Chapter Text
Once they began to lose their mind, Sings-to-the-Skies decided that it had started, like most terrible things, with something small.
Twenty-three
“I’m exhausted,” Quiet-Miracle had said, grumbling in the crew’s main gathering halls. They had been working slowly on some equations that they had promised would maximize their fuel sources most efficiently, but they had barely moved in hours.
“Didn’t you sleep?” Rougher-Winds asked, immediately dropping their own studies to examine Quiet-Miracle. Everyone on the crew thought they had a strange name; Rougher-Winds was the kindest being any of them had ever met. “Who was watching you?”
“Who do you think?” Quiet-Miracle asked, a little grumpy, but allowed Rougher-Winds to fuss over them. Sings-to-the-Skies, killing time until they began a slightly tedious day’s work, nearly chuckled.
Quiet-Miracle’s older sibling, Ground-Shaker, was also on board the ship. Quiet-Miracle was a talented mathematician, one of the best on Erid, despite being by far the youngest member on the crew. Ground-Shaker was the only navigator capable of using the delicate instruments on the ship to lead them to Tau Ceti. Sing-to-the-Skies had helped build the instruments, and could passably work them, but Ground-Shaker made it look like an art, trusting the instruments and their intuition as opposed to their hearing. Sings-to-the-Skies couldn’t imagine putting that much faith in something other than themselves.
Sings-to-the-Skies had, at best, a tense relationship with Ground-Shaker. The captain said their personalities were too alike, and that was probably true. They butted heads frequently, argued over tiny details, and more often than not had conversations dripping with concealed distaste, covered by a veneer of professionalism. It was especially annoying to Sings-to-the-Skies that Ground-Shaker was so extremely good at their job. It made it impossible to truly criticize them.
Quiet-Miracle, on the other hand, was very true to their namesake. They were quiet, extremely shy, and usually preferred to work alone unless they needed to report their findings. Ground-Shaker was extremely protective of their little sibling, much younger than themselves (extremely unusual for Eridians) and it was easy to see why. Quiet-Miracle was so named, a crewmate had whispered to Sings-to-the-Skies, because their family had been positive that their egg would not hatch. But Quiet-Miracle, perhaps eager to prove everyone wrong, had indeed triumphantly hatched long after they were meant too, though not without any lingering issues.
They were small, extremely so for their age, and their carapace was thin and prone slight crumbling like an elderly Eridian. It was almost funny to hear them walking with Ground-Shaker, who had absolutely lived up to their name as well, nearly double the size of their sibling with a carapace like iron. It was rare to see them without each other, and it was no shock that Ground-Shaker had been the one to watch over Quiet-Miracle while they slept.
“I’m okay,” Quiet-Miracle said, finally shaking off Rougher-Winds’ gentle fingers. “I think I’m just disoriented from being on the ship and all.”
“You can go rest if you want,” Rougher-Winds said. “I can get Ground-Shaker–”
“I’m fine,” Quiet-Miracle said, sounding embarrassed. “I just need to do something to get my bearings. I’m just making up numbers to keep myself busy at this point.”
“You can help me, if you want,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, surprised that they had spoken up. Rougher-Winds and Quiet-Miracle turned to face them, and Sings-to-the-Skies realized abruptly that the gathering hall seemed far too spacious when everyone wasn’t there, holding a thrum or just enjoying each other’s company. It almost seemed eerie now. “I just have some minor upkeep at the moment. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Rougher-Winds seemed surprised. “Upkeep already? They’re keeping you busy, then.”
“I don’t mind,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, mostly telling the truth. “I like being busy. I’d like the company.”
“I don’t know anything about engineering,” Quiet-Skies said worriedly. “What if I blow up the ship?”
“It’s okay, I already dismantled the ‘blow-up-the-ship’ command sequence before my last sleep cycle,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “You’ll be fine.”
They must have said it a little too flatly, because Quiet-Miracle and Rougher-Winds stared at them a moment before they tittered, and even that seemed out of politeness.
