Chapter Text
The journey to Erid is a nightmare.
We try to make the best of it, of course, spending long hours talking about whatever we could think of—at least in the beginning. Rocky tells me of Adrian and his family and his friends, I talk about my studies and my kids. He tells me about his work as one of many engineers on his ship, I tell him about my work on Project Hail Mary. He tells me about his crew, I tell him what I remember about mine. I show him my favorite parts of Earth, he tells me about his favorite parts of Erid, promising to show all of them to me once I’m strong enough again.
If he still wants to be around me after that. No matter what Rocky says, it’s likely he’ll want to spend as much time as possible with Adrian once we reach Erid. Even if he doesn’t—being trapped in a tiny tin can with each other for years is the perfect breeding ground for conflict. Enough for Stratt to agree to put the crew of the Hail Mary into a coma with relatively new, barely tested technology—Stratt, who had redundancies over redundancies for literally everything and refused to take any instruments or machinery on board that hasn’t been tested extensively if she could help it.
That doesn’t take into account the fact that I have zero privacy when Rocky is awake, and that even just the physical symptoms of my malnutrition would be enough to make me blow up at every minor inconvenience. Now add to that the uncertainty of what things will be like on Erid, whether I’d even live to see it, whether my best friend would abandon me for his mate, and how the other Eridians would react to an alien, even if said alien helped save all of them. And if I thought I’d get cranky if I went without food for a few hours too long, well … that’s nothing compared to what years of starving myself does to me.
I had to write a program that reduces the portion sizes Armando’s allowed to give me, with only Rocky being able to overwrite it, and we store the Taumoebae on his side of the ship after a late night binge that almost completely decimated their population. I almost doomed Erid just because I got hungry.
And after that? I long stopped counting how often I’ve begged Rocky to allow Armando to give me bigger portions, to give me more Taumoeba slurry, and then blew up at him for refusing or giving me a too-small second helping of Taumoebae, even throwing things at the xenonite walls between us. In a clear moment, I gave Rocky sole clearance to access the airlocks and anything I could use to hurt myself. If I’m doomed to die in space anyway, I might as well accelerate it—but that’s not fair to Rocky. Rocky, who had to watch everyone on his ship die a slow and painful death. Who has to watch me deteriorate slowly and painfully, not knowing if I will ever recover.
And sometimes, I don’t even recognize him anymore. I wake up confused, not remembering where I am or what got me here. Terrified of this strange alien creature, even when he explains everything to me with the patience of a saint. Eventually, he stopped trying, just leaving the room when it happens.
Whenever I’m lucid enough, Rocky comes out and curls up near me in the xenonite suit he’s made and I wrap my arms around him, apologies spilling from my lips and tears from my eyes until my throat is raw and I can’t cry anymore. Rocky presses into the walls of the suit until they’re the only thing between us and assures me that it’s fine, he knows I don’t mean it, that I’m not myself. But I can tell he’s lying, that he’s just saying that to make me feel better. He barely talks to me anymore, even when I’m myself.
Part of me is relieved when we finally approach Erid. The Eridians will have the equipment to synthesize the nutrients I need so I’ll finally stop starving, though I’m not looking forward to having to add them to the Taumoeba slurry since that’s the only thing I can eat.
More than anything else, I’m terrified. Not even about how the Eridians will react to me, that’s no longer on my mind. No, I’m scared that Rocky will leave me behind once we’re there. I know he will. We might have been friends, even willing to risk our lives for the other, but I was absolutely awful to him for years now. He’ll be glad to finally be rid of me, even if he still refuses to admit it. I just know it. And so I spend most of the time I’m lucid in the days before our arrival under my blanket, sobbing my eyes out. It doesn’t help much that he gives me more food now since we have plenty for the rest of the trip. If only, that just gives me more energy to worry about the impeding abandonment.
When Rocky comes to cuddle up on my bed to help me feel better between navigation and preparations, I tell him not to bother. He just tells me I’m stupid and to hug him already, and I only sob harder into his suit. I’m not sure whether the proximity makes it better or worse.
And then it’s time. It feels way too soon, like I’d need way more time to mentally prepare for what’s to come, but I’m not sure if that would actually help. My mind might feel clearer than it’s been in a while, but that doesn’t mean I’m anywhere close to ready.
Rocky’s up in the control room bringing us into reach of the space elevator while I use the last of the gravity to change into my uniform. It hangs sadly from my body, emphasizing the weight I’ve lost, and I try to ignore the pressure the sight causes behind my eyes. I’d rather not look at the reminder of what I’ve become, so I grab the clip-on flashlight Rocky made for me from the airlock that he installed in the dorm after I decided there’s too many things to hurt myself with in the lab. I clip it to my lapel and turn it on so I wouldn’t have to worry about it when I’m wearing the xenonite suit over it, then I grab the CCR Rocky made for me, putting it on like a backpack because after all the testing, he didn’t have time to attach it to the suit itself. It’s an air recycling device inspired by the ones in EVA suits. Then I get my xenonite suit from the airlock as well and pull it over my jumpsuit. I’m almost done putting it on when Rocky calls a warning. I hurry to close it and put the helmet on, and then it seals itself up, just in time before I start floating.
