Chapter Text
Before becoming a teacher, Ryland had never considered himself a ‘planner’. Middle school students will do that to you. And, according to his still-fuzzy memories, being second-in-command of the largest space expedition to date.
Looking at it now, he doesn’t know how he didn’t realize that Stratt had been treating him as her second all along. She could have taken along anyone as a ‘science translator’ for her, and yet it was always him. He’d been in meetings with heads of state; he was in charge of certain acquisitions and requests.
She’d even had him doing EVA training. He really shouldn’t have been so blindsided.
That’s why he directs Armando to take a pint of his blood and store it every so often. It’s unlikely he’ll get injured again, but he knows he got lucky–head wounds usually bleed a lot.
“What Grace do, question?” Rocky rolls over to investigate when Ryland doesn’t answer, “Grace, explain explain explain.”
“I’m storing some blood for later.”
“Grace stop remove liquids, statement. Grace leaks too much!”
“I’m removing it with a purpose, Rocky. Sure, we could use saline solution,” – of which there’s plenty on the ship, because they hadn’t needed it for Yao and Ilyukhina. He hadn’t wanted to consider it before, but based on what’s in the ship’s inventory, neither of them survived for much more than a year into the journey. He’s sure that Mary has a record of when they died somewhere in the ship’s automated log, but Ryland has no intention of searching for it, – “but that would only increase the volume of my blood and my blood pressure for so long, it doesn’t actually function as a replacement for blood.”
It would be nice if he had something to cycle the blood through–maybe he can dig up documentation on it and MacGyver one out of something he already has. Or ask Rocky if it’s possible to make.
But he’s the first human to come into contact with xenonite. It should be harmless, but if it comes into direct contact with his blood, would that cause issues?
It might be a risk he has to take.
“Grace Grace Grace,” Rocky rolls even closer, “No leaking allowed.”
“Again, this is on purpose, Rock. Remember when I got hurt after Adrian? I was bleeding then, and if it happens again, I might bleed more. This blood will go back into my body, then.”
“Not happening again, statement. Grace no bleed.”
“You can’t prevent bleeding, Rocky.”
“Rocky will try.”
“Okay, Rocky.”
After that, Ryland does his best to make sure Rocky doesn’t see him storing his own blood. He sleeps mostly in the dorms these days, so it’s easy enough to do it while he’s watching over Rocky’s sleep cycle.
Once Rocky is back on Blip-A and they’re both headed home, he won’t need to be so careful about it.
He always glances over at Rocky’s sleeping corner when Armando is taking his blood, though.
***
Ryland doesn’t know how much blood he has stored away by the time he has to turn back to save Rocky and Erid, but he does know it doesn’t matter.
He has to stop anyway.
***
As his nutrient intake declines, so will his ability to recover after losing a pint of blood. He’ll be dizzy, weaker.
Even though he’ll be able to supplement with taumoeba, stretching his nutritional food supply a little further, it won’t carry him through to Erid. And he still won’t be getting all the nutrients he needs.
“Grace eat, statement.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“No. Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Can hear stomach. Eat.”
Ryland hates the taumoeba slurry. It’s terrible, and literally empty calories. There’s nothing that makes it worth eating other than fueling his weakening body for just a little longer.
He’s stopped asking Mary how long they have left–he doesn’t want to have to tell Rocky that he’s not going to make it.
Ryland eats.
***
By the end, Ryland’s back to tube-feeding. Nasogastric, though, instead of through his mouth.
He can’t force himself to stomach the taumoeba slurry anymore, and he really can’t afford to throw it back up. He also doesn’t have the energy to move much anymore. Ryland has stayed on his feet as long as possible, but he can’t do it anymore.
Instead, he writes research papers that no one back on Earth will ever read. On good days, he can sit up and type on a laptop. On bad days, he dictates.
Armando does almost all of his daily maintenance now.
“Grace, time for a walk,” Rocky has taken to treating him like a particularly skittish dog. It’s as endearing as it is annoying.
“Later, Rock.”
“Now, Grace, statement.” Rocky doesn’t use statement or question anymore unless he really means it–Ryland has picked up on enough of the nuances of Rocky’s language (one of them, anyway; Rocky knows six of Erid’s eighteen languages.) to be able to get by without the extra help.
And the translator, which will make living on Erid even easier.
“Fine, fine.” Armando has to help him sit up and it takes Ryland far too long before he’s able to stand.
He’s stationary for a long few moments before Rocky nudges him with his ball.
“Grace, move.”
“I’m going, Rocky. How’s that new suit coming?”
“Suit is done. Rocky can catch Grace with ball.”
Ryland doesn’t point out that the carapace-tight xenonite suit would make it easier for Rocky to catch him.
Rocky knows that. What he means is that he’s practiced at catching Ryland while he’s in his ball. The suit is untested. He could burn Ryland, or drop him, or any number of things.
“Alright, alright.” Ryland manages a few very slow laps around the dorm without leaning against the wall or Rocky, and then a few more while leaning on them.
Ryland is out of breath by the time he sits down again–it’s hard to believe that he was doing EVAs on the hull just the other year.
He takes a lot of naps, these days. He knows it worries Rocky, and he tries to avoid it as much as possible, but it’s hard. Especially when he’s just been walking.
“Walk again after nap,” Rocky determines, like he can set Ryland’s schedule for him.
