Chapter Text
I’d been ready to die when I went back for Rocky. I sent the beetles back slowly. John when I first made the decision. I planned to send Paul and George when I actually reached him. And Ringo I saved for last, because I like its name the most. Spacing them out was supposed to make them more likely to reach earth. One freak solar flare or meteor wouldn’t take out all of them the way it would if I sent them all at once. The whole point of the redundancy.
Instead of heroic sacrifice gratefully received, I got a ticked-off Eridian who insisted I send Paul and George to Erid with updated instructions while he personally escorted me back to Earth to make sure I didn’t re-suicide my un-suicided suicide mission. Ringo could be sent ahead to Earth to explain the extraterrestrial situation before we arrived. Any protests that I didn’t have enough fuel to turn around AGAIN fell on deaf ears. Rocky had a plan.
Of course he did. When it comes to practical problems, he’s much quicker than I am to come up with practical solutions. And he had nothing to do but think when he was trapped on the Blip A. Much easier to think of someone else’s problems than your own unsolvable one.
Rocky’s plan. Redall’s designs for blackpanels, made with anodized Eridian steel and clear xenonite. We paved over any part of Mary’s outside that could take it, filled with precious astrophage that enriches slowly, slowly. Fed by carbon dioxide from Mary’s filters. The more I breathe, the more astrophage we get. Enough to replace what I spent rushing back to save him. Pretty clever, if nerve-wracking to install.
And the food… I’ve been trying not to think about it too hard.
Easier said than done the last few months.
♫♬Grace?♩♩♬
“Mmm?”
Rocky appears over my bed, claws tapping together. ♩♪♬Time to turn off engines. Decelerate to Earth.♫♩♩
Oh. I’ve been dreading this part.
“Yeah.”
♫♫Grace ready question?♫♩♩
“Nnnnno. Coming.”
I take a deep breath. Wiggle my toes. Chain wrapped in soft yarn stretches out like rails over my bed. I guide one hand up until I find it and slowly, slowly pull myself up to sitting. Even that takes the life out of me. “How early did you get me?”
♬♩♩Very early, very early. Much time, get to cockpit, rest there, decelerate. Grace can make it.♩♪♫
“You’re getting better at encouragement,” I wheeze. Okay. Enough break. I shift my legs over the edge of the bed. No more talking now. I’m going to need all my energy and breath for the next part. I lean on Rocky’s ball, forcing one foot in front of the other. If Rocky says any other words of great encouragement, I don’t process them. I’m too focused on the floor in front of me.
Just one step, I tell myself. Then, just one more. Make it to the next ribbed archway of the ship. Then the next. Break the hallway into chunks to defeat, and when I beat one, focus on the next point. Just like a tricky math problem, or an assignment a kid struggled to focus on. One piece at a time.
We stop at the ladder, the bottom cushioned by as much bedding as we could spare. I wish there was no gravity for this part. I can’t chunk it up. Once I start, no chances for breaks, not real ones anyway. I can’t sit down now, either. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back up.
♪♫♩Grace get up okay.♫♩♩ As much a command as it is a hope. I grunt in agreement. Enough stalling. I reach for the highest rung I can handle. Rocky disappears to the side—into his tunnels to clamber his own way up to the top.
Each rung is a herculean effort. When I get halfway to the top, I let myself stop. I cling to the metal like a sloth, focusing on breathing in, and out. And not letting go. Rocky appears at the top hatch.
♫♫Grace so close,♩♪♫ he cheers, ♩♪♬just few more rungs.♩♪♫
I don’t have the energy to protest that I’m only halfway. Tears spring into my eyes. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I should just let go now so it won’t hurt as much when I fall.
♪♫♩Grace climb ladder or we crash into Earth.♫♩♩
Maybe I complemented Rocky on his encouragement skills too early. The idea of surviving this long only to burn up in Earth’s atmosphere gets me moving again. When I finally reach the hatch, I flop down next to Rocky and close my eyes
♫♫No sleeping.♫♩♩
I don’t respond. I don’t want to tell him that even if I open my eyes I won’t be able to see anyway with the number of spots in front of them. Plus I have to devote all my breath to surviving. Okay. One… two… three…
I heave myself up again using Rocky’s ball. “I’m gonna puke,” I groan.
♫♫Grace not eat yet today,♩♪♫ Rocky reminds me matter-of-factly, ♫♫Nothing to puke.♩♪♫
“I will anyway. All over your ball if you tell me I can’t.”
♪♫♩Grace disgust. And liar, statement.♩♩♫
I don’t answer. Just take a few more steps. When we finally—finally reach the cockpit, I use the last bit of my energy to control my fall from Rocky’s ball and end in the captain’s chair.
Pilot detected.
Some pilot. I close my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to subside. I need to flip the Hail Mary around so that she’s pointing AWAY from Earth and start accelerating in the opposite direction. Then, right when my velocity hits zero, cut off the engines. Rocky and I calculated when we’d need to start the deceleration so that when the engines cut off, we’ll be just outside Earth’s orbit. Engine cutoff time, thankfully, was pretty easy to program, so I won’t have to haul myself back up here again.
