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The lights give out in the middle of my class.
I yelp.
I freeze awkwardly mid-gesture, too scared to lower my arms. I have no idea where everything is, and I really don’t want to smash any of my equipment. Or worse, the 40 Eridani system model. I built it myself! Rocky's been bullying me relentlessly about the quality of it, of course, but hey. I'm proud of it. And Simon said it was pretty. I'm counting it as a win.
“Keep calm,” I mutter to myself. Then, louder, to the kids: “Everyone stay calm.”
They chirp, audibly confused.
“Why not calm, question?” one of them asks.
Ah. Yes. They don’t need the lights. This is not my Earth classroom where the sudden lack of electricity caused immediate panic despite the sunlight pouring in through the windows. It’s pitch-dark here for me, but for them everything is perfectly normal.
I slowly lower my hands and, thankfully, don’t smash anything.
“My lights just went out. I can’t see a thing. Remember what I told you about human vision?”
They start answering, talking over each other. I think I can hear some kerfuffle on their side of the barrier.
Kids are gonna be kids no matter which planet you’re on. Leave them unobserved, and chaos will immediately ensue.
“Okay, stay in your seats!” I raise my voice a little bit. “Just give me a moment, I—” I turn around blindly and immediately regret it. Now it’s even harder to tell which direction I’m facing. “Simon, you okay there?”
He doesn’t answer.
I frown.
“Simon?”
The answer comes a little bit to the side from where I expected. I was sure I was facing the little desk he's been using when sitting in on my lessons, but I guess I turned a little bit too far right.
“Grace?..”
Oh.
Oh fudge, he sounds terrified.
I forget my own nyctophobia in an instant.
“Simon? Simon, can you— can you keep talking to me? I’ll come find you. Or you can follow my voice and come to me instead? Uh— where are you?”
He is silent.
Fudge, fudge, fudge, fudge.
He does tend to go inside his head when he is scared. When something reminds him about the past.
Like, you know, something like complete and sudden darkness, combined with the sound of waves crashing against the shore.
“Simon?”
Nothing.
I take a breath. I wave my arms around tentatively, trying to find anything to orient myself in the dark. I don’t care about the equipment anymore; not right now.
Nothing. I’m too far away from anything.
“Teacher Grace?” one of the kids asks. I jump a little, forgetting that they are still here.
Then I realize.
“You guys can still understand me?”
There’s some chirping.
“Not perfect,” the other one says, “but good. Human language easy! Just words to remember! Really not hard!”
That’s Bee, of course. A pain in the ass, just like Abby was back on Earth; naming this one was a no-brainer.
I cross my arms. “Hey, don’t bully your teacher for his poor human memory!”
They snicker, the little rascals.
I take a breath. Try again, “Simon?”
No answer.
Okay.
Okay, Ryland, you just need to get to him.
“Guys, can you tell me where Simon is? Am I facing the right direction?”
“Simon sick, question?” they chirp, all at once, talking over each other. “Heart beats too fast! No talking! Darkness bad for human health, question? You going to die, question?!”
“No! No, no, no, no one is dying.” I hope. I hope whatever broke doesn’t affect the life support system. I don’t smell ammonia, at least, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any hotter. “I just need to get to him, okay? Where is he?”
“More left! No, too much left! No, right!”
Everyone is talking at once again, trying to be helpful and making their directions utterly useless instead. I raise my hand. “Okay, okay, stop. One at a time! Bee, you go.”
“Teacher Grace helpless in the dark!” someone laughs as Bee is trying to steer me in the correct direction. That must be Lime; that one person in the classroom who is not too shy to bully the teacher. The others are giggling; it’s a tad creepy when I can’t see a thing.
Well, laughing is better than panicking.
Still, I put on my stern teacher voice: “Hey. How helpful will you be if you can’t hear anything?”
There are a few scared “gasps” — or, well, the noises that can count as gasps for the Eridians. The kids start whispering among themselves. I think I can hear a horror story being told in one of the corners.
I don’t care. I can finally hear Simon’s breathing — ragged and almost painful, as if he has to fight against himself for every one of them.
“On the ground, left of the desk,” Bee offers. “Will be okay, question?”
“Yeah,” I say, wishing myself to believe it, “don’t worry.”
Bee chirps.
I lower myself to the ground, steadying myself with a hand on Simon’s desk. My knees protest; I don’t care.
“Simon,” I call softly. “Simon, it’s me, it’s Grace. It’s Ryland. Hey. I’m here.”
No answer. I wasn’t really expecting one.
“I’m going to touch you, yeah?” I warn, keeping my voice steady, and reach out a hand. “Do you hear me? I’m right here. I’m here. I’ve got you— oof.”
He grips my hand so hard I can almost feel my bones grind against each other.
I don’t care. All I care about is that he’s still responsive, at least a little.
“Good,” I murmur, “good, hold onto me. Just like that. Good job. I’m right here with you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“You’re real,” he whispers hoarsely. Gosh, he's shaking. I haven't felt him shaking like that in a while.
“Yes. Yes, I’m real. I’m here. I’m real. You’re not there anymore, you’re safe. You’re safe. You're on Erid, and you're safe.”
He is so tense it feels like I'm trying to hug a marble statue. I don't care, wrapping myself around him the best I can. I wish I had my quilt here: it's warm and just the right amount of heavy, so it tends to help ground him the best without restraining the movements too much.
