Chapter Text
Graces’ comm was going insane. He hated waking up like this- it was always a shock to the nerves and generally put him in an off mood all day. It sounded pretty bad- barely intelligible, but pretty enthusiastic. It did, however, have a breathy quality to it, so whoever had hijacked the comm-link probably hadn't been awake long, either.
He cracks an eye and instead of the usual view from his bunk in his broom-closet cabin (space for a twin bed, with some shelves above, and a door leading to a small common area he shared with Doctor Favis, a squirrely guy who hummed incessantly. Not a conventional arrangement but he wasn't about to complain.) he is greeted by the med bay on Theta Ceti-A. He's on his side, facing away from the door.
Wakefulness side eyed him as he snuffled against the horrible med-issue pillow, and tried to ignore everything in favour of blissful sleep. The sound of talking , however, did not cease.
He noticed, unbelievably, that the voice was of the Vulcan man from … yesterday. Yesterday, and the memory of what that entailed, came back to him cruelly and he squeezed his eyes closed so hard that a bloom of purple erupted behind his eyelids, which did little to assuage the crawl of anxiety it triggered.
The Vulcan from before, Rock, was talking to himself. Or perhaps, he was talking to Grace. Whether he was aware of Graces' consciousness was anybodys guess, but in any case it seemed that the stranger was content to chitter away. Grace hadn't heard much spoken Vulcan in his life- despite having a number of colleagues from that particular alien persuasion. It was just that they were always speaking in standard, and even the indication of an accent was swept away surreptitiously by the marvellous engineering of the universal translators.
In fact- Grace realised, it had been long since he had been around any other languages at all. He knew some mandarin, because it was pretty much a secondary de-facto lingua-franca in some places on Earth prime, and he had been taught it at school. There was also the smatterings of other alien tongues here and there, but nothing consistent enough to justify fluency. His specialty was exo-molecular biology, for goodness sake, and in the past eight years; Teaching children and explaining sciency things to higher ups, definitely not communication and linguistics.
Thus, Grace permitted himself some, ahem, grace in permitting himself the opportunity to let the language wash over him.
It was highly melodic, quite a beautiful language. Maybe a little different than the vulcan he recalled hearing before- perhaps a regional dialect? Such a thing wasn't a total impossibility, he supposed.
The ebbs and mellifluous tone of Rocks’ heady timbre was occasionally accompanied by a rolling r, or a glotular roll that sounded effortlessly like it was emanating from deep in the throat.
Sounds kinda french, thought Grace. Oui oui. Très illogicál.
He snorted.
The soft chatter halted immediately, and Grace mourned its soporific demise.
Oh well.
Grace turned in the cot to face Rock. He was in the same clothing as before, and held the singed remains of Grace's deceased comm in one hand, and an insanely sharp pair of pincers in the other, clearly rooting in its circuitry for something.
“You are awake?”
“I am now,” said Grace through a stretch, which he immediately aborted.
Yesterday he must've been on some crazy drugs, because the full force of discomfort was raining down on him. All of his muscles felt as if they had gone ten rounds against a farengi who just found out you rinsed him. Which is to say; unbearable agony.
Grace hisses through his teeth.
“Best to be still or less moving for a time. Bad injuries.” Fusses Rock, putting down his mechanical project and standing from the seat he had placed at Grace’s bedside.
“Yeah, I’m getting that,”. Sitting up very slowly, he peeled back the white sheet covering him, and took stock of his body.
Long story short: Not great!
Whatever had happened had caused some very ugly looking abrasions and burns to his legs; an angry blemish that seems to have wormed its way around his left leg and up beneath his shirt. His trousers were gone, which he didn't particularly care for , but looking at the damage, it was probably for the best.
His right ankle was in an old fashioned boot brace, and a makeshift cast on his left shin.
“Don't you have osteogenics here?” Frankly, Grace was shocked into a bit of a stupor looking at the state of this medical treatment- it was almost ancient. Any decent med bay could knit a bone like this back together in a minute.
“Yes, but do not work on this injury.”