“Alright, Rock. Ready?”
Rocky wedges his ball between the stem of my pilot chair and the control panel—preventing me from crashing back into the console on the off chance we go into an uncontrolled spin again. ♬♩♩Rocky ready.♩♪♫
“Okay. Three… two… one.”
I turn off the spin drives on one fuel tank, leaving the other two running. Rocky points his ray gun at a reading showing our position. I spare a glance at the window, hand on the spin drive controls just in case. The stars outside tilt as the front of the Mary twists.
♫♫Turn back on three… two… one.♫♩♩
I turn the spin drive back on. The window stabilizes. We’re accelerating “backwards” now, eating the velocity we achieved on our way here. I start the countdown to engine cutoff and fall back in the pilot chair. Rocky rolls out of his place, waving his hands in celebration.
♩♪♬Grace Rocky almost to Earth.♬♫
“Yep.” I glance at the countdown timer. Two weeks. Two more weeks of taumoeba. One more week of 1.5 gs. Two more weeks of Grace and Rocky, only two people in the universe. Is it weird to think I’ll miss it? As crazy as being trapped in this tin can is driving me, I don’t know if I’m ready to be shoved back into a huge world. If I’m ready to see the people I was sent to space to save.
♫♫How does Grace think Earth will react to Rocky, question?♫♩♩
“I don’t know.” That’s another thing I’m not sure I want to think about. We sent Ringo out last week—another exhausting climb—so they know he’s coming. But Earth… will it band together to send Rocky home? Or will I be the reason he’s stuck away from his mate and his planet for the rest of their lives? “I think… a lot of people will love you.” I give him a crooked smile. “Not as much as me, though, don’t try to make any other best friends.”
I’m joking, but Rocky bobs up and down seriously. ♬♩♩No best friends, no human better than Grace.♩♪♫
“Thanks, bud.” I lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “I’m sorry,” the mumble escapes.
♫♫Grace adjust trajectory good, no reason be sorry. Better pilot when weak.♩♪♫ When I don’t respond, he bumps my chair. ♩♪♬Is joke. Grace better from practice.♩♪♫
“’S not what I mean. I mean… I’m sorry I dragged you all this way from Erid.”
♫♫Grace tired from climb, make Grace stupid and forgetful. Already said this. Grace come back to save Rocky, save Erid. Rocky make sure Grace go home. Make sure Grace survives.♩♪♫
“I know, but—”
♬♩♩Rocky not sad. Stay with Grace longer.♩♪♫
“But Adrian—”
♫♫Say this already too. Adrian know Rocky alive from Beetle. Is enough for now. Worth it. ♩♪♫
It is decidedly not fair that he perfectly remembers all my arguments and how to counter them. I curl up, letting it go. The pilot chair isn’t the comfiest place for a nap, but I don’t want to think about going back down that ladder for a while.
♪♫♩Grace?♩♩♬
“Yeah, bud.”
♫♫Grace not happy going home?♩♩♬
“I…” How do I respond to that? “I’m happy, I just… I didn’t leave under the best circumstances. I guess I’m nervous. I wasn’t supposed to come back.”
♫♬Grace do job. Earth not kill Grace again.♩♪♫ Rocky plants his feet firmly. ♩♪♬And if try, Rocky run them over.♩♪♫
That wrestles a laugh out of me, a wheezing, reedy sound. The image of Rocky’s ball hitting into a line of security guards like bowling pins is a pretty darn funny one. I hold onto it while I slip into sleep.
When I wake up again, the countdown to engine cutoff reads 13 days, 20 hours, 33 minutes. That explains the crick in my neck and ache in my back. I stretch out slowly, putting one hand on Rocky’s ball. I’ll probably go right back to sleep once I’m back in the living area, but I need to move. And to eat. We slowly shuffle our way back to the ladder. I sit on the edge for a long, long minute, summoning the energy to take the first step. Rocky rolls back into his tunnels.
Rocky will be at the bottom, I tell myself, You can eat gross taumoeba, then go back to sleep and let the ship drift back to Earth, where there’s real food.
I take the ladder one rung at a time. Going down is sort of easier than going up—I don’t have to haul my too-small body weight up against gravity. But doing it slowly, that’s the hard—
My foot slips off the smooth metal. My fingers clench on their rung in an effort to keep me up, but gravity easily yanks them out straight.
Air rushes by my face.
How am I supposed to hit the ground again?
I land on my back, rolling backwards against the bedding to absorb the shock. It doesn’t help. I can’t breathe. I can’t make my body move. The air I had left in my lungs expels in a sob. I can’t suck in another breath.
I hear rattling. Rocky, in his ball, rolling towards me as quickly as he can. ♪♫♩Grace okay? Grace hurt?♩♩♬
I manage to breathe in. My back flares in discomfort at the movement, and the breath is gone again, in another cry. It doesn’t hurt too badly, not really. The bedding did its job. I’m bruised at the worst. But still, I cry hysterically, curling up in a ball. I shouldn’t waste energy on this, not when I need to get to Armando, and my bed. I can’t help it. I’m tired, and I’m cold, and I’m hungry, and I fell off a gosh-dang ladder and what I want more than anything right now is a hug. A real hug, where I get hugged back, not plastering myself against a glass ball.
