Chapter Text
I get into the habit on my way back to Earth – or at least when I think I’m going back to Earth, that strange, lonely-hopeful window when the Taumoeba are still contained, rather than merrily rampaging through my precious fuel. I’d sent a few of Rocky’s models back to Earth with the Beetles, but I kept the starset with Erid and Earth, the delicate little Petrova line. It was the first thing he’d ever given me, and I couldn’t let it go.
Now, I keep it beside my bed. I don’t have Rocky to watch over me whilst I sleep, but the star model helps, a reminder of him every time I open my eyes. It doesn’t take long for me to start touching a hand to it when I get up, a kind of greeting. Good morning, Rocky. I hope you’re safe, wherever you are.
Then – the blaring alarms, my horrified revelation about the breeding tanks. Cleaning, rescuing what fuel I have.
The choice.
I scream and cry, and then I pull myself together and go to fetch my best friend. I find him alive – thank goodness, alive – and we pretty much pick up where we left off. Except for the small fact that I’m probably going to die.
It doesn’t matter. Erid will be saved, and I have my best friend to watch me sleep again, for whatever time I have left.
‘Why do you do that, question?’ Rocky asks.
Sleep-bleary, I blink. I’ve only been awake a few minutes, and I can’t think of much I have done in that time. I’ve yawned and stretched, but Rocky’s seen me do that plenty. Perhaps I’d been dreaming, or talking in my sleep? The latter had really weirded Rocky out the first time I did it. Apparently, we’d had a very in-depth conversation about bananas – or at least as best we could, given the translation software’s limitations at the time – and he hadn’t realized what had actually happened until I failed to remember it the next day.
‘Do what, buddy?’
‘Touch stars.’
I still keep the model beside my bed. Space is at a premium on the Hail Mary, especially with Rocky’s tunnels, and I wanted to keep it safe. I don’t remember touching it, but I suppose I must have. My little morning habit has stuck, even with Rocky watching over me again.
‘Just…for luck.’
Luck is one of those nebulous concepts that was hard on our translation software, but we had managed it before the fishing trip. Humans are not, it seems, the only beings in this universe that do things like knocking on wood or crossing their fingers, and whilst Eridians may not have trees or fingers, there are other rituals – pronouncing things a certain way, or tapping to give emphasis, even if it appears irrational or has no effect on the actual outcome. Newsflash! The concept of fate is a constant across the stars.
‘And humans like routine,’ I add when Rocky tilts his carapace at me. ‘It reminds me that I’m starting another day. Like a calendar.’
‘Not like calendar,’ Rocky says. ‘Calendar is different every day. Grace often touch same star.’
I shrug. ‘Human memory – I can’t remember which one I’ve touched, not after twenty-four hours.’
I wait for Rocky to tease me, but he appears not to be in the mood today. I stretch once more, then get up and go about my aforementioned routine, which mostly consists of encouraging the Taumoeba to make babies at a rate that means I won’t starve to death.
‘How many Earth days to Erid now?’ Rocky asks.
I let myself smile. We’re barely a month into our journey and the guy’s already doing the equivalent of ‘are we nearly there yet’. He’d better not ask it with the frequency of my last class on a Friday – those kids could really get a chant going.
‘About 1500,’ I say. ‘Why?’
‘No reason.’
Rocky says it too quickly, but I decide not to press him about it. If he’s bored, I can’t really blame him. Even I’m a bit bored, despite the fairly high chance these next couple of years are going to be my last. Time’s strange like that; if you have enough of it empty, you can kind of forget your impending doom and just want something interesting to do.
I reach for my whiteboard pen.
‘How many days exactly?’ Rocky pipes up. ‘What does ship say?’
I sigh, abandon the pen and spin on my chair over to the computer. Timings aren’t an exact science with this thing, but we aren’t the kind of ship to be bothered by storms or turbulence, so I suppose whatever reading it gives should be relatively accurate.
‘1473,’ I say. ‘Happy now?’
Rocky makes a trilling noise.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I mutter. ‘Though I don’t know why. It’s a lot.’
Rocky doesn’t reply. I suspect that he’s up to something, but I don’t dwell on it too long. Truly, I’m just happy not to be alone for those 1473 days.
I should have put it together, I really should. But I have a lot on my mind, like my food, and making sure the ship doesn’t fall apart on the way to Erid, and how to not lose it with only TV shows and Rocky for company. I adore Rocky, but it is just the two of us, and privacy is a hot commodity.
The fact that Rocky’s working with xenonite isn’t exactly suspicious either – he’s always tinkering with something, and often has so many projects on the go that I lose track of them. So when I wake up and find the xenonite tube next to my bunk, it’s something of a surprise.
‘Hey,’ I ask. ‘What’s this?’
‘Gift,’ Rocky says.
‘What for?’ It’s not my birthday. Even if it was, Eridians don’t do birthdays. Humanity: 1, Erid: 0 on the ‘fun’ scoreboard.
‘Open and see.’
I decide to ignore his ‘Grace is an idiot’ tone in favor of picking up the tube. It’s wider than some of the others Rocky has made, and cool, which means it’s been there a while. I pop it open, holding my breath as the traces of ammonia dissipate. Despite the tube’s large size, the contents are crammed tight. Gently, I reach inside, teasing the thing with my fingers. For a moment, I think it’s stuck – then it stretches, unfolding like an insect.
I recognize it. How could I not? I see something very similar every time I open my eyes in the morning. This star map is bigger, though, much bigger, and far more intricate. Beautiful. I know Rocky and his work pretty well by now; the first map he’d sent me was impressive, but this one is exquisite, so delicate that I feel the time and care gone into it like a thrum beneath my fingertips. And the number of stars…he must have used the laptop I’ve given him to include them all.
‘Rocky…’ I breathe.
‘Is stars!’ Rocky chitters.
‘Yes.’ I set the model beside the bed, moving the other one back to make room for it. ‘Rocky, why…’
‘Touch star.’
‘What?’
‘Like Grace does every morning. Touch star.’
Still a little dazed, I nudge one of the stars with a fingertip. It descends on its hair-thin rod – just an inch or two, but enough to make it stand out from the others.
‘Is calendar!’ Rocky waves his arms in excitement. ‘To mark days.’
‘Rocky,’ I murmur. ‘Are there 1400 of these?’
‘1500,’ Rocky says. ‘1473 days to Erid, less now. But I make a few more, just in case. And 1500 nice human number.’
‘Rocky…you didn’t have to do this. It must have taken you ages.’
‘Grace Rocky save stars – now Grace Rocky have stars! And good project. Rocky work on many things at once. Useful to have this simple task, when stuck with others.’
I suspect that this particular project was anything but simple, but I don’t say so. In the end, what else can I do but thank him?