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But what he likes best, about his late night walks along the beach, is when he arrives at that isolated spot he adores, nestled between the rocks. Looking both ways one more time before sliding into the crevices where he opens his bag and removes its contents. Peeling his layers, folding them up to be tucked away, out of sight.
Slipping into the sea.
Some hours after he wakes, the ship orders him back to the coma quarters. Sleeping quarters. Med bay. Whatever it is. Apparently coma patients need IVs after waking.
“What’s in it,” he slurs.
“Sterilized water, sodium chloride, ascorbic acid, vitamin B12, vitamin B6…”
“Oh.”
He needs a lot of fluids. The robots tell him he needs to drink too. Drink water. Not the very tempting vodka bags he found an hour ago. He spits out the offering just as fast as he sips it from the provided pouch.
“I don’t wanna drink that,” he protests pathetically, slapping the plastic arms away as they try to coax it back into his hand. How does a fancy space ship mix up IV fluid and water?
Food is easier. There are two categories, it seems; Grace-food, which is labeled with what he’s learned is his name, and food-food, which is the exact same food but without his name. For every two survivalist apocalypse taco bowl ration thingies, there’s one Grace-ration thingy in the same flavor. To solve the mystery of why do I have special taco bowls he makes one of each.
Well, it doesn’t answer the why question. Only that his are more flavorful, though he can’t place why.
Grace-taco is sort of funny. Like he’s eating himself. So he forces himself to laugh, and then he cries because he has no idea why he’s here.
His departed companions do get their own storage, though. There’s Yao-storage, Ilyukhina-storage, and Grace-storage. Just no Yao-food or Ilyukhina-food. Because he’s special. Shame he can’t ask them why.
Grace-storage has clothes that feel like they’re his and make him giggle because a lot of them have great puns. Or maybe it’s the vodka laughing. Who can say? There’s also like ten pairs of glasses in here- oh! Wow, that’s a lot better, he better not break any of these. And not much more, other than a large and very mysterious trunk with a combo lock that is probably very useful for people who, you know, can remember the combination! Or anything else for that matter. He kicks it and stubs his toe so now he’s alone in space with two dead bodies, no memory, and a stubbed toe.
Thank god for vodka.
“Shouldn’t- shouldn’t I get some stuff from my apartment first? And, wait! I’m in the middle of the school week; I can’t take off without notice.”
“We can pick up your things.”
“Uh, with me there. Without me there? You can’t just go in, I mean. You don’t even have a key.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
“That is, um, breaking and entering, though. Kinda illegal. And I have private stuff there. That’s my stuff. You can’t just go through my things. You don’t know where the stuff I would need is anyway, and-“
“Is there something in particular you will be needing, Dr. Grace?”
“Look, there is certain stuff that I would rather people not see while rummaging through my private things in my private apartment!”
“Like what?”
There’s no shower. Of course there’s no shower. Just sponges and soap pouches and weird shampoo things and a water vacuum thing and he can’t figure any of it out because every time he moves the ship sways and why bother using any of it anyway when there’s no shower to cry in because the point of the shower was to cry in the shower and be encompassed by the water and not space. He misses water. It hasn’t even been two days and he’s crying again because whoever Grace is, he really loves water and they don’t have swimming pools or even bathtubs in space.
He tosses the trunk around. Shoves it over the ledge between the ship’s floors onto his handmade target, which busts it up and scatters his markers, but doesn’t bust the stupid thing open. Boo.
He’s approaching Tau Ceti. He knows what that means but doesn’t like knowing, so he occupies himself with dropping increasingly heavy things on the trunk of secrets yet it doesn’t budge one bit, and it’s too cumbersome to try to haul back up the ladder.
Mary is freezing. At least he found a cardigan in Grace-storage. Coziest thing on the ship.
He takes a hammer to the darn thing.
Inside is… an animal skin. A seal skin, his brain clarifies. Thank you, brain. Why on Earth – don’t think about Earth – do you know that?
Why does he have a seal skin? Who packs a seal skin to send into space?
