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Humans were ‘bizarre’.
‘Bizarre,’ meaning 🎶🎵🎶🎵 or 🎶🎶🎵🎶🎵🎵🎶🎵, according to Grace who was, indeed, one of those bizarre little beings. While he had taught Rocky the Earth word long ago, it was only recently that Rocky realized he could ascribe the term to much of Grace's behaviors and habits. The way his mouth hole would make wet sounds when he ate or talked, or the way he would whine and moan, begging softly for something to stop despite being asleep…
The fuzzy 🎶🎵 on top of his head, always flopping around and sticking upright.
The way his 🎶🎶 - eyes - and brain perceived light wavelengths as ‘color’.
How he cried. How he sweated. How, when he was scared after a “nightmare”, he would expel stomach contents between sobs and apologies. “This is really gross,” Grace would say, hiccuping into the waste vesicle. “Sorry you have to see this. Or, not see, since you can't see-see, but like, you get it.”
Yes, Grace was a bizarre little alien. Young, impressionable, and truly odd.
That was why, when he had cut his finger wide open and hadn't reacted, Rocky found it bizarre.
At first, no bodily contents were excreted from the wound. Within seconds, small beads of blood bubbled to the surface. How could a human continue to work when they were bleeding? Grace had adjusted the microscope stage, frowning in concentration as the injury carved a line that split the tip of his squishy finger pad in half. “Grace hurt, statement,” Rocky had said. He crawled as close as the xenonite tubing would allow. “Arm robot fix, question.”
Glancing away from his work, Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” Then, looking down, he processed the wound before holding his hand up between them. “What, this? Nah, it's fine, buddy. It's just a paper cut.” With a smile, he had added, “I barely even feel it. But if you squeeze some lemon juice on it, I'll really feel it–”
“Blood,” Rocky said. “Grace blood.” Pointing at the injury, Rocky chittered, “Arm bot fix, question.” With a punch of stark emphasis, a rivulet inched down to the first knuckle of Grace's finger. “Bad, bad, bad.”
“Yeah, I guess…” He sighed. “It is pretty unsanitary for a lab,” Grace mumbled as he waved his hands around. The blood mounds adhered to his skin, unmoving despite the relentless motion. “Bad, bad, bad and all that, right?”
Rocky swayed back and forth, knocking his carapace into the xenonite. “No, not that. Grace hurt. Blood.” He recalled the moment that it had rolled along the human screen, the two of them flattened to one side of the ship as it had spun out of control.
Something soft had flashed across Grace's face.
Did he recall those moments, too?
He said, “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I'll get a bandage.” Then, twisting around, he leaned back on his stool and called out, “Armando! Can you bring me a band-aid?” Turning to Rocky once more, he had offered a smile of amnesty. “Okay? Better?”
Chuffing his inlets, Rocky asked, “Why Grace work when Grace bleed, question. Why no stop, question. Grace hurt. Grace stop. Stupid.”
The robot whizzed into Grace's space. It offered one of those sticky strips of cloth to him, gingerly wrapping it around the injury without further orders. “Mm, well, I was just being dumb here. But humans sometimes can’t tell that they’re hurt,” Grace had said. As he watched the robot bandage his finger with delicate precision, he continued, “But usually that’s from really bad stuff. Like, getting stabbed. I mean I've never been stabbed but that'll definitely get some adrenaline going. Something gruesome like that.”
Rocky asked, “How, question.”
“So, adrenaline,” Grace began. “It's a hormone a human produces. It allows us to be able to do things that we otherwise couldn't because of an injury or fear.”
Eridians had no such mechanism in their bodies. Vents cycling in confusion, Rocky hummed low with displeasure. The idea of this delicate human pushing himself beyond what his physical form could handle was, in short, quite distressing. When injured, Eridians were weak to their body’s natural processes of protecting the wound and receiving aid immediately. Indisposal was quick and relentless in its mechanism.
What a bizarre thing for a human to be able to do…
Grace's feeble form was deteriorating quickly.
