Chapter Text
Chapter 2
He wakes in pain, and knows that it's right.
It's deep enough it takes him out of himself. Drifting in limitless darkness, held at the cliff's edge of nothing, it's a weight and an anchor. The only tether to thought.
It hurts.
A small part of him, weak and foolish underneath it all, had hoped for relief in the end. Hoped for peace, after a life of pain.
The rest of him, though, knows better. He should be lucky if this is the worst of it. After the suffering he's dealt, he's always been destined for more. An eternity more.
The end had come drenched in so much fear. Blood. He thinks this stretched darkness, this encompassing pain, is a softer thing than he deserves. Anything is better. Anything but—
Red flashes across the mind make him curl in horror. The action sharpens the edges of heavy agony. The weight of pain becomes teeth—long, spiny, piercing, I see you, SIMON!— and he whimpers in its grasp. Some parts of his body hurt more than others. Why?
His stuttered gasp re-enters his ears, bouncing off metal distorted and animal. He tries to shrink into a ball on instinct, form a protective cage around the worst wound, but—
His fingers grasp empty air where his arm should be. His knees knock together, but his legs find no purchase on a floor or wall, kicking weightless in the air as his body gently spins.
Weightless.
No gravity, his mind issues, a flat report behind disabling fear and pain. He's floating.
I'm in space, he thinks. Why?
Then, my arm is missing. It hurts so bad, but it's gone.
In the abyssal silence around him, his breaths are the only sound in the Universe. Short and panicked. He strains his ears like a prey-thing, hunting through darkness for Other. For more pain. For teeth. For the stolen voices of dead people.
He listens, eyes closed. Thin air rattling his lungs. Spinning like bloodied bait in the air, waiting to be swallowed. He listens. He waits. He listens. He waits—
The crackle of the radio makes his heart burst in his chest.
He convulses in fear, body spasming, bile rushing into his mouth. He chokes on it, throat seized to scream. It's back. It's here. It's found me—
SIMON!
"Uhh… Hello?"
He doesn't dare to even cough on his vomit. He's frozen, breath and body held rigid. Waiting. Waiting.
"Is anybody there?"
The voice echoes all around him. Reverberating like the organ walls of a living thing, before fading to awful silence.
"Um. This is Captain Grace of the Hail Mary. Searching for, uh. Signs of life? Please respond. …Over."
In the dark, Simon slowly dares to open his eyes. There's nothing to see, except the pale, steady green light of his oxygen meter.
Light.
From the sub.
Why I am still here?
His eyes tell him he's still in here. Trapped the piece of shit that became his coffin. But his body tells him he's floating. Which only happens in space. And the pain—it's expected, earned, but it's asymmetrical.
He should be burning. Every inch of him. Not only pieces. Not only the parts of himself he remembers injuring—
"Uh. Repeat. This is Dr. Ryland Grace, Captain of the Hail Mary. Is there anybody… alive in there?"
Alive.
Alive. Is that what he—
Is he really—?
Simon doesn't recognize the voice on the comm. Doesn't know its name or recognize the vessel. The COI didn't bother with fucking names, they used serial numbers. And Eden—Eden used—
The Hail Mary.
His heart stops in his ribcage. Restarts.
"Rock," the radio says. The voice sounds farther away, and fear pulses through his entire body, sudden and electrifying. "I don't know. I guess… it seems like it's empty—"
No.
No. I'm here. I'm still here. I'm still HERE—
"Please."
In the faint emerald light, his eyes sting with tears. If this is a lie, it's the cruelest one so far. But he is willing to beg. To please for forgiveness. For salvation.
Anything. Anything to live.
"Please. Don't leave me here."
twelve hours earlier
The speed at which everything falls into place is what confirms it, really. Rocky's been cooking this new mission (side-quest, if you will) for a while now.
This…spike in readings from their new sensors was just the perfect excuse Rocky has been waiting for, to justify the proverbial kick to the carapace needed for them to get permission. (Not that anyone seems interested in denying "Savior" Rocky much, if anything.)
