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“You don’t even have a dog.”
Ryland can hardly look at himself in the mirror, not since his home has been floating in the vast darkness of space, the stars feeling more suffocating than ever.
He always joked that his home was his school, where his students greeted him every morning, genuinely excited to learn more about science and hear another one of Dr. Grace’s horrible jokes that he always ended with an awkward laugh. But maybe his home has always been the beach, where the waves crash against the shore, and it's always a different view you’re coming back to – somehow always the one you need to see at that very moment.
His own face is shared with another, light-years away.
The one back on Earth has a darker beard, a hairstyle messier than he will ever let his grow out to be. He squints to read, the result of adamantly refusing to wear glasses for years; Ryland always wondered if it was to give him a distinct feature from his twin.
But despite remembering his face, his unique quirks, his voice, even – Ryland fails to grasp the name the face belongs to.
He forces himself to stare at his reflection, his eyes tracing over the individual features until names come to mind. Colby, Coleson, Cody?
He shakes his head, his hands dragging down his face as if he could contort them just slightly to fit the nameless stranger in his mind, who just so happens to share his smile and blood.
There’s a polaroid image against the mirror, and upon first glance, Ryland thought it was a picture of himself. On the back is a smudged name, only giving him the first two letters of his brother’s name: CO.
Cobalt.
Cobalt blue.
Tau Ceti is beautiful, even if Rocky claims that the planet is boring.
The green watercolor that swirls with the patches of orange, the atmosphere that would kill the both of them in seconds. It’s the one planet that has been infested with the substance infamously titled Star Eater that hasn’t lost it luminosity, but oh, how beautiful its surface is.
“It is time go,” Rocky says, pulling Ryland out of his stupor.
Ryland adjusts himself and nods. “It’s time go,” he affirms, unable to pull his eyes away from the green glow of the planet in front of him.
And then he's drowning in pink, glowing orbs of red and pink and white. It washes over him, holy water in a baptism. He closes his eyes, leaning backwards; the astrophage — the star eater, the death of his star — washes over him, but he has never felt so alive. The astrophage sees him, and he sees himself, in the glow of the end of the world pouring down on him.
"What is Grace doing, question?" Rocky asks. Even with the translator, emotion picks up.
"I'm having a moment."
The moment doesn't last long enough, his feet returning to the surface of the ship shortly after he completes a backflip. When was the last time he did one of those?
With the glow of Tau Ceti, Ryland recalls a memory from when he was younger; there's no accurate way to determine his age then, but he was definitely little. Giggling, little Ryland climbed onto the trampoline, pulling himself up and awkwardly rolling onto the nylon surface -- still wet from last night's storm.
His brother was waiting for him, and he was laughing just as hard as little Ryland was. "Come on, Ry!" he exclaimed, bouncing to make it a struggle for the other to properly find his footing.
Once he was able to place both feet on the trampoline, the two brothers danced around the circle of the edge, chasing each other while trying to maintain a steady distance.
His nameless brother eventually shoved Ryland, and they fell to the padding together in a heap of giggles before Blue — that's what Ryland, present-day Ryland, has been referring to him as — found a safe distance from him. "I bet I can do a backflip!" he said proudly.
Little Ryland laughed, crawling to the metal edge of the trampoline. "No, you can't!" He challenged, but he leaned forward, excited and ready. He knew his brother could; he's been practicing with their dad.
And then his brother jumped — once, twice, and then, on the third time, flipped backwards.
Ryland knew he could do it. His brother can do anything.
There are tears in his eyes when Ryland is able to blink himself out of the memory, and the red is gone, replaced with green and orange. He clears his throat, gathering everything.
"You know, back on Earth," Ryland begins to say, his eyes never truly leaving Tau Ceti, "if you discover something, you get to name it." He shrugs after a brief moment. "You were technically here first, so…"
"Yes," Rocky agrees. He thinks for a moment. Maybe not long enough, because his answer follows, "name is Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet."
Ryland holds himself back. "'kay," he replies slowly. "Well, if Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet was taken, we'll just have a back-up."
Rocky doesn't respond at first. Ryland sighs.
"Maybe go with something personal," he suggests.
"Personal," Rocky repeats.
Personal. Does Ryland even get that? If he could name the planet himself, would he have anything at all to suggest? The only person back home — home — is nameless, a face he can't unsee.
