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Fishing had gone wrong, very wrong. Mary screamed and groaned as chaos unfolded around Rocky. He could barely see; the scene before him was terrifying—his senses and vision skewed by blaring sirens. Rocky attempted to see where Grace was, but he couldn't in all the mess. His mind was in a whirl of panic, attempting to make sense of it all. The mess Grace had carefully arranged over every flat surface was now filling the air—papers with various math equations, lab equipment, and personal belongings that were previously in shambles on the floor.
Grace was out on the top of the ship; he needed to make sure that the predator collector made it back into Mary safely. All was going well at first—the collector was dropped down and had opened as planned.
Adrien was quite the sight. It had a thick atmosphere, mostly green with some red spots; the gases twirled with the wind yet kept vastly distinct boundaries. Both colors had some varieties of their shades; the green had bright spots and dark patches around the swirls. The red, in bulk, was a light, almost a pink shade with a murky background. The colors looked as if you were to disturb a water cup of metallic watercolors—pigment snaking to the surface as you swirl the cup.
The collector closed and quickly started retracting to the ship where Grace awaited, chains clanking as it reeled itself in. Soon it arrived; Grace unlatched it before starting to head back to the airlock. He did not like being out in space—there was too much risk. One wrong move, and you could go flying out into space. He chose not to think about that too much and carefully hooked his tethers to the ship. It was quite difficult to move around, with the predator, zero gravity, and the bulky suit. Grace was on the left side of the ship; the airlock was on the right side. The Hail Mary was not a large vessel, yet it was still irritatingly large to go from one side to the other.
Grace moved slowly, as the EVA suit hindered his mobility. The predator collector was held haphazardly under one arm (he would have secured it better, but he needed his hands to ensure he wouldn't lose his grip and fly into the vastness of space). The bars for his tethers were made of aluminum—the same material as the ship itself—and they were spaced out roughly a foot from each other. Grace had not really had the time nor inclination to look at them.
Grace had hardly reached the top of the ship when he stopped to breathe. He hated how out of breath he was, but could he really blame himself? He had recently woken up from a medically induced coma; it's a wonder that he's still functioning. He looked out at the planet once more; it was quite fascinating just how quickly the Hail Mary was moving in its orbit. Grace felt a little uneasy about looking out at the planet—he was engrossed in thought trying to figure out why for a while. He shook his head briefly, pushed away the restlessness in his stomach, and continued.
Rocky hated the mess; he sometimes felt Grace had purposely left things in a way that made it hard to maneuver his xenonite ball. When this was all over, he would have to come up with something to help him move around better. Rocky liked the ball, but it was hard to maneuver inside the small ship. Rocky had distracted himself with his thoughts; he wanted to think of ways to fix problems, yet now was not the time for that.
A large, groaning, muffled bang pulled Rocky from his thoughts, the alarms still blaring. It was a piercing noise—loud and sharp—that almost sounded like an Eridian word. Lacking any sort of emotion, the alarms produced a clashing harmony that might have sounded almost melodic. Despite the overwhelming noise, Rocky could barely make out Grace on the outside of the ship. He lay face down atop the Hail Mary, unmoving for a long while. Rocky called out many chords in panic, only calming down moments later when the unmoving person groaned and slowly got up.
It was only a few seconds of relief before he became worried once more. The moving blur in the top of the Hail Mary was coughing quite a lot. Rocky can usually hear all of Grace’s organs functioning normally and see where they are (this made it easy when they first met; Rocky had to explain where all of his organs were to Grace—who was ecstatic to learn. Rocky sat through Grace’s elaborate explanation even though he knew it all already), yet with the blaring sirens, that ability was heavily compromised. Rocky could hardly make out Grace in the mess of noises.
~{^*^}~
He felt a sense of dread as memories arose. His heart raced erratically, hard footsteps rang between buildings, cheeks were tear-soaked, and his clothes were damp from the dewy grass. It wasn't all clear; his memories weren't all back yet. This fragment of a memory caused his chest to be heavy, with adrenaline seeping into his muscles. This fragment was mainly just feelings: betrayal, anger, and anguish.