Honestly, Grace isn't all that surprised that Erid's scientists are eager to gather more local data about radioactivity. The truth about the deaths of Rocky's crewmates had rattled the foundations of what they knew about space overall, and the concept of radiation had proven the most common topic of light-hearted "interrogation" when he first regained the ability to speak, after more general information regarding the human race and its biology.
Since he gave them a primer and access to Mary's wealth of information on the topic, they've completely repurposed a prototype of the ship's original CFIDS. They've also done their best to recreate (and likely improve) the personal dosimeters that the Mary had on board for its crew members.
Rocky had Ilyukhina's. Grace had given it gladly, wanting him to feel safe (as safe as he could, anyway) after explaining radiation sickness. Rocky still wore it on his utility belt when they ventured to the orbit-docked Mary.
Grace had wondered, when he first met Rocky, how a species that couldn't naturally detect light waves had even discovered distant celestial bodies were out there to observe. The warmth of their own sun? The sudden impact of meteors in the backyard? He learned later that it turns out Eridians just did what they did best: they listened. They threw sounds into the Universe in the form of radar probes, then drew their starmaps based on what reflected back. It's almost thrilling to imagine, how that first probe must have changed everything for them. Humans have always been able to look up at the stars, even in a limited way. Erid bravely explored with a network of little Dopplers, singing into the darkness to see what sang back. Incredible.
This side quest, he can understand Rocky's motivation to do it. He also sees the benefits that EAST (He hem-hawed over what to call the Erid space traversal team, now that they were doing planet-led messions. ESTT lacked pizzazz, so he copied Earth's homework yet again. Thus the Erid Air and Space Team, EAST, was born. He wonders if they should commission little metal badges.) does, as well. Erid's roided-out magnetic field protected its inhabitants from exposure to cosmic radiation, so there's little opportunity to study its effects on matter unless you went to the source directly— and this unusual blip in space was definitely easier to access than hoping for a cosmic ray or UHECR strong enough to affect any Eridian matter. They weren't exactly common, thank God.
That said, there was still one person whose perspective he didn't understand.
"Adrian… is this, um. Weird for you?"
The second the question's out of his mouth, he realizes it's probably a little late to ask. They're strapped inside the Stairway headed for the Mary, side by side. Rocky's already on-board with the rest of the EAST team, installing the new sensor probes for jettison and supervising the delivery of their supplies (Grace isn't the only one paranoid about the amount, even for such a short trip). So it's just them left— Adrian coming along to say farewells in person, and Grace coming last so he wouldn't be in the way while the ground crew transferred the probes on board (Eridians are a lot stronger than him. Like, a lot. To the point he can't even feel bad about his lack of contribution.)
Silence settles between them, and Grace swallows hard. It takes all his willpower not to judder his knee in his seat as they rise into the atmosphere. Lack of conversation between them is unusual, given their usual rapport, and now, it's deafening.
Ever since they were introduced, he and Adrian have gotten on like a house on fire. Rocky had been correct, all those times in Tau-Ceti's orbit, when he said their mate would like Grace. After Adrian got used to his humanness (the squishiness, leakiness, all the sounds, etc.), Adrian became one of the most curious Eridians about Grace, and human culture. Every question they asked was one Grace was glad to answer, and unlike Rocky—who roasts human culture when it clashes with his idea of common sense—Adrian is ravenous for information, and never dismissive. They want Grace's thoughts on even the most abstract of concepts, even if he's bad at verbalizing his opinions, simply because Adrian finds his unique perspective as rewarding as the potential answer. It makes sense, given their job: Adrian is an Eridian version of a historian, or maybe closer to a philosopher in the Greek sense— Adrian's main role is to record cultural history, share stories orally to others, and they help to organize thrums, big and small. A very prestigious position, as far as Grace understands: humorously, this also means that Rocky (the biggest engineering nerd on the planet), is a STEM geek married to a liberal arts major, and Grace can't help but finding that adorable.
