Chapter Text
Today is a medium-good day. Any day where the hull holds and I’ve still got rations to chow on is a good day, but today is also the day Rocky has demanded I clean up the dormitory. So it’s medium-good.
“Room is messy!” he complains. “Can’t hear properly. Grace clean, will feel better after. Human thinking machine says so.”
I do feel a little bad, all the extra clutter complicates Rocky’s echolocation. Still, I sometimes regret giving him that laptop. He’s used the internet against me far too many times to count. I’d wanted to mess around in the lab today, but Rocky’s right. All of the taumoeba and and my nutrients experiments are running smoothly, I should clean before I try to start any more projects. Even though I really don’t want to.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I say, and start my trek of doom. There isn’t much to truly clean, all the garbage I generate is quickly whisked away by Armando, so it’s mostly getting all my clothes, bedding, and other knick knacks in order.
“I will set up movie room, we can watch Indiana Jones when Grace done.”
I smile and pump my fist in the air. Rocky and I are up to The Last Crusade in our marathon, and that’s the one I’m most excited to show him. I hurry up and get to work so Rocky scurries away.
I stick all the magnetized items onto the wall for now, and start sorting through the clothes. The Hail Mary doesn’t have a laundry, but someone did think to pack fabric refresh spray, so that’s a blessing. I change my clothes often to keep up a routine, and to try to keep them clean for as long as possible. On a traditional mission, astronauts just rewear their uniforms over and over again until they’re thrown out. But I don’t have the luxury of returning to Earth in a few months; I have to make these clothes last years. I’ve taken a few of Yáo and Ilyukhina’s things that fit, but I don’t like wearing them often. It depends on the day. Sometimes, it’s like I’m remembering them. Keeping them close. Most days I just feel like a thief.
I whip the clothes around and spray the fabric refresh. One of the clear storage tubs I’d previously emptied is sitting in the corner, so I put my clothes away in there. That way they’re all in one place and I don’t have to go searching through a bunch of bags.
Hey! That means now my personal bag is empty!
I’ve been wanting a little bag to just have around the ship. I keep pissing Rocky off because I never put certain stuff away. Scissors, duct tape, tape measure, glasses cleaner, respirator, marker, safety goggles, ruler, stress ball, that sort of thing. I use them all the time so why bother putting them away? But of course then I forgot where I put them, and I have to ask Rocky where they are.
“Human brain really so inefficient? Grace had tape five minutes ago!” he would tease.
I know he’s not actually as annoyed as he seems. He just likes making fun of the space blob. Still, this might fix my problem.
I dump my personal bag upside down and shake it so that everything clatters to the floor. There wasn’t much in there to begin with, and now that most of my clothes are in the tub there’s even less. I toss the bag towards the door so I remember to take it into the lab and crouch down to pick up my other stuff.
But instead, I just stare.
I was certain I’d been completely through this bag. When you only have one and a half kilograms of personal items to your name, you get pretty familiar with what you’ve got. I have twenty pairs of underwear and socks, four pairs of jeans, one pair of sweatpants, a fox key chain, my converse, ten t-shirts, my cardigan, a polaroid of me on earth, a stack of letters from my students, the hackey sack I gave to Rocky, and a ‘good luck!’ stick note.
My cardigan, sweatpants, keychain, and polaroid are all scattered on the floor. Along with something else. I lean down and pick it up.
It’s a pacifier. The silicone nipple is covered by a piece of hard plastic to protect it from dirt or dust. I snap the cover off and stare at it some more.
The only kids I ever really interacted with were my students, and they were middle schoolers. But this doesn’t even look like it’s for a kid. I mean, besides the fact that it’s a pacifier. It’s so big it looks like it’d fit comfortably in my mouth.
Why do I have this?
My stomach flutters. Is it anxiety? Shame? I don’t know. Doesn’t really feel like it.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Stratt’s office door is cracked, but I knock anyway. It’s only polite. I’m right on time for our meeting at eleven-hundred hours.
Time is weird on the carrier. Shifting to a twenty four hour clock was one thing, but most confusing was having to remember to translate from Stratt Time to Local Time. Most sea faring vessels run on the time zone of the nearest city, it just makes sense to have a clock that corresponds with the position of the sun that your crew experiences. So all the watch schedules, mess hall hours, ping pong tournaments, whatever, they’re written down in local time. However, for complicated global co-ordination, it’s a lot easier to agree on one time zone. For this, everyone uses Greenwich Universal Coordinated Time (UTC).
