Chapter Text
Grace had sent Rocky to another room with the same words as earlier. If the human inside was alive, Grace wasn’t sure how much he’d appreciate seeing an arachnid-like rock alien jumping around.
He mustered the welded shut hatch again and let his gloved hands rest against the metal. He remembered the voice from the radio, the small ‘get me out’.
"You're getting out." Grace said out loud, probably more to reassure himself than to comfort the potentially dead man inside.
He pulled the cutting tool from his belt, positioned it along the seam and activated it. A harsh white arc flared in front of his visor.
He worked slowly while regretting sending out Rocky for this part, he was the engineer out of the two of them.
Even through the suit, he could feel the faint vibrations running through the metal as the cutter ate into the hatch. Small fragments broke loose and drifted away, tumbling weightlessly through the air. He paused every few seconds to reposition himself, careful not to put unnecessary pressure on the hull.
Then the seam finally gave.
The hatch shifted by barely an inch and something spilled through the opening. Grace instinctively recoiled.
A cloud of reddish-brown powder drifted out of the submarine, spreading in slow, weightless tendrils. Tiny pieces of metal came with it, shards, flakes, bits of corroded debris from the hull itself, turning lazily in the light of his helmet lamp.
It had collected in the corners of the hatch, mixed with dust and whatever else had been shaken loose inside. Some of it was almost black. Other patches were a dark, colored red, clinging stubbornly to the interior surfaces.
Darn it, was that rust?
He watched the particles float past his visor before remembering himself. The suit's filtration system was sealed, the suit itself acted as armor so he wouldn’t need to worry about a tetanus cut, but he still moved his head away from the cloud on instinct.
Rust would really not be great in a vessel entirely made of steel, if it had been there for a long time it could mean that the guy had sounded so weak because he was suffering from Welders Lung or some kind of infection.
Grace widened the opening and more of the powder escaped.
He cut through the remaining sections of the hatch and pulled the metal inward. It came loose with a sudden jerk, sending another shower of debris drifting through the compartment.
Grace froze.
The first thing he took in was the damage.
Panels had been torn from the walls. Cables hung loose from the ceiling, slowly swaying in the absence of gravity. Equipment had broken free of its mounts and floated amongst the wreckage.
The interior of the submarine was dark, only illuminated by Mary’s lights.
There was red everywhere.
Not one clean, identifiable pool, but layers of it. Dark, dried stains coated sections of the floor and walls, some of them almost brown beneath the dim light. Other patches were still wet, catching the light in dull reflections as they shifted slightly with the movement of the submarine. Red had soaked into the seams between floor panels and collected beneath equipment. There were streaks across the walls, smears over the controls, and scattered fragments of metal lying among it all. The powder he'd seen outside had clearly come from inside.
Grace stared.
No.
No, it wasn't blood.
It couldn't be.
There was simply too much of it.
His brain kept trying to categorize it as something else, desperately searching through every chemical, industrial, mechanical possibility he knew while trying to ignore the pungent smell of copper and rot. Some kind of hydraulic fluid or a coolant maybe. Oxidized material. Paint.
Anything.
But there was simply too much.
At the center of the compartment was a man.
He was lying completely still.
For one horrible second Grace thought he was dead until he saw the faint movement of his chest.
"Jesus Christ."
The stranger was unconscious, sprawled awkwardly across the floor, the only reason he wasn’t floating around appeared to be that he had dried into the floor. His clothes were soaked and stained with the same red that surrounded him, and more of it covered his exposed skin. His face was pale beneath the grime. One arm was simply-
Grace's eyes caught on the empty space.
His brain registered what he was seeing.
Then he looked away.
"Nope-"
His stomach lurched and he quickly backed out of the hatch and pressed one hand against the side of his helmet.
"Grace?"
Rocky's voice came uncertainly through the communicator.
Grace swallowed.
"Stay back."
"Grace?"
"I mean it. Don't come over here. I’m okay-"
He looked inside again.
The sight was somehow worse the second time.
The submarine's interior seemed impossibly small now. Every surface was covered with evidence that something had happened here, something violent enough to leave the entire compartment transformed into a place Grace's mind refused to process. The stranger looked as though he'd been there for a long time, abandoned in the wreckage of whatever had happened.
