, where an Eridian ultimately pursued a profession that differed from their home colony. Never, though, did it occur in those who hatched in the Mountainous Engineering Colony, a particularly prestigious hotspot of mathematics and applied physics.
I would know. I was raised there, too.
Bb-C-Dm-Dm was our Chief Medical Officer. If I were to explain her strange life trajectory to you in [human]-like terms, I would say that she was the equivalent of someone who got a [PhD] in Engineering and then decided to get an [MD] after that, for no reason other than the challenge. Given the fact that we came from the same colony, albeit at slightly different times, it would be comparable to if you were placed on the [Mary] with an old [college] rival as a crew-mate.
I have been absorbing a lot of [Earth] culture via the [thinking-machine]. Making these parallels is a good distraction.
Although the Chief Medical Officer position was technically equal to mine as Chief Engineer, I still viewed her as a superior. It is very possible that I may have suffered what you would describe as [imposter syndrome]. Perhaps my insecurity was just exemplified when I stood next to someone with a similar upbringing, yet who had achieved significantly more.
The first of the crew to perish in their sleep was one of her subordinates, although an Eridian by no means undistinguished. He was our Flight Surgeon, A-C#m-D-E-of-Rough-Texture-Plains-Medical-Colony. That first death rattled us to our core.
Not to say that any death would have been accepted, but to have it occur to one in such a coveted role was shocking. There was an unsung understanding that the most-likely to perish would be myself and those under my jurisdiction; that is, the engineers and mechanics. Those who, Maestra-forbid, would have to venture outside if it was necessary.
Bb-C-Dm-Dm did not take any of this well. A mysterious death spelled a disaster to all of us, but especially to her. This fell directly into her responsibility.
It was at this time that I began to venture more-so into the shadows of the engine-room. All I could think about was A-C#m-D-E's mates and their entourage of hatchlings. It was at this point that my mortality began to solidify. I began to reckon, truly, with the fact that I may never hear [Adrian] again. I thought of an unhatched litter, one sprang from my own body, that I may never meet.
Now that I think of it, Bb-C-Dm-Dm reminds me of you. She didn't have any mates, no hatchlings. This was not as much as a stigmatized position as it is on [Earth]. After all, a happy Eridian mate-pair can produce a significant amount of hatchlings. This is not even taking account for those who are in triads. The occasional Eridian who preferred solitude and an active career or life of exploration was seen more as a reprieve, a wonder, something valiant and awe-inspiring.
In the end, though, I suppose none of this mattered. She lived a life that favored introspection and accolades. I lived one that prioritized love and building a family. She died surrounded by her crew, I survived but was left alone.
You would have made a wonderful Eridian, [Grace]. Would I have fared better on [Earth] as a [human]?
You told me to think about my earliest memory. The word you had used was [visualize], but I understood what you meant.
I could hear the wave, the encompassing submersion of life. It crashed into me as my fingers tore through the membrane of my egg, pushed shards of the shell forward. Everything was so warm and so loud and so terrifying, but I knew exactly what to do. I began to walk.
I didn't have the ability to describe it to you with the flowery prose, the emotion. But I must have been somewhat successful because I could hear you exhale slightly in the way that told me you were surprised by something pleasantly. In-awe, I had hoped. I hoped for nothing more than that you felt a smidge of awe for me as I did for you, your very existence.
"You remember that far back," you said. "In perfect memory too, right?"
"Eridians never forget," I confirmed. "When is earliest memory of Grace?"
You [smiled], briefly. Quickly. I could hear your mouth close as soon as it opened. "As you are well aware, human memory is nothing like an Eridian's. I think my earliest memory was… I think I must have been four years old."
"That is very old to begin memory of events."
"It sure is," you agreed. "Some people have earlier memories. I'm just not one of them, I guess. If I do have any memories before then, they must be too mundane to recall."
"What do you remember?"
