Chapter Text
The artificial breeze is cool and refreshing. It still carries a faint odor of metal, but it's negligible after years of getting used to it. The large grains of "sand" crunch under Grace's feet as he approaches the soft curve of his beach. Rocky got held up with Adrian, so he's treating himself to a stroll across the biome before returning home. The light cycle is beginning to filter out, and the horizon is taking on a pinkish-orange glow. It's much different than sunsets on Earth, but Grace is fond for them all the same. Maybe even more fond, if he's being honest.
His knees are starting to get achy. He stops his walking and faces the water. The waves creep up to his feet, threatening to wet his shoes and toes.
Grace lets his mind wander to various things as he watches the steady waves. He reviews how the lesson went today (it was a new class of pebbles, so he's restarting the light spectrum— it's his favorite), and the plans for next class. His mind drifts to the "weekend," when his circadian schedule aligns with Rocky and Adrian's work schedules. They should be able to spend the weekend together. It's been a while since all of them could relax together. Maybe it's time to try out the new projector screen they made, and try watching a movie—
Grace sees the vibrations before he feels them. The grains of sand jump and dance around his feet, and the water ripples against the mechanical steadiness of the wave-maker. Soon, Grace's feet and legs are trembling as the ground underneath him jumps and shudders. He's been in his fair share of earthquakes (and one Erid-quake), but none have been this sudden. The crescendo of shakes are too fast for him to even scan his memory for quake-related forecasts.
In one sudden lurch, Grace is on the ground of the beach. There's a loud rip through the air, and there's only a second for him to worry about the xenonite dome cracking before he's sprayed with cold water. The sudden wave, too far up on the shore, crashes over him and crushes his face into the sand. He's sputtering as it rolls over him. His next breath is a mixture of metallic water and air, and he chokes on it. He doesn't smell ammonia, though, and he's not hit with sudden sickness of a slight pressure change.
Grace scrambles to get his feet under him to haul himself up and away from the water. His glasses are in his pocket— thankfully unbroken— but he doesn't have time to get them on his face. Water continues to lap at his ankles and calves, angry at being disturbed. Grace has a few moments to catch his breath, ears strained for any sounds of danger, before it catches in his lungs. He's hunched over, hands on his knees, eyes trained on the foaming water.
The foaming, pink water.
His brain immediately fills in the blanks. Hands begin to frantically pat himself down, looking for any blood or injury. Eridians don't bleed red, and if that is diluted blood, it must be from Grace.
There's a low, booming groan from behind him. He yelps and twists, possible injuries forgotten. Now, facing towards the water, he stops moving entirely. His eyes remain trained on the new shape that mars the smooth expanse of the horizon.
It… it looks like a tree.
The groaning sound comes again, and Grace watches as— something caught in the red tree's branches twitches. He'd say it looks alive, but that's not true. It's only moving for another second before falling limp and lifeless, held up only by the tree that's wedged into its body. Grace has never seen anything so grotesque, and the contents of his stomach are soon blending into the pink water.
"Grace!!"
Rocky's musical cries are so much more soothing than they have any right to be. Grace sobs out a returning cry, eyes only leaving the— the monster in the tree for half a second. Rocky is careening towards him, Adrian close behind. They're to Grace in record time, claws tapping and prodding at him to assess for injuries.
"What happened??" Rocky asks.
The branches of the tree sway in the air, but Grace cannot feel the breeze that moves them. His stomach twists again.
"I— I don't know. There was a quake, and then— I-it was just there!" Grace waves his arm at the monster and the tree, hoping that an explanation will come to him. "I-I don't know how it happened. I can't think of anything that would cause that!"
Adrian and Rocky finish up their quick triage and begin to pull Grace away from the water. He's finally able to break eye contact with the tree, only to drop at the water surrounding it.
"Oh my gosh. Is that—?"
The water around the tree is bleeding. No, scratch that. The tree is bleeding. As Grace watches, it becomes clear that the tree does not have red wood. Waves crash up against its trunk, and each time it takes a layer of red away with it. The rich, deep color spreads throughout the water— his water, on his beach, in his home. Tendrils of red turn pink as they reach through the water, swimming towards the shore.
