(Edit (07/08/2026) - The Guy Who Didn't Like Tau Ceti: Part 9)
Shining in the Cold (continued)
Part 14, Part 15, Epilogue
Us Spawn of The Lords in Black (continued)
Part 21
Werewolves of Witchwood (continued)
Part 5, Bad Eclipse Rising crossover
The Guy Who Didn't Like Tau Ceti - As someone who had never left Hatchetfield in his life, Paul was not happy to wake up 11.9 lightyears away from home. Still, at least he's not alone. (Project Hail Mary roleswap)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9
Soft chords and clanking metal chased Paul back into the waking world. Groaning, he rolled onto his side. But Rocky's chirping made going back to sleep impossible.
"Alright, I'm up," Paul said, voice still thick with sleep. Sliding out of the little den, he turned to the computer.
By some miracle, it still had power.
"Paul awake. Good sleep, question?" Rocky had said.
"Yeah, actually."
"Good good good!"
Rubbing his eyes, Paul got to his feet. After a quick sponge bath and some rehydrated eggs, his mind finally rebooted. Black coffee in hand, Paul checked in with the whiteboard.
He hadn't really added more since the Blip-A had shown up. The same questions, and the same lack of answers.
Taking a sip, Paul shook himself and went back into the tunnel. Rocky was tinkering away with something.
"I'm back," Paul said without needing to.
"Hello, Paul feel better now, question?"
He nodded and took another sip of coffee. Rocky twitched. The silence dragged for a moment. "What Paul know about astrophage, question?"
"Probably not much. Why?"
"Rocky not scientist but know some science. Paul likely same. Can help if share knowledge."
They made a good point. It would be easier if they both knew what they were working with.
"Ok. Ok, uh," Paul frowned into his half full cup as he scraped his memory, "Astrophage uses the sun's energy and CO2 to reproduce, they use infrared to move, their temperature never changes, radiation can't go through them-"
"Wait wait wait. What word after changes, question?"
"Radiation? It is energy that is made by stars and some metals, I think. Quite harmful if not shielded against," Paul relayed as best he could.
Rocky didn't respond. When Paul looked over, they were standing completely still. As if they'd been replaced by an actual statue.
"Could... this energy travel through space, question?" Rocky's tune was the lowest he'd heard from them yet. It made Paul's brain start sounding alarms.
"Well, yeah."
"And what would no shield mean, question?"
Paul didn't want to tell Rocky. He didn't want to acknowledge the dawning nightmare forming in the back of his mind, but if it was in fact Rocky's reality, than they needed to know.
"I'm no doctor," Paul took a big gulp of lukewarm coffee and wished for something stronger instead, "And I only know a little about the signs in humans-"
"BUT," the chord was so sharp Paul could hear the capital letters even as the text onscreen was normal, "Human signs include food rejection, inner fluid loss, and sudden long sleep followed by not waking, question?!"
Paul's voice failed him, so he simply nodded.
The quiet that followed was deafening.
"Rocky..." Paul whispered carefully, "Buddy, I think you need to go back inside."
"Because of poison energy, question?" Rocky's voice remained low.
"Yeah."
Rocky bobbed their body into a nod then froze.
"What about Paul, question?!" they asked with alarm.
"I... should be okay. But, I'm going to head in too. But we can adjust for this. Can do shorter visits. It'll be ok."
Rocky appeared unconvinced but backed away into the darkness and hopefully into whatever section of their ship had kept them safe. And Paul did the same. After closing the outer airlock hatch, he let his head rest on the metal.
He couldn't tell them. Not after this. They were already mourning twenty two crewmates, people they likely knew before all this. How could Paul add himself to that number?
Backing away from the door, he turned and marched straight into the lab. They might both have labs onboard, but Paul's seemingly was the safer between the two. Meaning he would need to do the heavylifting.
It was fine. He had time still. So, Paul got to work.
There were only a small number of manuals tucked away into the back of a drawer, but thankfully, the lab's computer had a shortcut directly to a full inventory, machinal and chemical. Hours passed as Paul read and researched every informative document he could find. By the time dinner rolled around, his eyes hurt. Not long after he finished eating, Paul decided to take a quick break, and promptly fell asleep.
Three loud thuds snapped him back awake. It came from the outer airlock hatch. On the other side was Rocky and so many bags.
"Hi Paul! " They waved.
"Hi," Paul waved back, not quite that he wasn't dreaming, "You're... in a ball."
"So Rocky no die in Paul atmosphere," they explained, "Paul Rocky do science together here, safe safe safe from poison energy. Paul Rocky save stars. I come up now."
And indeed they were.
Zero hesitation, just rolled up the narrow stepladder and into the airlock. "Paul get bags while Rocky explore," Rocky called out without stopping.
"Wait! Rocky!" Paul snatched up the laptop as they barreled onward.
"Foreign body detected," the computer helpfully chimed in as Rocky bolted past the mental health room.
"Wait wait wait!" Paul tried to appeal to Rocky as they skipped into the lab, "That's the lab, careful!" Thankfully, they clattered to a stop before the impossibly big price tag in his head could get lower.
"This lab, question? What on table, question?" Rocky inched closer to the table, a claw pressed against the xenonite.
"A couple of manuals for the equipment," Paul answered before quickly moving on, "Look, Rocky. I get your reasoning, I do. But you can't just roll about here in a ball.
There's a lot of delicate machinery in here that I can't fix if any of it breaks. Ok?"
"Understand," Rocky nodded, sitting down with their legs tucked in, "Apologies, got excited."
"It's ok," Paul breathed in and out. "I need coffee."
Moving in Rocky's things was an ordeal. As was assembling the tunnels in the cockpit, lab, and sleeping area. At least for the latter, the robot arm pitched in.
By the time Paul sat down to film another video diary, he was exhausted.
"...I have a new roommate," he began, "Just finished helping them unpack." Twisting spaghetti around his fork, Paul sighed. "Rocky's asleep right now. Once they wake up, we're heading down to...
I don't know what it's called, the planet on the other side of the Petrova line."
Chewing on a generious mouthful, Paul muled over the past two days. "I'll do another one of these once we're on our way. Until then, good night."
Picking up his plate, Paul walked back into the sleeping area. Rocky was motionless. If they hadn't explained how that was normal, he would have thought they were dead.
Still, the sight was eerie.
Shaking away morbid thoughts before they could fully form, Paul clicked on a video playlist he'd found on microbiology. Might as well make the most of his time.
Got into FAITH lately, then I found out it shares the same universe as DUSK. I unfortunately haven't been able to indulge in that one yet, but... I know about the soap.
Spoilers for FAITH: Chapter 3's true ending.
Enjoy and be gentle
---
If one were to peek into John's pockets as he leapt down into the massive hole in the floor, they'd be in for quite the surprise. At least, if they were also unaware of the events of the past few days.
Feeling unclean was hardly new for John. Truthfully, it had started after that night. But that second failed attempt to right his wrongs worsened it. As did the nightmares after.
Just the faded memory of the "Candy Tunnel" and the squelching underfoot sent a shiver run down John's spine.
Then came New Haven. And the message on the wall. Now, he didn't exactly check, but John was pretty sure that those brown markings weren't dried blood. Between that and the close call with Lisa, the moment John got back in his car, he drove straight for the nearest convenience store and purchased three bars of soap. One such bar sat vigil in his pocket, already wet from where John had viciously scrubbed away the cultists' blood from his hands.
Was it overkill? Maybe. Did it make him feel better? Most definitely.
John landed amid an impossibility: a broken mirror of the Martin House was revealed by the lantern light, withered and raggedy. Slowly, he walked through each dusty, cobweb covered room. At the foot of the stairs leading up was a note. A note revealing the truth of Gary's nature. And making John's destination clear.
Each step creaked as John climbed towards the first floor. Dust swirled as it was kicked up. His hands itched for the soap in his pocket, but John held firm. He reached the top and went straight for the attic.
Gary was waiting inside, his body deformed, facing away from John.
"Behold My Mother, priest!" He raised up his arms towards the faceless corpse hanging above. "She tried to become the Unholy Trinity, but Her body was too old to withstand it. After all these years, I found the perfect Vessel to take that honor upon Herself... but we both know how that turned out.
You have pursued Me as far as I will go. Only one of us gets out alive. I will make you the first mortal to witness the Profane Sabbath, and the first to be consumed by it. But before I do, I will let you in on a secret:"
Gary turned to John, showing his true demonic form. "GARY DOES NOT LOVE YOU."
And he began crawling fowards with eager claws. John moved too, keeping Gary in sight at all times, and his cross aloft. For a time, they both maintained this chase of sorts. Growling in pain and rage, Gary laughed as their little game gained another player.
At the sight of Malphas's sudden arrival, John lost sight of Gary. Until he was right beside to him.
What happened next, John couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the memory of Gary's rank breath as he drove a needle into John's neck? Or perhaps a benevolent hand guiding his own? Whatever the reason, John's hand reached into his pocket, gripped that bar of soap tight, and pressed it against Gary's twisted flesh.
Immediately, he shrieked even louder and faded away as if made of mist.
The room was still and silent. All eyes on the spot where Gary was not. Slowly, John looked at the bar in his fist. And gradually, it all made sense. His form was so vulgar that even earthly cleaning products were harmful. Explained the breath.
John's eyes snapped to the still shocked Malphas. Brandishing the soap, he turned to face the demon. Malphas flinched away and dissolved.
But it wasn't over. The faint forms of Gary and Malphas flew into Miriam's limp body. Darkness fell. And the beast revealed itself with a roar, skeletal wings outstretched alongside its gapping maw.
