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Grace only had two things on his mind: Bananas and his imminent death.
Bananas, because he has always hated the little yellow things. Too sweet and too difficult to find the perfect ripe one. Yet, right now, he’d kill to have one. His imminent death, because, well, it was imminent. And painful, but he’d prefer not to think about that.
The pen he’s chewing on lets out a small crack and he quickly pulls it out of his mouth. He has already experienced a pen exploding in his mouth enough times to remember the exact taste of blue ink and the amount of minutes it takes the wash the color away. Plus the shame of walking down the corridor with your mouth blue. That shame, however, never seemed to leave him. It was always there, ready to creep forth the moment he did or said something wrong. He still remembers the scientists, of how they stared at him until his skin crawled.
He pushes the thought away. No reason to worry about that now, now when he was alone again, no alien to keep him company. The board in front of him is proof enough of how he struggles to keep his thoughts in check. It’s filled with calculations. Only the corner, where he wrote down the time it would take to get to Rocky, 11 days, is clean. The rest is an intricate count of how many bananas you’d have to eat before dying of potassium. Ignoring the logic behind how many you could eat before puking, of course.
It wasn’t the only nonsense he’d counted. Could you fill the Milky Way with soup? What would happen if earth suddenly stopped spinning? Would the moon’s gravitational force be enough to get us spinning again? It’s all weird questions asked by his students coming back to him, things they asked over a decade ago. Thinking back on it, on the normalcy compared to now, he realizes he’s going insane. No sane person would count such things for fun. But at the same time, he needs to do something to pass the time. The loneliness had been awful at first, when he had just woken up, and after spending time with Rocky and then losing that companionship, it had only gotten worse. Not having his memories had almost been a blessing in disguise – no one to miss. Sure, he had felt an unexplainable sadness and loneliness, but he hadn’t known who for. Now he was painfully aware of who he missed. His students, friends, coworkers, but most of all Rocky.
Since they bid goodbye, he had been constantly aware of how lonely he was, no matter how loud he sang or how much he talked to himself. The moment he stopped, the silence would creep in and press itself upon him. It was like a physical presence, making him struggle for every breath. He’d checked the status of the oxygen twice before admitting it was all just his body.
Only ten days left before he reached Rocky. 9, perhaps. He’d already lost count, struggling to sleep and create a circadian rhythm with no one watching him, and he’d rather be one day wrong than get his hopes up too early. Because even if he made it there, it wasn’t safe to say that it would all be fine. Grace could only hope that the alien was alright. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that it might be too late, that the dose of radiation was too high.
“Nope, nope, nope.” He mumbles, his voice raspy from using it too much. The words echo against the bright walls of the Hail Mary, bouncing back to him in a poor imitation of conversation.
Could Taumoeba feel full?
Grace latches onto the thought immediately, trying to figure out a way to count that. He’d guess not, but he didn’t like that answer, so he tried proving it otherwise. If it couldn’t feel full and would just keep eating and eating, it’d mean Rocky’s chances were slim. Had he been smarter, he would’ve counted how quickly the Taumoeba ate the Astrophages. Then he could’ve figured out how long time Rocky would’ve had before the Astrophages stopped blocking the radiation. He was an idiot. He was going to get Rocky killed. Fuck, Grace didn’t even know how much radiation Eridians could withstand! They were obviously much harder than humans, so perhaps they’d deflect more radiation. What was that formula… I=I₀e^-µx? But then he’d need to know what sort of rock his friend was, and he didn’t.
The pen explodes in his mouth. Somewhere along the thoughts of Taumoeba he had started nibbling on the end again, and now the taste has him gagging, sputtering as the ink sticks to his tongue. Quickly, he heads towards the shelves with food and water, climbing up there while trying to ignore the constant wetness. To think that something wet could feel even more wet.
When done getting rid of the ink, which took longer than the average time he had estimated from former experiences because 1; he didn’t have running water, which made it difficult to wash away. 2; he didn’t have a mirror, causing him to wash a few times extra in case he had missed anything (beautiful paranoia, oh how he loved that feeling,) he erased one of the lines on the whiteboard. He kept a tally over the amount of food and water he had left. Just to know when he should start searching for that heroin Ilyukhina had talked about.
