Archive of Our Own

For whatever reason, I still kind of flinch whenever Rocky brandishes his texturizer-crystal-thing at me. I know it can't hurt me, and it doesn't even look like a weapon. I think maybe I've been watching too many sci-fi dramas with laser guns.

That said: I see Rocky holding something that kinda looks like a gun. I start to freak out, and then I remember it's probably not a gun, and then I look a little closer. Wait.

"Rocky!" I yelp. "Put that down!"

The gun clatters to the floor and Rocky takes a few steps back, raising his arms. "Apology. Apology. What is problem, question? Danger, question?"

"Danger," I confirm.

I guess his newer, more flexible suit allows Rocky more opportunity to rummage through our storage. Yesterday, he found another crate of Skittles, which is nice — I'd thought we were out of them.

Slowly, I tiptoe over to the gun and pick it up. Most pistols have some sort of safety lock, right? There's no way they'd send a gun with us unless it had a safety lock…

There are a lot of things I still don't remember, but I'm pretty sure I've never held a gun before. That seems like something I'd remember right about now. There's a little switch with "S" and "F" on either side. It's set to "S" now — "safety," probably? Hopefully.

Even with my fingers kept so far from the trigger, it still makes me feel uneasy. After some fiddling with the barrel thing in the middle, it swings out; there are no bullets inside, which I suppose makes sense. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"It's pretty safe to touch right now, I think. Sorry I freaked out."

"If safe I can touch, question?" He chirps.

I weigh the pros and cons of giving Rocky a gun. He tilts to the side slightly, kind of like a curious puppy might.

I hand it over. It might be a problem that I can't say no to him. "Just be careful."

He turns it over a few times, then points it right at himself, and I have to resist the urge to slap it out of his hands. He's being very gentle! And there's no bullets inside!

But I can't let go of the image of a bullet punching through the thin layer of xenonite that protects him from my atmosphere.

"Why you say be careful if is safe to touch, question?"

"It's, um, it's only dangerous if you're not using it right. But if you — if you aren't using it right, it can kill you, like, instantly. So we uh, have a lot of precautions to prevent that."

"This is weapon from movie."

"Yeah. We have… a lot of movies with guns." I lean forward and tap on the barrel. "It loads a little piece of metal in here called a bullet, and then when you pull this part here, it makes an explosion inside that sends the bullet out super fast. But this one doesn't have bullets in it now, so it should be fine."

"I can have, question?"

I blink. "What — the gun? You wanna keep it?"

"Yes. For study!"

"… Sure. But — where'd you find that? Did it come in a box or something?"

He points over to a little black case sitting on the floor. I'm guessing the bullets are probably in there, too.

"Okay. Alright. Um, you can keep it. But keep it inside that box when you're not looking at it, okay? Don't shoot it, 'cause it could hurt us, or put a hole in the ship. And — please don't go running around playing action-movie-hero with it," I add.

"I do not know word."

"Which one?"

"You say after action movie."

"Oh, 'hero.' Um, it means… it's complicated. Someone who's very brave and saves people, I guess. But when I say 'action-movie-hero' I just mean the main character from an action movie." I tap the gun in his hands. "Basically… don't pretend to be in an action movie, is what I'm saying."

"Understand. Similar word in Eridian is ♫♪. You and me are ♫♪!"

I wince. "I dunno about that."

Stratt told me I'd be hailed as a hero, like it was supposed to comfort me. There's probably statues of me and plaques and buildings and conference rooms named after me. Honestly, I think it just makes me feel worse.

Perhaps used to my tendency for self-deprecation, Rocky doesn't press me about that. He drags the black case back over here; the gun fits snugly into the foam cutout. The logo of the Chinese space agency greets me when the lid is shut.

-

Whatever experiments Rocky's planning to do with the gun have not yet started; a week later, the box still sits on the floor where we left it. I swear to God it's taunting me.

Rocky doesn't seem to be paying it any mind. Maybe he's busy. Or maybe just because he's not terminally insane like I am. I think he can tell that something's bothering me, just not what it is.