"What was your mate's name again?" Ryland manages to ask. What personal attachment is there that Ryland himself would have? At this point, he would name the planet 'Rocky.' Beyond that, would he name the planet something akin to Rocky's first suggestion? A description of someone he can't name; someone without a name?
He interrupts Rocky's answer of mate's name; Ryland really shouldn't have asked that to begin with, but it gave him time to reflect. His brother — God, his brother — would tease him for being so sentimental over the smallest things, but he can't even remember his -
"It's okay, it's okay. I remember," he says gently.
Rocky grows frustrated with himself. "Need human name for Rocky mate."
"Adrian," Ryland immediately suggests. He can remember the name of a boxer's wife, but not his own brother.
"Is beautiful!" Rocky exclaims, and Ryland can't help but smile.
He pauses before returning to the Hail Mary, turning around to stare one last time at the newly named planet.
Colt would have loved this.
Ryland sits down with the polaroid, turning it over in his hands. He grabs a marker, and with the little ink it has left from all his time jotting down notes that he can remember about himself, he carefully adds the last two letters to the name smudged on the back.
He hates to admit that he's disappointed in himself that he didn't guess it sooner. Last year — or the year before his last year of teaching, whenever that truly was — he taught a kid named Colton; Colt for short. He remembers how scrappy he was, how he kept getting into fights outside during lunch, resulting in detention and school suspension. But every time he came back in from his scuffles, he would always greet Dr. Grace with a happy smile, even if there was still blood on his lip.
Why can he remember that? He can't even remember how he even agreed to join this suicide mission, but he can remember putting Band-Aids on one of his students' scraped knees.
But back to Colt — is he even still alive? He has to be, there would be a lot more grief attached to these brief, faint memories of him; he has to be, unless he died after Grace boarded the Hail-
Rocky scampers in, inside of his glorified hamster ball, asking why he keeps looking at blank white material. Ryland shoves it beneath the papers on the desk nearby, scolding him for being so nosy while sweat begins to bead on the back of his neck. "Stop it, Rocky," he says hurriedly, walking towards the lab with Rocky following on his heels.
Thankfully, walking through doors also makes Eridians forget their previous motives.
"How long is this supposed to take?" Ryland shouts, looking over into the green storm beneath him, tinted red from the flames behind him reflecting off of Adrian's atmosphere.
The collector clashes against the Hail Mary, causing Ryland to duck instinctively, a slight yelp escaping him.
"Collector should be here soon," replies Rocky; albeit late.
"Yeah," Ryland says, breathless before he manages to somehow collect his breath. His nerves are brewing in his legs, creeping up into his stomach. "It's here."
He can barely hear Rocky's chirps of satisfaction over the sound of his heart pumping in his ears.
Amaze, amaze, amaze!
He cuts the xenonite chain connected to the collector, his body following it as he catches the device before it disappears into the abyss waiting for him if he fails. His weak shoulder almost slips with it, and the spike of adrenaline to his heart -- the fear of what would happen if he were to be seriously injured -- pulls him back to the ship.
With the collector held tightly to his chest, he gathers himself as Rocky reminds him that the collector is, in fact, important.
Thank you, Rocky.
"Altitude warning."
Thank you, Mary.
Ryland grabs the rope leading back to the entrance of the Hail Mary, his breaths coming in and out faster than he'd like, legs wobbly as he attempts to remain upright. The collector bounces against his side; his steps unsteady as he trembles against the force opposing his safe return.
And then there is a white flash of pain, hot and searing as it comes into contact with the backside of his suit. He feels himself connecting with the roof, but all other senses are gone to him.
For a brief moment, he thinks of Colt back in High School.
Colt got his license first, and their mom was always so worried about him driving the two of them anywhere, even school. She told Ryland that his brother had too much impulse; she didn't even know why their father took him to all those driving lessons anyway -- they should've waited until Ryland was finished with his permit.
But every morning, Colt would be in the car before him, listening to a metal band that their dad introduced them to while growing up. He would honk his horn when Ryland passed the hood of the car, patting his shoulder apologetically when he would take his place in the passenger seat, laughing but with guilt laced through. Ryland would forgive him as he turned up the radio, chuckling to himself, waiting for the day he would be able to get him back.
