Chapter Text
The first part was a blur.
Amorphous shapes of awareness seemed to lick at the heels of Grace’s mind, but were ushered away by a self preserving instinct he wasn't aware he retained.
There had been a transport from The USS Hail Mary, which he was sort of aware he must've been on, because he wasn't currently on a spaceship anymore. He was in another place. It was hot, and it was painful, and Ryland Grace wanted to go home.
A swimming mind can latch onto pretty much anything that gets caught in the current, so Grace was currently reflecting on his own life and who he might be in a bout of self exposition that, for anyone else, would be extremely concerning. Dr Grace doesn't care, he's too busy thinking about the bad joke he told the recruiter for this job that made him think she thought he was xenophobic for some inexplicable reason, but then it was all fine and he didn't have to run away to a mining colony forever and ever and ever.
The rough red earth beneath his feet was sharp and unforgiving against the standard starship uniform dress-shoes.
I'm made for carpet, he thinks. Lovely, Starship regulation carpet.
They had little brownish marks on them that didn't match the rocks around him. He gazed in a dreamlike stupor at the little blots of colour as they disappeared under the shape of his torso and reappeared each time he took a step forward. The consistency was astonishingly satisfying and somewhat hypnotic. He can't remember where he's going. He pushed his glasses up his nose and tripped over a weird spikey looking plant that looked beyond all logic like it was growing hair.
This planet is important, he thought. Something. Something is on his face . He had to… get it off.
He wrenched at the thing and took a breath in, only to feel completely underwhelmed by the air. Another deep breath, five more stumbles into the unknown, another deep breath, two more, another one. Awareness once again slipped into a mild fog, and a panic drapes over him and the swirling horizon and the green sky twirled drunkenly away from his reaching hands. What was this planet? Lots of CO2, his subconscious provides. Oh . OH, the CO2! That explained a lot; He's suffocating.
Wait, I can’t breathe, He puts the rebreather back on his mouth and the horizon stops hurting.
Now, in the Starfleet handbook he had dutifully read at the beginning of his education at the academy, it explained that exploration and development of our knowledge of the unknown was a fundamental part of becoming a valuable part of the ‘fleet, to stay curious and …. something, something… don’t give technologically primitive societies access to big lasers.
Grace is happy to say he's developed an understanding for the unknown. An almost intimate understanding. He hardly knows anything right now- its the closest to the unknown he had ever been- he's probably part of it. He was thirsty, too .His head was killing him. He drew his hand away from his head and dimly noted that his hand was wet and sticky. In an animalistic instinct that felt detached from his conscious mind, He started to sob and keen, and immediately he could feel his body wilt under an internal numbness . Distantly he felt the ground on his cheek and a buzzing in his ears. Dust settled in his watering eyes, and in his nose and mouth which drooled unmitigated into the rusty ground. It tasted metallic and gritty. The buzz rang through his head.
Ah, he thought, sound waves.
-
Consciousness dripped back into him slowly, the waking world nudging him awkwardly with the toe of its boot. He scrunched his nose, and everything was weird. The ceiling above him was bright, and also indoors, noticeably unlike where he was before. Tiredly he couldn't yet imagine why that's unusual. He wiggled his toes. Hello toes! He looked down to greet them. He saw a white sheet and a typical med-bay ark scanner (the banana machine, as he described it to a scared student who didn't like the doctor) .
No toes in sight, which made him quite worried for a moment before he realised they were probably under the sheet. His brain was pleasantly smooth, but a hint of trepidation was preventing him from really enjoying himself.
As if sensing his rise from sleep,A man stepped in, announced by the soft thwwipp of the pressure doors.
For some inexplicable reason they (whoever they were), had neglected to put glasses onto an unconscious body, so Grace followed the human shaped blob through slitted eyes until it was close enough to identify.
The man seemed tall (although this is always an easy observation to make of others when you yourself are lying down), and had pale olive yellow skin. Not quite human tone- aha- graces deduction skills are as sharp as ever. The man had pointed ears and upswung eyebrows, the tells of a Vulcan if ever he saw one. Or Romulans. Wait, they are pretty similar- is there some history there?
Aw man I hope it’s not the Romulans.
Grace pulls himself from the reverie and observes the Presumed Vulcan. He had the typical stern countenance he had come to expect, but what threw him off was the hair.
It was just so… Un-vulcany.
Instead of the utilitarian crew cut , the blunt bob or close shave all nearly always topped off with a micro fringe, this strange person had elected to take inspiration from historical depictions of zero-gravity astronauts. His hair, a deep brown shot with a liberal amount of silver, swept gracefully over his head in a truly exceptional ark. Soft curls and loose ringlets hung at the side, giving his strong features a soft yet ambitious frame. He looked like a kind of … hot mad scientist, albeit that he would probably need a headband or a hairnet to be in any lab of Graces, that's for sure. His stately features weren't unusual for a vulcan, however, and the statuesque nature of his face definitely matched the description. He was wearing a slate grey jumpsuit , it looked well lived in.
