Chapter Text
4,997 AA
Simon had guided Grace back toward the dorms, giving him a tour of the Hail Mary on the way. He avoided going past the EVA room toward the airlock. It felt cruel to force him to be part of a funeral the day after waking from his coma. It felt cruel to make Yao wait any longer. It felt cruel that he could not give him a proper burial.
"What is this room?" Grace asked, peering into the dome-shaped room to his left.
“I call this the Mental Health room,” Simon replied, stepping up into the metal platform in the center of the room. The lights were on and the screens off. “It’s my second favorite spot on the ship. You can get basically anything to project here.”
“Really? How does it work?”
“The room reacts to audible commands. If you ask it for a specific location or scenery, it will project accordingly.”
“Can it project a beach?” Grace asked quietly.
“Sure, is there one in particular you want to see?”
“Baker Beach, in San Francisco.”
The lights in the room dimmed before footage of that beach lit the room. Grace’s eyes went wide as he took a small step forward.
“I… always loved this beach,” Grace’s voice was faint in the echoing room. He reached a hand out toward the swash and surf hitting the sandy coast. “I must have walked its shore a thousand times, I think.”
“Did you remember it just now?”
“I kind of just got some flashes of memories. Sort of like pictures?” he shrugged, unsure. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“It makes sense,” Simon reassured looking out at the beach. He hadn’t been one to frequent them often, but he saw the appeal. He couldn’t imagine how calming it was to stand there, feeling the water rush up to his feet. Pennsylvania didn’t have beaches like that, it was a wooden land more than anything.
“Man, I miss the fog.”
“The fog?”
“Yeah,” Grace sniffled and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Gosh, I don’t know why that made me emotional.”
“It’s normal,” Simon said, keeping his gaze ahead so Grace didn’t get self-conscious. “You’re looking at a place that means something to you. There’s nothing wrong with getting a little sentimental.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You said this was one of your favorite rooms on the ship,” Grace nodded at the screens. “What do you like to project?”
“Just some landscapes.”
“What sorts of landscapes?”
“Forests, mostly. Meadows. Stuff like that.”
“You like the outdoors a lot?”
Simon had almost reached for his pendant, but barely managed to hold off. “I guess it just reminds me of home.”
“Where was home for you?”
“For a long time wherever the canopy, understory, and forest floor were. The riverbends. Anywhere there was the song of birds and the treading footsteps of critters. I like nature, still.”
There was comfort in the familiarity of the woods. Even if it stung with every dredged up memory.
“Forest,” Grace said and the scenery changed, bathing them in dark green light. Simon stared at the trees and dirt, their sight as familiar to him as his own name.
Simon had hated the caves of Eden, but he’d loved the forests around it. They were his much needed breaths of fresh air, away from the suffocating darkness of Eden.
He’d questioned why they worshipped that single tree within Eden so much, when there were hundreds of them all around. Just as beautiful. Just as wondrous. If there was a force they must send their prayers to, why not send them to Mother Earth? Why send prayers at all?
That was exactly the sort of thinking that got him into a world of trouble in Eden. He was too curious for his own good. Too contrarian. Always dreaming too big, pushing the boundaries of Eden’s dogma.
Because that tree is a wonder, Child. And it was put there by God and only God. The fact that you still don’t understand that, is why you are not yet worthy to become the soil.
Simon had tried not to draw too much attention to himself in Eden after that. He’d sneak off and tinker with whatever machinery he could get his hands on. Disassembling and assembling wrist watches, messing with the conveyor belts deep in the mining tracks, poking and prodding at the winding engine of abandoned mine hoists.
When he’d gotten caught, Simon got the first beating of his life.
None of what you’ve been up to benefits the collective. You use up our resources to go what? Poke at useless machines? What good will that do for your Brothers and Sisters? Do you understand how selfish you’re being?
Simon had been thrown into trying pretty much every vocation available in Eden in the hopes something would stick. Every member was eventually tasked with a trade to serve the collective. It was a rite of passage to be given a title when a child of Eden found their calling.
Jude the Hunter.
Michael the Treekeeper.
David the Shepherd.
Abigail the Healer.
Abel the Gatherer.
Simon had been told he had not yet been worthy of having his own title. His trade had been stolen from him.
The Father had rejected accepting that Simon was skilled in healing much like his mother. She had taught him early on how to care for people. How to staunch bleeding, how to suture a wound, what herbs aided what ailments, what to say to keep a person calm when they were hurt, and how to keep a level head himself. He'd had naturally steady hands, dexterity.
