Chapter Text
It finally felt like Rocky and I had earned the right to relax.
Sure…I would never return to Earth and see my kids again, but we had found a way to save both of our worlds. We had sent the Beatles on their way and were on our way to Erid.
Hey, maybe I could even meet the real Adrian.
“Hey Rocky,” I called out from the lab. I didn’t hear him nearby, but he always heard me from our confined living situation, mixed with his hearing.
“What, question?” Rocky echoed as he made his way into the room from one of his tunnels, two of his arms repairing something I didn't 100% recognize.
“What are you most excited for when we get to Erid?”
This perks him up. His carapace turns to face me completely, tilted in a ‘smile’. “So much! You will see. Erid is home. I hope Adrian is happy to see me,” His high pitch dropped at the last sentence.
My smile falters just slightly at his tone, “Aren’t you mated for life? Why would they not wait for you?” I ask, cringing at the blunt question before I can stop myself.
“I have been gone long time…Might think die like crew.”
I walk up to the clear xenonite wall that separates us, pressing my hand to its surface despite the heat behind it, “Well, you are still here. And you are going home, buddy. Adian would be crazy not to wait for you.”
Rocky seems to consider my words for a moment, tapping two of his claws together before he speaks again, “Yes…I go home.”
Rocky stood by the divider, angled towards me—at least to my knowledge. I lifted my hand, feeling the heat of his atmosphere through the clear xenonite wall bleed into my skin.
Erid.
Rocky is going home. I’m not.
I see Rocky shift slightly. It might be in concern, but I’m not really sure what that specific gesture means. I smile to myself despite everything. I wasn’t alone anymore, and that meant everything to me.
I push off the wall and make my way back towards the main console. My eyes flickered over the screens out of habit. Everything looks fine—wait…
There is a small yellow indicator that’s blinking slowly in the corner of the navigation display. I narrow my eyes at it, brows pinching together.
“Huh…” I mutter to myself.
“Huh good or bad, question?” Rocky said, moving towards me as he lifts his sensor to read the screens alongside me.
“I’m not really sure yet,” I said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this specific warning light up before.” After I take a few seconds to read the rest of the screen, I am able to figure out that one of the external star trackers was reporting a slow alignment drift.
Weird…
Is it micrometeoroid dust? When you think about it, we are hitting what is basically sand grands at absurd speeds.
“It’s one of the star trackers.” I said, “It’s being fussy.”
“Meaning last word, question?”
“Not working right. Being weird, I guess.” I explained, “If we let it go, some long-term correction can get a bit messy, but it should be a minor fix.”
That seems to settle Rocky down since he began tinkering with his little side-project again. I put a hand to my chin as I thought about the best way to go about fixing this. If it really was an accumulation of micrometeoroid dust, I would probably need to clean it up manually.
“I’ll probably need to do an EVA and reset it… wipe the lens, check the connector. Twenty minutes, tops.”
Rocky waves one of his arms at me in acknowledgement before he pauses as if he actually processed the meaning of my words. “Outside dangerous. Way to fix ship inside, question?”
“I don’t think so, buddy,” I sigh, already dreading suiting up again, “If it is from a build-up of something, I gotta go clean it off. Routine maintenance, I promise.”
“Don’t usually do maintenance outside. Is not routine.”
Rocky tends to worry when I leave the ship. After everything that we’ve been through, I can’t really blame the guy, but I’d rather fix this now.
“I’ll suit up if a quick recalibration doesn’t fix this. How does that sound?”
That seems to do the trick since Rocky hums a sing-song agreement.
The recalibration, decidedly, did not fix the issue. The yellow blinking felt like it was taunting me. I am really not in the mood for an EVA, but putting it off doesn’t serve me any good either.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing at my face with my hands to hype myself up.
“Okay,” I huff, “manual intervention it is!”
“You go outside now, question?” Rocky had stopped working again, whatever latticework contraption he’d been building now stagnant.