You shifted, likely trying to make yourself more comfortable from where you rested against the xenonite wall between us. "I remember playing with some toys while sitting on my grandparent's ████ floor. I was obsessed with dinosaurs. I had a plastic ████ that I carried with me everywhere. I remember the smell of the ████ my grandpa smoked." Your [smile] flickered then. "They had a huge ████, which is a plot of land behind a house. They would send me outside and I would play in the dirt all day, alone. It was nice."
You spoke slowly and carefully in such a way that the occasional word I did not understand was not a huge hindrance. I appreciated that. "No siblings question?"
"No siblings. I was an only child."
"Sad sad sad. Eridians have five hatchlings at a time typically. Lonely lonely [Grace]."
"It's okay. I wasn't lonely because I had nothing to compare it to. I liked my childhood." You leaned towards the xenonite such that your [cheek] pressed against the surface. "Do you and Adrian have any kids? Er, hatchlings, I mean."
I leaned my carapace against the xenonite where you lay. "I laid five eggs before journey. Not yet hatched when I left."
You were quiet for a long time. There was a sadness that permeated your atmosphere such that it bled through the xenonite between us and into mine.
"I'm gonna make sure you get back to them, no matter what."
*****
In five days, I will lose function of all engines. In eight days, my [radiation]-buffer will be nonexistent. The atmosphere within my ship and ammonia supply will eventually degrade due to a lack of circulation and maintenance. I will most likely perish no different than my crew before this happens. However, the main difference is that I will be completely, entirely alone.
It took one-to-two weeks for each of my crew members to die once symptoms began to appear. I currently feel no different, save for the unsurprising existential ennui and air-lock siren's song.
I turn on my astrophage sensor. I still check it every day. What I see of you is so faint I can barely distinguish it. Either you are very, very far away or you are about to run out of fuel. The chord no longer gives me supplemental information. I don't feel compelled to calculate it. There is no use.
The probe I made is abandoned. I finally figured out a way to replicate the spin drives, but I don't have any non-contaminated fuel to power it.
There is a finality in this abandonment. Before, I knew I could stay alive as long as I could entertain myself. I had my bets placed on Erid finally sending a rescue ship or me finally going insane and stepping out of the ship. You found me before either of those possibilities came to fruition.
Now, there is only one outcome.
I just wish I had confirmation of your position. I am not a religious Eridian, but I do not want to pray for your company if you have any chance of returning to [Earth]. I'd rather you return home alive, of course. But if you are in my same position, on the verge of being left untethered in space, I would greatly prefer you next to me.
I imagine some strange reality in which this is the case. I can't decide how I would prefer it all to end. You, watching me? Or me, watching you?
*****
It did not take an incredible amount of deliberation for me to decide to leave my xenonite chamber and save you. I was surprised by how easy it felt to make the decision. You may be surprised by this, [Grace], but I am not a brave Eridian.
Your [face] pressed against the controls of the [Mary], your blood trailing down the loud panels like the star-eater's tail. You had been so, so suddenly quiet amidst the chaos that was unfolding around us. Your presence had become a vacuum in the deafening chorus of the [Mary's] final movement.
I had little expectations for what would happen when I entered your terrifyingly oxygen-rich, low-pressure atmosphere. It was possible that I would immediately go into shock and die. It was possible that I would stay alive, albeit in excruciating pain, for a few minutes before the inevitable. It was also possible that I would live long enough to return to my atmosphere enclosure after I save you and die anyways due to the exposure. I sing all of this to explain that the decision was not made with my safety or life in mind. I didn't even consider it for a moment.
The worst-case scenario felt the most selfish. I would rather end it immediately then have to listen to the sound of your death-rattle.
What I may have considered briefly but didn't put too much thought into, was the possibility that I would stay alive long enough to feel the unique sensation of one's blood oxidizing and bursting into flame. I was the first Eridian to understand how it felt to endure internal combustion.
I was able to withstand it just enough to press down the switch you were reaching towards and pry you from the controls.
What I didn't expect was you to save me.