Eva Stratt communicates exclusively in UTC. So my 1100 meeting? Yeah, actually at 2030. Meaning 8:30 pm, the sun’s just about to set. You can see why I had a little trouble making it anywhere on time for the first few weeks.
Anyway, she answers right away. “Ah, Dr. Grace, come in. Close the door, please.”
I sit in one of the chairs across from her desk and she hands me a manilla folder. “That is the report of your psychological status and work efficiency based on the last month of behavior.”
I sputter. “You did a psych profile on me?”
“Yours is just in the first round of reports that’s come back, I’m having a psych profile done for everyone on the project.” she says. “We’re all making sacrifices with our mental health, but we cannot afford those sacrifices to be detrimental to our work. It’s too important.”
She nods to the file. “They’ve found a small but steady decline in work quality due to your poor regulatory habits.”
I hurriedly open the document. It’s exactly what she said, an almost three page report on me. There are charts. I’ll read this thing fully later, I skip right to the conclusion and start to read aloud. “While clearly a competent and dedicated professional, Dr. Grace also has a tendency for extended lab time with limited breaks. This combined with a lack of clear coping skills or support system unfortunately leads me to predict he will endure an inevitable major depressive episode within the next six months, irrevocably damaging mission progress.”
I look back up at Stratt in disbelief. “You know this is a load of complete hooey, right?”
“Mine says the same thing.”
“I–what?”
“Here.” She hands me another file. Stratt’s report is set up almost exactly the same as mine. The conclusion comments on her caffeine intake and predicts she will ‘endure an inevitable major depressive episode’ if her behavior patterns continue. “Dr. Dombrowski and her team predicted nervous breakdowns for at least twenty-two percent of all project personnel so far. Most of which include our strategic committee and heads of research.” she says.
I put down the papers and drag my hands down my face. It's just like a psychologist to tell us to relax during the end of the world. “Okaaay, but what do they expect us to do about it?” I ask. “It’s not like we can exactly take a vacation.”
“I know. We have to keep working, as efficiently as possible. I’ve asked the psych team to draw up break schedules that are compatible with the long working hours of senior staff. I’ve also collected some people from human resources to put together morale boosters. Team building and parties and things. But I don’t think breaks are the issue with you and I.”
“They aren’t?”
Stratt shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I took the liberty of going through your San Francisco apartment and ship quarters–”
“Wait, WHAT!?”
“It was necessary to ascertain any sort of coping mechanism for you.” She says. Completely without shame, as always.
“You could have asked!”
“And would you have answered, Dr. Grace? Really? No, this solution is much quicker and less biased. It also allowed me to send some personal clothing and other items to the carrier. They’re being delivered to your quarters as we speak.”
I sit back, stunned. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Stratt always gets the job done, no matter anyone’s feelings on the matter. I wonder vaguely which of my clothes she sent. Living with just a few outfits has been pretty boring.
“Ok, so did you find what you’re looking for?” I ask.
Stratt reaches into her drawer and places a pastel blue pacifier on the table.
My pacifier.
I stand abruptly, absolutely terrified. What the absolute shitake. “That is none of your business!”
Stratt doesn’t even blink. “Everything is my business, Dr. Grace.” she says.
I feel hot shame burn in my gut. Seriously, of all things, she had to find that? It’s already a struggle to get people to take me seriously on this boat. I’m about to be a complete laughing stock.
“If missing a pacifier was gonna send me into a depressive episode, it would have happened already Stratt. Thanks for the psych profile, but I can take care of myself.”
I go to storm out, real haughtily too, but I barely get a step in before Stratt stops me, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Sit down Dr. Grace, please.”
I stare at the door for a moment. Maybe if I left now, Stratt would give me the dignity of forgetting any of this ever happened. Ha! Yeah, right. I finally sit, and glare across the desk at Stratt. I very pointedly don’t look at the pacifier. I haven’t seen it in more than a month, I don’t need to see it now.