It’s heavy, like a weighted blanket. Falls through his hands, velvety and oh so warm that he can’t help wrapping around himself like a golden coat, pausing as he notices a long tear in the side, back? Which part is the top of this thing?
Point is: there’s a tear, and haphazard stitches that bunch awkwardly and pucker and leave patches for cold air to seep through and ruin the experience. Like there was a rush on repairing the damage.
So it’s a little lumpy. Who cares? It makes for a great mattress topper.
“But it’s out on the ocean?”
“Sorry, Doc. Can’t tell you anything more than that, and I really don’t know more than you.”
“That’s alright… I like the ocean. The beach.”
“You won’t be there for sightseeing.”
“No. Of course not…”
“What is it?”
“… Can I trust you with something?”
“No no no no no- Rocky, off!”
“Apology, apology, apology-“
“Leave it alone, Rocky, you’re gonna mess it up, stop rolling- I already raised my hand once!”
“What is, question?”
“It’s- it’s mine! Okay? Don’t touch it.”
“Sensitive. Can’t touch, no arm appendage for ball.”
“Don’t roll on it either, please. Just back up. Back off.”
He’s not sure why he’s reacting so strongly. Why the sight of someone, not even grabbing, just being on top of the skin is so viscerally panic inducing. The stress in his voice must translate, because his abruptly assigned roommate does give space, if only to proceed in knocking down more of his human technology. The unconventional piece of bedding is left alone.
He dreams underwater. In a different language he can’t form while awake yet understands perfectly when asleep. Of beautiful, icy, dark water, not at all like the cold of space; it’s encompassing and even inviting. Himself, rounded and pleasant and perfectly adapt to what makes him shiver and cling to his cardigan during the day.
“Grace unwell, question?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess so. I have to do this every week-ish. For nutrition, I think. It’s a lot of saline and vitamins, basically. Guess I dehydrate easily.”
Rocky regards the IV drip in expressionless disdain, tapping thoughtfully.
“Grace not know what make Grace sick, question?”
He snorts. “Apparently, it’s confidential.” So confidential, in fact, that shouting at Mary and Armando that he, you know, the Ryland Grace in question, isn’t even allowed to know. Guess his pre-amnesia self just banked on never forgetting. No, the only thing he knows for sure is that when he ignores orders in favor of research, it’s a one-way ticket to headaches, nausea, fatigue, and worse. Rocky flipped out the first and only time he witnessed him collapse. Grace hasn’t gotten away with putting off IVs since.
“Human memory disease bad. Forgetting health very dangerous.”
“You’re telling me, bud.”
“Rocky will talk to Mary now. Get answers.”
Grace rolls his eyes, but can’t help smiling. Rocky tantruming at an AI is just the entertainment he needs to wait out the routine.
“Coast clear?
“Golden. Have a good swim, Doc.”
“You too, Carl. Uh, I mean. Have a good…”
Carl shakes his head, his laugh controlled and low.
“Get down there already, I’ll find you at dawn.”
“Ah! Yes, Rocky ‘see’ now. Understand. Grace can see Earth images in boring not-boring room. Many textures of Earth. Beautiful!”
“See? Told you, the don’t go crazy room is good for something. Best room on the ship, even.”
“No. Best room lab for science. But tell Rocky what looking at.”
“This is the ocean. Underwater. These are fish, coral. You have oceans on Erid?”
Rocky shudders. “Yes. But not know much. Oceans dangerous. How humans get images without dying?”
“Submarines – Earth ships for underwater – we capture the footage with cameras. Microphones for audio. Cameras are microphones for light images.”
“Amaze, amaze. Humans very fearless. Go into danger even though they die if ship break and water get inside. Dumb. Fearless.”
Grace chuckles at that. “We can swim if all else fails. Well, maybe not from as far down as a sub would go; there’s pressure issues that, well. What I’m saying is we can swim if we want. We love water and swimming actually.”
“Need word.”
“Swimming; moving through water. Fish swim, since they live there of course. And humans swim even though we live on land and breath air, but we actually evolved-“
“Humans move in water? Grace would die! Word word word. Grace fall in water no room for vents to work! Grace would die!”