The crisp morning air bore into the sensitive skin on his nose and cheeks, leaving them stinging. He had attempted to run, to evade capture—all he got instead was a raw throat, resentment, and a sharp prick in the shoulder.
~{^*^}~
Memories have been coming back sporadically; most were about Stratt or the mission. This one was different, and at a normal time, it would be concerning. He brushed it to the back of his mind the best he could. Grace couldn't get distracted right now—he was in the middle of space, outside the ship. It wasn't the ideal situation, but he would deal with it later… assuming he remembered and still felt up to it, that is. He took a shallow breath to rid the dread from his aching bones; he needed to get the predator collector into the ship safely.
Grace groaned as he stood up; he carried the predator collector and had been knocked down by something flying off the ship. The glint from the metal object was still nearby—at least, in outer space, that is. He took a deep breath to compose himself; his lungs burned and his chest ached. Grace started to panic—had his EVA suit been damaged? He rose and attempted to steady himself, which proved to be quite difficult on a crumbling ship. Luckily, he still held the predator collector; the chain was only a few feet long.
He held the collector to his screaming chest. Grace was determined not to lose it; they definitely would not be able to do this again. Grace’s feet begrudgingly moved toward the airlock. The dragging of his feet just added to the noisy chaos. Grace could distantly hear the sirens blaring and see the lights flashing frantically. Rocky’s chirps and yelling felt distant, yet he knew they were urgent and anxiety-filled.
Rocky waited as Grace reached the airlock, throwing the collector in first, then slowly climbing in. The sirens persisted; their presence was still hindering Rocky’s vision. Once the airlock finished pressurizing, the door opened. Grace rushed to the control panel as fast as his burning lungs would allow. Quick, shallow breaths heaved from the man's chest as he buckled himself into the pilot's seat. Mary shook, scattering the objects in the air. The computers had given out a while ago, the only light that remained was the erratic flashing from the alarms.
Rocky had noticed Grace’s irregular breathing pattern; he had been watching the man closely.
“Grace ok, question? Breathing irregular, statement.” Rocky's notes were high-pitched and worried. His carapace was pressed against the xenonite walls.
Grace had heard him talk but was preoccupied trying to steer the ship. He attempted to take a deep breath to calm Rocky a little, but that failed miserably. Grace was thrown into a coughing fit; nausea hit him, along with a metallic taste in the back of his throat. He could only take his focus away from steering the ship for a moment, as the planet was growing in size outside the small window to the left. The sound of the alarms was disorienting him further. Spots were consuming the edges of his vision.
Mary had been silent till this point (other than the alarms and the ship slowly deteriorating)
“Hull breach, fuel storage.” The robotic voice said it as if it weren't an emergency.
“Hull breach, fuel storage” Mary repeated herself once again a few moments later. She continued to repeat herself.
Grace looked at the screen before him; it showed a diagram of the ship. The fuel storage area was red, with dark lines running diagonally across. A heavy hand lifted to touch the screen, which showed a larger image of the fuel tanks and where the hull breach was located.
“Oh no.” His voice trailed off as he attempted to sit up straighter.
The ship’s velocity was higher than before, causing Grace to feel heavy in his seat. Actually, everything felt heavy. It took some effort to raise his hand to a button to his right.
“What wrong, question? Grace’s breathing still irregular” Rocky had been pacing in his tunnels, but now was still. His carapace slightly lowered. His notes were both low and high; Rocky was scared.
“Rocky. The fuel tanks are damaged; the astrophage is migrating toward Adrian.” Rocky saw Grace brace himself—he did the same—as the man ejected the first fuel tank, jolting the ship.
Grace and Rocky sat in silence—as much silence as you can get in a disintegrating ship. Rocky was stunned, saying nothing; meanwhile Grace was unconscious. Grace was pinned against the console, the chair pressing his neck into an uncomfortable position. He hit his head against the screen hard, his nose bleeding from the collision. The glass broke, cutting his cheek. Grace let out a groan as he opened his eyes, the red light disorienting him.
