#and the only he will be doing....because...well...you know..

rough night ;)

Grace tugs at the harness straps of the pilot’s seat, feeling anxiety fluttering in his chest. “Unless you have a better idea, this is what we’re doing. Is the tow cable set?” 

Rocky chitters, and fiddles with his instruments. “Cable set. Magnet on the end. Very secure.” 

Grace exhales slowly, trying to convince himself that this isn’t going to get them killed. He swallows. “Okay, let’s go over the plan again. You still there, mysterious ocean man?” 

*** 

Simon stares up at the radio for a long moment, biting the inside of his lip. He has been curled up on the floor under the radio for what seems to be a few hours now, listening absently to the sounds of his rescuers above him in the sky. It’s… strange, hearing them actively making plans to come find him. He’s been a little afraid to open his mouth, because that stubborn sprout of hope has been twining up his throat and making it hard to speak without sobbing. 

He can’t trust it, though. Not again. Not until he either sees a human being or the ocean kills him. Whichever happens first. He has been watching the oxygen meter, waiting for the moment it ticks down again and begins to kill him slowly. 

Simon has come to a conclusion. It doesn’t matter, if this is a hallucination or not. If nothing else, it’s a nice hallucination, and he can have a few moments of a comforting delusion before he suffocates in the dark. Maybe he’ll even get to see where the stars all went when he dies. 

He swallows. “…Simon,” he says, hoarsely. His savior makes a sound of surprise. “What?” 

Simon straightens up a little, although his head is reeling. He feels shaky and in pain, the adrenaline that’s been keeping him going burning too-sharp in his veins. “My name is Simon.” If he’s going to die, he’d like someone to remember his name, even if it is a hallucination. 

There’s a moment of silence from Grace. “It’s nice to meet you, Simon,” he says softly. “Let’s get you out of there.” 

*** 

Grace checks all the piloting systems one more time, than takes a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the plan,” he says. “This moon doesn’t seem to have an atmosphere, so we’ll be able to get pretty close to the surface without burning up, but it can’t be closer than a mile or the gravity’s going to yank us down and we’ll crash and die. Which—“ He rubs his eyes. He’s tired. “Which would not be preferable.” 

He flicks a switch to turn the engine on. “We’re gonna orbit the planet once and come up on your position diagonally. The chain with the magnet will deploy with a little added energy, and then hopefully the electromagnet with lock onto the sub and pull it the rest of the way down to you.” 

Their new friend seems to be listening. “Got it.” Grace takes a deep breath. “Here’s the problem: I’m gonna slow the Hail Mary down as much as I can but it’s still going to be traveling really, really fast because if we don’t we’ll fall out of orbit. So, this is going to be a very bumpy ride. If you can, I’d secure yourself down with whatever padding you can find. After we pick you up, I’m going to manually pilot and basically pull a Mad Max to get us out of orbit. After we’re clear, then we can deal with the rest of the logistics.” 

Simon is silent for a moment. “…okay. There’s not… a lot here, but I’ll try.” Grace leans forward, closer to the radio, although realistically he knows it makes no difference. “We’re going to get you out,” he says. “Promise.” 

*** 

Simon looks around the sub, feeling dizzy when he pushes himself up to go look in the back. Like he told Grace there’s really not a lot here. He grabs the life jacket from the pile of stuff in the corner, and then after a second grabs the remains of his harness and hood. There’s the bag for the supplies, too, and he stuffs as much of the bandages and used tape as he can into that for a little cushion. There’s plenty of tape to go around. 

There’s not a lot of other stuff he can use. He thinks about trying to rip the chair apart, but it’s bolted to the floor, and the cushions are almost flat anyway. There is the bag for the file folders, too, and he grabs that. It’s not a lot. Not nearly enough to protect him from the force Grace is describing. His hands are shaky as he starts trying to figure something out. He remembers at the last minute to rip the knife sheathe down from the radio, to turn it off and tuck the battered material into his belt pouch. 

Most important things are his skull and spine, he thinks, ripping the empty bag into long fabric strips. His best bet is a sort of weird cushioned seat, with straps around his chest to anchor him to the piping running along the walls. He moves quickly, not sure if they’ve already started their orbit, but he gets himself situated, trying not to think about the thin cushion between his bones and the unyielding metal of the sub. He draws his legs up to his chest and curls into a ball, for lack of anything better to do. 

