Chapter Text
Beep, beep, beep.
I’m somewhere surrounded by machines. I can see a fluorescent light shining through my eyelids, and the room smells like sterile cleaner.
“Two plus two equals four.” I slur, being brought back to the way I woke on the Hail Mary. I finally find the strength to open my eyes, blinking and squinting against the bright lights above me. A set of robot arms hover above me, unmoving.
For a moment, I wonder if I’m back on the Hail Mary, stuck in some sick form of Groundhog Day loop. Maybe I’m going insane, starving in the depths of space, never to be seen again.
My whirling thoughts calm when I look to my left and see a window. And a tree. The branches are covered in a thick layer of heavy snow, lightly blowing in the wind of an active snowstorm.
I’m in a hospital.
I’m on Earth.
Grace has made it home! Grace has made it home! Rocky shouts in my mind, I try to raise my hands to create jazz hands, only to find that it wasn’t a great idea.
My senses are coming back now, and everything hurts. I finally take in more of my surroundings. I’m in a standard hospital room, lying completely horizontal on a bed. There are wires attached to and coming out of me in various places, one connected to an IV which is dripping every few seconds. A television in the corner is turned on to a classic rock radio station, and the soft sounds of Fleetwood Mac fill the room.
I hear a knock on the door, quickly followed by it opening. A young woman enters, wearing a lab coat and carrying a cup of water with a straw in it.
“Hello Ryland, it is good to see you are awake.” She says, sitting down on a stool. She unintentionally blocks my view of the window. “My name is Dr. Nijahd, welcome back to Earth.”
“Where am I?” My words slur in my mouth, which suddenly feels like it’s full of cotton. My tongue feels like it weighs five tons, and my jaw hurts.
“You are in a recovery unit at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota.” She answers. “Would you like a drink of water before we discuss your health further?”
I nod, not wanting to speak again. She helps guide the straw to my mouth, and I down the entire cup of water. I let the cool feeling of the water wash out my mouth, trying to draw strength from its refreshing nature.
“What happened? How did I get here?” I ask. Dr. Nijahd places the cup on my bedside table and pulls out a tablet.
“You passed out on reentry to Earth’s atmosphere.” Dr. Nijahd said. “The causes were most likely a combination of exhaustion, malnutrition, and a crash of adrenaline. We are lucky that you didn’t experience muscle atrophy or negative effects from the g-forces due to the fact that your ship was able to create artificial gravity for the time you were up there, but your heart did begin to dangerously palpitate during reentry.
“The recovery crew was able to remove you from the shuttle, and paramedics were waiting right away. They helped stabilize your heart rate, and you were immediately airlifted here for intense recovery.” She scrolled through my medical chart on her iPad.
“You are, as of this moment, stable, but your condition was quite severe. Most of your issues are from malnutrition and not being physically fit to reenter the atmosphere. Your blood pressure and heart rate are now stable. The next steps are to begin working up your musculature again, and we are ready to begin you on some solid foods.”
“It is quite amazing that you have bounced back so fast.” Dr. Nijahd continues. “We were expecting you to be in much worse state. Great job taking care of yourself the best you could.”
“Thanks, I really tried.” I respond, thinking back to the hours of awful workouts I kept within my routine on my route back home.
Amaze, amaze, amaze! Rocky says in my head. Grace still healthy!
“We are also going to bring in a professional psychologist to check in on your mental state.” She says. Oh no.
“Oh, are you sure?” I say. “I feel like I’m doing fine. I promise I’m not off my rocker.”
“Ryland,” Dr. Nijahd looks me dead in the eyes, “you were alone, in space, for five years. You had to deal with the mental load of being on a suicide mission which you somehow survived. I know the stakes that this mission began with, and I know that lots of things must have happened up there. It is okay to be afraid of therapy, but as a healthcare professional I am highly recommending therapy.”
Grace is fine. Rocky grumbles with indignation. Grace has Rocky. Grace doesn’t need brain doctor.
“Okay, send in a therapist.” I respond. If I refuse to see a psychologist, people will just keep pushing. If I see someone once and they see that I’m fine, then I get to keep my Rocky in my head and live out my life in peace.
“Great. They will be in shortly.” Dr. Nijahd says. “For now, get some more rest. A nurse will bring up some food.”
She leaves the room, and I’m back to listening to classic rock and thinking about life. A nurse comes in a bit later with a bowl of chicken broth and an apple sauce cup. I slowly eat both, letting my stomach settle with each bite before taking the next. Both food items are bland and flavorless. Wonderful.
After a few more hours of laying and listening to music, I hear another knock at the door. Another woman enters, dressed in a soft looking sweater and holding a tote bag full of random things.
“Hello Ryland, my name is Dr. Meadows.” She says, taking the same chair that Dr. Nijahd had earlier. “I will be your psychologist.”
“Nice to meet you.” I say.
“I want to preface this session with a few gifts.” She says. “Having objects that provide comfort are important for emotional and mental wellbeing.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sweater, just as warm and comfortable looking as her own.
“This is from a Swedish company, they make some of the most comfortable sweaters. You’ll need it to help yourself adjust to the changed climate. Earth has become a much colder place since you left.” I take the sweater from her and feel myself melt into the soft fabric. It’s the softest thing I’ve felt in a long time.
The next item she pulls out is a stuffed animal fox.
“I heard you like foxes?” She asks. I nod. “Foxes have become quite the symbol of hope in the world. They are resilient little things, and are quite wily and tricky. Quite the comment on the ability of things to adapt, yes?” I nod, holding the stuffed animal to my chest.
The next item she brings out is a book.
“This is a history book that highlights the last twenty-five years of human history.” She says. “I recommend you read this first before looking at anything on this.” The last thing she pulls out is a laptop.
