Chapter Text
The Hail Mary
Life is boring on the Hail Mary. I find that just fine.
Sure, I’m absolutely going to die three months into my retirement plan if the Eridian’s can’t figure out a way to keep me fed, but Rocky and I are on schedule to give them a Taumoeba-based head start. I’m also, as it turns out, in desperate need of a botanist.
But I’m alive. Wonderfully, perplexingly alive, and with time to kill.
Three years into our steady acceleration towards Erid, its our most abundant resource. That, and the never-ending collected works of digital-earth, ever calling to Rocky and I in our shared boredom. Rocky has been using the journal databases to try and work on the edible, vitamin-infused Taumoeba idea, learning as much as he can about human nutritional needs, enzyme breakdown, food synthesis, and preventing the yee-old pirate disease. For my own part, I’ve been using it to research crop science and astrobotany, which has required reading the published works of Dr M. Watney.
Yay…
Turns out Mark consulted on the Mary’s APH and BLSS systems. I remembered that particular titbit after getting a look at the smug little authors portrait attached to the pdf of Regulation of Plant-Relevant Critical Zone Parameters in Astrobotanical Systems. Mark and I tended to steer clear of each other before launch. Or, more accurately, I hid behind the excuse of Stratt whenever Mark's overly friendly disposition walked itself up to my lab with offerings of peace and playful banter.
I can admit, he is a remarkably great scientific writer. Makes sense he became a teacher. Yáo and Ilyukhina probably took his famous ‘how not die in space from being an idiot’ class he ran at NASA. He probably never did the lightning round thing, though. I’m still cooler, ask any of my eleven-year-old students.
Thirty-something-year-olds now.
Anyway, despite Marks perfectly succinct explanations for basic astrobotanical system operations, the problem- surprise, surprise, is me. I suck at botany. Like, a lot. There is not a green thumb to be found.
So, having hit a wall despite having complete access to the entirety of the world's collected knowledge, the ever-present call of daytime TV is proving the stronger force.
Together, Rocky and I have gone through the entire David Attenborough collection, Modern Family, Gilmore Girls, Top Gear, Clarkson’s Farm, Friends, Downton Abbey, Call the Midwife, Greys Anatomy, The Golden Girls, every movie in the Rocky franchise, and exactly one season of Married at First Sight.
That’s about one thousand, five hundred and something hours in the Don’t-Go-Crazy-Room, not including the little physical therapy videos Rocky makes me follow.
It's harder to move under the force of 1.5 g’s of acceleration (soon to be 1.5 gs of deceleration in the last stretch of our journey), so even with my self-enforced rationing, I haven’t had to do all that much to maintain the level of fitness I’d woken up with. I’ve started doing the movements from memory during my TV-rot time, just to take the edge off. It's cramped in here. There is not much horizontal space with ships gravity working away from the reverse-thrust. It feels like being stuck in a big metal silo sometimes. You can only go up or down.
I really want to go for a run. I want to climb something that isn’t a ladder, and roll down a hill just to climb up it again. I want to ride a bike again.
Maybe on Erid.
Until then, I’ll do my Pilates, but I will be watching Star Trek while doing them.
We started the original series about two months ago. It wasn’t until we were a few minutes into the pilot episode that it dawned on me that up until that point, we had only watched reality-based media, or literal reality tv.
Big whoop, as my kids would say.
When the Enterprise crew beamed down to the planet Talos, in classic Star Trek fashion, Rocky almost immediately launched into a string of increasingly frantic questions about transporter technology, and why we had not used it yet.
"Why Grace-Rocky bother to go fishing, question?" Rocky pressed, shifting his weight impatiently. "Use ♩♫♪ technology to put probe on Adrian surface. Use ♩♫♪ technology to return probe to ship when sample collected, statement. No nearly die, statement, statement."
Turns out that while Eridian’s do have a concept of fiction, even their stories stay within the realm of what exists and what is plausible. Therefore, Rocky had no reason to suspect that ‘transporter technology’ was not actually a thing. After carefully explaining to Rocky that sometimes human fiction operates outside of reality for the sake of a good story, I’d gone ahead and skipped to the next episode. Sorry Pike.