I see guns in movies all the time! Why is this one bothering me so much?

Later, I shove it into a storage compartment in the floor, but I still can't stop thinking about it. I kind of resent Yáo for picking it. It's probably the worst way to die. Makes a huge mess, and I'd imagine it's a little harder to go through with than Ilyukhina's heroin… though maybe he planned to die after the two of us, so no one would have to clean it up.

Before I remembered, I'd wondered what method I'd chosen to kill myself with — probably nitrogen. The thing about human brains is that they alert us when there's too much carbon dioxide (via monitoring carbonic acid buildup), but not necessarily if there isn't enough oxygen. So if you're in a room full of pure nitrogen, you won't feel like you're suffocating.

Because nitrogen is fairly inert, NASA used it for testing after an incident in an oxygen-filled area caused a massive explosion; and one day, when the safety technicians gave an all-clear too early, they entered a room that was still filled with nitrogen. People passed out before they knew anything was wrong. That's the main benefit of nitrogen asphyxiation — it's supposed to be completely painless. Even gentler than falling asleep.

I think you'd have to be nuts to pick any other way to die. Though, I can respect Ilyukhina's choice. It's very her.

Now, though, I realize they never even asked me how I'd like to die! A little unfair, but I'm sure I would have just tried to run away and/or beg for my life if they'd woken me up before launch.

Rocky knows this was supposed to be a suicide mission. I wonder if he's figured out what the gun's for yet.

He was alone for — what, forty years? It takes some real determination not to kill yourself after that long. I guess… I wouldn't have, either, though. Anything's better than dying. Maybe if they'd asked me how I wanted to die, I would've just chosen to starve.

Would he have chosen to go on this mission if he knew he wouldn't go home? Probably. He's very… what's the word? Chivalrous? And — like Yáo told me — Rocky has someone to be brave for.

"What does Erid look like?" I ask him. We've got data about it, but no pictures. The surface is totally dark… but I wonder what it looks like from space.

"Hmm. I have not seen except on texturizer. It is big and round."

I snort. "Well, duh. I'd hope it's round."

"Also, has debris surrounding it in shape of circle disk."

"Debris? What d'you mean? Like, space junk, or asteroids, or what?"

"Mostly rocks and dust."

"Oh — it has rings."

He makes a noise of disagreement. "I think not accurate to say rings. Rings sound like big connected circle. Debris around Erid not connected, only in circle shape because of rotation and gravity."

"Yeah, well, we call them rings. Earth doesn't have rings, but there are other planets in our system that have them. Do you have your crystal thing —?"

"Yes."

I pull up an image of Saturn and turn my laptop to show him. "See, here's one. We call this one Saturn. But also Uranus and Neptune have rings. Jupiter has a couple, but they're too small to see in most pictures."

He taps on the screen when I show him Uranus. "Erid look like this to me. Maybe different size."

"Huh." I've never lived on a planet with rings. I wonder if that creates any environmental hazards, like if stuff from the rings falls down… though their atmosphere is really thick, so it might just burn up. "Earth doesn't have any rings. We have a moon, though. And, I think a long time ago, we used to have rings, but all the debris from the rings sort of combined with the Moon."

"Amaze."

"Technically, we could have rings again… but that would only be if the Moon got too close. It's far enough away that the Earth's gravity doesn't tear it apart. And we think it's getting further away. Maybe Erid used to have moons, too, but they got too close and turned into rings."

"Why, question?"

"Why, what?"

"Why moons become rings."

"Oh. Well… okay, so most large objects in space are round. That's because it's the shape they make with gravity — if they're big enough to have a lot of gravity, they kind of even themselves out like that."

I switch over to Wikipedia and show him a diagram. "But if they're orbiting something bigger, they can't get too close. This line here is called the Roche limit. It's basically… if they go past that point, then the forces from the big object kinda overwhelm the gravity that holds the little object together. So it disintegrates. And then I think either it collides with the big object or it splits apart to become rings."

"Understand. Erid absorbing asteroids and moons and other objects into rings, question?"

"Yeah."

