Work Text:
The impact is deafening. For several seconds all I know is noise. Metal groaning and things crashing to the floor. Me, crashing into the wall.
And Grace, crashing into the screen in front of it.
Humans are soft. It's hard not to think about it, but I’d accepted it as a facet of my new reality somewhere between the first and twentieth xenonite chain we made.
Grace's body deforms against the panel in front of it. Its face is misshapen. The bone that makes up the center of its face is cracked across its width. The straps of the chair dig into its stomach.
I wedge an arm between myself and the xenonite, but the force of the spin makes it hard. And the burning pain on one side of my carapace. I can feel the fissure spreading from the point of impact, the warm trails of blood mirrored on the wall. I have to worry about that later. I can still move and that's what matters.
Grace cannot. If the gravity is difficult for me, I can't imagine what it feels like for it. I can hear its blood and organs pooling on the front side of its body. And some pouring from somewhere on its face.
I’m yelling. I don't know if Grace is hearing me. It opens its eyes, but it doesn't respond.
“Grace! The— centrifuge!”
It doesn't matter that I can move if I can't do anything. The switch is right there, and it doesn't matter if I can't touch it. Grace has to. It has to.
It's trying. Its arm strains against the force. Mine are, too – it's all I can do to keep myself from planting flat against the xenonite. All those years in zero gravity have taken their toll, I think. And damn, I never thought I could miss zero gravity.
One latch up. Grace makes a strangled noise. It can't — the chair is too heavy. It can't reach.
It can't breathe.
The bolts on the chair’s mount sheared clean in half. It could easily be half of Grace’s body weight, if not more. Its weird internal carapace is supposed to expand and contract to let it breathe, and now it can't. Under the sound of the ship falling apart, I hear it wheezing. Its lungs aren't moving.
“Grace!”
I need to help I need to held I need to help
Grace
It's going to die.
It's concerning that I can break the seal in three impacts. I’m hitting the weakest spot with my strongest arm, but still. Something I would think about in the future, if I got to see it. Right before the third, I realize exactly what I’m doing, and I do it without hesitation.
For a moment, I don't feel anything. I hear the ship’s alarms and Grace’s awful not-breathing noises. There’s a hissing sound I can’t identify. The centrifuge. I can do this.
I take a step. My radiator takes in freezing oxygen air. And it burns. My whole body reacts to it in an onslaught of pain that I can only parse as the removal of every cell in my body. I can’t tell which way I’m going or what I’m moving or in what direction.
The centrifuge. The switch. I need the switch.
Tap the floor, find it. I’m screaming. Why is it so high up? Why does reaching for it hurt so bad? Why is it so far away from the fucking pilot chairs?
When it locks into place, I collapse. The hissing is coming from me, inside and outside. The edges of my limbs are going numb and blurry.
I stumble with the force of the centrifuge. I’m listing one way and another, maybe upright. I think and then seconds later my limbs move in response. Layers of me are being peeled back one by one. Oxidation. I fucking hate chemistry. This can be one more reason.
Grace falls back, but doesn't move. I call its name. He doesn’t move. I call its name until the sound collapses on itself.
It's breathing, but doesn’t move. It’s breathing but it doesn’t sound right. It's easier to pull down than the switch. Its head hits the floor and it doesn’t move. Its skull doesn't sound right. It's going to die.
I grab the part closest to me. The hissing gets so much louder. I almost drop it then and there. I feel sick. But I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t do this. I have to. I have to fix it.
It comes in pulses — Grace’s soft flesh squirming under my hand. I desperately wish the not feeling anything would come back. I’m burning. Grace’s arm bones creaks under the force of my grip. My claws dig deeper into the skin and the organic material bubbles up around the edges of my claws. I'm sorry. Everything burns and it’s so fucking cold. Every step is a wave of agony, so I stop thinking about it. Move. Nothing else matters.
The robot takes over where I cannot. I force the locating clicks out of my air bladders so I can see. It's moving Grace and holding it down and giving it something. I don't know what. Something that will help. Please.
Grace is looking at me. Its hand moves towards me but it's uncoordinated and the robot stops it Good. It can't— it can't touch me. I can't touch Grace. I had to I had to do it. I'm sorry.
I need to. Is he safe? I need to. Not be here. I need to die so I stop feeling this. Is it okay? Where. Tunnel.
I don't remember getting there. The first time in my life I’ve ever missed time. It doesn't bother me as much as it should. Making it back inside also isn't the relief it should be. Or what I thought. Hoped. My carapace is still hissing and the heat reignites the fire that must be pumping through my limbs.
I exist like this. I lose time again. I think. I don't think. I listen. It's thin and far, but the flutter of Grace’s heart pulses through the ship. I use it to count. Seconds, minutes, earth or eridian it doesn't matter. Grace alive. Grace has the ship, has the sample. It can
“Save Earth. Save Erid.”
but I don't know if I’ll be there to see it.