His eyes were deep set and intense - and looking at him.
Whoops, how long was that staring situation going on for?
The Vulcan circled a little closer, and silently checked a monitor next to the cot, looking back and forth between grace and whatever medical mysteries were on the chart.
The stranger pointed at him and said something in what Grace presumes is Vulcan.
"Yeah . It's, uh, me." He said, slurring immensely. God, his mouth was dry.
The man shook his head and pointed again at him, insistently, with his index finger pointed at his chest.
"Er", Grace looked down at his chest and back to The Vulcan, who looked hopeful.
"Yeah, my chest feels fine?" Seriously, this is one of the worst cases of cottonmouth he had ever had. He needed an ice cube.
The Vulcan rolled his eyes, actually rolled them! He started muttering and said the word again while pointing at Grace, and then to his own mouth, and then, bewilderingly, Grace's mouth.
"Oh- um- haha," was this guy coming onto him? It's been 5 minutes. Wait, how long has it been?
At this point, Grace spies a pouch of what he hopes is water on the bench next to the cot , and snaffles it immediately, revelling in the cool relief of the water in his throat.
The vulcan jibbered away about something before going silent. He looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of just slapping Grace. Eventually, the man jabbed his finger forward once again, but this time he put his finger directly to the communicator symbol on Grace's chest, which was poking out of the thin sheet .
Oh, that's what he meant! He continued jabbing very insistently and exclaims what grace can only assume are alien expletives.
"My communicator! You mean my communicator "
"Communicator." Nodded the Vulcan.
Yes! Communicators have translators, right? It should be working- it should. Heavy emphasis on should.
Grace tapped it earnestly, holding down on all the right pressure points.
"Um, I think it's-" he laughs nervously. The comm starts fizzing ominously, "-broken..?"
The comm suddenly got VERY hot indeed, causing Grace to yelp. The vulcan quickly surged forward, grabbed the comm, and before Grace could even scream, he saw it being thrown full throttle, careening across the room. It hit a cabinet with a little cheerful 'clang!', before promptly exploding into a little fiery mess. Grace drops the water pouch.
The Vulcan said something authoritative to the air , and an automatic fire extinguisher extracted itself from the ceiling and daintily sprayed the ruined tech into submission.
Grace clutched his head. He liked that comm.
"Ugh. I don't -"
"Standard?" He said, turning back to Grace with Heavily accented irritation.
"Yes ! Yes! Standard ! Now we're getting somewhere-" Grace shuffled, and ignored the ache in all his limbs as he gesticulated "-okay I have so many questions, um . First, thank you for rescuing... me"
The Vulcan had immediately deflated and was shaking his head.
Grace cringed.
"No standard," said the Vulcan
"No standard?"
"No standard."
Grace sighed and let his head fall back to the weirdly flat med bay pillow.
"Other languages? Question." Said The Vulcan.
"普通话?" Intoned Grace, not really expecting a response but trying anyway. The Vulcan, unsurprisingly, just shook his head.
"tlhIngan Hol?"
The Vulcan brightened, "HIja'! loQ!".
Grace also brightened, before he remembered that he doesn't actually speak any Klingon, just like 3 phrases and how to order a drink. Rock must see this written across his face because just as fast as the elation arrived, it was quashed by a look of irritation, followed by a muttering of unknown Vulcanese.
Grace on the pillow closed his eyes.
The vulcan paused. Seems to be thinking something, then offered,
"Not much standard.".
Grace peered out of the corner of an eye.
"Is..." started the Vulcan man.
Grace looked up with hope, maybe-
"...shit." Finished the Vulcan man.
Or maybe not.
"Yeah, it is."
They stared at each other. Nothing happens, despite all expectations.
Is something going to happen? The Vulcan is motionless and is just looking at him.
He shuffled uncomfortably into a sitting position.
"Um," he said, loquaciously, and the Vulcan turned his head slightly to the side, still watching him.
Okay, lets go. Grace just had to enter a normal headspace and it was all gonna come tumbling together. It was like meeting any new studen-person.
He gestured to himself haltingly.
"Im, um , Grace-"
"Grace,"
"Ha, yeah, er. And your name is...?" He gestured to The Vulcan. He really wanted to stop calling him The Vulcan in his head.
"Rock."
"...Rock..." Did he get that right?
"Yes. Rock. You are Grace, I am Rock."