“Drown. Word is drown. But I don’t, I mean, humans can but-“
“If can why Grace go into large water, question?” Rocky asks, incredulous. “Stupid stupid stupid-“
“Well, I can’t drown!”
“But other humans can? Grace being dumb. Grace not special human, is? Is not? Grace have under water ventilation system to not die? Grace not fall to bottom?”
“Sink.” He pauses.
“I just… won’t? Sorry. You’re right,” he brings a hand to his face, unsure what he was thinking. “Humans can swim, but we can’t breathe under water. Humans drown – word for dying in water because lungs get filled with water – and… I dunno. Sorry. I guess I forgot.”
“Stupid stupid stupid. Grace promise not to go into water and die when return to Earth. Promise Rocky now. Demand.”
“I promise, promise, promise not to drown.”
Rocky stomps his foot.
Grace holds a hand up, scouts honor. “Statement.”
Stratt is there when he ascends.
“Grace.”
“Carl, what-“
“Grace, I’m sorry.”
“Will this affect your work output?”
“I can explain-“
“Will it affect your work?”
“…No.”
Stratt studies him. Then, a tight nod.
“I will get you a new room. And increased security. This needs to be kept safe, yes?”
He clutches the skin close, soaking his bare chest. “I won’t let you take it.”
“I have no interest in your skin, Dr. Grace.”
“You- you don’t understand. You can’t have it. You can’t touch it. Ever.”
“I won’t.”
“No one else either. Nobody can know about it.”
“No one has to.”
“Promise me.”
“No one needs to know.”
“If- if you take it- if anyone even looks at it-“
“I am not interested in owning you, Dr. Grace. I am interested in the success of this project, and I don’t care what I need to do to ensure you’re a part of it.”
“I won’t be a hostage.”
“You aren’t. And I don’t need a skin to keep you around anyway. You’re already committed.”
“…Okay.”
“I’ll increase your security. You’ll have a room with more discrete… ocean access”
“Thank you.”
“Actually, it is ten. It’s syndactyly! Fusion of the human digits. Mine’s two toes in one package; simple syndactyly. But the complex version has the bones fuse as well. Harder to correct.”
“Amaze! But look like nine. Common in humans?”
“Rare. It’s usually corrected with surgery when you’re really little, like six months to a year. I think that’s this.” He waggles his hands; the thinnest lines of scaring running between ring to index on his left. Between pinky and ring on his right.
Rocky clicks up close as he presents them, texture reader held up for a better look.
“Human doctors skilled. Heard of same condition on Erid. But difficult to separate digits. Can lose tips. Lose mobility. Especially when complex fusion. Why Grace not fix foot digits question?”
“Uhhh. I think that one’s beyond me, bud. Past me had a reason not to, I guess. Or my parents. Maybe it was too expensive?”
Rocky shakes his carapace. They had the money talk before, and he was less than pleased with what he’d heard of Earth’s approach to the concept.
“But hey, pretty neat, huh?” He playfully kicks his foot towards Rocky, who rocks back – ha ha ha, good one Grace – in his chute.
“Hmm. Maybe Eridian doctors learn from space blob. Grace come to Erid! Road trip! Erid study and perfect surgery skills by practice on Grace strange soft alien foot. Will be very applicable to Eridian digit surgery.”
They both laugh, and Grace laughs even more when Rocky unnecessarily adds “Is joke!” and the snort he makes through his nose makes Rocky honk so hard he loses – pun completely intended – his own footing, and falls down his chute. Grace only cackles even harder.
“I always wanted to be. Mysterious.”
“One might argue a selkie is already very mysterious.”
.
..
…
..
.
“Good morning, Grace.”
“Rocky…”
His hand touches beneath him. Feels the skin between his fingers.
“…I think I know what I am.”
He spreads the skin flat on the floor, smoothing over the rumpled stitching as best he can.
It needs water to work, he realizes. Some innate knowledge returning to him, an instinct no longer lost. Water to swell, salt to stick. The ingredients to come back to himself.
There’s nothing wrong with him. Nothing wrong with it. It’s just the wrong environment.
They fish.