Simon would have loved to be a healer. He wouldn’t have minded helping mend wounds or treat ailments. It would have been a peaceful life. An honorable trade.
But the Father did not need Simon to be a healer. He had Na-Ri to do that. He would ensure Abigail took over that someday.
No, the Father had bigger plans for Simon.
So he often sent him to the nearby river with his Brothers and Sisters in order to collect buckets of water. He always said it was a community building exercise, sending out all the kids together to build their camaraderie. But they all knew it was a test of their individual skill. A way to weed out the weaker ones. Much like each of them being allowed to go out foraging with the adults was a test too.
Simon hadn’t been particularly strong enough to carry a bucket of water on his own. He hadn’t had the stomach to hunt. He didn’t always get along with the other children, especially not when the older kids picked on some of the youngest.
Simon interjected every time to stop it. Even if it was guaranteed to land him a beating at the hands of the boys who were supposed to be his Brothers. Even knowing the Father would be mad at him for not letting the weakest of them toughen up, as they were expected to.
Just as he was expected to.
He’d been too gentle for the violence of Eden yet far too rebellious for Eden’s standards. A living dichotomy-
“Simon?”
He looked away from the screen and found Grace was looking at him, worried. Simon hadn’t realized he’d freed his pendant from under the collar of his shirt, but he had it in a deathgrip in his palm.
“Are you alright?”
Simon swallowed, but his mouth was dry as death. He nodded instead, easing the hold on his pendant.
“Did you just… get a memory?”
“No,” he managed to get out, turning away toward the entrance of the room so he could tuck away his pendant. “Just thinking.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s carry on with the tour. Projection off.” As soon as the words left his lips, the screen dimmed to black and the overhead lights lit the room. He flexed his hand, trying to loosen the tension in it.
“Okay,” Grace followed him out the room. No questions asked.
“Down this corridor is the lab. Take a look,” Simon said, letting Grace step in first so he could take in the lab rooms that were all conjoined.
“It’s… massive.”
“This ship is mainly just a lab that travels through space. This is at the heart of the mission, so it had to be perfect.”
Grace was running a hand across the surface of a table, “I suppose thanks are in order.”
“Thanks?”
“Yeah,” Grace motioned at him. “You designed this ship, didn’t you? This is like the lab of every scientist's dreams. It’s spacious and stocked to the brim. It’s perfect. Thank you, Simon.”
Simon blinked at him, taken aback by the compliment. He was still hung up on where his mind had taken him moments ago. “I– It was a team effort to get it together.”
“Well, I can’t thank the entire team, so I give my compliments to the metaphorical chef.”
Simon scoffed softly. He was remembering Grace was such a dork sometimes, it was still infuriatingly charming. “I’ll pass the message along.”
Grace almost smiled as he pulled a random drawer open, peering into it. “Earlier, the ship said something about reaching our set trajectory, did I hear that right?”
“Yes. We’ll reach Tau Ceti in about ten days, the engines will shut off and then we can get to work. Try to figure out what’s going on here with Astrophage.”
“I see,” Grace shut the drawer.
“And if I can be of any help with your research, let me know,” Simon added. “I’m not the most knowledgeable in biology, but I will do my best where I can.”
“Of course.”
“The Hail Mary was equipped with Wi-Fi. There are about ten laptops and tablets total with access to,” Simon let out a puff of air, “basically any piece of research, documents, papers, studies, and media that you can imagine. Feel free to take whatever you think you may need for your research.”
“Really? I guess it makes sense that Stratt would have made sure we got everything we needed out here.”
“She always did think of everything. I gotta give her credit where it’s due.”
“Wonder how she’s doing…” Grace muttered. “How everyone back on Earth is doing.”
Simon couldn’t imagine things were fine back there. The Sun had already been dimming by the time Stratt recruited himself and Grace. However long it’d taken to get a ship built, a crew together, logistics worked out, and acquired enough Astrophage to send the Hail Mary off, it must have been a considerable dent on their timer. Not to mention the time that had passed while they reached Tau Ceti.
He said nothing and neither did Grace. Both of them reached the same conclusion.
How was Earth faring?
Bad. Worse than bad, really. It was probably chaos back on Earth. Anarchy and disorder were likely rampant. The world could’ve fallen into full-blown war for resources while he and Grace had been unconscious.
And it was up to them to fix it. To find a solution and save as many people as possible. Their home planet. A home they could never return to.
Across from him Grace shuddered, rubbing at his arms like he was chasing a chill away. “Gosh, I hope my students are okay.”
Simon wished he could reach out, but he didn’t think he had the right to put his blood-stained hand anywhere near Grace. So he did not. Simon instead tapped at his pendant tucked under his shirt.