Sings-to-the-Skies suddenly missed their mate so badly it ached like a blow to their center. Steady-Hands would laugh at their jokes. They always did, and then they would say something right back to them, and pretty soon they would be beside themselves with giggles, looking insane to any outside observer. But that didn’t matter. They had each other.
Sings-to-the-Skies reminded themselves, for the millionth time, that they would see Steady-Hands soon enough. They just had to be patient. Which was, unfortunately, something they were terrible at.
They shook the thought of Steady-Hands away for now, trying to pay attention. “Are you sure?” Quiet-Miracle asked. “I don’t want to upset the captain.”
Their captain, a tall, stoic figure named One-Who-Stands, was the first one picked out for their mission, and the one who picked everyone else as well. Sings-to-the-Skies had been shocked to receive the message that they had been asked to accompany the crew as their engineer. They had helped build the ship and the equipment, sure, but so had so many others. They still didn’t know what they had done to stand out. They just hoped they could do it again. They had never been more proud than when they realized that One-Who-Stands and themselves had matching marks in their carapace, an image of the line that was slowly sucking the life out of their star. It was a strange pride, one mixed with a terrible, terrible anxiety, and an overwhelming determination that they would do everything in their power to help the mission succeed.
Even if they were fairly certain their contributions would be mostly running support. They were an engineer, not a scientist.
“I’m sure they’d be happy that you’re learning a little engineering in your off-time,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “That way if I accidentally restart the ‘blow-up-the-ship’ command, you can fire me and take over.”
This time Quiet-Miracle did chuckle, which was good, because Sings-to-the-Skies didn’t want them thinking they were insane. They set down whatever it was they were working on, and began to follow Sings-to-the-Skies out of the gathering hall.
Rougher-Winds reached over and touched Sings-to-the-Skies’s arm gently, a gesture of appreciation. Sings-to-the-Skies wasn’t entirely sure what it was for, though. Rougher-Winds was friendly like that.
“How does the xenonite build kit work?” Quiet-Miracle asked, sounding a little more jovial. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”
“We’ll see if we work our way up to that,” Sings-to-the-Skies said evasively.
*** *** ***
Quiet-Miracle’s energy dropped off quickly, even Sings-to-the-Skies could see that. They spoke in a thin, vague voice, and only responded when Sings-to-the-Skies directly asked them a question.
“Can you pass me that?” Sings-to-the-Skies asked, pointing in lieu of saying ‘nickelite congealment wand’, because they were pretty sure that Quiet-Miracle didn’t know what that was. They were hanging from the ceiling, three legs hooked around the craggy footholds in the wall, specifically designed for easy repairs, and two expertly handling delicate tools. They were pointing with a refinery stylus, which was something that an engineering teacher would have yelled at them for back in the day, but they didn’t want to release a foothold.
Quiet-Miracle said nothing, and Sings-to-the-Skies noticed they were swaying. “Quiet-Miracle?” They asked, and Quiet-Miracle did not respond.
“Hey!” Sings-to-the-Skies called out, a little louder, starting to climb down.
This time Quiet-Miracle jumped, making a startled sound. “S-sorry,” they said, their voice strange and disoriented. “What…what is it?”
“Are you alright?” Sings-to-the-Skies asked, now a little more concerned. “You were just…standing there.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Quiet-Miracle said, fumbling through the pile of tools. “What was it you needed?”
“Careful,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, reaching out to block them from rifling through the tools. That was probably a little more dangerous than pointing with a refinery stylus. Though Sings-to-the-Skies’s engineering teacher would have blown their vents if they had seen their pupil piling their tools like that. Oh well.
None of that really matter, because Sings-to-the-Skies paused when they touched Quiet-Miracle’s carapace. It was warm, warmer than it should be. “Hm.”
“What’s ‘hm’?” Quiet-Miracle asked, shaking off Sings-to-the-Skies’ hands.
“You’re warm,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “Do you have a fever?”
Quiet-Miracle rattled with profound irritation. “I–no! What?! Ugh! I can’t have a fever! I feel fine!”
Sings-to-the-Skies said nothing, and Quiet-Miracle shifted. “I…I’m just tired.”
