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I’ve become resigned to dying in space, at this point. I think I’ve been resigned to it since I remembered it was supposed to be a suicide mission. Before I knew I was forced, even, and after. Most of the anger I felt at remembering I’d been forced up here had been tempered by the dual memory that I was a coward. I sigh, tapping my fingers against my knee. Who’s the coward now, Stratt? One of us is in space, heading towards a long, slow death by starvation (of my own choice, this time), and the other was… sitting on earth, also waiting for an inevitable death by starvation.
Well.
In hindsight, ever trying to go home after having accepted my death was probably not good for my mental state. I never claimed to be a mental health expert. Though, I think dryly, any psychologist would have a field day with me. Being resigned to death, having hope for life, then being resigned to death again had to have some negative effects on the human psyche. There’s definitely some intrusive thoughts in there somewhere (it would be so easy, to get into Iluykhina’s heroin, to sit in the airlock as it empties, to find Yao’s gun), as well as depression. Probably some PTSD, if I’m really being honest with myself. I also feel… itchy, almost. All the time. The rational part of my brain tells me that humans are social creatures, and I’m missing physical contact with another human being. The less rational part says I’m going insane. Honestly? I think they’re both right. I never should’ve gotten my hopes up. I sigh again and shift in my bunk.
I also shouldn’t have lied to Rocky. Like, I really shouldn’t have lied. Because he’s excited to get back to Erid, then work on a way to get me back home. I know I’m not going home. But shit, he’d been so happy to see me, to be able to fix this problem. His joy had been infectious, so really, it’s not my fault I forgot to tell him that I wasn’t ever gonna see Earth again. Something in my gut clenches at the thought. Fuck. I’ll never see my kids again. No beaches, no oceans. No blue sky. No nature. I’ll probably die before I’ll even be able to know if our Sun has stopped dimming. I do a quick internal stock of the amount of coma slurry I have left. Yeah, I’ll be dead long before then.
I’m trying to ration out the coma slurry, but there are a few things that have been becoming increasingly obvious. One, it is not made to sustain someone who’s up and about, doing things. The nutritional value of it is made to be sufficient for the simulated exercise Armando performed, and the brain activity of a coma. It is not enough for a fully conscious person, even if I’m trying to keep my movements to a minimum. Two, it tastes absolutely awful. It’s not meant to taste good, obviously, that’d be just a waste of resources when its only intended purpose was to be fed to completely unconscious people, who would have no perception of taste whatsoever. It’s chalky, thick, and tastes like aspirin. Unequivocally unenjoyable. Three, it doesn’t have enough vitamins to keep me healthy with a sustained diet. I can vividly see a future where beriberi sets in, and scurvy doesn’t seem too far off after that. Hooray. Four… Well, I’m running out of specific things to list now. It just kinda sucks, in general. I’m not looking forward to living the rest of my life in this perpetual state of conscious suffering.
But the thing that really sucks, more than the sporadic tingling numbness in my limbs, more than my perpetually quick heart rate, is that I know I have a while to go before I run out of food. I still don’t know what from, but Yao and Ilyukhina definitely died very early into our journey. Maybe a year in, maybe less. There’s plenty of slurry left on the ship, probably enough to get me to Erid and last a few months after that, even. But I’ll run out at some point, and there’s almost no way that Eridian scientists would be able to synthesize food before I die. The nutritional deficiencies will make my last months a living hell, and the starvation will kill me before any solution can be created. Combined with any of the maladies I’ll pick up along the way, I’ll probably be dead in a couple months after reaching Erid.
The thought brings tears to my eyes. Somehow, this feels more real than the first time I went on a suicide mission. Probably because I knew I was going to die from the start, and also because I chose it. And, I’m not surprised to realize, I would’ve made that choice no matter what. I had worried, a little, that as I deteriorated I might create some resentment for Rocky in my head. But for right now at least, I’m thinking with enough clarity to know that I made the right choice. Rocky has people waiting for him, a mate, friends, a future. All I would’ve had on earth is Dimitry, maybe Carl, and some prestige. That is, if they hadn’t been wiped out by the ice age descending on Earth. I suck in a shuddering breath, my tears salty on my lips. I know I made the right choice. I just wish I didn’t have to die for it. Honestly, I’d even take a less slow death. I could handle it if it was quick, but instead I have to lay here while my body rebels against my brain and attempts to shut down around me. And now, Rocky has to watch that too.
“Grace okay, question?” Rocky’s voice startles me out of my thoughts. I didn’t even hear him come in. It’s a bit of a struggle, but I turn over to look at him. He’s rolling his ball back and forth slightly, a little nervous tick that I’m pretty sure he picked up from my pacing.
“Yeah buddy, I’m okay.” He chitters angrily and stamps one foot.
“Grace lying, statement. Face leaking.” I almost smile, my lips twitching weakly.
“Well, if you had already come to a conclusion, why did you ask?” He’s somehow mastered the judgemental look, despite lacking eyes. And a face. He’s still emanating disappointment, somehow.
