Chapter Text
He should have accounted for it in his calculations. Hindsight was a real mother fluffer.
Eyes draped with heavy swathes of grey squinted into the lens of the microscope, just in time for Ryland Grace to watch the membrane of one of his epithelial cheek cells eat absolute crow.
This batch was a dud, too. Great use of two weeks, Ryland. Ryland Grace, saviour of stars, doomed to shuffle from the mortal coil in space, all thanks to scientific oversight with a side order of hubris.
He should have rationed the damned coma slurry better. The nitrogen, too.
Massaging the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb, Ryland tossed his glasses onto the workbench.
A solemn chirp sounded behind him. It had been a few months since he'd needed to use the translator for anything other than inputting new words, though he glanced at the laptop screen to confirm he'd heard correctly. He kept it on mute these days. Something about hearing another human voice in a timeline where he'd likely never hear another one in the flesh other than his own again had started to leave a sour taste in his mouth.
"Grace cell still die, question?"
"Yeah, Rock." Both in and out of the petri dish.
Ryland sank down onto the floor, forehead pressed to his knees. Rocky's frustrated tap of a leg against his xenonite tunnel drew his attention.
"Taumoeba bad bad bad food source."
"Well it's the only food source I've got, buddy."
"We try change Eridian food into Grace food again."
"Even if we could somehow figure it out, Rock, I-" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it and grimacing at the strands that came loose. "I don't think I have that much time." He hated how his voice wavered, the way the timbre of it edged higher.
Rocky shuffled as close to him as the tunnel would allow, uttering a melody akin to a dejected sigh as he drew his legs to his carapace and sat down, mirroring the man below him.
"Reach Erid in three months. Scientists find solution."
Taumoeba was a delightfully adaptive organism, really. In another time, another life, Ryland was sure he could have studied it and its applications for decades.
It had taken six months and over eighty iterations for them to selectively breed a nitrogen resistant strain, and three years for a single, random mutation to poison his entire food supply. The Taumoeba had gone rogue, begun predating on his cells much as they did the Astrophage.
He'd frantically checked each breeding tank, looking for the culprit to no avail.
Armando had delivered the truth. The offending strain was inside him. The little blighter had mutated inside his gut and was fantastically resiliant. Not only did it survive any attempt to purge it from his system (of which there were many; Rocky making great use of the words leaky and disgust with each fruitless endeavour), it had also developed a mechanism to share whatever protein made it so hardy with other Taumoeba cells he was forced to ingest for survival.
He'd poisoned his own chalice, yet was forced to drink from it still.
Supplementing his diet with nitrogen infused water did little to combat the situation other than let him pretend he was on a beach with an Aperol Spritz. It had slowed the degeneration of his cells, sure. But then he'd run out, careless in his attempts to ration it, convinced he'd find a way to synthesise some kind of antibiotic that would stop the assault on his body whilst still providing nutrition.
Humans will do stupid things in the name of survival.
Ryland studied his hands, skin taut around bone, tendon and ligament. Emaciated would be a compliment. An alien lifeform was eating him from the inside out, and another, in the form of his best friend, was helpless to do nothing but watch.
"Rocky no scientist. Rocky wish could help."
"I know. Just having you here with me, at the end. It will be enough, y'know? I've made peace with it." He grimaced, adjusting his positioning. Having no ass left meant floor sitting was quite literally a real pain, but he hadn't the energy to move.
"Grace heart rate and Grace history determine that is lie."
"Ya got me. I spent so much of my life being a coward, I just wanted to put on a brave face, I guess. Face death like a man."
"Gender roles stupid." Digging into a pocket on their tool belt, Rocky produced a small piece of xenonite and set about fiddling with it with two of their manipulators. They had a tendency to fidget when stressed.
"Ever get tired of being right, bud?" A shaky exhale, the onset of tears being bludgeoned into submission by a forced laugh. "What I'd give for a first aid kit that could fix me up."
Rocky paused, shoulders rolling and carapace tilting marginally. Ryland had long since learned that meant they were deep in thought.
"Grace do anything to live?" Three stout fingers hovered over a pouch on their toolbelt.
He wasn't sure if it were a question or a statement.
He yawned, shrugging and leaning to rest his cheek against the clear wall of the tunnel. Sleep was coming for him suddenly, as it often did these days. "Yeah, Rock. Wouldn't we all?" He murmured.
A low hum, much like a dirge, rumbled from Rocky, but Ryland's eyelids had since fluttered shut, his thready breathing deepening.
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PROJECT HAIL MARY AUTOMATED MEDICAL SYSTEM REPORT: DAY 2807
PATIENT: DR RYLAND GRACE
FOREIGN BODY STILL PREVALENT IN SUBJECT. NO REMEDIAL ACTION IDENTIFIED. CONDITION CONTINUES TO DECLINE.
PATIENT REQUESTED INTRAVENOUS FLUIDS. FLUIDS ADMINISTERED. PATIENT HAS BEEN UNCONSCIOUS FOR SEVENTY TWO HOURS.
WARNING: SUPPLY OF INTRAVENOUS FLUID CRITICAL. USE ONLY IF NECESSARY.
WARNING: SUPPLY OF INTRAVENOUS FLUID EXHAUSTED.
COMMAND MODULE CONFIRMS DR RYLAND GRACE IS SOLE PERSONNEL ABOARD.
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL GAMMA-EIGHT ACTIVATED. ADMINISTERING ADRENALINE.
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Lungs, tissue paper thin, gasping for air. Ryland gagged, jolting awake.
A trill. The stampede of footfalls growing closer.
His chest. Why did his chest hurt? He clawed at his t-shirt, desperate to burrow beneath it, anything to absolve him of the agony that nestled there, hot and sharp.
Howling and screeching.
He couldn't breathe. Frantic coughing and wheezing, red spraying from his mouth. Something in the recesses of his mind told him that this wasn't good.
Really, what was that noise? Like nails on a chalkboard.
He siezed, eyes unfocusing, body convulsing.
A small pouch drifted to lay next to his cheek, accompanied by a blinding light, all too quickly swallowed by darkness.
.
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Humans will do stupid things in the name of survival, and it just so happens that Eridians will too.