He takes off his glasses, letting go of them and expecting them to float. They don’t. With a small crash, they land on the floor. Right. He was moving. Gravity was happening. Well, not really gravity. Just the illusion of it, by being forced into the back of a ship hurtling through space. He sighs, flailing with his arms.
“I just climbed!” It should’ve been enough for him to figure out he’s not gravity-free. In case standing on the floor wasn’t enough, you know? Then his voices echo comes back, and the self-deprecating humor quickly disappears.
He sits down on the edge of the shelf, looking out the big window on the other side. There were many stars on the other side, but they brought no comfort. Fuck. He was so alone.
The days pass by slowly. It’s worse than before, because now he’s got somewhere to be. There’s a restlessness creeping through his body, interrupting every nap and keeping him pacing around the ship. He’s so impatient. When he’d been drifting through space, before he met Rocky, there had been a sense of finality about it. After he had a mental breakdown first, of course. Now, it was just waiting, waiting, waiting.
Grace had resorted to eating his ramen dry. He breaks it into small pieces, lets them soak in his mouth before he swallows. It takes over an hour to eat one, over two if he takes his sweet time.
“So good. Yup, absolutely delicious. 5-star meal.” He doesn’t speak as loudly as before. It has turned too sharp in the silence. How many days have passed? Three? Four? The first… twelve hours, he could recognize when the sky outside changed, when stars came and went. Now it all looks the same. Is he moving? He looks over at the computer. Yep. He’s moving.
The boredom is eating at him. Bigger bites than he’s taking off the ramen as well. Not good. He’s gone through the drawings made by his student a dozen times, calculated the way to Rocky a thousand times. He’s dressed up in everything he could find, creating worse and worse outfits. Made a fortress of blankets, boiled ramen until the water completely evaporated, studied the Taumoeba, studied the Astrophage, counted every rocks resistance to radiation.
Currently, he is in the pilot seat, falling asleep only to jolt right back up over and over again. He is so tired, yet so restless. His whole body is thrumming with energy, his fingers twiddling with a pen. On this one, he’d put tape around the tip to make sure to, if not stop, limit the explosion.
His arm itches. He looks down at the bandage, scratching the skin around it. It doesn’t help, actually just makes it worse. The sterile white wrapped around his forearm has gotten yellowish in certain spots. He’ll have to change it. He stands up, walking aimlessly around the ship until he finds a first aid kit. Sitting down on the floor, he begins to unravel the bandage. It sticks to his skin. Taking a deep breath and looking away, he begins to tug it off. They say it’s better to rip it off quickly, to get it over with, but he prefers to do it slowly. His mind is too good at imagining his skin going with the bandage, revealing the pink flesh beneath and the nausea that accompanies such pain.
He holds back a few curses, a habit from working with and around children, as he begins to clean it. There’s a sweet smell coming from it, and while he is no medical genius, he knows it isn’t good. Preferably, he’d air it, but doesn’t trust himself. He’s too clumsy. Better to just clean it and wrap it up.
Even when done, he stays on the floor. The restlessness has taken it’s toll, leaving him feeling tired and numb. Not like he has anything better to do. His eyes follow the lines and bolts holding the cold floor together until they land on a few stones. Rocky. From when he saved Grace. Went through the agonizing oxidation and pressure just to save him. To oxidize… must feel like acid. Something burning and eating at your skin while you’re still alive.
“No, don’t you think about that. It’s okay.” Grace pulls his knees up, wraps his arms around them and hides his face. Leaky space blob. He was crying now. Short, ugly sobs, hitching when he tries to take a deep breath and calm himself. What if Rocky was already dead? What if he got the math wrong and missed him? What if he died for nothing?
He had tried to ignore that thought. The imminent death. His imminent death. Painful and slow. Alone as well. He wouldn’t want Rocky seeing him like that, even if the alien offered to stay. He wanted to go back home. He wants it so badly. There’s so much he misses. He’s been spending enough time in the room with all the screens to get disoriented and sick, but it’s doesn’t help. The sights and sounds aren’t enough. He misses the cool of the water, the rustle of trees, the laughter of his students and the screams of the seagulls. He misses food, the restaurant he’d go to once every week, the meals his mother used to make, the fast food he’d buy whenever he was feeling lazy.