Stratt takes a deep breath and folds her hands together on the desk. “We all have our ways of dealing.” she says. “If you look further into my own report, you’d know that I have not had a consistent schedule since the beginning of this mission. I am always working, or getting in what few hours of sleep I can get. I eat what I can, when I can. Dombrowski estimates my leisure time at merely an hour a week, only because I make it a point to crochet during preflight checks or if I have a break less than half an hour.”
I avoid her gaze. All the travel she does must be exhausting. At least my life on the carrier is stable. I talk to people in the mess hall, I technically have breaks every few hours. I try to get at least six to eight hours of sleep. Stratt spends almost half of her time jumping from country to country to try and keep the world in line.
Stratt continues. “I do this for the same reason you work in your lab for several days straight, or spend all of your spare time reading reports on the latest astrophage studies. Because it is necessary. But unfortunately, Dr. Dombrowski has a point. If we keep working the way we are, all we are doing is damaging ourselves. She compared it to trying to win a formula one race without ever making any pitstops.”
Yeah, that’s one way to blow out your tires. Still. “I agree.” I said. “But we can keep my personal business out of it. We’ll all be sure to take care of ourselves with the psych teams new plan, make sure that with every ten hours of work we also get a two hour break or something. Enough sleep, consistent eating, all that jazz.”
“The problem, Dr. Grace, is not breaks.” Stratt sighs. “At least not entirely. Enough food and sleep is important, we need to ensure the crew isn’t running on impaired cognitive function. But Dombrowski’s concern for you and I lies in our mindset.”
“What?”
“When is the last time you thought about anything but work, the project, or your students in the last week?”
I pause, stumped. "Uhh, I wondered if they’d ever serve chicken parm in the cafeteria again?”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Well what am I supposed to think about, huh? Everything leads back to the project. Will the 49ers make the superbowl–”
“You don’t follow football.”
“I’m making a point. Will there even be a superbowl this year? Yep, and all ticket sales go straight to the Bunker Building Fund. How about regular TV? All the commercials are for doomsday prepping. Let’s talk to my co-workers! Talking to the other scientists means we just talk about work, how about the ones that we are sending off to die? Dubois won’t stop talking about his sex life, Yáo either doesn’t talk or just shows off pictures of his son. Xiaoming is supposed to go into 8th grade this year, did you know that? He’s ecstatic to go to the Palace Museum, the 8th graders go every year. I was supposed to lead the field trip to the Exploratorium this year, but I’m here instead. My kids probably won’t get to go because Mrs. Harris just had a hip replacement, and the parents have been pulling back from any scientific curriculum anyway–”
I pause. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath. It’s all so much.
“Dr. Grace–”
“So don’t think about the kids.” I say in a rush. “Let's go to the bar instead. I have to check on the astrophage growth in just a few hours, so I can’t even really get drunk. I play darts. I start thinking about trajectories, and that’s not even my field!”
“Dr. Grace!”
I push my glasses into my hair and pinch my nose. The pain grounds me, a little. “I’m sorry.” I say. “But I can’t see how I can think about much else.”
Stratt sits down heavily in her chair. “I know.” she says. I don’t think I actually caught when she stood up.
“We are in the same boat.” she chuckles a little. “I am always thinking of ways to make us faster. More efficient. All I do is push and push, but. I don’t think it’s working. For either of us.”
I sit down again. She’s right. We need to find some way for us to deal.
“How does it make you feel?”
“What?”
Stratt taps my pacifier. My face burns. “There were a few other things. Books and games and toys. But this was most intriguing.” she says. “Is it sexual?”
“No!” God, I do not want to be talking about this right now. Anything but this.
She hums. “I didn’t think so. Why do you have it?”
I hesitate. This isn’t something I ever imagined talking to my boss about. Especially when my boss basically outranks everyone in the entire world right now. “It’s like a fidget.” I finally say. “I was a lot more anxious in college, I’d chew on that to distract myself when I was writing papers. It was a lot cheaper and healthier than chewing gum all the time, and I could use both my hands.”
“Don’t you think we know each other enough not to lie, Dr. Grace? We’re supposed to be helping each other.”
I sigh. Stratt’s right of course. If I’d been chewing on that pacifier since college, it would have broken ten times over.
“I’m not here to judge you.” Stratt says. Her face is completely neutral. “How does it make you feel?”
“Calm.” I say. “Safe. It lets me, sorta, put my brain away for a while. I can just be…small.”
She nods. “Do you do anything else while you’re small?”