They survive.
They figure it out.
He's going home.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do? When you’re back on Erid.”
“Rocky will first contact space communication center to request assistance-“
“First enjoyable thing.”
“First good thing will be Rocky will go to mate Adrian. Reunite with family. Sing reunion; happy happy happy. Have eggs when settled.”
“Aw, Rock, you’re gonna be a parent? That’s great. That’s- you didn’t ever tell me about having eggs. You need to explain Eridian reproduction to me, man.”
“It beautiful! Lovely thrumming between Adrian and Rocky will make eggs for both of us. Keep in clutch together, so they hatch at the same time.”
“Wish I could see them. I bet they’ll be adorable.”
“Most adorable! Grace will be hero when return to Earth. Many many many choices for mating. Grace can start family. Never be alone again.”
As if that’d ever happen. “I think I’m good on mates, Rocky. Never really been my thing. And I’ve already decided what I’m doing when I get back.”
“Yes? What Grace do, question?”
He grins. He’s still reeling from the knowledge that he will be able to return; what he thought all this time was a doomed cause now revealing a light at the end of the tunnel. It takes little time to determine where he’ll go.
Rocky is going to hate this.
“Did I ever tell you where human space ships land when they return to Earth?”
“You’ll find a solution.”
“You are my solution.”
…
“I understand the stakes… I do. But I don’t have it in me. My mind is made up. I’m sorry but uh, you just can’t talk me into it. Sorry.”
“I’m not trying to talk you into anything. I am trying to make you understand what I’m about to do next. Yeah. Please stay calm. Come in.”
“…That’s my skin.”
“Yes.”
“You took my skin.”
“It will be packed with your things on the ship. I’ll even lock it for you so the crew can’t touch it.”
“You’re the one who’s not supposed to touch it! That’s my skin, you promised. You’re holding me hostage- you can’t…”
“I am truly sorry.”
“Please give it back. I’m asking nicely.”
“I am also. Asking nicely.”
“Wait- no, no get off! We’re talking, right? We should keep talking-“
“Don’t let him out!”
“Let go! You’ll tear it-“
…
With nothing left to lose, he runs.
They catch him anyway.
He knows how it should sit on him now. Wraps it around his shoulders in a pantomime of what might have been. Doubling up on layers is important these days, with him down tens of pounds from the weight he had when he first woke up on Mary, years ago. A shirt, his flight suit zipped to the top, his cardigan, and his skin, and yet he continues to shiver.
But he doesn’t regret anything. Not turning back for Rocky. Not going to Erid, knowing its oceans make up will poison him even if he somehow develops immunity to the already deadly atmosphere.
But still… he wishes. He craves the feeling of warm fur, not to swaddle in but as a part of him. Yearns to remember what he looked like. To gain back the body he lost and then some. Erid is warm, at least. At least he’ll have that.
But if he could swim in the Pacific just one more time…
“Grace? Movie night, question?”
He runs the outer layer along his cheek, drinks in the musky smell that’s both himself and a memory.
“Coming, Rock.” Grace makes to stand, but his vision blurs before he can put weight into his footing, his head swaying as if suddenly filled with air. He falls back down, shaking, then calls out to see if Rocky can bring over his new cane.
“What Grace want for biodome? Grace pick anything! Adrian smart smart smart. Rocky Adrian will make whatever Grace want. Planet will help.”
They’re down in sleeping quarters a lot more these days. Rocky likes him being near Armando just in case. Probably because his vision gets blotchy when he stands and maybe also because his limbs shake with effort in addition to cold when he tries to sit up. That’s why there’s a laptop near his face right now. So they can do movie night without moving. He wishes he didn’t spill his – barely touched – taumoeba shake on the keys, but it tastes awful. Keeping it down just isn’t possible.
What does he want…
“Grace stay awake. Sleep too much. Rocky will help. Tell Rocky what to put in biodome. Rocky will put it next to home with Adrian. Add windows for Grace so can see each other every day. But need more ideas.
Keeping his eyes closed is nice. He doesn’t have to try to parse the world around him through dark blobs. Everything can just be dark all the time, instead.
