Because I love the edits that have them talking to each other but not together and they’re both just desperate for human contact.
It’s Rocky who figures out how to break into the… vessel. Grace isn’t sure what it is exactly, it looks more like a heap of scrap metal welded together than a spacefaring ship. At first they thought it was a third species here to find a solution to the astrophage, but when they crack it open what they find is infinitely more confusing.
The man is kept in quarantine once they bring him on the Hail Mary. This is fine while he’s unconscious, but the moment he wakes up he’s disoriented, agitated, and banging at the door demanding to be let go. “I did what you wanted! You said you’d let me go! You said I’d be free!” And then begging, “Please. Please let me out.”
Grace talks to him and tries to keep him calm. This isn’t a prison. He’ll let him out when they know it’s safe. He doesn’t know if any of it gets through, but eventually exhaustion wins out and the man sinks to the floor.
“I’m Grace. What’s your name?”
The man looks up at the window where Grace is watching. Grace gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
“Simon,” he says in barely more than a whisper. “My name is Simon.”
“Simon, it’s nice to meet you. You’re on the Hail Mary, by the way. I don’t think I told you that yet. When the quarantine’s over I can show you around. So just hang in there a little longer, okay?”
“You’re not C.O.I. are you?”
“C.O.I.?” Grace tries to think of all the organizations that were part of Project Hail Mary. “Uh, I don’t think so. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Simon nods a few times, like he’s affirming it to himself. He looks relieved. C.O.I. bad. Noted.
Simon rubs his eyes with his remaining hand. His shoulders are slumped.
Where did you come from? How did you get here? What happened to you? Grace’s mind is buzzing with questions. “You should get some rest. You were hurt pretty bad and, uh, I think you reopened some of your wounds.” Grace winces at the red splotch slowing spreading across the white bandages on Simon’s chest.
“Grace,” Simon says lifting his head. Pleading brown eyes lock him in place.
“Can- can you stay here and talk to me? I don’t really like the quiet… or being alone.”
Grace feels a stab of sympathy in his stomach. Simon was welded into his scrap metal craft all alone for who knows how long. He knows the maddening loneliness that comes with that.
Rocky is waiting for him.
Grace sits on the floor cross legged, level with Simon. He holds the other man’s gaze and nods. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that.”
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