But John was not afraid. He could feel a presence, His presence, all around him. And he knew exactly what to do.
"O' Heavenly Father," John prayed while avoiding Miriam's swoops and flames, "I pray to thee in my darkest hour." With a corner of his cross, John carved a similar cross into the soap. "Guide mine hand, and let my aim be true." He reared back his arm as the beast swooped down for him. And threw the soap.
It sailed directly into the creature's mouth. And down its throat. Sputtering and choking, the beast's screeches were smothered by the foam bubbling up from within.
Desperate, the possessing demons fled. But the now empty body still twitched as the flow got faster and faster. Soon, it was like a high pressure hose, the head tossing back and forth as the bubbles shot out of the large hole where the face had once been. Until, finally, it grew too much.
The corpse of Miriam Bell scattered to the four corners of the room, showering everything in floral-scented pink foam. John was sent to the floor from the force of it. While muffled by the thick suds, Malphas' screams were still audible as it lost its grip on the world.
Exhaustion weighed on John's body, but he powered through it and sat up. Almost the entire room was covered, except for a single circle where Miriam had been. Right there in the centre sat the bar of soap. And hovering above it-
"Amy..." Gary Miller's head popped out of the foam, so squeaky clean that his bald head shone like the north star, "Amy Mea..."
He inched through the scented blanket toward her: "Electra Mulier Infra Omnibus, Simul Luna et Calix et Avis, Simul Mater et Filia et Spiritus Immundus,
MEA TRINITAS PROFANA."
At the end of his "prayer", Gary stared up at Amy, only for a clawed hand to emerge and grip his face tight.
"FAILURE," the demon within her declared before pulling him back to Hell, bloody tendrils whipping about briefly before they too retracted.
Calmly, she drifted down until she stood before John. Then before his very eyes, the wound healed over, until Amy's face was restored.
"Amy, I'm so sorry," John told her, "I couldn't save you."
"John... It's okay. It's over. They can't hurt me anymore," she said. She sounded tired. "You've been so brave. But now...
It's time to finish what you started."
And so, he did. Picking up the soap and his cross, John lightly pressed the soap to Amy's forehead.
"En nomine Patri et Fili et Spiritu Sancti." And Amy was free. "Amen."
---
John didn't let go of that bar as he left Garyland. The whole time, his thumb rubbed over the cross he'd made in it. Father Garcia raised an eyebrow when he saw it and the pink bubbles still covering him, but said nothing.
In solumn silence, they walked past the cop cars and towards John's car. It started to gently rain.
"So. Is it done?" Father Garcia turned to John and asked.
"Yes," he replied, the foam starting to wash away, "What I encountered down there was truely unspeakable, but I washed it away with the help of the Lord."
"That may be true, hijo, but the Unspeakable is still out there. It must be hunted down and destroyed."
Father Garcia regarded John, his eyes lingering on the bar of soap with new found appreciation. But before he could say anything else, a figure approached.
"John!" Lisa waved as she walked up, bags in hand.
"Lisa? What are you doing here?"
"Well, I can't exactly stay in my apartment after all that," she sighed before blinking, "What's that stuff on you?"
"...Soap."
Lisa's eyes flickered to the bar John was still holding. Then to Father Garcia.
"Did he seriously-?"
"Apparently," Father Garcia stated plainly.
"And it worked!?"
"Can't argue with the results."
Wordlessly, Lisa absorbed this knowledge.
"...What's the brand?" She eventually asked. John sighed and turned his face up into the rain:
"Can't remember. Got a spare bar at home though."
"Dibs."
John laughed. It was a tiny thing, but a happy thing. Standing there in the rain, an uncertain future ahead, John knew one thing for sure: he finally felt clean.
Got this ready nice and quick. Hopefully it makes for a good opening.
Enjoy and be gentle
---
The cold was starting to set in. Winter clothes were well on their way to becoming the new summerwear, and murmurs of experiments involving gene splicing and cold resistant plants circulated rapidly. But Johnny couldn't feel it.
Not past the broiling ball of hellfire in his chest.
A constant reminder of his choice, his deal. But one Johnny knew he'd never fully regret. Just one he'd have to live with.
The wind whipped past his face as he rode down the street towards Grover Cleaveland Middle School. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Johnny pictured Ryland riding along that same stretch of road. Pedalling frantically up the hills and swerving to avoid potholes or pedestrians. Would it have been second nature to him?
A low growl came from within. The Rider tended to stir whenever Johnny thought about his brother, about why he wasn't pedalling beside him. Made the... situation bareable, knowing that at least one other person felt pissed off about what happened.
As he neared the school, Johnny slowed down. It had taken longer than he would have liked to arrange the pickup, but the school knew he was coming. It was quiet as he rode in and parked up.
That should have been his first warning.
Walking into reception, the man behind the desk visibly did a double take.
"Hi, Johnny Blaze? I'm here to pick up my brother's belongings," Johnny greeted.
"Oh, you-! Of cource, sorry. Right this way," the receptionist cleared his throat and guided Johnny down the hall.
The entire walk his eyes flickered about, taking in the hallways his brother had once tred. It ended sooner than he would have liked. With a knock before opening, the receptionist let Johnny into the Headmistress' office.
"Ahh, Mr Blaze," she stood up and offered her hand, "It is good to meet you."
"Good to meet you too," Johnny shook her hand, "and please, just call me Johnny."
They both sat.
"I'm sure you've heard this many times by this point, but I am sorry for your loss," the Headmistress said.
"It's... not your fault," Johnny replied with a faintly smokey breath through his nose.
"Stratt," the Rider hissed in the back of his mind venomously. He ignored them.
"Ryland Grace was, without exaggeration, one of the best teachers we've ever had here. And possibly, one of the best we will ever have.
His class adored him. There's been an unoffical memorial in his classroom for weeks now," she stated with a somber smile.
"No shit," Johnny found smiling slightly himself.
"Honestly, there's been talks about fundraising for a more permanant memorial," the Headmistress shook her head before sighing softly, "We've gathered up his belongings for you. It's not much, but there are all yours."
"Thank you," Johnny said sincerely. But something felt off.
"However, there has been an complication." And there it was.
"What do you mean?" Johnny's eyes narrowed, the flame in his heart flaring up briefly.
"When you got in contact with us, Ryland's bike was chained outside, where he'd left it that day," the headmistress explained, shuffling in place, voice notably tighter, "But as of this morning, it has vanished."
The Rider strained against his ribs, roaring with the same rage that surged throught Johnny's veins.
"I... see," he replied carefully.
"We have filed a report with the police," she was quick to reassure him.
"Will do better, faster," the Rider argued and Johnny was inclined to agree.
"Do you have any CCTV footage?"
"Yes, we do."
"May I see it?"
She paused for a moment, scrutinizing him. With how active the Rider was, Johnny wouldn't be surprised if his eyes were glowing like hot coals.
"...Of cource," the Headmistress nodded. Johnny's answering smile was razor sharp.
It was four hours and several questions later that Emerald woke up. Their eyes blinked open and glanced around in confusion.
"Everything alright?" Grace asked, discarding the whiteboard.
"I... was somewhere else," Emerald said in complete bafflement.
"Emerald have sleep hallucination," Rocky soothed.
"Sleep hallucination, question?"
"Dreaming, Rocky means dreaming."
"Same thing."
"It's not."
With a sigh, Grace shook his head in fond exasperation. "Anyway, it's normal for humans at least," he explained, "Guess it is for you too."
"It was strange."
"Yep. That's also normal."
Emerald drummed their tendrils on the bed and hummed.
"I... think I understand."
"Good good good," Rocky tapped in place, "Today is day of understanding." Nodding, Grace picked up the whiteboard.
"While you were sleeping, Rocky and I came up with a few questions about your biology. Now, if you're not comfortable with anything, you don't have to do it. But we think this may be useful for you as well."
He turned the board their way, allowing them to read:
"Shapeshifting: is there a limit? Multi cell organism? How and what can they eat? How does breathing work? Psychic??? Memory like eridians, or humans?"
Emerald hummed thoughtfully.
"What Emerald think, question?" Rocky asked after the silence dragged on.
"I want to know too."
---
A few minutes later, everyone sat in the lab. In one way or the other. Rocky had their tunnel, Grace claimed the stool, and Emerald hovered cross-legged in the air.
"Right," Grace clapped, "before we start, Emerald, if at any point you want some space to breathe or even to stop entirely, just say the word, ok?"
"Ok."
"Nothing bad would happen. In fact, regardless of what and how much testing we do today, we will be showing you some earth media after. So, something to look forward to."
"I understand," Emerald nodded, mental voice more peppy.
Up first, shapeshifting.
Once settled back into their eridian form, Emerald tucked their legs into their underbelly. Still floating in the air.
"How did Emerald shift, question?" Rocky asked curiously, "What was trigger, question?"
"The trigger is my thoughts," Emerald stated, "I wanted to look like this, and my body listened."
"Is that how you made your hands before?" Grace added.
"Yes. Saw shape and wanted to use."
It was utterly unprecedented. Literal mind over matter on a cellular level.
"So, you could turn into anything?"
"I... don't know? Maybe?" Their mental voice was thick with uncertainty.
"That's ok," Grace waved off, "We can put a pin in that for now. Let's move on."
"Oh!" Rocky raised a claw into the air, "We do memory test next, question?!"
"We most certainly can," Grace tapped out a short beat on the table as he hopped up to fetch a few things.
The test wasn't anything too complicated, just a simple game of spot the difference. Better yet, it was a game on the lab screen so Emerald couldn't read their minds and throw the results. And the results... "Well, you've definitely got a good memory," Grace praised, "Can't tell if it's on an eridian scale. Rocky?"
