Chapter Text
I don’t know when it starts.
I’m working hard – I’m always working hard these days, trying to get enough words from Rocky into my spreadsheet so that we can progress to the ‘science’ stage of our communications. The program needs a bit of work, so I’ve gone back to the ship to read up on code, as well as get something to eat. I thought I might even take a nap – what Rocky doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? – but the research is more interesting than I expected, and I end up buried in it, completely unaware of my surroundings.
At some point, I notice that the air is a little cooler than before. Really, that should tip me off – I’m in a controlled environment in space, temperatures aren’t just supposed to drop. But, lost in a rabbit hole, I manage to sort of…forget where I am. I simply do what any sensible person would and pull on an extra layer, shrugging my jacket over my t-shirt without breaking eye contact with my screen.
At some point, I become aware that I’m tired. I should have had a nap – Rocky will be expecting me back soon, and I’ll have to make a choice between disappointing him by being late or carrying on without enough sleep. My head nods a little. Perhaps I’ll just take a few winks. No need to head to bed. I only want a few moments.
I drop into a doze, still in my chair.
This, it turns out, is a mistake.
At first I think I’m dreaming, because it’s cold. I haven’t felt cold like it in…well, since I left Earth. I’m back in Antarctica, the white sky and the pending crack of ice. I’m…
I bolt upright, or try to. My body is stiff and clumsy, and the sudden movement makes my muscles cramp. My neck would probably have been sore from sleeping in the chair anyway – stupid decision, really – but it’s a lot worse than that. I think for a moment the tendons are going to snap.
‘What the…’
My breath fogs as I peer around. The air is beyond crisp and heading towards freezing. Surfaces shine, oddly glassy. For a moment, I look up, almost expecting snow to be trickling from above, but of course that’s ridiculous. There’s no climate in here.
Something has gone wrong with the temperature regulation, that’s for certain. Why hasn’t Mary warned me? Shouldn’t there be an alarm?
‘Mary, temperature check.’
‘Temperature is 22 degrees centigrade,’ the computer replies cheerfully.
Well that’s…blatantly incorrect.
‘Mary,’ I say again. ‘Temperature check.’
The computer repeats what it had just said with equal levels of optimism.
I try not to panic. If there was an issue with a hull, the ship would register it. In fact, if there was a problem with the hull bad enough to make this whole room cold, I’d have been sucked into the vacuum of space long before now. It’s probably a bug in the temperature controls somewhere. Bugs are fixable, right?
I don’t know the temperature, seeing as the computer won’t tell me it, but it’s far too low. Better get moving. I’m glad of my jacket, and as I peer around, I see a discarded sheet. I wrap it around myself. I hurry over to the nearest screen and press a few buttons. They’re not as responsive as normal – probably not designed to work in low temperature – but at last it lights up.
I’m not bad with computers, but they’re not really my specialty either, so it takes me a while to work out which system has the issue. It should be simple to solve – I suppose that with only three of us to man the ship, any problems would have to be easy to fix. Basically, some weird code tick has told the ship it is overheating, and in response it’s cooling the interior down. That’s why Mary thinks that there’s no problem when I ask her. I breathe a sigh of relief – no getting pulled into the vast vacuum of space today! – and set about fixing the problem.
I get about halfway into it before I start finding it hard to concentrate. Things I know that I know, that would usually have come easily, refuse to settle in my brain – numbers fail to add themselves up, simple calculations turn around inside my head, come to nothing. And, on top of it all, my fingers keep stabbing the wrong keys.
‘Come on,’ I mutter, and am horrified to hear my own voice, slurred and confused – it comes out more like omm’nnn.
I realize that I’ve made a mistake. I’d gone to fix the problem right away, like a good little scientist, but I should have warmed myself up first. I should at least have put on some more clothes.
Well. I can do that now. I have plenty of things, I just have to get some of them.
I turn around, take two steps, and fall over. The impact hurts, but more than that the floor is cold. I shudder as the chill leaches deeper into me. My head fuzzes.
Ah, I think. This is bad.
You know what they say about the frog that gets boiled in a pot if you do it slowly enough? Well, it turns out you can also freeze a frog the same way.
It’s me. I’m the frog.
Now that I’m lying down, I’m tired, really tired. How long is it since I slept properly? And yeah I just had a nap but that was only a few minutes, and…
You’re not tired, I tell myself, trying to put on the teacher-voice I’d use when the kids were acting out. You’re cold. You’re so cold that your body’s shutting down, and it’s making you sleepy. This is not good.
The thing is, it actually feels quite nice. I could do with a rest. It’s been a long few…years.
I shake myself. I need to get a suit. If it can protect me from outer space, it can protect me from this.
I push myself onto all fours. My vision’s blurry and my head feels really, really heavy. The suits are so far away…even if I could find one, I doubt I have the fine motor skills to pull it on. Perhaps I could put it over myself, but it wouldn’t make enough difference, not now, with the floor so cold.
I’m not shivering as much as I was before. In fact, I feel sort of warm. My fingers and toes are less numb, starting to tingle. That’s also bad, I tell myself. It feels good, but it’s bad. Bad bad bad.
Wait.
Rocky.
I’m stupid, so, so stupid. My ship is cold, but Rocky’s ship is hot – the xenonite wall always radiates warmth. I don’t have to fix the Hail Mary just yet, seeing as it doesn’t look like it’s going to implode anytime soon. I need to warm myself up fast, and the wall will be the quickest way to do it.
