Chapter Text
Erid is gorgeous.
Truly, spit-in-your-eye, hard-to-look-at, gorgeous.
After years of no real color to speak of beyond the little blinking lights in the control center, I can’t really wrap my head around what I’m looking at. Bright yellows that light up my brain, deep oranges burrowing into my chest, mottled browns roiling among it all in a churning dance that sets my whole neurosystem on fire for the first time in the four years since I saw the planet Adrian up close in all its pretty shades of green. I find myself awake when I should be asleep, staring out of the single window via the airlock, watching the planet grow bigger and brighter on our approach. Rocky sees none of this except through his spectrometer, which doesn’t really speak to him in the same way that the increased radio communications do. He’s been chattering up a storm with anyone and everyone at the Eridian space station that sits atop the space elevator. Adrian’s voice has been a new constant for us, but that—as cool and fascinating as it is in all its new, lilting tunes—isn’t meant for me. The view, however, is all mine to savor.
We make the briefest of pit-stops to seed Threeworld with taumoeba, explaining to the Eridian scientists over long-range comms what we’re doing. Then we move on and, sooner than I expect, the space station reports a measured improvement in their system’s star just a few weeks later, when we’re barely even halfway between Threeworld and Erid. We’ve done it. Even if the Eridians can’t synthesize my food, even if I end up starving the rest of my way to death in the next several months, I can at least die knowing that billions of lives were saved. I know my heart and courage have changed since my time on Earth because I realize I can live with that, I can die with that, and especially with this view.
I have the utmost faith in Rocky and his people, but a not-insignicant part of my brain sees Erid’s mesmerizing approach in tandem with my inevitable demise. I’m weak as a kitten these days, sleeping more than awake, and every move is the result of its own little Hail Mary effort. The coma slurry is nearly gone and most of my calories come from choking down taumoeba in a stubborn effort to stretch the nutrients on board. I’m exhausted down to my bones, I’m swimming in my clothes, my gums are bleeding, my teeth are loose, my body feels like one big hot bruise, and Rocky has even stopped calling me a blob. That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I can be at peace with this, I really can, but I’m not quite… I want to be a blob again.
At long last and yet all too soon, after just a couple months of my being able to pick out the stunning colors of Erid with a naked eye, we’re docking at the space station. Rocky’s view of things expands ten-fold while my little airlock window shrinks down to the darkness of a xenonite tunnel once more. I can still see the planet through the Hail Mary’s external cameras, but it’s not the same. I’m more than a little bereft, but that’s mostly overtaken by mounting joy as Rocky prepares to reunite with his home. With Adrian.
The last few clanks and bangs and hisses fade away and now it’s up to me to get Rocky, in his spaceball, from the dormitory to the airlock. It’s very near 0G here, just enough gravity to gently encourage loose objects to settle against the right-side walls. Though we’ve been traveling under 1.5G for about four years, the laws of inertia still make me feel just this side of helpless as I push and pull Rocky along, only sometimes letting him bump into things on our way up and out. I’m not as faint as usual today—for the past two days, I’ve been forcing into my body double-doses of nutrient-rich coma slurry mixed in with the (revolting) empty calories that taumoeba affords, all so I can do my duty in hauling my heavy friend up to the airlock at the top level of the Hail Mary. Rocky squirms and trills as we get closer, kicking against the edges of his spaceball.
We wait for the all-clear over the comms, and then it’s time. I pull the lever, the door swings open to reveal a pressurized tunnel that contains a familiar clear xenonite airlock within, and I shove Rocky forward, panting with equal parts exertion and excitement.
There’s a small horde of scary space monsters on the other side but I don’t let myself hesitate. I glimpse one person, presumably Adrian, start twitching and jittering in much the same way as Rocky. With another deep breath, I shove him and his ball into the tunnel airlock and close the chamber, double checking the seal, and then I let myself collapse into near-0G, floating limply until I hit the wall.
The airlock cycles and Rocky releases himself from his spaceball, bursting forth and into the waiting arms of Adrian. Adrian, the endlessly patient mate he’s missed for half a century and for whom he named a planet just for the privilege of saying their name again. They’re both squealing nonsensically, half of the notes probably unheard by my human ears. I watch, gulping down air and holding my chest as if I can force my pounding heart to return to normal after all that heavy hauling. I thought I’d tear up and cry at this point. Maybe I should, but I’m only aware of some drool gathering in my mouth as I pant and try to catch my breath.
”Sol friend Grace,” another Eridian says, standing at the forefront of the group of six (now seven, with Rocky) on the other side of the tunnel. They must be a leader of some sort, their uniform is pristine and decorated with minerals. “We welcome to Erid you and thank for your efforts you.”
I nod once and wave weakly, my hand trembling. They go on about how Eridian scientists are working on synthesizing the nutrients I need based on the information we sent ahead. But I don’t take in much. The person’s voice is strange to me—the words and grammar are the same as Rocky’s, at least as far as I’m able to determine after a few years of Rocky using real Eridian grammar rather than the simplified version we’d started with. But it is still significantly different and I get the feeling that my brain is filling in the gaps that I’m missing, based on assumptions and extrapolations as human brains are wont to do. The notes are off, or the tones are different, or there is some frequency I simply haven’t encountered yet—I don’t know and I can’t figure it out right now. My head is pounding, hard. I need water. I need to lie down, wherever down is.