With Erid two months away, his human had grown impossibly weak. More days than not, he slept. When he wasn't sleeping, he was struggling.
Rocky watched over him regardless.
Sometimes, Grace woke to mill about the ship, stretching lightly as he said, “Well, I've got to keep the muscles limber, don't I?” But stretching had shifted into folding over, and folding over resulted in laying down. Then, he slept.
Sleeping, in turn, overtook everything else.
Rarely, Grace ate.
Sometimes, they would get “lucky”, or having good outcomes brought about by chance: Grace would be able to stomach all of his “taumoeba slurry” and lay down in peace. He'd drift off, curled on his side and breathing slow with his expression smoothing out. But, more often than not, Grace would become ill, his body protesting the contents.
Just like with his nightmares, Rocky would find his human apologizing for his sickness, mumbling about it “being gross” and “feeling gross” as well.
Rocky had watched over him all the same.
He watched, and waited, and wondered in the silence of space if Grace would make it.
Neither of them needed to say that the outcome was unlikely. They both knew. Numbers were easy, math was as clear as the light of a star. How much more human food could Rocky engineer? How much more could Grace’s body fight?
These days, Rocky hovered.
His human was, once again, on the floor in a nestle of blankets and pillows. Burrowing closer to the xenonite separating them, Grace mumbled something. He pressed his chest to the tubing, his back against the ship’s hot computer components.
Maybe Rocky could make a heater?
Human temperatures hovered around 🎶 which, in theory, wasn't difficult to reproduce. Chattering to Grace, he said, “I'll warm you soon, friend.” But his ringing echoed in the stillness; Grace had long-since turned off the ship’s translation systems in favor of power conservation and sleep.
Scurrying into the other room, Rocky gathered his tools.
Sunlight swept through the windows. Time faded into the background, fainter than a breath of air. His xenonite stacked and folded under his movements, components snapping into place and clanking as Rocky finished and, eventually, turned the device on. Boxy in shape and textured along its walls, it rattled in its frustration to cooperate.
As it heated up, Rocky shuddered.
It was too hot.
He continued to work.
Lower the temperature. Adding cooling fans. Adjust the output.
Protect Grace.
His human shuffled about here and there, back and forth as a slumped over form, unrecognizable in his decay. Rocky watched. When he failed to eat more of his slurry, Rocky waited. As Grace’s eyes rolled back and his body went slack with sleep, Rocky mourned.
But, within time, the heater was done.
Erid was one month and twenty-seven days away when Rocky dragged the device over to Grace, wedging it between the Mary’s computers and Grace’s back. He flipped it on and, in two-point-two pulses of Grace’s heart, Grace hummed, his body relaxing. In his sleep, he flopped onto his left and wrapped himself around the heater.
Rocky cooed.
Good.
“Good, good, good,” he sang.
A day passed.
Grace slept.
As two faded into three, Rocky nudged him to eat, bringing him taumoeba slurry in a petri dish to let him swallow it whole in front of his new heater. If he realized the new invention’s existence, he didn't comment on it though Rocky didn't mind. He needed no thank you nor apology for helping a friend.
Another day passed.
Grace slept.
Five days slipped into six.
Six, to seven, and Grace barely woke.
Rocky curled up next to his human, watching his chest rise and fall. That 🎶🎵 stopped growing on top of his head. His body had shrunk. This close, and Rocky could see the hard lines of Grace's inner carapace.
Bone, was what Grace had called it.
He could see Grace's bones where he'd never seen them before.
Eight days later and Grace vomited his slurry up again, stumbling forward on his hands and knees. He listed sideways, slamming into the homemade heater with a gasp.
“Grace!” Rocky squealed as Grace slumped, his head smacking the floor with his back to the xenonite tubing. “Grace! Wake up! Can you hear me?”
His human didn't respond.
On day nine, Rocky fussed about his friend, bringing him more water, more slurry, more blankets that he'd kicked off in his restless sleep.
And on day ten, the heater popped.