Moving isn’t easy. I try to get to my feet, to bring less of myself into contact with the cold metal floor – not that the air’s much better – but my blood is sluggish, and my limbs don’t obey. Crawling it is, then. Luckily, I’m too aware of the danger I’m in to worry about dignity.
I edge forward, losing the sheet along the way. I let it go, too tired and clumsy to re-wind it. After a few paces, I regret it, because my bare skin starts to stick to the cold floor. I consider returning for the sheet, but a few paces is as good as a few miles right now. Instead, I try to pull my sleeves down to protect my hands, but my fingers might as well be fish sticks for all the good they do me. My whole body feels stiff and heavy, like I’m encased in stone. Is this what Rocky feels like all the time? Surely not. I’ve seen how quickly he moves.
I spy a notebook that must have fallen to the floor at some point – being the sole survivor on a spaceship means I don’t worry much about being tidy – and hook it towards me. I set my hands on it, a barrier between my palms and the horrible, skin-snagging floor, and use it to slide myself along. It’s not elegant, but it’ll do.
Cold whispers through my knees. My glasses fog every time I breathe, and at last, feeling them starting to stick behind my ears, I shake my head, sending them clattering off – though not before one of the metal arms takes a small piece of skin with it. I hope they’re not broken. I’ll need them later.
If there is a later.
Shaking my head was probably a mistake, because now I’m dizzy as well as cold, but I keep crawling. Just one more step, I keep telling myself. They’re not even really steps, just slides, a weird baby-crawl. A kid could manage this.
At last, I hit something.
The tunnel. I reach for it like a dying man – which, I suppose, I am. My hands are too numb for me to feel whether it’s icy as well. Getting over the thing is hard with my new, cold-heavy body, and I almost face-plant into the xenonite on the other side, but I don’t feel the pain. Shouldn’t I feel pain?
I fumble my way down the tunnel – I know it’s lit, but I’m having trouble seeing, and suspect my vision would be screwed even if I still had my glasses on. As I do, I become aware of a noise, a voice. Of course. I’d left my laptop down there, not wanting to go to the effort of dragging it back and forth when there was a perfectly good computer for research on the ship. The translation program is still running, and Rocky’s speaking to me.
‘Grace,’ he says. ‘Grace. Grace. Grace.’
‘I’m coming,’ I try to say, but it comes out as ‘mmmnng.’
Grace ship question? Rocky tell Grace ship wrong. Grace no answer.'
Of course. Rocky’s hearing is so sensitive – he probably noticed some change in the machinery well before I did. He’s been calling me all this time, trying to warn me, and I couldn’t hear. I just sat there until I was almost too cold to move.
Almost. But I’m moving now. I can’t tell if I’m getting any warmer, but I have a goal, and I plan to reach it.
My hand hits a dip in the ground and I lurch forward, rolling. The shock goes through me, but dully, frighteningly so. I groan. When I try to push myself back to all fours, my arm gives way. I lay in the tunnel for a breath or two, drifting. It’s not so bad, really. Not comfortable, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t really feel it.
‘Grace. Grace get up. Grace get up. Grace Grace Grace-grace-gracegracegracegrace…’
‘Shhhh,’ I mumble into the uneven ground. ‘Lemme sleep.’
‘Grace no sleep. Grace heart slow. If go slower, Grace get worse. Bad sleep now.’
He has a point, though I wish he didn’t. Kind of nice that he can hear my heartbeat, though. I never had a friend who could do that before.
‘Grace. Grace. Gracegracegrace-’
I wobble, drag my arm out from underneath me, shuffling forward once more. This doesn’t seem to reassure Rocky, because he keeps talking. I’m glad. Freezing cold, and with my eyes not focusing very well, I’m more following the sound of his voice than anything I can see. Is this what it’s like for Rocky all the time? Threads of sound reaching out into the world, rippling in a soft, lazy darkness?
At last, stumbling and weaving, like a fly that got too close to a zapper, I come up against warmth.
The barrier. I’m at the barrier.
I fall down next to it with a thud. Heat radiates, washing over me like a hot bath. I take a deep breath. My lungs expand without protest for the first time in minutes.
Warmth brings pain – after a few moments, feeling rushes back all at once, cramping my fingers and feet. I feel like someone has given my skin a good going over with a piece of sandpaper. Someone else is stabbing a needle between my forehead, making my eyes water. It's not very nice of them, and I really wish they'd stop.
‘Grace come near,’ Rocky is saying. ‘Rocky is warm. Give warm to Grace.’
He wants me to move closer to the barrier. I’ve not hugged anyone in who knows how long and a part of me wants to do it, but I shake my head.
‘Too quick,’ I slur. ‘Shock.’
‘No understand. Need word.’
I shake my head. ‘Just…trust me. If I get warm too fast, I’ll die.’
Rocky doesn’t say anything. Not stupid human. Not inefficient human. I’m glad that my head is too heavy to turn. I don’t want to see.
I stay awake for as long as I can. Rocky keeps talking to me, but I float in and out, not able to do much apart from lay in the vague heat and hope it’s enough to warm me up, and not so much that my body decides to pack in. I hope it doesn’t. This would be a really stupid way to die. I’d never hear the end of it, if anyone ever found out. Not that they would.
With that not-so-comforting thought, and despite Rocky’s frantic voice coming from the laptop nearby, I drift off.