"Too early. Need more data."
"Yeah. You're probably right there. We'll work something out later. Next up, breathing!"
Grace clapped and turned to Emerald. "How's your breathing feel, bud?"
"Breathing...?" Emerald tilted their head in confusion.
"Yeah, it should feel like a constant air flow in and out of somewhere on your body."
"Should I be doing that?"
A weighty silence followed.
"You're not?" Grace asked carefully.
"No."
"And you don't feel dizzy or hot, anything like that?"
"No. I feel normal."
Grace shared a look with Rocky.
"Breathing without breathing, question?" Rocky suggested.
"It is a possibility," Grace stated slowly. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Cutaneous respiration has been documented in many earth species. Although, it's mainly in animals with lower metabolic demands.
Umm, Emerald? Do you feel tired, or hungry right now?"
Emerald frowned in thought.
"Don't think so."
"Body changing would be high energy task," Rocky noted, "And Emerald not eat since forming."
"Well," Grace scratched the back of his head, "Maybe some form of photosynthesis is at play here?"
He glanced up at the clock and sighed. "You know what, let's take a break."
"Screen room, question?"
"Yeah. Come on," Grace waved Emerald to his side, "Let's find you something fun to watch."
---
It took half an hour and several trailers for Emerald to pick something out. And out everything of the Hail Mary's truely colossal library, Little Shop of Horrors was a bit of a surprise. But not a bad one.
After a quick explanation as to what a musical was, they hardly needed to pause the movie at all. Emerald was enraptured throughout. Even Rocky was quiet until the credits rolled.
"So," Grace turned to the others, "What's the verdict?"
"Love love love!" Emerald's tendrils wiggled in imitation of Rocky's jazz hands.
"How they make plant, question? Too complex for puppet," Rocky pointed out.
"You're right there, Rock. It's animatronics, think Armando but wearing a disguise," Grace explained.
"Ohh! Understand!"
As he watched Rocky and Emerald practically bounce on the spot, Grace smiled. They may still have questions, but all in all, so far so good.
Got some more done. My brain's really sticking to this idea, huh?
Enjoy and be gentle
---
It didn't take long for issues to arise. Firstly, with their differing number systems (though thankfully, they both knew of base-6 and base-10 respectively), and then when after covering each of the basic numbers, Paul ended up at a loss as to where to continue. This minor crisis was averted as the other guy scampered off down the tunnel, before returning with a cylinder.
Expecting another message, Paul waited. But it wasn't placed in the drawer. Instead, it was set down upright on the ground. A few seconds passed. Then it suddenly extended.
Paul's heart leapt into his throat.
"Jeez..." he breathed past the fright. If the other guy meant him harm, they would have just done at that stage. Patting his chest, Paul examined at the cylinder's new features.
Three sections had been revealed, marked with the numbers they'd just gone over. A clock. "Ah, right. One moment."
A few minutes and one hastily modified analog clock later, they both had measurements of time. Plus the word clock. Then, the other guy knocked on their carapace and held the two legs facing Paul together. The lines carved into them lined up perfectly. A long series of trills followed before they stopped, waiting patiently for Paul's translation.
For Paul to translate their name.
He had no plan for this. What the hell would you even call an alien? Oh god, they were going to expect him to have a name for that metal too, weren't they?
"Get a grip, Paul," his brain urged, "Name for this guy first, then you can worry about that."
He nodded, fingers hovering over the keys.
"...Rocky," tumbled out of Paul's mouth. It earned a twittering sound, so without any alternatives, it was recorded as their name.
Clearing his throat, Paul turned to face Rocky. He pointed to himself; "Paul. My name is Paul."
Rocky was silent for a moment outside of their claws fidgeting in thought. Then it stopped. A singular high pitched note broke the silence.
Bit underwhelming to be honest. But beggers can't be choosers.
The rest of the day was spent adding more and more to their shared vocabulary. Progress was sporadic: some words came easily, others took time. But regardless, they were soon speaking full(ish) sentences.
Paul had lost count of the amount of times he'd walked back inside the Hail Mary for a visual/auditory aid. Rocky had asked for more science words, so there he was, foraging in the lab for anything he could actually describe correctly.
There was a single full vial in the cupboard. It was hardly that shocking. Much like the machines, there were bottles of every seemingly possible liquid that could be needed for testing. But this wasn't a bottle.
Paul held it in his hand, slowly tilting it this way and that. Viscous black goop gradually coated the sides of the glass. It took two rotations before Paul noticed the label: astrophage.
In his hand was the very reason he was there. If there was a more important word for them both to know, it didn't spring to mind.
Rocky looked up from whatever they were working on as Paul got closer.
"Paul got new word object, question?" The computer read.
"Yeah, found one."
"Just one, question?" Rocky sounded unimpressed but said nothing else. It took a while to communicate their respective roles to each other, but they were well aware that Paul was no scientist.
Paul shrugged and held up the vial.
"We call it astrophage. The stuff eating our suns, I mean."
"Understand," Rocky shuddered slightly, "Eridian word is -." Two short low drones followed.
A dense silence fell over them.
"Oh!" Paul startled slightly once his eyes drifted to the laptop's internal clock, "It's getting late. Should probably get some sleep."
"What word, question?" Rocky asked as Paul stood back up.
"Sleep?" How does one explain sleep? "Well, we lay down and rest for, about six earth hours. Then we wake back up."
"Oh! Eridian word is -." The note wavered slightly.
Paul typed up the word. The next thing Rocky said came out of nowhere: "Rocky watch Paul sleep."
"Uhhh," Paul honestly had no idea what to say to that, "No, thank you? Why would you want to?"
"To keep safe from danger. Eridians must watch sleep."
"Can't you watch someone else? Like one of your crew?" A ship that size had to have a generous number onboard.
Rocky gave a low hum, dragging a claw along the xenonite beneath them.
"Rocky only one."
"I... don't understand."
"Ship left with twenty three. Now only me." All the moisture left Paul's mouth.
"What happened?"
With another low note, Rocky slumped to the ground, legs left to fall wherever. Paul got the message loud and clear. He added the word.
"What about Paul crew, question?" Rocky asked, still reclined.
---
There had been nothing different about that day when Paul woke up. He got dressed, got some breakfast and a coffee, and then went up to Stratt's office as his new usual. However, once inside, Paul quickly noticed that she wasn't alone.
Three other people sat facing her, turning to him as the door opened.
"I- Sorry, I'll just wait," Paul went to close the door again.
"No need," Stratt stated, "You are right on time. Do come in." Stratt turned to the others, gesturing to each in turn: "Commander Yao, Lieutenant Ilyukhina, Dr Dubois, this is Paul Matthews.
You will likely see him in rotation throughout your time here. He may even be assigned to provide assistance to you directly."
"Rotation?" Dr Dubois (oh god, these were the astronauts they were sending up, weren't they?) asked.
"Yes. He is a general assistant for the entire Project."
"And how does one end up 'general assistant'?" Ilyukhina asked, arm proped up on his knee as she peered at Paul curiously.
"The situation regarding Mr Matthews' employment are still... under investigation," Stratt stated.
Commander Yao's head snapped to Stratt.
"There is an investigation?" He asked firmly.
"Yes," Stratt remain perfectly calm even as Paul tensed, "There was a data breach. We quickly determined that Mr Matthews had no part in it, however as he had already viewed the content in question, precautions were taken to avoid a potential secondary leak."
"I wouldn't have said anything," Paul stated as a disclaimer.
The astronauts glanced at each other but seemed satisfied.
"Mr Matthews," Stratt drew Paul's attention back onto her, "You will be mainly testing the flight simulator before Commander Yao's training this morning. After lunch, I will introduce you to the backup team, then you will continue your first aid training."
---
Paul blinked and cleared his throat.
"They, uh. We were put into a... long sleep for the trip here. And, I'm the only one who woke up."
Rocky chirped sadly. Looking down at them, Paul felt his will to say no waver.
"We not alone. Have each other now," Rocky cooed, rolling their claws together.
"Yeah," Paul said softly, copying the gesture, "We do." Then gave a big sigh. "Let me get my things."
Part of the wall had a divet just big enough for Paul to lay inside somewhat comfortably. A sleeping bag served as a thin mattress, yet the main source of Paul's discomfort was from above. Rocky had sat there, planted really, with a solid thunk once he'd shuffled in. Giving Paul a very clear look at their... undercarriage.
Not that there was much to see, but still. Paul shuffled in place and closed his eyes. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
In spite of the setting, sleep didn't stay away for long.
This idea started brewing as soon as the news of Ryan Gosling being cast as Ghost Rider hit my ears. It may not fit either timeline, but oh well. It's just for fun anyway.
Enjoy and be gentle
---
Johnny wasn't really one to watch the news. Never was really. He preferred to wait for it to filter its way to him, one way or the other.
That's how he learned about the black dots on the sun.
At first, he simply shrugged it off. Then came their name: astrophage, star eater. And the rumors swiftly followed. Rumors of the sun dimming, of global cooling, crops dying. Starvation.
Nobody ever really confirmed it, at least to Johnny personally. But, with how everyone acted, he didn't need anyone to.
He saw so many react in so many different ways. The crowds at the carnival swelled to surprising levels with folks who had either wanted to scratch something off the bucket list while they could, or simply distract themselves from reality. Whatever their reason, Johnny was more than happy to put on a show. And the crowd remained just as delighted with his performance.
He learned of the Hail Mary a day after it had left Earth. Not by a tourist, but by a voicemail. With everything going on, he'd forgotten to check it for over a week. It had been years since he'd heard his twin brother's voice, but Johnny would never forget that voicemail. The fear in his voice as Ryland stammered something about an accident and a ship.