Heat and light exploded in the small room. A bellowing alarm whined overhead. Rocky scampered to where Grace was curled, watching as overwhelming warmth kicked out from the heater, bright and smothering even behind the xenonite.
Grace snapped upright with a gasp.
“Oh, crap!” Scrambling to his feet, he staggered to the far wall, ripping free a large canister. “Rocky, get back!” A heavy wave of sound and heat washed over the small space as Grace threw his arm out between Rocky and the sputtering heater.
A horrendous stench filled the air.
🎵🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶. Death.
It smelled of death.
Rocky cried out as Grace stumbled back against the xenonite. He howled, doubling over his arm as the hot wave vanished back into the heater. With a whine, Grace yanked a tube free from the canister and sprayed fluffy foam over the device.
The warmth dissipated.
Rocky called out, “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Translation system, activate,” Grace choked out, letting the canister fall limp to his side.
“Grace hurt, question!” Rocky hurried through his tube. “Hurt, hurt! Tell Rocky!”
Pulling himself upright, Grace panted, “I'm okay.” As he flipped around, he stared at the wall hosting Mary’s computers. “But the fire might have damaged something.” With a grunt, he picked the canister up and sprayed more cloud into the wall. It was loud. Translucent debris kicked up around them.
Between the screaming alarms and spraying fluff, Rocky couldn't see.
Grace dropped the canister to the ground. It clattered, the sound spilling across Rocky's vision and he chittered, pulling back against the assault. “Bad, loud sound, bad, bad, bad.”
Silence stretched between them as the alarm shut off with a snick.
“The ship,” Grace mumbled, staring at the computer console with wide eyes. “We… I need to repair the ship. Right now–”
Another siren blared through Mary as she sang, “Damage detected. Advise immediately.” The shrieking pulsed rhythmically as Grace staggered into the lab, pulling free a massive box of clanging tools. As he brought it back to the computer console, Rocky watched as he flipped its top open and began to rip through its insides. Screws and mechanical tools were tossed side to side as Grace fished free various hand contraptions, yanked a warped piece of panel off the wall, and began to work.
“Fire,” Grace began with a grunt. “It's bad. Do you know what fire is?”
“No,” Rocky said. “Bad how, question.”
“It eats everything on the ship,” his human said as he twisted the tools in his hands. “It's hot, and it's fast, and if you're not careful, it'll burn you.”
Burn?
Months ago, that was what Grace had called the marking Rocky had given to him. “It's a burn scar,” he had said, holding his arm up. When Rocky had shrunk back, touching the bumpy texture through the xenonite mesh, Grace had continued, “But it's okay, promise! It's a sign that you saved me, right?”
Burn.
Had Grace been burned?
“Where hurt, question. Grace burn, question.” Rocky scuttled close, inspecting the human as he wrenched the tools around.
With a hard shake of his head, Grace blinked fast. “I'm fine. I need to finish this before the wires melt.”
Melt?
“No understand,” Rocky whined.
The alarms continued to wail between them, a mirror into Rocky’s crying heart.
Was Grace hurt? Again? Would he collapse once more? Would he–?
“Not now, bud.” Grace flipped around, grabbing another device. He jammed his arms in between the walls with a hiss.
Rocky slumped. “How help, question.”
Shaking his head again, Grace said, “You can't. Just stay back.”
Humming his distress, he settled in and watched.
Waited.
Grace moved quickly, his pain silenced as he worked. Something was wrong with his right arm - the arm he'd thrown between Rocky and the fire - as it twitched and dropped the tools.
Rocky watched.
He waited.
Grace was going to die, wasn't he?
Dread pierced through him, stinging him inside and out until Rocky felt as if he'd die, too. Because if Grace died, he'd be alone again.
If Grace died, they'd done everything for nothing.
If Grace died–
“No die,” Rocky said. “No die, Grace. No die.”
Cracking a smile, his human said, “No die, statement.”
Rocky rattled with relief.
As Grace stumbled back from the wall, he gasped hard. “Done,” he mumbled, tossing the tool to the ground. Rocky could barely hear him over the alarms.