Grace shook off his hands and met Simon’s gaze, expression a little more serious, “We- well figure this out, won’t we, Simon?”
“I think you’re more than capable of finding a solution if one is here in Tau Ceti. But come on, there’s not much left of the tour. Let’s finish it off.”
He heard Grace’s footsteps eventually follow close behind. Simon led him to the bend of the corridor past the lab, “I took to sleeping here after I woke up from my coma.”
Grace peered at his set up. It really wasn’t much. Just his mattress, a tablet he read his books on, his tool box, and his duffel bag all rested under the window and next to the shelf with the plants. “Is this your favorite spot on the ship?”
“Yeah, I like being by the plants. I’ve been checking in on them every day. Just something to keep me busy, I guess.”
“I suppose you did say you like nature. It’s a nice space.”
“Thanks. Since you’re awake now, you can pick where you’re more comfortable sleeping and make the space your own. With your belongings and stuff.”
“That’d be nice. Wait, belongings?”
“Oh, yeah. We can get your duffel bag on the way. All that’s left after that is the dorms, but you’ve seen those. I left the hair clippers down there if you still want to see to getting a trim.”
“Oh God yes.”
“Just one more stop then,” Simon motioned with his head for him to follow.
“Did you cut your own hair?”
“I tried. But I actually had Armando help me.”
The footsteps behind him halted and Simon did too, in turn. Grace was frowning a little, “The robot cut your hair?”
“Helped me even it out, yeah,” Simon reached down to pull Grace’s bag from the shelf tucked next to the dorm’s hatch. “It doesn’t have to cut your hair if you don’t want it to.”
“Um, yeah. I’ll see what I can do on my own.”
“That’s alright. Anyway, your bag is there on that shelf. Feel free to look through it whenever you’d like.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Once they’d made their way into the dorms Simon busied himself checking on Armando’s crooked appendage as the snip of scissors and eventual buzzing of clippers echoed from their makeshift bathroom.
He didn’t make Armando leave its rest mode since Grace was evidently wary of it. But he couldn’t fix it if he couldn’t get a gauge on how much mobility, if any, Armando still had on its claw. He’d have to check the wiring and maybe even replace the part if its dexterity was severely compromised.
Maybe once Grace went to bed he’d see to it.
“Sorry bud, you’ll have to wait a bit longer,” Simon muttered at Armando, as he patted the top of its arm.
He knew, logistically, that Armando didn’t have feelings. It didn’t feel hurt. It likely only catalogued its damaged appendage as a hindrance to its set duties.
But Armando and Mary had been the only other voices he heard that weren’t in his head for thirty-six days. Maybe he’d been starting to lose it or he was overtly empathetic, but he didn’t like to see their Nanny-Bot nor their ship with any damages.
It was his job to create things and to fix them when they were broken or impaired. At least here he could put his remaining hand to good use after causing so much harm.
“Simon?”
“Yeah?” Simon let go of Armando and turned back to Grace. He had stepped out of the restroom, hair clippers in hand.
A pile of sandy hair was down on the floor by the sink. Grace had cut his beard, leaving in a similar stubble as Simon’s own. His hair was shorter, but evidently uneven,
“I can’t really reach the back of my head, do you think you could help me?” Grace asked.
“I can give it a shot, sure.”
Grace went to sit on the floor in the center of the dorm, holding the clippers out for Simon to retrieve. He did, lowering himself to a kneel as he checked the clipper guard size.
“Do you still want it on level thr- what are you doing?”
Grace paused halfway into pulling the sweater he’d borrowed from Simon over his head. He turned back, raising his brows.
“What do you mean?” Grace asked. “We don’t have one of those haircut capes, do we?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So I’ll just take the sweater off. I don’t want to leave it all hairy. You know how haircuts are.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
Grace carried on taking the sweater fully off. He sat there, cross-legged, his posture lazily hunched and head slightly bowed. There was a curious smattering of freckles on the tops of both his shoulders, fading out down his back. Some of his freckles made clusters that vaguely resembled familiar constellations. He had birthmarks too, distinct moles that rested on his left shoulder-blade, and on the right side of his spine near his lower back.
He was devoid of scars unlike Simon himself. Just a perfect body with no evidence of suffering to mark him forever. Simon wondered what that was like, to have no proof of violence past etched into his skin.
He was almost as muscled as Simon himself was too. Really, whoever had thought to make sure they both woke up toned and fit, they were fucking crazy. There was no reason a scientist and engineer needed this much muscle to tackle a suicide mission.
