Chapter Text
“What is Grace doing, question?”
Grace was, for the next hour that his schedule permitted him to do so, stress-crocheting at an inhuman speed. Rapidly adding light blue lines of yarn to a scarf.
“Keeping my hands busy, Rock. I’ve already explained crochet, you see me do it literally every day.”
“Rocky knows, fix question: what is Grace making, question?”
“A gift for Earth! Some poor bugger is probably going to have to work overtime to get me out of the sky.” Grace explained his intention.
He had decided on scarves because he truly had no inclination as to just how cold the Earth had gotten, but could safely assume, based on projections he ran with Stratt oh-so-long ago, that it was at least chilly, crisp, maybe even a bit nippy. Which to Grace, who couldn’t fathom the idea that not everyone counts down the days until they can keep a firm pressure on the back of their neck, this meant it was scarf-weather.
The scarf-making had been an effective activity choice for two reasons.
Firstly, by keeping his hands in a state of constant movement, he was able to ignore the tremor in his scarred left hand. This had a flow-on-effect, as by ignoring the tremor, Grace was able to pretend that the other health issues of his weakening form were minor setbacks, and not in any way indicative of permanent damage from the tremendous strain that had been placed upon his body– why would you think that?
And secondly, the methodical process kept his mind from ruminating on the potential that Earth had heard his message, and ghosted him.
You see, around 18 hours had passed since Grace first broadcasted his message to Earth, and within the next three hours, he could begin to expect a reply. He knew, wholeheartedly, that this calculation was correct, not because he was egotistical, just that he had Rocky and Adrian skim over his maths.
Rocky, who endorsed Grace’s crochet earnestly, as the motion closely paralleled how one weaves xenonite, proclaimed
“Rocky-Adrian beanies are better than stupid scarf, make Rocky-Adrian beanies instead.”
“But your beanies won’t fit on humans. I tried.”
“Too bad for inefficiently designed human-torso-extension. Humans should have adapted to this need. Sad, sad, sad. Make beanie”
Rocky, the devious rascal, demanded.
“Grace, no more yarn-crochet, dance time.” Rocky insisted. A small note: the term “yarn-crochet” had been added to the Eridian lexicon as Rocky had insisted that the process of weaving xenonite into larger structures be referred to as “crochet”, forever wanting to align himself closer to Grace.
Grace sat down his project, stood slowly and twisted side to side, letting out a satisfying crack that made Rocky and Adrian shiver.
They moved to a room toward the back of the Star Sailor, modelled after the famed “Don’t-Go-Crazy-Room”, except with the inclusion of both human screens, and Eridian texture pads. This room was referred to, officially, as the “Play-Room”, and unofficially as “Rocky’s Dungeon of Joy”. Grace didn’t know why Rocky wanted to call it that either, but he theorised that it was the result of a strange intersection of Rocky’s unrestricted internet access, wherein he learnt of traditional, medieval subterranean chambers, and BDSM dungeons within the same week.
A double-pirated version of Just Dance 2 was loaded onto the screens of Rocky’s Dungeon of Joy, and Britney Spear’s “Toxic” filled the room.
“Grace’s shimmy needs work.” Rocky criticised, as he shook all five of his arms in an exceptional replication of the screen.
“Like you can talk, your hips are barely moving!”
Adrian remained silent, completely engrossed in replicating the screen, a goal they were achieving with mastery.
“Rocky put on Rasputin now”
Knackered by the intensity of Just Dance, Grace decided that there was no better way to pass the time than a power-nap. Being unconscious had the added bonus of ensuring that he wasn’t thinking about Earth’s reply. A real win-win situation.
Rocky and Adrian settled in to watch him.
“Shimmy dance reminds me of our heart-dance, my beloved” Adrian voiced.
Like humans, Eridians dance together as an expression of their love, the heart-dance refers to the first dance two Eridians partake in as a couple, it is deeply personal, and unique to each Eridian.
“I know, beloved.” Rocky returned.
Both spoke in a deep register of Eridian, completely imperceptible to humans, except for the ever-so-slight vibration it produced. Rocky and Adrian began to speak in such a way whilst Grace was asleep, after their human had feigned rest to figure out what his birthday present would be one year.