“Whatever you say, Rock,” Ryland agrees, yawning.
***
Ryland is almost completely bed-bound by the time they reach Erid. He tried to prepare Rocky for this, but given that Rocky only leaves his side when he absolutely needs to, he doesn’t think it worked.
He still manages one walk around the dorm a week, two if he’s feeling particularly spry.
Rocky takes almost all of his weight on those walks, but it’s movement. It’s something.
Sometimes, he stands by the ladder and pretends he can still climb it. Rocky lets him.
Ryland knows he’s lucky that Rocky hasn’t outright strapped him into his bunk yet. He’s already expecting it, when they–land? Dock? At Erid. He’s not sure what they’re doing there yet.
He thinks that Rocky has gotten into contact with them via his radio, because he hasn’t been in the dorm nearly as much, but he also knows that he could be losing time.
Memory loss is a symptom of malnutrition.
There are a lot of things that are a symptom of malnutrition. Like all of the diseases he has now. Technically, he can’t diagnose himself, as he’s not a medical doctor, but he’s the only doctor they have. His access to and study of all of Earth’s research in malnutrition will have to be enough.
He doesn’t remember how long they have to get to Erid. It’s been a long time since he asked Mary, over a year at least. He’s asked Rocky, but he doesn’t remember the answer.
It’s more distressing than it should be.
There are other things he doesn’t mind forgetting, or at least that’s what he tells himself, though the thought of forgetting anything at all makes the back of his head ache, especially after the amnesia.
He knows why Stratt did it. Maybe if he had been in charge of the whole thing, he would have done it too.
Ryland’s had a lot of time to reflect, in space. Stratt had seemed cold to him most of the time. But he knows that’s impossible. Someone who didn’t care wouldn’t take on leading a project to save the world.
But she might harden herself against the criticisms of her methods in getting there. She might close herself off–and Ryland doesn’t even know how true that is, because he only knew her as the head of Project Hail Mary–so that no one can say she’s being hysterical.
Ryland’s done a lot of reading. Most of it with, or for, Rocky. Not all of it science. Rocky wanted to know about human social dynamics, and there’s a lot to explain there.
There’s a lot he has to learn about Eridian society, as well, but Rocky doesn’t have the aid of everything Eridians have ever created to help him explain.
He’s sitting up on his bunk when the ship jolts.
He’s on the floor when it moves again.
Ryland can’t tell if his head or his side hurts more. Where’s Rocky?
He can’t hear Rocky at all. Wasn’t Rocky just here?
No…no, he was trying to get a message to Erid.
Mary will let him know if something is wrong. Mary’s good about those things.
Armando drags Ryland back up into his bunk. His nasogastral tube has come out… he doesn’t want to have to put another one in… why is Armando putting an oxygen mask on his face? He’s breathing.
There’s no red alert. He doesn’t need more oxygen.
Ryland thinks he hears Rocky, but he can’t figure out what he’s saying. Armando fades in and out of his vision, until there’s nothing but darkness left.
Huh. Maybe he’ll be like Rocky now.
A needle slides into his arm, and the encompassing darkness becomes absolute.
“Grace wake up!” Rocky does a little dance in his ball.
“I’m up,” Ryland can feel light bandages on his head, and thicker ones on his torso, “What happened?”
“Eridians made little ship to come guide us to elevator docking station. Joining process was rougher than anticipated.”
Interesting. Rocky had made it look so easy, every time he’d built the tunnel. Though they probably wouldn't have been building a tunnel if they were just guiding the Mary into port, so to speak.
“Grace hurt. Rocky tell others what you need, statement.”
“Thanks, Rocky,” Ryland can hear the slur in his own words.
“Grace still bleeding, how stop, question?”
“Armando's got it.”
“No. Did not stop.”
Ryland isn't awake enough to figure out where he's bleeding from, let alone how to stop it. He knows that Armando has been programmed for every scenario the Taskforce could think of.
“I'll be okay.”
“Running out of blood, Grace.”
“Oh.”
Then… well, Armando's meant to handle these things. Ryland doesn’t know what to do.
“Will give some blood to science thrum,” Rocky says, but his voice is a little odd.
For what?, Ryland wonders, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask before Armando puts him back under.
***
The next time he wakes, there are familiar sounds coming from strange voices–they must have docked, then. They’ve reached Erid.
Ryland should get up, greet them. Look like an adult instead of wasting away in bed.
He can’t. He doesn’t think he’s strapped down, but it’s hard to tell. Armando’s got him on the good stuff.
His head still aches, and–wasn’t there something wrong with his side earlier? Had Rocky said something about his blood?
He doesn’t know. He had some stored on board; Armando would have used them if they were needed. Maybe that’s what Rocky was telling him? That Armando used the blood bags?
“Friend Grace,” Rocky! That’s Rocky! “Here is new blood. Not poison.”
Something pokes into his arm, and whatever they’re giving him is warm, warmer than the rest of his body. He can feel it traveling through his veins.
There’s several minutes–probably, Ryland doesn’t think he can open his eyes right now–of silence.
“Leaving you with🎶and 🎼. See Adrian, get treated.” Ryland thinks he makes a noise, but he can’t tell.
Of course, Rocky should go get medical care and see Adrian. Ryland’s not up for much talking, so it’s not like he needs help translating.
Gradually, the warmth spreads through his body.