"M-maybe it's not blood, maybe it's—" he stammers. He wracks his brain for anything. "I-it could be algae, o-or iron, maybe. Iron interacts with some types of minerals in water a-and turns red."
It certainly smells like iron. The sharp tang hits his nose, followed by something else that his brain registers as wrong wrong wrong. Something biological, almost sweet. His instincts scream at him to get away from the water, and who is Grace to deny that?
Rocky and Adrian trill at him as he all but sprints away. They ask what he's seeing, if there's danger. Rocky stops questioning him first, perking up and stepping in a different direction. Grace's breath is too quick and his thoughts are too scattered for him to truly notice. Logic evades him, nothing as powerful as the instinctual chant of blood, blood, blood.
"There's, uh, there's blood in the water, I think. I-it's all red, and it smells like blood, and oh my God, it could be blood. I don't know how, b-but I think it's blood." A hand starts to make fists in his hair, pulling painfully at the roots.
"Blood from humans?" Adrian trills softly but insistently, trying to keep his attention. Their claws begin to work in between Grace's fingers to pry his hand away from his hair. "You've seen human blood before. Explain why this is scary, please? Where are you hurt?"
Rocky stays close by, attention pulled in two directions. He keeps twitching towards Grace.
Grace shakes his head. "N-no, not mine. I'm not hurt. It's— it's a lot of blood," he says. The pink has almost spread throughout the entirety of his beach. "Like… m-multiple dead humans amount of blood."
This seems to get his point across. He doesn't stop Adrian from doing another worried check of his body. His hands are trembling and his face is a little scraped up from where he hit the sand, but he's unscathed.
"Adrian have Grace??" Rocky asks suddenly, notes high in distress. Both of his mates pause. He repeats, emphatically, "Adrian, do you have Grace?? Keep Grace safe??"
Adrian has barely started their affirmative chord before Rocky takes off. Grace shouts and reaches out for him, more on reflex than anything, but Adrian keeps him tucked away in their arms. They both watch, confused and alarmed, as Rocky sprints towards a stretch of beach. Adrian notices it first— a lump of soft flesh, hauled along by the force of the waves, gently deposited on the sands of Grace's beach.
✺✺✺✺
He is floating.
He is swimming.
He is drowning.
It feels like an eternity. A blissful, peaceful eternity, where Simon experiences nothing but a gentle pull and push. There's something delightfully cool against his searing skin. His body pulses with a dull pain, but he can ignore it for a moment. He tries to breathe, but his lungs stutter and fill with something foreign. It doesn't bother him as much as it should.
He bumps against something in the dark. His eyes try to open, but he's met with pink and white swirls. It's a pleasant surprise. He was expecting nothing more than red and black. Whatever he's pushed against becomes more firm, and soon he feels his weight again. His body settles against something hard and shifting, pushing him along until the coolness disappears. The pink fades into soft blues and oranges.
Simon doesn't breathe for a moment. He doesn't feel a need to. The absence of the soothing, cool sensation makes him ache. The aching turns to pain, and that turns into a searing heat that makes his body move. Simon curls in on himself, numb to the gravel against his skin. His stomach lurches and coils, and he empties it into the splashing water. The clumpy blood is washed away before he can see it.
The ringing in his skull turns melodic. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the waves of agony. The gravel under him is cool, and he pushes his face into it for some relief. The music in his head continues, overlapping tunes that he's never heard before. Simon latches onto the chords and lets it pull him back into awareness.
As the pain fades enough for his brain to function again, Simon realizes with a jolt how wrong this all is. He gasps and struggles to his knees in the gravel. Wild eyes look around, trying and failing to identify where he is. He doesn't recognize anything— not the gravel he's on, not the blue sky, not the rocks scattered across the beach. Panic squeezes the air from his lungs.
The music continues. Short, abrupt notes that begin to grate on his ears, fueling his panic. It's not coming from inside his skull. Simon looks to the sky and the horizon, scanning for any speakers or people that might—
There's a man. Simon's pulse jumps in his chest.
Simon keeps his eyes on the man. He's far away, resting against a large, teal boulder. He's just… watching Simon. He doesn't move as Simon rises, eyes wide and body stiff.