“What? Whaddya mean? It's a broken bone not a … I don't know! Just- do you need help working it or-” grace gestured at his legs like they offended him. He saw his arm again and considered the bandages- how old fashioned are these guys? Or ... guy. Given that the others were ‘gone’, whatever that meant.
Rock sighed and put his hands on his hips, looking up at the ceiling in frustration.
“-It is because of – gah! Do not have the words! Same reason why you have injury is why tech not work well. We cannot Stimulate cell growth, because cell growth denatured.”
Molecular biologist Ryland Grace paled.
“My cells are what? WHAT?” He started patting his own body frantically, almost expecting the skin to start sloughing off any second. Evidently, something was lost in translation, because Rock raised his hands in a placating stance.
“No no no! Maybe wrong word! Not entirely sure why- is what I have tried to explain, to learn, for these many years!”
Grace stilled, barely.
“Something on this planet, maybe in air or atmosphere, it eats at what comes through. Is my theory.”
“Wh- okay. Uhhhhh, soo-” graces voice is unsteady but he laughed a little anxiously, “am I uh, okay?”.
“Hmm. I think so. Not sure . Will have to wait and see.” He said, Gravely.
“I don't want to wait and see!” Grace said, his voice rising a good few octaves.
“You are being unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable!” He hissed, his hands thrust out to the side,“Unreasonable is not the word appropriate for ‘yeah you may or may not be DYING but whooo cares?!’” He says with a flourish of almost musical quality at the end, sounding like he cares very much.
Rock reflects for a moment.
“Yes. Maybe not unreasonable,”he wilts, looking a little anxious, “-It would be negative for you to be… not okay.”
Grace pinched his brow, feeling the ghost of a headache remembering how much it liked to haunt him up there,
“Filling me with lotsa hope here, Rocky.”.
“You will have to be careful for many days. Not clear if maybe will be able to use osteo device in time. Seem that you more stable than others.”
No shvanz, sherlock. The others are freaking deli meat right now!
Grace teared up, remembering himself and the severity of the situation.
“Oh . You are . Face leaking again.”
Grace laughed wetly and took one look at Rock's concerned face, drawing his brow into an earnest crease. He promptly let his head fall into his hands
“Yup, leaking away, thats me. They call me the Leaker.” Croaked Grace, smiling bitterly into the heels of his palms as he dragged them across his face.
“How… unfortunate.” He replied softly.
“Tell me about it,”
If Grace had been looking, he would have seen a vulcan dance of ‘pulling oneself together’ occurring next to him.
“Oh. I see. I will.”
Grace looked up, the last of his tearfulness dried away by confusion. Ah, human language quirks, will you ever cease to amaze.
“-While you sleep I read information on Standard language. Stupid language that I hate, but necessary because human mind-” he gestures magnanimously to graces skull, “too weak to learn beautiful Vulcan language. Even if could learn would sound ugly. More ugly than standard even! Apology, i am distracted. Yes we must talk posthaste, about everything! Is a great emergency,”
This guy didn't know the word for bandage but is casually sprinkling in posthaste? I don't know why I was ever doubting if he was Vulcan.
“I must know why you are here. Must know- are others arriving? Make contact somehow? I try but cannot.”
“Er. I mean, how long have I been here?”
Rock made a face and glanced over to the chronometer, looking frustrated for some reason.
“I think maybe 20 earth hours. Not sure- I am basing estimate upon electro Magnetic flare.”
Grace flittered for a moment.
“My transport beam?”
Rock nodded, “It is most likely not coincidence.”
Grace thumbed at the bedsheet. “Well, in that case, we should've probably heard something by now. Away teams have to report to the bridge every few hours at least. One standard rotation without contact is generally cause for alarm.”
Rock tilted his head, his own hands fidgeting absentmindedly. Grace couldn't recall ever seeing a vulcan so agitated.
“Would not have been 20 hours on your ship. Much much less.”
“Um, not sure about that pal.”
“Yes, we discussed yesterday. 13 year into 6 months. Time not normal here.”