“You should probably see one of the doctors,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. They had five doctors aboard the ship, each an expert in something different, and led by Backwards-Claw, one of the most renowned physicians on Erid. They were dominant with their right arm, an oddity on Erid, but it never seemed to get in their way.
“This is humiliating," Quiet-Miracle grumbled. “I spend weeks and weeks convincing my family that I’ll be fine to go to Tau Ceti, that I’ll have Ground-Shaker to look after me–not that I need to be looked after like a child, mind you, but they were losing their damn minds about it–and what do I do, barely into the trip? I get a cold.”
“Do you get colds often?” Sings-to-the-Skies asked, wondering if it was smart to allow Quiet-Miracle to come. They knew they were a brilliant mathematician, but if their health was even more delicate than Sings-to-the-Skies had known, they might be in danger.
Quiet-Miracle must have heard Sings-to-the-Skies’ apprehension, because they stomped, and flared their vents. They suddenly looked a lot more like their more ill-tempered sibling. “I’m fine. I’ll see a doctor if it makes you stop bothering me, but I’m fine.”
Sings-to-the-Skies backed off, a little startled by the sudden flash of anger. “Okay,” they said placatingly, grabbing the congealment wand themselves. “Sorry.”
Quiet-Miracle’s vents fluttered again, and they swayed again, nearly surprised by their outburst. “I-I’m sorry,” they said, sounding embarrassed. “I don’t…I don’t really know where that came from. I just…I just really want to help save Erid. I don’t want the crew to see me as a sickly child or something. I’m not.”
“It’s alright,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, relieved that the situation de-escalated so quickly. They weren’t one to run from a confrontation (Steady-Hands said sometimes they were too confrontational, which Sings-to-the-Skies had to force themselves not to argue against because it would only prove their point) but they weren’t prepared for such a mood swing. “No one sees you as a sickly child. You wouldn’t be here if One-Who-Stands didn’t think you could do this. You wouldn’t be here if all of Erid didn’t think you could do it.”
“Doesn’t that scare you?” Quiet-Miracle asked, their voice a little hushed. “That all of home is depending on us?”
“It should scare you,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, making sure that their voice was very clear they were joking this time. “Because if we fail, you’re going to be blamed. I’m just an engineer.”
Quiet-Miracle laughed, and Sings-to-the-Skies was pretty sure it wasn’t a pity laugh. “Don’t tell Ground-Shaker I’m in the infirmary,” they said, starting down the hall. “They’ll only panic.”
“Sure,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, offering a friendly chirp as they left. “See you soon.”
That was the last time they ever spoke to Quiet-Miracle.
*** *** ***
“Captain?” Sings-to-the-Skies said hesitantly, entering the pilot’s center. “I had a report of the repairs for the day.”
Sings-to-the-Skies always felt out of place in the pilot’s center, despite having helped build it. They preferred to be working, keeping all limbs busy at all times. It was a job that felt too still and precise for them. Technically, they were the fourth pilot, but they were hoping everyone had forgotten that.
One-Who-Stands was with two of the three pilots, Silver-Footed and Dust-of-Home. Sings-to-the-Skies wasn’t sure where the third, From-Mercury-Rivers, was right now, but they doubted they were far. Ground-Shaker (ugh) was fiddling with some of the fibers on a delicate instrument. Sings-to-the-Skies resisted the urge to tell them to stop messing with it just to annoy them.
“Sorry if I interrupted,” Sings-to-the-Skies said.
“You didn’t,” One-Who-Stands said, their voice a comforting rumble. “What’s the report?”
Like everyone, Sings-to-the-Skies greatly admired One-Who-Stands. They were, without question, a genius. They had not only discovered the nature of the star-eating organism that threatened their home, but had spearheaded the program to turn their doom into fuel for the ship. They had overseen the design on the ship, led research on the organism, learned to fly the ship, and then handpicked their crew for the journey.
They had been upfront about the mission, open about the dangers and how long they would spend away from their homes and families. But they also said that they would never ask this of anyone if they weren’t willing to go themselves, and if it wasn’t the only option they had to save their world from a slow, cold death.
