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It started with a sneeze.
One sneeze, completely ordinary, the kind that happens when you’ve been leaning over a sample tray for too long and the recycled air gets into your nose at a bad angle. Grace straightened up, wiped his face, and went back to work.
Rocky went very still.
“Grace made a sound,” Rocky said.
“I sneezed.”
“What is sneeze, question.”
“Air coming out of my nose fast. It’s nothing. It happens.”
“Why, question.”
“Dust. Irritation. Sometimes just because.” Grace waved a hand. “It’s completely normal. Humans sneeze all the time.”
Rocky made the sound that meant he was filing this information away with some suspicion. Grace ignored it and went back to his sample tray.
He sneezed again four hours later.
Rocky did not say anything. But Grace noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Rocky had gone very still again in the particular way that meant he was watching very carefully and thinking very hard.
“Rocky.”
“Yes.”
“Stop staring.”
“Rocky is not staring. Rocky is observing.”
“Same thing.”
“Is not same thing,” Rocky said. “Staring is without purpose. Observing is scientific.” A pause. “Grace sneezed again.”
“Yes.”
“Twice in one day.”
“Rocky, people sneeze constantly. It’s one of our most popular activities.”
Rocky made the unconvinced sound and said nothing more.
Grace went to sleep that night feeling slightly warmer than usual, which he attributed to the ship’s temperature regulation doing something finicky, which it occasionally did, and which was fine.
-
He woke up at midnight feeling distinctly not fine.
The warmth had settled into something heavier — behind his eyes, in his joints, in the particular thick quality of his own head that meant his body had decided to declare war on something microscopic and was currently losing. He lay in his bunk for a moment doing the mental inventory of someone who has been sick before and knows the shape of it.
Fever. Mild, probably. Nothing serious.
He got up, found the medical kit, took his temperature.
38.4. Not alarming. Uncomfortable.
He looked at Armando — the ship’s robotic arm, currently folded against the wall in standby mode. He and Armando had a functional relationship. Armando brought him coffee when he asked, handed him tools during experiments, and occasionally retrieved things he’d left in inconvenient places. It was not a friendship, exactly. More of a very reliable arrangement.
“Hey, Armando,” he said, reaching for the ibuprofen. “Can you get me water?”
Armando extended smoothly and offered a sealed water pouch alongside the ibuprofen Grace had already retrieved.
“Thanks,” Grace said, casually petting a robot arm in the dark at midnight, because manners cost nothing.
He took the medicine, drank the water, and turned back to his bunk.
“Grace is sick,” Rocky said.
Grace turned around. Rocky was exactly where he always was during Grace’s sleep cycles — on the other side of the xenonite wall, settled and watchful.
He didn’t know why he’d been quiet about the medical kit. Habit, maybe. Or something more honest than that.
“Yeah,” Grace said. “Small fever. I was going to tell you in the morning.”
“Grace was going to say fine,” Rocky said. Not accusatory. Just accurate.
Grace sat down on the edge of his bunk. “It is fine. Mildly not fine. I’m handling it.”
“Rocky can see Grace is handling it,” Rocky said. “Rocky will also help.” A pause. “Grace will tell Rocky the temperature number.”
“38.4.”
“This is high, question.”
“Mildly. Not dangerous.”
“Rocky will look up what this means for humans.”
“Rocky, you don’t need to—”
“Rocky is already looking,” Rocky said, with the tone of someone who had already decided and was simply informing. “Grace will drink the water. Then Grace will sleep. Rocky will watch.”
Grace looked at the water pouch. Looked at Rocky. Felt the specific exhaustion of a sick person who has just realized that arguing is going to take more energy than simply accepting care.
“You were already watching,” Grace said.
“Rocky is always watching when Grace sleeps,” Rocky said simply. “This is not new. Tonight Rocky was just more — attentive.”
“Because of the sneezing.”
“Yes.”
Grace lay back down. Pulled the blanket up.
“Rocky,” he said, into the dark.
“Yes.”
“I should’ve just told you.”