This was… not unprecedented, given that he recalled something of that ilk being said the day before, but frankly he was hoping it was a weird effect of pain killers and whatever weirder effect the failed transport had done to his memory.
“Well, that's… not… possible-” He began, not sounding convinced by his own voice.
“We already spoke about this. Is impossible, yes, but is also happening, so? What. Yes, we must keep on working!”
Shaking his head, Grace considered the implications, and then stilled as something occurred to him.
“How long do you think has passed… up… there” , He poked a finger upwards.
“If calculations of my late colleague are accurate… perhaps 43 minutes, approximately.”
Mmmm nope nope nope.
“Okay, so,” Grace ran a hand through his hair. It was crumbly with some substance he would rather not think about. He panted desperately.,”We just have to wait a couple days, right, and then they'll send someone else down.”
Rock vehemently shook his head, and crossed his arms, a stern shadow on his face.
“We cannot allow them to do that.”
“Okay, um, lets table that and circle back to it but uh,” He waggled his fingers and looked around for a glimmer of inspiration , “okay lets just uh, send a message.” He shrugged anxiously, and looked hopeful for affirmation.
Rock rolled his eyes.
“We cannot do that.”
Grace throws his hands up.
“Why not!”
“Messages,” says Rock, slowly, “Not. Received.”
“Okay, and how do you know that?”
“I send distress call out 13 years ago. The response came 1 years ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“What was the response?”
“was ‘Messages unclear, please repeat.’”
“Oh.”
“You understand dilemma”
There were endless reasons why a message or signal could be lost or scrambled. Interference was one, or… well . There were simply too many factors to make a concise conclusion without knowing more.
“Not sure. I'm still a bit ah sticky on some bits. So, your transmitter is broken? I mean-”
“Cannot let more people into atmosphere because atmosphere kill most people entering.” Snaps Rock.
“Oh.”
“You say oh very much..”
“Hm.” Grace nods absently .
Alright, so, what's going on? Stuck on a remote Theta planet with an atmosphere like the Cambrian period- an atmosphere that apparently does some cellular electrical tomfoolery with whatever goes through it-; he can't send out a distress message because either something is wrong with the transmitter or something is wrong with physics; all his team are dead, and the only other guy on the entire planet speaks broken Standard and , oh, yeah, everyone he was supposed to have with him are also, presumably, dead as hell. This is all wrapped up in a neat bow of amnesia.
“What do you think is happening, man , I just . I don't even know where to begin with this! I can't even remember why I'm here!”
“Memory still impaired?”
“Yeah. Still. It's- it's all a mess. You did check for concussion-right? Im feeling very concussed”
Rock took a deep breath, and looked off in thought. He does that a lot.
“Might be the atmosphere. The unknown factor. If it damages cells, maybe… damaged brain? Electrical signals also disrupt by factor. Brain is electric system. So, maybe …”
Rock gestured with his hands in a rolling, up and down ‘maybe?’ Gesture, which Grace mimicked.
“Maybe…?”
Rock shrugged.
“I do not know.”
“What else do you know about it- the effects on cells, I mean.”
Rock started pacing, and a niggle of jealousy at his flagrant bipedal abilities blows a raspberry.
“Cells are in a state of… time unstable. Freeze, but not cold, not die i think,
“Instability? Maybe whatever causes this is like some kind of botulinum? A bacteria?”
“I thought maybe too, but I am no scientist. Cannot research well. Do not know where to start. Many failures."
He looks down, frowning.
“I thought… maybe help would come..”
Unexpectedly, a sudden protective feeling came over Grace. This was at the very least his area of expertise.
“Oh, well, I'm a scientist- a molecular biologist, actually-”
“What did you say?” Grace looked up from where he had been fumbling the edge of a blanket and was met with a face of almost threatening intensity.
“Um, yeah. I have a PHD in molecular biology, hah.”
Rock just stared at him.
“Heh,”
“Why you NOT SAY!?”