The Eridians watching him are speaking, but too far away for him to understand them. Or maybe it’s in a different language than the one Rocky taught him.
“Adminstrating a fever reducer,” Mary says, above him.
He’s so warm.
Rocky must have put all of their blankets on him when he had a nightmare again. Ryland tries to shift and move some of them off–he shouldn’t need fever medication from blankets–but it’s hard. His head hurts. His side hurts. There’s something in his arm and he’s so tired.
Has he gone for his walk yet today?
He can’t remember. Something important happened. Is happening? Soon?
Rocky told him, but he doesn’t remember.
Rocky will tell him again later.
Ryland will just have to fight whatever Mary’s given him and stay awake until Rocky comes back. It shouldn’t be long. Mary’s been instructed to alert them when something is wrong.
Ryland must be floating somewhere. The issue with that is that people can't float. Sure, in water, especially if the salt content is high enough, and in zero gravity, but Ryland is not in zero gravity. There's probably no music in zero gravity, and those floating tanks probably wouldn't play music that sounds this… frantic.
He thinks he would remember getting into a zero gravity simulator. That might be a good field trip for his kids–as long as he doesn't have to get in.
(He already knows they'll cajole him into it, and he'll do it terrified, all for them.)
He's too warm to be in water, anyway. But a zero gravity simulator doesn't make sense, either.
The only other place with zero gravity is space, and no one is sending Ryland Grace into space–ha! That rhymes!
Do people feel floaty when they're high? Was he in an accident?
Ryland supposes that might explain not remembering where he is or what's going on. But not the music. Why would a hospital play music like this? It's not calming at all.
He was never the type to get all spacy when high, though. Weed just made him paranoid, and he's only done it a few times.
The music gets louder. Ryland should answer it, that might help.
He tries to open his mouth, but that tugs on something above his lip–before he can figure out what, his arm starts burning.
Oh! He's warm because he's on fire!
That doesn’t explain the floating, though.
The music changes for a second before it stops altogether.
Without it, he has no distraction from his body–he's sure he doesn't have long before he's fully engulfed in flames. The burning has already reached his heart.
***
Ryland wakes up to Rocky hovering over him in the carapace-tight xenonite suit.
“Grace alive,” Rocky says, near tonelessly.
“Yep. Sure feels that way, bud.” Ryland’s headache is worse than normal, and he aches all over.
“Blood substitute work, but cause fever and pain,” Rocky tells him, “More awake than before?”
“I’ve woken up before?”
Ryland doesn’t remember that–he thinks he was on fire for a while, which must have been the blood substitute Rocky was talking about.
He should have blood stored up, though. And even with his healing drastically slowed because there are little to no nutrients left in his body, he doesn’t know how he got hurt badly enough to need all of it and then some.
“Working on solution,” Rocky says, hurriedly, “Did not mean to hurt Grace.”
“Rock, why do I need all this blood in the first place?” His side hurts more than the full-body ache.
“Small ship hit too hard. Grace was walking. Grace fell and got hurt.”
That doesn’t actually tell him anything. Of course, there’s a chance that Rocky just doesn’t know how to describe it to him.
He can ask Mary later. He tries to lift up his shirt–he might as well figure out why his side is hurting. Maybe he bruised it when he fell.
“Grace, no look,” Rocky says, and Ryland drops his shirt.
“You can probably hear what’s going on in there, right? Must be a bad bruise, then.”
Ryland’s still feeling a little foggy; he’s on pain medication more often than he isn’t, these days.
Some of it is also from malnutrition, he knows, but it’s hard to separate the two. He’s not looking forward to the day they run out of painkillers: he read up on the effects of malnutrition so he wouldn’t be surprised when the time came, so he already knows that he’s in for a world (ha!) of pain.
***
Every other day or so, Mary dials back his pain medication, so he can take stock of how he feels properly.
Lately, the answer has always been terrible.
This time, that happens to come with the realization that he has a hole in his side that won't stop bleeding, which he knows because it keeps throbbing in time with his heart.
At a glance, Rocky’s not one of the Eridians watching over him. That's fine. Ryland doesn’t think he has the brainpower to process introductions right now.
He’s got one IV in each arm–he suspects that one of them is for whatever fluid they’re putting into him to replace the blood, so it doesn’t interfere with the medications Armando is giving him.
The nasogastric tube is still in, too, though he already knows that’s not going anywhere for a while.
With fewer drugs in his system, Ryland’s headache–it hasn’t gone away in a few weeks now–begins threatening to spread into his sinuses until he closes his eyes against the bright lights.
He won’t fall back asleep, not with his side feeling the way it does, but he lets the unfamiliar Eridan voices try their best anyway.
He wishes thinking was a little easier right now; he could understand most of what they’re saying if he tries.
Too much effort. He’s sure that Rocky has explained how to talk directly to him if they need his input on something.
Without the fog of pain medication, Ryland doesn’t lose track of the different tones, just their meanings. Still, he doesn’t dare ask how long it’s been when he hears Rocky’s voice again.
It takes him a minute to wake his brain up and focus on what Rocky’s saying, but he catches enough to know that they’re trying another blood substitute.
It’s not as warm as the first one, going in. Ryland tells them this. Of course, they won’t know if it worked or not until he reacts to it; it took a while, before.
“Grace okay, question?” Rocky asks, and he nods. Speaking seems impossible right now–not a symptom of anything but his general exhaustion.
