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If I have to drink one more Taumoeba slurry pouch I will kill myself.
They aren’t words I can say to Rocky, because he will panic and not let me be alone for the next two or three years- admittedly that’s not too long for him. I can’t say it to the camera logs either, because, Rocky would hear- and I’ve already sent the dumb beetles out, so there would be no point
Ok, well… that's an exaggeration anyways. I am much too scared to kill myself, also I think Rocky would find a way to bring me back and yell at me with new eridian curse words. Not curse words he hadn’t told me yet- I think Rocky would invent new ones just to yell them at me.
Rocky doesn’t understand why humans need variety in their diets, why would he? Rocky has eaten the same thing every single day for the last 300 years. His species could taste, but it was just a sense of satisfaction that they had evolved in an effort to not starve. Rocky did not need variety, he did not really taste, and he did not smell. It had been fairly easy to explain my sense of smell, it was just tasting at a distance after all.
It’s hard to explain how Taumoeba tastes, it was not something unknown and unearthly despite its origin being just that. It was very thick- less hydrated chunks suspended in a sort of mushed-jello-goo.
I once saw online that you could re-grow the ends of your green onions in a little cup of water. It worked, but I had neglected to ever refresh the water or clean the cup. Turns out, if you forget about the concoction in the back of your classroom—it creates the most foul smelling rot that could ever occur in nature. Incredibly hard to describe to anyone who had not made the same mistake.
Taumoeba tasted exactly like those green onion farts, except acidic and with a terrible texture. It was too thick on its own to not need to chew, so I mixed it with water before eating it. Which means I needed to drink about a liter a day just to get scurvy regardless. Frick my life.
I would fucking kill for some animal style fries right about now. I’m watching Rocky sleep, sitting up against his enclosure after leaving him alone to eat. I’m actually quite thankful for Eridian eating cultures right about now. I don’t know if all Eridians are like Rocky, but Rocky is very shy about even mentioning eating ‘Social discomfort.’ as he says.
I’m not oblivious, I can feel the space around my hips hollow out and my collarbone protrude. I brush my hands through my hair every morning and watch as clumps fall. My jaw aches terribly each morning- something about my salivary glands going unused- and I swear to god I can taste my own pee in the recycled water.
The helplessness was the worst of it. I had dug through any real meals I had left for any semblance of viable seeds, and managed to find pretty much nothing that wasn’t too processed or salted to germinate. Rocky seemed very confident in Adrian’s ability to find me food to eat on Erid.
Assuming I make it to Erid.
I didn’t have the heart to tell Rocky, Humans just.. We aren’t meant to be this way for long. I’m expendable. That’s why they want me. My stomach aches constantly, and there is no way I'm teaching Rocky what ‘Bubble Gut’ is. My joints ache from the gravity changes, my skin is pale and almost see-through. I’m cold all the time from anemia, and I don’t want to turn on the heaters because I don’t want to put stress onto the ship. Not to mention I’m going stir-crazy here.
The Taumoeba rots quite quickly, so I need to eat it alive (I try not to think about if it feels pain or not) meaning the acidity has started to erode some of my stomach. Or at least it feels like that. I wish I could add salt or something. I do have most elements on-hand, the lab is still quite well stocked. But table salt and pure sodium are pretty different. One of them has much more bleach than Armando will let me eat without restraining me.
I spend every day with twenty four hours. I spend two hours checking the breeder tanks, making sure they have not leaked and are still alive. I spend an hour eating, drinking water, and reversing my progress by vomiting what I have eaten. (Sorry Rocky). I spend an hour in the shower, long out of soap by now and trying to feel clean to no avail. I sleep for maybe five hours a day now, my joints ache too terribly even in the zero-g conditions to stay still for longer than that.
The rest of the day.. I have nothing to do. Mary wants me to stretch, and worries about my ‘Malnutrition’ (I regret letting Rocky onto WebMD, he quite consistently has questions I do not want to answer). I don’t want to stretch, everything hurts.