“I dont know! Um,” Grace grimaced, and put his hands on his thighs, palm up, as if to say ‘I mean look at the state of me. I'm medium rare’,
“I was busy?” He added, sheepishly.
“Busy! Busy he say -!” Followed by an aggressive tirade of what grace is almost certain is an eloquent torrent of very rude remarks.
As interesting as the conversation was, it was doing little to really make sense of the situation. Both were still somewhat adrift with each other.
Well, they arent busy with Grace's injuries now.
“I think we need proper introductions, or , um set the scene. You still haven't really described what happened here?”.
Rock once again did that odd ‘self collection’ stillness, like he was manually resetting every part of his body.
“Yes. This is true, but it is also will be a difficult conversation. Would maybe be better after you eat? You need to give full attention , and already unwell so… human mealtime.”
In the face of everything, Grace hadn't given much of a mind to his appetite, but at the mention of food he salivates unbidden and the hole in his stomach makes itself known.
The meal was stilted, but certainly helped clear the air. Grace couldn't say he loved the plomeek soup that The Vulcan had appeared with in the doorway, complete with nicely arranged cutlery and enamel spoon, but at Rocky's silent insistence he drank it dutifully. To Grace's confusion, Rock politely declined to eat with Grace, but still sat at his side and watched him drink it directly from the bowl with thinly veiled disapproval.
It was odd how clingy Rock was. Since he had awoken- and probably all through his unconsciousness, he had been glued to Graces’ side. It was like he was worried he might disappear if he looked away for too long. There was an undercurrent of clear distress in the way Rock looked at him, even when he was just doing absolutely naff all- like prodding around unknown vegetable matter at the bottom of the bowl with a fork. He had looked up and Rock was just flatly and unrepentantly staring at him. Grace smiled back.
Clearly thirteen years of isolation would induce a level of neuroticism in even the best adjusted humans. Grace never considered that the same could occur with vulcans, as stoic and strong as they seemed, although he kicked himself for presupposing what he clearly knew nothing about. He often saw clear emotional depth in his vulcan colleagues, as mortified as they might be to hear it, but he had assumed that it was probably projection of what his human mind was trying to unearth in a recognisable face.
With a now satiated appetite, Grace moved to leave the cot, swinging his legs over the edge in one excruciating swoop. There was a lot to do, maths and, just, so much. Grace wasn't exactly an idle man, but it was making him feel worse to just do nothing in the face of everything. This escapade was interrupted by the scrape of a chair as he heard Rocky storm over.
“No, no , no. Bad. Stupid human. Get back in bed now. Bones fucked up- you cannot walk on them, why - illogical!”
Grace elected to ignore Rocks rather rude language, and continued angling his legs off of the cot. He had walked on them before, yesterday- for quite a while(probably). What was gently standing on them going to do?
He's so fussy.
“No! Are you well?” Spluttered Rock, and whether he meant mentally or physically was anyone's guess.
“I think we established that earlier, right?”
With that, he pushed off of the bed, and crumpled immediately, a falsetto scream ringing through the room as he fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Distantly he recalled learning the magical effects of adrenaline and cursed his endocrine system for giving him false hope. His body ached all over, and now his knees were bruised, too.
Rock sighs.
“Wait there, Grace.”
“On the floor?!” He spluttered back .
“Is where you chose to be! Is where you stay for now!
“I don't want to be on the floor, man! C’mon”, Grace made to throw his hands up on the cot so he could try and stand.
“Do Not move! Do not move or-” grace looked up through his fringe with a raised brow, and saw rock practically vibrating, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“-I will be very upset!” He announced with an angry nod and a wagging finger.
“Im shaking in my boots.”
Rock straightened and turned on his heel, sounding satisfied as he spoke.
“You would be. Your leg joints too damaged to take weight. Maybe floor is safest for you. Cant fall flat if you are already at the bottom.”
“Yeah, well.” Argues grace, petulantly.
“I will get a crutch. Then we can see the lab and talk astro-.”
—---------
“-phage?”
“Well, thats about the jist of it, Yep” Grace popped the P with a resounding pop.