Ryland drifts off a little more now that Rocky’s here. He doesn’t settle into sleep, and Rocky would wake him up anyway.
He needs to be able to tell them if something’s wrong–his vitals might not reveal a more subtle problem immediately and they might not be able to sense it in his veins.
Whatever they’ve cooked up (when he’s healthier, Ryland knows he’s going to be begging for a look into the science behind it all) seems to be keeping him steady. Maybe they’ve fixed the problem on the second try.
His arms are freezing, though.
Oh. Wait. That’s one of the things he’s supposed to tell them.
Ryland tries, he really does–but it’s difficult. He can’t manage to get the words out. He must make some sort of noise as his body cools. Are his fingers blue? They must be.
The freezing sensation doesn’t move through his body nearly as quickly as the burning one did. Doesn’t hurt as much, either. Or maybe that’s just because he can’t feel his hands or feet anymore.
It’s hard to say.
Armando must give him something to knock him out, again, and that’s probably for the best.
Rocky will worry either way; at least now he can watch Ryland sleep.
His dream–not a memory, this time, unless Ilyukhina really did manage to convince Stratt to wear a Big Bird costume–is what wakes him in the end. He half-expects the clown band Ilyukhina had somehow snuck onto the Vat to be playing music in the corner when he opens his eyes.
Rocky’s in his xeno-suit, watching him from one of the other beds, and the scientists from before–as well as an unfamiliar Eridian–are in Rocky’s tunnels, looking cramped.
“Adrian came to meet you,” Rocky says, and Ryland instinctively smiles, “Adrian is in charge of Grace-habitat. Adrian will have own ball soon to come visit.”
“Hi,” Ryland waves a little with his good arm. His left… well, Armando put it in a sling at some point after he went to sleep, probably to prevent him from re-injuring it. Or injuring it further.
He can’t tell which right now.
“That will be nice,” Ryland says.
“Yes yes yes! More people to watch Grace sleep, statement,” Rocky makes his way onto Ryland’s bed, and Ryland relaxes into his heat a little bit. Not all of it makes its way through to him, he knows that–he’d be badly burned if it did–but it feels good all the same.
He’s so cold, now. He did run cooler than average on Earth, but the less he has to eat, the worse it gets.
“Sounds great, Rock.”
“No new tests today,” Rocky promises, “Working on vitamins.”
“Okay,” Ryland doesn’t even know how long he was out for. However long it was didn’t do much for him; he doesn’t have the energy to keep up a conversation. Thankfully, Rocky doesn’t expect it of him and the scientists rarely speak directly to him without Rocky present, even with the translation software.
Adrian doesn't talk to him much either, which stings a little more. They're in charge of his living space on Erid, and, more importantly, Rocky’s mate. Ryland wants to talk to them.
He answers Rocky when he can, content to listen to him explain all the things they're trying to get him synthetic vitamins and food that he can eat.
Rocky always seems to know right when his head is getting foggy–that’s something Ryland wants to ask him about later. It can’t be his speech, because he’s not speaking right now.
Maybe it’s something to do with the drugs slowing his heartrate; he doubts that Rocky can actually hear his neural activity.
Though that would be cool, too.
***
The next time Ryland wakes up, Adrian is the only one there.
“Hello,” They say through the translator.
“Hi,” Ryland tries to wave and remembers that he’s in a sling right now.
“Rocky says you are more interesting when you are well.”
“I’d certainly hope so,” Ryland can’t even sit up on his own, though he tries, “He’s told me some about you.”
“He is a good mate.”
“I’m glad,” Ryland says, though he’s not sure how Adrian wants him to respond to that.
“You watched him sleep?”
“Yes. We watch each other.”
Adrian is silent for a few minutes, or maybe Ryland dozes back off. It’s hard to say.
“What are colors?”
“Oh, they’re wavelengths of light–we humans can’t see all of them without special tools–” He can’t do a demonstration for Adrian; he doesn’t have the materials, and they wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. But it’s easy enough to fall back into ‘teaching’ mode.
Adrian keeps asking questions like that, things that keep Ryland talking for a few minutes at a time.
He suspects they know some of it already, from the laptops on-board, or from Rocky. But it keeps him awake.
Which is probably the point.
“They have new blood for you to try,” Adrian says, eventually.
“Sounds good,” The longer he has to deal with it, the easier the wound on his side is to ignore, but he would like it to heal sooner rather than later.
“Your habitat is a challenge. Good challenge,” Adrian fills the silence then. They use some words that Rocky hasn’t said yet, or that must be specific to Adrian’s work.
Ryland isn’t so tired that he can’t piece them together via context clues, though. He’ll have to remember them and add them to the translator when he’s allowed to move again.
He and Adrian have a steady conversation going by the time Rocky and the others return–Ryland will have to give them human names at some point–and it’s the most awake he’s felt in days.
Weeks, maybe. It’s hard to say. He spends so much time sleeping now.
Third time’s the charm, right?
Ryland relaxes into his pillows (Rocky stole them from the other beds at some point, and Ryland wouldn’t have done it himself but he’s not going to complain now), and waits for the ‘blood’ to make it into his system.
This one has either been brought to his body temperature or is naturally that way, because there’s no noticeable difference when it goes in like the others.
Ryland takes that to mean that he’s right–this will be the one.
He closes his eyes when he doesn’t start burning or freezing from the inside out after the first several minutes.