“Yeah, I think so.” I pulled up the exterior schematics and located the star tracker that seemed to be causing the warning light to blink. It was mounted along the port-side hull, slightly forward.
I suited up slower than usual, taking my sweet, sweet time.
The EVA suit sealed around me with a soft hiss. Everything looked stable, so I clipped my tether to the airlock rail and ran through my checklist.
“Going out,” I sigh, turning to look at Rocky one last time before I seal the airlock, smiling to myself when I see him waving me off.
“Be safe!”
Space is always quieter than I expect.
I know sound waves don’t travel in space, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring.
I pull myself along the handholds, making sure to keep myself securely connected to the ship with my tethers. I am not about to fly off into the void for something as stupid as that.
The suit’s heads-up display scrolled its usual data in the corner of my vision. Heart rate slightly elevated—what can I say, EVAs make me nervous—oxygen steady and… radiation dose ticking upwards in tiny increments. It was still in the normal range, but I kept that little detail noted in the back of my mind as I continued my mission.
I reach the tracker, bracing my boots against the hull. Up close, I can see some faint scuffing along the lens hood. Yup, that’s micrometeoroid pitting…
“Found it,” I said, “Looks like some surface scarring. I’ll clean it off and reseat the connector.”
“Good. Then come back.”
“Yes, Dad. Don’t worry.” I muse aloud. I should probably ask Rocky more about whether Erid also has long-lasting family structures like back on Earth. I know he has parents, but I can’t remember a time when he has ever brought them up besides when describing Eridian reproduction.
Well, in his defense, I don’t talk about mine either, but that's for personal reasons.
I pull out the cleaning kit that I found in the storage room—I guess I have Stratt to thank for always being prepared—and get to work.
After a few minutes, the suit chimed softly. I glanced at the corner of my display again and frowned. The radiation dose was higher than before. It was technically still within limits, but the fact that it was still slowly ticking upwards wasn’t helping my heart rate.
I went back to work.
When I leaned closer to examine the bracket, there was a faint flicker in my vision. It was almost like someone snapped a picture inside my eyeball.
I blinked.
“...huh…”
Rocky doesn’t respond verbally, used to me making vocal sounds while working after spending so much time together.
“I think I’m almost done,” I muttered, still thinking about the visual phenomenon. I had read about high-energy particles hitting the retina for astronauts. ‘Cosmic ray light shows.’
Another chime interrupted my derailing train of thought.
Again, the dose rate had ticked up.
Okay, now I’m hesitating. The numbers aren’t crazy, but they are higher than the console’s readings projected before I left the ship. It’s definitely not comforting to see radiation readings coming in at unexpected levels…
I begin to tighten the connector, giving the housing a firm trap.
“Hey Rocky, can you scan the console? Is there a light blinking still? Should be once a second if it’s still on.” I asked, crossing my fingers that I got it on the first try so I can get back in the ship.
There is a pause. I assume he is using his textured scanner to check.
“No. No light. Ship fixed, question?”
“I think so!” Pure relief spreads through me at his words. “See? Routine.”
“Amaze, amaze, amaze!” Rocky sang through the comm. I can picture him stomping happily as I carefully make my way back to the airlock.
“Yes! Amaze, amaze, amaze.” I grinned, “Okay, I’m heading back in.”
Again, the suit pinged.
Okay, now I’m really getting concerned. That radiation reading was higher than I would like for something this mundane.
I swallowed against the tension building in me and kept moving. I had only been out here for a handful of minutes, twenty at the most, but it felt like hours.
After almost dying trying to escape Adrian’s atmosphere, I would really rather avoid any reason for an EVA for the rest of my life.
By the time the outer hatch seals behind me, I feel weird. Actually, weird isn’t the right word. Maybe taut? I am tense, sure, but I just feel off. The radiation levels never explicitly went past the red line, but the Geiger counter could have been malfunctioning.
I really, really hope it was just malfunctioning.