Grace's throat tightened and he quickly ripped his helmet back as far as the suit would allow and vomited.
He stayed there for several seconds, breathing hard afterward, eyes squeezed shut.
"Okay."
His voice shook.
"Okay. He's alive." then louder. “He’s alive Rocky!”
"You're getting out." Grace couldn’t help but repeat.
He moved, dodging his floating vomit in the process, and grabbed a second pair of plastic gloves, then another. He pulled the first pair over his existing gloves, securing them tightly around the wrists. He found several heavy plastic protective covers in the emergency supplies and pulled them over his boots, fastening them as best he could with zip ties.
It was ridiculous and probably inadequate. He also grabbed one of the Hail Mary's emergency rescue straps and pushed himself right into the submarine.
Inside, he tried moving slowly, avoiding putting his hands down whenever possible. Avoided the larger patches of red. Avoided the scattered metal fragments.
Up close, the man looked even worse.
Not because of the blood (though that did cause another lurch in Grace’s stomach).
But because he looked so young.
Not young enough to be a child, obviously, but young enough that Grace's brain kept insisting there had to be some mistake. Someone like him, maybe ten years younger than Grace himself, shouldn't have been lying unconscious in the middle of a submarine floating through space.
His hair was long and black but it was full of dried… It was hard to tell for sure.
Grace crouched beside him.
"Hey."
No response.
"You okay?"
Still nothing.
Grace pulled the rescue strap free and worked it underneath the man's upper back as carefully as he could. It took several attempts since his clothing was almost tethered to the floor. The man was limp, which somehow made everything more difficult rather than easier. Every time Grace tried to shift him, his body moved independently of itself, forcing Grace to stop and reposition his hands.
"Sorry."
He didn't know whether he was talking to the guy or himself.
Eventually he managed to get the strap around his torso and secured it across his own chest.
Grace checked it twice.
Then he clipped his own tether to the rescue strap.
"Okay."
He looked toward the hatch.
"Rocky, I'm bringing him out."
"Rocky ready. Activate Centrifuge question?"
“Yup, I’ll tell you when.”
Grace anchored one boot against a handhold on the floor and pulled on the rescue strap.
The man moved but not easily. His body slid a few centimeters across the floor before catching against something beneath him.
Grace stopped immediately. He looked down to see a piece of twisted metal had caught on the clothing. He freed him carefully and heaved his body up a bit so he was floating a bit higher.
The submarine was built for people who could use their legs and balance themselves. Grace, and the unconscious man, could do neither at the moment. Every movement had to be supplied by Grace, and every time the body shifted, Grace had to make sure he wasn't catching against another piece of debris.
It took several minutes just to reach the hatch.
Grace's breathing had become heavy inside his helmet.
He looked at the opening and determined that the guy would fit. Probably. The problem was getting him through without letting his body catch on the rim.
Grace went through first and moved himself into position beside the hatch, securing his own tether to a handhold. Then he pulled Simon toward him until his shoulders were close to the opening.
"Okay."
Grace reached through the hatch with one hand and caught the external rescue line. He clipped it to Simon's harness so there were two connections now. Grace moved back inside and carefully started to move the man through.
His shoulders reached the hatch.
And stopped.
The man's clothing had caught on the lower edge.
"Come on."
He couldn't pull harder. Not with the body pressed against the metal. Instead Grace shifted his position and carefully lifted the man's shoulder just enough to free the fabric.
There. The obstruction released!
He moved him another few centimeters and the stranger's torso cleared the hatch. Grace paused and changed position, bracing himself against the submarine's exterior wall.
Then he pushed again and the man slid further. His legs caught briefly on the hatch rim but Grace was quick to free them one at a time.
Finally, the entire body was outside.
"Got you." Grace exhaled.
The man drifted in the air, completely limp. Slowly, carefully, he guided him toward the door of the airlock and Grace secured the rescue harness to the wall.
“Rock’ activate it!”
Rocky responded immediately and Grace watched as the pressure gauge sank to zero and then slowly rose again
"Come on."
The numbers climbed as Grace watched the unmoving man, his hair fell as Mary centered itself and gravity started to take effect. Grace too slumped to the floor.
"Come on."
The pressure reached safe levels.
The inner door unlocked and he quickly opened it.
