Chapter Text
My eyes feel too hot in my head, my mouth is sticky, and a headache pounds in my skull. I don’t think they’re giving me enough water. I’m not dangerously dehydrated yet, but I’m on my way there. Which means I’m gonna have to beg Borg for basic necessities and that went so well last time. I resist the urge to rub my injured arm.
I could just wait until I get delirious and they figure it out. Nope can’t do that. There’s a real chance they wouldn’t figure it out, or just off me for simplicity's sake.
I spend the next hour? Two? Ten? Who knows how many psyching myself up until I hear the crack of the airlock. At the sound I grind my teeth and sit.
I hear the clatter of Borg’s steps.
‘I need more water.’ I play, biting the bullet. ‘Not want, need. I’m experiencing dehydration.’ Eridians do have a word for dehydration, surprisingly enough, it's just such a rare condition it's rarely used.
I hear Borg tap the ground, looking at me, and my skin crawls.
“What are your symptoms?”
‘Dry mouth. Thirst. Some dizziness and headaches.’ Every word makes me feel more vulnerable and exposed. And it probably does but I, again, don’t have a choice.
“I understand,” Borg says and I hear the plop of my food and water packs hit the floor. “I will have you examined shortly. If we determine you are correct, we will supplement your water supply.”
My shoulders curl at the word examined. Really don’t want that. ‘I don’t need an exam, I’m a doctor and the only human here. I know what my symptoms mean.’
“We will need to confirm, Dr. Grace. I’m sure you are right, but once we verify that, it will help us build trust in each other. Understandably, that is lacking currently, but I’d like to use this opportunity to improve our relationship. This would mean in the future we could trust your instructions and meet your requests more readily. I will return with our medical physician shortly.”
Before I can come up with a reply to that manipulative, disgusting fake consolation, the airlock seals behind them.
Borg returns much sooner than I thought they would. I’ve only just finished my packets when the airlock reopens and two sets of claw-steps enter.
“Please remain seated Dr. Grace. Your physician is with me and will check you over.” I notice they don’t give me a name. They scuttle closer and I jump up and back away. My back hits the dome.
‘No, I don’t need an exam. I just need water.’ They stop, halfway to me from the sound.
Borg taps. “Dr. Grace, we have discussed this. If you are not ready we will respect that and we will leave, but your water allotments will remain the same until you allow an exam.”
I want to scream out my anger, really lay into this steady, methodical erosion of my autonomy and personhood. I could and it would be satisfying in the moment. But they would probably just leave and then I’d be worse off the next time I broke down and begged for water.
‘What will you do during this exam?’ I play, feeling sick.
“Just an exam of your skin organ. Your physician tells me that skin density and elasticity is a good indicator of your level of hydration and health. They may also check your temperature. It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.” This physician hasn’t said a thing, which add more evidence to my theory that Borg is the only one allowed to talk to me.
The darkness yawns before me. I can’t see either of them and there are no hallucinations at the moment to distract me. I don’t trust Borg obviously, but survival dictates I comply.
I sit, slowly, as my stomach rolls. ‘Do the exam. Only a few minutes.’
They both skitter closer and hold myself rigid against the urge to push away.
A claw clasps my wrist, the uninjured one, and I jump. They’re gentler than I expected and I reluctantly allow my hand to be raised. They press a claw against my palm and hum, another claw taps my elbow.
A claw taps my forehead and I flinch from the touch. I don’t know which hands are Borg’s or the other Eridian’s. They must both be touching me but I can’t tell the difference.
“Please remain still Dr. Grace.”
I can’t play with my free hand. “Don’t touch my face.”
“Okay, Dr. Grace. You’re doing well.” A claw pets my arm and my lip curls.
“Don’t pet me either,” I say and the touch stops. They’re listening this time, and I can’t decide if that’s good or I should be more nervous.
Another claw takes my other hand and turns it palm down. I try to hide my unease at having both my arms held, especially the injured one.
“Just taking your temperature Dr. Grace. Stay still.” Something hard and flat presses against the skin of my right arm, just above my bruised area and near my elbow. It feels small, maybe the size of a quarter, so it’s not part of a xenonite suit. There's a few clicking noises from the device but nothing changes in the feel of it against my skin.
My left hand is turned palm down and the skin at the back of my hand is pinched gently, then released. So they know that human trick.
