Chapter Text
I pick up a small sample container, unscrewing the lid and setting it to the side before picking up a pipette and sucking a tiny amount of Taumoeba into it. I grab a microscope slide, squeezing the Taumoeba onto the glass before placing a cover slip on top of it. The tip of the pipette is slightly gooey, but I brush it off.
Carefully, I slip the glass slide under the lens of the microscope, leaning down and staring through the eye piece.
“This batch looks good…” I pause to look over at Rocky, setting down the pipette on the lab bench. “We have two months left until we’re meant to reach Erid, right?”
Rocky bobs his carapace slightly in a way that resembles a nod, raising his ‘front’ two legs and making jazz hands at me. Eridians don’t really have a front, per se. As far as I know, they can hear all around them without regard for which direction they’re facing. Although, I have a theory that Eridians (or at least Rocky) have a preferred or dominant side that acts as a face, since he always seems to use one particular side – which is flatter than any of the others – when he ‘looks’ at me or talks to me.
<Yes, two months,> Rocky chirps, and I give him a thumbs-down. He wiggles his carapace again, and I turn back to the Taumoeba in the microscope slide. I scrape it into another container, specifically for disposal, and pick the pipette back up. I stick it back into the same container I pulled the small sample of Taumoeba out of a few moments ago, and I fill the pipette. I squeeze the Taumoeba into another container, (this one has a label on it that says #03. All of the containers are labeled, and we have up to #10. I think it’s so we know if we’ve lost any,) gently tapping the pipette against the edge of it to get rid of the excess Taumoeba goop. It doesn’t really do much, but it’s such a small amount that we probably won’t have any notable issues with it. I place the pipette and the microscope slide off to the side on the lab table to clean up later. I should really go through the whole sterilization process now, but my eyes feel heavy and I just want to get this over with.
I pick up a small bag of coma powder, tearing the top open and tipping it into an empty glass beaker. It looks like crushed up chalk as it settles at the bottom. I grab a bag of water from somewhere on the lab table that I don’t pay much attention to and pour the water in with the powder; the liquid starts turning murky almost immediately. I fill the beaker up about three quarters of the way, drinking the rest of the water. There’s only a few mouthfuls left in the bag, anyway. I grab a glass stirring stick from roughly the same area I grabbed the bag of water from and start mixing the powder and liquid together. It turns into a milky white slurry, small clumps of powder that I couldn’t quite dissolve floating to the top.
I pour the slurry into container #3, taking the glass stick and using it to make sure none of the coma slurry stays in the beaker. I put the beaker down and to the side with the pipette and the microscope slide before stirring the slurry and Taumoeba together. I take the stick out and lick the goop off, more out of habit than anything, before the taste sets in and I realise what I’ve just licked. Ew.
“I think I’d rather starve than take a sip of that,” I joke, a slight grimace still on my face. This seems to panic Rocky, as he shakes his carapace and makes what I’ve learned to be a concerned noise.
<Grace not say that.> His voice lowers an octave, and the change in his tone throws me off slightly. I turn to face him.
“No, wait, Rock, that was a joke. I’m making a joke,” I say, and Rocky chitters in relief, I think.
<Grace humour confusing,> he replies, and I nod.
“Sorry, bud.” I reach my hand out and place my palm on the top of his xenonite ball, watching as he knocks his carapace against the panel my hand rests on. I take another sip of the Taumoeba slurry mixture, and I must make an odd face, because Rocky makes another concerned sound as he takes a step back from my hand.
<Grace look disgust when eat,> he says, but I can tell he’s trying to cheer me up. I give him what I hope comes off as a smile, and I continue drinking the mixture. It tastes like a weird combination of aspirin and chalk.
“I’m never going to get used to that taste.” Rocky chirps in response and shifts his legs. I lift my hand off his xenonite ball, sitting down cross-legged on the floor next to him.
I finish off the slurry, placing it off to the side somewhere before leaning my head against Rocky’s ball. “What’s it like there?” I ask, eyes flicking over to Rocky.
<Where, question?> He taps one of his legs against the bottom panel of xenonite twice as he says ‘question’.
“Erid. What’s Erid like?” Rocky does a little kind-of spin, trilling happily.
<What does Grace want to know, question?> His voice is higher than usual. He must be excited to talk about Erid. I can’t blame him; I know if I’d left Earth in slightly different circumstances, I’d be excited to go back and talk about it too.
“Tell me about…” I trail off as memories bubble up about my old apartment. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it before now, but it just occurs to me how much I miss it. I remember the vague outline of most of the space. It was very orange, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I think I had a fox pillow on the couch. The couch was cream, I’m pretty sure. Or was it a different colour? I don’t know. I had a TV, and I think it sat on a console table. I had a coffee table in the same colour and texture, and maybe a rug.
The thing that I remember most, though, was the art. My fridge was covered in it, and I had a few boxes as well. Everything was made by my students, and I can remember almost every drawing by heart. There was a periodic table that Jeff drew. It stayed on the upper area of my fridge door. There was one by Larry, and it was a diagram of the different types of rocks; igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic. It was on the lower left corner of the fridge, and next to it was a drawing of a fox done by Regina. Each drawing was held up by magnets, about half of which were made by Abby. There were a few with different atoms on them, there was one with a half-full beaker with pink liquid in it, there was one with a pair of safety goggles on it. There were a few plain ones, as well as a few more vaguely science themed ones. There was also a class photo right at eye level. I changed the photo out every year, replaced it with my new classes, but I kept a photo album with all the old class photos inside it.