The xenonite glints as he flexes his arm. I try very hard not to picture that bullet going through it. "It is like biology. Big eats little."

I laugh. "Hah. Yeah, kinda."

I stare at the Roche limit diagram for a few seconds. I bet it would be super cool if you could see Erid's rings from the surface, but I think the atmosphere is probably too thick for that. "I wonder what the surface of Erid looks like."

"Surface is beautiful," Rocky insists without hesitation.

"Uh-huh. And I'm sure you're unbiased about it."

"I make beautiful," Rocky says.

"What do you mean?"

"You cannot see without electromagnetic radiation. Erid cannot be beautiful if you do not see! I make sure we create place for you to live with lots lots lots of light for you to see so it will be beautiful for you."

I swallow over the lump in my throat. "That's… I feel like you're… making a lot of assumptions about what happens when we get to Erid."

He makes a huff-y sort of noise. "We save entire planet! Two planets! Rocky and Grace will be very important on Erid. I tell them how you are very brave and everyone love you like me. Will be easy to build place for you."

My instinct is to argue. Selfishly, I really don't want to. "If — if you say so."

He still thinks I'm brave. I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not, which is just another piece of evidence of my cowardice.

-

Putting the box away doesn't help. It's so stupid — I should've known that we had one somewhere the whole time. Yáo did ask for one. But I swear I can sense it. Like that one story about the guy who hears a heartbeat under his floorboards.

As with most of my mental issues, it's easier to handle if I'm distracted. The hardest parts are when Rocky is asleep. I'm more than happy to watch him, don't get me wrong! It's just that it tends to have the side effect of leaving me alone with my thoughts.

We just got done with watching the latest trilogy of Star Wars movies (look, they're not as good as 4-6, but they're really not that bad), and I even found some popcorn stuffed in storage, and literally nothing is wrong but I cannot stop thinking about the gun.

Shooting yourself in the head is supposed to be quick and painless… but it can't be, right? It's not like anyone who's done it lives to talk about it! Maybe it's like lethal injections they use for executions — sometimes, the anesthetic doesn't work, but the paralytic prevents the person from moving or screaming in pain. Is it like how everyone who jumps off a bridge and survives says they regretted it the instant they started falling?

There's no way that anything that makes that much blood can be painless.

You could find out, some twisted part of my mind suggests. I shove that away, because I don't want to die; it just leaves me kind of anxious. I should ask Rocky if Eridians get impulsive thoughts like that.

I can't ask him. He's asleep. And I can't wake him up because that's not how it works. Perfect time to go find out, I think, and then, SHUT UP.

I groan and bury my face in my hands. Two hours, right? That's how long Rocky usually sleeps for. And we're at least an hour in. I have to be able to handle two hours alone without completely losing my mind.

There are other ways to kill yourself. I could hang myself with a bedsheet or some clothing, except that I don't want to do that. I wonder if we have enough nitrogen left after the Taumoeba breeding to — no. Stop.

I think I'm crying. It's hard to tell with my hands pressed into my eyes like this. I try to remember the breathing exercises I used for my students sometimes, but nothing comes to mind.

I can't look up or I'm probably just going to see something else that'll remind me of a new fun way to kill myself. Like the airlock — I could just hop in there like normal without a space suit. No setup required!

"Shut up," I growl at no one in particular.

Rocky's still sleeping next to me. I think of him all alone, stranded in space, again, and I can't kill myself because I can't do that to him! I can't leave him alone again!

Why am I thinking about this? I don't want to die!

Hey, it's not such a bad idea! Once we get to Erid, Rocky will probably want to be with Adrian as much as possible, and I'll just be in the way. One less thing for him to worry about.

And it's right there. It'd be so easy. I think I can actually hear the case knocking against the floor — again, just like that stupid short story. I'm seriously losing my marbles.

"Grace."

Rocky! He's awake. I'm saved!

I try to look at him or reply or something, but I can't move. I give him an approximation of shaking my head.

"Grace, question? You are upset! What is problem, question? I fix, question?"