“R-ready,” he says, as loud as he can make his voice go. His savior answers immediately. “Great, wonderful, okay. Here goes.” Simon glances up once before curling up tighter, trying to convince himself that he’s not going to die here. As an afterthought he rips a length of fabric off the bottom of his shirt and stuff it in his mouth. He’s having trouble breathing already, and this is just making it worse, but it’s better than biting off his tongue. 

*** 

Grace pushes his glasses up his nose and glances at Rocky. “Ready?” Rocky chirrups and waves an arm. “Ready. Time go fishing, question?” Grace grins. “Time to go fishing.” 

He opens the throttle and the engine roars to life. For a few minutes, there is dead silence as they orbit the moon. Grace is concentrating on getting the ship lined up just right, and Rocky is concentrating on timing the deployment correctly. 

They’re about three quarters of the way through the orbit now, and Grace glances out the window briefly before refocusing on the piloting array in front of him. The Hail Mary beeps. “Life form detected.” 

There is a new blip on the screen. It pings again, and now it is closer to the Iron Lung. Grace frowns, leaning forward slightly. That’s when the whispering starts. 

*** 

Simon hears it first. It’s back. Fuck. He grits his teeth. Outside the sub the voice is growing louder. It barely sounds human anymore, not that it really did in the first place. 

You don’t understand. The Light hasn’t called to you, not like us. Wake up. Wake up wake up WAKE UP— 

He grips his knees tighter. There’s no sound from the radio. He’s not sure where the hell Grace went or if he’s still there at all, or if this has just been the stupid ocean toying with him again, but Simon sucks in a breath through his nose and growls against the makeshift gag because he is not going to surrender to that damn thing. No way. 

The light burns, it BURNS and burns and we can see it ALL. Did you drag her down with you too? Will you drag HIM down to us? WHAT DID YOU DO, SIMON? WHAT DID YOU DO? WHAT DID YOU—

*** 

Grace thinks he might be hyperventilating. Rocky is practically vibrating beside him, gripping onto the handles of his habitat with all but two of his arms, and a low, constant trilling that probably translates to “oh hell no,” is emanating from him. Grace doesn’t know what this is, he has no idea. The sound’s not coming through the radio, it’s not even really sound. He thinks it might be echoing in his head, and that’s almost worse. 

You really think you can save him? You really think you can save anyone? You are doomed, Ryland Grace, you are just as doomed as all the rest. Your planet will die, and all the stars will die along with it, and there is NOTHING YOU CAN DO—

Simon is down there. Another human. He is down there alone with something that sounds like it could eat him or so much worse. Grace’s chest feels tight but he squeezes a breath out and the words with it. “Simon, we’re coming! T-minus sixty seconds!” He glances sideways at Rocky. “Hold it together, bud.” 

The voice is screaming, wailing in his ear, repeating words over and over, and they are hurtling at thousands of miles an hour across the surface of a moon covered in an ocean of blood and Grace never thought he’d end up here. 

Coward. You are a coward, Ryland Grace. Selfish! You run away and run away and you care for NOTHING BUT YOURSELF. Turn back now and you will be spared. You cannot take him. You cannot SAVE him. He BELONGS TO US, to be delivered or DESTROYED! COWARD! COWARD! COWARDCOWARDCOWARDCOWARDCOWARD—

Grace is gripping the joystick so tight his knuckles turn white but he nods jerkily at Rocky, and the Eridian punches the deployment button. The blip is closing in on the Iron Lung, moving fast, and he thinks he might be shaking but he’s not in touch with his body enough to tell. “Contact thirty seconds,” he breathes, and spins the Hail Mary into reverse, praying that they’re going to make it. 

*** 

Simon hears the time Grace spits out over the radio and clutches the pipes tightly, clinging to them for support. There are the sounds of something massive moving around outside the sub, the voices climbing to a fever pitch. 

Why only you?! Why you, Simon? WHY YOU?! Always thinking of the life you’ll never get back! Trying to crawl back to a mother who wouldn’t even recognize the killer she spawned! Or maybe she’d be proud! Is death the only thing she taught you?! 

Simon can hear Grace over the radio, something unintelligible that he can’t quite make out, and suddenly it hits him, stone cold in the face. They don’t have enough time. The monster is too close. It’s too close, it’s going to eat the sub before the ship can reach it, and then it will drag Grace down too. 