Rocky taps against the xenonite of his ball again, and it snaps me out of my thoughts.
<About what, question?> He tilts his carapace slightly. I blink, focusing my vision back on him.
“Tell me about your home,” I say, voice quivering slightly. I don’t think he notices though, because he starts talking immediately.
<Erid have many culture,> Rocky says thoughtfully. I nod as he taps two of his claws together before continuing. <Different culture have different home.> My head is beginning to throb, so I rest it against the xenonite in hopes that doing so will somehow soothe the pain.
<My culture make home underground. Many tunnel, all connect with other tunnel.> He pauses. <Adrian culture have home above. Adrian not like tunnel much.> I like listening to him talk about Adrian. His voice gets this soft, layered quality to it. I can tell he’s excited to return to Erid after so long.
<Adrian build special house for us. Have tunnel and surface area so both Rocky Adrian happy!> Rocky spins around again before staggering backwards a bit as if he’d lost his balance. He clumsily tucks each of his legs underneath his carapace and sits down as if the whole ordeal had never happened. He vaguely looks like he’s loafing, and now I can’t get the image of an extremely fluffy Rocky shaped cat out of my head.
<Grace will meet Adrian soon! Happy happy happy.> Rocky makes a few musical sounds that I don’t think translate into words, and I lean slightly more against his ball. I’m really tired, for some reason. I think I’ll ask him to watch me sleep when he’s done. I’d hate to cut the time he has to talk about Adrian short.
<Adrian is building Eridian. When we get to Erid, I ask Adrian to make home for Grace.> Rocky’s voice is maybe half an octave higher than it normally is. It’s a little bit difficult to make out some of his words, but after spending so much time with him, it’s become a lot easier. I open my mouth to say something, before closing it. I can’t remember what I wanted to say.
<Is Grace okay, question? Grace not talk much.> He puts one of his claws up against the xenonite barrier, and I press my hand against it. I nod before beginning to speak.
“Yeah. I’m just tired. You can keep talking about Adrian.” Rocky doesn’t seem to like my answer, though.
<Only 21,632 seconds since last sleep. Why Grace tired, question?> I shake my head, closing my eyes.
“Sometimes humans get tired for no reason. This is one of those times, I think.” I don’t think he’s convinced, but I don’t think I would be either if our roles were reversed.
<Grace sleep, question? I watch.> I don’t want to go to bed, there’s still so much I have to do today. Though, on the other hand, the thought of getting all warm under all my blankets and sleeping off this gosh-darn headache does sound pretty appealing.
“I sleep, you watch,” I agree. I place one of my hands on the top of his ball to help myself stand up, and the second I get even slightly upright, it’s like my entire world spins. Not in the way the ship is built to, either. My vision is swirling around me, and I feel like I’m about to pass out or throw up or something. When I remove my hand from the ball, I notice a faint smear roughly where my hand was.
I stumble a little bit as I step towards the dorm, but once I grab the railing attached to the wall, it’s a little bit easier to stay focused. The hallway in front of me seems like it stretches on forever as I walk down it, Rocky following along at my heel.
We manage to reach my bed. I’ve never been more grateful that I don’t have to climb a ladder to get to it, because I don’t think I’d actually be able to grab on to any of the rungs.
I pull my quilt over myself, taking my glasses off and throwing them somewhere in the near vicinity. I’ll deal with them when I’m not so freaking tired.
This pillow is really comfortable. I don’t know if that’s true or just a reflection of the exhaustion washing over me, but I think it might be the most comfortable pillow I’ve ever laid my head on.
I realised I forgot to turn the lights off before getting into bed. “Armando, lights,” I try, but it comes out as a slurred mumble. Armando gets the message, though, and the room is plunged into darkness, aside from the few LEDs on the sides of the beds that don’t turn off. I can see Rocky in the dim light, and I turn my head to look at him. He’s sitting down in that loaf position again, his legs tucked underneath his carapace save for one. He taps his free leg lightly on the side of the ball as he watches. Sometimes I vaguely wonder what it would be like to be an Eridian sitting like that.
I can feel my eyes slipping shut, and my mind is filled with half-formed thoughts. There’s one that sticks out to me in particular, though.
I don’t think xenonite retains handprints. At least, I’ve never seen any smudges on the surface of Rocky’s ball, and I touch it a lot.
Maybe I just haven’t noticed anything before now, but it still feels a bit weird. Oh well, I’ll deal with it when I’m rested.
Just before I let my eyes fully close, I hear banging. I can vaguely see Rocky hitting the sides of his xenonite ball and coming closer to me, but I don’t know why he’s upset. His voice is panicked, but I’m too tired to be able to make out anything he’s saying, and I can’t bring myself to force my eyes open again.
As my eyes fall fully closed, his banging and chirping become nothing but background noise. I don’t even notice when his ball nudges against my arm, I’m that far gone.
I can’t hold it off any longer. I fall into a dreamless sleep.