Grace was vaguely aware of Vulcan naming conventions, and such linguistic coincidences were bound to happen at some point, but there's something about an alien from a race known for their stony disposition being named Rock that just seems unbelievable.
"Can I call you Rocky?"
Rock furrowed his brow and gave Grace an unvulcanly look of bemused confusion.
"Why?"
"Ah. Never-mind." Grace flapped a hand in dismissal, and elected to have a proper look at his surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rock mimic his hand movement.
The room was conventional, as far as colony med-bays go. Average size, for an expedition party of this scale. It was bright, and white, and the scent in the air was just as sterile and prickly as a med bay ought to be, perhaps a little less intensely perfumed with the metallic twang of medical equipment and disinfectant. It was also, maybe, a little warmer than was standard for communal spaces and med bays, though the whole planet was utterly roasting so perhaps that is unsurprising. The rest of the bay was empty of people, and basically barren of any usual detritus.
Rock must be the nurse or Doctor in charge. He runs a tight ship to keep it this orderly.
Not the best bedside manner, though.
"I- whe- What happened?" Grace’s mind swam with pieces of memory, vague concepts as to why he was here slowly approaching something like an answer.
Rock holds his hands together in front gestures while talking in a kind of mime-puppetry.
"Walking. See electrical surge on scan. You, lying flat,” Rock puts his hand in a flat position and raises his eyebrow, “ - on The Ground. Unwell, insufficient water, oxygen, bad bad bad," He punctuates this by pointing at various areas on the health monitor meaningfully.
"Bad bad bad," agrees Grace.
"Take you here... home. Medical attention. I Think you are here helping? I have... help you! First, additional. Apology. Standard is not my strength, need to practice and learn. I am the engineer, first."
An engineer?
Why is an engineer in the med bay- "where is everyone?", grace gestured generally.
"You not know?" Rock looks distressed, "You did not receive messages?"
"Messages? I- no. I don't think we did?" Did we?
"We knew something was wrong- bad. Not sure , I can't seem to remember-" At the effort to remember, a sharp pain ripped suddenly through Grace's skull. A lingering presence of pressure on his temples flared , and the base of his skull felt terribly, nauseatingly wrong.
"Your- ah- mind is feeling... okay? Operating well?"
"Ghkk"
"You are p- you are in pain yes? Yes?"
"Muh" Grace nods.
Rock somehow instantly produces a hypospray and presses it to Grace's skin.
The pain eases slightly.
"Ouugh that's the good stuff..."
He opened an eye- when did he close them?- and saw Rocks' face very close to his, looking very worried.
"Hey pal,"
"You are not well."
"Probably not,"
"Describe other discomfort." Rock now has a challenging crease in his brow.
"No other discomfort!"
"Hm." Rock looked skeptical.
Grace looked at the ceiling. A finger touched his ankle, and Grace made a noise like a dying bird.
"Discomfort now?" Rock looks at him with raised brows again, something almost catty in his tone.
Smartarse , thinks Grace.
"Fine, okay. Yeah. Yes it blinking hurts!"
"Knew already. Will heal. Not many, hm, tools of health. We can put tool on of injury, but not heal fast. Like your arm."
Having only just become conscious enough to register his status of still being alive, Grace brought his arm up to see his right wrist was indeed bandaged up. It felt tight but he couldn't quite tell if it was the methodical application of the archaic gauze or the mystery injury beneath.
"Bandage." He said, lamely, pointing at it with his good hand.
"Bandage." Parroted The Vulcan.
.
"The message?"
Oh, yeah.
"We just, we saw a message, sure," Grace decided to gesture dance, too, because of some deep rooted fear of rejection from making others feel uncomfortable, and electing to mirror them instead, probably.
"Um, I was on the ... USS Mary, an expedition class. I’m a teacher for the kids on it- long haul mission-"
"Teacher?"
"Er, yeah?"
"What is a teacher doing in space ?"
Grace supposes that he should probably sit up, seeing as a proper conversation is going to commence.
"Uhhh... the kids? These big ships, people bring their whole families on the mission. We have ambassadors and stuff, so there's a kinda weird need to have a teacher."
"Correction- what a teacher doing on here?" Says Rock, slowly.
"Oh , uhhhh- I don't know, actually. I can't remember, but it's probably a good reason."
"Doubt."
"Hey!" This fudging guy "-anyway, I remember the Captain, Stratt, was all 'there's the planet , figure it out!' Because of the weird cells- they were eating the , uh, output of the sun here,"
"Astrophage,"
"Yeah, and , like , people had gone down about a year- ish ago? They went to check things out, look at the planet- That must be you, huh? Um, but we hadn't heard anything, so we were nearby and um, it made the most sense to check on you? I never, um, I don't think I saw any messages. Maybe there were some but, I mean, why would that be any of my business?"