Now, four seasons and one move in, Rocky has another question.
"Spock and Kirk mates, question?"
I blink. "Uh..."
"Spock and Kirk touch often. Use hands. Hand-touching shown as romantic context between Vulcans, statement."
I push my glasses up. "Yeah... Touching hands for Vulcans is a romantic thing. Not always for humans, though. Can be platonic instead. Can also be both."
On the screen, Kirk grips Spock's hand tighter as the Vulcan lies in the bio-bed. I run a thumb over the back of my other hand absently.
"Understand," Rocky says. "Kirk human. Spock half-human, half-vulcan. Both contexts when Spock hand-touches Kirk, question?"
I nod. "I dont see why not..."
"Spock love Kirk, statement. Kirk should be mate, statement.”
I smile. "Can't argue with that logic."
Beside me, Rocky tilts his carapace downward, a soft trill accompanying his next words. "...Rocky miss own mate."
I lean into the xenonite wall, the best approximation to a shoulder nudge I can give. "I know, bud. We're nearly there.”
“Four months not long time. Feel like long time now closer.”
"Yeah," I say quietly, agreeing completely.
We watch the rest of the movie in silence.
I stretch my arms up as the credits roll. "Well, I think that's it for me, pal. What do you say to a quick Taumoeba check in before bed?"
"Rocky have human-culture question for Grace."
Something in his posture makes me pause. I let myself sink back into the cushion. "Okay..."
Rocky taps his claws together hesitantly. "How important romantic-mate connection for humans, question? Strong value in movies-tv, but Grace say movies-tv not always full-truth. Want to know truth."
I let out a long breath, considering my next words as I do. "Depends," I say eventually. "A lot for some, not at all for others. Some people fall in between."
"Why differences, question?"
"That's a layered topic."
Rocky tilts their carapace. "How important for Grace, question?"
I shrug. "Doesn't really matter now, bud."
Rocky hums sadly.
"Rock," I say, shifting to face him. "I told you I'll be fine. I get to stay with you. You get to go home to Adrian. I'll be okay. I can live with everything else."
"That's just something Grace say, statement."
The corner of my mouth twitches. Just a bit. "Touché."
"Rocky not know word."
"It means you make a strong point, Rock," I answer.
"Understood. Good word. Put in portable thinking device. Grace use word again, statement."
We go to the modified ‘sleep walkway’ together. Under 1.5g’s of acceleration, the bunks are rotated back in their vertical-stacked position to match the direction of the simulated gravity. I'd have to climb the ladder each time to reach mine, and the bunks don’t leave much space for sleep supervision.
We’ve been using the walkway to the storage room as improvised sleep quarters since we reached 1.0g's. After the first two days sleeping on the concaved floor, my back complained enough that I had to bring up a mattress via a little pully Rocky had rigged (there is absolutely no way I would have been able to haul that thing up the ladder), and made myself a bed. I’d shoved some of the padding from marys walls- she doesn’t need it, I checked, under the mattress. The extra support meant it didn’t sink into the curved shape of the floor under my weight. My back was a lot happier after that, and Rocky has room above me to sit in his xenonite tunnel and keep watch.
Laying down, I pull the blankets up, bunching them up around my chest and back in my usual way. I hold onto the spare pillow, settling in. In the morning, I’ll need to get back on track with prolonging the longevity of the plants in the APH. I refuse to not have mustard to go with my future diet of Taumoeba soup, smoothies, jelly blocks and vague paste goop.
Maybe if I can find a way to artificially maintain different light parameters for each pot, then-
“Grace stop problem-thinking, statement. Not sleep for 21 hours. Bad. Bad. Bad. Dumb solutions when tired. Like when Grace make air-blast machine and ruin Rocky healing.”
I turn over. “You are never going to let that go, are you?”
Rocky hums in affirmation. There’s a higher note in there somewhere, so I know he means it in goodwill.
I get comfortable again. “Love ya, Rock."
Rocky sits down on his legs. “Rocky love Grace also. Sleep now or Rocky forget and call Grace dumb again.”
“New word,” I say into my pillow. “Manipulator.”
***
I am no botanist, but I’m pretty sure my plants are still sad.