“Yes,” Rocky said. “Grace should have. But Grace told Rocky now. This is okay.”
Grace closed his eyes.
He was asleep within minutes. Rocky watched the whole time, quiet and steady, listening to his breathing even out — a little rougher than usual, a little too warm, but there. Present. Okay.
Same as always. Just paying closer attention tonight.
-
Rocky found out the full extent of it in the morning, when Grace came into the lab moving carefully in the way of someone whose body has opinions about movement and they are all negative.
“Grace,” Rocky said.
“Morning, pal.”
“Grace is different.”
“I’m fine.”
“Grace said fine last night about the fever. Rocky knows Grace’s definition of fine.”
Grace sat down — more accurately, lowered himself into his chair with the energy management of someone who had done a precise calculation about how much standing they had left in them. “I have a small fever. It’s not a big deal. Humans get fevers. It means my immune system is working.”
“Fever,” Rocky repeated. “Rocky looked up more. Body temperature goes up to fight infection. Defense mechanism. Grace will be fine in a few days.”
Grace blinked. “You already looked it up.”
“Rocky looked it up. While Grace was sleeping.” A pause. “Rocky also looked up ibuprofen. And hydration requirements for sick humans. And common causes of fever in recycled air environments.” Another pause. “Rocky has been busy.”
Grace stared at him. “Rocky. It’s been six hours.”
“Yes. Rocky is a fast reader.”
Grace pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Of course you are.”
“What else does Grace need, question.”
“Rest, water, something for the headache.” Grace pulled up his analysis from the day before. “And to finish this sample review, so—”
“No,” Rocky said.
Grace looked up. “No?”
“Grace will not work. Grace will rest.”
“Rocky, I’m not dying, I just have a—”
“Grace will rest,” Rocky repeated, with the immovable certainty he used for engineering facts and things that were not negotiable. “Rocky will watch. Grace will sleep.”
“You already watched me sleep all night.”
“Rocky will watch more,” Rocky said, without any sign of finding this excessive.
Grace opened his mouth. Closed it. He was tired, and his head hurt, and arguing with Rocky when Rocky had made a decision was an exercise that required more energy than he currently had available.
“Fine,” he said. “Two hours. Then I’m coming back to work.”
“Yes,” said Rocky, in the tone that meant we will see about that.
He turned toward his bunk. Armando was already moving — extending toward the medical kit with quiet efficiency, retrieving the ibuprofen and a fresh water pouch and offering both before Grace had even asked.
Grace took them. Looked at the arm. Looked at Rocky.
“Did you tell Armando to do that.”
“Rocky may have reviewed Armando’s instruction capabilities last night,” Rocky said, with dignity. “While Grace was sleeping. Rocky found the medical protocols. Rocky found them very useful.”
“Rocky. You went through Armando’s programming.”
“Rocky was concerned.”
“Rocky, that’s—” Grace stopped. Pressed his fingers to his eyes. “That’s actually very sweet. In a slightly alarming way.”
“Rocky is often sweet in slightly alarming ways,” Rocky agreed cheerfully. “Grace should sleep now. Armando will bring water if Grace needs. Rocky will watch.”
Grace looked at Armando, then at Rocky, then at the bunk.
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Armando made no response, being a robot arm. Rocky made the sound that meant of course, now go.
Grace went.
He slept for six hours.
When he woke up Rocky was exactly where he always was — on the other side of the xenonite wall, settled and watchful. Armando was in a half-extended position near the bunk, which Grace slowly understood meant Rocky had kept it on standby the entire time. Just in case.
“Rocky,” Grace said groggily. “Did you sleep?”
“No. Rocky watched Grace sleep.”
“Right.” Grace rubbed his face. “What was my temperature.”
“Armando checked twice. 38.5 first time. 38.3 second time. Better.”
Grace stared at the ceiling. “You had Armando take my temperature while I was asleep.”
“Rocky wanted data.”
“That is — Rocky, that’s—” He couldn’t decide if it was invasive or incredibly touching, and landed somewhere in the middle. “Okay. Fine.”