Third time’s the charm, indeed.
“–Grace wake up!” Is something wrong with Mary? Rocky knows that human sleep is different from Eridian sleep, but he still doesn’t wake Ryland unless there’s something urgent.
“Rocky? What’s wrong?”
But the words don’t make it to Ryland’s mouth, much less outside of them. He’s… everything is hazy. Like one of those filters they put over movies.
“Dr. Grace is in stable condition and will wake soon,” Mary says. Why… why was that a question? What happened while he was out?
Ryland blinks awake very slowly–so slowly that he’s afraid he’s never going to wake up at all. Did Yao or Ilyukhina have moments like this, or did they pass without ever knowing what was going on?
“What happened?” He tries again. This feels entirely too similar to when he woke up from his coma.
The I.V. in his right arm, the one for the synthetic blood, that’s gone. The other one is still there.
Okay. So the blood worked, then? What’s the matter with that–
No. He wouldn’t feel like this if it had worked.
He takes his time, collects himself before trying to speak again. His chest is a little tingly.
“Grace awake, question?” Rocky says it so softly, as if the other Eridians won’t hear it if he whispers.
“I’m awake, Rocky,” His voice isn’t as rough as he feared it would be.
“Mary will tell you what happened.” Rocky says, before he can ask.
“Okay.”
“We will keep working on your synthetic blood 🎶-Grace.” One of the scientists says–Ryland should really try and keep better track of them, “We believe we are close to figuring out iron.”
“That’s good,” It’ll help the blood that’s still in his body do its job, at least, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t know how much English they understand. It’s not like he’s been talking to them the way he was with Rocky.
Ryland waits until they’ve all left to lift his shirt. He knows it doesn’t matter–clothes merely blanket some of what they can hear. They’re not noise-canceling headphones, that’s for sure. More like flimsy sunglasses.
He hasn’t actually seen the bandages before–they cover a palm-sized section of his torso, and he really hopes that’s just a precaution and not how big the wound is.
There’s no blood on them, so maybe the bleeding has stopped now.
Ryland’s got enough wits about him to stop himself from picking at the edges and taking a peek underneath, but barely.
“What happened?” He asks, looking to the ceiling, although he knows Mary would hear him anyway.
“Dr. Grace’s heart fell into an irregular pattern and proceeded to cease. Electrical stimulation was applied.”
That explains why his chest feels like it does–Armando must have taken the electrodes off him before he woke up.
Ryland’s not sure how the blood substitute could have caused that. If he gets a chance to look into the science behind it, he will.
Personally, he thinks he’s a little young for heart attacks–he’ll have to look at the literature on that when he’s able. Having been in space for so long likely isn’t helping matters.
Rocky’s back only a few minutes later; he seems so anxious about the whole thing that Ryland’s surprised he left at all.
“Grace rest.”
“I’m resting, Rock.”
“Rest better.”
“I don’t know that I can do that, bud.”
“Try.”
“Okay, okay.” It kind of feels like arguing with one of his middle schoolers–god, they’re all grown up now. Do any of them have kids?
Were any of them among those projected to die before the beetles return to Earth? Will they be dead before he can even give them hope?
Ryland hopes not. He signed onto the project for them, after all. His kids, from whom thirty years had seemed a lifetime when the Petrova Line was first discovered. Some of them had taken it a little more seriously, but when you’re twelve, it’s hard to think that long-term.
He never got to say goodbye.
“Grace not resting.”
“Grace is laying in bed.”
“Thinking too much.”
“I can’t turn my brain off, Rocky.”
“Sleep.”
“When’s the last time you slept, huh?” Rocky doesn’t have physical signs of exhaustion the way Ryland does, though he swears that Rocky’s slower when he’s getting tired, so he can’t judge very well by himself.
“A few days ago. Adrian watched.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Rocky watch Grace sleep now.”
“I got it, bud. I’ll try and take a nap.” It’s not like he can do anything else, anyway.
***
Ryland dreams of Shapiro and Dubois. The last time he saw them alive and well, just a few hours before their deaths.
Before the explosion that functionally killed him too.
He lingers longer than he really did, that day. Talks to Annie while Martin goes to request the Astrophage.
He can’t convince her to stay behind. But he gets to watch her body burn–she hadn’t quite entered the building yet.
He’s not close enough to burn himself. Even in his dreams, he’s a coward. Can’t walk into an exploding building when he knows it won’t hurt him.
No amount of ash and smoke can cover the taste of blood and shame on his tongue.
Ryland dreams of burning.
Stratt’s there one second, Carl the next, and then the field and the fence is gone and he’s in his tomb–the ship, the ship, the ship–and Rocky’s burning.
Rocky’s burning.
Slower than Annie and Martin died; slower than everyone in that building. Ryland doesn’t remember all of their names. Did he ever know their names?
For them, it was quick, it was painless; they didn’t know what was happening.
Rocky’s burning. Ryland’s burning too. They’re both going to die.
It’s fitting, he thinks, that he and Martin and Annie will die in similar ways; Stratt will never know that all of her science officers burned in their final moments.
It’s too hot in the ship; he doesn’t think they made it out of orbit. He doesn’t look out the windows. He doesn’t want to watch the ship burn.
“Sorry, Rocky, I wish I could get you home,” he murmurs, though he knows Rocky can’t hear him. “I wish I could save you, at least.”
