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The Eridian taumoeba was growing strong despite their shaky food predicament.
Contained in their brand new baggie-sealed breeder tanks, they seemed to be multiplying at a steady rate. Not fast enough to warrant celebration just yet from what Grace could see, but it was better than nothing. Adjusting the stage of his microscope with a minute twist of the knob, he watched with satisfaction as the healthy taumoeba colony sharpened into view. Bright and semi-translucent, the cells squirmed on the slide, thriving despite their situation. The little buggers were resilient, Grace could give them that much, but said resilience only went so far when starvation was a very real risk.
He could relate.
With Erid still almost a year away, Grace was starting to feel the stretch of missed meals and smaller portions. His hands would shake, his head would go foggy with numbed confusion. Thoughts slipped through his fingers like sand. And worst of all was the incessant gnawing in his stomach. A pit had opened in his gut months ago when he’d started rationing his food and nothing seemed to close it. Grace woke up hungry, went to bed hungry, wandered the day hungry, did experiments hungry…
At this rate, he was contemplating eating his carefully-grown taumoeba for the calories alone.
Though, at the moment, that wasn’t possible. With a doubling time of approximately twelve days, Erid needed the taumoeba more than he did. The new feeder systems he and Rocky had come up with last week, however, would shorten that doubling time by roughly a seventy-two hours if they were lucky. All they needed was thirty micrograms of astrophage per hour to avoid both underfeeding the taumoeba and overloading the tanks.
Definitely doable.
Maybe, in a few months when the colonies for Erid were stable, he could begin to synthesize them for food. Tasteless, nutrient deficient, slimy food-slop. Yummy.
“Lovely,” Grace said to himself. He rhythmically tapped his feet on his stool as he unclipped the taumoeba slide. “Very lovely stuff.” Reaching over, he repackaged the critters into their xenonite-plastic enclosure, ignoring his shaking hands. Reintroducing the colonies to their incubation chambers, Grace cranked the levers up, sealing them inside.
He stepped back, admiring his and Rocky’s handiwork with hands on his hips. Dozens of colonies lined the wall of the lab, each one sticky and flourishing. “Okay, neat-o.” Pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “Neat, neat, neat…” Grace turned around to grab another colony.
The world tilted leftwards.
He caught himself on the lab table.
Grace swallowed hard. A rush of nausea followed. “Holy–” Blinking fast, his vision slowly righted itself. “The heck?”
Grace straightened out.
He waited.
What was that?
A fault in Mary’s gravity?
A dizzy spell from hunger?
With another blink, Grace frowned. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Though, in hindsight, it certainly wasn’t in this day cycle and, on top of that, he’d been awake for hours already.
“Crap,” he scowled under his breath.
Eating would have to wait a few hours. Rocky needed him to set up the new breeder tanks for the astrophage farms.
Plucking his pen up off the table, Grace scrawled sloppy notes to himself: math, mainly, with a side of abbreviated reminders. His hand refused to stop trembling, the ink smearing under the side of his finger. Eyes blurring despite his glasses, he scowled.
Stupid low blood sugar.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Grace slumped forward.
Now that he wasn't busy for a moment, he realized he felt…off. Bad. Almost as if his head was too big for his body, floating somewhere behind him, he thought he was going to stumble where he stood. Splaying a hand flat over the lab countertop, he took a deep breath.
Something was wrong.
Was it bad enough to warrant pausing the breeder tank project? Grace wasn’t sure. The last thing he wanted to do was delay any further; even a few hours could improve the amount of taumoeba they could theoretically create and, at this moment, the more astrophage and taumoeba they had, the better. But if he passed out–
No, he wouldn't.
He was fine.
Sighing hard, Grace sat back in his stool.
Maybe it was…?
But he had no other symptoms. He was taking care of himself. Sure, Rocky was incredible at detecting them before they happened and, so, yes, he’d slacked off a bit in his attentiveness. But it wasn’t like he wanted to have one. He was being careful.
Then again, that had never mattered in the past, had it?
Pushing off the table, Grace went back to the last row of tanks and pulled the final taumoeba canister free. He opened the system, pipetted a sample, and placed the tubes into the centrifuge.
“Keep moving, Ryland,” Grace whispered. “Just keep swimming, just keeping swimming.”