"I'm sorry," I sob, and I manage to lift my head a little. I can make out Rocky's form through the tears — he's in his ball now, maybe having ditched the suit in favor of getting over to me faster — and it just makes my vision blur even more. I wonder if a bullet would have enough force to punch through the ball, too.

I care about him! I really don't want to leave him alone! I don't know why my mind isn't getting the memo!

"It is okay, I am not angry, we both are safe! You tell me what is problem, question?"

"It's — it's kinda — hard to explain, I'm sorry—"

"Understand," he replies. The part of my mind that never aged past first grade wants to scream no you don't!

He hesitates for a moment. "I can help, question? I come closer, this okay, question?"

"I — um — sure."

He clunks forward and settles in front of my crossed legs, then swivels the ball around, for some reason. The ball is warm; the difference in temperature makes me shiver a little. "Hug."

Something inside of me crumples. The fact that he's trying this hard makes me feel terrible. I hate that I've made him think I deserve it.

When I don't move, he leans forward a little and taps on the xenonite. "Hug. Statement."

So I cave, and I lower my hands and cross my arms and tip forward until my forehead bonks against the xenonite and I feel generally awful. And then I feel awful about feeling awful, because I know Rocky would yell at me for it and shower me with even more affection, and that just makes me feel even worse. This is what we would call a positive feedback loop. "Positive" doesn't always mean "good." It just means it's a cycle that amplifies itself.

I feel something pull at my shirt; Rocky is reaching through the flexible panel on the ball. I reach up and take his hand.

I could still shoot myself, but Rocky's awake now. He'd probably stop me. He doesn't have a heartbeat that I can hear or anything, but his hand is warm where I'm holding it through the barrier. Maybe that's why he wants to be as close to me as possible while I'm asleep — the movement of my organs is proof that I'm alive.

My breath fogs up the xenonite. "I'm alright. Um… sorry."

"What is problem? You are hurt, question?"

I shake my head. "No. It's just — I was kinda — I was thinking too much and I freaked myself out."

His claw taps on my palm. "It is okay. What you think about, question?"

I don't want to tell him, but I probably should. Transparency, and all that. Plus, maybe he'll have a solution for me — he's got to sleep again eventually, and I'd rather this didn't happen again.

"If you do not want tell me is okay," he adds.

"No, it's — hah. It's so stupid. I just — I can't stop thinking about that gun."

He stops tapping his claw. "What you mean, question? Why, question?"

"Um. Okay. So, you know how this was supposed to be a suicide mission?"

He makes a low buzzing noise. I can tell he doesn't like where this is going. "Yes, I know."

"Well, um. That's mostly 'cause there's not enough food to last that long. But starving is — it takes a long time. And it's really painful. So they, um, had the astronauts pick how they wanted to die. The gun belonged to the captain. The other astronaut picked overdosing on heroin. Anyway, uh, the reason the gun is on here is because Yáo was gonna shoot himself in the head with it, so he wouldn't — so he wouldn't have to starve, basically."

I try to look away from Rocky, but then I just end up staring at where the gun is. I close my eyes. "I just keep — thinking about — about shooting myself. And, like, every other way to die."

"Die?! You want die, question?"

"No! No! I don't wanna die! But it's — it's freaking me out 'cause it's right there! It's — I don't wanna think about it but I can't think about anything else. I — does — does that make sense?"

"You cannot die," Rocky insists. He clanks one of his hands on the ground a few times for emphasis. "I will not allow! You cannot die!"

He sounds terrified. Because of me! Because of my stupid human brain! I made him scared!

"I'm not gonna die!" I yell.

Rocky recoils, quickly backing away from me, and I wince. I yelled at him! See what you've done, Yáo? Why couldn't you have just picked nitrogen like a normal person?

I put my face in my hands again. In for four, hold for four, out for — hey, I can remember that now! Real convenient.

"Rocky?"

"… I am here."

"Sorry for shouting."

"It is okay."

"No, it's not. It's not okay to scream at people."

"No," Rocky concedes. "But it — hm. Need word. ♪♫♪♪♪ — when someone does bad thing and is not okay, but you decide is okay and not be angry. When is not useful to be upset because do more hurt than help anything. You are mean but I ♪♫♪♪♪."