Twenty-four minus nine is fifteen, fifteen times three-hundred-and-fifty-six… leaves me with five thousand three hundred forty hours of free time a year. That time four is.. A lot. I put my head in my hands, knocking my loose glasses down to under my chin.
I’m pouting, and nobody can stop me. The Nannybot is in the other room, and Rocky is out cold.
Fuck. I’m never gonna hear a new song again. I’m never gonna get to try a different brand of microwavable frozen food. I’m never going to get to send another queasy-looking kid to the nurse.
I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here never knowing if I made a difference. I’m going to die surrounded by ramen wrappers that mock me. I take a sip of my water. I’ve been trying to keep my stomach full of water- the sounds of my stomach cramping out of hunger really sets Rocky off. I don’t want the little guy to worry.
‘Little’ meaning a 370 pound rock. He’s just a little guy, really. For an Eridian he’s pretty small, apparently.
Erid has a gravitational force so strong that I will most certainly die on our descent. Rocky assures me we only need to get close enough to send a message for them to send a second ship. But that scenario assumes I even survive the trip to Erid. Four years might not be a lot to Rocky, but it sure is a lot to me.
There’s enough coma drug left to put me under again.. But I don’t want to risk it. And I don’t want to leave Rocky alone. I need him just as much as he needs me.
I wipe whatever tears that have gathered on my eyelashes. It’s a really bad idea to let water run loose like this on a ship with limited water. Crying is a real concern, what if a stray tear fizzes out something Important? What if I lose all electrolytes to my emotions? What if I run out of water completely?
God, I’m so hungry. I don’t want to eat.
I could have coma slurry.. Was bitter any better than rotten? At least it was smooth. Maybe I could blend the Taumoeba smooth enough so that it could pass through an NG tube. I’d be ‘eating’ more that way. But I don’t exactly jump for joy at the idea of having a tube down my nose and throat. Because I sure as hell won’t be sedated ever again in my life if I have anything to say about it. I only really need to reserve enough slurry for the scientists on Erid to analyse, but god is it terrible. Like crushed sleeping pills.
”Grace”
I scream like a little girl, starling out of my emotional daze and falling backwards from where I was curled around his enclosure.
Eridians don’t wake up like humans, not slow and ‘stupid’, it’s all at once. They turn on and off like a lightswitch, immediately caught back up to speed on their surroundings. It’s not great when you tend to zone out.
“Apology! Do not injure self. Grace not in danger. Stupid. Grace needs sleep, question? How long since last sleep, Question?” Rocky rolls out of his atmosphere in his hamster ball- he was in the process of developing something more permanent, which he weaved while I rested. He rolls up to me like an overeager puppy, except much more bossy and much heavier.
“Don’t worry bud, I’m fine.” I sniffle, pushing my glasses up and pressing my face into a smile.
“Grace not answer, Grace leak. How long since last sleep, question? Grace sleep, I watch.”
I sigh. He won’t believe me, because what I say will be a lie. “Mary, how long since I last slept?”
“Doctor, Ryland Grace. You last rested.. 7 hours.. Ago.” What I hope is Mary’s programming causes her to have these weird speech patterns, she pauses at random words. I worry it’s because her program has been active for so long. What if I end up like that?
“See? I’m not tired.” I smile, patting the top of his ball. He juts his carapace up in what I’m so sure is an Eridian pout. “Don’t you give me that look.” I snort, rubbing my face.
“If not exhaust.. Why stupid, question? Grace.. Grace sick, Question?” His voice shifts an octave. “Sick like crew, Question? Sick like crew? Grace answer, demand!” He squeaks in panic, squirming in his ball- two spare appendages clack together.
“No- No, No. Buddy I’m not sick like your crew. All good. It’s.. ah. It’s a human thing.” I offer lamely. I wonder if Rocky has a skewed perception of the human emotional spectrum. I've never been remotely emotionally stable even when I'm not under combustive levels of stress. I've been called a wimp at least three separate times in my adult life.
“Tell what is, Rocky fix.” He sits down in his ball, his underside hitting the Xenonite with a dull thud.