Ryland watches Rocky’s still form–it’s easier to pretend he’s sleeping than it is with humans–until the fire burns his eyes.
Ryland burns.
One of the doctors is with him when he manages to open his eyes, closer this time than Ryland thinks they’ve ever been. They’re in a ball like Rocky’s, though he’s pretty sure it’s not Rocky’s.
“Good morning, Dr. Grace,” Mary says, cheerfully.
“Morning,” Ryland answers. He’s glad he doesn’t have to ask for his food anymore; he’s not sure the other Eridians would be comfortable watching him eat. Rocky told him once that the NG-tube was still disturbing, but less so than his normal eating.
The doctor comes closer. Ryland has no idea what they’re doing.
“Are you looking for something specific?”
They gesture to his torso, and Ryland lifts his shirt. The bandages are still there, though they might need changing by now. Ryland has no idea how long he was asleep for.
Armando seems to take his bared torso as a hint, and another arm comes down from the ceiling holding Ryland steady while he’s unwrapped and cleaned up.
Instead of disposing of the bandages, though, Armando puts them in the mini-airlock on the doctor’s ball.
“Are you studying my bandages?” Ryland asks–Rocky hadn’t said anything about this. Then he remembers they don’t have bandages, really, because they don’t need them the way he does.
They might be trying to make him more, in case he runs out. That’s nice of them.
“Goodbye,” Ryland says, as the Eridian rolls away. He lifts his head for a moment to follow their progress, but he can’t hold it up much longer than that.
Ryland’s not sure how much longer he’ll last.
He knows he’s losing time–a lot of it, probably. When he’s not sleeping, he’s tired. He’s as weak as a newborn baby.
He can’t feel his hands or feet anymore. He’s only had dull sensation in them for a while now, but now it’s like–if he couldn’t see them, he wouldn’t believe they were there.
The nerve pain. It doesn’t strike often, not yet, but it’s the worst thing he’s ever experienced. And he’s got plenty more of it to look forward to.
Ryland did his reading up, before they got to this point. He knows he did. He can’t remember some of it (most of it) anymore, but he knows it’s going to get worse.
“Grace awake, question?”
“Yeah, I’m awake.” Barely. Wishing he wasn’t. He doesn’t know what he dreamed about, but it felt warm. Maybe he can go back there when he falls back asleep. “Mary, will you put on some music?”
Mary does–a song Ryland doesn’t know or understand, but that’s alright. It might wake him up a little if he’s trying to figure out what’s going on.
“No more sleep, Grace.”
“Rocky…” He’s whining, but he doesn’t care. He wants to sleep. He wants to go back to that warm place from his dream.
“No. Talk.”
“About what?”
“Blood.”
“Yeah, I’m almost out, I know.”
“None of our attempts have worked.”
“Wait, attempts?”
“You do not remember.”
Ryland takes a moment to remind himself that memory loss is a symptom of all of the malnutrition related issues he has right now.
He’ll probably forget that eventually, too.
“No, I don’t think I do, bud. Sorry.”
“It is… You warned me of this.”
“Must be scary for you. You can’t forget anything, right?”
“Correct. I do not like that you can forget so easily.”
Ryland doesn’t either, but he doesn’t say it aloud. Rocky has a point, here, and he’d like to hear it so he can go back to sleep.
“We have taken a few days to make another blood substitute and test it a little more,” Rocky says, “But we think this one will work.”
“Okay. Try it, then.”
“Not now. When you are sleeping.”
“Don’t you want me awake so I can tell you if anything feels wrong?” That’s been the case every other time–he’s not sure why it’s different now.
“The doctor said no. Said it stresses you out too much. And we can hear inside of you.”
“I know, Rock.”
“We will know if something is wrong.”
“Okay. I trust you, man, you know that.”
“I will tell them,” Rocky doesn’t leave, though–he gets as close to Ryland as he can be, and Ryland can feel his heat through the xenonite.
“You alright, Rocky?”
“Rocky is fine.”
“Are you going to knock me out or wait until I’m asleep?”
“Wait.”
“Okay.”
Rocky stays where he is, waiting for Ryland to fall back asleep. It doesn’t take long–it never does, these days–but he doesn’t slip back into the dream from before like he wanted to.
There’s something around his waist–the bandages, a voice that sounds like Mary’s, but not quite reminds him–and something around his wrists, soft and pliable against his skin. Curious, Ryland tests his ankles. They’re bound too, more tightly than his wrists.
A sharp noise comes from above him, no recognizable words in it. Ryland twists, trying to free at least one arm. Is there something on his face? He can’t tell.
He needs to get away–if he keeps running they might shoot him but if they shoot him they can’t send him to space–but he can’t move.
Ryland twists the other way this time, and the sharp noise goes off again, louder this time. And longer.
There’s warmth on his side, preventing him from moving, and then a velcro noise. The greatest minds in the world couldn’t invent a softer velcro noise, apparently.
He keeps twisting, writhing around, but it doesn’t matter. The velcro closes around his waist, belting him in.
He can’t twist enough to even try and get out anymore. Why didn’t he run faster? What are they going to do to him?
There’s the noise again–some type of alert? Are they all going to come laugh at him, Ryland Grace who thought he wasn’t important enough to go to space? Who didn’t want to go to space?
He won’t even be able to see their faces when they do.
He tries and tries and tries, tugging at his wrists and ankles until there’s a soft hissing above him–not the alert from before, not even close.