Grace doesn't think Adrian's ever taken so long to respond to him before. If he had pre-mission jitters before, now he feels like he's going to throw up. Guilt devours a hole in his stomach, and he anxiously grasps the material of his suit on his legs. His question was stupid. Worse, it was probably insensitive, and the pieces are all falling together for him now, that he's actually failed to consider Adrian in a major way that's completely unacceptable between friends.
Crap, he thinks, dread creeping in.
Rocky wants this mission. Grace wants it too, more for Rocky than himself, but it's not a selfless choice. And EAST is throwing their weight behind everything, so it's happening.
But Adrian?
Grace can barely imagine how it's going to feel to look down on a planet again. To be in space, after years and years of trying to get away from it. But he's never had to watch someone leave him behind, knowing he couldn't follow.
Today, Adrian will be doing it a second time.
All of the sudden, he feels his palms break out in a cold sweat. Fudge. Fudge with freakin' nuts. Is this— the relationship between Rocky and Adrian isn't exactly his business, per se, but he feels very suddenly, very awfully, like the— like the other woman, or something. Like the childhood best friend from movies that comes to drag the main character back into trouble they should've grown out of. Is he a bad influence? He's never considered a single part of himself capable of "bad boy" status, but holy moly, is Adrian going to hate him for this?
"Grace."
He jolts in his seat, head snapping to his right. Adrian's sea-shaded carapace ripples under fractal xenonite, neon blue atmospheric light sending waves of pthallo-green and twinkling cerulean into his eyes.
"Uh. Yes?"
"Feeling alright, question? Heart-rate very fast. Sweat production increased very suddenly."
Deeper guilt floods his stomach, a proper kick in the nuts. Great. Adrian has the good grace to even worry about him now. When he's whisking their mate away for a dangerous, impulsive trip to space, where Rocky was stranded for literal decades—
"Grace's heartbeat is too fast. If Grace doesn't respond, Adrian will insist on sending elevator back down."
"No, no," he stutters, lifting his hands. "Sorry, I— I mean, I am a little nervous, but it's not the mission. I'm just. When I asked you that question, and you didn't respond, I—"
He swallows again, licking his lips. He's scared of what they'll say. Scared to hear his worries confirmed, and scared he's possibly dismissed the feelings of a being he actually cares about. He's never been great at— at keeping relationships. Not long-term ones, other than with his students. He's been on a hot streak with Rocky so long that he's taken things for granted. To be a good friend, he actually needs to crack open his mouth and speak, and while that's never been a problem, knowing the right questions to ask has always been his Kryptonite.
But he needs to ask now. Adrian deserves that much.
It used to be the case that his desire to avoid conflict (translation: his cowardice) was stronger than his sense of guilt. Once he blew up his academic career and retreated to teaching, it'd practically been his modus operandi.
He doesn't know exactly when that changed. But knows it's after he met Rocky. Which is why he needs to hear the truth from the only person in the world who loves the guy as much as he does.
"I realized," he manages, words stilted at first, "that… you might be worried about the mission. About sending Rocky into space again. I realized it might be, um. Emotionally complex, or even upsetting for you. And I got, um… upset, with myself, because I should have asked you earlier about our decision to go back out there—" He gestures to the atmosphere outside. "Before now. Earlier, I mean. I should have talked to you about your feelings on the matter, because you're my friend, too. I… want to know how you're feeling about all this."
Silence, again. He tries to tell his heart to stop pounding so quickly, so it doesn't add onto Adrian's burden, but it isn't interested in listening to him.
Eventually, Adrian tilts the front of their body to face him more directly. A needless gesture, given they do not have facial expressions, but Grace has learned that mimicry from observation might just be universal to all life, not human beings. He certainly stomps a bit more while he's talking than he used to, anyway.
