Chapter Text
Prologue:
Almost immediately after entering the Hail Mary, Commander Yao and engineering specialist Ilyukhina set up Ryland Grace’s medical bed. It didn’t require much work from them. All Yao had to do was remove Grace’s clothing, place him on top of the bed, then say, “Computer, initiate coma procedure for bed three.” He and specialist Ilyukhina watched as the machine began sticking various tubes into Grace, to make sure it was behaving correctly. When Ilyukhina’s turn came, Yao would watch the computer hook her up as well, then he would give the final command for the computer to put him under.
They had quite a few last-minute checks to perform on the Hail Mary before starting the ship on its course and getting into their own beds, but before they could start their checks, Yao had to carry out one last instruction from Stratt.
“She told me I must program the computer to give Grace an anti-anxiety drug before waking him up,” Yao said. “She said due to his lack of training he would need all the help he could get to remain calm.”
“They should have drugged all of us,” Ilyukhina said as Yao entered information on the drug into the computer. “We’ll all experience stress out there, and we all have to be calm. It feels unfair that he gets the drug and we don’t.”
Yao said nothing. He suspected the real reason for the drug had less to do with Grace’s lack of training and more to do with his personality. Astronauts were usually chosen partly for their ability to remain calm under stress, and Grace had never struck Yao as a particularly calm person, although he was pleasant to work with. Due to the Astrophage accident, Grace had become the best choice for the mission despite his personality, and Yao was glad he had risen to the task.
When prompted to add a container of the drug to the medical system’s storage, Yao opened the bag Stratt had ordered packed with a few final items for their trip, only to find that the packet containing the drug had been punctured. Liquid soaked the other items in the bag. It was sticky. Yao cursed in Chinese.
“What is it?” asked Ilyukhina. “What’s wrong?”
“This was the packet containing the drug,” Yao said, holding the empty, ripped packet up for her to see.
“Fuck,” Ilyukhina said.
Yao sighed. “I suppose Grace will just have to do without it now. I believe he’ll be able to handle the mission even without it. He was brave enough to volunteer at the last minute, after all.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. If he’s too uptight we can always give him some of my vodka to help him loosen up.”
Yao shook his head at the joke, then went back to business. “We have to clean up the mess left by the spill, then start our pre mission checks.” He canceled the computer’s instructions to administer the extra drug, and he and his crew mate got to work.
Four years later, ship's time, near the Tau Ceti System:
“What’s two plus two?”
Why am I being asked that question? I’m tired. I drift back to sleep. Then I hear the voice again.
“What’s two plus two?”
Same intonation. Same lack of emotion. It’s a computer. Probably Lamai’s medical machine. Oh crap!
I remember where I am and the panic sets in. I’m in the Hail Mary. I’m in space. I’m lightyears from Earth and there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel my breathing speed up. I try to pull my hands into fists but I can’t move them. I try to wiggle my feet. Once again nothing happens. I’m paralyzed.
“What’s two plus two?” the computer says again. I ignore it. I just lie here for a while, unable to do anything else.
What if something went wrong with the coma and I never get back my ability to move? That would serve Stratt right. Your science specialist is useless because he can’t move. Earth is screwed. So much for all your talk about the greater good.
“What’s two plus two?” The computer’s repetitive question is annoying, especially now when I’m already upset. It won’t go away unless I can answer it. I try, but my mouth doesn’t work right and all that comes out are unintelligible noises. Well, dang it. I try again. Still bad, but closer to the word “four.” Finally, after a few more tries, I get close enough for the computer to recognize my answer. Good, maybe now it’ll leave me in peace.
“What’s the cube root of eight?”
Again? I groan.
“Incorrect. What’s the cube root of eight?”
“Two,” I manage to say.
“Correct.”
I wait for the next question, but nothing comes.
I try to open my eyes, but they don’t work either, or at least, not mostly. Finally, I do get them opened, but I can’t see anything at first. Then slowly the cameras and the robot arms come into focus. Yep, this is definitely Lamai’s machine.
I’m going to die. I feel my eyes tear up. This is it. This ship is the last thing I’ll ever see. This is the end.
Oh, pull yourself together, Ryland. Crying won’t make you any less dead. I tell myself this, but it doesn’t help. After a while though, I do feel myself starting to calm down. I’m still exhausted. I feel myself drifting back to sleep, and I let it happen. Anything to forget where I am.
Wait a minute. Why do I remember where I am in the first place? Stratt was supposed to give me an amnesia drug. I guess those French intelligence agents must have ripped her off. Huh.
Finally, I fall asleep again.
I wake up, and find out I can move my fingers now.
“Hand movement detected,” says the computer. “Remain still.”
The robot arms reach down and start pulling out most of my tubes. I expect it to hurt but it doesn’t. When they’ve finished with me I start to get up. It takes a lot of effort. Oh, yeah, I’m at one and a half Gs here. That sucks.
I sit up, then look down at my body. I’m muscular now. That’s weird. I wasn’t exactly fat before, but I wasn’t in great shape either. Now I am. Benefits of coma monitoring, I guess.
I look around the room. I can see the other two beds, and sort of but not really see Yao and Ilyukhina. Neither of them appear to have moved. That’s weird. The computer shouldn’t have woken me up first, right? I mean, I’m not in charge here. I’m the third person on the crew. If any of us was going to wake up first, it should have been Yao.
I swing a leg over the side of the bed. It wobbles. The arms position themselves to catch me if I fall, but that’s not necessary.
“Full body motion detected. What’s your name?”
“Pfft, seriously?”
“Incorrect. Attempt number two. What’s your name?”
“Ryland Grace,” I say, wondering when the computer will stop pestering me.
“Correct.”
I ease up from the bed, but I have to stop short of fully standing up because the catheter attaching me to the medical system reaches its limit. Can I safely take it out? At some point, the computer will do that for me, right?
I look across the room from my crouched over position, then turn away quickly. Yao and Ilyukhina are dead, their bodies rotted in their beds.
I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up. I sit back down on the bed. After a bit my stomach calms down.
They’re dead. I’m alone in space. I’m the sole survivor 12 lightyears from home, and for the first time I realize that I’m not just going to die out here. I’m going to die alone.