The ringing in his ears was getting louder with each passing moment, he couldn't quite decipher what Rocky was yelling. The chords linked with all the other noises made Grace dizzy. He reached his hand for the button to release the second fuel tank, but his fingers felt numb. They were sluggish and numb. The feeling was in both hands and his feet, quickly spreading up his limbs. A halo of blood was growing around his head. The copper taste was choking him, with mouthfuls of blood forced out of his mouth.
~{^*^}~
His chest heaved as he struggled against his captors. The hard ground below him dug into his skin. Dirt and grass stains were prevalent across his clothes; they intermingled with the graphite and pen ink smudges on his sleeves, and the coffee stain he had procrastinated cleaning that now refused to budge.
The sun shone into his eyes, blinding him. A man, who he had once trusted walked forward, his face blurred. The longer he tried to make out features, the more the face became abstract. Memories of the man—fond memories, filled with comfort—flashed rapidly. A convenience store, blurry glass, walkie-talkies, sunglasses, duct tape…
“You know who you are. You're going to do great.” A face that once was a friend now was a blur of shadows. Grace had once trusted him. Now, as a desperate plea, he yelled at the shadow man.
“No! You're murdering me! I don't want to die! Don’t send me off to die! Please!” He fought against his restraints.
~{^*^}~
Rocky yelled his name, or just anything he could think of to get the alien’s attention. Grace was facing the direction Rocky was in, but hadn't acknowledged him. These memories were becoming more vivid, his mind in shambles. Rocky was using two of his limbs to bang on the xenonite walls, with the other three attempting to keep him balanced. Grace finally looked over toward Rocky. If Rocky had a face, it would have made Grace cry. He knew Rocky was terrified—he himself was, too—and they didn't know how this all would end.
“I’m sorry, Rock.” Grace choked out his words between coughs and mouthfuls of red. His words mumbled and slurring; he hoped Rocky could still hear them anyway.
He hit the button to eject the second fuel tank. Mary jerked back before slamming him into the console once more. An unmistakable crack boomed through the small control room between the dying sirens. The fuel tanks were gone, and the ship was powering down.
The ship jolted forward for a few moments before sputtering and slowing down. The medley of objects that had once been in the air, now came crashing down. Each item sounded different, yet Rocky didn't care about those sounds. The chair that had anchored Grace to the consoles was released. Rocky flinched at the distinct thud the human’s body made when it collided with the aluminum ground. Grace went tumbling to the ground, blood trails following.
Grace lay limp on the ground, Rocky began panicking even more—somehow that was possible. He scampered to his ball—he hated to leave Grace—he couldn't stand to be so far away and so useless. The clutter scattered across the ground made moving hard for Rocky, he was slow to roll toward Grace. The chaos on the ground threw him left and right, he was getting quite frustrated.
The ship was eerily quiet, Rocky had gotten used to the blaring warnings. All he could hear was the ball rolling on the ground, the ship's quiet groans, the slow cadence dripping of liquid off of the console, and faint sounds from Grace: labored breathing and a far-off heartbeat—normal human sounds that now spelled anxiety. Rocky felt too loud, but at the moment he didn't have a clear enough mind to attempt to be quiet.
“Grace! Grace, question?” Rocky was attempting to get him to respond.
~{^*^}~
He sat before a woman, Stratt; she had called him into her office. That unmistakable face—cheekbones protruded from her skin, cold eyes, heavy eye bags (Grace had not noticed their severity before), graying ginger hair swept forward like always. She looked… tired? Annoyed? Enervated? He couldn't find the correct word to describe her.
She spoke, her tone exhausted. What she said, he couldn't quite recall. All he knew was that she held her head high and slumped in her seat. Stratt must have said something bad. Grace stood up, yelling.
Then she spoke again as he was pleading. This time the words stabbed deep in his chest.