There's a low rattling sound that begins to join the music. It's closer to Simon, and it startles him enough to look away from the man. Eyes scan his immediate surrounding, landing on a weirdly shaped rock in front of him. It almost looks like it has legs, and—
"Fuck!" Simon shouts, jerking away from the rock as it fucking moves.
Simon only watches it long enough to confirm what he saw. There are valves on the top of the rock that jump up and down as the music plays, and two of its limbs, those are fucking limbs, wave in the air towards him. As soon as Simon confirms that this thing in front of him is alive, he's up and running.
The music follows him with a sharp increase, but Simon doesn't care. Instinct and fear send him forward, away from the living things that might hurt him. He only stumbles once over the shifting gravel.
Everything is a blur. He can see brown flashes in his periphery vision, and he knows that the rock-alien is following him. The rattling is following him, too, and he can only imagine it's from that thing.
There's no where to go. Simon is sprinting away from them, towards an outcropping of larger rocks and he's so afraid that those will start moving, too. He veers away, breath coming in hot and heavy, and everything hurts, and—
He runs smack into something hard. His nose crunches and he's thrown backward.
"Fuck!" he shouts, holding his nose. There's something hot spilling over his mouth and chin.
There's nothing there. He didn't hit anything, but now he's on the ground and the rock-alien is next to him, waving its limbs and singing at him. He kicks at it, almost falling back when he loses balance. His heartbeat is too loud in his ears as he stands to keep running.
He has to get away. There has to be somewhere he can go, some way he can escape. He can't— he can't be trapped again.
The music starts to become more distant the longer he runs. That fuels him on, despite having too little oxygen in his lungs and too much pain in his body.
His eyes catch something up ahead. A high, rectangular outcropping with heavy seals. An airlock— he'd recognize it anywhere, even as alien as this one is.
Simon rushes to it, legs pumping under him as fast as he can go. He all but slams into the wall of the airlock, desperately looking for the operating panel. There's a waist-height panel, but Simon can't fucking read it. It's not in any language he knows. He starts punching buttons, hyperaware of the brown blur rapidly approaching him.
He chances a glance over to his pursuer. Not only is the small rock-alien almost on him, but so is the man and— fuck, that teal rock is also alive. It's fucking big, too, it's— they're gonna hurt him, he knows it, they're going to grab him and lock him up somewhere—
His breathing is rapid and shuddering as he tries and fails and fails and fucking fails to open the airlock. They're too close, his skin is crawling, and he can't stay here.
Simon swears and pushes away, running along the wall that the airlock is attached to. The opaque metal suddenly goes transparent, and Simon realizes it's a wall. It must be what he ran into earlier, so— maybe he can break it? It looks like glass, and there's plenty of rocks around. He takes a chance and picks up a rock that he can easily hold in his hand, thanking the Last Tree that it doesn't move under his fingers.
The music pitches up and the man begins to shout as Simon slams the rock into the glass. He can't make out what the man is saying. He swings the rock again, the sound of it hitting the glass sharp and piercing. It seems that the entire wall shakes, but it hasn't cracked yet. Simon aims, drawing back— maybe one more hit, enough to shatter the glass, and he can run—
Something slams into his side. The music is right on top of him as the rock-alien pins Simon to the ground. He shrieks and twists, his only weapon flying from his hand.
"Get off!"
He only gets a different chord and a blunt limb pressed to his chest. It burns, too heavy against his already pained body. He struggles, trying to pull everything into himself. The alien has settled over his legs, keeping him from moving, keeping him trapped—
Simon pushes at it with one arm, his only arm, but it doesn't fucking budge, and his heart lodges in his throat and he can't breathe and he can't think—
GET UP.
His back arches as he strains up, trying to twist away from it. He can see the man approach, and he can't be caught again.
GET UP, SIMON.
The claws on his shoulders squeeze and it hurts. He screams at it. There's a heavy pulse in his head that he leans into, before getting his elbow and knees against the center of its body. Warmth spreads throughout his body as he shoves, and the rock-alien is finally dislodged. It makes a shallow arch through the air before landing, right in front of the man and other rock-alien, with a thick thud.
Simon scrambles onto his knees, looking frantically for his inanimate rock. His fingers have just curled around it again when he hears the man yell at him.