As soon as it began spinning down, he snapped his gloves off and scrubbed a shaky hand down his face. This had to be from hunger. The alternative was bad, was a point of danger that he'd rather not face. Not now. And–
He tasted metal.
Sharp against his tongue, Grace gagged at the flavor. A shiver rippled up his spine as his thoughts whited out.
So, not hunger, then.
Great.
He forced himself to ignore it.
Clearing his throat, he called over his shoulder, “Hey, Rock?”
From across the ship, Grace heard the telltale clattering of Rocky’s claws on the xenonite tubing. His friend crawled into the lab. “Grace need Rocky, question.”
“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Grace nodded hard. “Ready to run those feeding tests?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.
Rocky hopped in place. “Yes, yes, yes. Must breed more taumoeba for–”
He stilled.
“Grace hurt, question.”
Turning around, Grace pulled on another pair of gloves. “What's up, bud?”
“Grace hurt, statement,” Rocky said. Inching as close as he could in his xenonite tube, Rocky twisted completely around. “Heart rate accelerated,” Rocky announced. “Respiration accelerated. Shaking.”
“Woah, woah, slow down.” With a wave of his hand, Grace said, “I'm fine, bud. I'm just a little tired–”
Rocky slammed against the tube. “Bad! Bad! Recline!”
Grace startled. “Rock–”
“Recline!” Shoving an appendage downward, Rocky pointed towards the tiled lab floor. “Now! Grace seizure! Seizure now, now, now!” He rushed away and towards Mary’s core, returning in his xenonite ball with more urgency than Grace had ever seen. When he bumped into Grace’s legs, Grace stumbled. “Recline!”
“Okay, okay,” Grace huffed, holding his hands up. He didn't budge. “Just relax, Rocky.” With a thready laugh that sounded shaky even to his own ears, he swallowed hard. “I feel fine. We should finish the new feeder systems and then I'll go lay down.”
“Grace not fine,” Rocky snapped. “Armando, come here. Prepare Grace medication.” With the hum of metal on metal, the robot scrolled along its tracks, a sedative prepared in its claw.
A syringe.
It removed the cap off the needle.
Grace laughed, high pitched. Hysterical, even. “Woah, hey! Wait a minute! Come on, guys, we don't even know if I'm going to have a seizure–”
“Rocky know,” his friend said. “Rocky see it. Rocky hear it.”
The metallic taste was growing stronger by the second. Breaths picking up, Grace blinked fast. “I'm fine,” he whined. “I'm fine. I'm…” His vision twisted, flashing white starbursts across his view. Dropping to the floor in an ungraceful heap, he eyed the syringe in Armando’s grasp. Pulse in his throat, Grace wheezed. “Oh crap.” He dropped his head in between his legs, choking on spit. “Crap, crap, crap, crap.” Pointing up at the needle, he said, “Don't–Don’t…use…” Words vanished from off the tip of his tongue. “Do not.”
“Is precaution.” Rocky inched closer. He pushed his hand through the mesh, taking hold of Grace’s twitching fingers. “Will not use if no have to. Words of soothing.”
“Don't–” Grace sobbed. He felt himself list to the side, breaths coming faster than before. Tears followed suit. “Please.”
He wanted to beg, please don't put that in me.
He wanted to scream, don't use the needle, anything but that!
He wanted to sob but the sound was trapped in his throat as he felt himself drifting away. Unable to move, he squished his cheek into the floor, practically melting against the cold tile. Grace gasped–
The world went black.
Silence followed.
Then, as fast as the snap of a rubber band, color returned first. Blinding, painful, pulsing behind his eyelids. Smears of different hues, nothing making sense.
Grace recoiled.
Something whimpered, low and animalistic. Was it him?
He rolled onto his back. Someone maneuvered him onto his side. Lashing out, his hand connected with a hot, smooth surface.
Grace tried to say, what's happening?
A throaty groan came out instead.
He rolled onto his back.
Someone maneuvered him onto his side.
Blinking, he watched with a dazed confusion as colors morphed into something more tangible: shapes, objects, things, though he couldn't name what, exactly, they were at the moment. There was an orb of light, shiny like glitter and larger than anything else in the room. Something moved inside of it.
Words echoed around him. What were they saying?