Well, all I have is my cardigan, which I drape over his trembling shoulders, and my arms to try shield him from the dark. It takes him a minute to process: he doesn't move at first, just allowing me to rearrange his stiff body.
Then his mind catches onto what's happening, and he presses into me so hard he almost knocks me over. His arm curls around my waist, fist clutching the fabric of my t-shirt in a death grip, and I can feel his face pressing against my neck. I can feel his breath against my skin, coming in short painful gasps.
I can feel the tears, too. They come after a few moments of the embrace, and when they come, they don't stop.
That's good, I've learned. Tears are good. Tears mean he is here with me, not gone completely into the depths of his mind.
God knows those depths can be terrifying.
“You’re okay,” I murmur again, carding my fingers through his hair. “You’re with me. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You're doing great. Just keep breathing, yeah? Breathe with me. Breathe.”
I can tell that he's trying.
It’s a painfully familiar routine. Even if he hasn’t had episodes like this for a long time now, it is etched into my bones after those first, most scary months.
Hold him. Pet his hair. Stroke his back. Remind him what’s real.
And, no matter what, keep talking.
Well, I can certainly do that.
I turn my head towards the kids — it’s easy to find them, at least, with all the chirping. I clear my throat and try to make my voice as clear and non-monotone as I can.
“Okay. Since I can't use any of my equipment, and you little gremlins somehow taught yourselves human language while I wasn't looking…”
They giggle.
I smile, despite everything.
I love my kids. Even if some of them are technically older than me, they are still very much kids.
“Let's make it a human study, shall we? You can ask me questions about Earth for the rest of the class. And any words you don't understand — let's make it a bit of a language lesson, too. How's that sound?”
They explode with excited noises. Again, kids are gonna be kids — tell them that it’s story time instead of the proper lesson, and they’ll start losing their minds. Especially when the stories are being told by the cool alien teacher.
“What is the point of sense of smell, question?” Lime asks simultaneously with Bee’s “Tell about star constellations!”
I laugh. “Well, since Bee helped me, I’m answering the constellations question first.” That — and I know that Simon would prefer me talking about the stars. “So, you know how humans on Earth can ‘hear’ stars from the surface of the planet, right?..”
It’s easy, to fall into the rhythm of it — talking about whatever the kids want to talk about, rocking myself and Simon back and forth in a soothing motion, combing my fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head. His breathing is getting steadier, I can feel it — he is still very tense, but he feels more alive in my arms.
Chatting with the kids is nice — but gosh, I sigh with relief when the class is over and Simon and I are finally left alone.
“Hey,” I call quietly. “Still with me?”
He shifts a little — not pulling away, just getting more comfortable. “Yeah,” I feel the hot exhale on my skin.
His voice sounds almost normal. I relax a little. “Good. That's good. You okay?”
“Yeah. With you, yeah.”
It makes my chest feel funny. Warm.
“Could you— can you tell me more about Earth?” he asks.
“Of course. What do you want to hear?”
“Anything. Uh, about your kids? Just… please keep talking.”
“I can do that,” I smile. “Let's see… oh! There was one time when one of them brought a stray cat into my classroom, and it hissed at everyone except this one girl…”
He relaxes against me a little more.
He likes stories about my kids; I think it's because he never really got a chance to be one. He enjoys hearing about a universe where kids get to be kids.
I try not to think about what they are going through right now. How many of them didn’t make it.
Gosh, I hope they made it.
There’s a noise of an Eridian approaching — on our side of the Dome, now. I turn my head towards the sound, as if it can help me see.
“Hey?”
“Grace Grace Grace!”
Oh, thank god. “Rocky? What’s going on, are the life-support systems alright?”
“Yes!” he chirps. I hear him come closer and bump into my leg a little bit. “Dome malfunction, crew is fixing already. No danger. I came to check on you, you are afraid of dark!”
“You are?” Simon pulls away a little bit. “Are you okay? I—”
“I'm okay, I'm okay,” I assure them both, “I'm not— I mean, maybe a little? But it's nothing major, I promise.”
“Are you sure? I'm sorry, I—”
“Simon. You are the last person here who should worry about—”
“Well, the line is not long,” he says. Jokes. Good. “Seriously, Ryland, are you—”
“I'm okay.” I pull his hand to my cheek and smile, making sure that he can feel it. “I'm okay.”
He pets my face awkwardly. It makes me laugh.
His hand slides down, resting at the center of my chest. “Your heart is fast.”
I roll my eyes. “Because I was worried about you! Wherever you just went—”
“Bad bad bad!” Rocky chimes in. “No going anywhere until lights are fixed! Dangerous! Stay here!”
“Roger that,” Simon chuckles. “Staying here.”
I squeeze his shoulder. I can feel his fingers curling gently on the fabric of my shirt.
“How long will it take?” I ask, turning my head in Rocky’s general direction again. “I wish we at least had a flashlight.”
“I brought!” he says, way too proud of himself.
“Wha—” I stutter, “why didn't you give it to us?!”
“Humans are funny when dark.”
“I swear to god, when I get you—”
“Can't get me, too dark!”
I lunge at him.
Simon beats me to it. I listen to the brief struggle; then yelp when the sudden light hits my eyes.
Simon looks triumphant, despite the tear tracks still visible on his face. Rocky is pouting. I can tell that he is trying not to laugh.
I smile.
…I think we will be okay.