"Don't break it!" he shouts. His words just barely break through the haze in Simon's fear-addled mind. "If you break the wall, we all die! You, us, and everyone else in a 50 kilometer radius!"
Everything stops.
All Simon can hear is his heartbeat in his temple. He can feel the rock in his hand, trembling in the air. He doesn't know why he should trust this man, but— he sounded so sure, and— Simon's been wrong in the past, and— he can't be wrong again. Not to that scale.
Slowly, so slowly, Simon turns to look at the man. He flinches when they make eye contact. The man is glaring at him, face flushed and shoulders squared. The two rock-aliens stand behind him, unmoving. Nobody moves for several beats of his heart.
The man extends a hand, stopping the movement when Simon recoils. When he speaks, his voice is slow and serious. "Drop the rock. We're not going to hurt you, but—" He stops himself, jaw working. "But. If you hurt him, I swear to all of science, I will kill you."
The man doesn't make a move towards him, the threat only present in his tone, but it's enough. Simon can feel the jolt of panic before he's off again.
✺✺✺✺
The wall is never-ending. Simon runs and runs and runs, but he can't find another opening. He's too terrified to try breaking the glass again, even away from the eyes of his attackers.
Eventually, he meets that rocky outcropping he first saw. Boulders and jagged cliffs raise far above his head, and he can't approach them for almost an hour. He tries to skirt around them, but it's either the beach— that leads back to them— or the huge rocks that might move on him. Simon considers throwing smaller stones at them, to see if he can spur them into showing themselves, but… he doesn't know if that counts as hurting them.
Darkness slowly begins to encroach on his section of beach. The idea of being stranded out in the open in the dark is more chilling than not knowing where he's at. It forces him to brave the cliffs and boulders, weaving and climbing and jumping until he can't see the shores he started at. His hand is scraped bloody and his legs scream in pain by the time he finds a cave. It's small, cramped, and it makes his heart hurt to look at, but it's better than being spotted because he's a coward.
Sliding into the cave, Simon makes himself as small as possible. A few meters in, it widens enough for him to curl up in more comfortably. All of his muscles are trembling with fatigue, and he doesn't think he can get out if he tried. His heavy breathing quickly heats up and dampens the air. He resolutely ignores the creeping loneliness that threatens to fill him.
DEEP BREATHS, SIMON.
He sucks in a shaky breath, holding it in his lungs before pursing his lips to exhale it slowly. It's too quick still, leaving him in a rush. He tries again, and again, and again, until he doesn't feel dizzy anymore.
GOOD.
Simon can almost feel the adrenaline seep out of him. He slumps, exhausted.
He's almost surprised when he looks up and sees It looking at him. It's strangely comforting. There's only a small jump in his pulse, but it's quickly soothed by Its presence. Simon can feel It thrum through his veins, replacing the weariness with softness. Despite his feelings towards It, he's almost glad to see something familiar.
REST.
A whimper escapes his throat before he can stop it. Simon shifts, sluggish now that he's away from danger. Even so, he can't feel safe. The uncertainty of everything weighs him down more than the exhaustion. The last thing he remembers is fighting the— whatever it is that the SM-8 crew became. He remembers their teeth piercing the hull of the SM-13, hot, suffocating blood flowing into every nook and cranny. He remembers going under, lungs full of foreign blood, and then… nothing until the beach.
"Where— am I?" he croaks. Fuck, his throat is so dry. "I'm not— on the moon."
NO. YOU ARE NOT.
There is a long pause, unspoken and unanswered questions hanging in the air. Simon knows It will answer him if he gives It enough time. He doesn't know where that knowledge comes from, but it is as sure as his heartbeat. Its voice slides through his bone marrow.
YOU ARE SAFE. I HAVE MOVED YOU.
"Where am I?" he repeats quietly.
SOMEWHERE ELSE. THE MOONS ARE NOT HERE. THE STARS ARE STILL ALIVE.
Simon's breath catches. "The… the stars?"
A hum settles over his nerves. He can't feel it, not really, but he knows that it pacifies the leftover fear. His eyes become heavy as It continues speaking to him. It slowly becomes harder to keep them open.
I HAVE GIVEN YOU NEW LIFE. REST.