“No no nonono tell Rocky what to build first. No sleeping yet. Too much sleeping.”
“Salt water,” he slurs, then passes out.
He’s vaguely aware they are in orbit.
Which would explain the Eridians. They come and go around Mary now, but Rocky never leaves his side, not even to go to Adrian and his family to sing happy reunion song and make eggs. In fact, at some point someone – probably Rocky – says Adrian is coming to them, and apparently, they did, but Grace is too out of it to figure out which one they are. Or maybe he’s just crazy and imagining Eridians scurrying around the ship. He must be, because one of them said they took an elevator up to greet them and that was so funny he coughed blood because everyone knows there’s no elevators in space!
Biodomes take a long time to build.
So does nutrition.
“Grace need… salt in diet. Special medicine bag… vitamins… return home…”
“Weeks at best…”
“Need now!”
“When Grace gain enough weight will go down. Grace show stupid Rocky how wrong about swim he is. Grace promise Rocky now. Open eyes. No more sleep. Command… please.”
Time passes.
He’s not healthy. But he’s healthier. Healthier is the best he can do.
“You said there’s…”
“Tank with salt water. Yes yes yes, for Grace use. Grace eat little more then ready for Eridian gravity.”
“Okay.”
His hands tremble. Someone tells him sewing is a good choice; it’ll help restore his hand-sound coordination. Or hand-eye. Grace is too polite to correct them.
But it does help. Enough so that by the time he finishes ripping the original seams and putting in his own, he pulls out the first half to redo with stronger hands, ensuring all of them are snug and tight. A thin, pressed line.
For the first time since he found the skin, it’s able to lay flat.
He’s ready to go down.
The skin goes in first. Something tells him that’s how it works.
The tank isn’t huge. The size of a two person bed. Not much deeper than he is tall.
He sits on the floor, leaning against Rocky as they watch the skin soak under hastily installed lights. It’s not much to look at, resting in still water. Submerged, but lifeless.
An hour later, it looks ready. Eridians support his bony frame, guiding him up the ramp they prepared before, with some hesitancy, helping him retrieve the skin. It’s the heaviest it’s ever been; he’s not strong enough to lift it out, but his friends are all rocks now, and they make easy work of wrapping the skin around him. So much weight.
He falls in, a cacophony of panicked notes dampened by the barrier of water that he tunes out in seconds.
For the first time in years, Grace feels truly warm.
It’s not much room. Like the skin before him, he mainly just floats, circling occasionally.
It’s a wonder what being in water all day can do for one’s joints.
The stitches are a scar along his ribs that he chooses not to think about. He’s much more excited to find Rocky’s hand print has manifested on his other self, waving it for him and splashing and showing off.
How do you like that, Rocky? Some humans, special ones, selkies, do have underwater ventilation down to a science.
In this form, he can even sing back to the Eridians in their own language, which sends the linguistics specialists into a frenzy and teaches him very quickly just how much he and Rocky mutually eroded each other’s speech.
Rocky needs to beg to get him to come out to eat.
He comes off IVs. His diet changes. Turns out he doesn’t need all that extra salt as long as he gets his time in the water.
It’s not much longer after that the dome is ready. His tank is moved and sits on beautiful Eridian rocks that sparkle in the artificial sun. There are cliffs, a house – still under construction, but habitable – and promises of greenery in the future.
“Air filtration system work, question? Smell correct?”
Grace inhales salty air. Hopes that no one notices him masking choked back emotion.
“It’s perfect, Adrian. I love it.”
Months later, the tank is replaced with a water bed. Large and deep enough to pick up his pace, do laps for as long as he pleases. His muscles have strengthened despite the increased gravity.
In a year’s time, the science division expects to have a wave machine ready to install; an artificial ocean just for him. He can’t wait.
They’re settled on the shoreline. Adrian and Rocky in prototypes of the latest iteration of their xenonite suits, now with extra grip for the finger attachments! Grace, wrapped only in the lower half of his skin, still drying off from the latest swim. Lesson plans are the main point of discussion today. With Grace’s arrival still a marvel – “will always a be a marvel, Savior Grace!” – he faces an endless, daily stream of messages begging to know all there is to know of him, of Earth, of his relationship status. Yeah. Rocky did say he’d be swimming in suitors. They just turned out to be non-human.