It’s been a while since my last time in zero g, but I’ve done this often enough that I don’t start flailing immediately. I hurry to grab one of the handrails on the wall to stabilize myself anyway because no matter how often I’ve done this, my stomach still flips upside down when I start floating. I take a deep breath to stabilize it, then glance over to the whiteboard I took notes on when Rocky explained the plans for today because my memory really can’t be trusted with the malnutrition.
1. Get into orbit in reach of the space elevator
2. Let them know we’re here and friendly
3. Have them dock to the Hail Mary
4. Bring them the Taumoebae
5. Give them the info they need to save me
Only now that I’m reading this again do I realize that Rocky didn’t tell me how he’s planning to send the space station a message. Last I checked, we don’t have a way to send or receive radio waves, and with how high we are, there’s no way they have an atmosphere for sound to travel through. That’s the entire point of the space station after all—to be high enough that the atmosphere doesn’t obscure the view of their telescopes. But Rocky is crafty, I’m sure he’ll have figured something out.
But that means there’s nothing for me to do other than wait, and now I regret putting on the suit so soon. Maybe I should have waited until Rocky gave me the go-ahead, but I’m no longer used to getting changed in weightlessness. It might’ve cost more energy to get changed with gravity, but I don’t really think I have the patience to get changed in zero g anymore. It diminished along with my weight and my general mental stability.
And look where that got me, floating around alone in the dormitory with nothing to do as I wait for Rocky to return. He did unlock the hatches to the other rooms in anticipation for boarding the space station, though, so I decide to go bother him. He might tell me to leave him alone, but I would promise to be quiet and let him work in peace. Even just watching whatever it is he’s doing to get in contact with the space station would probably enough to distract me from whatever thoughts would probably arise now that boredom makes room for them, now that anticipation crawls through my veins like ants.
I maneuver through the lab and the Don’t Go Crazy Room to poke my head through the hatch to the control room, looking around the room for a bit. There, in Rocky’s section of the room, I spot the controls he built, connected to the controls of the Hail Mary with a cable that leads through the xenonite wall. But there’s no trace of Rocky.
I go back through the other rooms, using the handles along the walls to push myself so I won’t accidentally catapult myself across the room, and look around to see if I can’t find him. But I can’t, and, as I realize then, I can’t find the xenonite suit he uses to get around in the ship now either.
Ice cold fear fills my veins as I realize that Rocky is nowhere to be found, neither in my side of the ship nor his own. I was right, he did leave me behind as soon as he could, giving me a false sense of security so I wouldn’t stop him or blow up at him, and now he’s already back on Erid, he’s gone, and I’m all alone again, light-years from home—
The tears in my eyes spill over, and a sob rattles my frail body. Even after everything I’ve said and done, I expected Rocky to have the decency to at least bring me to Erid and introduce me to the Eridians who could help me himself, and yet—he just left, he just left me behind, and I didn’t even notice. All I can do is curl up and wrap my arms around myself to hold my self. Somehow, the barrier of air and xenonite between my limbs feels worse than feeling how bony I am as I hug myself, and it makes me cry even harder.
“Grace?” Rocky trills carefully, quietly, and my head whips up to scan the room for him. There he is, in the hatch between the control room and the lab, holding onto the rungs of the ladder with three claws so he won’t float away. I can barely see him through my veil of tears.
“Rocky?” My voice cracks on the second syllable, making it almost inaudible. I clear my throat.
“Why Grace leaking, question?” he asks and pulls himself further into the lab on the rungs. His voice is an octave lower than normally, like it often is since I started lashing out frequently. I try to blink the tears away so I can see him properly, but that’s not really helping, so I decide to take off my helmet to wipe them with my hands. Rocky prefers me without anyway, since any barrier makes it a little more difficult to hear my face.
By the time I can see properly, Rocky climbed what would be down in gravity, standing as close to me as he can without letting go of the ladder. I have to look half over my shoulder to see him.
“Just worried how Eridians react to me,” I lie. “Where have you been, question?” I’m not close to the ground so I can’t stomp, it, so I just say the word out loud. I stopped noticing the way I would slip into Rocky’s grammar sometimes years ago.
In the way Rocky’s carapace tilts, I can tell that he noticed my lie, and I curse the fact that my body betrays my dishonesty and Rocky learned to read it. Still, for a moment, he humors me. “Rocky send message to space station. Why Grace lie, question?”
My lower lip wobbles and I wrap my arms around myself tighter. “Couldn’t find Rocky. Got scared.”