I’m struck by how open she seems. Stratt really wants to know. And its not so she can better make fun of me or kick me out of the project.
“Sometimes.” I say. I swallow and play with my fingers a bit. “I like to watch movies. Cuddle up with a nice blanket, play simple video games. That sort of thing.”
“Have you ever done that with someone else around?”
“No. No, definitely not.”
Stratt opens her phone and types something into her calendar. “I have a four hour free period tomorrow at 0700 hours.”
I do some quick math, that’s 16:30 local time. 4:30 pm.
“By tying our leisure times together, it’s more likely that we both relax. We are accountable to each other instead of just ourselves.”
I nodded. Where exactly was she going with this?
“You will meet me here at that time. You will be small, and I will take care of you. Bring your pacifier and any other comfort items you may want. We will do our own thing for a while before we watch a movie and I have dinner delivered to the office.”
I blink several times. “You’re serious?”
“Completely. Right now, finding a solution to our mental health issues is among top priority.”
“Yeah, but. I mean. It’s not exactly orthodox–”
“Our lives are no longer orthodox.” Stratt cuts me off. “If you told me you needed to relax by swimming in maple syrup, I’d buy the pool myself. This is relatively simple.”
Wow. No room for argument there. This is my life now. “Uh, ok. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“You will.” she says. Stratt hands me my pacifier before she opens and starts to peruse another file, a clear dismissal. “Oh, and be sure to grab something from the mess hall tonight. I’m adding a notification to the system if any senior staff receive two or less meals in a twenty four hour period.”
I nod, think about the chaos that will cause for her inbox, shove the pacifier in my pocket, and head out the door.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
“Grace quiet for a long time! Ok, question!?”
Rocky’s voice brings me back from my memory and I drop the pacifier like I’ve been burned. “Uh, yeah!” I quickly yell back. If I don’t answer right away Rocky will definitely come to check on me in person. “Sorry, just got distracted. Almost done!”
I grab the pile of things from the floor and shove them all in the storage bin, making sure to tuck the pacifier underneath one of my t-shirts. I feel like I’ve just been caught. But I didn’t do anything, I just found that thing. I barely remember it in the first place.
Just Stratt finding it. Setting up a time for us to relax together. I feel sick to my stomach and rush the rest of cleaning.
Rocky is in his xenonite tube fiddling with his texture camera when I finish. “It is complete!” I greet, waving my arms dramatically.
Rocky trills in delight and sets down his tools. “Good good good job, Grace! Now lunch and Indiana!”
I groan. God, of course. In an effort to spread my rations as thin as possible, we’ve been incorporating coma slurry into my daily meals. Which means I get a nice big bottle of bitter slush to drink during the movie. Rocky always insists I finish it too, meanie.
“Grace eat eat, must stay healthy.”
“I know, pal. I know. It’s just gross.”
Rocky nods in sympathy, a gesture I know he’s learned from me. “Drink quick, I will have computer bring water.” he says. “Rocky quality time and Indiana will make feel better!”
I smile as Rocky transfers to his ball and starts pushing me towards the projection room. We’ve set up some of the spare blankets and mattresses in here, so there’s a cozy little floor nest now. I lean against Rocky’s ball and talk throughout almost the entire movie. I make as many jokes as I want, and Rocky doesn't hush me once. He’s so good at multitasking he doesn’t mind, though I do have to explain a few plot points sometimes.
Rocky’s ball is warm. Not hot, like the first airlock had been. Just warm enough to be comforting to lean against. I fall asleep against him sometimes.
“Grace finish bottle question?”
But not today. I glance down at my coma slurry. There aren’t a lot of dishes on the Hail Mary, so I have had to borrow one of the 500 mL lab bottles. I’ve labelled this one FOOD ONLY in sharpie so there’s no chance of me mixing it up with any other dish. Anyway, there’s about 175 mL of feeding formula left. Lord help me. Why didn’t we think to pack spoonfuls of sugar for the crew? I knock my head against the xenonite ball and groan.
“Bottle specifically measured for nutrition.” Rocky reminds me. “You have to finish it.”
“I know, pal. I know. I’m doing it.” I take another swig of slurry and quickly grab some water to wash it down. Rocky taps his fingers together, one of his outward expressions of concentration. He’s not gonna let this one go. Ok. Man up already, Ryland. I chug the last of the bottle then present it to him.
