Chapter Text
The stars in our eyes
“What's two plus two?”
I drift in and out of consciousness, just barely enough to register the female voice trying to wake me.
A few minutes pass by, then it disturbs me again.
“What's two plus two?”
The voice was monotonous and consistent. I had thought it was my mother trying to wake me, albeit with an unusual question. But it wasn't.
“Mmmmh,” I grumble. I meant to say “Mamaya na”—I just wanted five more minutes—but I couldn't speak.
“Incorrect“ the voice says. “What's two plus two?”
It retained its monotonous tone. It has to be a robot. Why is a robot trying to wake me? Maybe I could ask?
“Wmmmmmmm?” I ask.
“Incorrect. What's two plus two?”
Despite how strange it was, the voice was familiar. I try to toss my body to the side, but I can't move. I can only feel the softness caressing my lying body. Makes sense—I was sleeping. Of course, I’m in bed.
I try to open my eyes, but they refuse to budge. Have my eyes been glued shut?
Open!
C'mon… open!
Ano ba?! Open!
Ayun! It moved a bit, wiggling underneath my eyelids.
I force them open. Immediately, the blinding lights sear my eyeballs.
“Aaaaa—!” I shut my eyes again to keep them from burning.
“Eye movement detected.” Robot’s still here. “What's two plus two?”
I open my eyes slowly this time, the blinding white fading. The blur of shapes in front of me forms into nothing but a mess. I try wiggling my fingers… still can't feel them.
What about my toes? Nope.
But my mouth can move. I should start small and try to talk properly first.
“Fffruu.”
“Incorrect. What's two plus two?”
The shapes are looking more sensible now: LED lights shining down on me, cameras in the ceiling watching me, and robot arms looming over me. Ominous.
“Ffff… ooooo… uuuu… rrrrr.” I try. Okay na ‘yan.
“Incorrect. What's two plus two?”
‘Di pa pala. Sige, isa pa.
“Ffffoooourrrrr.” I finally managed.
“Correct.”
Amen, I can still talk.
I started to feel more sensations across my body, a mask on my face, and intrusions all around. I look down at my body to confirm my suspicions. I was nude and full of tubes connected to each of my limbs and privates.
Shit.
I'm also covered with stickers, the medical sensor type. I have the urge to rip everything all out. Now.
“Wh—” I splutter. “What… am I… doing here?”
“What's the cube root of eight?” Ms. Robot asks.
“What is this?” I'm slowly regaining proper speech.
“Incorrect. What's the cube root of eight?”
“Why?”
“Incorrect. What's the cube root of eight?”
I'm just so confused, man.
“Two.” I give in.
“Correct.”
What now? I wait for more. Is this one of those alarm clocks that make you solve math equations to shut it up?
While I wait for the next question, I drift off back to sleep.
—
I wearily open my eyes again. I must have been out for a while; I feel more rested.
I try digging my fingers into the bed. They sink into the mattress—nice one.
“Hand movement detected, remain still.” Ms. Robot instructed.
Sure, why not? Maybe it could rip these damn tubes off for me.
It did. The robot arms make quick work of my body, only leaving the IV on my arm, the butt tube, and the catheter. I mean, those are the ones I've been itching to get rid of, but sure.
I lift my arms and let them fall back into the mattress. They feel out of place, like it was different from usual. Whatever the usual was. They're toned. I don't think I was this toned before.
I push my hands into the bed to lift my torso. The bed shakes as I sit. Now I'm sitting on the stupid butt tube.
“Can we do something about this, maybe?” I gesture my hand around.
It ignores me.
I look around and see more beds that look like hammocks mounted on the walls. Three of them, to be exact, with patients sunk into the bedding except the one next to me. It was empty. What could that mean?
I sling one leg off the side of the bed, wobbling with my weight. The robot arms rush to my side, as if ready to catch me if I fall.
"Full-body motion detected," it says. "What's your name?"
Huh, come to think of it… that's the only thing I know.
“Corazón V. Sta. Maria.”
Ms. Robot seems pleased with my answer. It instructs me to lie down again and removes the remaining tubes. Freedom!
I can only remember basic details about myself. I speak Tagalog and English. I think I grew up in the Philippines, and my name is Corazón V. Sta. Maria. People would call me Cory and pretend I was the 11th president of the Philippines. But that's about it. I need more.
I lift myself down onto the floor. As soon as my feet came into contact with the cold floor, I immediately felt my whole body shiver. I rip the bedsheet off and wrap it around myself securely. I tuck the remaining fabric underneath the wraps. Now I look like I just came out of the shower.
The arms reach out for me, grabby hands right in my face. I press myself up against the wall; it hovers just slightly out of reach. I don't think I'm supposed to be up and walking at this point. I don't care, I need to figure out where the fuck I am.
I can start by examining the beds. I skip past the empty one next to mine and peer at its neighbor. I'll worry about my mystery patient later; for now, I want to see who this is—
I flinch away and step back as soon as I see her. Thin, dry long hair draped over withered skin, skeletal structure prominently out. She wasn't rotting anymore; she was a desecrated husk of a human being.