Another flat object is pressed to my other arm, but near my shoulder, just as the first object shifts again. I have a moment of confusion from the two devices and all the claws touching me, when the device pressed to my upper arm makes a pop and a sharp pain lances through my bicep. I recoil.
“Stop!” I cry but the object has already vanished along with the claws holding me. I scramble back from the two, they’re both quiet so I don’t know where they are anymore, and my hand flies to the point of pain. At first I can’t detect anything and the pain is already fading to an ache. Then I feel a tiny smear of liquid.
“What did you do!” I feel for a cut, but find nothing but a tiny warm bump of raised skin. It feels like an injection site. They used a needle? My stomach plummets.
“What was that? What did you do?” My voice breaks and I bite back a sob. Did they inject me with something? My heart freezes over as a thought curls through my mind. Have they decided I’m too much trouble and this is the way they kill me? Lethal injection, just like a dog? Am I about to die? I scramble to my feet as if that would help me now. Like if I can stay standing I can stay awake. I don’t want to die here. I want to see my family again before I go. “Oh god,” I find myself saying, my voice breaking. “Please don’t,” even though it’s already done.
Borg sings over my panicked breathing. “It was just a skin and blood sample Dr. Grace. Nothing has been injected, it was just a tiny biopsy. The pain will fade in minutes. You are okay. You are safe.”
I pace away from the voice and rub at the injection site. I don’t want my possible last words to be cussing out this thing that has taken me from my family. I clutch the bag Rocky made for me and pace. Is my heart thundering against my panic or something else?
“Thank you for your cooperation Dr. Grace. Your physician advises your water intake be doubled.”
“Get out!” I snap.
“Please sit, Dr. Grace, and we will.”
“Get out!” Silence greets me, so I know they aren’t leaving.
I punch the dome. Kick it. Scream into my shaking hands and sit.
They leave.
I tremble and can’t make myself try to get back up. What if I can’t? What if my legs buckle and I know for sure I’m dying? I should be feeling something by now, a small, logical part of me thinks, but I can’t believe it yet.
The silence is too loud, the darkness too deep. I won’t be able to tell if my vision is fading. So I hum, and rub my hand up and down my arm and wait.
Eventually I accept I’m not dying. I accept it's been long enough, even with my inability to reliably measure time here.
The relief feels shallow and leaves me feeling raw and hollow. I’m exhausted and I don’t know when I slept last or for how long, but I don’t want to fall asleep with this experience so fresh. I’m scared of the nightmares it might produce.
I get up to pace and something catches on my foot. I kicked something. I kneel to find another water pouch on the floor. Just like Borg promised.
I hate myself and drink it.
OoOoO
I’m playing catch again, and doing well this time, when something rattles the ground. I freeze and let the pouch fall beside me. I strain my eyes and ears hoping to catch something. It's all quiet and all dark. And then the floor rattles again.
“Whats going on?” I call out. I’m not really expecting a reply, I just have to do something. I stand and press my hands to the wall.
I think I can hear Erdian voices, but not what they're saying. There's lots of them all talking over each other. Another rattle.
The airlock hisses. I don’t sit down. My blood is thundering and hope is starting to take root.
The airlock breaks open sooner than it should if it had safely cycled and there's suddenly three voices chorusing at once, the smell of ammonia wafts into my nose, a wave of heat ruffles my hair, I’m coughing at the shock to my lungs, and none of that matters because one of those voices is Rocky!
Before I can call out there's a rush of claw-steps, more than I can count, toward me and someone knocks my legs out from under me. I land on my back, which kicks off another coughing fit.
There's a claw fisted in my shirt front and I’m dragged back across the floor, we stop and another wraps around my throat, applying pressure and pinning me to the ground. I can barely breathe against the hold. I claw at it to pull it away. I get a grip on the xenonite covered arm, but I can’t get it to budge. I kick and twist, but a third claw pins my elbow and keeps me fixed in place.
“Retreat or I will kill Dr. Grace,” Borg sings, directly above me. They’re the one who has me, of course. I hear an enraged chorus from Rocky.
“You fucking loud-eater– If you harm Grace there is nowhere on Erid you will be safe from me! Release him now! Grace, you’ll be okay!” But it doesn’t sound like he’s getting closer. It sounds like he’s near the airlock. If he’s in here, he has to have a suit on. I wonder where he would have gotten one and shove the thought aside as not important while I’m in a choke hold.