Captain Stratt regarded him blankly, as was her usual countenance. Lokken clears her throat awkwardly in the seat next to him.
“Um, so it eats stars, so-”
“I know what astrophage means, Doctor.”
Just Grace is fine, but she insists. “Uh . Of course, yeah.”
The meeting room is chilly, and smelled musty in the same way as all meeting rooms do. The absence of overhead lighting is, however, a relief.
Grace fumbles with his datapad and brings up an image of an astrophage cell on the wall.
In attendance is The Captain, Stratt, lieutenant commander Carl, Officer Ilyukhina, Officer Lokken, and officer Dubois. Grace is feeling very un-officer like.
“So when we looked at the sample- or I did- because nobody else wanted to-”
“Doctor Grace-”
“Sorry. Um. It's a cell, right. But its behaviour is super weird,”
“Doctor grace, this meeting is regarding our current issue at hand. Not that we are not thankful for your commitment to presenting this information, there is a more pressing matter to attend, and I apologise for misleading you this way.”
Grace fumbles, and looks over to his (friend) The chief of operations, Carl, sat to Stratts left. The man simply shrugs slightly and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Grace feels a bubble of frustration. Help a guy out, here.
Stratt sighs heavily “I am giving you security clearance to this classified information under section B of the Clandestine Action Protocol 2,”
Ohh, That doesn't sound good.
“-This star, Eidan, is not the only one affected. There is a clear pattern of infection between stars in this system, all but this one.”
Stratt summons a hologram of a star chart, and uses her stylus to spin a circle around a little cluster of stars, letting out a punctuative little “woop woop” .
“Tau-ceti?” The leisure system?
“A star in cetus, Theta Ceti,”
Theta Ceti? That's pretty remote. Probably as remote as you can get in the Alpha quadrant.
“What you know ,Doctor , is that nine months ago you were at the fore of this discovery at my behest,”
Grace remembered well. The mission seemed conventional from his ambivalent perspective , as missions often were. On one day after his junior class had concluded, the Captain had ambushed him and commandeered his expertise in helping the planet Eidan, a small and recent federation addition, just fringing the beta quadrant.
What had begun as a normal ambassadorial cultural outreach had devolved into a worrying revelation that their star had been dimming.
Grace honestly felt quite confused as to why the captain insisted on asking him to help with science issues like this- as she had done frequently.
(“Darn it Stratt , I'm a teacher, not a science officer!” to which she didn't even dignify a response)
On this occasion the discovery of an unknown species fluttering in a foreboding red-I-light line between the star and an otherwise unremarkable planet in the system was enough to silence his weak protestation.
The Eidani people themselves- who resembled five legged rock spiders and lived in a scalding Ammonia rich atmosphere, were compliant enough. Grace had even met some on the starship, dressed in weird Glassy bodysuits and singing away near constantly. They were charming but blunt, and seemed legitimately scandalised whenever Grace snuck a snack in meetings. Also, on one occasion, an Eidani grace dubbed ‘Ricky’ had collapsed into a heap. Another Eidani (named Bonk) had assured Grace that the person in question had just fallen asleep by accident because they were so excited.
After all was said and done, the matter wasn't technically resolved, but the thick atmosphere of Eidan frankly meant that they had a grand eighty years before they were in any deep trouble.
At the time, Grace had been frustrated by the turn of events, but it was out of their hands. The USS Mary moved on.
“You know that your findings were distributed, that they were corroborated, and that they were handed off to the Vulcan school of Science and Technology?”
“Um,”
“What you do not know, is that some months later, Vulcan sent a ship to investigate the Cetus sector, Around the star system known as Theta Ceti, they discovered the breeding planet and ‘petrova line’ contiguous with the pattern seen in the local infected stars, but saw no dimming on Theta Ceti itself. The scientists elected to settle on the surface to carry out their mission and explore the planet further, as a potential outpost location.” Stratt settled her hands placidly on her lap.
“Okay?”
“That was almost five months ago. Nothing has been heard from them since the signal of their arrival was received.”