He has no choice but to obey.
Simon dreams of blood and stars.
✺✺✺✺
The fear and uncertainty is still there when he wakes, tucked deep into his veins. The crevice he's crawled into is cold. The chill seeps in through his worn clothes. He wishes he still had his outer layers. When he opens his eyes, he can see an orange light streaming in through the opening. It's such a foreign sight that it kicks his pulse up. He jolts against the wall he's made into a bed, sitting upright with wide eyes. It takes several moments to re-orient himself.
He doesn't see It again. There's no tears in his vision, no dark hole for It to peer through. Simon feels empty without Its presence.
His stomach twists. The gnawing emptiness in his gut makes itself known, turning over with nausea until his vision is blurry. If he had anything in him, he might throw up. But… he doesn't know where he'd even get food. The wall of the cave is cold against his cheek as he rests his head back.
The fear of his attackers keeps him still. He absently watches as the light turns from a soft orange to a more vibrant yellow. A breeze picks up, filtering fresh air into his little cave.
Simon hears someone call for him.
He stiffens where he's pressed to the wall. His breathing slows.
The call comes again. It sounds like the same man from yesterday. "Hello? We're, uh… We're sorry we scared you. We brought you some food."
Simon's stomach coils around itself like an angry snake, and his mouth pulls into a frown. He's not stupid enough to accept such an obvious trick. There's no knowing what they'll want in return.
There are scraping and clattering sounds coming from the mouth of his cave. There's a slide of something and a grunt, before he hears a quiet "Oh, gosh—" from the man. It's too close, and Simon feels his hackles raise. A low, unhappy rattle flows through the air. There's a beat of silence from beyond his cave.
His ears strain to hear the man's voice. "Look, Rocky, maybe— maybe this is a bad idea."
The rock-alien must be with him, fluting a response that Simon can't comprehend. Against his better judgement, Simon is suddenly fearful that he won't be able to get that food. He stays put.
He can hear another scrape and what sounds like footsteps, encroaching ever closer to his cave. The rattles increase in volume and intensity until the footsteps stop. How do they even know where Simon is? This cave was at least an hour's climb, and he's deep enough that he can't even see out clearly.
"Don't get too close, Rocky," he hears the man say.
It's all the warning he gets before the alien's rocky carapace is slowly shifting into his line of sight. The rattling in Simon's ears is deafening, and several points along his back begin to ache. Every muscle in his body is primed, ready to jump or run at a moment's notice. Wide eyes carefully stay trained on the alien.
It stays still until the rattling dies down, and moves so slowly that Simon feels like he's drunk. One of its limbs extend into the air, and Simon can see that it's holding something. It's a rectangle, but that's all he can make out against the bright background. The alien gestures with this hand, chiming a three-chord song at him. Each time it waves the item at Simon, it repeats the same notes.
The man calls out from afar. It doesn't sound like he's gotten closer. "That's the food. It's, uh, it's in a pouch. Like for astronauts?"
Simon can feel his vocal cords rumble around a growl. It surprises him enough to stop it almost immediately, hand coming up to touch the base of his throat. The alien flinches at it, but doesn't move. If Simon could see its eyes, he wonders if they'd look startled.
The alien is only silent for a few moments, before it repeats the gesture and the three notes. "Food." It's saying "food" in whatever its language is. It shifts on its many legs before the pouch is in front of it, and it sets it on the ground at the lip of the cave. Then, it twists its body until a different limb is front-facing. It carries another pouch, and it sings a new song at him.
"Water," the human calls out. "I— I don't know what you drink, but it's water safe for humans. The food is safe for humans, too, of course. I— I hope that's okay."
Simon's mouth is suddenly very dry. His tongue slips out to wet his chapped lips, but it's ineffective. He swallows thickly.
The alien— Rocky— waves it and repeats the word for "water." The same as before, it slowly sets the pouch down to the pouch of food. Simon watches it take a few steps back, but it remains at the cave entrance. He waits longer, not moving an inch closer. He takes the time to scan its carapace, eyes now adjusted to be able to see more details. He can't make out a clear face on this thing.