Sings-to-the-Skies had agreed to go, frightened but honored. As far as they knew, no one had refused to go on the journey, equally enraptured by One-Who-Stands’ magnetic personality.
“Not a big report,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, offering a single engraved tablet to One-Who-Stands. “Just some minor changes to make the temperature a little more comfortable for sleeping quarters.”
“Thank you,” One-Who-Stands said, taking the tablet. “Have you seen Quiet-Miracle? I’d like their opinion on some numbers I’ve turned up for our current velocity.”
“Oh,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, unsure what to say. They didn’t hear anything wrong with their own tone, but Ground-Shaker must have, because they turned to face Sings-to-the-Skies.
“What’s wrong?” They asked, sounding uncharacteristically worried.
“Nothing!” Sings-to-the-Skies said, torn between wanting to tell Quiet-Miracle’s sibling what was going on and keeping their promise. “They’re fine.”
“Where are they?” One-Who-Stands asked.
“Um,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “Infirmiry?”
There was a beat of embarrassing silence, and Sings-to-the-Skies squirmed. “I-it’s probably nothing,” Sings-to-the-Skies said quickly. “They’re just being cautious–I mean, I’m being cautious. They just seemed a little out of it, and we figured, you know, better safe than sorry…they say they’re fine. I believe them.”
Ground-Shaker rumbled. “They always say that. Captain, permission to–”
“Of course you can leave, Ground-Shaker,” One-Who-Stands said. “Thank you for the report, Sings-to-the-Skies. You may go.”
Sings-to-the-Skies chirped an affirmative, and marched out of the pilot’s room. Unfortunately, they found Ground-Shaker waiting for them. Sings-to-the-Skies tried to pretend they didn’t even hear them, but they picked up their speed a little.
“Why didn’t you tell me Quiet-Miracle was sick?” Ground-Shaker asked, an accusation in their voice.
“They asked me not to,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, walking even faster. It was only a matter of time before they devolved into snide comments, and they were pretty sure the captain was still in earshot. “I do think they’re okay. At worst it’s a cold.”
“Why were you with them? You’re just an engineer.”
“I was just trying to be nice,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, this time waspishly. They resisted the urge to say Well, you’re just a navigator. “They seemed, I don’t know, nervous. I offered to let them help me out with some minor repairs.”
This time, Ground-Shaker paused, apparently thinking this response over. “...they were worried about coming on the journey,” they said after a moment, and now Sings-to-the-Skies paused too, listening. “I guess…well. Who wouldn’t be worried? They wanted to help, but they were scared about leaving everything and everyone behind. Especially since no one knew for sure how long we’d be out here. I think it helped a little when they found out I was coming, but…still.”
Sings-to-the-Skies was quiet for a long moment. This was the longest conversation they had had with Ground-Shaker that hadn’t devolved into coldness and irritation. “...I was nervous too,” they offered. “I didn’t want to leave my mate. But…there wouldn’t be a mate to stay with if we didn’t do this. There wouldn’t be anything to stay for if we didn’t go.”
“Right,” Ground-Shaker said. “Of course. I…and One-Who-Stands wouldn’t pick anyone who they didn’t think was up for it.”
“Of course,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “Quiet-Miracle is brilliant.”
Ground-Shaker made an amused noise, and it took Sings-to-the-Skies a moment to realize they were also being complimented. “Oh!” They rattled, a little embarrassed. “Um. Thanks. You too. I can’t imagine navigating. It seems like an overwhelming job.”
“You built the instruments.”
“I helped build the instruments, and now I don’t have to keep messing with them,” Sings-to-the-Skies said. “You do your job, I’ll do mine.”
They had both told each other that in moments of anger, for various reasons, but now Ground-Shaker laughed. “Fair. I’ll tell Quiet-Miracle you said hello.”
*** *** ***
It was hard to keep track of time in space, without the cues of Eridians around going about their days. Here, on the ship, work was done when it needed to be done, food was eaten when you were hungry, and you slept when you were tired, grabbing the first crew member available to watch you, as long as they weren’t working on anything pressing. Now, still fairly early on in the trip, it was easy to find someone to watch you.