Reaching for the glittery ball in front of him, his fingers brushed that heat once more, that smooth surface that felt like bumpy glass. He croaked, “Hhk.” Choking on spit, he coughed hard.
“Grace,” the thing behind the glass said–
Rocky.
His friend continued, “Grace awake. Good, good, good. Grace conscious, question.” Rocky scooped up one of Grace's limp hands, squeezing rhythmically.
The sight had him tearing up.
When was the last time someone held him after one of these? He couldn't remember. His ex had shied away from him after episodes, his few and far between friends had been scared of him.
But Rocky–
“Vitals stable,” a woman chimed. Stratt? Had he told Stratt about his condition yet?
No, wait.
It couldn't have been Stratt.
Because he was in outer space, wasn't he
That's why Rocky was here in the first place.
Ears ringing and breaths choppy, Grace cringed as saliva pooled in his mouth. He swallowed. Swallowed again. On the third, his insides wrenched up and he gagged. It was good he was on his side; he emptied his stomach onto the floor, more acid than anything else. Unable to fully pull away when it smeared along his cheek, Grace planted his hand on the ground and pushed up.
Something pressed firmly between his shoulders. Soft, finger-like appendages combed through his sweaty hair. At last, tears fell from the corners of his eyes, a sob ripping up his sore throat. It hurt.
“Words of soothing,” Rocky said softly as he squeezed Grace’s hand again. “There, there, Grace. Rocky here. Grace will not die.” Then, gesturing above his carapace, he pointed towards Armando. Turning, Grace saw that the robot still had the syringe in hand, the tip now capped. Its other appendage continued to sift through his hair. Rocky continued, “No use of medicine. Grace safe. There, there.”
He wanted to hug Rocky.
God, he wanted a hug so badly.
Heaving himself up again, the pressure at the center of his back pushed a bit harder, easing him back down.
“Grace no move yet,” Rocky said, shifting forward. “Wait until conscious.”
What?
He was conscious, wasn’t he? Grace blinked hard, grunting his frustration. With a huff, he slurred, “‘m cnscs.”
“Grace make no sense,” Rocky said, skittering in his ball, rolling forward until he was at Grace’s side. “How Grace feel, question.”
Closing his eyes, Grace checked over his body. With sore limbs, a smarting tongue, and a headache beginning to fill in behind his eyes, he wanted to go to sleep. But he blinked again, slumping as he mumbled, “F’l…bad.” Was that coherent enough?
Rocky stepped back. “Armando carry Grace. Grace go sleep.”
“Wh’t?” he groaned.
He felt the hard, robotic arms of Armando lift him up off the floor with ease. With his eyes rolling around in his skull, Grace couldn't focus on anything. The ceiling moved, the sights changed, but time blurred into a sludge that didn't make sense.
One moment and he was in his lab, face-down and pathetic and practically rolling in his own vomit.
The next, and Armando wheeled along its tracks, stopping gently in front of Grace’s bed.
Everything felt heavy: his eyelids, his limbs, his breaths.
Mary - that woman's voice from earlier - said, “Urine incontinence detected.” Grace frowned. Disgusting. He'd wet himself? Armando’s arms moved, undressing him quickly and with ease, replacing his clothing with fresh laundry and his quilt over top. “Vitals stable,” Mary repeated. “Goodnight, Doctor Grace.”
The clang of Rocky’s ball echoed down the hallway. His friend rounded the corner, moving slowly. Through his hazy vision, he could see why…
Rocky was holding his glasses carefully in the mesh section of the xenonite ball. As he stopped at Grace’s bedside, he set the glasses on the floor and said, “Grace need glasses. But first, Grace sleep.”
“Yeah,” Grace mumbled. “I…I'm exhausted.”
“Grace speak full sentence. Good, good.” Next to him, Rocky hopped in place. “When Grace wake up, Grace eat,” Rocky said. “Then we do science. Taumoeba breeder tanks. Sleep now. Rocky watch.” The little alien slid into his tube above Grace’s bed, thunking down hard as he settled in.
Grace’s lips quirked up. “Thanks, bud.”
“Rocky love Grace,” Rocky said. “Rocky watch Grace sleep.”
Humming, he let his eyes slide shut at last as exhaustion overtook him.