"Rocky, medical."
"Armando ready."
Grace released the restraints.
He couldn't carry Simon, years in space and Erid had done a number on his legs, instead he dragged the rescue harness along the floor, using the corridor's handholds to pull himself forward while keeping Simon secured to the harness.
It was awkward and slow, but it worked.
Armando was already waiting when they reached the medical area.
Grace barely had time to step aside before the medical equipment came alive around them. Amadeo began cutting away Simon's damaged clothing and carefully cleaning the contamination from his skin… his shoulder. The wound was ragged and muscle and bone was barely visible through the thick coat of blood dried around it.
Grace looked away.
He didn't need another look at what had happened to the man's arm.
"Rocky."
"Yes."
"Seal off access to the submarine again, that thing has got to be a biohazard."
Rocky hesitated. "Undock question?"
"No." Grace looked back toward the hatch. "Don't undock."
"Why question? Submarine leaky submarine disgust disgust disgust."
"As much as I agree with you-, we don't know what happened in there." He stared at the wall, he couldn’t see through it like his friend but he knew it was there. "Let’s just leave it until the guy can tell us more, yeah?"
Rocky's limbs moved toward the controls.
"Access sealed."
"Good."
"Submarine remains connected."
"Good good good, thanks."
Grace finally let himself breathe and the adrenaline began draining out of him.
Armando continued working.
Rocky had secured the connection.
The man was alive.
Grace looked down at himself. His gloves were covered in red and so were his boots. The plastic coverings he'd tied around them were streaked and smeared, and there was a long trail across the floor where he'd dragged the man from the submarine.
Grace stared at it.
A line leading from the Hail Mary's medical area all the way back to the hatch…
︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆⭑ ๋࣭ ︶꒷꒦︶
Simon woke to the peculiar sensation of having no weight.
For several seconds, he couldn't understand it.
There was no metal beneath him, no floor, no familiar pressure against his back. His body seemed suspended in nothing.
Then the pain arrived.
It wasn't one sharp point, but a dull, spreading ache that seemed to occupy his entire body. His ribs hurt when he tried to breathe. Something in his shoulder throbbed relentlessly. His head felt heavy despite the rest of him being weightless, and there was a deep, nauseating soreness somewhere in his abdomen.
Simon tried to move and a quiet sound escaped him. Immediately, something moved nearby. Simon tried to open his eyes but they wouldn't cooperate.
His eyelids lifted only a fraction before exhaustion dragged them down again. Through the narrow slit, he caught fragments of the world around him: a pale light, metal, the dark shape of something moving above him.
There was a noise and something got sprayed and Simon flinched, his shoulder burning even more before it too felt weightless.
Simon tried to remember.
He’d been in the SM-13.
The tree sapling.
The black box.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
He remembered noise. A violent jolt. Metal screaming around him. The Eel, the Light, the Eye-.
His thoughts slipped.
He couldn't tell how long he'd been just laying there in the nothingness. Minutes. Hours. Days.
His eyes closed again but there was another noise, a door opening, and he willed himself to stay awake.
“-the last time, stay put please. Armando just notified me that he's conscious, not necessarily lucid.”
There was a melodic sound, before the mechanical whir of a door closing shut it out. Simon tried to keep himself as still as possible as footsteps drew nearer and nearer.
Something stopped beside him.
A voice spoke.
“Hey.”
Simon couldn't answer. His eyes opened a fraction with a flutter.
There was a different shape above him now. Dark against the light. A face, perhaps, though Simon couldn't make out any features. Everything seemed to swim in and out of focus, shifting whenever he tried to look directly at it.
“Can you hear me?”
Simon blinked.
Once.
He wasn't sure if that was an answer but the figure seemed to lean closer.
“My name's Grace.”
Grace.
The name floated somewhere through Simon's mind and he tried to attach it to something.
A person.
A place.
A memory.
Nothing came.
His mouth opened, but nothing came out except a weak, rasping breath. Grace's voice seemed to grow farther away.
“Don't try to talk. You're badly hurt, you’ve been out for four days now.”
Simon stared vaguely at the shape above him.
The last thing Simon registered was the faint movement of something near his shoulder and Grace's voice, distant and indistinct.
“You're safe.” the man said.
Safe.
What a bunch of bullshit.