“Grace is welcome,” Rocky said serenely.
-
By day three Grace was feeling better. Not well — still warm, still tired, still moving with careful energy — but functional. Capable of sitting up for extended periods, eating most of his ration, following a conversation without losing the thread.
Rocky had not moderated his vigilance even slightly.
Armando, meanwhile, had become something Grace could only describe as Rocky’s field agent. Every hour, without fail, it extended and offered water. If Grace hadn’t eaten in what Rocky had apparently determined was too long, Armando appeared with his ration. When Grace’s headache got bad enough that he rubbed his temples without thinking, Armando was at his elbow within thirty seconds with painkillers and water before he’d said a word.
“Rocky,” Grace said, on the third occurrence of this. “Are you watching me that closely.”
“Rocky is always watching,” Rocky said. “But Grace rubbing head means head hurts. Rocky told Armando to watch for this.”
“You programmed Armando to respond to me rubbing my head.”
“Yes. Rocky also programmed Armando to respond to Grace yawning too much, Grace moving too slowly, and Grace making the face.”
Grace paused. “What face.”
“The face Grace makes when Grace is not fine but is going to say fine anyway. Rocky has observed it many times. Rocky knows the face very well.”
Grace opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Armando, hovering attentively at his elbow with a water pouch.
“Thank you, Armando,” he said, and took the water, because there was nothing else to do.
“Grace should sit down,” Rocky said, when Grace stood up to get water on day four.
“I’m getting water. You told me to drink water.”
“Grace should sit and Armando will—” Rocky paused, apparently calculating something. “Armando. Water for Grace.”
Armando extended immediately, retrieved a water pouch from the supply rack, and presented it to Grace before he’d taken three steps.
Grace took it. Looked at Rocky. Looked at Armando. Looked back at Rocky.
“Rocky. I was literally about to get that myself.”
“Armando was faster.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Grace is sick. Armando is helpful. Rocky does not understand the problem.”
“The problem,” Grace said, with careful patience, “is that I’m a grown man and I can get my own water.”
“Grace is a grown man with a fever who has lost weight and whose immune system is currently busy,” Rocky said, with equal patience. “Armando is a robot arm whose entire purpose is to be helpful. Rocky sees no problem.”
Grace looked at Armando again. Armando was, of course, entirely neutral on the subject, being a robot arm.
“Fine,” Grace said. He sat down. He drank his water. “But I want it noted that I am capable of getting my own water.”
“Noted,” said Rocky, in the tone that meant it was not noted at all.
-
Day four, Grace felt well enough to attempt actual work.
He made it to the lab, pulled up his analysis, got twenty minutes in before Rocky said:“Grace should rest.”
“I’ve been resting for three days.”
“Grace is still sick.”
“I’m mostly better. I need to finish this.”
“Grace needs to—”
“Rocky.” Grace set down his stylus. Turned to face the xenonite wall. “I appreciate you. I genuinely do. You have been incredibly kind, and I don’t take that for granted, and I know you’re worried. But I am a grown man and a scientist, and I have had fevers before, and I know what my own body is doing. I need you to let me work for two hours.”
At that precise moment, Armando extended and presented a water pouch.
Grace looked at it. Looked at Rocky. Looked at it again.
“I just drank water,” he said.
“Armando is on a schedule,” Rocky said, without any apparent guilt.
“You put Armando on a water schedule.”
“Every forty-five minutes. Hydration is important when Grace is sick.”
“Rocky, I know hydration is important, I’m a—” Grace stopped. Took the water pouch. Drank from it, because honestly what else was he going to do. “Two hours of work. That’s all I’m asking.”
“One hour and forty minutes,” Rocky said.
“Two hours.”
“One hour and forty minutes. Armando will bring water every forty-five minutes. Rocky will watch. This is the arrangement.”
“You negotiated me down using my own robot arm as a bargaining chip.”
“Rocky is good at negotiation,” Rocky said, with complete satisfaction.
Grace stared at him. Then, despite himself, he smiled. “Fine. One hour and forty minutes.”