The last thing he feels is a needle in his neck.
***
Ryland can’t get away. He can–he can never escape.
Even if he had wings, he’d always end up here: Pinned down, drugged, thrown in a cell into launch day.
He wasn’t meant to fly. Even his days in academia had been numbered–he’d known it early on, well before the conference in Denmark. After his thesis, and even during it, he’d questioned his place over and over and over again.
He’d chalked it up to nerves, to stress. Denmark wasn’t–it wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t meant to be there. Ryland’s still not sure how he got invited; it’s not like his work was popular among… anyone.
Even before he’d lost his head, Ryland had been looking for an out, taking some lighter classes to figure out what else he might want to do, and TAing a few others.
Ryland’s out hadn’t come nearly as gracefully as he would have liked, but he’d managed.
Only to be dragged right back in, although he will admit he’d missed working in a lab. As much fun as he has with his kids, there are only so many experiments he can get approved by the principal and the school board.
But he’d thought he’d at least get to return to teaching–spread his wings again, even if they’d never take him off the ground.
His face wound up in the dirt for his troubles.
He’s flying, but he hates it.
Ryland Grace has never been good at getting what he wants.
Perhaps especially when what he wants is to escape.
Ryland has horrible dreams of flying–not the terrible jets, but on a nice, gentle breeze. If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear his kids mocking him for his terrible form. His wings are impossibly huge, a mish-mash of feathers and metal, stone and wood.
He never makes it to wherever he’s trying to go, no matter how fast he flies.
He ends up in the dirt one way or another. He’s Icarus, wax dripping down his shoulders and back, burning him so badly that the cool ground is a relief; he’s fallen out of the nest with no mother bird to come save him; he’s barrel-rolling, showing off and playing, not looking where he’s going.
He’s gliding along, content with his place, when there’s an explosion somewhere beyond his view.
When he’s shot down painfully, unceremoniously, and packed into a box to suffocate.
His wings are broken in the process–instead of trying to heal them, they’re cut right off his back.
***
Ryland jolts against his restraints, throat aching.
“Grace screaming,” Rocky says. No one else is with them.
“Sorry, Rock.”
“Side effect of new blood?”
“I… don’t know.” He’s still a little foggy, “Why am I restrained?”
“Cannot let Grace hurt self.”
“I won’t, I’m fine.”
“Not fine in sleep.”
“I’m awake now.”
But is he? Or is this just another dream?
Ryland can’t tell.
He’s not flying; he’s not falling. He’s restrained, but there’s no dirt beneath his face, no needle in his neck–
He stretches it out in lieu of touching it, since he can’t reach. There’s an ache on one side.
“Mary gave you medicine to make you sleep easily.” Rocky says, and Ryland can tell that he doesn’t like the idea.
“Probably because I wouldn’t calm down. That’s more likely the cause of the dreams than anything else, bud.”
Rocky doesn’t have eyes, or a face, really, but he manages a very judgmental look anyway.
“I really don’t know if it was the blood. We’d have to do more tests. Maybe give it to me when I’m calmer and see how I act when I’m asleep.”
“Mary and Bones will look Grace over first, statement.”
“Bones?” Grace doesn’t remember giving another Eridian an Earth name, but he must have. He’s not sure how they would know that name otherwise.
“Yes. Have been exploring human media for good names.”
“Oh.” Of course, they would have. He’s sure they’re looking at other human documents to try and help him, and they do have access to… everything humanity did up until launch week.
“Can I get out of these now?”
“You will not try and escape?”
“Rocky, I can barely walk.”
“Walk soon,” Rocky promises, though he has no way of guaranteeing that. Armando removes his restraints, and Ryland tests his range of motion cautiously.
Not much better than the last time he tried, although that's to be expected. He can’t remember the last time he got out of bed.
Ryland doesn’t have to wait long before Bones–one of the Eridians he remembers from before–is approaching in their own xenosuit. How many of them have been made already? Although, if all of their engineers are as quick as Rocky, then it could be thousands.
Bones makes a clicking noise and taps on Ryland’s bed–Rocky’s done that before, too. Not often, but enough. He wonders if it has anything to do with them trying to ‘see’ him better.
“Organs are… not much improved.” Bones says; they use a different timbre than Rocky, it sounds like. “Blood not moving as smoothly as I would like.”
“Like, clotting? Blocks?” Ryland asks.
“No blockage,” Bones says, as Rocky starts demanding to know why Ryland hadn’t told him about that in the background, “But not… easy flow. Slow.”
“If I’m relaxed, my heart rate is slower.”
“Blood does not match heart rate.”
“That… shouldn’t be possible.”
“Blood may be too thick. May have thickened after injection. Was not so thick before.”
Ryland hadn’t considered that would be possible. A chemical reaction, probably.
“Okay. Is it fixable while it’s in me?”
“I do not know,” Bones gestures to the ceiling, and Armando draws a couple tubes of Ryland’s blood, Rocky humming unhappily.
Ryland doesn’t mind. He’s going to be poked and prodded a lot more times before they get him anywhere close to healthy again.
“Will analyze and continue working on a solution. I do not think we will try this exact blood again,” Bones shows themself out, Rocky positioning himself over Ryland’s lap instead. Not in it–Ryland thinks he’s worried about crushing him, which is more possible than he’d like to admit–but as close as he can get.