Johnny tried to call him. Nothing. After that, he learned why.
Grief was a strange thing. Stranger still knowing the person you were grieving would both be alive for sixteen years, and dead in roughly four. Ideally.
Johnny didn't talk about it. He didn't even want to think about it. But his mind refused to cooperate, conjuring up every possible way his brother could die. After another such nightmare, Johnny knew sleep wouldn't be an option for the rest of the night. So he headed down to the bike shed.
The familiar routine pushed the varied morbid scenarios to the back of his mind. His bike was due a tune up anyway. This he could do. He could reach any part of his bike, replace anything as soon as it broke, long before anyone could get hurt because of it.
Johnny couldn't do that with the Hail Mary. No matter how badly he wished he could.
With a sigh, he reached for a wrench without looking away from his bike. It wasn't where he knew it was. Blindly, he felt for it.
"I believe you're looking for this," a voice said as the wrench appeared in Johnny's peripheral vision.
"Thanks," Johnny took the wrench, tightened the bolt, and paused.
Slowly, Johnny turned to face the stranger. Lips pulled back into a literal sharp toothed grin, glowing red eyes trained on him firmly. There was a heavyness to the air around the stranger, a thickness to the shadows around him.
"Hello, Johnny," he purred.
"Hey..."
"Rather late to be working, don't you think?"
"Would say the same for you."
The stranger laughed.
"Oh, but this is my favorite time for a walk," he gestured to the clock hanging on the wall, still grinning, "The perfect time, in fact." Johnny turned to glance at the clock. Midnight on the dot.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, Johnny. Come on. Your twin might be the one with the brains, but you don't need a doctorate to figure out who I am."
Johnny's throat dried up. Yeah, he knew who this was.
"Now that introductions are out of the way," The Devil went on, "we can get down to business."
"I don't know what you mean," Johnny stated.
"Oh, but you do, Johnny. It's been on your mind, must be five weeks now. Long time for such things to fester," that grin grew, "and so loud too." He paused a moment before continuing: "So many things on your mind. Or, I suppose, just one."
Johnny said nothing. But his silence was its own confirmation. The Devil leaned in slightly. "So much that could go wrong up there, and no way to prevent it. But I'm here now.
And I think you'll like what I have to offer."
Each word formed an invisible hook, catching each imagined scenario and dragging them back into the light.
"...What's the offer?" Johnny asked cautiously.
"Your brother's survival," the words root themselves in Johnny's brain, "Comas are risky things, even without being onboard an experimental rocket hurtling towards a distant star." He laughed, "The biggest gamble in human history."
"Yeah, and what would you get out of it?"
"Well, I have to admit humanity's continued existence would be... convenient for me," he explained plainly, "And who would be the most important part of this mission other than the science officer?"
"And the catch?"
"The Hail Mary can never return to Earth. But, in exchange for your soul, he will survive whatever happens up there so long as he considers the mission incomplete."
Johnny's heart pounded in his chest.
"And after that, he's left alone? No tricks, no long and painful death?" He stressed.
"He will simply be left to whatever fate has in store for him."
"...You promise?"
"You have my word."
Johnny's fingers tapped rhythmically on his knees as he mulled it over. It wouldn't allow him to see Ryland again, but it would ensure he lived just a little while longer. And that the end would hopefully be peaceful.
"It's a bad idea," a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Ryland tried to argue. But that voice only solidified his choice.
"It's a deal."
An even wider grin split The Devil's face from ear to ear as he held out his hand, a flame licking the palm. After only a moment's hesitation, Johnny shook his hand. Those clawed fingers locked around his hand with incredible strength, blood flowing from where they dug into flesh, holding their palms together as the flame burned.
Groaning, Johnny gripped his arm as the fire seemed to spread rapidly underneath his skin. Smoke filled his lungs and stung his eyes.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Johnny," were the last words he heard before the pain grew too much, and everything went black.
Taking all but the extention cord, Paul trudged on towards the wall. Between the bulky EVA suit, the objects in his arms, and the uneven floor, every other step was followed by a light stumble. But Paul kept going.
Only the wall was different when he arrived.
The glittering pseudo-glass replaced all the other segments.
"Ok," Paul nodded, "Ok. That's, useful. Good." Another nod, and he got to work. The first makeshift light was set on a larger ridge in the ground, near the right most side. The left took a bit more effort.
Awkwardly braced on the wall, Paul tore off a ribbon of tape and began attaching it. Six whole strips later, he was reasonably sure it was stable. Nodding in satisfaction, Paul turned back to the wall. And startled violently.
The creature on the other side flinched back, skittering away into the shadows. Leaving a faint, eerie outline. Music played from an unknown source, short sharp notes turning long and low.
Ah, that must be one of the Blip-A's crew. "I..." Paul cleared his suddenly dry throat, "Sorry about that. Didn't see you there." While twitching again at the sound of Paul's cough, the other guy grew more confident at his even tone, stepping back into the light. They looked like a big rock spider, brown carapace spotted with teal deposits. Intricate cravings decorated each of their five legs, and most of their main body was hidden by... a green sweater.
The sweater helped. It soothed a primal part of Paul's brain. Yes, there was an alien right there, but they looked comfortable. Chose to be comfortable. Likely picked out their best outfit for such an encounter.
It made Paul very aware of the several weighty layers he was wearing himself.
As Paul's heart relaxed, the other guy moved up to the wall and began to tap on it. The resulting beat mixed quite nicely with the now bright sounding tune. Leaning in, Paul tapped back.
More tapping followed, faster and harder. This behaviour felt familiar. Assuming that this was the same crewmate he'd met before, then what was this message?
Paul tapped a different part of the wall. A melodic snort followed, and the other guy kept tapping the same spot. He turned his head in the same direction. There was a shelf in the wall of the tunnel about shoulder height. Walking closer to it, Paul heard the tapping stop.
Sitting in the shelf were two round containers. On the lids of each were an engraving of the Hail Mary and the Blip-A respectively. Taking both, Paul returned to the wall and sat down. The other guy copied, limbs splayed out just like how Paul's legs were.
Looking down at the two containers, Paul picked up one and shook it. Then the other. One sounded fuller, multiple somethings rattling inside. A gentle tune accompanied his little test.
The Hail Mary topped one was opened first, a single object falling out. Twenty nine smaller objects fell from the Blip-A's container. All roughly the same: interlocking rings dotted by the same clear "gems" as on the star map. Spreading them all out, Paul looked at them. The single one from the first container was different from the rest, and scratched at another memory.
Hazy flashes of sitting in science class at Sycamore responded.
"Oxygen," Paul realised, holding up the molecule, "This is oxygen." Excitement filled his new companion, jumping up with what looked like jazz hands and high pitched chirping. Oh, they were the source of that music.
Smiling at their enthusiasm, Paul looked back down at the molecules from the Blip-A's container. No memory emerged to guide him. But he probably didn't need it here.
"They know the Hail Mary is full of oxygen, likely from when I sent back the star map," Paul reasoned in his head. "So whatever the other molecule is, is what the other crew's atmosphere is made of. The number... could be pressure."
The thought made Paul glance up at the clear barrier with a new found appreciation for its sheer strength. But something evaded him still. Sure, it was good to know the difference between their atomspheres, but he could shake the feeling he was missing something.
A series of notes drew Paul's attention back to the other guy. The jazz hands were replaced by an odd gesture, a sort of upward motion with open claws facing each other. As if holding something.
A chill trickled down his spine. "You want me to take off my helmet," Paul stated plainly. The other guy gave a single chirp of acknowledgement and continued to perform the gesture.
He couldn't do that. He just couldn't. That way led to a swift death. Right?
Paul looked at the oxygen molecule still in his hand. They knew what he breathed. The pressure gage on his wrist read the same as it did after the door had blown him back. Was it not broken? Was it actually safe? ...Could he afford to take that risk?
The molecule slipped from his hand. Heart thundering in his chest, Paul raised both hands to the release latch on the chest plate. He held his breath. And pushed.
The seal released with a hiss.
Nothing immediately bad happened. Sliding his helmet off, Paul waited a second. And dared to take a breath.
Sweet, sweet oxygen filled his whole body with the purest relief Paul could ever remember feeling. It nearly sent him to the ground. Shaky laughs met jubilant song.
---
It felt so good to finally shed the EVA suit. Paul allowed himself a moment to relish in it, before putting the suit away. He had a massive task ahead of him: figuring out how to communicate with an alien race.
Miming and models can only get them so far. But, hopefully, it can work for long enough to become obsolete. Mind whirling away, Paul fetched a laptop.
He'd not checked out what was on them before. The real question was what wasn't. Countless different types and brands of software filled the internal disc drive, somehow still leaving a substantial amount of storage left. Once he finally found exactly what he was looking for, Paul marched right back into the tunnel (after plugging in the extention cord, just in case).
"Ok," he said as he set down everything but the Petrova line sculpture, "We're here for the same reason." He held up the sculpture, and the other guy quickly perked up and began firing off notes rapidly. "Right. So, we need to communicate," Paul continued after they settled down, "Figured numbers were a good starting point."
He held up the tape measure for them to see. A tap had part of the barrier pop out into a drawer. So, Paul placed the tape measure inside. Only he ended up dropping it as soon as his hand met the immense heat still radiating from it, withdrawing his hand with a wordless hiss.
"Shit!" Paul winced, inspecting his left hand for damage. The skin was starting to tint red, but no major damage. Then the smell hit. "Urgh, is that ammonia?"