“Release Dr. Grace and you will not be harmed,” someone else says. They sound like they’re next to Rocky but I don’t recognize them. They’re voice is measured and the calmest in the room.
The claws holding me raise me slightly and slam me back down. I cough and gasp against the claw on my neck, and the ammonia tainting the air. It's apparently not enough to kill me thankfully, but it still stings my lungs and nose. I run my hand up the arm holding my shirt to the body of Borg and try to push them away. No dice.
“You are foolish to waste so many resources on something that should be serving us,” Borg says. “You will allow me to leave with it in the containment unit, or I will kill it here and end this nonsense.”
Yeah he could do that pretty easily right now. I try shoving them again. My fingers slip off the xenonite suit, sparking a thought.
The Eridian with Rocky, a cop or hostage negotiator I’m assuming, says something to Borg in soothing tones. I use the time to think about the xenonite chisel in my pocket. It’s in my left pocket, and my right arm is trapped in Borg’s claw. We’re in my oxygen dense atmosphere and all Borg has between it and them is that thin xenonite suit.
I let my free arm fall from Borg’s suit to my chest and try to disguise the motion as fear by clutching the fabric of my shirt. Once Borg hears the chisel they’ll know what's coming.
“Dr. Grace is unharmed,” cop-eridian says. I’ll call them Gordon. “You can surrender with minimal charges. There is time to turn back. You have not gone too far, we have time for you to calm and think.”
Borg says something and I take the opportunity to lower my arm down to my side. When Borg jerks me as they speak I use the motion to worm my hand into pocket.
I think Rocky’s caught onto the fact I’m doing something because he gets very loud very suddenly.
“Grace saved you! Grace saved all of us! He gave up his home to make sure you and your family live. How can you possibly justify your treatment of our savior?”
“Savior? It is a lower lifeform! It assisted you but you are the one who truly saved Erid. You have my respect savior Rocky but it is not your equal!” They continue on but I tune them out.
I close my hand around the handle of the chisel and wait for Rocky to make a particularly loud exclamation to use my thumb to pop the cap off. I lock in a wince at the feel of it, convinced Borg will pick up on the sound. But they’re still raving against Rocky’s statements. Rocky is shouting over top of them, adding to the noise.
I ease the chisel out and up from my pocket, keeping the pointed end pressed into the fabric of my pants to muffle the shape of it.
Deep breath. Borg is quiet for the moment while Gordon is saying something. I need Borg to speak now so I know exactly where they are. I’ll only get one shot at this or they’ll crush my windpipe like a straw. Still might even if I do it right but I’m not dwelling on that.
“It will die soon anyway!” Borg snaps back at Rocky and I steel myself. This is gonna suck one way or another.
In one motion I shift my feet to brace against the ground and drive the point of the chisel up and into the voice above me.
The suit explosively depressurises with a bang that ruffles my hair. The gas escapes at the point of break: directly over my hand. I cry out at the burning wave that washes over my grip and I’m wrenched to the side by Borg’s claw on my elbow while the claw on my neck vanishes.
Rocky screams–and for a moment I’m back in the Hail Mary smelling ammonia and listening to my best friend die for me–and then I realize it’s Borg screaming, not Rocky. His claw, still locked around my arm, clenches and ignites my already injured arm in new agony. I paw at their grip.
Claw-steps thunder close, there's a crack above me, Borg’s screams stutter and the grip vanishes.
Free, I push myself up onto my butt and away from the sound of Borg dying. Ammonia burns in my lungs and I cough and cough against it. Borg seizes my arms near my shoulders.
I lash out, hitting my injured hand against smooth xenonite. “Let-” I cough.
“Grace! Grace, it's me! It's Rocky! Follow quickly.”
It's Rocky! Rocky’s holding my arms, not Borg. His hands shift to hold one of mine. I grip his claw and let myself be towed along, my other hand outstretched to protect myself in the dark. He leads me up the ramp and into the mobile-dome, steadying me when I trip on the unseen surface. Somewhere Borg has stopped screaming, but I can smell the sting of the smoke from their injuries.
Once inside Rocky coaxes me to collapse onto the bed. There’s a clatter to my right and something touches my face: an oxygen mask. I clutch it to my mouth and gasp in fresh, cool air. I hear him move across the space and hiss at the covered control panel before his claw-steps fade down the ramp. My panic that had just reduced to a simmer boils over again.
“Wait,” I gasp, “Rocky!” I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want this to be another dream lost to the dark and I’m certain if I let him out of my perception he’ll vanish and I’ll be alone again.