He sobs more. His hands pat the floor until his fingers bruises against the first aid kit. It’s nowhere near what he needs, but it’ll do – he pulls it closer, wrapping his arms around it. He just had to wait. Once it got a bit warmer, he could pretend it was human.
7 days have passed. The waves washes over his feet, yet he doesn’t get wet. In and out, in and out, ever repeating. He has stared at it for so long that he knows it loops after 5 hours and 37 minutes. The waves brush in again, carrying a soft rumble with them. The birds fly overhead. In 14 minutes the clouds would thin out and the sun appear. He’ll try to sleep then. But while it was still foggy, he’d stay awake.
He wonders what Rocky is doing right now. Searching for the leak, most likely. The alien would be chattering, playing those stressful tunes when he couldn’t find what’s faulty. Alone, he would have no chance to rest, no one to watch him sleep. Did Eridians need sleep to function? How much did they need? What happened if they went too long without it? Grace wishes he could be there only to watch Rocky sleep. He worries he’ll wait and wait and wait, only for his friend to never wake up.
“Don’t.” Grace buries his face into his hands. The clouds are moving now, the first rays of sun hitting him square in the face. It hurts, too bright for him. He feels like he’s about to faint. It’s been forever since he slept properly. His head is throbbing, and he’s unsure whether it’s the lack of sleep, water or food, if not all three.
“oh, gotta get up…” he reluctantly stands up, knowing he can’t sit here forever. “Gotta get up and not go insane…”
The words soon catch a rhythm, and he playfully sings it while trailing over to his bed. He only stops once he’s in bed, covers pulled up and lying on his side. Closing his eyes, he rolls onto his back, pretending Rocky is above him.
10 days have passed and Grace hasn’t slept in the last 24 hours. His thoughts are irregular, bouncing around like ping pong balls and slipping through his grasp like smoke whenever he tries to form a thought. He’s on his third pack of ramen in this hour, watching the water boil. Every now and then, he’ll slip away, waking up to the hot steam hitting his face.
Pouring the noodles into a bowl, he makes his way to his new bed: he had moved all pillows and blankets to the screen room, creating a bed in the middle of it. He’ll lie there, eating his ramen and staring up at the sky. When a seagull passes by, he turns to his side, giving the long pile of blankets a smile.
“Did you know Seagulls can drink saltwater?” he begins, pushing the ridiculous feeling of talking to a pile of fabric down. “They have these glands near their eyes. Subraorpital glands, they’re called. So they use those glands to filter the water they drink, separating the salt from water and then sneezing said excess salt out. Cool, huh?”
He chuckles. It grows into a wheezing laughter that has him holding his stomach to ugly sobbing. He was so tired.
11 days have passed. Grace woke up severely dehydrated, tear tracks still clinging to his cheeks. Today was it. He’d see Rocky again. He could only pray that his friend would be moving. Could only pray that he hadn’t gone back for nothing.
“Are you religious?” Grace asks, looking over at Stratt. The wind is blowing, playing with her hair. She looks tired today. Less cold. More human. He had never thought of how much she was doing. She was the one leading a mission to save Earth. She was organizing it all, making sure everyone did their part and did it right. One miscalculation, and they were doomed.
“It beats the alternative.” Stratt finally responds. She gives him a small smile. It’s strained. There’s something behind it, something she’s hiding. Grace doesn’t know what to ask to get the truth. He settles for pretending he didn’t notice.
“Blip-A detected.” The robotic voice called out. Grace is quick to his feet, checking his astronaut suit and oxygen tank before rushing back to the pilot seat. He’d gotten better at steering, and could attach his own ship to Rockys with only a minor struggle.
There’s no sign of life at all, and the pressure over his chest comes back. He ignores it, focuses instead on putting on his suit. The room depressurizes. His hands are shaking once he opens the door. Please be there, please be there. The words repeat in his head until it's the only thing he can think about.
He moves into the tunnel of xenonite. It’s all so quiet, so still. The space is, literally, eating up every sound. He can only get his own heavy breathing.
“Rocky?” he bangs on the glass, hoping his friend will hear him. There’s nothing. No response, no movement.