♫♫Grace okay,♩♪♫ Rocky soothes, ♫♫Grace okay. No leaking. Grace fall, scary, scary, scary, but Grace safe.♩♪♫
Flat xenonite presses against my back, and Rocky must be pressing against the other side, because warmth spreads across my skin. I might be craving a reciprocated hug right now, but I’ll take what I can get. I roll over and wrap my arms around him the best I can.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Hiccups shake my body—another thing I don’t have the energy for.
An annoyed raspberry. ♫♫Grace okay. No apologies.♫♩♩
I curl into the bedding. It’s just supposed to be here so that I don’t hurt myself if I do the exact thing I just did, but right now it feels like the best place for another nap. Or maybe the rest of the day sleeping. Maybe I can just melt into the ship right here and not be me anymore. Earth can’t get Ryland Grace if he fuses with the coffin they sent him to space in. The thought is oddly comforting.
Rocky hums softly and tucks himself in next to me. ♫♫Grace sleep. Rocky watch.♫♩♩
Nine Days From Deceleration
♫♬Grace?♩♩♬
I don’t want to open my eyes. If I do, then I’ll have to move and talk. I don’t want to move and talk. I want to stay here, cocooned in my blankets.
♬♩♩Rocky hear Grace heart. Awake. Rocky start distress signal to Earth.♩♪♫
They’re not going to come get us. They sent me to die. It’s nice that I didn’t, but why waste resources on someone they resigned themselves to the loss of anyway? No—they have to. They have to get us because if they don’t, then Rocky gave up going home for nothing. Does he have enough food for himself to get home? I hope the leftover CO2 in the filters can generate enough fuel for the trip.
If Earth doesn’t come get us, I don’t care about me anymore. I’m going to set the ship back on course for Erid with the last bit of strength I have and then die knowing Rocky won’t be lost because he trusted that other humans were kind.
Seven Days From Distress Signal
They’re not coming for us. The engines cut off two days ago. I haven’t eaten since. I’ve stayed swaddled in my cocoon, unwilling to test how well I can move in zero gravity right now. Rocky stays in his tunnels for the same reason.
I need to move. I need to get up, float into the pilot’s seat, and turn Mary towards Erid. I won’t have to worry about the ladder this time, at least.
But I can’t. Even opening my eyes seems like too much effort.
Come on, Grace. For Rocky.
Maybe after I die, Rocky can flood the ship with ammonia. Then he can use the controls. Good plan, me. I need to share it, but I think I’ve forgotten how to talk.
????????????
The ship shakes. Maybe it’s just me? Maybe I’ve hit the point of no return. But somewhere outside of my nest of blankets, I can hear Rocky bugling a distress call.
Don’t be sad, I want to tell him, you did the best you could.
Clang.
What was that?
I peel my eyes open. The hatch to the living area. It’s opening—I can hear the grinding of metal. And the squeak of EVA suit against the ladder.
White-clad figures descend into my space. I can’t see them—where are my glasses? Would they help?
“Holy shit,” one of them breathes, “It’s really him. Dr. Grace?”
I blink in response.
“He’s alive—really alive. Okay—we’re going to get you out of here.”
The two of them pull my blankets away. Now it’s not the ship—now I am the one shaking. One of them slides a hand under my back. A mumbled cry escapes. It hurts—every pressure does—but it’s contact, even tempered by the thick spacesuit.
Wham
The human touching me spins to the side, sent flying by a ball of xenonite. I drift upwards. Rocky bounces back off of a wall and comes to a halt between me and the other humans.
♫♫Stay away! No hurting Grace!♫♩♩♬♫
“Rock-y.” I wince at the rattling gasp of the word. “Okay… here… help.”
Rocky relaxes slightly, pulling back. The astronauts approach more cautiously this time, wrapping me back up in blankets. They push me up through the hatch. I can’t believe it. Someone came. Someone really, actually. There are other humans on the Hail Mary, and they’re going to take me back to Earth. I can hardly believe it. Rocky bounces along behind us. He’s coming too—we’re all going to Earth. Together.
They’re talking while they drag me along to the airlock—apologizing for how long it took to reach me. It must have been a process, docking with the rough remains of the xenonite tunnel still stuck to the edges. They’re saying something about… Venus?
The airlock looms in front of me, attached to another airlock. I’m leaving the Hail Mary. Going to another spaceship, sure. But I’m leaving. I wish I could twist back to give it one last look, but I’m pulled along at the mercy of others.
The airlock cycles.
We’re leaving.
I’m going to make it.
Tears track familiar lines down my face. For once, I don’t have to worry about the calories I’m wasting crying.
One of the astronauts takes off her glove, and her hand squeezes mine. I think my skin might be on fire. How long has it been? It’s not a hug, but I don’t think I could handle a hug right now, with how strange and wonderful just holding hands feels.
“It’s alright,” she soothes, “You made it, Dr. Grace.”
I can’t stop the tears. I don’t want to.
“We’re taking you home.”