I feel a pressure build behind my eyes as the airlock itself begins to repressurize.
“Grace, question?” Rocky was ‘looking’ at me now, waiting right by the door.
“Yeah,” I give him a thumbs up, “All good. The tracker should be fixed.”
I think my adrenaline is crashing. I think that is what’s causing this headache. Yeah, that’s it. Before I can press my hands against my eyes, I gotta get this suit off. I fumble with it slightly but manage to get it off.
“I made it!” I said, forcing a lopsided smile onto my face.
“Why are you weird, question?” Rocky asks bluntly, tapping on the wall.
I cringe, shoulders rising towards my ears. I’m not being weird. I just got back from a dangerous ‘space mission.’ I should be allowed to have a headache.
“I’m not weird.” I huff, tilting my chin slightly upwards, squinting against the harsh lights as they burn against my eyes.
“Always weird. Now more weird. Something wrong, question?”
“Hey!” I blurt out, “I’m not weird! Well, I mean, I guess I– you know you’re weird too, you know.”
“Yes. I weird too. Now why you weirder than normal, question?”
“I’m not—” I stop myself, pressing my tongue briefly to the roof of my mouth. I’m cut short when a metallic taste hits me. It’s not strong, but it definitely catches me off guard. I rub at my eyes again, trying to ease some of the pressure in my head.
“Problem, question?” Rocky probes again.
I take a few slow breaths. This adrenaline crash is a lot.
“Give me a minute,” I say, moving towards the edge of the table in the middle of the room. “Just riding out some of the after-effects of heroism.”
“You were cleaning lens.”
“Heroically,” I chime pathetically. Rocky lets out a weird humming sound at that.
I wonder if that’s what an Eridian scoff sounds like.
Now I’m feeling a bit nauseous. It’s not so overwhelming that I feel the urge to puke my guts up again like I did when I first experienced 0G, but it’s still uncomfortable enough for my hands to get clammy.
I glance toward the console without fully turning my head.
“How long was I out there?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
“Twenty-two minutes,” Rocky replies, his full attention still on me as I stand there awkwardly, trying my best to not look like an idiot while he analyzes me.
“Okay,” I huff.
“Grace,” Rocky interrupts, “Your heart rate is elevated.”
“Yeah, I just threw myself around outside in space,” I say, closing my eyes again, “That’s exercise.”
“You are secreting moisture.”
“I do that. Humans sweat when they exercise or are stressed.” I exhale slowly. I reach for the console, meaning to distract myself from whatever is happening to me to make me feel this ‘off,’ but pause halfway there.
“Rocky,” I say carefully, “when I asked you to check the warning light… everything looked normal, right?”
“Yes. No blinking. Ship fixed.”
“Right…”
I keep looking at the screen in front of me, trying to process what’s being displayed. The exterior radiation monitor is still running in the corner of the nav panel. I zoom in on the last hour of data.
I feel my heart rate continues to pick up. It’s higher than the baseline. I split the display so I can see the suit’s information next to the ship’s.
They don’t match.
The ship’s exterior monitor is showing a sharper peak than what my suit recorded.
That’s not how that is supposed to work. I think to myself a bit hysterically.
Galactic cosmic ray flux.
That phrase surfaces in my brain uninvited.
We’d been fully outside of Tau Ceti’s atmosphere for a while now…Out here, there is less stellar wind to deflect incoming particles. More high-energy junk floating through the interstellar medium.
I feel myself swallow again as I start to grab at my hair anxiously.
If I happened to park myself next to a dense structural beam while high-energy particles were slamming into it…
Secondary radiation.
I stare at the neutron channel on the ship’s monitor.
Higher than expected.
My suit’s neutron readout is lower.
That’s not comforting.
That means either the ship’s detector is oversensitive—or my suit undercounted.
If there was a localized increase in GCR flux, and I happened to be in the wrong spot–
No. Stop it. This is just conjecture. Don’t jump to conclusions.