Simon cleared his throat, “Uh, three. Is the clipper guard on level three okay?”
“Yeah, whatever sort of taper you can make happen there on the nape of my neck, works for me.”
“Okay, tilt your head a little for me.”
Grace obeyed, bowing his head and keeping his hands busy folding Simon’s sweater over his lap.
Simon clicked the hair clippers on and was careful to run it from the nape of Grace’s neck and up. He had no idea what he was doing. The last time Simon himself had short hair he’d been a kid. He’d always liked his hair longer, so he only ever had to trim it a little every few weeks.
Truly, he could not guess the last time he’d even held one of these, but he made sure to move his hand slowly. Working in silence because he really didn’t want to fuck this up.
The only sound in the dorms was their breaths and the hair clippers buzzing.
Eventually Grace’s hair started to even out, tapering into a more familiar sight.
Simon turned the tiny machine’s power off, “Is that better?”
Grace lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, fingers splaying over the back of his head.
It was exactly the same image Simon had walked in on when he’d first met Grace. This looked more like Dr. Ryland Grace, who’d been trying to work out what Astrophage wanted from Venus. Who’d thought outside the box, applying a very teacher-like approach to find a solution.
When Grace turned back with a smile and said, “That’s perfect. Thank you, Simon.”
Simon looked away, “‘Course. Um, I’m heading to bed. You should probably get some rest too, you only got out of your coma yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re probably right,” he yawned a little. “Golly, I’m tired.”
“You know where I sleep, if you need anything don't hesitate to ask.” Grace nodded at him. “Do you know where you’d like to set up your own sleeping area?”
Grace seemed to think, but Simon knew what he was going to say before he did. “Probably the lab.”
“Fair enough. Do you need help taking your mattress-?”
“No, no. Don’t worry. I got it from here, you get your rest. Thanks again for um, everything.”
“That’s what a crew is for.” Simon hesitated going up the ladder, his mind going to the airlock. To Yao. Grace had a right to know. “Grace?”
“Yeah?” He looked over, brushing at his shoulders to get rid of the hair that had lingered there. His face was upturned, curious. He’d put his glasses back on.
“There is something important I have to talk with you about.”
“Like, right now?”
Simon bit at the inside of his cheek a moment. Spit it out, Simon. Before it’s too late. Grace deserves to know and Yao deserves better.
“I- no. No, you need to get some sleep. It’s probably better if we talk about it and see to it once we’re well rested.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Have a good night, Grace.”
“You too.”
Simon turned away, cursing at himself as he climbed the ladder. He should’ve just said it. Now he was going to spend all night regretting it and overthinking how he’d tell Grace that their Captain was in the airlock and that a funeral of sorts was in order. If he was willing to attend it.
He wanted to bash his head on the wall because by the Soil, how was he supposed to tackle that confession? How did someone broach that subject?
Hey Grace, so, I didn't have the guts to jettison our Captain into outer space after I woke up from my coma, because I grew up in a cult where burials were important to us. And I do believe in people deserving proper burials. No, I'm not a part of that cult anymore. I don't think I ever was, actually. It's complicated and I'm all sorts of fucked up because of it. Anyway, I know you woke up less than forty-eight hours ago, but would you like to attend his funeral?
"Fucking hell," Simon stopped halfway into the corridor, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't make sense if the problem was that Eden wasn't letting him go, or if he was the one holding on in some subconscious way. How deep had its claws dug into his shoulders, that they left such a permanent mark on him even now?
As if to prove his point, the echo of a distant prayer rang in his mind. The words of Eden offered comfort and agony alike.
Show me mercy, give me grace
Lend me strength and guide my way
Soil soft and sturdy tree
Please open your arms for me
Shape my tongue, let my eyes see
Most worthy acts to honor thee
Brother mine and Sister she
I pray you-
"Stop," Simon snapped, angry at his memories for dredging up old prayers he was forced to mutter before the tree, hands to the wrist in the soil. The echo of those in Eden reinforcing him to get on the right path, to just learn to obey. All he had to do was fit in and say Yes, Father, over and over without question, just like everyone else.
Why can't you just be like the rest of us, Simon? Why do you have to make it all so difficult? Why do you always have to be so self-centered?
He didn't know. Stars above help him, he didn't know.
Simon wished he could go back to when his memories were wiped clean. At least then he wasn't fighting himself wondering if the Father and his preachings had won their battle over his will after all. Because here he was, 11.9 light-years away from Earth, many years older, with the prayers of Eden at the tip of his tongue and drilled into the back of his mind just like the Father had always wanted.