Chapter Text
A few months into our long, long road trip to Erid, I suddenly start throwing up.
I assume it was caused by my most recent effort to stretch out my food supply by choking down more coma-slurry-enriched Taumoeba, but Rocky isn't convinced. He wants to look for contamination in my food storage, or an issue with the refrigeration system, but there isn't much he can do to troubleshoot from his side of the barrier. He keeps trying to get me to help, but I am not up to it, given the overwhelming nausea and how much my stomach hurts. Like, really hurts. Especially my right side, down low --
And that is when I get very, very worried.
I'm scrunched up on the bed I came out of the coma in, the one with the robot arms looming over it. I was hoping they'd be helpful, but they've mostly ignored me and occasionally asked if I would like some anti-nausea medication. Rocky is scampering around somewhere in storage, trying to detect a refrigerant leak.
I press my fingers into my eyes and croak, "Rocky... I might know what's going on. And it could be bad bad bad."
I hear him stop moving. "Tell me."
"I don't think it has to do with my food. I think it's... one of my organs."
The tnk-tnk-tnk of his skittering starts to move my direction. "Explain."
"Humans have a long, fleshy tube through our bodies that processes our food. Like, thirty feet long. And at one point in the tube, there's a little organ called the appendix attached to it. And my appendix is... sick. And it's making me sick."
Rocky has made his way back over to me. I look up at him pathetically. He's standing perfectly still, perfectly focused, all his attention on me. "So how do we fix, question?"
This is the part he's not going to like. "If I was on Earth, I would need surgery. But out here..." I don't know what to suggest. I just groan.
His tone is suspiciously flat. "What does word mean, question? When you used word before, it meant 'fix'."
Huh. I don't remember when I said it, but that's Rocky for you. "It means 'cut someone open and do stuff to their insides'. In this case, take my appendix out."
He reels back and whirrs, fearful. "Cut you open, question?! That damages you! Humans need organs!"
"I don't actually need this one," I reassure him. "It doesn't really do anything except... this."
Well, sort of. Some research seems to indicate that the appendix could act as a backup reservoir of "good" gut bacteria in case you catch a disease that wipes out everything else in your digestive tract. But now that I'm a dozen or so light years from Earth and cholera, I guess my appendix is in fact pretty worthless.
Appendicitis is another one of those things you learn about as a science teacher. Occasionally a student will be out a couple weeks with it. Then their classmates get curious, and I get a few dozen questions.
Did you know that some crazy Russian doctor in Antarctica (why is it always the Russians?) had to remove his own appendix? I know that. And I really, really hope that is not where this conversation is headed.
Rocky asks me, "Are you joking, question?" There's an accusatory punch behind each of the chords. "Bad time for jokes."
It does sound like a bad joke, but... "I'm not joking. Some people have their appendix go bad, and they go to the hospital and they get it removed. And then, after they recover, their lives are exactly the same."
Rocky's carapace rocks from side to side. He sounds annoyed. "This makes no sense. Why you need surgery if sick organ is useless, question?"
"If my appendix isn't removed, it will probably burst. And if it bursts, it will probably kill me."
Rocky, at first, does not react. It's abnormal, to say the least, considering I usually don't even finish the last word of my sentence before he starts to reply. I'm opening my mouth to ask if he understood me when he lets out a slow hiss of toneless air. I've never heard him make that noise before. It sounds like...
Oh. It sounds like a sigh. He taught himself how to sigh like I do. Cute.
"That is stupid," he moans. "Human body is stupid. How long until explosion, question?"
I can't help but laugh, even though it makes me wince and nearly gag. Rocky does not laugh with me. "...Probably a day or two," I offer. "The sooner, the better."
He lowers himself to the floor with a soft thunk. He says something I don't understand, a short bark that's more cacophonous than the way he usually speaks to me. If I had to guess, it's his language's equivalent of a swear word. Then he asks, "Does Hail Mary have plan for this, question?"
It would be a good question if I didn't already know the answer: "No. The other crew members already had their appendix out. For exactly this reason."
It was done shortly after they were selected, if they needed it. The risk of any of them actually contracting appendicitis before or during the mission was pretty low -- the risk of anyone contracting appendicitis during their entire lifetime is about 1 in 14 -- but it was still too high for Stratt.
None of them minded. They were planning to sacrifice their entire lives, so a vestigial organ was nothing by comparison.
"Why not you, question? You part of crew."
Well, crap. What a time to realize I never told Rocky the full story of how I ended up on the Hail Mary. It kind of fell to the wayside, given all the planet-saving missions and friend-saving adventures and... honestly, at some point, I just forgot he didn't already know. So for now... "It's a very long story, and I'll tell it later. Just assume the Hail Mary has basic medical supplies, but no plans for this specific situation."
"Okay," he says, not missing a beat. "I research. Learn human biology. Learn about stupid organ. You stay here and not die. Good plan."
He's already skittering away by the time I apprehensively reply, "Good plan."
It is a good plan. Because Rocky can fix anything. Even my stupid appendix.