“It’s.. not something you can fix.” I shrug, curling up.
“Why being avoidant, Question? Stupid stupid stupid. Tell Rocky, I fix. Grace smarter than this.”
“Er.. Remember how we talked about depression in humans? Well, uhm.. The reason.. The reason my crew was put into a coma for the trip here, is humans.. We’re not meant to live on ships, we’re meant to live under the sun’s light and.. Touch each other.”
“Yes. Rocky remember ‘Skin Hunger Syndrome’. Perfect memory. Grace going crazy, question?”
“No, buddy- Not crazy. Just.. sad. I miss home. I miss food, I miss.. A lot of things…” I sniffle, wiping my eyes with a sad smile.
“Grace leaking. Grace.. want ‘comfort’, question?”
I’m going to die out here, and leave my best friend orbiting through space with my dead body for years.
Yeah, I want a freaking hug.
I sob into his Xenonite ball for much longer than I would normally. I wish he could hug me back. I wish I could be touched. I wish I wasn’t so pathetic.
“Words of great encouragement..”
–
When I wake, there is a feeding tube in my nose and throat. I can taste coma slurry in the back of my throat. Great. The ship deemed me unfit to feed me. Not cool, ship.
I turn my head with a groan, there Rocky is, watching me as he spins together very small panels of Xenonite, more of a flexible chainmail if anything. His free hands are clacking together nervously. I would find it endearing if it wasn’t a stress behavior.
“Hey bud..” I groan, sitting up. Rocky makes a series of angry and worried notes that I don’t bother mentally translating.
“Grace ♫♩♮♬♬✶✶ stupid, Question?!? Obviously body having big big big bad bad bad! Need rest rest rest. Øø✶♩♩♫ Human. Large idiot idiot idiot…”
I lie back down. Mean. Eridian swear words are pretty interesting. Any compound word said in the right keys is pretty rude, whatever words he chooses- he refuses to tell me. I can usually guess.
“Wha’happen?” I manage, the slur is clearly not comforting him. Oops.
“You fall to floor!! Scare scare scare. Armmando say Grace ‘Malnorished’! Grace liar! Grace say Grace eating! Grace ‘♫♩♮♬✶✶✶ himself’!”
Rocky is pissseedd. He’s having a little alien tantrum by my bedside, I wonder how long he’s been watching me sleep, boiling with worry. Guilt starts to seep into me. The coma slurry is actually helping. I feel full, and whatever scurvy that’s developing is being curbed by the raw nutrition of the gritty substance.
“M’sorry buddy.” I choke out, sniffling. Rocky stops stamping his foot to blow steam out of his vents. No amount of crying is going to help his frustration, which only makes me want to cry.
Silence falls for the next hour, I’m too exhausted to move my head. Rocky is too angry to talk, but too worried to leave. He’s spinning the Xenonite together very rapidly.
“Whacha’ doin bud?” I mumble, Did Armando drug me? That is so not cool! I thought we were buds, armmando.
Rocky makes a high-pitched noise and tilts his carapace to the side slightly. God damn it. He crawls up onto the medical platform- curling up to my side- wait what??
I look at him, sitting up much too fast. My jaw drops. The ‘permanent suit’ he’s been working on is done, or.. At least a prototype of it. It’s not smooth, the tiny geometric faces are still a little jagged.. But overall, it’s much better than the first design. I scoot to the side, pressing my chest up against the bedrail. Rocky chitters angrily, coming closer to me and sitting right in the curve of my spine.
Oh my god.
Tears free flow from my eyes, the warm pressure feels fantastic. Rocky is humming the pattern of a human heartbeat. His carapace juts out every few seconds in a ‘breath’ (albeit a little sharply). A free arm is rubbing up and down my shoulder, I feel myself relax for the first time in lightyears.
“Helping, question? Good or bad leak?” Rocky sings, pausing his motions.
“Good.” I sob pathetically.
“Like infant.” Rocky states, raking claws through my robotically trimmed hair, the motion is very calculated and delicate. How much research has he done on this?