The other guy didn't respond, utterly enchanted by the tape measure. The partially melting tape measure. Rubber dripped off and splattered into the floor below, the few drops that didn't being harmlessly flicked away. A coo sounded as the tape was pulled out and released. Then again without seemingly acknowledging the numbers.
Paul was at a loss as to what to do. Clearly, the other guy thought it was a toy instead of something used for measurement. What was he doing wrong?
His eyes flickered down the dark corridor towards the Blip-A. No sign of any other crew, and no lights. Paul looked at the crewmate in front of him who was currently wrapping themself up in the tape. No visible eyes.
Oh, it was so painfully obvious now.
Paul winced again. "Ahh, ok, ok. Ok, I can work with this. I... Wait here a moment. I'll be right back."
Now, why a spaceship packed with every form of scientific equipment humanity had ever made also had a large bag of popsicle sticks, Paul really had no idea. But it hardly mattered. If anything, it was his saving grace. He wasn't an arts and crafts guy, but he still managed to make some passable number models out of them.
At Paul's footsteps, the other guy perked up, allowing the tape measure to snap closed in favour of whatever he was holding. Moment of truth. Laying them out, Paul pointed to the first. "One." Then the next. "Two."
Paul could see the instant he was understood. They jumped up, tapping the bottom of the divider before bounding off. His turn to wait.
As he waited, Paul finished setting up his translator. It was... not very photogenic, but form was hardly the most important factor at play. The other guy practically bounced on their way back, their own limbs laden with supplies.
An apron had been applied over the sweatshirt. After setting everything down, they pulled on a pair of gloves connected to tanks of something by thin tubes and, before Paul's eyes, began to weave metal. These models formed quickly, surprisingly so. Fewer but just as well made as the others.
"Ok, ok, ok," Paul swallowed and checked the laptop was ready. It was. He nodded and held up the first model: "One." A rod was held up, and a clear note provided.
The program worked. Paul recorded the number and picked up the next one. The other guy had already done the same.
Under the cockpit, Paul met his currently recorded eyes.
It had been a... while since he'd done a video log. There was a hazy vodka fueled memory of filming one, but that was pretty much it. And this almost certainly counted as "stuff that needs to be documented".
He ran a finger along the petrova line sculpture in his hands.
"So, I've arrived at Tau Ceti about," Paul leaned over to glance at the nearest clock, "an hour ago. And I now have a pen pal." An oversimplification maybe, but not inaccurate. "They sent me a gift," he waved the sculpture, "It's, uh, made of xenon. Or something mixed with xenon, I'm not sure."
Paul's thumb traced a specific groove on the larger orb.
"Blip-C detected."
"Already!?" He looked up at the nearest speaker before fumbling the camera off and hurrying his way into the cockpit. The radar didn't lie. In his rush to get back in his EVA suit, Paul failed to recognise where this capsule was aimed.
Until he opened the outer hatch and watched it spin smoothly inside.
That wasn't the only difference to the previous capsule. While retaining the twist tops on both ends, these instead released the panels on the sides to reveal a model. It took a few rotations for Paul to find the right angle and realise the intended message.
The Blip-A and the Hail Mary linked by a tunnel:
"Let's meet up!"
As soon as the centrifuge was turned off, a new part of the Blip-A revealed itself. Five rods emerged from the side of the ship and raced for the Hail Mary. Standing outside the airlock, Paul watched through the porthole as they neared. They slowed just before touching the hull, the ends widening into three points as they made contact.
After them came a wide ring that traveled down the rods, attaching more material as it passed. It hugged the airlock and moved back, finishing up the tunnel. Leaving the porthole a view of total darkness.
A minute passed in total silence. Trembling hands turned the wheel holding the door shut. Light attempted to breach the wall of shadow but failed past a few centimeters. Paul stood on the edge, glancing at the bronze metal encircling him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into the tunnel.
Not straight down, of cource. Drifting towards a wall, Paul clutched at the uneven surface and climbed further down. Until another wall appeared.
Completely sealing off the tunnel, multiple hexagons of different colours, patterns, and even sizes decorated the wall. One in particular caught Paul's eye. Tucked away near the bottom, was a single small clear segment, no bigger than Paul's visor. He moved toward it. Nothing appeared on the other side, just more darkness.
Were the Blip-A's crew waiting for... something? Peering at him through an unseen camera to see what he did? Or maybe they were still making preparations and he'd wandered in early?
Paul searched through that tiny patch for anything of note. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and tapped on the "glass". One, two, three.
Suddenly, something slammed onto the wall from the other side. In an instant, Paul's arms threw him backwards. Slamming into the tunnel wall, Paul panted as he clutched at the strange metal, and dared to look back at the wall.
It was intact. Whatever had hit the wall was gone.
What the hell was that? Another one of those robots? Paul turned to look back at the airlock. Maybe he should head back? Wait for another sign from-
Tap, tap, tap.
Paul stilled. He wasn't alone.
Tap, tap, tap.
It came from the wall, matching the rhythm he'd tapped. Paul turned back to the wall. He couldn't see anything through the clear patch from there.
Tap, tap, tap.
Even as fear remained pumping through his veins, Paul lightly pushed off the ground and let the momentum carry him back to the wall. Holding the panel beneith the clear patch, Paul watched with held breath as something came into view. A limb, rock-like in appearance, knocked on the wall with the back of a digit. Paul knocked back.
The limb moved out of view and came back holding something. Misshapen but unmistakable, the human figurine was held out for a moment before being replaced by one of the Hail Mary. A touch had it spin gently.
It felt significant somehow. Half a minute passed and the human figurine returned. This time, the limb moved it in tiny bounces towards the now stationary Hail Mary. "You want me to go back?" Paul asked, gesturing with a thumb towards the hatch. The movement got slightly faster, more insistant. "Ok, I'll, uh, see you later?"
Paul didn't bother taking off the whole EVA suit once back inside, only the helmet and gloves. Watching from the lab window as the tunnel was disconnected and the entire ship bagan to spin, point over point. Message received.
It took a while to figure out how to match the Blip-A in terms of direction and velocity, but Paul managed.
"It is not advised to modify the centrifugal settings of the ship," the computer notified Paul as he made the adjustments.
"I know," Paul said on reflex, pulling the lever and praying he was correct.
Gravity returned and the Blip-A realigned the tunnel. While that was going on, Paul went about the ship scavenging for portable light sources. His eventual haul included several torches (some battery powered, some hand crank), rechargable batteries with the charger, test tube holders (to hold the torches), a rather generous extension cord, and a long string of christmas lights.
Standing in the airlock with all this and duct tape on hand, Paul took a deep breath and unsealed the hatch. Only to get blown into the closed hatch behind him. Wheezing in confusion, Paul looked at the pressure gage on his suit.
But, it couldn't be right. It was reading the pressure as the same before the airlock depressurised. "Did it break already?" Paul muttered to himself, before shaking it off and standing up.
The alien ship did nothing in the minute Paul spend frozen in place. It simply sat there. All the while, Paul's mind raced.
There was a manned (occupied?) spaceship outside, and he had no idea what to do. Had he offended them somehow? Was he trespassing? It was currently doing nothing but how long would that last? Were they trying to establish radio contact? Did the Hail Mary even have a radio?
Paul breathed as he continued to watch the ship. Why wasn't it doing anything? Clearly, it was interested in him. It came over after all. Probably saw the Hail Mary enter orbit.
A thought drifted into Paul's head: An unknown object, constructed rather than natural, is propelled into the star's orbit and stops. A tiny piece could maybe be seen moving, but otherwise nothing. If Paul had saw such a thing and it was much smaller than his ship, he'd assume it was a probe.
The other ship was waiting for a sign of life.
Slowly, Paul inched his way back into the pilot's seat. His eyes remained on the window as he clipped the restraints back on. Fingers curling comfortably around the control stick, Paul took a deep breath and pressed the throttle.
One. Two. Three.
The other ship was quick to copy.
"Ok, ok, ok, ok," Paul tried to soothe himself. They were now both on the same page. Now it was his turn to wait.
Just as it was quick to copy, the other ship was quick to respond. Something began shifting along the hull, but before Paul could do anything-
"Blip-B detected," the computer stated. A dot had appeared on the radar, visible from the window once Paul looked back out. The cylinder that had been thrown by a five armed robot turned end over end on its way towards him.
Panic gripped Paul tight.
"Computer," he wheezed past his swelling fear, "How long until the Blip-B arrives?"
"Twenty-five minutes."
Rather slow for a possible bomb. Just the right speed for a message.
"If I did decide to catch it, how would I do it?" Paul asked, desperately hoping for something better than what he was thinking.
"Would you like to go for a space walk, Mr Matthews?" He didn't. He really, really didn't want to. But what other choice did he have?
Oddly enough, even with the complication of zero gravity, it didn't take Paul that long to climb into an EVA suit. Muscle memory kicked in as soon as the undersuit was on. Unfortunately, this meant that he was standing in the airlock sooner than he would have liked. Turns out the only thing worse than knowing only metal and glass is holding you back from being sucked out into space, was standing in front of a door leading to that same yawning void and needing to open it.
Paul checked his tether for the third time and opened the airlock.
He looked away as soon as he could, attaching to the first tether point. Almost the entirety of Paul's focus was on the Hail Mary's hull, with fleeting glances towards the cylinder to check its progress. By the time he made it to the estimated impact site, the cylinder was still outside of reach.
Anxiety beat in his chest like a drum, but Paul flipped around to face the Blip-A regardless. It took extreme effort to not look down. Or in any other direction than at the cylinder. Minutes ticked by as it grew closer and closer, until finally, Paul could catch it.
