Chapter Text
The days were wearing thin. Or maybe that was him.
At least they felt like they were. The days were simulated, of course. Roughly eleven hours of light, thirteen hours of dark. He'd yet to get to the part where he began explaining seasonal daylight shift, or even seasons at all for that matter. Just having light in the first place had been a massive leap of engineering on their part. No light reached through Erid’s thick atmosphere. A hot, soupy, and no doubt foul-smelling atmosphere, owing to its make-up being almost entirely ammonia. Blue-green from space, he’d been surprised to find out. Weeks had passed before he’d had to brave the space elevator as the engineers that made up Rocky’s ilk worked their entire days away to build a bio-dome that could sustain him. He’d tried to insist it wasn’t needed, that he could probably find a way to land Mary on the surface, just to save them the trouble. But he knew better.
He’d remarked several times that first week after meeting Rocky that a cylinder is the perfect shape for withstanding high pressures, but even Mary had her limits. She’d likely never survive the trip, and Rocky wasted no time reminding him of that fact. Stupid, in fact, he’d called Ryland. Among a plethora of other words, some of which probably needed new translations but that he had refused to give on principle.
The space elevator itself was still a concept that was hilarious and outlandish to him. And not an experience he wished to replicate again. His mind simply refused to accept the sheer tensile strength of Xenonite, and that it could possibly withstand spinning through that thick of an atmosphere and be considered safe in any regard. And yet he’d made it, safe and sound, though not at all managing to outrun his reputation as “leaky space blob” as Rocky so affectionately labelled him.
An undignified experience, truly. His first time meeting the rest of the Eridian species, and he had to do it while barely containing his hyperventilation and actively crying. Rocky assured him they hardly noticed, but he knew otherwise. So instead he threw himself headlong into his work. Helping to refine the settings of his own home, his enclosure. Sharing, experimenting, learning, and most importantly, teaching. God, it set his soul alight. Sharing knowledge, learning in return. It was as if he was made of fire.
But even that wore thin. He could feel the toll. Could almost feel every red blood cell lost, one that his body would struggle to replenish. The anaemia hit him first, of all the deficiencies he would face.
“Grace okay, question?” Came a familiar voice.
“Hm?” He asked, looking up from the laptop with a cocked brow. “Yeah, I’m fine bud. Why?”
“Grace heart beat faster. Was one-point-zero-two times per earth second, now is one-point-four-two times per second.”
“Minutes, Rocky. They’re measured in minutes”
“Oh. I see. Was sixty-”
“Yeah, I get it Rock, I can do the math. You know my heart rate goes up and down, why is this news?”
“It change with Grace movement. With Grace emotion. Resting always 62 times per minute. Now is 85 times per minute when Grace resting. Grace worried, question?”
Ryland could only stare at him for a moment. There was something to be said about a creature that could sense everything in excruciating detail with echolocation. Creepy, perhaps. But interesting was surely a better word for it, perhaps more accurate.
His brow pinched, and his eyes skirted low towards the desk as he considered.
“Hm. I'm not anxious, not that I can tell. Probably anaemia.” He said after a moment.
“What this means, question?”
“Well, we talked about this, Rock. When the food ran out and I started eating the taumoeba, it would lead to deficiencies in certain things my body needs. Iron is an important one. It helps my body make blood cells to transport oxygen around. If it can't do that the amount and quality of the blood cells reduces, which is called anaemia.” He recited, watching as Rocky tilted back and forth, as he often did when he gave long-winded explanations. It reminded him briefly of a puppy, tilting their head to hear a sound better. But he crammed that thought away, comparing his best friend to a dog was a comparison that fell short in every possible way. Though if he was completely honest, the comparison had its merits, mostly humorous.
He could see the tension in his friend, the way Rocky’s carapace jolted, his limbs more stiff, alert, urgent in their movements. But the silence was a long one before Rocky spoke.
“Rocky see Grace later.” He said abruptly. Grace frowned.
“What, why? Where are you going?”
“Rocky go to see bio-synthesis specialists. Need to discuss progress.” Rocky said simply, his Xenonite ball clunking with increasing cadence against the floor of Grace’s makeshift dwelling as he rolled around. Ryland hopped to his feet, doing a small little jog (one that probably shouldn’t have caused his breaths to quicken, if he was honest) to the door, holding it open for his friend.