I don’t know why, and it's driving me insane. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the propagation system or the artificial lighting in Mary's APH room. Each plant is tended to by the automated APH management systems with efficient and precise care. Pollination is being manually performed where needed. The rest are propagated.
But one of my chili plants is dead, and I fear for my taste buds on Erid if the rest follow.
At least the mustard plant is still doing okay.
At the start there had been a full garden, carefully grown within the Mary's hydroponic system months before I- we were due to wake up. Basil, parsley, cilantro, dill, spinach, coriander, chili, tomatoes, lettuce, mustard, kale. Even strawberries. All ready for harvest. Then, once we lost our acceleration and simulated gravity, the hydroponic system was shut down and a second batch of produce was planted within the zero-gravity aeroponic system, helpfully designed by Watney himself.
All that, so that we might have some decent meals on our one way trip. And so, I’d eaten my way through two entire harvests from aeroponic garden without a care in the world.
Then Rocky went and did what he did best, and fixed.
Seven or so months later, I encountered a new problem.
When the aeroponic system shut down the moment we reached 1.0g's, the Mary decidedly did not start up the hydroponic system and begin growing a new batch of seeds. No one had programmed her to do that, it turns out.
Fine, easy. I adjusted the program.
It worked. Perfectly, in fact. Except for the fact that there were no more seeds. All I had was what was left growing in the aeroponic system.
It had been yet another, frightening reminder that I've survived longer than the Mary was built to function.
So, for several long months, I ate almost nothing but unflavoured coma slurry while I waited for my herb cuttings to mature, and my berry shrubs to regrow.
I'm now keeping the aeroponic system up and running alongside the hydroponic system. It chews up a little more power than I'd like, but it means I've got one garden growing at all times while I eat my way through the other.
I just need the tomato plant to stop looking so yellow.
***
We have arrived.
Sort of. We’re in the right system at least. 40 Eridani has three stars. B and C orbit A, a binary pair. There's a line of hungry astrophage running between each star. I can't actually see it without the patrova scope, seeing as the spin drives are on, but I know it's there.
I'm going to call it the Skywalker line.
***
There's nothing detectably wrong with my tomato plants.
The pH of the water held in the hydroponic tray is a nice 5.7, and kept at a nice 22°C. Mary continuously monitors and adjusts its nutrient intake, ensuring the plant receives everything that would otherwise be given by your standard-issue tomato potting mix. The lighting is fine, it-
"Blip-E detected."
Rocky and I both look up from our workspaces in the lab. We share a look. It's uncanily similar to the one we shared before the Astrophage did their great fuel-tank escape of 37'.
"Mary," I say slowly. "What is the range to Blip E?"
"Range 1002 meters."
Damn, that's close. That's really close. A single kilometre is a stupidly small distance for something to be from a ship going at 47% the speed of light.
Hang on...
For Blip E to have not only registered on Mary's proximity warning system, but also stay on it, it has to be travelling around the same speed as Mary.
No natural object can move like that. It has to be a ship.
I start to sweat.
"Angular width 11°," Mary says, unprompted.
I swallow. "Rocky, can you-"
"New Blip 192.96 meters in length," Rocky supplies, voice pitched high. He's nervous too.
Okay, brain. Think.
There is absolutely no way a ship managed to see us and catch up. It's just not possible. It takes Mary nearly four months to reach this speed with a continuous acceleration of 1.5 g's. This isn't Star Wars, where you can just whip around open space like a car in a drag race! It's physics! There are rules.
It's got to be some kind of anomaly in the sensor, or-
"Relative Velocity 0," Mary says over the speaker.
I clamber to my feet, my glasses slipping off my nose. Blip E has approached us with deliberate, calculated intent.
We are being chased.
I turn slowly. "Hey, Rock..."
Rocky's already halfway up the xenonite tunnel to the next chamber, probably having reached the same conclusion I have.
"Must find Blip E position, statement," he calls. "Control room now. Urgent. Urgent. Rocky Grace not become red-shirt in Star Trek episode, statement."
"Copy that," I say, rushing to my own ladder.
"Grace bring portable thinking device," Rocky calls down. "Grace not understand Rocky voice when Grace stressed."