Vision ringing and nerves frayed, Rocky inched forward. “Mary fix, question.”
“Yeah,” Grace hummed. But his breathing was odd and clipped, hard on an exhale and wheezy on the inhale. His human’s heart scampered in his chest, and Rocky watched as the blood in his body moved fast. Grace giggled as he said, “Man, that sucked.”
Everything inside of the human was too fast. Blood, heart, lungs–
“Grace sit down, statement,” Rocky slammed his claws against the xenonite.
Turning around, Grace frowned. “What–?”
“Sit, sit, sit!”
Flipped like a ship switch, those body mechanisms slowed. His blood pressure dropped, his pulse petering out.
Grace crumpled.
He slammed against the opposite wall as Rocky cried out. “No, no, no! Grace!” The human slumped, his eyes rolling up as his body went limp.
Pushing into the xenonite webbing, Rocky caught Grace. Flush against the tubes, Rocky heard his body continue to hum with life.
Relief exhausted Rocky to his core.
Humans were too fragile, but at least he was alive. With a gentle shake, Rocky called, “Grace. Grace! Status update! Wake, wake, wake.”
Grace didn't respond.
Easing him to the ground, Rocky clacked his claws together. What was he supposed to do? What would heal a human?
“Arm bot help Grace!” Rocky cried out, desperation sharp even through the translation systems. “Mary help Grace! Now!”
The ship continued to scream as if in pain. Why wasn't it responding?
Grace was in more pain. His face scrunched up as he moaned, his right arm twitching at the fingers. As Rocky shuffled side to side, he snapped his claws together again and again and again–
He scurried through his tubes, rattling up into the cockpit and into his ball. Heaving it up into the pilot's chair, he found the root of its cries as he grabbed his crystalline prism and pointed it at the various screens.
One flicked rhythmically as it read: OXYGEN DEPLETION DETECTED.
Another warned: HULL DAMAGE DETECTED.
What would Grace do?
Would he speak to his ship? Would he reassure it that it was healthy and capable? No, but it wasn’t. Not now.
But he would turn the painfully bright sounds off, right?
Pushing a little red button, Mary sang, “Alarms off.”
The ship went silent.
Rocky was humming from the residual screams of the ship. His insides hurt, shaken raw from Mary’s incessant cries. Sagging, he allowed himself only one moment - a meager sixty human seconds - before he was barreling back down his tube and to where he'd left Grace sprawled on the ground.
His human hadn't moved.
Was he breathing?
Pushing in close, he watched as Grace's chest continued to stutter. The pain hadn't ceased, though Rocky hadn't been surprised if Grace had been burned after all. What had that entailed? His flesh being eaten by fire?
Was that why Grace smelled of death?
“Arm bot help Grace!”
A loud clattering echoed through Mary’s halls as the robot rolled forward. Its arm wrapped around one of Grace's slim wrists, pulling and guiding the human onto his back. Mary sang, “Second degree thermal burns to right upper extremity located. Additional first degree thermal burns to right lateral abdomen. Recommendation: sedation and pain management alongside further assessment.”
“Yes, yes,” Rocky chirped, bobbing his agreement.
As if the ship could detect the human’s fragility, it moved slowly to guide the arm bot underneath Grace’s torso. With a smooth shift, it pulled Grace through the halls, his limp body hanging from the arm’s core, his legs dragging along. It reached the bedrooms and, clamping its appendages around the human’s unburnt wrist, it hauled Grace up and into one of the beds.
A second claw whirred close.
Two more descended. Like another pair of human hands, they worked in unison to tilt Grace's head back and ease a tube into his throat.
Grace choked.
His body spasmed as his left hand flew up, aimlessly distressed. The arm bot grabbed his wrist, guiding it flat to the bed as his eyes fluttered open and feet kicked out. One of the robots produced a small, transparent cylinder of liquid–
Grace's eyes locked onto it.
