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I don't know where Rocky is.
I saw him—somewhere—a few minutes ago, maybe ten? I don't know. Whenever he left me—
—In the lab. I'm in the lab. I know that. I know I'm in the lab, and I'm on the floor. I can feel the leg of a metal table on my back. I was working on something—what was I working on? I was analyzing the something of something and I can't remember what and I can feel too much of the fabric of my jumpsuit and the hair on my forehead and the watch on my wrist and I don't know where I am and I can't breathe.
Everything's blurry and something is making the floor shake a bit and there's a flashing light on the other side of the room that won't stop blinking. I want to breathe, I want to, but I keep inhaling in short gasps and I can barely get any air in.
What do I tell my students when this happens?
I tell them—there’s something on my arm that’s vibrating and I want it to stop and I can't think—I tell them to…to tell me five things they can see.
Okay, I can see the small white scar on my wrist. How did I get that? When did I get that? There’s a pipette next to my left shoe—did that fall or did I drop it? Uh…I can see the ladder on the other side of the room, and the hatch that it leads to, and that blinking light that won’t stop—and that’s five. I feel like everything’s moving and shaking around me, it’s so bright. I close my eyes. What’s next?
Four things you can feel.
I can feel the floor beneath me, and the table leg on my back, and this jumpsuit that’s never felt this tight and suffocating before and this isn’t working and I can’t breathe and that thing on my arm is vibrating again—
“Grace, question?”
The air’s still oxygen, I know that, it can’t not be oxygen—I’d be dead if it wasn’t. What if it’s argon? I’ll suffocate and won’t even know it’s happening. I remember saying that to Stratt. Oh, God, what if it’s argon? And what is that vibrating?
“Grace, question?”
What if it’s something else? What if that’s the reason I can’t breathe? No—that’s stupid, this happened to me back on Earth so many times—either the air is oxygen or it’s argon but that’s unrelated as to why I can’t breathe and I need that stupid vibrating to stop—
I don’t want to but I open my eyes. Everything’s blurry. I fumble to take whatever is making all that buzzing off my arm and throw it far off to my left before grabbing the pant legs of my jumpsuit tight.
“Grace!”
All of a sudden I can feel the tears running down my face. I want to wipe them away but I don’t want to move my hands. I frantically look around and—there’s a dark shape in front of me. It’s teetering back and forth, almost nervously.
“Grace, are you okay, question?”
…Rocky?
I carefully, barely move my hand from my jumpsuit.
“Rocky?” I sign. My hand is shaking.
“Yes, what is happening, question?”
It’s Rocky. Rocky’s here. He wasn’t before but he is now. That’s good right? He would know if something happened to the oxygen supply. But he isn’t saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything?
The translator.
Oh no.
I scramble up and rush off to my left to wherever I threw it—why did I throw it?
I want to go back to where I was. By the lab table, with the metal table leg against my back and my hand secured on my jumpsuit, but I need to find the translator device.
I practically fall over when I see it on the ground and rush back just as fast to where I was sitting.
I press my back against the table and tuck my knees up to my chest, just like I did before, but I need to get the translator onto my arm before I can ground my hands again.
If there was ever a moment for my motor skills to falter this isn’t it, but I don’t have the best track record with luck.
Rocky probably thinks I’ve gone insane.
Once it’s finally secure I hold my arm in a death grip. I don’t really need to look at the small screen anymore—I’ve gotten good enough at recognizing the vibrations—but I know exactly what’s going to happen as long as I keep looking at it. The text of whatever Rocky’s going to say will appear on the screen, and nothing else will change. I can’t get that same security if I try looking at Rocky. I slowly and carefully remove my hand from my arm.
“Repeat,” I sign. Then—”sorry.”
“No say sorry. What is wrong, question? You make many noises.”
The combination of the matching vibrations and text is comforting, it’s exactly what I expected.
“I don’t know, I don’t know. I can’t breathe. Everything’s too bright. I don’t know what’s happening.”
I don’t even know if Rocky can understand what I’m saying with my hands shaking this badly. Rocky's tone changes slightly, I can feel it lilt with even more concern.
“I help, question?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
This isn’t the first time this has happened. But it’s the first time it’s happened in front of Rocky. I’m familiar with this feeling but it’s still so distressing every time. I can’t remember what used to help me.
Where am I again?
“Where am I?”
“You are in lab. On Hail Mary ship.”
The lab, right, I’m in the lab.
Rocky’s here.
I reach out my arm and gesture for him to move closer, and he obliges.
As soon as he’s close enough I put a hand on his xenonite container. I can see him copy me from the other side out of the corner of my eye.
It’s slower, but I start tapping on it. He’s probably already so confused that fast and messy signing is only gonna make it worse.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Of course. Why ask, question? You are one in distress.”
I tap slowly and methodically, making sure nothing’s misspoken. “Wanted to make sure. Ship okay?”
“Yes, ship is fine. What is wrong, question?”
“Don’t have words. Will tell later. Please.”
“Yes yes. Move down to dorm, question? Floor uncomfortable.”
I shake my head.
I can tell he’s completely out of his area. Everything I do is already so alien to him, and now I'm contradicting half the things he's semi-familiar with. But he’s handling it well. Then he starts to move away.
“I go get blanket, then. Make you more comfortable.”
I lurch forward, making sure my hand never leaves his container.
“No no no. Stay here. Please?”
He pauses for a moment before moving back towards me. I slowly fall back into the same position I was in before.
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
There’s a short break in the conversation as I try to reign in my breathing.
“Grace, question?”
I tap his xenonite bubble in acknowledgement.
“I move to your right. You lean on me. Good plan, question?”
I think about it for a moment, then nod. He slowly shifts until he’s sitting right next to me and I gently lean my body against his container.
We stay there like that for a while.
I know he wants to ask a bunch of questions, and I know he can tell I’m not up to answering them. So he just tucks his legs underneath himself and sits. It’s kinda like how cats loaf. There’s an alien rock spider next to me, loafing like a cat, inside a hamster ball. For the first time in about thirty minutes I smile to myself.
“How did you know to come to me?” I sign, slowly.
“Heard you heartbeat. Way faster than normal. Worried.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Always. Feel better, question?”
“A little. I can breathe again. I’ll explain everything later. Can we stay like this for a little while longer?”
There was an undertone to the vibrations of his words that reminded me of a cat purring. I guess now that he knew I wasn’t in danger anymore he was finally calming down himself. It’s oddly comforting.
“Yes yes yes.”