“Grace get better.”
“I’m trying.” Not that there’s much he can do, and they both know it, “Hey, though, if this blood is a little thicker, it might help my wound clot more. And then I won’t be losing as much blood.”
“Still not good for Grace.”
“I know that, Rocky, I just… it’s better than nothing, right? And my body will make new blood eventually.”
“Have to have proper food and nutrients first.”
“I know, I know.”
“Try food now.”
“Wait, you’ve already made me food? How?”
“Coma slurry not too hard to replicate, once we got heavy metals out of everything. Use disgusting tube for it.”
“Well, I’d hope so,” Ryland certainly doesn’t want to taste it. “Are you giving me some today?”
“Yes, just a little bit. Mixed with normal meal. Have to see if it makes you sick.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Grace will be better soon.”
Ryland nods, this time. He doesn’t have the words in him to tell Rocky that he doesn’t think it’s going to happen.
He’s thought about it a lot, too. Because he’s known this was coming.
It’s just not something he’s wanted to prepare Rocky for. If he’d been on his own, it would have been easier. He would have found Yao’s gun, or used the last of the nitrogen, maybe. Though he doesn’t think Armando would have let him.
The heroin… he never found it, so it doesn’t matter where that is. He hopes none of the Eridians find it. He doesn’t think they’ll try it, but he also doesn’t want to know what it does to their systems if they do.
He knows scientists, and if Eridian scientists are anything like Earth scientists, they’ll want to try it. If licking Rocky wouldn’t burn his face off, he probably would have tried that by now.
Ryland doesn’t want to warn them beforehand–they might go looking for it then–but he doesn’t want to leave them all unaware, either.
Rocky knows about it, he reminds himself. He’d told him… well, Ryland can’t remember when right now, but he knows he did. Just in case.
“Rocky, when’s the last time you slept?” Because Ryland can’t watch him, now. He hasn’t really been well enough to watch him properly in a long time. Rocky had had to accept Ryland watching him fall asleep, and then sleeping near him, for a while. But Rocky should sleep with someone watching him, now.
“Slept with Adrian watching,” Rocky manages to huff, like it’s an unreasonable question. “Grace not worry about Rocky sleep. Grace sleep so much it is easy for Rocky to sleep. Grace be awake more.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Get blood soon, get food soon, will be better. Grace sleep again, statement.”
“Bossy.”
“Rocky helpful, Grace needs much rest.”
Ryland laughs a little, though it makes his torso ache.
“Okay, Rocky, I’ll sleep.”
It feels like he only woke up five minutes ago, but he knows that sleep will come easily anyway.
***
Ryland nods along while Bones is explaining his next blood substitute, but his head is too foggy to absorb any of it. He thinks that Bones is speculating on how the addition of some nutrients back into his diet will affect how his body handles the transfusion.
It’s a shame Ryland can’t send any of this information back to Earth. It really is fascinating stuff–and a proper blood substitute would do a lot when someone needs donor blood.
Maybe Rocky, or another Eridian, will figure out a way. He wouldn’t put it past them. The real problem, of course, is the travel time.
Even if they do manage to get a message from Earth, he doesn’t think they’ll get a response within his lifetime.
“Go ahead,” Ryland says, when Bones stops talking, and hopes it’s the right answer, “You know, at some point you’re just going to have to start assuming consent. I won’t be able to answer you at all.”
He knows that’s what first responders do, anyway. If a patient is unconscious or unresponsive–Ryland is already both most of the time–then consent to treatment is assumed in order to save their life.
Ryland has been prepared to do it himself, as a teacher. His CPR and first aid certification has certainly expired by now.
“Rocky will make decisions then,” Rocky sounds a little upset, but Ryland can’t find it in him to lift his head enough to look at him.
“Yeah, Rock.”
“Sleep again already?” One of the assistants with Bones says–Ryland hasn’t gotten their name yet, or given them one.
“Sick humans need a lot of sleep. Grace very sick,” Rocky explains. Ryland lets him keep explaining as Bones and the assistants–well, nurses is probably a better word, though he’d forgotten about it for a minute–set up a new IV-like bag with red fluid.
They can’t have done it on purpose, he knows, because the color of his blood doesn’t matter to them.
Armando handles placing the line into his elbow. Ryland doesn’t watch that part. Some days, he’s fine with it. Other days… it brings back memories. Or tries to. He doesn’t hold onto them for very long.
He dozes off, though he’s still aware of Rocky’s voice, at least. It’s a good way to avoid dreaming, and one he takes advantage of when he can.
Mary says something, but Ryland doesn’t feel anything off. Not that he’s a great judge, right now–if he hadn’t looked at his hands and feet earlier, he would have been convinced they were gone.
He wonders when his sight is going to go, and his hearing. Maybe they won’t, now that he’s getting some nutrients back.
It would be nice if it would just happen already, so that he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.
It’ll scare Rocky, though. And everyone else, probably.
There’s a new voice overhead–Ryland thinks it’s Adrian. He can only really identify three Eridian voices, but Bones has a different underlying sound, even though they all use the same translated voice as Rocky.
The translator’s not on, though, so whoever it is must just be making a soothing noise.
Ryland doesn’t want to stop drifting–it’s easier than being awake, and better than his nightmares–but he doesn’t have much choice now.
He hopes it’s Adrian. He doesn’t think he wants Bones to sing him to sleep.