"Right, yep. On it." I hop down, stumbling a bit as I do. I grab the laptop off the table and tuck it under my arm for safekeeping. Back on the ladder, I climb as quickly as I can to the control room.
Rocky is already poking at the Nav panel through the flexible side of his xenonite tunnel. He's holding the magic wand, as I've started calling it, transcribing one of the Nav screens where a start-up sequence I dont recognise has appeared.
I set the laptop into its mount. Quickly, I ready up the translation software, and take my seat.
"Pilot detected. Cource adjustment not advised," Mary says.
"Yep. Thank you, just watching today," I say, gripping the arms of my chair as I take stock of the information in front of me. "Ku-band system start up?" I ask.
"Software find Blip E," Rocky answers, the software translating his chords into a human voice. "Grace-ship not have Rocky-ship energy sensor. Send radio frequency in Ku-band instead. Rocky move ship antenna in different directions. Grace look for difference on graph-image. Do until find Blip E."
Oh. He wants to send out a radio pulse in the ku-band range until it bounces off something. That will tell us the direction of Blip E in relation to the Mary. We already have the distance. We can figure out the rest from there. It's what I would have done to find Rock's ship if it had been closer.
I bring up the output graph on my side, already up and running. "Alright, you spin. I read. Then we zoom the camera and get a look at it."
"Yes. Good plan. Maybe Klingons."
I let out a weary laugh. "Definitely too much Star Trek for you, pal."
Then I notice something.
The little red light. Blinking ominously. "Hey, Mary?" I call, reaching for my seatbelt. "Why’s that red light flashing?"
Mary does not respond. Fantastic.
Rocky turns, pointing his magic wand at my side of the Nav panel. He pauses for a second, his carapace tilted as he looks at the wand's output reader.
"Rocky?" I prompt, unease growing inside me. I clip my seatbelt in place. It wont help, but it makes me feel better.
"Light Grace sees indicate Ku-band radio system is active," Rocky says.
Oh. That's fine then. I relax into the pilot seat.
"Blinking mean frequency in this range detected. Not ours."
I lurch. "Not ours!?"
Rocky turns back to the Nav panel. "Grace still not read manual, statement."
I scramble, my hands hovering wildly over the controls. "Rocky. They are trying to talk to us. What do we do? Do I answer? What if they’re not-"
"Rocky correct radio wave to audio now, statement. First contact, amaze, amaze."
Oh no.
Rocky flips a switch.
A speaker crackles.
“-re you receiving this? Hello? This is Simon of the… Fuck, what was- Hang on, let me..."
That's- that was English.
The speaker crackles like someone's put a hand over a microphone. "… Hey, what's the ship's name again?”
That's a human. A human guy, speaking English.
My mind slows to a crawl.
I'm faintly aware of music coming over the speaker, nearly as muffled as the voice, like someone playing multiple instruments at once, but not the same song. Beside me, Rocky perks up.
"...I dont know what that means. Can you all- fuck, I can’t understand- You know what, never mind-"
The crackling stops. The voice returns, louder. “This is Simon of the ship currently on your ass. My friends here say you've got one of their own in there against their will. You've got…”
More music, still without a clear rhythm.
“You've got five minutes to respond before we board your ship by force."
I frown. We are currently both moving at 141 thousand kilometres per second. Unless the guy plans on doing an interstellar style docking manoeuvre... Actually, we are at the same velocity, so he could technically-
My brain catches up.
Right- human. I scramble for the audio output switch. “-Yes, hello,” I say quickly. “This is Ryland Grace of the Hail Mary. Are you from Earth? I repeat, are you from Earth?"
One song amongst the collective becomes louder, cutting through the others. Single notes, changing rapidly, but clear through Mary's speaker. I exhale sharply. It's the unmistakable voice of an Eridian.
They... They sound angry, actually.
Rocky bangs two of his arms against the xenonite wall with an echoing thud. “Adrian!" he cries. “It's Adrian, statement! Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, Adrian. Love. Love. Love. Love.”
I look back at the speaker, gaping.
Oh fuck.
Adrian thinks I've kidnapped Rocky.