It felt strangely lonely, and Sings-to-the-Skies began to seek out crewmates just to talk, to fill the ship with voices instead of just the muffled workings of the xenonite carrying them to Tau Ceti.
Sometimes, though, they got lucky.
Sings-to-the-Skies was laughing so hard their carapace stung, unused to the motion now after being away from Steady-Hands for so long. It dawned on them that they had never been apart from Steady-Hands for this long since they were mated, and maybe even since they first met, but they pushed the thought away so they could keep laughing.
They-Travel-Mountains, one of the chemists and the oldest crew member, was nearing the end of a story about one of their children, though now the child had grown up, and was about Sings-to-the-Skies’ age. They-Travel-Mountains said they were a successful musician, and starting a family of their own, and they looked forward to grandchildren when they returned.
In fact, the entire room was filled with laughter. Most of the crew had gotten a lucky break, and the day had been a slow one. They ended up gathering in the main hall to relax, talk, and catch up. And They-Travel-Mountains was a fantastic talker.
“And then–and I swear to you I’m not lying–” They-Travel-Mountains said, waiting for the giggles to die down. “My mate turned to me and said–”
“Captain!” Someone said, sounding surprised, and Sings-to-the-Skies whirled around to listen, and heard One-Who-Stands waiting at the threshold of the room, stiff and strange.
“Captain!” They-Travel-Moutains said, jovial. They were old friends with One-Who-Stands. “Nice of you to join us! You work too hard, you know, glad to have you–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” One-Who-Stands said, and their voice wavered. Everyone stopped laughing instantly.
“...Captain?” Sounds-of-Caves, a biologist, asked. “Are…are you alright?”
“...no,” One-Who-Stands said, and all the energy leached out of the room like it had been blown out the airlock. “I…I’m not. I…I have some terrible news.”
Silence settled over the crew like a lead blanket. Sings-to-the-Skies listened for Ground-Shaker, though they didn’t know why, and they were surprised when they didn’t hear them.
One-Who-Stands shuddered. “Quiet-Miracle is dead.”
Someone made a sharp noise of shock, but Sings-to-the-Skies didn’t know who it was. As for themselves, everything seemed to slow down. Sound didn’t seem to travel right, and their sense of the room became fuzzy. There was a bizarre ringing noise that seemed to echo through their carapace, and they struggled not to sway.
“What…” they heard someone say, muffled. “What? How?”
“They were sick,” One-Who-Stands said. “They reported to the infirmary with what appeared to be a small malady. From there…” they shuddered again, and Sings-to-the-Skies heard them struggle to continue. “From there, they rapidly deteriorated. They…they passed away not long ago.”
Someone was rattling, sustained and long, a sound of great grief and sorrow. Sings-to-the-Skies still didn’t move.
One-Who-Stands was mistaken, they had to be. Sings-to-the-Skies didn’t know how such a grievous mistake had happened, but it was the only explanation. Quiet-Miracle couldn’t be dead. They were fine. They had said so themselves. Sings-to-the-Skies had thought it was possible that anxiety was their only illness. Quiet-Miracle wasn’t dead, it wasn’t possible, not here, so far from home, so far from the burial places they should be able to rest at, so far from family–
“Ground-Shaker,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, barely a whisper. No one seemed to hear them.
“What were they sick with?” Someone asked, and this time Sings-to-the-Skies recognized the voice as Rougher-Winds.
“The doctors don’t know,” One-Who-Stands said, and it was only then that Sings-to-the-Skies realized that there were no doctors in the gathering hall with them. “They think…they think it’s an infection. Quiet-Miracle’s cells were dying at a rapid rate, not completely dissimilar to an infection. They think…they think the stresses of being in space exacerbated it, and…”
One-Who-Stands trailed off. No one pushed them.
“We have to go home,” Child-of-a-Spinner said, almost feverishly. “They have to be laid to rest in their family’s grounds. We have to turn around now. Something…something bad will happen if we don’t. And in any case, it’s only right we give them a dignified, proper burial.”