"Oh. You — forgive me. Word is 'forgive.'"

Rocky huddles up to my side of the ball again, all transgressions forgotten. I think maybe he forgives too easily.

"I don't want to die," I mumble. "I don't plan to. But, um… okay, new term: intrusive thoughts. Or impulsive thoughts? I can't remember… the difference. But, uh, it's my brain showing me stuff I really don't wanna see, basically."

"Understand. It is like watching scary movie, question?"

"Um… yeah, kinda? Except, I can just choose not to watch a scary movie. This, I don't really… have any control over."

"Oh. Bad. Scary."

"Yeah."

He keeps tapping on the xenonite. "Idea: we throw away weapon."

"The gun? You mean, like… chuck it out the airlock?"

"Yes. This is good plan, question? Cannot use weapon if we do not have weapon."

It sounds too good to be true, even though it's really not. "What if — what if we need it for something?" I ask. "No. Stupid question. We don't need it."

The box comes out of the floor and right into the airlock. After some deliberation, I decide to ditch the heroin, too — it is a painkiller, but we have much better painkillers on board, and if I end up using our entire stock of the other ones then we're going to have bigger problems.

Rocky refuses to let me touch it, instead making me tell him where the box is and then scurrying off to put on his suit. I'm a little offended he doesn't trust me, but I'm mostly relieved he's willing to take care of it for me, because I do not want to think about it.

He keeps me busy by making me go up to the cockpit to turn off the spin drives so the airlock will open — something about the fact that if you stand behind the spin drives while they're on you'll get burnt to a crisp instantly.

I'm a little worried about the box. What if some aliens find it someday and manage to shoot themselves in the head? But they'd have to load it and prepare it to be fired, and if they managed to do that and still shot themselves then it's their fault at that point.

I hear Rocky as he clambers up the ladder. I flip a switch to turn the thrust back on.

"Weapon is gone," he says cheerily. "Good."

"Good," I repeat.

"You say captain choose weapon and engineer choose pain drugs," Rocky says. "Which you choose, question?"

I freeze. "… Which way did I choose to die?"

"Apology. You say not want to think about."

"It's, um… I didn't choose," I say, and then I feel an urge to throw myself out the airlock. I should have just said nitrogen. Or that I don't remember. Idiot.

"Confuse."

World's worst Freudian slip, I think. But… I don't know. I don't know if it was a slip. Maybe some part of me wants Rocky to find out. A part that doesn't value him as a friend, clearly. Maybe it was bound to happen eventually.

Either way, my resolve disintegrates.

"I, um. I probably would have chosen nitrogen. Or just, hah, not to die at all…"

"Grammar confuse. You say would have. You did not choose, question? You say starvation very painful. You are very brave but you are smart, why you want to die painful, question?"

Something snaps. "Will you stop saying that?"

"Say what, question?"

"That I'm brave. I promise you I'm not."

Rocky doesn't respond. Waiting for me to say something.

I think it hits me what's going on now and my mind kicks into panic mode, looking for a way out. I'm past the point of no return. Suck it up, Grace.

"So, Rocky," I say. Well — more like wheeze. "Remember how — how this was supposed to be a suicide mission? And, um… that I really don't want to die?"

"Yes. Why, question?"

"Well, I didn't want to die on Earth, either." I look down under the guise of wiping off my glasses. "They, um… they asked me to go on the ship and I said no."

"But you are here," he notes. "Why change decision, question?"

Hey, maybe it'll be a weight off my chest. Although, the first time Rocky found out I wasn't supposed to go home, it didn't feel like that. It just felt kind of… bad.

"I didn't."

I'm trying not to think about it too hard, since I'm probably going to start crying. Unfortunately, I have to think about it in order to explain it to Rocky. Dang it.

"I didn't change my mind. I said — I said no. But they needed me. So, um — they made me go anyway."

When Rocky replies, it's quiet. "Make you, question?"

"They, uh, used a drug to make me fall asleep before launch. I tried to run away, but, y'know, I'm not — I'm not very athletic. Didn't make it very far. So they didn't really get any time to ask me how I wanted to — to die."