“There, see? Allll gone.”
Rocky trills, a little lower than I might consider ‘happy’. “Rocky checked the numbers, Grace already eating at a calorie deficit. Shouldn’t complain about finishing meal.” he says.
I set the bottle down. “I know I worry you buddy, I’m sorry. I promise, I’m really trying here. I’m eating as much as I can spare and stand, y’know? I’m gonna lose weight, but–”
“Grace already lose weight, Grace stupid with calculations, save too much for later. Erid cannot synthesize nutrients for you if you are dead, statement.”
Wow. He’s never gotten that snippy with me before. I feel my face fall.
“Apology. Apology.” Rocky says. He curls into himself a little, ashamed. “Grace is friend, Grace Rocky best best best friends. Grace cannot die, should not hurt.”
Oh, man. Sometimes I think about how lonely Rocky must have been all those years. All of his friends, his entire crew, dead. I lean down, press my forehead against his ball, and close my eyes. I can feel Rocky do the same on the other side. God, I love him so much. We sit there for a moment.
“I’m not gonna die, Rocky.” I say softly. “I’m not gonna die because you saved me pal.”
“Grace save Rocky too” he says.
I chuckle. “Yeah yeah, but you did it first so you get credit.”
Rocky trills darkly, but he mostly knows not to argue with me about that. It’s an Earth culture thing. “More Indiana Jones movies?” he asks instead.
I shoot up. “No! God no. No, technically they made more but it was years after and they aren’t even close to the same. We’ll find another movie, ooh! What about The Princess Bride?”
“Yes yes! Excite excite excite! Also, Grace explain new word now”
‘Bride’ ends up being a pretty easy translation, but we spend at least twenty minutes trying to find the equivalent of ‘princess.’ Eridians don’t really do blood succession, which is super cool, but it makes explaining Prince Humperdink’s motives a little difficult.
I do actually fall asleep this time, towards the very end. I used to watch this movie whenever I was home sick as a little kid, it was my favorite. And besides, the blankets are warm, my belly is full, and my best friend is by my side.
Rocky pushes his ball a little to wake me and I whine. I was comfortable! I nuzzle closer to him in retaliation. There’s no reason I should need to move right now.
Then Rocky says something I’ve never heard before. He almost coos. If I was more awake I’d be fascinated. “𝆕𝅗𝅥♩𝅘𝅥𝅰 Grace have to move! Check on taumoeba then go to dormitory, Armando can feed after nap”
Ugh, he’s right. I do one last little wiggle in the blankets before sitting up. “New word” I yawn. “What was that first word?”
Rocky actually looks a little embarrassed. That's interesting. What could he have called me?
“Rocky?”
“Apology, apology. Grace smart smart adult scientist." he says. "But sleep noises remind Rocky of small Eridians. Word is for young Eridians, first hatched.”
I pause rubbing the sleep out of my eye. Rocky called me baby. Or maybe hatchling would be the right translation? I try very hard not to think of the pacifier hidden in the dormitory.
“Yeah?” I ask. “What noises?”
Rocky perks up a little once he realizes I’m not upset. He does a pretty close impression of my whining, and I laugh. “Yeah, well you sometimes sound like an earth animal called a cat when you talk. Guess we’re both cute.” I say, sitting up.
Rocky isn’t convinced. “Have heard on thinking machine, Rocky sound nothing like cat.”
“I said sometimes!”
“Also what is last word question.”
“Sometimes?” He’s definitely heard that one before.
“No, no. After compare to cat.”
“Oh. Cute?”
“Yes yes new word what is cute question?”
I flush just a tiny bit but start to explain. “Cute is used to describe something or someone that is pleasant, usually smaller or more vulnerable than you. Often used for babies, animals, or people that you find attractive or want to protect. Cute.”
Rocky’s carapace vibrates in a little dance. “Grace cute cute cute.” he intoned.
God, what have I gotten himself into? I blush furiously, glad that Rocky can’t see in color. Well, two can play at that game. “Yeah, well you’re cute cute cute too, Rocky.”
He twists his carapace back and forth, almost cartoonishly. “Negative. I am scary space monster, you are cute space blob.”
Ha! Yeah, right. “Whatever space monster,” I say. “let’s go down and check the slides.”