“This may seem like I'm betraying you, but it's actually me believing in you.” Her eyes were so cold, yet full of emotion.
The next few minutes were a blur. He ran, tried to escape. Grace had never been too fond of physical contact; he felt uncomfortable with the various sets of hands on his back. Fingernails dug into his ribs, arms, and spine, placed anywhere that would prevent him from getting up. One hand was pressed firmly on his head—atop his ear—muffling his hearing, while footsteps sounded distant against the dense crust of the earth.
His chest burned with ire. They were throwing away his life, and no one seemed to be on his side. This was a suicide mission; he would be out of his mind if he said yes. Grace kept kicking and screaming. He knew that it was pointless, yet it was the only thing he had control of right now.
A man in a white coat walked up, holding something small in his hands. He paused for a moment. He seemed to be looking down at the hysteric Grace. A painful jab in the shoulder followed soon after. Grace felt himself slowing down, his limbs becoming numb. Vision fading at the edges, muscles malfunctioning, constricted lungs, burning throat. The drug spread through his body.
Ominousness took over his aching heart, no longer could he hold grief, rage, guilt. He was coming to terms with the fact that he could no longer enjoy the bliss of a frosty morning with a cup of coffee, a breakfast from his favorite diner, the little doodles his students left on their notes, the excited faces of his class, or an evening walk where he reached out to caress the bark of passing trees.
With the last of his freedom—his consciousness—he rubbed his dew-sodden fingers together. Finally, his captors backed away, leaving the man alone with his involuntary acceptance. He closed his eyes—tears soaked his face, his fingers treading as his mind faded to black.
~{^*^}~
The limp body stayed still except for rapid eye movement. Grace couldn't make his mouth open to gasp for air. The memories were getting vivid, he could feel the hands lingering on his back. His chest heaved with unshed tears. Panic had overwhelmed him. He couldn't do anything about it, so why did he let it engulf him.
The ball was now perched next to the man, the alien anxiously pressed against the xenonite walls. The entire ship was dark save for the small window. Light reflecting off of Adrian was what filtered through the thick glass.
“Rocky? Is that you?” Grace had to compose himself and swallow the metallic film just to speak, his words coming out slow and methodical.
Rocky chirped back, rolling the ball slightly closer. He was trying not to crush the man’s arm. Grace felt the warmth from Rocky’s atmosphere, it was comforting. Grace noticed his teeth chattering slightly—his limp limbs freezing. He felt so helpless there on the floor unable to move. The adrenaline was wearing off—his heart slowing further. Rocky had never heard a heart rate go this slow. It was worrying. Grace had once explained what happened when a human’s heart stopped beating. He never thought it would happen so soon.
“Grace friend, question?” Rocky’s tone was low.
“Yea Rock?” Grace was tired and sore, he had almost fallen asleep. The warmth from Rocky and the limited light had sleep looming around him.
“Grace okay, question? Grace leak. Bad bad bad. How Rocky fix?” Rocky pressed himself against Grace. He was still slightly frantic, his voice reflecting that.
Tears were forming in the man’s eyes; he did his best to keep them from traveling down his cheeks. The alien before him looked like a dog cowering between its owner’s legs. Rocky kept shifting every few seconds, attempting to get closer. Rocky and Grace could never embrace—differing atmospheres prevented that. They might have been together, but they were both still alone in a way.
Grace could not return Rocky’s affection—he tried, but his arms would not budge. This made Grace devastated; everything around him was falling apart and he couldn't even comfort his friend. Tears escaped his eyes in overwhelming quantities. This spooked Rocky, who quickly jumped back, visibly panicking once more.
“Grace leak! Bad bad bad! Rocky will fix.” The frantic words made it hard for Grace to translate.
“Rock… you-” Grace hated he had to say this. He wasn't a doctor, yet he knew this was bad. Grace couldn't get the proper help out in the middle of space, even if the ship and the medical arms were awake. “You can’t fix this one buddy.”