”‘kay,” I manage, shaking one hand in a pitiful version of an Eridian nod. I turn away, covering my mouth as the saliva builds tellingly. Rocky and Adrian are still all over each other, limbs a tangled mess, words melding into a blend of notes that only they can parse. Everyone else has their full attention on me, and I want to make a half-decent impression like I had imagined I could in this moment, but my head is swimming. There’s so much saliva.
”I have to…” They can’t understand English, I know this, but it’s all I can manage. I’m clammy, hot and shivering. My heart beats erratically while my stomach roils, and now I’m furious with myself because I want so badly to watch Rocky reconnect with his mate, to bear witness to this pure moment that’s been building for fifty years, that I’m literally giving my life for, but it’s all been too much and too fast for my stupid squishy body. My shoulders ache like I have the flu.
I point away and then flee back into my ship, scrambling head-first back down to the dormitory under wonky gravity, and I only barely make it to the toilet. When I vomit, it’s certainly not a new sensation (especially with taumoeba in my belly) but this time it bounces off the toilet bowl and tries to float around me because there’s precious little gravity. All I can do is weakly scoop it into containment. I’m soaked in sweat and my mouth can’t clear itself of bile. I’m perched between what should be the floor and the wall of the lavatory partition, off-kilter and uncomfortable in every way.
Rocky remains topside with the other Eridians. Unlike them, however, he’s not listening to this disgusting tragedy. I’m not making a very good impression of humanity here and I croak out an apology.
”Sorry, sorry…”
It isn’t understood, obviously, so I focus instead on hacking up the rest of the bile in my throat. It’s not very successful. God, the Eridians won’t want to ever hear me speak now that they’ve heard all of this spewing out of my face. They already see the mouth and anus as the same in their own anatomy—now every word I say will be the equivalent of a fart!
I don’t know how long I linger down here in my pitiful state of shame, but eventually I hear Rocky’s raised voice calling to me.
”Grace? Grace, are you okay?”
”Fine,” I manage, gagging around the sour filth clinging to my tongue, teeth, and lips. “Just…just leaking a little extra, you know…”
”You are sick!” Rocky cries, a little frantic.
”I’m fine, Rocky,” I insist. This is so annoying. We should have come up with a contingency to play this off if it happened. I’ve been puking enough lately to have known to plan for it. “You…huah, you be with Adrian right now, you need to be with Adrian.”
I hear distant notes as Rocky, presumably, speaks with the other Eridians. I force a few dry-heaves out of myself, trying to clear the way for the next hour or so, but I don’t manage much and my stomach is still waging its own private war with Poseidon. Is true 0G any better than this? I wouldn’t be struggling to keep myself upright against the floor and the wall, at least, but 0G is a special hell for the stomach. I choose to put it out of my mind as I press my sweaty forehead against the seat of the toilet.
It isn’t even a proper toilet. The seat is sharply curved so someone—a real astronaut, one with a modicum of dignity—can squeeze it between their thighs to remain in place during 0G long enough to do their business and let the vacuum-function take care of the rest, so long as they line up and make a good seal. I can’t reach the button that activates the vacuum, so I have to use my hands to bat globs of half-digested goop back into the basin. God, am I supposed to meet the top brass of Erid with puke on my hands? This is the lowest I’ve ever felt, lower than when I just had to lie back and let that man put me to sleep in my sad little cell because I couldn’t fight for my life.
A whining sob bursts out of my chest. I shouldn’t be here…! I’m not qualified, not good enough. I made first contact with one very kind and lonely alien, but I can’t make the second. I’m not the best that humanity has to offer—I can’t even get sick with any grace!
”Grace, I’m coming back!” Rocky calls.
I groan, not knowing how he could even begin to manage that, and continue to press my head against the cool aluminum of the toilet. If I don’t think about it too hard, if I let my hip and my elbow support me against the wall I’m pressing against, it’s manageable. Sort of.
“Wait there, I’m coming! Call the medical bot!”
There’s a series of loud clanks and then a frustrated squeal from Rocky. He doesn’t show, of course. There’s no magnetic metal along the way between the Hail Mary’s airlock and the ladder that would bring him down to me, even if he tried some extra fancy juijitsu with his magnets.
”I told you, ‘m fine…” I choke out with false confidence. He probably hears me. An involuntary whimper escapes my throat, shuddering over my strained vocal cords as I begin to shiver.
”You are sick, Grace!” he’s beginning to sound scared now.
”I’m fine!” I insist. “Squishy…ugh, squishy human—” I abruptly stop making the effort, it isn’t worth it. He can’t come to me anyway and he knows what vomiting is by now after months of battling the taste of taumoeba. It’s mostly harmless as long as I brush my teeth afterward.
There’s a series of seriously peeved notes as Rocky presumably runs in place like a fluffy-footed cat on a hardwood floor, trying in vain to make his ball move.
”Tell Adrian I say hello!” I manage weakly, still cradling the toilet. Everyone can hear everything, but only Rocky can understand my words. “Not how I wanted my first impression to go…”
It’s another five minutes or so before I feel well enough to sit up, and even longer before I gather my courage to ease my way up the ladders and into the airlock chamber. Rocky is, indeed, stuck in his ball, just on the threshold between the tunnel and the door like a vampire caught up in its manners. This time, I don’t try to move him. An Eridian’s mass is not in my wheelhouse right now, so instead I just rest over his ball like a limp dishrag and let him press his hands to my chest, checking my heart. It’s fine. I’m fine now. My face is damp with sweat (and maybe tears), but no longer flushed or drained. Just a normal human face.
Let’s try this again.
”Hello!” I say with false cheer to our hosts, absently patting the ball under me. “I’m Grace…sorry…”
The Eridians on the other side erupt into questions.