“Still here Grace,” Rocky says, his footfalls returning. He presses the oxygen mask back to my face from where I’d let it fall in my panic. “Still here. Sorry, I had to get the tool. Still here. Hold on, I need to fix the air.”
I hear a few snaps, the clatter of something falling to the ground, then the taps and clicks of the buttons on the control panel. There's a hum and I realize the airlock door is closing. Once it seals the hum of the atmosphere control gets louder.
There are a few more taps from the control box and light burns my retinas in a wall of white. I flinch and cover my face.
“Grace, what's wrong?”
“Too bright. Don’t turn it off! But can you make it dimmer?”
A few clicks and the yellow glow between my fingers fades. When I lower my hands I find the light is a bearable gentle orange. I can see! I scan the room for my friend.
Rocky, a claw still on the controls, tilts his carapace, his suit flashing with the movement. “Can you see now? Why did the light hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I gasp. Then all of the fear and panic that I've been collecting over this whole ordeal tips over and I’m sobbing at the sight of my friend. I try to cover the sound with one hand but reach for him with the other.
Rocky rushes to me, wraps two of his arms around my shoulders and another around my back as I collapse against him and cling. I crush my face against his carapace and sob into him. One claw comes up to stroke the back of my head and he holds me as tight as I know he dares. He hums a comfort song at me as I curl around him and cry out all the terror of the past few days. My friend is here. I can see him, feel the hard edges of his suit digging into my cheek, hear his snarky voice, and that means I’m safe now.
“Grace, did they keep you in the dark this whole time?” He asks once the shaking has died down. He doesn’t let go of me. Man he’s smart. He’s probably read up on human vision and figured out why the sudden light hurt me, when normally that level of light is preferable for humans. That and the fact I didn’t know who he was when he first touched me.
“Yeah,” I croak. He warbles a wordless tone of anguish and clutches me a little tighter.
“I’m sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. I should have designed security better. We should have found you sooner.” Before I can contradict him he pulls back just a bit and starts tapping gently on my shoulders, chest, and my cheek, so soft he’s barely touching me. “You’re hurt. I know so don’t play brave face. Where?”
“Not badly,” I say and clear my throat. “I’m a little bruised. I think the burn on my hand will be the worst of it. They did something to my left arm here.” He taps near the spot I point to and hums. He pulls away a little more and gets out a vision gun he has attached to the outside of his suit. He uses it to scan my arms. He steams a whistle when he scans the bruise mottling my right forearm. It’s my first time seeing the ugly purples and yellows too, and it’s a bad one. There’s a scab forming on the cut near my wrist.
“We will get your doctor to see you soon. They are here but will need to get a suit before coming in, then we will transport you home. I only had a suit ready because I wanted to enter whatever they used to keep you contained as soon as possible.”
“How far away are we?” I want to be there yesterday.
“It will take most of a day,” Rocky says. “They took you very far away.” Anger seeps into his voice on the last part.
“How long have they had me?” I ask.
“A week and six days. Yes, earth units.”
I laugh and it threatens to become a sob again, but I keep it contained. “It felt longer.”
Rocky’s tone drops an octave. “Adrian and pebbles were very worried. Rocky should have designed the home-dome better.”
“No, Rocky,” I say. “This wasn’t your fault. Whatever they did had to have been catastrophic to down so many systems at once. Or am I wrong?”
Rocky hums. “They attacked the astrophage generator. Used Taumeba to contaminate back up generators, then used electromagnetic pulse on the mainsystem to shut it down completely. I fixed it, but I should have had insulation in the first place.”
“No way you could have seen that coming Rocky. And no system is perfect. I’m okay, it's okay.” I don’t touch on the question of how they did that yet. These events basically confirm it was an inside job but I can’t handle that yet.
Rocky hums then shifts slightly, obviously not convinced by not willing to argue with me right now.
“Grace, sleep. Rocky watch. You need rest. When you wake up we’ll be almost home.”
Honestly nothing sounds better right now.
I slump onto my side and he settles next to me. I press my forehead against his carapace. “Promise this isn’t a dream.” I start crying again despite my efforts.
“Promise,” he says and carefully takes my glasses off and sets them aside. “Do you want the light on?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, my voice shaking again.
Rocky hums and runs a claw down my back.
“You’re safe now, Grace. Sleep. We’re going home.”