"Grace is… thoughtful," Adrian says quietly. He swallows again at the subtle layers in their voice. Quieter, less enthusiastic and warm than their usual countenance. "And correct."
It sinks in his stomach like cement. Crap. He's a huge jerk, isn't he? Then, with dawning realization: Hang on, did Rocky not ask either? That little… He might not have a leg to stand on in the relationship-advice department, but he's going to give that rock a talking-to—
"Adrian is worried about Rocky," they confirm. "Worried to see them depart. About what could go wrong in space, knowing what Adrian does now about radiation, and how much Rocky suffered. Difficult. Difficult to stay behind. To wonder about Rocky's safety, after so many years of wondering. … But Rocky and Grace leaving for small mission not most difficult thing."
His chest walls have nearly cramped shut with guilt, and his throat aches, pushing words out. "It's not?"
"Most difficult thing for Adrian," they continue, releasing a slow, sighing rush of air from their vents, "is truth that Rocky needs something Adrian cannot create. Cannot give."
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It feels like they've reached into his chest and physically broken something inside. What can he even say, that won't remind them exactly who Rocky needs this experience with? That it's someone else Rocky needs, other than his mate?
"Rocky is in pain, because mission hurt his ability to feel like proper Eridian. Hurt his ability to feel important, vital to Erid. It hurts that Rocky is not relieved that original mission is over… but Adrian is lucky. And… guilty, statement. Guilty they feel lucky."
"Huh? What do you feel guilty about? You haven't done any—"
"Adrian feel guilty they are glad Rocky is not alone in pained feeling. Guilty they feel lucky someone on Erid now exists, that can be Rocky's companion on journey to heal from shared pain."
His eyes sting hot. "…Adrian."
"Rocky needs Grace. And Adrian lucky, lucky, that Grace needs Rocky back."
"I do need him," he chokes out. "I care about him so much, Adrian. I— I'm going back to space for him." A hysterical laugh leaves his mouth. "And I don't even mind as much as I should, because I know we'll be together up there."
"Grace is scared, statement."
"Oh, yeah," he croaks. "But I want this. I just— I got scared for a second, that you'd hate me. For encouraging him instead of stopping him. For—" He sniffs. "You know. Being the one having this experience with him, when you won't be able to."
A beat, and Grace swears, sometimes Eridians have an ability to stare even without eyes. "Adrian not understand. Why would Adrian hate Grace, for being teammate for Rocky, question?"
"Um." It occurs to him he might be too.. human in his thinking here. "On Earth, some mate pairs become, erhm. Possessive of their mates spending too much time with others. Some would perceive their mates connecting intensely with others as a threat to their relationship."
Typical, Adrian seems fascinated by this answer instead of judgemental, giving a breathy hum of consideration. "…Human mate-bond so weak, that others can easily pose threat, question?"
He winces. Sometimes he really thinks he's giving humanity the worst reputation with his answers to this stuff. He's not an expert, and it is true that sometimes, humans are contrary and petty and dumb. "Um. It's complicated. Not everyone is possessive of their mates, what I mean is that… I don't want you to resent me. For being up there with him. Instead of you being there, I mean."
"Adrian will not go to space, statement," says Adrian, simply and without argument. "Have no interest or training at all. Rocky and Grace can keep space. Adrian does not desire it."
A wet laugh leaves his mouth, just as the rig around them shudders into place. They've reached the top. "Never, huh? Never even thought about giving it a try?"
"Adrian will not go to space," they repeat. "Unless Rocky and Grace do not come back when supposed to. Then… Adrian will go get you. Bring you back home."
His jaw sags, looking at them with disbelief. Then he laughs again, smiling.
Relief blooms in his chest like a bouquet of flowers, growing, growing. And not just because Adrian doesn't hate his guts.
This really is different than last time.
"I believe you."