Rocky stands very still and does not respond.

"And u-um, that's why I can't remember things sometimes, about my life. They gave me something to mess with my memory so I wouldn't — so I wouldn't remember that I didn't — that I didn't want to go."

Still no response. "But, uh — it's okay! Really! I mean, I got to — to meet you, and — not starve to death, probably. Which is, um, that's great."

I wince. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

Mercifully, Rocky finally says something. When he does, his voice is low and angry. "You do not want to die but they kill you anyway?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's — it's for the best. Billions of people were gonna die. I just wasn't — I was too selfish to — to give up my life, for everyone else."

"We have word for this in Eridian," he growls. "♫♪♫ is meaning to kill other person on purpose. Earth ♫♪♫ you."

I'm definitely crying now. "Word is 'murder.' But — Rocky, I feel like you're — you're missing a pretty big part of —"

"I know Earth all dying!" Rocky snarls. "Does not make it good they murder you! Bad bad bad!"

Is — is he just not processing what I'm saying? What part of "I'm a horrible coward who would let billions of people die" is he not understanding?

"They had to," I mumble. "It's not… it's not their fault I'm a coward."

Rocky clambers up onto the pilot seat with me. There's really not enough room here for the both of us, I think.

"Not your fault you do not want to die! I do not want to die also! If I knew mission for Erid not go home I not go!"

"You have — you have Adrian, though. I don't even — I don't even have anyone to — to stay for —"

Rocky's not having it, though. "You remember I say someday you return to Earth?" he hisses. "I change mind! Bad idea! We stay far far far from Earth and we go to Erid only!"

And he sits down right there between my legs, puts three arms around me, and tightens his arms until I think my ribs might crack.

"No one make you die on Erid! I make sure!"

I know I should be running away right about now. I don't think Rocky totally gets the scope of — what I did. Or refused to do, I suppose.

"Why do you keep treating me like this?" I mumble.

"What you mean, question?"

"I don't — I don't know, like — like I deserve… I don't know. I'm not… some kinda hero. I'm barely a good person."

Rocky makes a wounded noise. "I think you still are brave. You do many brave things. Example, when we go fishing on Adrian. Also, when you turn around to come back and save me — very brave."

I almost want to laugh. "After I changed course to come and get you, I had a panic attack and threw up three times. I must've told you that."

"Yes, very scared, I know," he replies. "Very scared but you come to help me. This is very brave, I think."

"I would've… I would've let everyone die. Murdered them, basically."

Silence again for a few seconds — maybe he's realizing that this isn't a good use of his time.

"Not good. But, understand." He pats me lightly on the shoulder. "I forgive."

"I just — I came back for you, 'cause I — I thought of — of you out here alone again. And I couldn't…"

He's quiet again as my voice trails off.

"I am happy you are here," he says. "I know is selfish of me. Maybe you are not hero on Earth, but you are hero to me. I love you lots lots lots."

"Okay," I hiccup. "I — I love you too."

"Good," he hums. "Happy."

I want to try to push him off, but I let him hold me. I kind of hate myself for it, but I'm too miserable to care.

"Weapon is not on radar," Rocky points out. He makes a sad noise that I think is somewhat joking. "Now we cannot play action movie heroes."

I give his attempt to lighten the mood a little sharp-exhale half-laugh. "I dunno. You could make a toy gun out of duct tape or something, probably. And there's a non-zero chance Ilyukhina packed a Nerf gun somewhere."

On second thought, I do not want to get into a Nerf war with Rocky. He can literally see through walls. I'd be at a serious disadvantage. Suddenly, I have this absurd image of us playing laser tag together. I think that involves a lot less espionage, ideally — just good aim.

… I wonder if I could make a prop sword out of duct tape. I'm thinking probably, if I had something rigid inside the long part to hold it upright.

"Oh, man. Remind me to tell you about pirates. And cowboys. We're watching Tombstone next."

"But is my turn decide movie."

"Too bad. It's culture. You can have two in a row next time."