“I fear that I feel uneasy about the humans” Adrian confessed,
“We will represent the entirety of Erid. We will be responsible for what impressions they gather of our species, beloved, I worry what Earth will think”
Rocky wrapped three of his arms around Adrian
“My beloved, I was the one to make first-song, humans are open-minded, curious, loving creatures when they are not threatened.”
“Grace is a loving creature. Humanity is what cast him away to the depths of space.”
Rocky stilled at the mention of the heinous act Earth had committed against Grace. It had nearly broken them apart, when Rocky discovered what Earth had done. Grace had insisted that he wasn’t affected by it, but Rocky was the one who watched him sleep, saw the fitful turns and muttered pleas.
“If it comes to it, we have the plan.” Rocky replied.
“The Plan” involved a small, hidden pod at the base of the ship. If Earth appeared hostile, Rocky and Adrian would escape with Grace in the pod, secured. Grace himself was unaware of this plan, he was far too forgiving, and had thus assumed that Earth would not hold any nefarious intent.
The second aspect of “The Plan” involved what some may call a bio-weapon.
It was a small laser carried by both Adrian and Rocky, if it came down to it, the laser was capable of ionising the hydrogen bonds holding the nucleotides of human DNA together. This was a violent, but extremely effective defence that Rocky and Adrian were both physically, and psychologically, prepared to employ.
They were both aware that “The Plan” was perhaps an unhealthy reaction to their human’s homeworld.
But they both agreed; there was no interstellar value, no knowledge, no resource, no cultural exchange, that was worth placing their Grace in danger.
They leaned on each other in silent, steady support. Watching Grace’s chest rise and fall with even cadence peacefully.
A light beeping, coming from the cockpit, threatened to disrupt this fragile tranquility.
Rocky should probably go check that. But Rocky was very comfortable.
Grace’s features began to twitch.
His tongue licked the corners of his lips.
He blinked four times, his eyelids producing a soft snapping noise.
He sat up with speed completely uncharacteristic of his age, and shrieked:
“It’s happening! Everybody stay calm!.”
Eva Stratt had been the first human, on Earth that is, to learn of Grace’s survival.
What, you thought she sat back into her retirement in a cozy Norwegian cabin? This is the Eva Stratt we’re talking about here.
Stratt had been arrested a mere three months after the launch of the Hail Mary, this was an expected outcome, and she had already become pen-pals with her future cellmate when this happened.
Her time in prison was highly social, and largely uneventful. Her body relished in the opportunity to rectify the extreme sleep deprivation she had experienced whilst saving the Earth.
She busied herself with books, crafts, and an absolute ripper of a neck tattoo.
She tried her hardest not to think about the glints of yellow that flashed in her peripheral vision.
She tried not to turn when someone said something idiotic, and give a knowing look to the vacant space beside her.
Her two and a half year sabbatical ended abruptly when she twisted the tap of the sink in her cell, and nothing came out.
The water catastrophe had presented a prison break to her on a shining platter.
Upon calmly walking out of the half-broken entry gate, she was immediately accosted by five government agents, and ushered to a bunker in rural Spain.
From the shadows of a crumbling planet, Stratt once more coordinated Earth’s response, but this time with far less explosive aliens aboard.
She established a small taskforce, their primary goal being to unfreeze the water. She commissioned from the frozen streets of Europe bright, hungry scientists– a far too familiar collection of hers.
Tirelessly, they worked to develop solutions. The scarcity of resources made science a grievous effort, particularly when a bad flu season had taken out three of her scientists.
After nine years of desperate work, the pyro-bacteria was developed by a young, witty man with a penchant for laughter in the dimmest of places that reminded her sorely of her friend, due to awake on the other side of the universe any moment now.
Under her watch, they released the Pyroteria into the water, marking the end of the water crisis, but not Stratt’s career as the world’s most benevolent dictator.
As the world began to heal, Stratt reminisced upon her First Officer, who had worked tirelessly on the project, yet still managed to squeeze in the time for a weekly Zoom call to San-Francisco.
