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238 Earth days until Erid landing.
Rocky swayed back and forth, shifting his weight around his legs and keeping his light gun fixed towards the screen that refused to change.
“When will test results be ready, question?”
Grace was sitting on the edge of the medbay’s bed, staring at nothing in particular. His clothes hung loosely on his frame; he was less squishy and more… sharp, these days. They both knew why.
“A few minutes.” He said, voice quiet and flat.
“Grace said ‘a few minutes’ 3.5 minutes ago. Statement.”
He didn’t respond. As if on cue, the screen’s texture warped into human writing.
“TDP: 50 nmol/L. Expected range: 70-180 nmol/L.”
A pit settled in Rocky’s stomach cavity. Thiamine diphosphate. Vitamin B1 – the first vitamin humans had ever discovered.
“We knew it was going to happen, Rock,” Grace sighed. “Based on my symptoms, it’s dry, so, hey, silver lining.”
He got up with a start, turned the screen away from them, and walked unsteadily out of the med bay.
“Dry, question?” Rocky asked, rolling to his side.
Grace put his hand on top of Rocky’s ball. His weight shifted onto it, as it had for the last few weeks.
“There’s, um, two clinical manifestations of beriberi. Wet and dry,” he explained. “Dry damages the nervous system. Numbness in the hands and feet, difficulty walking, confusion, all that good stuff.”
Rocky would never understand how Grace could talk about his body deteriorating so casually. His wry smile every time the taumoeba came right back out of his mouth, the blood left on his toothbrush after he brushed. “I’m leaking again,” he’d laugh. Humans could laugh without sounding happy, Rocky had learned.
“If dry is good, how bad is wet, question?”
“That’s cardiovascular. Increased heart rate, edema, shortness of breath. Oh, uh, edema–”
“Swelling from fluid buildup inside human body. Commonly caused by venous insufficiency,” Rocky recited. Grace stopped in his tracks and looked down at him with furrowed brows; Rocky put his front legs together and chirped unconsciously. “Grace is getting sicker. Won’t always be able to explain.” Grace’s fingers tensed in their hold on the ball. “Rocky want to know how to help Grace.”
Grace’s heart rate shot up, and Rocky heard a quiver in his voice.
“That’s, um– that’s. Thanks.”
“No leaking,” Rocky said, jabbing the xenonite panel closest to Grace. “Nutrients in tears. Grace need.”
They laughed.
107 Earth days until Erid landing.
The thiamine numbers got smaller and smaller, and so did the remnants of the coma slurry. Grace’s hands could no longer grasp the inoculation loops to transfer the taumoeba; that was Rocky’s job now. He had taken apart the xenonite chains and fashioned them into human crutches, which Grace could no longer go without. He still tripped. Rocky’s help was not enough.
He was going to make it enough.
A wavering voice sounded from across the ship. “Rock?”
Rocky tumbled into Grace’s bedroom.
“Grace fall again, question? Grace safe, question?”
“No, no,” Grace reassured him, “I’m fine, Rocky. Haven’t gotten up yet.” He gestured to the crutches propped neatly against his bunk. “I was just going to ask if you could get Armando to get me some water. Guess my voice is, uh, not carrying today.”
“Rocky no ask Armando,” he said. “Rocky get water for Grace!”
Before Grace could say anything else, Rocky had rolled into the corner of the ship that he had dubbed his workshop. Inside was his magnum opus, as Grace said big accomplishments were called on Earth – a new xenonite suit, with panels fitted to Rocky’s measurements. He could use the Hail Mary’s equipment. He could pick Grace up when he fell.
He could do enough.
Rocky had done the tests; it was perfectly safe. Still, he was slightly nervous when he stepped out of his workshop into the nitrogen-rich air of the ship.
But Grace needed water, and water he would get.
It was an exhilarating feeling, pushing the faucet’s handle up, grasping the cup, carrying it, all outside of the confines of his xenonite enclave. He walked slowly, deliberately into Grace’s room.
Rocky has Grace water!”
Grace froze.
“New suit. Is easier to get around!”
Grace stood up faster than Rocky had seen him move in weeks.
“How long have you been…?” he choked out.
“Worked on it for 150 Earth days. Made five proto–”
Grace was on the floor, but not unintentionally – he had wrapped his arms around Rocky’s carapace.
“I can feel you,” he sobbed. “You’re… you’re so warm, Rock.”
Rocky set the water down and wrapped his front legs around Grace’s torso. He really was squishy. And cold. Friend-shaped.
Rocky chirruped. He could almost ignore Grace’s quickened breathing, his heart that wouldn’t slow.
Almost.
1 Earth day until Erid landing.
They were in contact range with Erid today. Rocky had sent their message.
He waited by Grace for an answer. Grace, who had not woken up in two days. He was no longer squishy. Rocky had put pillows under his bony body, turned him around and around, but ulcers still dotted his spine, his ankles, his shoulders. He heard every frantic, weak beat of Grace’s heart, trying its hardest to keep his dying body alive.
Rocky nestled his carapace against Grace’s torso and reached towards his face.
“Eridian scientists make contact soon. Help Grace.”
Grace’s breaths came out in short, pained wheezes.
“Rocky love Grace, statement.”
All he could do was wait. It had to be enough.