Rocky let out a low trill; he wanted to argue back. However, Rocky didn't know much about humans and wouldn't be able to help Grace. The ship had shut down. It controlled everything needed for Grace to live: his life support systems, controls, and Armando. Armando was built to deal with patients in comas and smaller injuries, not extensive care. Instead of arguing, he rolled back toward the body on the ground, curling up as close as he could get.
Mary drifted in space among the stars, planets, asteroids, and nebulae—all the things Rocky would never be able to see. With all the star systems and living organisms in all of space, Rocky and Grace would forever be alone. Their chances of meeting were slim to none.
Two ships—different in almost every way—carried their lone survivors through space. Through the phenomena they encountered, the sole passengers met. They found a way to work together, to communicate on their joined goal. They were to save their own stars from astrophage.
They both stayed there on the ground in silence for a few minutes; neither complained. The silence was comforting.
Lights flickered, the soft glow harsh against Grace's eyes. The soft whir sounded harsh compared to the silence. The ship was once again alive, her electronics waking up, the soft feminine voice crackling for a few moments.
“Reserved fuel power supply.” Her voice had no emotion; it was a computer of course it wouldn't.
Grace almost started crying again, so much blazed through his thoughts. The reserved fuel was keeping them from getting radiation poisoning, although right now being able to move was more important. Grace had been silently thinking about how Rocky would be stranded. This wasn't his ship; he didn't know how to control it, and even if he did, the ship had no fuel tanks.
“Mary.” Grace choked back sobs and the rising bile in his throat.
“Yes, Doctor Grace?” The robotic voice replied.
Even though it was a computer devoid of emotion, the voice was soft and comforting. Hearing it made Grace relax slightly. Rocky would have a protector still, even if Grace was not there. The ship had carried Grace from Earth like a mother carrying her child through the storm. Now she would carry Rocky home.
“Set a course for Blip-A” Grace had put a marker where Rocky’s ship was so they could find it again if needed.
Rocky produced a few chirps as the ship moved; his ball rolled, causing him to roll to the side a little. The acceleration of the ship caused Grace to move slightly. He attempted to move his arm again, yet was unsuccessful once again.
Grace was deteriorating, his thoughts slipping. His breathing was shallow, heart slow, unconsciousness stalking him like a predator.
“Rocky”
“Yes Grace, question?”
“Mary has enough fuel for you to get back to your ship, so you can make a new fuel tank. You can go home, Rock. I know you aren't a scientist, but I know you can figure out how to isolate and breed the predator. Send the Beatles back to Earth for me.” Grace spoke slowly, pausing in the middle of sentences to remember what he was saying.
“Grace will study predators, statement” Rocky knew exactly what Grace was implying, but he just couldn’t accept it.
Rocky’s ball was next to one of Grace’s hands, his fingertips almost touching the xenonite. Grace used his strength to move his pointer finger; it now touched the barrier. Tears left the confines of his eyes as he felt what little freedom he had left come back to him. As much as Rocky thought Grace was gross for being a leaky blob, right now he didn't care. He curled up next to the man, offering his comfort and warmth. Rocky was slowly accepting what was happening—he didn't have the words to express himself.
“Love you Rock…” Grace murmured, his muscles giving out on him.
“Rocky love Grace, statement”
Grace closed his eyes; the warmth of Rocky's atmosphere helped soothe his pain. He grazed his red-covered fingers together—the drying blood offering a bit of resistance to his gliding touch—as the world faded to black once and for all.
Rocky provided what little comfort he could give until the man’s last heartbeat. A final shaky breath went in, only for the body—not Grace—to exhale. He was once again alone, this time truly alone. He had watched twenty-three friends die, twenty-two Eridians, and now one Grace.
His cold body lay on the cockpit floor. Mary had reached Blip-A. The alien’s ship now maintains an ammonia atmosphere rather than one of oxygen. The Beatles were sent to Earth, the Hail Mary en route to Erid, and Grace sent off into space to be swaddled in a blanket of stars.
“Rocky save stars.”
Hail Mary, no longer full of Grace.