Assistant Chief Engineer Ilyukhina, a good humoured Klingon, interrupted, "Nothing but for a mangled signal blast that was detected by a long wave scanner on a very private leisure vessel that happened to be in a neighbouring system two weeks ago.”
She waggled her eyebrows provocatively at the word ‘private’. Lokken rolls her eyes.
“The severity of the situation has been understated until now to preserve peace. Already, another neighbouring star has presented decreased luminance. The peril this organism poses to the wellbeing of the federation is unspeakable. Billions of lives are at risk.”
“The group themselves are at the heart of this issue. Our intervention is twofold; to determine the cause of their silence, and to provide a solution for the Petrova issue. Do you understand?”
Grace swallowed and fumbled with his datapad.
“I- uh. What are you asking me?”
“We are the closest vessel with investigative and appropriate scientific capabilities to Theta-Ceti. From our current position of 35 light years from our destination it will take 10 days at warp 9 to reach them. It also just so happens that you are the leading expert on atrophage-”
Grace’s face drains of colour.
“Doctor Grace, with your expertise, if you could brief the science team on your personal findings-”
—
The memory floated back . Grace dazedly came to himself, and hoped that he hadn't passed out again, but glancing around it seemed he was still exactly where he was before; Slumped miserably on the floor. With no trousers on.
Rock, who had evidently left during his reverie, emerged again from the Bay doors, holding two suspiciously home made crutches .
“Observe! I have these walking aids,” Rock leant them gently against the cot, within Grace's reach.
“Did you make those just now?”
Rock raises an eyebrow and an incredulous smile ghosts across his face. He stands back, contraposto and shifts his weight onto one foot casually.
“I may be a good engineer, but in 3 minutes? Maybe not that good.”
Grace fights down the beginnings of an embarrassed flush and focuses instead on clawing himself to the crutches.
Rock chews his lip and observes the pathetic performance for a moment, before he makes a decision.
Grace feels a strong arm snake its way behind his back, and a large sturdy hand at his ribcage. His right arm is swung over Rock’s neck, and Grace reluctantly accepts the assistance. Rock stands easily, taking a majority of Grace's weight, and he recalls a titbit of information about the superior strength of Vulcans.
The crutches in his grasp, grace feels as Rock extracts himself from his body. He steps away rapidly and holds his hands behind his back, then at his sides, before returning them to his back once more.
How long had it been since Rock had touched a conscious person?
“Thanks, Bud,” murmured Grace.
Rock grunted affirmatively.
The lab was, thankfully, only a room over.
-
When the Vulcan crew had arrived at Theta-Ceti Alpha-dash nine, it had appeared on viewports and windows as a swirling marble of green, orange and hints of cerulean seas below the thick, carbon rich atmosphere.
“It appears to occupy much of the pigmentation harmonious with the middle of the light spectrum. Do you concur that this may be indicative of photosynthetic organisms capable of producing sufficient oxygen?”
“If you are asking if I concur that green is a colour generally associated with plant life, and thus the carbon cycle, then yes.”
Rock was an impatient sort, compared to T’rang, who had asked that hopeless question that day. She was a young hopeful, and keen to prove herself on the mission, but also had an inclination for over elevating her lexis for the sole purpose of attempting to sound more wise. Rock privately thought that it instead made her seem more inexperienced than she already was.
It had felt so simple up there, and none onboard would say so, but it was exciting to explore the unknown. As Surak said, it was the inquisitive mind that kept one's Katra shining.
Rock didn''t think Surak ever said that, and couldn't care less about his Katra. Katras were for when you died, and Rock expected that when he is dead he shan't care all that much for mantras and aphorisms about clearing your mind. His katra will be whatever a katra becomes when it's not constrained to bodily functions- which is to say; not him anymore at all.
When the crew started dying, however, Rock was forced to confront his treacherous, unvulcanly thoughts.
The first to pass had gone so quickly as to feel more like an accident caused more by malfunction of the ship than by any outside force.
