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“What are the marks on Grace’s back, question?”
Grace jolted, forgetting for a moment that Rocky would see through pretty much anything on the ship, and so Grace stepping into the other room to change really didn’t do anything. But he was thrown for a second by the question.
“Marks?” he asked, trying to twist and see himself. He realized that wasn’t going to happen, so, after a moment of consideration, went and grabbed one of the cameras for logging. He could have tried using the mirror, but the only one they had on the ship was used just for shaving. It was too small to get a good look at his back.
Setting the camera up, Grace looked at the monitor where the image would show up.
“Here we go,” he said. “Give me a sec, Rock, and I’ll see if I can tell you.”
It only took a moment to shift around so he got a clear look at his back.
Along either side of his spine was a long scar, stretching from just below his shoulder blades to right down to the top edge of his pants. He tugged the material out of the way enough to see that the scars stopped there. It was some sort of surgical work, the lines of the scar smooth and clean, and he remembered seeing marks like that before.
When he had dressed Olesya and Yao, they had similar marks on their backs.
He felt things slowly clicking into place in his head, usually a sign of a connection to a memory. It was an odd sensation.
Yao, Olesya, and DuBois, who were sitting around in medical, leaned forward over specialized beds as doctors looked over the healing incisions on their backs.
“No sign of regrowth yet,” said one of them. “The inhibitors seemed to be working.”
Grace couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose, the wings on his back giving an instinctive rattle of feathers as they pressed tight against him. He was pretty sure that Yao was also not super thrilled that an inhibitor to prevent wing growth existed.
It was considered an abomination, in a lot of cultures, to keep the wings that all humans sprouted from growing. But to save space on the ship, the decision had been made to amputate the current wings and use inhibitors to prevent them from growing back.
He shivered. “Oh.”
Why that had never really occurred to Grace, he wasn’t sure. Rocky had asked about wings before, because the movies they watched were full of them, generally. Sometimes they were edited out to show a particularly unlovable character, or edited so they looked smaller or drabber than what the actor or actress actually had.
After all, the more one was loved, the larger and brighter the wings were.
Grace had just assumed maybe he was not loved enough to show wings. Thinking back on it, he wasn’t sure why. He had them in the other flashbacks, tucked along his back and kept neatly out of the way.
Grace had liked his wings. They weren’t too large, and he had found the soft grays and browns pretty in their own way. A sign that his students and the friends he made had cared about him. Vaguely recalled more colors seeping in after he had joined the Project. Colors came from the perception. He was the wild card that, at the beginning, people thought was a move by Stratt to put a lover into place for easy access. But Grace was good at his job, and as people recognized it, their interest and kindness for him started to show through his feathers.
It was subtle, but he remembered there had been a bit of gold and ivories to his gray feathers.
“I used to have wings,” he said absently, a sense of distant shock to his voice as he realized that he had been mutilated. Hated it for the others when he had seen it, hated it for himself now. There was just something visceral wrong about cutting off functioning limbs like that.
“They cut them off of all of us. Space limitations.”
“Yes, Mary very small. Grace would hurt self.” Then Rocky paused. “Grace’s heartbeat go up. Why, question?”
Grace shivered. “Wings are important, Rock. They show that you are loved. That people around you care for you. It used to be a punishment, to have your wings cut off. Reserved for the worst sort of things.”
That got a distressed trill from Rocky. “Then why do to Grace, question?”
“Space limitations,” Grace repeated. “Three people with wings in a space so small would just get us hurt. Plus it means that we fit easier into the Orlans and such, since they don’t have to modify them for varying wing sizes.”
Grace felt queasy, his stomach rolling in a way that told him he was one bad thought away from vomiting. Which he hadn’t explained to Rocky yet, and would probably horrify the poor guy into trying to go back to Erid, solution for astrophage found or not. Swallowing against the sensation, Grace tried to ignore how clammy he felt.
He didn’t have time to deal with this. So he closed his eyes and crammed all the messy emotions he was feeling into a box. He’d deal with it later. Maybe once they found a solution and Rock was on his way home. Would have plenty of privacy then before he starved to death. Why not spend a few years having a massive crashout?
“Bad bad bad,” muttered Rocky, stomping his feet in agitation.
“No, come on, Rock. It’s okay,” Grace said, moving up to press his hands against the xenonite. Inside, Rocky leaned against them, the pair indulging in the almost touch.
“Wings grow because love, question?” Rocky asked after a moment.
“Yeah, bud. When humans are loved, we grow wings. The more we are loved, the bigger and more colorful they are.”
He could feel the other’s trill through the xenonite pane.
“Rocky fix,” chirped his friend. “Rocky tell all of Erid about Grace’s bravery, and Erid love so much that Grace have biggest wings ever.”
Grace laughed, though it caught some in his throat.
He’d likely be dead before Rock made it home to share his story. So there would be no wings for Grace.
But at least Rocky would be home safe. That was good enough for him.
“Okay,” he said with a smile. “Rocky can help me get some amazing new wings.”
Already knew that he’d be sniffling over this later, and probably being called leaky by a confused Rocky. But that was okay. At least he knew that Rocky cared, even if he was busy telling Grace how disgusting he was.
Then he stepped away to go change, absently scratching at his back.
They had work to do.