When it becomes clear that Rocky is not intending to move, the rattles start back up. Simon's body slowly tenses, wanting nothing more than for this weird alien to leave. It's impossible to move any closer, despite the siren call of the food and water. He doesn't know what they want for it, but… well, he's done plenty of things to survive. Surely he'll survive whatever they want. Regardless, he remains as still as a statue.
Rocky warbles a short tune at him and begins to step away from the cave. It gestures with two of its limbs, and Simon can recognize the words "food" and "water." After a few long moments, Simon can't see the alien anymore.
"We'll be back later with more," the man calls. "Try not to lose the pouches, please. I don't want to litter."
Like hell he's going to toss the pouches. Simon bristles at the implication that he's wasteful. He doesn't honor the man's request with a response, still curled and pressed to the wall.
Over the next several minutes, he listens to the scrapes and clambering of bodies getting further and further away. He hears a few more gasps and grunts from the man. He must be clumsy. Simon waits for as long as he can before pulling himself away from the wall. It's awkward to crawl forward with only one arm. He was too tired last night to realize it. The journey to the entrance takes several extra minutes.
The pouches are unassuming against the ground. Each one is made out of some sort of plastic, with a colorful lid at the top. The water pouch is larger and transparent, with a little stamp of H2O in the corner. The food pouch is a light orange shade, and Simon pokes at it— the plastic is also transparent, so the food itself must be orange. It doesn't look like anything Simon recognizes.
He grabs both pouches and shoves them into his pockets so he can retreat back into the safety of his crevice. He chances the water first, holding the pouch and twisting the top off with his teeth. The cap is spat into his lap before he tentatively sniffs at the water. It smells fresh and clean. Suspiciously so. He slowly tips the pouch back, only letting a few drops on his tongue. He's braced for the sharp tang of poison or bitterness of impurities, but nothing comes. The water is cool and immediately soothing, and Simon has to force himself not to gulp it all down. It's the best damn water he's ever had.
The food is harder to brave. Simon's hand is shaking slightly as he figures out how to open it. He's not willing to open this one with his teeth, lest he get some in his mouth. The pouch is held between his knees so he can twist the lid off with his hand. He gives it a small sniff. There's no strong scent to it. Any notes he can get are sterile and shallow, and remind Simon vaguely of the nutritional paste supplied to convicts. Bland, nearly textureless, and unappetizing. That may be why Simon is able to put a small amount on his tongue. It tastes almost exactly how it smells, but most importantly, it doesn't taste spoiled or poisoned.
Simon only takes a few swallows before tucking the pouches away. His stomach tumbles over itself, familiar in the way it re-adjusts to having something filling it. He waits as long as he can handle, waiting for confirmation that the food and water aren't dangerous, before he sips at the rest.
The cave slowly warms up as the hours pass. His skin is no longer prickled with goosebumps, and he can feel his energy return bit by bit. He knows he can't stay in this place. Those people have already found it. It's no longer safe, even if Simon wants it to be.
As soon as he's able, Simon tucks the pouches into his pockets and drags himself out of the cave. The sky is a bright, and he has to squint against it. How are they making this place so bright? They must have a well-maintained generator, but he doesn't know of a single station that would be able to produce this much power. Then again, he also doesn't know a station that is home to a race of rock aliens. Or a beach.
He can't see much of the surroundings from his vantage point. He knows the body of water is to his right— he all but cornered himself when he ran away. Stupid. There's nothing he can do about it now, though, so he carefully searches the area for another place to tuck himself into. There aren't any caves for him to fit in, but there is a descent into a beach. A column of rocks arches overhead, shielding the section of gravelly sand from the sky and, hopefully, from view.
The hidden alcove is quiet. The water laps lazily at the shore, and he has about 6 meters of dry land. Gravel crunches under his boots as he carefully climbs down. It's safe enough to get a few hours of sleep in before he starts to get his bearings. Hopefully both the man and alien are diurnal.
Simon finishes off the pouches of water and food. He tucks the empty pouches back into a pocket for later use.
"Try not to lose the pouches."
He scoffs to himself. Like hell he's going to lose them. He can already think of about a dozen uses for them. Why would he get rid of them? Ridiculous.
Simon drifts off, laying down against a cool wall. His mind is idly running plans on how to scout the place out at night as he falls under.