One school morning, someone ran the stop sign as Colt was passing through. The brakes were slammed, and Ryland flew forward despite his seatbelt, but Colt already had his arm across his body, keeping him back against the seat. The car that crossed them continued to drive on, but the twins looked at each other, wide-eyed and panting, their hearts racing in tune with each other, before they broke out in a fit of giggles, promising each other they wouldn't tell mom -- despite it being neither of their faults.
"Grace? Grace is safe, question?"
"I'm okay!" Ryland musters, the wind knocked out of him as he slides across the surface of the Hail Mary.
"Good, good, good. Come inside with predator collector now."
"Uhh."
Peering over the edge, the collector hangs from the side of the ship. Ryland has always been afraid of heights — something he used to be teased for. Used to. What a sad statement to say; the concept of something that used to be a constant, but for a reason out of your control, it no longer is, now just a mem-
"Why not moving, question?"
Ryland blinks.
"Must move now," Rocky urges. "Go, go."
Ryland looks up, then down the ramp of the Hail Mary. The metal container begins to slip away with the little time they have left. There's no way he's going to do this. He didn't get sent to space to die. Well, he did, but after he saves the entire planet. That's why he chose to come here, right? to leave everything behind for the fate of his kids' future? At one point in time, he believed he could do this. What gave him that idea?
"No, Grace, bad idea," Rocky warns. "Come inside."
Dazed, Ryland continues to stare at the collector. He has an idea, and he has trust in himself. For the first time in his life — as far as he can remember — he has trust in himself. Colt does dangerous stunts all the time, doesn't he? From what he recalls, this is an average Tuesday for his brother. Maybe not exactly, but—
"Be there in a minute," he answers, the words leaving his mouth without even realizing.
Rocky continues his anxious attempts of dragging Ryland back to common sense, but he's already on the move, finding his way down to begin carrying out his half-thought out plan. "Can repeat mission!" Rocky reasons desperately. "Try again later!"
Holding on to the side of the ship, Ryland sighs, "I don't think there is going to be a later."
His shoulder is slipping.
When he was freshly sixteen, his shoulder —
Ryland cries out in pain; he'll swear to Rocky later that he could feel the individual muscles in his arm tearing out of place, burning pain spreading like wildfire -- even to his back where his shoulder blade rests. When he can finally see past the blinding pain clouding his vision, he is able to grab the pocketknife from his calf and cut the rope holding him against the ship that's slowly ripping his limb out of its socket.
He falls, the release of the pain almost sending tears to his eyes, and he's caught along the side, watching as the storage container falls into a milky green storm.
Colt would've loved filming this scene for a movie. Without the pain — or maybe he wouldn't mind, especially in controlled environments — the adrenaline of shooting this shot would give him so much ecstasy. The falling, the unstable balance, the risk of it all in context — he would have loved this. And then, in production, if the filmmakers could even fathom the beauty Ryland gets to see — when he isn't risking his life — the shot would be award winning.
His shoulder hurts.
Ryland is thrown back with his chair into the control panels.
"Rocky!" He shouts, the plea coming out more as a yelp with his voice scratching harshly against his throat, blue eyes blown wide with fear he hadn't even felt out in Adrian's atmosphere. He can risk his life, almost die multiple times, but he can't let Rocky die. Not like this; not without Rocky being able to go home.
Ryland's atmosphere is killing Rocky; it's not even the ship circling down into its doom, but what is keeping Ryland alive. Rocky chirps in pain, his own cries as Ryland grunts, struggling to stay conscious while the Hail Mary spins, and spins, and spins, and
His shoulder stiffens in protest when he reaches up, blindly flicking the switch where he remembers it to be, not even sure if it's the right one. Mary confirms it is, and he moves on to the next one, much closer to him.
"Eject… other fuel… bay," Rocky manages, even the translator picking up the pain in his tone, the way it wavers. Ryland tries not to cry from his voice alone.
An unpleasant sound is heard from outside, and he's pretty sure it's one of the fuel tank's disconnecting from the ship. It's crazy that the one thing that brought them out into this desolate space of, well, space is what is killing them. The astrophage that is killing both of their planets but brought them out to meet each other is killing them again, but in a new way this time. Ryland won't let them fail, not—
And then he sees blue.
Cobalt blue of the screen his face has been slammed against. There's not even pain, just the sound of him and Colt laughing in the car that one morning before school.
Where's Colt's arm now?