--
I don't know how long it's been since Rocky left, or when he's coming back. I'm in so much pain it's hard to keep track of anything. It's hard to do anything except lay there and feel sorry for myself. After all, I was kidnapped and shipped off to an alien solar system, survived a four-year coma that killed my two crewmates, survived the adventure Rocky and I went through to find Taumoeba and send it back to Earth, had the unbelievable luck to make a friend with the means to let me survive the mission that was supposed to kill me... and now my own body is killing me anyway.
Unless Rocky has anything to say about it, I guess. He's probably tapping away at his laptop, reading the Wikipedia article for "Appendicitis" and getting excited at the prospect of poking at an alien's organs.
He's got his own computer now, of course. It lives on my side of the barrier, but he rigged up a system of paddles with mechanical arms that hit keyboard keys, along with an arm extension device for working the mouse. He points his fancy camera-thing at the screen, and voilà: he's got access to an archive of practically all of human knowledge.
Hopefully there's enough information on appendicitis and appendectomies there for him to work with. Though, now that I think about it, I don't know if we've discussed that published information isn't necessarily true -- do Eridians have the concept of fiction? I should probably know that at this point. Maybe I would remember if I wasn't suffering from a life-threatening illness. Have I mentioned that I'm in excruciating pain?
"Grace."
The sound startles me. Usually I hear him approach, because rock hitting solid panels of xenonite isn't exactly subtle, but I guess I'm a little preoccupied.
"Yeah, bud?" I reply, not bothering to move from my scrunched-up-in-bed position.
"New word: ♪♪♫. Means stupid organ." So, appendix. "♪♪♫♩ is appendix disease." Appendicitis.
"Got it. Is that all you came over here for?"
"No. Grace ask Mary for I.V. pain and anti-bacteria medicine. Start taking now."
I'm still laying in my dormitory bed, so I repeat Rocky's instructions, assuming he meant "antibiotic" but we never made an exact word for it. He doesn't correct me, so I guess it's a good call.
One of the robot arms takes my hand and the other does its thing. The pinch of the needle isn't much compared to the pain in my side. As they work, Rocky tells me, "I did big big big research. Making plan. First, I want to confirm you problem is appendicitis. Will get into suit, get close, try to hear you insides and see if appendix normal or big or exploded."
Huh. "I didn't know you could do that."
"Not easy! But I try. Must get very close. Very hard to hear when materials squishy and similar, like you organs. But maybe possible if I focus hard."
I should probably stop being surprised at the amazing stuff Rocky is capable of at some point. "Worth a shot. Get out here."
--
Rocky's suit -- well, his current prototype, because he keeps insisting he can "make better" -- is as blocky and clumsy as the EVA suit it was inspired by. Like the Blip-A, it's all hard angles and brain-breaking geometry that seems like it shouldn't be able to hold 29 atmospheres of ammonia. But it lets him wander around my side of the ship in something more compact and useful than the ball, so he loves it.
He's standing next to me, level with me, standing on the seat of a chair that I'd brought down from the lab a while ago. He fidgets in place, trying to get a better "look" at me.
"You soooooo squishy," Rocky says. "Big bag of squishy. Gross."
I snort. Ow. "I'll have you know, I'm less squishy than I used to be. At least I'm not crusty like an Eridian."
"Would rather be crusty than squishy. Stop talking. You move too much."
"You just want to make fun of me when I can't respond."
"Not only reason. I serious, stop talking."
I do what he says. Jerk or not, he's the only person in the universe that can fix me right now.
We sit there mostly silently for a bit, Rocky continuing to shift impatiently . "Still not working," he eventually laments. "I touch you abdomen, question? Maybe help understand."
"Uh. Sure." I don't see why not -- well, except for the pointy edges where the panels of the suit join together. "Just watch your angles, please."
"Not understand."
"Your suit is hard and pointy, and I am very squishy. Please don't stab me."
"I careful. This maybe hurt, but is temporary. I not stab you. Promise."
He reaches one of his legs out and rests it on my lower-right side. The surface of the panel is warm -- xenonite is an excellent insulator, but Rocky and his atmosphere are very hot compared to me and mine, and the panels that make up the suit seem to be slightly thinner than the ones that make up his parts of the ship and his ball. I don't mind it. It's actually kind of nice. It reminds me of being touched by another human.
Almost immediately, Rocky stiffens like a dog catching a scent -- it must be working. He presses harder into my side, and I groan and wince at the pain, but more or less keep myself together.
Finally, mercifully, he backs off. My relief is short-lived, because the surge of agony that follows is the worst yet. I almost black out.
"Sorry sorry sorry! You okay, question?!" Rocky asks nervously. I might have screamed a little. That was probably pretty scary.
"Yeah, I am now," I manage, voice strained. "That just... really hurt a lot more than I expected. Wow."
"Apology. Will not do like that again. Understand shapes now, next time is easier."
Oh, that's a good sign. "So you really could see inside me?"
"Yes!" he says, relief shining through. "Appendix big but not explode. You anatomy mostly normal. Good good good."
Great! "So it's not appendicitis?"
"No, appendicitis confirmed. But I have plan."