The lack of a launch, ultimately, takes away most of the sense of climax. Honestly, it's kind of a relief. His nerves are rattled enough, just settling into the pilot's seat again. He's grateful the only shaking he has to experience is the shudder of the Mary leaving the GISTs warm, cable-tangled embrace. Rocky's design is so simple, all it takes is the wave of his projection wand, and his nav taps into the Eridian version of Bluetooth (so cool). The cables unclasp, drifting away like loose black vines, and the metal cages holding Mary in place slowly unfurl, revealing the rest of space ahead.
"Ready, Rock?"
Despite himself, his voice trembles. Out their navigation window, Erid sits below them like a vertical sea horizon. Stunning rings of stark light blue around a sprawling world of sapphire, with the GIST's arm rising from the surface like the arched fingertip of Man reaching for God. He's never been particularly religious, but he's gotten into the habit of taking note, at least, when the Universe seems to be talking to him. He hasn't lost anything, so far, by listening.
"Rocky very ready. Very excited."
"Yeah? Not nervous at all?"
"False. Very nervous. Both at same time, statement."
He leans back in a laugh, head falling back onto the curved pilot seat. Beside him, Rocky is strapped into an newly-modified seat of his own, made for him to easily crawl into and attach himself. Every ship captain needs a cool chair for their First Officer, and Rocky definitely has a thing for Spock, now.
"Me, too," he says, grateful. "Wanna bail?"
"What is bail, question?"
"Back out of the mission."
"No," says Rocky, shortly and simply. "But will, if Grace wishes to."
"I don't," he replies, voice soft. "Just checking." He offers Rocky a small smile. "We got this."
"Yes. Grace and Rocky do medium science, release neurological pressure, then come right back."
"Less than twelve hours," he agrees. "And we're done." He sucks in a shivery breath, then lets it go in a whoosh. "Okay. Let's do this thing." He taps the comm-link, opening the connection.
"Mary to San Fran, we're ready to fly."
"Message received," rumbles the radio. Their basso-voiced chief is the EAST's head star-mapper, which is a pretty sick title: obviously, Grace offered him the name Galileo, and it stuck once Grace explained the importance of the original to Earth history. Galileo, notoriously grumpy by Eridian standards, had begrudgingly accepted the honor. "Mission clear to proceed. Will check in at quarter-percent traversal goal."
"Hear you loud and clear, San Fran. Over and out." He closes the connection, shaking his head. "Wow. I feel a lot like an astronaut right now."
"Because Grace is astronaut. Only just realizing? Grace brain pressure worse than Rocky thought. Affecting Grace intelligence."
"I take it all back. Me and Adrian think you're sweet sometimes, but you're just pretending. You're actually evil inside. You're a bad rock."
"Grace need focus. Fist my bump now."
A smile curls his mouth. "At this point, I don't think I could hear it the right way anymore."
He reaches out a hand, fingers closed to his palm. A xenonite-enclosed first bumps his, familiar, and exactly the thing he needs to reach for the controls, light up Mary's thrusters, and send them forward into the black.
Twelve hours is long enough to do a lot of things. But EAST had done all the hard work, readying the new radar probes for launch. All they need to do is pop them out of the airlock along the way and prime their power systems for deployment so they start puttering out into the stars soon after they're set loose. They launch one every two hours, each set to blaze a trail in different directions, and he doesn't even need to climb into his EPA suit to make it happen.
Other than that, there's little else to do but crank up some music and draw up some hypotheses to test for when they reach their destination.
Specifically, he and Rocky jam out to Queen's entire discography while they argue about rocks. Real rocks, to be clear.
And where the heck this one came from.
The detected "spike" in radiation from Blip-B (he couldn't possibly name it without looking at it first, come now) could be explained by multiple factors. It could be a misreading of information by newly-tinkered Eridian technology. It could be that it was hit by a stray radioactive bullet of the galactic, cosmic variety: exposure to radiation is guaranteed, basically, once you hang out in space long enough outside a magnetic field. Compellingly, it could also be true that Blip-B is a meteoroid made of an unstable radioactive material more common in this neck of the woods— like a form of uranium that doesn't give off the same half-life signatures as Blip-B, a cousin of something he might be able to understand but not recognize from a distance. The existence of xenonite has opened his horizons on the whole "tweaking the known periodic table" front.