Rocky doesn’t say anything for what’s probably just a few seconds but feels so much longer, shifting in a way I couldn’t place with the way my vision blurs.
“No need scared,” he explains then. “Rocky here. Rocky not leave.”
As much as I try to keep it in, a sob tears out of my chest when he says that. And then another follows, and another, until my diaphragm practically vibrates with the intensity of it.
“Grace,” Rocky says again, louder this time. “Rocky not leave. Rocky stay, Rocky stay, Rocky stay, promise.”
I want to respond, but I can’t think of a response. Everything in me screams that he’s lying, but if I tell him that, he’ll just deny it. I don’t know how he’s so determined to pretend like things are fine until the very end when it wouldn’t make that much of a difference this close to Erid. Or is he that scared that I would attack him? That I would hurt him? The thought makes me sob even harder.
Way to go, Grace, use what little energy you have on a darn tantrum. If Rocky wasn’t so scared of how I’d react, he would probably call me stupid right about now.
“Rocky hug Grace, question?” Rocky asks after another moment of silence. He sounds worried at the very least, but I can’t trust my brain not to mess with my perception right now. And even if he’s worried, he’s probably more worried for his own safety right now.
Gosh, I really hate how volatile I’ve become.
I shake my head because I can’t speak right now, but Rocky doesn’t wander off. He just stays where he is, singing quiet reassurances, and I hate that, too.
Eventually, my sobs die down, but I still hug my knees to my chest in the middle of the lab as tears floated from my eyes like air bubbles under water. Rocky still won’t leave, just sitting there, not even doing anything because he didn’t hold anything when he came down here to check on me. Not moving, like a—like a rock. He’s still singing, though, quiet notes of “Rocky don’t leave, Rocky stay, Rocky here for friend.” Even though I can’t for the life of me figure out why. There have to be about a million other preparations to be made, especially when I hear the tell-tale thump of an Eridian tunnel docking to the hull that makes me float through space. Wait, no, I don’t move—the Hail Mary does. I wait for Rocky to scuttle off, doing whatever needs done, but he doesn’t.
“Is okay,” I assure him. “Rocky go, I know you’re probably busy.”
This time, Rocky doesn’t even give me a moment to pretend he didn’t notice before he calls me out. “Grace stop lie,” he demands, and I just shrink into myself. “Rocky stay. Other things not important.”
“Rock—” I try, but he interrupts me.
“Rocky friend sad. Rocky can’t fix so Rocky stay.”
I scoff. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake.” The words are out before I realize, and I immediately want to take them back. For a moment I allow myself to believe he doesn’t hear them, but of course he does. He always does.
“What Grace mean, question?”
“Is okay, buddy,” I repeat because I really don’t want to explain myself. The dehydration already makes my head hurt, and I don’t want to start sobbing again. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes matter,” Rocky exclaims and stomps a claw in frustration. “Grace sad. Rocky want help. Grace says Rocky pretend. Rocky not understand. Grace tell Rocky!”
And oh, how much I want to tell him, to let it all out while Rocky holds me, but that’s just wishful thinking. Rocky might hold me, might reassure me, but he wouldn’t mean it and that just makes it worse.
“If Rocky want help, leave Grace alone,” I grit out between my teeth, but Rocky stomps his claw.
“Rocky not leave until Grace say what wrong,” he insists.
“Grace always say what wrong,” I explode at him. “Why can’t Grace stay quiet for once?”
Rocky flinches, but he doesn’t leave. His shoulders settle in something akin to determination, and then, for the first time in years, he yells back. “Grace only yell when Rocky not give food. Grace never say other problems. Rocky sit. Rocky wonder what wrong. Rocky not ask because Rocky want Grace to say, but Grace never say. Grace never say! So Rocky sit, Rocky wonder, Rocky helpless. Rocky can’t fix other Eridians, Rocky can’t fix Grace, Rocky fix nothing nothing nothing!”
I physically recoil when Rocky brings up his crew, but it doesn’t have the same effect in zero gravity. Flinging my upper body back only sends me spinning closer, and I yelp in surprise, scrambling to find a wall and push myself away away away from Rocky. I crash into the wall across the room—another bruise, I think, but I seem to collect those like Pokémon cards these days anyway—but I manage to hold on to a cupboard so I’m steady, at least.
“Rocky can’t fix,” I agree, trying not to show how shaken I feel. I’m not sure I succeed. “That’s why Grace not say.”
“Maybe Rocky can fix,” Rocky insists. “Rocky not know if Grace not say.”
“I know for a fact Rocky can’t,” I mumble and curl up again, but Rocky hears it anyway.
“Grace say, please,” Rocky begs. “Rocky stay until Grace let Rocky help.”
His low notes and quiet voice break my heart, but I refuse to look at him. I refuse to speak. Rocky refuses to leave.
I feel even worse for further delaying his arrival home.