Wait, what? "My appendix is going to burst and kill me, Rocky!" I manage, trying and failing to not panic. "That is definitely not good."
"Not explode yet!" he says brightly. "Even if explode, you likely not die. How much you know about appendicitis, question?"
That... is a very good question. "A few of my students have had it," I tell him. "So I know some... miscellaneous stuff, but -- tell me what your big research taught you."
"Appendix explosion not always cause death. Surgery can fix. Or, body heals around problem." He pauses to let me catch up. "Before explosion, appendicitis maybe possible to fix with only medicine. Maybe maybe maybe. If medicine works, very likely appendicitis will come back soon. I still not trust you appendix. Is bad idea to keep."
Okay. Admittedly, that is less scary than I thought -- except for that last bit. "You want to cut it out of me no matter what?"
"Yes."
I start to feel a cold trickle of dread in my chest. I know I said I'd let Rocky do open heart surgery on me, but I didn't think I'd ever need to.
Rocky keeps talking: "Here is plan. Robot give you medicine – done. I work on surgery tools, then remove you appendix when ready. Most easy for me to do surgery like human ♪♩♫♪♫ method. Small cuts, carbon dioxide in abdomen for hear good, long tools. Better recovery for you."
Well, it's still terrifying, but when he puts it like that it almost sounds well-thought-out. I wrench my brain away from the thought of Rocky cutting one of my organs out, and instead try to remember the word for what he's describing: "Laparoscopic surgery?"
"Yes! I do laparoscopic surgery," he chirps. "Good plan?"
"Maybe," I say uneasily. "What happens if the antibiotics don't work, and my appendix bursts before you're ready?"
"Depends on how bad explosion is. Maybe normal appendix surgery with extra salt water clean. Maybe insides heal around bad appendix, and surgery happens later."
"And if it's worse than that, and I go septic?"
"You will not like plan."
"Tell me anyway."
"We open you abdomen with Hail Mary surgery tools. Clean out. Remove appendix. Hope other organs fine."
So, there is a chance I'll need to pull a crazy Russian and cut myself open. Great.
"Okay," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Let's... hope the first plan works, and you can just knock me out and easily remove it."
"You will stay awake. But yes, big hope for first plan."
I can't have heard that right. "I’ll stay awake?" I blurt. "Rocky, you understand that I feel pain when my body is damaged, right? I can't be awake for that."
He sounds unconcerned. "I inject medicine near you back bone. You not feel pain after. Surgery not hurt."
Medicine in my back bone -- in my spine. No pain after. Like an epidural during childbirth. "Spinal anesthesia?" I guess. "You learned how to do that?"
"Yes. Manifest says Hail Mary has tools."
I can feel my heart start to pound. The pain in my side pulses steadily with it. "Why can't you knock me out?" I beg. "I know the robot can do that, it can sedate me --"
"No. Robot is stupid. I not trust arms to stay away during surgery. Also if something is different than plan, I maybe need you help."
I look away. "Rocky, I don't know how things are usually done on Erid, but this isn't how human surgery works. I'll panic. Like I'm panicking now. I... I can't."
I feel the warmth of the suit pressing against the side of my chest comfortingly. "Yes, you can," he says slowly. "I not can do this alone. I need you, like for Taumoeba and rescue from Blip-A. We better together than alone. Even scared. Especially scared."
I feel tears prickling the corners of my eyes. I know he has a point.
"Grace... this is safest way," Rocky whistles soothingly. "Scary, but safe. I will not take chances with best friend life. You save me, I save you.”
I think about Rocky helplessly watching the rest of his crew die, one by one. I think about how he felt, being able to fix anything on the ship except for their bodies. I think about him floating alone for forty-something years, finding me, regaining hope. I think about how after I left, everything went wrong, and he was more alone and helpless than ever.
I tell him, "Okay. But you better be sure that spinal stuff works."
--
Rocky has me grab a few things from the medical storage. Rubbing alcohol, lots of saline, some sterile blades, syringes and medications with hard-to-pronounce names and sealed packs of gauze, et cetera. Every step feels like torture, but if it's what Rocky needs to keep me from dying, I'll make it happen.
After that, I lay back down and drift in and out of consciousness for a while. I think I hear the computer say something about a fever. My stomach really, really hurts.
I hear ethereal music, too. Hauntingly familiar. It's not a melody I recognize -- it's not really a melody at all, but it's beautiful.
Something big pokes me. I open my eyes to see an amorphous brown shape. He's flailing a couple of his limbs, practically yelling at me --
"Sorry, Rocky," I tell him, rubbing my eyes. "I'm... really tired. Slow down, I can't understand you." I flex my stiff limbs as much as the abdominal pain allows, preparing to get up.
"Time! For! Surgery!" The "words" are clearly enunciated. "Stop! Ignoring! Rocky!"
I blink a few times. I realize the ethereal music was not a hallucination, it was Rocky trying to get my attention. I remember what's going on.
"Oh," I croak. "Oh, crap -- is it bad?"
"Appendix not explode, but you fever high. Surgery tools mostly ready. Is time go."
"Mostly?!"
"No questions. Time go!!"