“Was giving you a chance to tell truth.” He rolls over to me, the top of the xenonite ball brushing my fingers where they’re laying over the edge of the bed. He presses himself to the clear pane to get closer to me, warming up the material quickly. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth, and my throat seizes up as the realization that I’ll never actually get to have it washes over me. This is it. The closest I’ll get to physical contact for years. The last thing I’ll feel before I die is the muted warmth of Rocky’s body through a pane of xenonite. It’s as comforting as it is sad. I’m concerned but not surprised that I’m more worried for Rocky than myself.
“Grace!”
Oops. “Sorry buddy, sorry.” Rocky trills, obviously concerned now.
“Something is wrong, statement.” He leans back from my hand, shifting from arm to arm. “Grace, explain.” I sigh, fidgeting with my fingers.
“Okay. I will. I just…” I sigh again. This is harder than I thought. Even the idea of saying this stuff to Rocky, telling him that I’m going to die (and that I’ve known that I was going to die since I turned around), makes me cringe. “Okay. So, you know this was meant to be a one way mission. We had enough coma slurry to get all three of us here, and then real food for a couple months after that.” Rocky hums an affirmative. “Iluykhina and Yao,” more tears threaten to spill, because I guess everything is making me emotional now, “died early on. It’s why I have enough slurry to get to Erid. But ah…” I gesture to myself broadly. “It’s lacking nutrients. I’m not getting all the vitamins for my body to keep functioning like it’s supposed to.” Rocky trills again, but this time there is definitely an undercurrent of panic. It feels good to know that I can read his body language and comprehend non-word vocalizations, but the reason he’s making the noise is decidedly not good.
“No. No no no. Grace not die. Have enough food to get to Erid, scientists can-”
“Rock.” My lips curve into a smile. “It’s okay. Scurvy—one of the most common diseases that comes from malnutrition and deficiencies—can take around half a year to cause mortality. I’m not gonna live long on Erid.” The tears that have been steadily building finally spill down my cheeks. I suck in a shuddering breath, my smile falling from my lips. “I knew it was gonna be like this. I…” my sentence peters out softly. Rocky is further from the bed now, and I ache with the urge to touch him again, to feel something, anything other than the knowledge that I will die, and it will be painful.
“Grace lie.”
“Wha-”
“When Grace come back. I said you go home. You no correct me.” I wince. He’s right. I didn’t technically lie and tell him that I’d be going home, but I didn’t tell him the truth either. The situation is too tense, too real for me to argue about semantics.
“Yeah. You were… you were happy. I didn’t want to ruin that. We both know you would’ve pulled some self-sacrificing crap and tried to get me to go back to Earth.” He stomps an arm.
“But okay for you to do? Stupid human.” I huff shakily.
“You have people waiting for you. Adrian deserves to have their mate back. You deserve to have your life back.” Rocky makes an agitated noise.
“Stupid! Grace stupid! Grace deserves life back.”
“I don’t have much of a life waiting for me on Earth, Rock. There’s my students, but,” I make an ugly noise as a sob wrenches its way from my throat. I see Rocky cringe away slightly. “Sorry,” I choke out. “Sorry. It’s um, it’s just hitting me that I’ll never see them again. I’ll never even know if they survived. If it worked.” I sniffle. I’ll never see another human again, never experience physical touch from someone I love. The closest I’ll get is through a buffer of xenonite because I would literally die if I were to touch him for real. Rocky is quiet, for a moment, before he rolls over to me.
“Grace is sure Rocky can no help, question?” My heart breaks a little at how forlorn he sounds.
“M’ sorry buddy. There really isn’t.” He goes silent and still, legs drawn up close to himself.
“Grace sure sure sure there no way Rocky help?” I blow out a sigh. If I’m being honest, just having some kind of touch would help. I’d say it feels like an oversight to no have some kind of weighted blanket or something to help soothe anxiety and that pesky human desire for physical affection, but they were probably operating under the assumption that there would be three people on this crew, and that we were all agreeable and understanding and could give each other that kind of touch. Annoying, yes, but probably not an oversight.
(I try very hard to ignore the little twist in my heart at the thought of Ilyukhina and Yao. Thinking about talking to them, or hugging them, or even just getting a fucking pat on the shoulder brings back the memories of their emaciated bodies, and the fact they didn’t even make it out of the damn solar system.)
“Well physical touch would probably help me mentally, but bud,” I gesture between us, towards the xenonite barrier, “that’s not really something you can do.” Rocky hums in a way that I know means he’s thinking about something. “Rocky. Seriously. I don’t think you can help with this.”
He trills and stomps one leg. “Rocky will fix.” I watch as he rolls away, fatigue washing over me. I close my eyes and pull my blanket further up over me. I don’t want to get my hopes up that he’ll be able to do anything for me. So far, hoping for anything good for myself on this mission has ended in failure. Rocky can keep himself busy, distracted from the sounds of my body rebelling, and I can wallow as I come to terms with the fact that I will die slowly, and painfully, hundreds of thousands of kilometers from my home.