Rock looks more passive than before- a vulcan baseline sliding into place.
"And you are a teacher..."
"Yeah..."
Rock closed his eyes momentarily , gently, as if banishing a reaction from his body. It was eerie to behold, but, Grace supposes, probably normal for Vulcans. Collected, Rock fixes Grace with a look.
"One year?"
A creep of worry starts to niggle at Grace's frontal lobe.
"Uhh, thereabouts?"
"What was the name of group?"
Okay, getting ominous.
"Something like , the uh . Blip-a? Blib- A-?"
"B'lieg-Pey."
"Thats the one. Do you know them? We want to know what happened, I think."
Despite attempting a tone of convivial concern, Rock looked haunted by this revelation. He blindly seemed to hazard about for a chair, and sank into it slowly, with measured intensity. Typically, in such situations, Grace would elect to leave someone to it, but as of the moment it appeared there was really nothing he could do but just be present.
"Um, hey, Mister Rock? What’s, uh, what’s up?"
"I am the B'lieg-Pey Party." He stated this with a heaviness.
"Excuse me?"
"I am B'lieg-Pey."
Grace laughs nervously, "Just you, huh?"
Rock looks up and stares Grace in the eye.
"Yes."
"...There were upward of forty people on that mission."
"Yes."
"A state of the art research project, 40 people,"
"43. And me."
A lump began to form in Grace's throat, which failed to be swallowed away.
"What happened?"
Rock looked off listlessly. "They… not here..."
The lump became leaden and fell somewhere into Grace's stomach.
"what... what happened?"
"I have been here 13 years. Still I... do not know,"
Grace blinked as if the picture might become clearer for it.
"13 years, only Rock survives. Feels like … punishment."
13 years makes no sense at all. 13 years ago the galaxy was in political turmoil. 13 years ago this planet was a whole ball of nothing. An overheated rock with a carbon atmosphere thick enough to cut diamond. Nobody cared about it. 13 years is impossible, surely.
"That's, um, that's not funny, man."
"You state obvious."
"No, I mean, you can't . You can't be here for that long. It's not possible."
As if The Vulcan could look any more despondent, he says,
"My colleague said that too. Said the sun not moving at predicted speed. Said rotation not correct. I never believed-"
Rock stood abruptly and faced away from grace, concealing whatever reaction he may have deemed too much to bear.
"Grace . Were you ... with others. Rescue party. One teacher, not a rescue party."
"Yes I... there were others , I," a memory trudges through the surface, a hint of a laughing face, a confident smile. "Uh, they were here, I think. I- I," a hot buzz, a wrenching sensation from below the naval, a weightlessness, a fall. A scream cut off and prolonged. "We teleported together. A small expedition, but-"
The melodic chorus of technology gave way to the chime of blood and pressure and a sickening crunch below ; a moment of metallic numbness tasted in the tips of his fingers chased by white pain and the dislocation of bones being reset.
Pulled apart, he was pulled apart and threaded together with a thousand blunt needles. The ground rolled away, the air drowning him under its sickening weight. Blistering heat around, and a receding cloud of blissful confusion was smudged away by a fingertip tracing the ground for purchase and finding an unnamable chunk of something. Something terrible. Something still warm, baking in the alien sun, turning rank under a recoiling finger that aches too much to move . The trail of sticky residue clings and snaps back .
It's everywhere, it's everywhere.
They're everywhere, surrounding him, they're. Oh god, it's on him.
He is alone. Oh god. Oh god, I think he- or… she… is still alive, oh god- the sound-
Panic gave the false impression of ebbing away in that nauseating wave of horrible disbelief, and Grace came halfway back to himself and watched from a distance as his own body retched and cried.
Rock seemed perturbed and hesitant to intervene- caught in his own terrible revelation and possibly too disgusted to move.
Grace wanted him to do something. This stranger needed to comfort him.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god-" he could feel his body again. A nightmarish prickle of rejection rose up- no,no he didn't want to be back yet, not now. Please.
The sound of the agonal breathing echoed in his memory, the drilling snort of lungs operating on the last flickers of impulse. The flesh, contracting and writhing. His own burning dermis-
"They, they're gone.oh - oh. How did I forget- I , I don't- " He felt dizzy, the adrenaline ran off to leave him high and dry with half remembered gore from probably only a few hours ago.
A grounding sensation guides him back to the bunk, a pressure on his forearm , a hiss of something to his neck and a pool of calm dribbles into his periphery.
"We will talk , Grace. But you need rest now." Said a velvety songlike voice. Its accent is hard to place.
"Please, don't leave me." He slurred.
But there is no response but for the rushing of blood in his own ears before darkness takes him.