I brace myself and dare to peek at the other bed. He was in worse conditions, his skin crumbling away into ashes. He didn't even have a face anymore, not a single sign of his humanity left.
I collapse to the floor in disbelief. Holy, how long have they been dead?
The arms come for me. I try to get away, but my body isn't in the best condition to quickly run away from a robot. It seizes me by my back and lifts me back to my bed.
It settles me in, and the bed starts to gently rock. Like my grandma's rocking chair—comforting. I cave in without protest. The horror of what I witnessed wears off as I drift back into slumber.
—
“Eat.”
There was a tube on my chest. It reminds me of that starch glue paste we would use back in the 90s. But instead of nostalgic green, it was white with black text. It reads DAY 1—MEAL 1.
“Don't tell me this is starch paste.” It would have been funny if it were, but nonsensical.
“Eat.”
It probably wasn't. I unscrew the cap to get some answers. I squish the tube, and a gross brown sludge comes out of it. It was like failed gravy, the kind with too much pepper and not enough butter. Unlike the kind my sister and I would whip up for mashed potatoes.
Then the smell hits me: savory. I'm suddenly aware of how hungry I am.
“Eat.”
Should I really eat this questionable-looking substance provided by a creepy robot who may or may not have been experimenting on us? Probably not, but all caution goes out the window when I start daydreaming about homemade cooking. I lick the tiniest amount of mystery goop.
It was fine, decent, but to my starving brain, it tasted like the best gravy on Earth! I squeeze more into my mouth, savoring it until I finish the entire tube.
I hold up the tube towards the robot arms.
“Can I have seconds?” C'mon, I'm gonna need more than that to function around here.
“Meal complete.”
“Really? You think that’s enough?”
I mean, come to think of it, given all the tubes plugged into me, I must have been in a coma. It must have been feeding me with a tube, and now I get semi-solid food in order for my digestive system to adjust. Robot's just tryna look after me.
I still want more, though. “Pleaseee??”
"Food allotment for this meal has been met.”
“Awwww.” I pout and slump. Maybe if I get out of here, I can find somewhere else where I can score food. And also figure out why the hell I'm here.
I spot a ladder about three meters high that leads up to a hatch. I swing my legs to the side of the bed, intending to stand up.
A click came from the hatch I was staring at. It swings open. I sit still in my bed. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes. A man comes climbing down steadily on the ladder, his back facing me.
He plants his feet on the floor and turns around.
“You're awake?”
He must have been my bunk neighbor. He was a white man with short scraggly hair and a slight stubble; he must have cut it himself. His wide eyes were framed with thin, square gold glasses. Now that I realize, I might also need glasses. I had to lean forward and squint to make out the details of his face, but it was still all a blur.
“Hey.” He waves a hand in front of me.
“Ay,” I snapped out of my wondering. “Obviously I'm up.” I quip back at him. Hm, that sort of felt natural.
“I didn't know if I was supposed to wake you up. I was afraid something might go wrong, or that Armando here might get upset about me meddling with his patient.” He points at the robot arms as he walks towards my bed.
I think I know him. “I think I need glasses.”
“Oh! Maybe it's in your luggage.” He heads for the dead man's bunk.
“Luggage?” I stand up and stagger to follow his lead.
He kneels and traces his hand along the floor underneath.
“Computer! Open aperture to supply room!” He demands at the ceiling.
A click follows, and a panel raises slightly ajar. He rummages around and pulls out four suitcases. I kneel beside him to examine the suitcases. They were each labeled with names: 姚 (Yáo), ИЛЮХИНА (Ilyukhina), GRACE, STA. MARIA. For some reason, I know how to pronounce the non-English characters.
“You must be Grace.” I study his familiar face.
Of course! He was Ryland Grace, world-leading expert on Astrophage. My crewmate—my only living crewmate.
“You okay?” He opens my suitcase and pulls out a pair of geometric, black-rimmed glasses.
I blink and focus my blurry vision on him. “I'm sorry, my memory's pretty foggy—I just remembered who you are.”
“Mine too. So far, I can only remember my name and something about Astrophage?”
He hands me the glasses. I put them on. I can see clearly now, astigmatism be gone!
“And I also remember that you're part of the crew.” He shows me a yellow, one-piece jumpsuit—matching the one he was wearing. On the right breast was a patch. It was a mission crest, with text that reads HAIL MARY across the top, and the names of the crew along the edge—the same names written on the suitcases. Beneath the patch was an embroidered text that reads PhilSA. On the right shoulder, there was a black patch with a blue circle cutting halfway through; behind it was the same sun and three stars present on the Philippine flag—the Philippine Space Agency logo; the left shoulder has the flag itself. There was a name tag above the left breast pocket, golden wings with text below that reads STA. MARIA. Finally, below it was a red patch that reads PHM—Project Hail Mary.