A scream ripped through his chest. Fighting in earnest, he shoved at the robot fruitlessly. Rocky scampered as close as he could get. “Grace stop! Stop! Hurt self!” He rapped his claws against the xenonite. “Stop, stop, stop! Is okay! Save Grace, no hurt!”
Grace's head fell sideways.
Tears spilled freely as he wheezed around the tube in his mouth. He mumbled something. Rocky’s name?
“Calm, calm,” Rocky cooed. “Safe, safe. Promise.”
The needle eased into Grace's forearm.
He stilled, his eyes sliding shut.
Rocky sunk back against the cool xenonite surface. Through the webbing, he took Grace's fingers into his own.
He waited.
Sleep was easy for Grace when he had been forcibly unconscious.
Rocky had watched as Grace had slept soundly. The tubes had been removed after a day, replaced with thick bandages wrapped around his arm, shoulder, and chest. He hadn't flinched when the arm robots had torn away at his clothing, nor had he stirred when they treated his wounds. Debridement and ointments, his Portable Earth Thinking Machine had explained upon his inquisition.
It sickened Rocky to wish that Grace could rest this easily every night until they reached Erid.
Settling at Grace's side, Rocky curled his arms underneath his carapace as he watched his human breathe. The bandages felt bumpy as Rocky eased a claw up Grace's arm and along his body, tracing the outlines of his hidden wounds.
Did this hurt?
Hopefully not. Rocky wouldn't be able to bear injuring Grace further…
But the idea of not being able to feel his human left him cold with fear. But colder than space and colder than loneliness was the chill of leaving Grace alone to die. The arm bot and Mary had assured Rocky that, no, Grace would likely survive this ordeal, yet Rocky wasn't going to rely on computerized statistics. He'd relax when he saw Grace come to.
And so, time slipped by.
Rocky waited.
He watched.
He watched Grace sleep, his eyelashes fluttering in what he assumed was a dreamless rest.
He watched Grace's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rhythmic with his own lungs’ power rather than a machine’s.
He watched Grace's expression never change, softened by unconsciousness.
He watched and, when Grace’s eyebrow twitched, he perked up. It was late into the sleep cycle but Rocky was wide awake, giddy as Grace stirred.
His head lolled to the side as he stared at where Rocky had desperately clung to Grace's fingers. Grace's gaze slipped up, up, up as he croaked, “Hey, pal. You okay?” Offering a lopsided smile, Grace beamed with love. “I'm glad you're not hurt.”
“Rocky not hurt,” Rocky said. Humming lowly, he added, “Rocky hurt Grace. With device. Rocky burn Grace again.”
Clicking his tongue, Grace shook his head. “No, you didn't, bud. You helped me. That heater kept me going when nothing else did. Thank you.” With a laugh, he added, “Sorry it blew up.”
He chirped, “Why Grace not say Grace hurt, question. Continue to work on ship. Not help self.” It agonized him to say, “Grace almost die.”
Grace shifted on the cot with a wince. He rolled his shoulder out, his left hand ghosting over the right’s abundance of bandages. “It didn't hurt at the time,” he said. When Rocky began to tap his claws together, Grace mirrored his tapping on the glass between them. “Adrenaline. You remember that term?”
“Yes,” Rocky said. “Human stupid. Adrenaline stupid. Dangerous human hormone.”
Another laugh slipped past Grace's chapped lips. “No, no, it's my fault. I should've paid more attention, but I didn't want to risk you or the ship.” He shook his head. “I knew what I was doing. And I'm sorry for scaring you, Rock. I shouldn't have pushed myself so hard.”
“Grace lie to Grace body,” Rocky chittered. “Human body say stop, Grace continue, question.”
Grace nodded. “Yeah…”
“Next time,” Rocky squeezed Grace's fingers. “Grace stop if Grace body say stop.” He rocked back and forth, tapping his carapace on the xenonite. “Do not hurt Rocky when hurt Grace.”
A smile swept over his human’s exhausted expression. He said, “Okay, I’ll be more careful.”
“Good, good, good,” Rocky chirped.
Grace tapped between them as he hummed, “Good, good.”