Child-of-a-Spinner was a physicist, and in spite of that, they were prone to flights of superstition. Apparently, though, physicists tended to be superstitious, at least according to Steady-Hands. They had worked with several. Maybe it was because physicists were so used to working with things they couldn’t hear or touch, they just started believing in anything they couldn’t hear or touch, supernatural or not.
“We…” One-Who-Stands sounded guilty now. “We aren’t turning around. The mission will continue towards Tau Ceti.”
“Captain!” Someone cried out in protest.
Sings-to-the-Skies made a motion like they were about to stand up, and then abruptly found that their legs wouldn’t listen to them. No one seemed to notice.
“Home is counting on us to save them,” One-Who-Stands said solemnly. “Believe me, I want to give Quiet-Miracle a proper funeral as much as anyone. They deserve all of it. But we only…we only have so much fuel. We would have to have to generate more fuel, readjust for the time lost, and there’s no telling what other complications might arise…”
“We’re down a mathematician, that should be more than enough of a reason to go back," Shore-of-Glass said, who was, in fact, one of the other mathematicians. “And more than that, Quiet-Miracle was our crew. They were our friend. They were part of our little family out here.”
“I know,” One-Who-Stands said, voice heavy. “I know. This wasn’t an easy decision. But I tried to think about what Quiet-Miracle would want us to do. I was…I was there at the end. Until they couldn’t speak any longer, they kept asking how they could help.”
Silence fell over them yet again. Sings-to-the-Skies kept hoping that this was all some bizarre hallucination, or terrible prank. At any moment, Quiet-Miracle would appear and ask what all the fuss was, embarrassed to be the center of attention.
“What are we doing with the body?” Silver-Footed asked.
A body, a body, that’s all that Quiet-Miracle was now, just a body, silent. They would never sing again–
“We are…” One-Who-Stands paused again, a universe away from the assured Eridian they usually were. “We’re holding a funeral. Today. Anyone who wants to attend is welcome. We’ll be by the airlock. Feel free to bring anything that you want to send off with Quiet-Miracle–”
“You’re just shooting them off into space?!” From-Charged-Clouds, a chemist, demanded. “That isn’t right! We can’t! They’re…they’re supposed to be put to rest at home! Captain, if nothing else, we should wait to hold a funeral until we return home–”
“I spoke with Backwards-Claw and Comes-From-Iron,” One-Who-Stands said, and Sings-to-the-Skies didn’t like that Comes-From-Iron was involved. They were second in command, and in charge of inventory, rations, and logistics, but they had always struck Sings-to-the-Skies as a very unemotional being. “And we agreed it’s safest for the rest of the crew. Likely what killed Quiet-Miracle was an infection gone awry, but since we can’t pinpoint the exact cause, it’s…it’s safer to…to expel any possible avenues for future infections if we can help it.”
Silence seemed to be the golden rule of the day, and Sings-to-the-Skies felt like they might collapse. They hoped they weren’t shaking.
“You’re sick,” From-Charged-Clouds snapped, and Sings-to-the-Skies heard surprised murmurs from the group. No one had ever spoken to their captain like that. There was never any need. “You’re sick, this is all sick, you can’t just…it isn’t right!”
“If we didn’t lay them to rest properly,” Silver-Footed said nervously, their carapace rattling. “We’re going to get a Lingerling.”
“Shut up,” Stones-in-Silt, a biologist, said, a bit more waspishly than they had too. No one corrected them, and worried, hushed whispers echoed in the hall. No one had considered Lingerlings.
Though they didn’t consider themselves superstitious in the slightest, Sings-to-the-Skies shivered. Lingerlings were an old story, maybe as old as Eridian society. If an Eridian died, and they weren’t properly laid to rest, some part of them remained, out of their mind from dying and usually malicious. The terms of what made a Lingerling varied greatly; sometimes the funerary songs were ignored or sang incorrectly, sometimes they weren’t buried, sometimes they were buried in the wrong place, and sometimes if they were exceptionally miserable or despised they stuck around to make everyone as miserable and despicable as they were.
Sings-to-the-Skies figured that a paltry excuse for a funeral without even the ground probably counted as ‘being buried wrong’.
“I’m only saying–” Silver-Footed protested.