I slap my hand into my forehead. Right! I'm an astrophysicist, I worked for PhilSA, and I volunteered for Project Hail Mary.
The sun is dying. Earth will freeze over. They sent four astronauts to space so they could send home solutions. Our uniforms have gold wings because we’re not going home, this is a suicide mission. And now we're here, just two of us left.
“I—” I stammer. What can I even say? I take the uniform off Grace's hands.
“We made it?” I look him in the eyes.
“We're almost at Tau Ceti.” He answers.
My eyes well up. I can't believe it. I made it.
“Can you turn around, please?” I blink away my tears and clutch the uniform to my chest as Grace obliges. I quickly work my way into the uniform. It fits perfectly.
“Thanks, I'm good.”
He faces me again.
I rummage through my suitcase. “You say your memory is foggy as well?”
Grace readjusts to sit with his knees to his chest. “Yeah.”
“How much can you remember?” I pull out a rosary wrapped around a stuffed piglet and a black leather journal.
“The Sun is dimming, and it’s Astrophage’s fault. I don't remember much about what happened before we sent up here.”
“Coma-induced amnesia, huh.” I flip through the journal to find a bookmarked page. Instead of a bookmark, however, there were numerous photos.
A photo of the Sta. Marias: a family of six. I was the oldest of four, and I had a massive age gap with my two youngest siblings. Sometimes it felt like I practically raised them.
Another photo: an extended family reunion, my mother's family. I trace my thumb on the side of my grandmother’s face. Mama. She gave me the rosary when I was a teenager. I was struggling with self-harm, and she thought I needed to pray more. I never did pray back then, but I did stop cutting myself.
The last photo: my eighteenth birthday. Nothing extravagant was planned, but I had my complete friend group with me that day. It was all I could ask for. I fixate on the woman right beside me. My best friend, Lou. We managed a long-distance relationship. She moved a few cities away for college, but when I volunteered for the project, I was an ocean away.
And now I'm light-years away. From all of them, everyone I ever cared about. Well, three of them are here with me, but only one is left alive.
Tears prick my eyes once more. I unwrap the rosary from the plush piglet. My mama was right; I do need to pray.
“You believe in God?” Grace asks.
“Better than nothing,” I answer.
I clutch my rosary as I sign the cross. “Thank you for blessing the Hail Mary crew. Despite losing two of our dear crewmates—”
I stand up and walk to their bunks. I look over them.
Commander Yáo Li-Jie. He acted so seriously, he was like an old man in my head. No, he was around Grace’s age, I think. I remembered fearing him at first, he just looked like a “no funny business” type of guy. He was very responsible—that didn’t stop us from roping him into our shenanigans.
I swivel my head to face Olesya Ilyukhina. Our engineer, our friend, my friend. She was charming, funny, energetic—just what we needed when the weight of the world was weighing down on our shoulders. She was a brilliant engineer who also liked to have fun. She initiated most of the tomfoolery we got ourselves into.
The tears that pricked my eyes fell down my cheeks. I was fond of her. She filled the longing I had for Lou when I was working on the project. I loved her dearly, despite only having met her during the project. I loved them all. I wish I could have been friends with my crew under better, non-apocalyptic circumstances. All I can do now is pray for I have left—Grace.
“I am grateful to have Grace here with me.” I turned around to look at Grace, who was still silently watching me.
“I thank you, Mother Mary, for keeping us alive and well. Please guide us as we find a solution here at Tau Ceti. Please look after the people we left behind. Please help us save Earth. Amen.” I sign the cross once more and walk back to where Grace was.
“I didn't know you were religious.”
“How could you? You said your memory was shit, right?” I say as I sit down in front of him.
His eyes widens. “You curse?”
“Yes…?” Not really a question I would ask somebody, but sure.
“It's just that you were just praying literally just a second ago.”
“C'mon, clutching a rosary and thanking Mother Mary doesn't mean I'm entirely well behaved.” I wrap the rosary around my hand.
“I'm pretty sure the way I pray is considered unbiblical to some Catholics.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but who cares? If God loves us, he wouldn't get pissed at us for praying to Mother Mary.”
“If God truly loved us, he wouldn't have sent us to hell.” He jokes.
I fiddle with my rosary. It was yellow. My mama bought it at a chapel overlooked by a giant statue of the Virgin Mary.
When she was a child, she fell extremely ill. She came from a poor family, and medical care where she lived also sucked. All that her mom could do was pray. She prayed to Mother Mary, maybe because her daughter shares her birthday, or maybe she was just praying to anyone who listened. Maybe she was throwing a Hail Mary. My mama got better. Every year on her birthday, she would go to that chapel.
So maybe God did send us hell, maybe God has forsaken us, maybe he doesn't exist at all. But I have to put my faith in something. I have to believe in someone other than myself. Maybe Mary will save us.
I chuckle at what Grace said.
“Let's just pray to hell that heaven lets us in.”