Holding it tightly, he climbed his way back rapidly, only turning back once in the airlock. The hull robot had tracked his progress and was now sitting directly opposite him. Paul couldn't see any cameras, but he could feel whoever was at the controls staring. He stared back, slowly raised his arm, and waved.
The robot was still for a moment. Then an arm jutted out, and it waved back. Withdrawing into the airlock, Paul pulled the door closed, never breaking eye contact. As soon as the door shut, the robot sped off out of sight.
Five minutes later, Paul floated in the lab, looking out at a sea of complex devices. And it all finally hit.
He was really doing it. He was really, actively making first contact with an alien race. And he had absolutely no idea how to use any of the equipment he was looking at. Could any of it even work in zero gravity?
So, Paul tried something new. He closed his eyes, and he thought really, really hard:
"How do I use the lab in zero gravity?"
---
True to Stratt's word, Paul had woken up the next morning with a duffle bag at his feet and a sticky note on his forehead. One meeting and a couple days waiting for blood test results later, he was offically handed the role of "General Assistant." What did this mean? Basically, anything Stratt thought it should mean.
Lab assistant, coffee boy, note taker, anytime she thought Paul's hands could be useful to someone, she'd send him over there. And most prominently on that list was "test dummy."
Paul sat in the training simulator waiting for the next phase. They had apparently updated the layout and wanted to make sure that nothing was going to short circuit randomly.
"Ok," the instructor spoke over the radio, "Now, pull the centrifuge lever."
"Alright," Paul flipped the two switches holding it in place and pulled it down.
"I'm not seeing any surges or irregularities, think that's it for today."
Sitting back in the chair as the simulator powered down, one question popped into Paul's head:
"Why would the lab's centrifuges be rigged up to the cockpit?"
"Oh, they aren't," the instructor replied conversationally, "Well... I guess they kinda are. Apparently, it's cheaper, easier, and more time efficient to convert the Hail Mary into a giant centrifuge, then to design and test zero-g versions of the lab equipment."
That... seemed to make sense. Either way, it wasn't his problem.
---
The switch in hindsight was obvious. Namely because it was the only thing shaped like it on the entire control panel. Pulling it had an instant effect. The Hail Mary unfurled just as designed, and began to spin.
Within moments, the familiar and very much missed pull of gravity kicked in.
"Lab operational," the computer declared once Paul's feet were firmly on the ground. One problem solved, now for the rest.
Rummaging throught the drawers yielded a pair of tongs, goggles, gloves, and some sort of scanner that could identify elements. Goggles and gloves on, Paul aimed the scanner at the cylinder.
"Xenon?" He read off the screen in confusion. Now, he was no scientist, but he was pretty sure that xenon's whole thing was that it didn't react with stuff. And yet, no matter what angle Paul redid the test, xenon. Everytime. "Right then. Ok. Metal's made of xenon. Sure."
Given the visible seam wrapping around both ends, whatever the Blip-A's occupants wanted him to see was inside. Shaking it gave no hint of its contents. In fact, knocking on it gave nothing but a dull thud.
Paul transferred the cylinder to the fume hood, closed the lid, and slipped his hands into the gloves. Better safe than sorry.
"Lefty loosey, righty tighty," he muttered softly to himself as he picked it up. The thing refused to budge. Paul heaved, huffing and puffing, until condensation trickled down the inside of his goggles. Not a millimeter of progress.
Tearing the goggles off his face, Paul felt along the surface of the cylinder, searching for a button or catch, or something like that. The ridged surface remained consistent. Paul pulled his arms out with a sigh.
What on Earth was he meant to open it?
...He wasn't on Earth. "Lefty loosey, righty tighty" is how twist tops are handled on Earth. But, why would aliens do the same?
Returning to the fume hood, Paul first tried pressing the ends in. Then turned one end to the right. It popped open near instantly. Inside was a sculpture made of the same metal, two orbs connected to each other. The other side held another sculpture made of thin rods, one that suddenly spiked out as soon as the ends left the container.
Paul yelped and jumped back into the lab table. There wasn't any sign of damage, not even a scratch. Rubbing his hip, Paul peered back into the fume hood.
The second sculpture's base had become a dome, displaying each rod prominently. All of the rods were identical except for two: the one in the centre and another to the side. Those ones were topped with a clear gem or diamond.
Opening the hood, Paul picked up both and carried them to the lab table. A quick scan showed they were both made of the same xenon metal. Even the "gems".
"Ok, ok, what are you trying to tell me?" Paul whispered. Both sculptures sat there. He picked up the first one and began turning it around in his hands. There was just something so familiar about the shape. It hovered just outside of his awareness, taunting him with each rotation.
Then the curved line curled up and over. Into something Paul had seen an hour prior.
It was a petrova line linking a star and a planet. And upon closer inspection, the wire model had a tiny one, the same thickness as a human hair, on the off-centre gem tipped rod.
One by one, the pieces clicked together in Paul's head. The aliens also had a petrova line. The clear tips were stars, two specific stars. It was a map, a statement, and a question all rolled into one:
"This is our star. This is Tau Ceti, where we are. Where is your star?"
To answer that, Paul first needed to work out where Sol was on the star map. Thankfully, the screens in the lab had so, so many star maps preloaded. It only took about five minutes to get the two maps to line up. 40 Eridani is where the Blip-A was from, and Sol was all the way on the other side of Tau Ceti.
Ok. Great. Now, to convey that to the Blip-A. He was pretty sure he'd seen a soldering iron somewhere. Shouldn't take him too long to find.
Got even more ready! I'm hoping to get something of another story out next, but I guess we'll find out.
Enjoy and be gentle
---
Paul found the jumpsuits in their own box. Arranged side by side, name tags up. White, yellow, blue, and red. Each colour in pairs.
He remembered them wearing yellow, so he chose those.
Holding his own, Paul took in the various patches. From the golden wings above his name to the mission patch ringed by the flags from every country on Earth. His next breath shuddered slightly as it left his lungs. Then he got dressed.
Dressing them both was difficult, his skin rejecting the sensation of cold, dry skin. But using the robot to do it felt outright wrong. So Paul grit his teeth, and got to work.
Carefully wrapping them in the bed sheets, Paul carried them up. Until they all sat outside the airlock. Flipping through the pictures in his hands, Paul cleared his throat.
"Ilyukhina, first off, I am sorry about the vodka. And everything else... um," Paul shuffled her photos, "You seemed a very adventurous person, considering you apparently broke into the Kremlin." Paul turned the aforementioned image towards her with a frail smile that quickly crumbled under the weight of the stillness. "Ahh..."
Paul was lost for words. "Dr Dubois," he tried to power through, "You were... very loved. You both were. And...
I'm not doing this right. I don't know how to do this. I've never... You both deserve better than this. But, I promise I'll do my best to- I'll do my best."
Eyes misty and breaths shaky, Paul gently tucked their photos into their clasped hands. And in the crook of Ilyukhina's arm, he placed the teddy bear he'd found in her box. Then he picked her up, shroud and all, and carried her into the airlock. Dr Dubois soon followed her.
With the airlock resealed, Paul made his way down to the lab window, watching as the bodies of his late crewmates faded into the endless starfield. And then, he was truely alone.
---
The next day, Paul sat in the screen room in silence. Around him was the moonlit trees of the Witchwood. He'd found it on day two, alongside a sound/videoscape of downtown Hatchetfield. Just the brief glimpse he got sent Paul spiraling straight to one of the vodka bags.
But Witchwood felt safe. Close to home, but without the intensity.
Leaves rustled underneath the constant chirping of crickets, broken by the occasional bird call or twig snapping under an unseen foot. Paul's feet laid carefully on the lower screens, appearing to be resting on the firm earth shown. His eyes slid closed. The sounds wrapped around him. He could almost feel the wind in his hair, the slight chill nipping at his exposed skin, the various scents of the forest. After a minute, Paul opened his eyes.
The screens were gone.
All around him, the trees towered over him. A gust of wind blew past, making Paul shiver and hold his jumpsuit further closed. The full moon overhead cast a spotlight down on him.
What was going on? Was he starting to lose it? It felt real, but that didn't make any sence. A white light shone from Paul's right with enough suddeness to startle him into turning.
Something stood there. Glowing bright enough to hide any possible features from view. Only the rounded spiderlike body could be seen past that bright light. It shuffled on its uneven limbs. Music unlike any Paul had ever heard before began from somewhere, errie yet calming.
An alarm sounded.
He was back in the screen room, a message displayed in red on every screen: "Engine cut off imminent." Scrambling up the ladder into the cockpit, Paul stumbled to a chair.
"Pilot detected," the computer chimed automatically, "Engine cut off in ten, nine, eight-"
"Ok, ok, ok," Paul muttered, ignoring the countdown in favor of clicking the chair restraints into place.
"-three, two, one."
The faint hum stopped. For a second, everything was still. Then came the feeling of falling. Paul knew he wasn't falling. He could feel himself floating up into the straps holding him to the chair. But his body was unconvinced.
"You are now orbiting Tau Ceti," the computer stated. Paul groaned wordlessly, clutching his rebelling stomach.
"Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, you'll regret it if you puke," his brain chanted desperately.
"Petrovascope operational."
Paul turned to the device sitting to his right, waiting to be used. And, once his stomach relaxed, released the restraints. It took a fair bit of bobbing and awkward positioning, but Paul managed to lay down under the petrovascope.
Tau Ceti was a penny sized spot of light on the screen. Paul found a button near the base of the hand holds, clicking it switched the view from normal to infrared. The vibrant red line glowed like hot coals. Tau Ceti was infected, it just wasn't dimming. Slowly, Paul began to turn the petrovascope, following the line as it arced towards a planet. Only to stop suddenly.