“No more talk of Lingerlings,” One-Who-Stands said decisively. “How do you think Ground-Shaker would feel if they heard you say that? Besides, I’m sure Quiet-Miracle would understand. They wouldn’t want to cause us harm, become a Lingerling.”
“I’m not sure if someone can choose to be a Lingerling,” Silver-Footed muttered, and luckily everyone ignored them this time.
“How’s Ground-Shaker?” A new voice said, and it took Sings-to-the-Skies a moment to realize they had been the one to speak. They felt everyone listening to them, and practically shrunk under the attention.
“...they’re grieving,” One-Who-Stands said simply. “They are…they’re grieving their little sibling. They loved them very much.”
Stillness for a moment, and then Rougher-Winds stood abruptly. “We can have a funeral,” they said. “It won’t…it won’t be perfect, but we can honor them. Shores-of-Glass, you knew them, yes? You two seemed close.”
“We…” Shore-of-Glass sounded indecisive. “We worked closely but…yes,” they decided. “Yes, we were friends. I’ll help you. I’ll gather the rest of the math team. We’ll put something together.”
“Thank you,” One-Who-Stands sounded relieved. “And just…Backwards-Claw wants to be on the safe side, and I agree. If anyone has been in close contact with Quiet-Miracle, please see the infirmary as soon as possible. You don’t need to come forward, just…before your next sleep, please. If anyone needs me, and you can’t find me, Comes-From-Iron can probably help you.”
No one actively asked the captain to stay, and Sings-to-the-Skies was a little surprised when they left the hall before asking if there were any questions. Sings-to-the-Skies couldn’t really blame them, though. They wouldn’t have wanted to keep up this conversation either. Nevertheless, they scurried after their captain, hoping no one would follow.
“Captain?” They said, and One-Who-Stands turned to face them in a narrow hallway. Suddenly Sings-to-the-Skies wasn’t sure what they wanted to say.
“Yes?” One-Who-Stands said, and suddenly Sings-to-the-Skies was rattling, unable to stop, like a frightened child.
“Is Quiet-Miracle really…?” They asked, horrified to hear how wobbly their voice was.
One-Who-Stands was quiet for a long moment, and their carapace drooped. “...yes,” they finally said. “It…Bakcwards-Claw tried, all the doctors tried, but it just…we couldn’t save them.”
“I was with Quiet-Miracle, right before they went to the infirmary,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, a spike of fear going through them. “Do you think–I mean am I–”
“Backwards-Claw didn’t seem to think that kind of spread was overly likely,” One-Who-Stands said quickly. “Like I said, Quiet-Miracle’s health…”
They stiffened strangely. “They didn’t…they didn’t tell me the extent of their medical fragility. I wouldn’t have…I never would have let them on this mission if I…if I even–”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sings-to-the-Skies said, a little surprised with themselves. “They wanted to come. They told me as much. They didn’t want anyone to worry. It’s just…bad luck.”
“Bad luck,” One-Who-Stands echoed. “The worst luck.”
Silence fell between them, and Sings-to-the-Skies could hear their crewmates talking, planning a haphazard funeral, Rougher-Winds leading them. Rougher-Winds also had children, Sings-to-the-Skies was pretty sure of it, anyway. They acted like a parent.
“Thank you, Sings-to-the-Skies,” One-Who-Stands finally said. “Your words…they’re kind. You’re very kind.”
No one really called Sings-to-the-Skies ‘kind’. It was usually ‘pushy’, ‘impatient’, and occasionally ‘bitchy’. All these labels were true, but they didn’t disliked being kind.
“Just get to Backwards-Claw at the earliest chance you can,” One-Who-Stands said. “Just as a precaution.”
“Yes, captain,” Sings-to-the-Skies chirped a respectful affirmative. “If…if you see Ground-Shaker, please…please tell them I’m usually in my workshop. If they want to talk, about anything. I don’t…I don’t have much experience with grief, but I can listen if they need it.”
One-Who-Stands chirped their own affirmative. “I will, Sings-to-the-Skies. Thank you. You’re a valuable member to our crew and family.”
Sings-to-the-Skies did not speak to Ground-Shaker for a very long time.