“Is Hail Mary not fixed, question?” Rocky’s voice penetrates my head again—damn, my head is really starting to hurt.
“It is fixed.” I grind out, pulling at the strands.
“Then what is wrong, question?”
I hesitate.
What’s wrong is that there is a high chance I absorbed a heavy dose of radiation.
“We might’ve hit a slightly higher particle environment."
Why am I not just telling him? This does neither of us any good. Why am I hiding this?
Rocky doesn’t seem to outwardly notice my internal arguments with the words coming out of my mouth.
I start running through every single reason why I feel like this.
Adrenaline crash. Dehydration. Low blood sugar. Coincidence?
Okay, now that’s just poor scientific reasoning.
My eyes drift back to the screens. That upward trend is real. A GCR flux wouldn’t be visible. I wouldn’t have felt it.
Wait– I did see it. That flash. Oh god, I’m such an idiot. I can’t tell Rocky about this. His whole crew died—oh my god, I’m going to die.
My breathing starts to pick up now.
“Grace,” Rocky says sharply, trying to get my attention. “Respiration increased. Why, question?”
I drag my hand down my face and force myself to take a deep breath. This is bad. This is bad, bad, bad.
“I’m fine,”
“No.”
I let out a long, humming breath. I guess it could be considered a groan, but I think it was a bit too high-pitched for that.
Whining. I’m whining. Great. Humanity’s last hope is whining.
I’m starting to feel nauseous. My head really hurts now.
“When was last time you eat, question?”
Oh wow, Rocky must really be worried to bring up me eating.
Just the thought of food is enough to make me groan some more. I don’t think I can rationalize this anymore, though. I’m sick. Like bad sick. If it really is radiation poisoning, it's gonna get worse.
I reach for my laptop, pulling up some of the pirated medical databases. Radiation exposure protocols have to be in there somewhere. You don’t send a guy into deep space without at least a PDF of worst–case scenarios.
“I am not hungry,” I say, trying to keep my panic from being laced into the words.
If I use the Hail Mary’s lab, I should be able to run a CBC. Lymphocyte depletion would show up after significant radiation exposure. It would give me actual numbers to work with.
I am good with numbers.
I start working quickly, hoping I don’t deteriorate too fast. Rocky doesn’t deserve to see this happen to another crewmate. Another friend. He seems tense again.
I think he knows something is wrong, but also knows that pushing me right now won’t work in his favor.
I find a vacutainer and draw some blood. I clamp down on the nausea that’s trying to climb its way up my throat. I press a gauze pad over the puncture site and start humming again. If I give this to the metal arms in the dorm, it should have a hematological analyzer.
The headache is making me feel off-balance now. I do what I can to get to the dorm without breaking the vial. I don’t need extra salt on the wound right now.
“Hey, computer—can you run a CBC?” I hold up the vial within the metal arm’s reach, crossing my fingers that I don't have to do all this myself while it feels like my brain is trying to rip my skull apart.
Miraculously, they take the sample from me. It’s almost enough for me to relax on its own.
“Grace. What are you testing, question?”
Rocky. I can’t put this all on the guy right now. He should be happy. We are going to Erid. We are going to save his planet.
“CBC. A complete blood count.” I answer, hoping he doesn’t ask me why.
“Purpose, question?”
Rocky, please. I’m trying to spare you right now.
“To check my blood…”
I can hear the machine whirring. If Stratt stocked this ship with only the best—which I know she did—it should only take about a minute to complete.
“Hemoglobin: normal. Platelets: normal. White blood cell count: low.”
Oh gosh. That's…not good.
I bring up another screen. 1.0×109/L. That’s very not good.
If I’m already feeling this bad after about half an hour, and I was outside for twenty-two minutes, and my WBC count is that low… I think "coincidence" being the cause of all this is officially ruled out.
“Rocky, I think I’m sick.” I can’t deny it anymore.
I’m scared.