There was a break in the line. A large gap, astrophage visible on both sides. Then a flash of light, highlighting a strange shape within.
"What?" Paul asked softly. He clicked the view back to normal. A spot of bronze was visible, the same shape. Although, it looked... bigger?
"Blip-A detected."
It took a second for the declaration to sink in. Paul pulled himself out and looked up at the screens. There was indeed a blip on the radar, a very large blip. One several times bigger than the Hail Mary.
Patterns of light and shadow rippled over the cockpit. Then, just like that, Paul realised what is making it.
The breath caught in his chest. His head turned almost by itself to the window on his left. Bronze filled the glass. Trembling arms pulled him closer until he was right up against the window.
It really was another ship. All flat panels and thin rods. The other ship slowed until it parked right next to him. Deliberately.
I honestly can't recall the last time I've had this much progress in a story so quickly. It's quite nice.
Enjoy and be gentle
---
All things considered, Paul thinks he handled everything quite well. Considering the things were "hurtling towards a distant star with not enough fuel to go home" and "woke up from a coma with amnesia and two dead bodies right next to him". Sure, there had been screaming, but anyone else would have done that too.
After about an hour, Paul settled down. Throat raw and emotionally hollow. Silently, he hobbled back to the dormitory.
The bunks had been tucked away when he arrived. Hovering at eye level, the robot arm held a bag of water and the electric razor. As soon as Paul stood on the padded floor, the arm offered the water. He accepted it.
Thankfully, the arm let him take the razor and shave himself. His hair ended up rough but it was close to the haircut he remembered. It helped. Not much, but somewhat.
Not daring to look at the other bunks, Paul climbed to the soft boxes and pulled some free. Specifically the boxes marked with names. Paul opened his own one first. A high school hoodie, a red and white jumper, and some other general clothes filled the box. At the bottom, was a single photograph.
Himself, wearing a suit and looking up at the camera. Standing in some hanger of sorts, clearly startled.
None of his personal effects brought up anymore memories. Not even the photo. So, reluctantly, Paul went to the other boxes. Dr Dubois's held a whole album of photos as did Ilyukhina's. Flipping through them drew up flickers of them alive, laughing at a joke or doing some minor experiments.
The silence seemed to grow thicker with each fragment that returned.
Why was he there? Why were any of them there? Why was he the only one to wake up? How the hell do you plan a funeral for someone you can barely recall knowing?
That last question in particular haunted Paul for the following week. Days were hard to keep track of, only the meal tubes actually gave him any actual indication. Between those, he mostly just wandered the ship, reading the few information folders he could find. With nothing but the soft hum of machinery for company.
Piece by piece, Paul recovered some facts about himself. Nothing big, just little things. He had lived in a small island town called Hatchetfield all his life, the office he'd remembered belonged to CCRP's technical department, everyday he walked five blocks and endured truely horrific coffee just to see one of the baristas, and he didn't like musicals. That last fact returned thanks to Ilyukhina's Cats t-shirt.
It was on day nine that things finally changed. Paul's meal tubes were mainly solid at this point, a fact that was surprisingly uplifting. His now daily lap around the ship had more energy than previously. And with that energy, he noticed the plates.
Arranged tastefully along a wall Paul must have walked past at least ten times, the gold plates stood proudly. Engraved on their surface were star charts and various depictions of humanity and its creations. One in particular drew Paul's eye.
He'd seen it before.
---
At the end of the day, Paul had left CCRP as he normally did.
"See you tomorrow, Bill," Paul waved to him as Bill unlocked his car. Nothing out of the blue occurred during the walk back home. Yet Paul felt... off.
He ignored it. But the feeling grew the closer he got. And, as he climbed the staircase to his door, he discovered why.
There were two men by his front door. Bulky, in fitted black suits, standing near perfectly still. Their heads turned to him. And Paul sensed another man move into the stairwell behind him.
"Paul Matthews?" One of the man asked smoothly.
"I- Yes?" Paul stammered slightly.
"You need to come with us. Please don't make this difficult." Unable to trust his voice, Paul nodded.
The men escourted him back downstairs and into a black van. It drove off before the men finished fastening their seatbelts. They didn't drive for too long and, mercifully, the door opened to Hatchetfield Airport rather than Clivesdale.
There was a fighter jet sitting on the tarmac. Between the men marching him straight at it and the flight vest handed to him, it was clear what they wanted Paul to do. The flight was... rough, to put it mildly. Touchdown came as a relief. It didn't last long.
Next, they put him in a helicopter. Then another fighter jet. And then, he had finally arrived at a military aircraft carrier.
A second pair of silent men guided a wobbly Paul down metal corridors and into a conference room. A long table was the only true piece of furniture. Chairs sat on either side, and a projector near the front.
One chair was already pulled out, a notepad and pencil set pointedly on the table. Paul sat down. And the men waited by the door.
Less than one minute later, the door opened again.
A woman stepped through. The very definition of calm, clothes loose and comfortable. But Paul wouldn't dare call her laidback. She stood with the same posture as the parade of military Paul had just been subjected to, eyes regarding him almost casually. This was a woman completely at ease in a military base, enough to wear clothes for comfort instead of appearence. Someone who belonged there.
Paul's heart thundered against his breastbone.
"Hello, Mr Matthews," she said.
"Hello..."
"I am Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova Taskforce. Are you aware of why you've been brought here?"
Paul scoured his brain with a fine tooth comb for anything that could have led to this. And it sank in.
"...The email?" He offered hesitantly.
"You are correct. At approximately three-thirty, a hacker managed to breach our network and acquired a top secret document. And sent it to you."
Paul's heart dropped like, well, how his body likely will be into the sea real soon.
"We are aware that you have had no correspondence with the individual before this incident. And rest assured, whoever 'ten0i-KAx3s' truely is, they shall be dealt with separately from you.
However, this still leaves us with a problem. You opened the document, Mr Matthews."
"I didn't see much," Paul pleaded frantically, "Just the title and something about astrophage, and the Beatles, but nothing else!" Stratt looked at him for a moment. Then she hummed and reached into her pocket.
"Oh god," Paul thought, "This is it. I'm about to get two in the head and one in the heart."
"Isn't it one in the head, two in the heart?" His brain questioned.
"Not helping!" Paul mentally snapped back.
Stratt's hand withdrew. Holding a remote. The lights dimmed, she clicked a button, and the slideshow appeared on the wall behind her.
"In that case, let's go through it now. Do be aware I won't being doing this twice." She waited patiently for Paul's breathing to slow and for his trembling fingers to steady and pick up the pencil before clicking to the first page.
The next few minutes were the strangest Paul had ever experienced. Taking notes about a secret government project to make more of the sun eating bacteria to use as fuel for humanity's first interstellar spaceship to study the only star seemingly not infected by the same bacteria was utterly surreal. But, as unbelieveable as it should have been, Paul knew that this all was very real.
The sun really was dying. And this might be the only chance to stop it.
One tiny detail stuck out to him.
"So, what happens to the astronauts?" Paul asked
"They'll send their findings back on probes," Stratt tapped at the Beatle diagram, "There won't be enough fuel for a round trip, so they will be given solutions for after."
"...You mean, dying?"
"Yes," Stratt confirmed, just as firmly as before but notably quieter. Paul nodded and absorbed this silently. "We've narrowed down the crew down to the minimum number required: a pilot, an engineer, and a scientist," Stratt elaborated.
"Ok." Paul breathed in deep, staring at his notes.
"So," he cleared his throat and tried to muffle the swirling in his mind, "What happens now?"
"Now you are a part of the Project. The exact details of your position will be discussed later," Stratt stated as she turned the projector off, "When you're ready, these men will take you to the canteen and guide you to a bunk. Your belongings will be with you when you wake up.
Good night, Mr Matthews." And she left.
---
Oh. He'd known.
The page of bullet points lingered on his eyelids, overlaying the depiction of the Hail Mary in front of him. Paul breathed in and out carefully. Of cource, he'd known. Why else would he be there?
Swallowing, Paul turned to look down the walkway leading to the dormitory. He couldn't put it off any longer.
In truth, Paul wasn't too sure how long he spent staring at that window. At the endless vacuum beyond, held back by that single piece of glass. But eventually, he looked away and continued walking.
He needed to find someone, anyone.
The open room turned out to be a moderately sized, very well stocked lab. Each inch either occupied or close to various machines who's purpose and price tag made Paul's head hurt thinking about. As did the perspective.
Everything was sideways. Of cource, he'd kinda noticed something similar in the corridors, but glancing up at a table and chair bolted in place horizontally was a very different feeling. Paul carried on and climbed yet another ladder at the end.
This ladder led into a small round room, and continued into a hole above. Carefully, Paul balanced on the edge encircling the ladder. One at a time, the screens covering every inch of the room lit up. Sunlight peered past vibrant leaves as birds tweeted through unseen speakers. Paul stood for a moment before continuing up.
The space above was narrow and irregular. Clearly not made to be walked on. Slowly making his way though, Paul spotted a bag suspended from the ceiling and pulled the zipper. Clothes tumbled out onto the floor. Not many, just a few shirts, but still better than the plastic/rubber onesie. Pulling one over his head, Paul finally found the cockpit.
It was empty. Of people, at least. A short ladder climbed into the screen-lined cylinder, two chairs sat either side of it, with a window next to the left hand one.
"Ok, ok," Paul breathed as he took everything in.
"Please record video diary," the same voice from before prompted, a screen tucked into a small cavity showing Paul bearded, baffled, and not in the mood to deal with it.
