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I don't know if I was trully asleep or not when I heard the airlock begin to cycle. I spend most of my time these days in some soft, vague twilight state, halfway between sleeping and waking. Taumeoba might be edible, but its hardly nourishing. Even padding it out with synthesised glucose, I'm only taking in roughly 1800 calories a day, on top of the vitamin deficiencies. Everything hurts. My hands and feet are numb with beri-beri. It's just easier to doze and hope the science team can work something out before I starve.
I remain still under my blankets, half cracking an eye open as the air lock finishes its cycle. An eridian steps in, bulky in a pressure suit and carrying a box. I recognize the slightly wonky gait. Oh good, it's Irwin.
I like Irwin. It used to be a zoo-keeper before I arrived, working with wildlife from the upper atmosphere. An expert in keeping low density animals alive is a heck of an asset these days. Plus Irwin's tough as nails when it comes to the squidgier side of things. A lot of my care team tend to be squeamish, but Irwin doesn't even blink.
Well, it can't, but you get the idea.
“Hey, Irwin.” I croak.
“G'morning, Grace!” Irwin has an accent, which had caught me off guard the first time I met it. Its words often blend into each other in a way I can only describe as a drawl. It's apparently quite a rural accent, which makes sense. There's a practicality and a casualness around Irwin that puts me at ease. None of the bowing and deferring and “saviour Grace”-ing that makes me uncomfortable sometimes. It's a good friend.
“Guess what?” There's an excited bounce to its carapace.
Before I got sick we had a running joke every time it came in saying that, where I would respond with an utterly outlandish guess. I'm too tired and brain-foggy to play that game these days.
“What is it?”
Irwin puts the box down and jazz-hands.
“The science team cracked the third-letter vitamin!”
I almost sit up in surprise before a wave of dizziness overtakes me, my heart slamming with elation and beri-beri.
“They made vitamin C?!”
Irwin is practically vibrating.
“Yes! It's right here!”
Irwin picks up the box and scuttles over to my bed. It wobbles a little when it walks. One leg is a prosthetic, lost to an incident with an apex predator.
”My fault. Didn't see it was sporin'. Practically a reasonable response to get snippy, really.”
I'm utterly floored, eyes watering slightly in joy.
“Irwin, this is...this is incredible. They finally managed it?” I gasp.
“Yep! They also mucked around a little with glucose and C6-H8-O7 to see if they could make it easier to eat. A li'l experimentation with flavour, y'know?”
It takes me a bit to decode the notes they use for organic chemistry. Citric acid. Hmm. There are few combinations of words more ominous to me now than 'experimentation' and 'flavour'. I am beyond grateful for everything the eridians have done for me, but a species that doesn't cook and has rudimentary at best taste buds is a little...scattershot when it comes to making food taste good. Not that I have high standards these days. I have to be tube fed through a nasogastric tube to get my main diet down. Taumeoba and glucose together sits on the tongue like a war crime.
I don't care what they've cooked up for me this time. The prospect of no scurvy alone is making my mouth water.
Irwin unlatches the box and takes out a small steel cylinder and a spoon.
“Can y' feed yourself or d'ya need help?”
I reach out a hand towards the spoon, frowning as it shakes. I can't feel my fingers terribly well.
Pride is all well and good, but a man has to eat.
“I need help. Sorry, I know it's gross.”
Irwin hums, the vocal equivalent of a shrug.
“Seen worse, at least you've never tried to bite me or throw acid at me.”
“Well-” Early taste tests didn't go well.
“OK, I'll amend that last one. Never tried t' throw acid at me with malice”
We share a chuckle. I have to laugh at all this.
Otherwise I'll cry.
Irwin scoops out a spoonful of whatever is in the cylinder. It has the colour and consistency of Vaseline.
“Right, open wide.”
I steel myself and open my mouth.
Oh!
Oh my god!
It's delicious!
I almost choke in surprise.
It tastes like the filling of a lemon meringue pie, sweet and perfectly sour, zipping over my tongue in a rush of citric acid and endorphins. It's good. It's actually good!
Not Good (considering).
Not “Could be worse”.
It's the best thing I've eaten in my life. Even that first tube of meat gravy comes a pale second.
“Grace, y'right?” Irwin pulls back the spoon, whistling in concern. I'm crying, I realize. “Is it bad?”
“No!” I shake my head as much as the vertigo will let me. “Irwin, it's perfect!”
Irwin wastes no time in loading up another spoonful. Dignity be damned, I'm glad for the spoon feeding. The idea of dropping even a little of this ambrosia is unthinkable.
I let myself savour it, allowing each mouthful to dissolve over my tongue. It hurts a little with the scurvy, but I don't care. It's so good I want to weep.
“So, shall I tell the science team they nailed it, then? Poor bastards need a win for once.” Irwin asks. I nod, closing my eyes to enjoy the taste better. I swear I can see the taste of bright citrus zip behind my eyelids. Years of coma slurry. Then taumeoba. Then what odd flavoured concoctions the fledgling enrichment team can cook up.
Finally.
Finally.
I taste something good.
The tears spill over silently.
“Need a minute, Grace?”
“No.” I shakily lift a hand and try to dry them off as best I can. “I'm fine. It's just...it's just a lot. It f-feels like...for the first time...I think I can make it.”
“Always knew y'could, Grace.”
It's a lie, but I let it pass. I've seen the exhaustion in the way my care team hold their carapaces, heard the whistle-tones of stress that underlie their words. And I've seen the way one of the vets that take my vitals had assumed it was out of my hearing range before having a nervous breakdown.
My survival was never assured. Until now.
If we can nail thiamine, I'm off to the races.
“Almost done. Just a little left.”
Irwin turns the container this way and that, careful to scrape out every last drop. In truth, I've already had more than enough vitamin C to send the scurvy packing, but I'm still pathetically grateful to not miss any.
I down the last spoonful with relish.
“Tell the team it's perfect. No need to change the recipe on the Vitamin C supplement.” I say.
“Will do.” With a flourish, Irwin starts putting the cutlery away in the box. “Need anything before I go?”
I realize suddenly I'm tired again. My body registers I've had a big, enjoyable meal and wants to immediately lie down about it.
“I might sleep again soon. Will you watch me?”
Usually it's Rocky who comes by to watch, but he's helping work on the ship they'll use to send taumeoba to planet three. He'd insisted, and no one had been willing to say no. I miss him, but I'm managing so far. I'm not lonely around here, and Irwin has some fun anecdotes when I can't sleep.
“Can do, Grace.” There's a chirp in its voice. Sheer relief. Yeah, me too, buddy.
I sink down into my bedding, soft and warm against my aching skin. I'm comfortable. Properly comfortable for the first time in a while. Outside the clear walls of my hospital room, it's mostly dark. I can hear machinery beeping softly, the faint click of claws or rumble of voices echoing from the black as my care team works. Otherwise it's just void.
Sleep begins to pull at the edges of my perception, the line between darkness and the lights of my room blurring into something warm and fuzzy.
For the first time, I think I hear a future waiting for me.