They'll be able to narrow down the most likely of these possibilities with a sample, given Blip-B should be safe enough by the time they get there. They know that because Mary's CFIDS is detecting less radioactivity from their target over time: its half-life seems relatively fast, which is good. Exposing themselves to actual damaging radioactivity isn't remotely in the cards, here.
So the question of why is this thing radioactive isn't what interests Grace. Plenty of stuff in space is radioactive. That's space for you.
No, he's more interested in where this funky little blip came from.
This is where the bickering comes in.
This little rock needs to be intercepted and studied quickly because it's on a collision course with Erid. As far as meteoroids go, that's not weird. Tons of space debris hits Earth every year, and meteors mostly turn to dust in the atmosphere. Only the toughest get to graduate and become meteorites that humans can actually pick up from the ground. Asteroid (bigger space rock) collisions happen less often, because they're usually large enough to join a planet's greedy orbit (and space is just that huge).
The weird part that starts their back and forth is that nobody knows where this little blip came from. Apparently, there's so sign of it on EAST's very detailed, very accurate starmapping radars, which they've been making for, oh, a few dozen centuries or so. Which means it's… new.
"New" and "space" are words that don't go together very often.
Grace puts his money on the notion that at least some of Blip-B yummy ingredients are radar absorbent materials—like a mix of carbon and naturally-occurring iron oxide (aka, ferrite). Basically, to Erid's radars, something like that would be like a rock covered in foam, and its travel could have been isolated from their star-mappers. A stealth meteoroid, oooh. Very sci-fi, very exciting.
Rocky's not impressed by this idea. He proposes that Blip-B is something different: that it might be something putting off radioactive waves that aren't quite radio, but with wavelengths that aren't as thin as infrared.
That's right. Rocky thinks this rock is a floating microwave. It's almost cute, but so, so wrong.
They argue about it like cats and dogs for the better part of nine hours.
Then he passes out in the pilot's chair like a worn out little kid after a hard recess, and wakes to the familiar, surreal peace of the Mary's quiet rumbling around him. Dim lights across the gleam of Rocky's trim xenonite shell, his silent watcher.
"Grace nap over," says Rocky. "Mary almost to Blip-B. Time for show."
He rubs sleepily at his face, mouth twitching. "You mean showti—"
<Blip-B detected.>
"Thanks, Mary." He turns to Rock, grinning. It's full, simple excitement now. And it feels good. This is fun, just like Rocky said it would be. "Get ready for gravity loss, it's time to say hi." Then he sends a ping out to HQ. "Mary to San Fran. We've made it to our destination. Deactivating top speed, update you soon with some cool facts, over."
"Message understood. Use appropriate precautions, statement."
He reaches for the controls, deactivating the thrusters. In a matter of moments, their speed goes from interstellar to middling, and the tug of zero-gravity lifts his insides and outsides. Rocky's new and improved pilot seat keeps him in place, but Rocky's got another upgrade for zero-g traversal: his tailored xenonite shell is a far cry from the dome he used to scuttle around in. Now, it's covered with helpful xenonite carabiners he can reach through flexi-panels to hook himself in place across the Mary. He's also got little thrusters on his suit, engineered to allow him to jet around the Mary in controlled, directional bursts of air like Iron Man.
Watching him test it had been one of the funniest things he'd ever seen in his life. It still makes him laugh, whenever Rock gets too excited and overshoots his target, spinning like a squealing comet.
Okay. Time to get close. With the flip of a few switches, he deactivates auto-pilot. Blip-B is close now, close enough they'll soon be able to see it outside their windows, but he needs to swing them around town, make a big, safe circle so they can match drift speed with their nose turned towards Erid. He can't help but chuckle a bit under his breath as he makes it happen, thinking how terrifying something like this used to be for him to do.