My last memory before I lost consciousness, before my body finally went into that long-awaited shock that should have ended with me dead on the control-room floor of the [Mary] in a pile of ash and soot and carbon-dust, was you. Your [face] above me, a violent cacophony of clashing textures and dripping liquid that hit my carapace and immediately evaporated.
I felt your hand on me.
Our first contact.
I heard you scream so loud that it broke through the noise of the [Mary], through my own shrieking, through the pounding mercury in my auricles. Get your hands off of me, you idiot! What the fuck are you doing! Is what raced through my mind as you wrapped your arms around me. I could feel your skin melting, fusing, the muscle beneath exposed against my carapace, the delicate bones of your arms becoming so, so detailed and pristine. You idiot. You idiot. I saved you. I died for you. And now you are going to die trying to move me.
The world began to decrescendo, the tempo began to crash. And I thought, lastly, before everything went silent, how wonderful it felt. How wonderful it felt, after forty-six years, to finally be rescued.
*****
Your signal is now completely gone.
When I pluck a finger against the strings of my ship, I receive no reply. Everything is now silent. The engines have stopped turning.
*****
I have not thought of [Adrian] nearly enough. Nor have I thought enough about our unhatched. My death-bed ruminations are not punctuated by reminiscing of life back on Erid, or of memories with my mate or my family.
All I think about is you.
[Ear-worm], you had once described, is a song that gets stuck in your [head]. This memory may be something akin to that. I am not sure. But all I know is I can't stop listening to it.
You had been laying on the floor of the [viewing] platform on your [back]. The [images] swirling on the screen were of your favorite [scene], one we had [watched] together many times. A rugged coast. [Birds] flying overhead. The water was punctuated by waves, not caused by a mass landing in the water but from the perpetual gravitational dance with your planet's moon. I had never heard anything like it.
"You know, Rock," you began. You weren't fighting against the waver in your voice. "I don't have a lot waiting for me back home."
I waited patiently. You brought up a hand to your [face], slid it back until your fingers slipped into your [hair]. I could pinpoint a slight vibration on the lower half of your [face]; your [lips] were trembling. I had never wished in my entire life to touch someone so intently, then, even when the phantom pain within my core kicked up at the mere concept.
"I am so scared." It took me a minute to understand what you said; it sounded more like a cough or an exhale rather than words. "This is so stupid but I think you are the first person I have ever… understood? Cared about? I'm so sorry." You were leaking now, profusely. You were shaking so much that I thought you may be sick or injured. "The night before we say goodbye and I have to pull the entire 'I think I have feelings' bullcrud. Tale as old as time. And you're… whatever the Eridian equivalent of married is. You know, I never understood why people did that. I never had the inclination to. Until now, I guess."
"Refer to marriage or share embarrassing feelings question?"
You spat out a crazed laugh. "I don't know. God. Both?"
I rolled my ball closer to you and angled so that the mesh layer lined up exactly as I desired.
"[Grace]," I sang, my voice felt detached. Distant. You angled your [head] back so you could [look] at me. "Call me the word again. Do not make me explain which one."
I stuck my hand through the mesh until it reached the back of your [head]. It wasn't thin enough for me to be completely dexterous, but it was enough for me to run my fingers through your [hair].
"Yes, dear," you had breathed. And you had [cried] and I extended my arm as far as it could so I could brush my fingers across your [forehead], across your [cheeks], across your closed [eyes]. And I wouldn't admit it, my pride wouldn't allow it, but for once I did not mind the wetness because it told me you were alive.
*****
The ship is so silent and so cold and I think I may have loved you, actually loved you, in a way that somehow dwarfs every other aspect of my life. The realization comes to me so anticlimactically.
I think you may have loved me too. I suppose it's too late to know now. If you are stranded out there, floating in some foreign galaxy in a place no [human] was ever meant to go, I hope you can forgive me. I hope that the love you felt, as novel as it was, wasn't conditional. I hope you thought our brief interlude was worth it. I hope, above all else, you are maybe thinking about me too.
*****
From the depths of the silence, I hear it. Non-rhythmic, without reason. Something so ugly and off-beat and undeniably alive.
I hear knocking.