As she thought about the man who was, at his core, a schoolteacher, she monitored the dismal state of the education system, a neglected aspect of a society focused on surviving, not living. She decided it was about time that the kids got back in class– She knew a certain astronaut who would be deeply disappointed with the Earth’s current curriculum.
When the Beetles returned, and she saw the young face that had filled her dreams for the past 26 years, Eva Stratt promptly decided that the Earth’s recovering resources would be best aligned with increased space infrastructure. And so Eva, who had final approval over every major global policy in the past 23 years, determined that the red-planet was humanity’s next conquest.
What was that? Had she thought about retiring anytime soon– Oh, no. Retirement doesn’t apply when one is the government itself.
These efforts had resulted in Eva Stratt being the shadow president of the Global Space Association.
Thus, at around 4:52 in the morning, surrounded by 3 coffees– her body had developed tolerance to the regular two, at her age, her caffeine consumption was considered a form of voluntary euthanasia. Eva reloaded her inbox, and felt a smile stretch across her face.
A bright, hopeful smile; her heart fluttered. Of course, if anyone were to survive two intergalactic missions, befriend aliens, and then bring them back around for dinner, it would be her Grace.
She corrected the typos in the message set to be broadcast across the solar system– honestly, the linguistic skills of these STEM PhD’s were appalling.
Then, she added an extra “P.S” to the message, her scientist would understand what she meant.
Eleanor felt conflicted about the extension of her stay on Mars.
On one hand, it meant that she got to meet the recently revived saviour of their planet, and two aliens.
On the other hand, she missed her wife.
She read over the last conversation she had on her Iphone-32
Eleanor knew that her wife would understand, she always did.
A sudden alert blurted over the intercom:
“All crew to the mess-hall. A reply from Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace has been received. I repeat, all crew to the mess-hall”
Grace, Rocky, and Adrian are huddled around a small screen in the cockpit of the Star Sailor. The translation of the frequency emitted by Earth is taking far too long for their liking.
“Reply was quicker than expected. This is taking a long, long, long time.”
“Yeah, I don't exactly have any Wifi for the program to rely on Rock, not much longer now.”
There it was.
With a shaking hand, Grace pressed play on the message from Earth.
[ Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace, it is with great honour that we say “Welcome Home.”
Please angle your ship to; 1.850° to ecliptic; 5.65° to Sun's equator. Please increase the deceleration of your ship by approximately 24m/s.
Further, please respond to the following questions:
- How many members of the “Eridian” species are you accompanied by?
- What necessities do they require for their survival?
- Are there any immediate health concerns, regarding yourself, that we should be aware of?
We are eagerly awaiting your reply, and return.
P.S: a global representative would like to meet you for two coffees when you come back down from the clouds, Rocketman.]
Grace sat rigid, frozen in shock.
Eva.
Oh, she owed him far more than a coffee date.
Despite himself, a grin spread across his face, warm and wide. She was alive.
“Grace, I believe there was an error in the coordinates Earth sent. I’ve corrected our course, but we are no longer pointing at Earth.” Adrian voiced.
“Huh, that’s strange” Grace peered over at the extrapolated trajectory of the ship.
“Cheese and Crackers! We’re going to Mars!”
Grace hit the side of Rocky’s xenonite suit in excitement,
“Rock! Earth isn’t just alive, they’re flourishing!”
“Quick, help me write up a reply.”
In the crammed mess-hall of the Mars Space Centre, a translation of Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace’s correspondence unfolded upon the projector.
[ Hiya, Earth! Or shall I say Mars now, this is flipping awesome!
The MSC collectively sighed, yep, that’s a middle school teacher right there.
To answer some of your questions, I’m accompanied by two Eridians, who are also my bestest of best friends. They require an atmosphere of ammonia, and are happiest at 2X Earth’s gravity. They have plenty of food already, but if you have any spare lithium sitting around, Rocky is just addicted to the stuff.
Furiously, eight engineers began to scribble dimensions for an Eridian-friendly home they could construct for their incoming visitors.
For the most part, I’m fine. I recently broke a leg, but that’s mostly healed, a chiropractor would be appreciated, however.
Now it’s your turn to answer my questions!