Was I letting an alien pet me and call me a baby? Yeah. But have you ever eaten nothing but alien microbes suspended in filtered urine for a month?
“♫♩♭♭♮ ø♯♪♬✶..” He chimes, I hum it back in a very rudimentary way that likely sounds infantile and dumb to him based on the way his carapace vibrates with Eridian laughter. Rocky was warm to the touch, in a way that not even the Xenonite could fully dispel. It soothes my Anemic skin and aching bones in a way I did not know I was craving.
“...What Grace… feeling in body, question?” I am never letting him read another psych textbook again.
I start to laugh, big, dumb, full body convulsions. Rocky can hear the involuntary muscle contractions, he usually ignores them.
“What funny, question?” He chirps, feeling over the back of my spine. “Bad human design. Squishy, no support for ø♯♪♪ø♯♪. Grace back bone number four less in line then others.”
Rocky pokes the slipped Disc I’ve been developing over the years, I yowl, squirming.
“Pain, question? Apology! Tell Rocky how fix!”
I hiss in pain, trying to relax through the muscles around my back spasming. “Don’t worry bud- not your fault. Uh, it’s called a ‘Slipped Disc’. Humans have a long row of these bones that make up a spine, and being in space isn’t great for your bones.”
“How fix, Question?”
I sigh. “You can’t really, you can do phy- ah.. Exercises to help, or take medications. Some people need surgery. It’s not deadly, just.. Painful.”
“...Need computer.”
I sigh. “Rocky, I know we’ve talked about how you are not allowed to perform surgery on me.”
“Rocky does what Rocky want. Rocky wants to help. Stupid human body making pain.”
“Preach.” I mumble, closing my eyes. I’m not hungry for the first time in days, I deserve a little food coma.
“Grace sleep, Rocky watch.” It’s a statement, normally I would be adverse to being ordered around by a space rock, but he’s running his claws through my hair again, and I can't be bothered to mind.
—
When I wake up, I am on my stomach.
Correction, I am restrained- And there is a donut-shaped pillow keeping my neck from craning. I have an oxygen mask on for good measure.
I feel very relaxed, like- chemically so. I hate this more than you can know. I haven’t exactly developed a great relationship with sedatives, in case you haven’t caught on.
“Roockk..” I slur, grumbling.
The next thing I notice is that I am in a medical gown, I know this because I am freezing- and I can feel the fact that my butt is out.
My entire back has been numbed with something, I hate this so much. I am terrified.
“Grace heart beat fast. Please calm. In good claws.”
I groan again, making a pathetic sound. I kinda feel like a beached whale.
I feel a prick at my neck- and then everything fades out again.
—
When I wake up, Rocky is sitting in between my legs, watching intently.
I’m propped up against a wedge-like pillow, I’ve got tubes in me in several places. I hate this. I hate this so much. I need to get out.
“Grace..?” Rocky chirps sadly, tilting his carapace to the side.
Well now I feel bad.
“ugghhee..” I manage.
“Mary says ‘Procedure success’. Grace… feel better, question?” If an Eridian could look sheepish, this is what it would look like.
“Eughee..” I slur again, flexing my fingers slowly.
“Grace waking up from anesthetic. Do not alarm.”
–
It takes a week or so to recover, turns out- Rocky figured out how to get the Taumoeba through a feeding tube, so that’s solved for now.
I’ve got about a week or two left of real meals, which I am saving in the hope that Eridian Scientists can clone them or something. I have two years left of coma slurry thanks to the fact both my crewmates passed pretty early on and consumed very little of their fair share.
If I just alternate coma slurry and Taumoeba sludge through the tube for the next few years, I might just make it.
Turns out, Rocky did not perform surgery on me. He got Armando to do it. It was incredibly calculated and mechanical, and now I have to do physical therapy three times a day or the only ‘People’ I’m going to see for the next three years will yell at me until I do my stretches.
I hate to admit it, but I really have been feeling better recently. Rocky insists on monitoring my ‘Fragile human body’. It was nice to have someone care about me.
I might just make it to Erid.