Among the many solutions is a return to form. Adrian and Rocky both insist that there won’t be an Eridian alive who will hesitate to sign up their children for classes with an alien teacher. His fan club – he has a fan club! – has thrummed often about it since his old life on Earth was made known to the public. And well, it’s fun to imagine what he can teach to a species that learns and retains information so easily.
At first, he chooses not to answer questions about his skin.
Not that anyone was asking, initially. He’s pretty sure Rocky has something to do with that. But the privacy is nice. It’s like being on Earth again. His secret, only to be shared with his own kind. Those he trusts…
The truth of it is, when they came down the elevator the first day, Grace couldn’t help an anxious feeling in his gut when Rocky wasn’t there to watch him swim. It felt too stupid to voice, at the time. Something to tough out. Eridians may have evolved to supervise sleep, but selkies did not have the same proclivities in regards to their skins. Or maybe they did; his memory remains a fractured thing. He should be fine.
But it didn’t take long for his friend to pick up that when it was time for him to take leave, Grace would lower himself to the bottom of the tank, out of reach of the hydrophobic species. Only when Rocky returned, or Adrian, would he allow himself to circle the tank again.
Rocky’s solution was a new chest to keep it in.
“Only open for human hands. Will also make so can open for selkie hands. Not even Rocky can get in when finished. Safe safe safe. No one ever touch again.”
He’s used it ever since, secure in knowing that if Adrian conceded to the thing after a week of trying to crack it open, no one was going to get in. Eridian-proofed, as promise promise promised. He dries his skin off after every swim – always in view – and locks it up after, comfortable in the knowledge that nothing will happen this time.
But kids across planets prove to be consistent in many things; the need to play, the need to insist upon their incorrect conclusions like the world depends on it, even as the adults around them do their best to gently correct, and importantly, a compulsion to ask the most intimate questions everyone else is afraid to ask.
“Teacher Grace! When can we see you change into other body for underwater breathing and motion?”
“Teacher Grace, question! Is true or untrue other body has no appendages or head, question?”
“Switch body quick quick quick, just for one-hundred seconds please! Let us see! Just for one-hundred seconds!”
“Want to hear Grace speak Eridian!”
“Want to touch! Will be very quick and use only tip of one finger please, please, please!”
“Pebbles would love to see. Grace like metamorphosis creature, only able to go back and forward and not just forward.” Rocky grinds a foot into the beach, burrowing it into the stones and sand. “If… if Grace comfortable. Grace not have to share. Understand is private.”
Grace pulls himself up beside him, half in the water and enjoying the way the wave machine allows it to lap at his lower half.
He’s been thinking about it for a while.
In Eridian – he still can’t hear all the tones, but scientists are working on a hearing aid for that – he replies,
“Actually… I think I wouldn’t mind showing them. I think… it’s alright.”
When it’s not in use, he keeps it locked away.
Except when he’s sunbathing after a good swim.
He makes an exception for his students. A quick lesson where they can oh and ah as he holds the skin out, demonstrates how it and he become one. He’s roped into giving the rest of class in accented Eridian, threatening to change back whenever they seem too distracted by his changed form.
The top biology thrum in the world commission him a dive suit, and Erid gets audio and footage of its own seas the likes of which have never been heard.
Grace adds alien marine biology to his credentials.
He abandons his skin on the sand, rushing to meet Rocky and Adrian for a walk.
He demonstrates underwater ventilation and motion to his students for their field trip.
It rests on his bed for easier access.
It’s forgotten in the rain.
It’s always found where he last left it.
The chest holds gifts from the students he doesn’t have room to display currently. Carvings, etchings of him in all his forms. Recordings of his favorite essays they’ve orated. They add up fast. And that doesn’t account for the little bits and pieces Adrian and Rocky’s pebbles have been bringing him.
He’ll rotate them in a few weeks, perhaps. It never hurts to freshen up his space.