Persons on the bridge were the first, aside from the third engineer and a very inexperienced yeoman. Neither could recall anything unusual or violent occurring on entry, but as soon as the clouds gave way, they had observed all personnel double over and… fall apart. Rock had helped clear the mess at first, but regrettably could stand it no longer and retreated back to the warp core to liaise with his colleagues about possible errors.
All the while, the automated landing system had begun constructing the Base, which was both very useful, and terrible. Almost immediately, others became unwell. Contact was attempted, and a mayday was sent out, with no response.
In the first 24 hours, one quarter of the crew were dead. In 78 hours, 23 of the 43 person crew had perished. Some motions to evacuate were attempted, but many electrical systems had seemed to have been fried or damaged. Nothing unfixable in the long term, but many crucial components were lost, and time was already slipping.
There was discussion of possibly undetected Berthold Rays- the deadly radiation that had made whole systems, whole swathes of space, uninhabitable; the radiation that killed in 72 hours.
However there was no conclusive correlation between the degradation of matter in the bodies of afflicted people, and people had died much faster than expected.
The symptoms were similar, yes; hypothermic like symptoms, stinging pain, delirium, followed by either coma or a wretchedly ugly death. But also had unknown symptoms, such as confusion, muscular spasms and paralysis, visible pustulant burns, excessively dry skin, heavily dilated pupils and violent evacuation of the bowels and stomach.
So horrific was the suffering, that many could not stand to bear it and elected to be euthanised, which was not as difficult to decide when death was so seemingly imminent.
As time dragged on, the rate of death appeared to slow. After two weeks, 14 of the original crew remained. Sincere effort was made to quickly solve the crisis. In those weeks, the remaining Vulcans clung to logic then swung into anarchy and grief, before resolving to be logical and constructive until the end, alleging that though they would likely die, they must have purpose and resolve to find out why.
By the second month, Rock was alone.
Rock created five urns, twenty-seven unique elegies, twenty graves and forty-two shrines.
He hoped their Katras were peaceful.
-
Rock had described, listlessly, the demise of his crew. He hadn't volunteered much information aside from the necessary, and Grace didn't want to overstep, but still he wanted to ask.
What were their names?
Were you friends?
How long had you worked together?
Do you have family?
How did you survive?
Some questions are idiotic, and shouldn't be asked. Grace may have had his own issues to contend with, but even with the dispassionate and distant retelling that Rock gave was so unbelievably sad that Grace struggled to conceptualise it, let alone begin to imagine how Rock had kept going these thirteen years.
He looked around at the lab- filled with state of the art equipment, some not even constructed, and most,mostly untouched. Rock, apparently too anxious and grief stricken to begin to attempt to use them. It was an untouched, gift wrapped lab, and Grace was the only one here to operate it.
At some point in the dispassionate retelling, Grace had openly wept again, though this time Rock spared him no uncomfortable glance or admonishment, merely continued and stormed through despite the frog in his own throat.
He looked up from the comfortable lab chair, at Rock who was reclined in the other, his fingers steepled in his lap, anticipating a response. He looked so desperate, like Grace was holding a delicate, glass key to something and was waiting to hear the shatter of it slipping from his hands.
There was really no alternative.
The answer to everything ; why they suffered, why there was no escape, and perhaps how to escape at all, could lie in one solution. He hesitated to say, but a hopeful, terrified part of him wondered if the reason why they had all come in the first place could be the missing key- of course, it had to be. There was no other option.
“Rocky”
“Yes, Grace.”
“We can do this.”
Rock drew his brow down, and nodded enthusiastically. Grace, emboldened by the effervescent glow of potential, lifted his arm and clenched his hand into a fist, proffering it towards rocky with a half smile.
“Put it there.”
Rock’s eyes darted between his fist and Grace's face.
“What is this?”
“Its called a fist-bump, you put your fist up-” Rock raises his fist very slowly and shoots Grace a skeptical glance, his lips quirked slightly up at the side.
“And you bring 'em’ together like this!” Grace bonks his fist against Rock’s, and reels back with a silly whispered firework sound.
“Bshooooow-”