“Oh, uh, okay. Hey, Rocky–” He called starting after the opalescent ball as it rolled against the terrain. “It’s not that big a problem right now, symptoms start way early, bud. Iron deficiency isn’t that big a deal, you don’t need to worry about me–” He called, doing his best to pick his footsteps carefully as he struggled to keep up but also out of the way of the erratic hamster ball.
“Grace save Rocky home. Rocky’s turn to save Grace.” The Eridian said simply.
He’d heard that one several times. It was a nothing-burger of an answer. A factual statement that conveniently avoided anything that might be considered emotional territory. Rocky was good at that, when he wanted to be.
“Hey, Rock, would you–ow–would you wait up?” He called again, his foot almost slipping into the crevice between two outcropping stones. At that Rocky finally slowed his pace, turning to examine him. A feat that Ryland knew was entirely unnecessary. Rocky didn’t necessarily have a “face”, and his echolocation was a perfect three hundred and sixty degrees. It was a habit Rocky had picked up from him, the body language of acting as if one had a front, a face. He appeared to look him up and down, waited for Grace to come up beside him, then continued at a more sensible pace.
“Thank you.” Ryland said earnestly. He’d pay for that little slip later. The way the stone had hit his ankle would for sure leave him with a tender foot and a wicked bruise. It might not have, once upon a time. But iron wasn’t the only thing he was deficient in, and he knew it. His side ached, the feeling reminiscent of a stitch, but he knew it wasn’t. He’d been so clumsy lately. His feet seemed to drag, the toes of his converse catching on the smooth floor, sending him tumbling at least once a day if he wasn’t paying attention. It led him to particularly nasty tumble directly into his desk, giving him a hellish bruise that even he didn’t want to look at. It had made him feel sick as his flingers splayed across his ribs, the way the dark purple and angry red splotched under his skin.
He shivered in the light breeze, crossing his arms over his chest. He should have had the foresight to grab his cardigan. The bio-dome was a feat of engineering, but they had yet to perfect the internal regulation. Or at least, it felt that way lately. He was always cold.
The silence was comfortable as he trudged alongside the rolling ball. It was habit, routine, for Grace to walk Rocky to the air lock. It felt somewhat like goodbye each time, but he was getting better at it. As they approached the air-lock, a huge semi-circle of clear Xenonite embedded in the stony cliff face, Grace felt a smile creep onto his features as he spotted the towering turquoise form of Rocky’s mate, Adrian. He held a hand up in greeting, which Adrian copied. They’d picked up his little human-isms so quickly. In return, the least he could do was to understand them. The learning was somewhat slower than he'd like, he occasionally still needed the translator during longer discussions with Adrian, but for these brief interactions he could muddle through.
“Friend Grace!” Adrian called, lowering their carapace, a sort of bow-thing he noticed they did. He ducked his head in return.
“Hey, Adrian. How are you?”
“Well. How is Grace?”
“I’m good, I’ve been–”
“Friend Grace is not well. Need to speak to synthesists.” Rocky cut in as he entered his side of the air lock, the ball hissing as the moisture clinging to the exterior vaporised in his hot atmosphere. Adrian jolted, whether at the news or Rocky’s brusque tone, he couldn’t be sure. Grace frowned again at the attitude in Rocky's tone.
“Jeez, Rocky, would you calm down?” He said, his irritation spiking now. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“Mate Rocky being rude.” Adrian chided while Rocky exited his ball and joined his mate in the free air. It was a softer tone, they often used softer tones than Rocky did. Rocky stamped his foot, but made no further comment, at least not in any frequency Ryland could hear.
“Alright, well…was nice seeing you, Rock. Try not to make too much trouble for the synthesists, okay? Keep him in line, Adrian.”
Adrian let out a humorous trill, and gave their version of a nod. He lingered as they walked off, always did. But this time not quite as long, the cold air nipping at his nose, his cheeks, even his fingers from where they sat buried in his pants pockets.
He finally let a shiver wrack through him, and turned to trudge the way back to his house. It wasn’t his home, not quite yet. His home lay behind him.