- How many people are squeezed on to Mars? Is that where all of Earth lives now?
- WHEN did we get to Mars?
- And, holy smokes, why do I have a knighthood?
Alright, those are my questions for now, glad that I’m gracin’ you with my presence ;>)
P.S: if this global representative is who I think it is, they’re at an age where they have no business drinking 2 coffees still. ]
“Well” their supervisor began
“That clears up any doubt we had that this was actually Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace”
“Did he say Rocky?” a voice from the crowd yelled.
Pandemonium took hold of the mess-hall.
Grace’s daily routine experienced a sudden change with the addition of his intergalactic penpals.
Each day, he would wake up, move to the cockpit with Rocky and Adrian, reply to the message Mars had sent, and then continue about his day as if he hadn’t just spoken to a human, an actual human.
As the model of their ship grew closer to Mars, Grace was getting jittery.
How would humanity react to him?
He feared that the minimal social niceties he displayed on Earth had been lost to time, his awkwardness enabled by the aliens he spent his days around.
The notion of being in the same room as another human was as exhilarating as it was frightening. He thought of someone sharing his oxygen, imagining that as they exhaled a warm brush of air would rush over him, carrying undertones of must and coffee. These thoughts were also why he was worried about returning to Earth, what normal human wants to smell someone’s breath? Bleugh.
30 more days to go now, a soft beep brought the three of them to the cockpit once more.
[ Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace,
As we draw closer to meeting, the crew at the MSC has further questions for you
- Is there anything that you would like to request? We are able to have most items ready for you upon your arrival.
- What Eridian cultural customs should we be aware of, so as not to cause offence?
Sincerely,
The MSC ]
Grace considered what he wanted upon his return, and jotted down a list:
[ My favourite penpals,
We’re so close to meeting, as my human-students would say, I’m pretty hyped.
I would absolutely love it, if it’s not a burden, if you could bring me: a pack of new razors, socks, chocolate, Deep Heat cream, and some wine– Oh God, have I really gotten this old?
Eridians are pretty chill about customs, so don’t worry too much. More importantly, you said there were 45 of you stationed at Mars, is this still the correct number? Does anyone dislike the colour blue?
See you later, alligator.
P.S: Rocky wants to request that you follow a “dungeon” aesthetic in whatever containment you build for him. ]
Back at the MSC, they were becoming increasingly concerned about the lack of detail they were receiving about the aliens soon to be paying them a visit.
[ Sir Dr Captain Ryland Grace,
We are happy to oblige the requests you have written.
There are no individuals at the MSC who dislike the colour blue. There are still 45 individuals, including: scientists, management, medical, chefs, engineers, and general maintenance living at the station.
Please provide more details surrounding the cultural customs, and general practices of the Eridian species.
Please clarify what the creature “Rocky” meant by “dungeon”
Sincerely,
The MSC ]
“Rock! They like blue!” Grace, who was attempting to crochet 45 light blue, Earth patterned thank-you presents, exclaimed.
“Also, Rock, they want more details about what you meant by “dungeon aesthetic”
“Grace should be yarn-crocheting Eridian beanies, would look better as a gift. Rocky will find picture of dungeon aesthetic for Grace to describe to humans”
Rocky scuttled toward his laptop, and began to type hurriedly.
“This is dungeon aesthetic”
Lo and behold, displayed on the screen of Grace’s old laptop, was a BDSM style dungeon. Complete with a sex swing hanging from the roof.
“Rocky, no. Absolutely not. I thought you meant like, a medieval aesthetic? Like the Dungeon of Joy.”
“Rocky want this one!” he exclaimed.
[ To the spiders from Mars,
Please disregard Rocky’s request included in my last correspondence. I am not going to enable his proclivities.
The cultural and general practices of Eridians are varied and unique. The Eridians I am bringing to Earth are open minded, and well acclimatised to living with a human. So please don’t worry about offending them, they are plenty offensive as they are.
I promise I will ask them to be on their best behaviour.
On a more critical note, does anyone at the MSC dislike scarves? Or would, hypothetically, prefer an Eridian-sized beanie? This is urgent.
Keep it groovy!
-Adrian, Rocky, and Grace ]