“Thank you.” I say, placing both the book and the laptop on the bed beside me.
“You’re welcome.” She responds. She settles back in her chair, keeping eye contact with me.
“How are you doing Ryland?” She asks. Her voice is steady and comforting.
I know what she is asking. I know that she is wondering how I’m fairing after years of isolation. I think back to waking up, completely alone in space. I think of sending Yao and Ilyukhina into the stars. I think of finding Rocky, working towards a solution, and slowly remembering that I didn’t even choose to be there. I remember years and years of traveling alone, starving, bored.
Grace thinks of Rocky. He mutters in my brain as I recall the first time I realized I was hearing my best friend’s voice echoing in the back of my mind.
I start crying. Dr. Meadows hands me a tissue and waits patiently.
“I was forced to go.” I reveal. I see a single flick of surprise in her eyes before it's replaced with her neutral comforting expression.
“And all I wanted was to come back.” I continue. “And now that I’m back, I’m terrified.”
I continue, telling her about Eva Stratt, the mission before I left, the explosion, being forced onto the ship. I tell her about waking up in space with no memories, finding my dead crewmates, and slowly realizing I had been sent there to die without any choice. I speak of the feeling of abandonment, and the realization that I was well and truly alone. I don’t tell her about Rocky. Not yet.
By the end of the rant, I am a mess. My being is overtaken by heaving sobs, to which Dr. Meadows hands me a glass of water and reminds me to breathe.
“You have been through so much pain and agony, inflicted by those who you trusted.” She says. “I don’t blame you for being terrified. You deserve to be terrified.”
I nod.
“I want you to remind yourself that your feelings are valid. But also remind yourself that you are resilient. You proved to yourself that you are worthy to be a hero.” I feel the sting, a reminder that Stratt was once again right.
I’m not an astronaut, I’m not who you want. I remember telling her.
Oh, but you are. She said back.
She was right. And that’s what’s wrong.
“Is there anything else you want to talk about as we end our session?” Dr. Meadows asks. I shake my head.
“Then, I will see you tomorrow.” She says. “Try to get some sleep. Remember how resilient you are.”
She shuts the door behind her, and I am once again alone.
I squeeze the fox plush in my hands, feeling the stuffing shift under my fingers.
No more bad thoughts. Rocky says in my head. I agree with him. I don’t want to think about this anymore.
I turn to the history book and the laptop on the table. I know that Dr. Meadows said to read the history book first, but I’ve been very curious about what Sanders had said on the ISS.
“Look yourself up.” I mutter, opening up the laptop. It takes me a few minutes to get used to the new hardware, seeing as what I was used to is now twenty years out of date. The laptop is extremely thin, and everything looks very futuristic. I finally found how to link to the internet, and opened up the generic browser.
Cool, Google is still a thing. I type in my own name, take a deep breath, and press the search button.
The first thing that pops up is a whole Wikipedia article.
“Nice, I made it.” I say.
How Grace ‘make it’ question? Rocky asks.
“Back in my day, the baseline of considering yourself famous was if you had a wikipedia page.” I say, entering mine. The photo they used of me was from a press release about a month before the launching of the Hail Mary. Below that is a photo of a statue of me, Yao, and Ilyukinah standing in our EVA suits. A rendition of the petrova line arches over our heads, stretching from a sphere that represents Venus and a sphere that represents the sun. I read that the statue stands on the NASA campus, and that people have taken up rubbing the feet of the statues for good luck.
The Wikipedia article is pretty neutral. It highlights the public aspects of my life, my contribution to Project Hail Mary (with links to my published research), and my inclusion on the team of astronauts. I learn that there has been a documentary made about us (I was played by Ryan Gosling? nice) (Ryan Gosling look nothing like Grace, moving picture humans are stupid, Rocky says). Apparently Grover Cleveland Middle School has now been renamed to Ryland Grace Middle School after popular vote from the community, and my old bicycle has become some form of shrine to me.
A few other links lead to a few students of mine who have made notable careers. Abby’s name is listed next to Sanders,’ and I find out that she is acting as part of the mission control at NASA. Another of my students became a well known author, and a third helped produce the aforementioned documentary about the Project Hail Mary crew.
Grace is well known and influential! Rocky says.
“I know, this is shocking.” I say, backing out of Wikipedia. I scroll to the next link, which is apparently a Reddit thread, r/RylandGrace. Which is where things start getting weird.
It turns out I have quite the fanbase. Some of what I see is nice. I see a bunch of drawings of me, which are absolutely beautiful, and a few people discussing my research and debating when the results of Project Hail Mary will return. They must have not released an official statement that I had returned yet.
It gets weird when I see paragraphs upon paragraphs of people debating the validity of the Project. Conspiracy theories are being thrown left and right, backed by the strangest collection of data I’ve ever seen. Someone debates that the project didn’t even launch, and the whole thing is a money laundering scheme to distract from the destruction of the world. Someone claims astrophage is fake (what?), and the sun isn’t actually dimming (also what?). Someone says that I myself am an alien that they are releasing into the wild, or that I’m somehow part of a government plot to cover the beginning of World War III. I’ve also, apparently, become some form of harvest god that a pagan cult prays to so their astrophage-powered greenhouses produce more food? Some crazy Christian cult has also claimed that I was apparently the reincarnation of Jesus Christ, and the last twenty years have been the rapture.
Why are humans so weird, question? Rocky asks.
“I don’t know.” I say. “But I think I’ve seen enough.” I close the laptop. Maybe I should have read the history book first.
So I’m famous. Fun, I guess? That’s a later problem.
For now, I’m tired.
Grace go sleep.