Another badge for his "Real Astronaut" sash.
Pretty soon, he's lined up behind it to close in for a full look in about a minute. He double-checks the CFIDS data first, just in case, and their estimations were correct. The radiation has petered off to something safe enough that if they wanted to scrape a sample off, they could: it's putting out about the same level of radiation as a semi truck of bananas. Which isn't nothing, but it's nothing close to the level that could turn him to Mr. Fantastic and Rocky into an even rockier Thing.
"Got the spectrometer readings for me, Rock?"
"Earth database says readings of Blip-B are M-type," Rocky reports. Metallic-based.
"Hah, point for me," he says. Those kinds of space rocks are rare, but it matches more with his proposed hypothesis, if this rock is mostly iron.
A rush of rumbling air from Rocky's vents. His version of a grumble. "Can confirm nothing yet," he huffs. "Need more data."
"Reflectivity?"
"Approximately 0.5 to 0.6 across multiple surface points, statement."
He blinks, turning that over in his head. They're drifting closer. "Huh."
That's. Unexpected. Asteroids aren't that shiny all over, figuratively speaking. Unless there's a lot of smooth fractals, or it's been smoothed by time? Silver, aluminum, and platinum are the shiniest metals, closer to 0.9, but usually they're… chunks, across the surface. Asteroids are bumpy. For something to have a relatively high reflectivity across multiple points is…
They're close enough to look now. Best way to confirm something like that is with his eyes, anyways. They're drifting, slow as molasses, down the Blip-B starboard side. He turns to look out the same window that he once gazed through to see Blip-A, years ago.
"Got a name in mind already. Let's see if it fits."
"Also sentimental, question?"
"Well, sorta. I was thinking of naming it after a famous pioneer of radiation, since this is the first Eridian led study of irradiated material. Which sounds better, Curie or Banner—"
His voice fails. Suddenly and completely, as if a knife cut though it. He stares out the window, open-mouthed. The cold shock of it is a whole-body thing, like he's plunged head-over-butt off from the Golden Gate Bridge into the bay.
The Blip-B slowly floats behind the reinforced glass window, surrounded by a sea of stars.
That's no meteoroid.
That's metal.
Soldered metal. Iron alloy. With panels. Bolts. Not natural. Made.
Man-made.
"Holy shit."
"…Grace say bad word."
Rocky is thunderstruck at his side. A squealing gasp of lifted vents, and then he is very quick, and very loud.
"Grace say forbidden word! Grace okay, question? Demand answer, Grace not even say forbidden word when dying, Grace brain injured, question?! GRACE. ROCKY DEMAND ANSWER."
He's never heard Rocky become so hysterical. Grace can barely spare the mental bandwidth to care.
He's too busy reading. Reading the words printed in block letters along the metal hull. SM-13. Alpha-numerics. Latin.
Earth.
"Rocky," he chokes out. "Rocky, this— that's—that's steel, Rocky. Rocky, this is from Earth."
Rocky's furious yelling stops as if he'd clapped his hands. "Earth," he repeats, shock rendering his voice flat.
"That thing's not drifting carbon, it's mechanical. Rock, Rock—" His voice is shaking like a rattling tea kettle. "You can't see it, it's got— antennae and screws and— freaking writing on it. Earth writing, Rocky!"
"Radioactive asteroid, not asteroid," Rocky echoes. "Is space vessel, hypothesis. How possible—"
Vessel.
Grace doesn't wait to listen to the inevitable onslaught of questions. He can't when there's one that needs answered first, desperately, frantically, more than any other.
Could it— Does it have—Is there anyone—?
Finally, his body catches up to his mind, and he lunges. He throws himself forward through zero gravity, propelling himself with a tether forward to slam a sweaty hand over the commlink, activating an active broadcast. A live transmission feed that could reach any Earth radio device.
He swallows hard, and hopes his words don't come out a croak.
"Uhh… Hello?"