“Good,” said Rocky. “Rocky will watch. Armando will provide support. Grace will work and then rest.”
“I hate this,” Grace said, with no conviction whatsoever.
“Grace is welcome,” said Rocky.
-
On the fifth day, Grace’s temperature was 37.2.
Almost normal. Close enough that he felt like himself again — the particular relief of a body returning to its own baseline, the world sharpening back up after days of being slightly out of focus.
He told Rocky.
Rocky made him have Armando take his temperature again to confirm.
“Rocky,” Grace said. “I just told you—”
“Rocky wants to see the number.”
Armando extended obediently, pressed the thermometer to Grace’s forehead, and turned its sensor toward Rocky’s side of the wall with the reading visible.
“37.2,” Grace said. “See?”
Rocky went still in the way that meant he was processing something carefully. Something loosening.
“Better,” he said finally.
“Yes. Better.” Grace looked at Armando, who was still hovering. “You can stand down, buddy. I think Rocky might actually let me get my own water today.”
Armando retracted to standby. Rocky made a sound.
“Rocky did not know about fever before,” Rocky said. “Rocky did not know Grace’s body would fix itself. Rocky was not sure.”
“I know,” Grace said quietly. “I know you weren’t sure.”
“Grace should have told Rocky sooner.”
Grace paused. Thought about midnight. About reaching for the medical kit and turning around and Rocky already there, already watching, the way Rocky was always watching. About saying I was going to tell you in the morning and Rocky saying Grace was going to say fine and both of them knowing it was true.
“You already knew,” Grace said. “From midnight. You were already watching.”
“Rocky is always watching when Grace sleeps,” Rocky said simply. “Rocky noticed Grace’s breathing change before Grace woke up. Rocky was already — more attentive. Yes.”
“And you waited for me to come to you.”
“Rocky knows Grace,” Rocky said quietly. “Grace comes to things in Grace’s own time. Rocky can be patient.” A pause. “But Grace should not carry things alone when Rocky is right here. This is what Rocky wants Grace to know.”
Grace looked at the wall for a long moment.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Grace does not need to be sorry,” Rocky said. “Grace just needs to tell Rocky sooner next time.”
“Next time I have a fever.”
“Next time Grace has anything,” Rocky said simply.
Grace pressed his fingers briefly to his eyes.
“Armando’s a good nurse,” he said finally, because he needed to say something lighter before he got embarrassing about it. “Almost as good as you.”
“Rocky is not a nurse,” Rocky said. “Rocky is an engineer.”
“Sure. A very good engineer who spent the night reading about human fevers and programmed a robot arm to bring me painkillers when I rubbed my head.”
“This is engineering,” Rocky said firmly. “Applied to a biological problem.”
Grace laughed — easy and warm, the kind that had been in short supply lately. “Okay, pal. Whatever you want to call it.”
-
He was fully recovered by day seven.
Normal temperature. Normal appetite. He finished his sample analysis, ran two new experiments, argued with Rocky for forty-five minutes about the structural properties of xenonite under specific thermal conditions, and at no point did Armando bring him unsolicited water, which felt like a milestone.
That evening he sat with his back against the xenonite wall and Rocky settled on the other side, and they stayed like that for a while without talking.
“Rocky.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. For the last week. Armando too, I guess.” He paused. “Tell him I said thanks.”
“Armando is a machine. Armando does not receive thanks.”
“I know. Tell him anyway.”
A pause. Then, quietly, Rocky made a short precise tone toward the lab where Armando stood in standby. Informing a robot arm that Grace said thank you.
Grace smiled at the wall. “Good.”
Rocky made the sound that meant of course and also there was never any question and also, underneath both, the quieter thing that needed no translation.
You matter. I am here. You are not doing this alone.
“I’m here, buddy,” Grace said quietly.
“Yes,” said Rocky. “Rocky knows. Rocky is also here.”
Armando stood in standby in the lab, faithfully doing nothing.
The ship hummed. The stars moved past in the dark.
They stayed there a while longer, on either side of the wall, going somewhere together.