"No."
Without even looking back to see if the recording had stopped, he heaved himself up to the cockpit proper and into a chair.
"Pilot detected," the voice stated, every single screen and button suddenly igniting with colour and information. Paul jumped but remained seated.
Ok, the voice was a computer. Not ideal, but it would still have answers. He just needed the right questions.
"Computer, read full crew, uh, manifest?"
"Paul Matthews, pilot. Status: awake. Olesya Ilyukhina, engineer. Status: deceased. Dr Martin Dubois, science officer. Status: deceased. End of manifest," the computer recited evenly.
Well, that explained why the view from the chair felt vaguely familiar. Although, it didn't fit with the office break room he remembered. Had he changed careers before all this?
The confirmation of his bunkmates' fates wasn't a shock, but still rippled through Paul unpleasantly. He had known them. Enough for the announcement of death to sting.
"Computer, contact Earth."
"Current transmission time to Earth is eleven years, ten months, fourteen days, and six hours."
What. What?!
"Excuse me?" Paul whimpered.
"Current transmission time to Earth is- "
"Computer, stop!"
That can't be right. It just can't. He needed a map, or some other point of reference. Scanning the array in front of him, Paul soon found exactly what he needed. "There's the Sun, ok," Paul smiled at the sight of it, "and we're... here." The tiny dot of the ship was gradually making its way along the marked trail, turning the white a bright red. Hope in his heart, Paul began to scroll back along the flight path.
And kept going. And going. And going.
Each roll of the track ball made Paul's heart grow heavier and his breath quicken. On and on for about two minutes, until he finally reached the starting point. Marked in bold white letters: "Sol".
Silence echoed around the cockpit. "Computer?" Paul asked softly, "What's the percentage of fuel left?"
"There is approximately nineteen percent of total astrophage remaining."
---
A common trait of small towns is the speed of which news spreads. And between Hatchetfield's thriving tourist population and the town's density, any news takes very little time at all to be heard by everyone. And the only thing faster than news were rumors.
Paul didn't partake in either. The whole "moving black dots on the Sun" thing freaked him out enough as it is. But, between everyone else, he unwillingly learned more.
In the street, in the break room, at his desk. Even at Beanie's.
"Did you hear the word? They've named those dots Astrophage."
"Astrophage? They're actually eating the Sun?"
"Yeah, they say that in thirty years, the crops will die out, and half the planet will starve."
"God, would it even stop there?"
"Probably not."
No matter how hard he tried, Paul was constantly bombarded by it. And even when it wasn't spoken, the awareness of it hung thick in the air.
Everybody was tense. Bill would be found in the break room, frantically negotiating with his ex-wife for more time with Alice. Charlotte started smelling of cigarette smoke more and more. Even Ted seemed more... subdued.
Paul walked back into the office one Monday, set a caramel frappe on Bill's desk, and sat with a sigh. He took a sip of his black coffee and logged back in. The next few hours were unremarkable, until the email.
At this point, Paul was on autopilot. So when another email suddenly appeared in his Outlook, he clicked on it without a second thought.
"Could you give this a quick read through?" was all it said. Paul clicked on the Powerpoint attached. It opened off to the side of the email, allowing Paul to quickly scroll though the presentation. Until his eyes spotted that word.
Astrophage.
Paul blinked. The slide in front of him wasn't of what he'd expected. It was a diagram showing off a machine that had been dubbed a 'beatle'. Idly, Paul's eyes scrolled back up to the introductory page.
"What is Project Hail Mary?" He read. Paul's gut clenched. He wasn't sure what he was reading, but he got the feeling he really shouldn't be reading it. Why did he have it?
He looked at the email closer. "Need an opinion" it said in the header. And the sender was "ten0i-KAx3s@B&W.com".
Panic surged through him. As quick he could, Paul deleted the email, purged his bin, and started an anti-virus scan.
"Why did I do that?" Paul silently lamented as he watched the progress bar. He was usually better than that.
The scan passed with nothing detected, and Paul gave a deep sigh of relief. Good thing he'd opened it in the browser. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he realised something.
It was just a joke. A rather dark prank from somebody in a different department. But a prank regardless. How else would they have his company email? Comforted by this fact, Paul went on with his day.
On a bit of a roll this month, here's to hoping it continues!
Enjoy and be gentle
---
If the little guy had been quick to learn walking with five legs, they mastered two even faster. And with that under their belt, the tour began.
"So, this is the lab," Grace gestured around him, "Science happens here."
"Science?"
"Yeah. We'll... get to that later. In the meantime, if you'll follow me."
Compared to the previous excitement, each footfall was slow and soft. Eyes absorbing the corridor beyond like it was a grand feast. "Just you wait, this will blow your mind," Grace thought as they strolled into the Don't Go Crazy room.
The screens flicker to life eagerly. Trees surrounded them, with vibrant green leaves catching the sunlight. Birdsong piped through the speakers.
A long coo filled the air. "Yeah. It's a heck of a sight, isn't it?" Grace said, his own eyes gazing over the video with a twinge of mild longing. Then, from the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw an impossibility.
The little guy had started floating.
If it wasn't for his own feet remaining firmly on the catwalk, Grace would have thought the Hail Mary had stopped moving. But, no. Levitation apparently was a thing now. Good to know.
"These are trees," Grace waved towards the screens, but kept watching them in case they fell.
"Trees."
"Birch, I think. Earth has a lot of different types." And he'd never see any of them again.
Grace nipped that thought in the bud as quick as he could. If the new guy heard it, they gave no indication.
"Earth?" They asked, turning back to Grace.
"Yeah. My home. Mary, could you show an image of Earth from space?"
"Of course, Dr Grace." Mary's calm voice emanated from the speakers all around, and the screen changed.
On the screens in front of them both, was Earth. The rest were just empty starfields. It was an old picture, but Grace's eyes ate it up just as ravenously as the new guy's did.
"Earth... My home?"
"No. It's, uh, a bit more complicated."
Now Grace had their full attention. Well, he'd been planning on waiting to explain this, but here goes. "Mary, please display external footage of Adrian in orbit." Green filled the screens. For a moment, he expected to hear alarms going off, but all was calm. "This is Adrian, formally Tau Ceti e. Rocky wanted to call it "Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet", but we compromised on naming it after their mate instead.
We took samples of microbial life both from the planet's orbit, and from the atmosphere itself. You came from the orbit sample."
The new guy paused for a while.
"Why?" Their head tilted. Grace paused. That was a really loaded question.
"Why did we collect the samples, or why did you come from them?"
"Yes."
Nodding, Grace sat down on the floor grate and was soon joined by the new guy.
"Back on Earth, it was found that a microbe had infected Sol, the star we orbit. We called it Astrophage. It fed on the light Sol emitted, causing it to gradually but progressively get dimmer. This main 'symptom' was accompanied by something we call the Petrova line.
Sol was not the only star affected by Astrophage. Several stars are actively infected and dimming by it, including Rocky's star, 40 Eridani. But Tau Ceti appeared to be the exception."
Grace took a breath: "Earth and Erid both sent missions to find out why Tau Ceti wasn't dimming. That's how Rocky and I met.
Turns out, Adrian is home to something that eats Astrophage. The full story is long and complicated, but I've sent the Taumoeba back to Earth, and am currently taking it and Rocky back to Erid.
As for why you formed, I was running some tests on the other life we found there. And one cell reacted differently. That's all we know so far."
A thoughtful silence settled. Soft humming vibrated through the air. "Come on," Grace stood up, "Let's continue the tour."
The rest of the tour took very little time at all. "And that's everything," Grace stated as they all sat in the dormitory, "any questions?"
"Grace give new life name, question?" Rocky piped up. Oh, that's what he'd forgotten.
"Umm..."
"Grace."
"I was about to?"
Rocky radiated scepticism.
"Name... for me, question?" It was almost shocking how quickly the little guy was picking up language. Then again, considering the method of communication, maybe it should have been expected.
"Yes yes yes. Eridian name and human name," Rocky confirmed enthusiastically, "Rocky already have new life name. Waiting for Grace."
No pressure or anything.
A blank whiteboard sat nearby.
"Let me find a pen, hold on," Grace looked about before Armando swung over with one on hand, "Thank you, Armando. Okay." Time to flex those mental muscles.
His eyes flickered over the green crystal in their chest. "Emerald can be a name, right?" Grace considered mentally, before shrugging and adding it to the board. And promptly ran out of ideas.
"Grace finished, question?" Rocky asked after a minute passed without writing.
"I... Yeah."
"Good good good. What Grace choose, question?"
"...Emerald."
Rocky pondered:
"What new life think, question?"
"I like!" They chirped.
"Happy happy happy!" Rocky cheered before giving their version of their name.
Adding it to the translator, Grace noticed Emerald blink slowly then startle.
"You okay, buddy?" He asked.
"Don't know. Eyes want to close," Emerald said, clearly confused and even a little frightened.
"Ah, you're probably just tired," Grace reassured them, "You've had a long day."
"Emerald need sleep," Rocky agreed.
"Sleep, question?"
"Yeah, you just lay down like this," Grace laid down on the bunk with his eyes closed, "For a few hours. Then you'll wake up."
"I... understand."
Opening his eyes, Grace rolled off and helped Emerald onto the bed.
"Rocky Grace watch Emerald sleep," Rocky comforted. Emerald hummed contentedly.
"Good night," Grace smiled down at them as their eyes closed.
"Good night..." And they were out.
Sighing quietly, Grace wiped the whiteboard clean and shuffled in place so Rocky could read the board. And began to write.
snowghoul
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
titsay
pixelskylines
gracieabrams
theartofmadeline