He fumbles his way out of the harness he’s made and pushes himself to his feet. The adrenaline is surging again, the terrified, frantic, crazy energy that’s propelling him forward letting him get to the console. He has to buy time. 

Is death the ONLY THING YOU WERE TAUGHT?! Half-measured! Half-committed! NEVER ENOUGH! There is NOTHING ELSE for us now! 

Simon spits the gag out and growls, yanking the sub into reverse so hard the metal creaks. “Nothing else? What do you know? You’re just a piece of shit that doesn’t know it’s dead. What do you know?” 

We know MORE THAN ENOUGH, BUTCHER! THE LIGHT MUST BE FORGOTTEN! THIS MADNESS ENDS WITH YOU! 

He jams the controls from reverse directly into full speed ahead. His hands are perfectly steady. “You think I’m just going to give you what you want? Fuck that and fuck you!” It is howling his name now, screaming and wailing like a wounded animal and the proximity sensors are all beeping like crazy. “You wanna eat me?!” he screams. “COME AND TRY!” 

The Iron Lung rams dead-on into the monster, and he can hear its high pitched screams of pain even as he’s jolted so hard against the console that he hears something crack. There’s no time, he reverses and rams it again, cursing under his breath. There are two voices screaming his name now, one so inhuman that it devolves into noise, but the other is a human voice. He can hear Grace yelling his name, can hear him shouting but can’t make out the words. 

The hull creaks with the force of his attack and the sub rattles wildly as the monster thrashes, and Simon closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and prays. 

There is a jolt, a vibration so strong it shakes the entire world, and Simon is hurled to the floor. He feels something crunch and pain flares in his nose but he’s too dazed to really notice. He is being compressed into the grating, the air forced out of his lungs and leaving him unable to breathe, and he can still hear the eel outside, swishing, swirling, but the Iron Lung is holding together, it is holding although the metal screams and groans in nearly the same cadence as the inhuman sounds of pain from outside. 

Simon registers that his savior is yelling something over the radio. He’s shouting to reel him in. The feeling of being squished increases even as the noise does. The magnet, Simon thinks faintly. It made contact. 

He rolls onto his side with herculean effort, curling an arm around his head with the faraway thought that if he gets any more concussions he’s done for, and curls up into a ball. It’s all he can do to keep breathing and not black out, even as the pressure gets worse and worse. He feels a little like his eyes will pop in his head, like his bones will collapse in on themselves and crumble to dust. 

The Iron Lung is shaking now, shaking and Simon swears he can see the seams bending when he pries open his eyes just a bit, but it holds. For now. It keeps holding for now. He shifts, and that turns out to be a mistake, because a sudden jolt sends him flying. The sub swings wildly, and he’s thrown into a wall. Something in his wrist pops, his forehead slams against metal, and everything goes hazy and indistinct. The last thing he registers is that there is strange music, loud and trilling, coming from the radio. 

*** 

Grace can feel tears on his cheeks but he can’t remember crying. The joystick feels like it isn’t responding to him, even though he’s sure it is because they are tearing away from the ocean faster than he thinks he’s gone in his life. Rocky is chittering beside him, almost incoherent with fear, and that is Grace’s signal to start worrying (more). “Grace! Move! Now! Go! Bad! Bad bad bad bad bad bad! Big! Huge! Very big! Need to go!” Rocky trills, and Grace doesn’t want to think about how bad it must be if Rocky is this upset. He has to focus. They are so close, but he cannot hear Simon anymore and that scares him. 

He slaps the disengage button on the pilot’s harness as soon as the gravity dissipates and turns to Rocky. “Reel the chain in, bud, I have to go get my suit!” Rocky is practically shaking, all of his limbs tapping against the glass even as he starts moving controls. “NO! NO! Grace no go out there! Not safe! Have to get away!” 

Grace hesitates for a single second, before reaching for the piloting controls. He throws the engine back on and turns it on full-throttle, then crawls his way over to the window to crane his neck and peer out at what Rocky is seeing. It’s only the lack of air in his lungs that prevents him from screaming. 

The Iron Lung is clamped tight in the embrace of the electromagnet, and it is dripping, positively gushing red, but it is what has reared out of the ocean after it that has Grace wishing he had never followed his less selfish impulses and just stayed at Tau Ceti. 

It is misshapen, lopsided, with fleshy appendages hanging off it uselessly as it propels itself upward, and strange whiskers twitch around too-small eyes, black and beady and empty and staring right into Grace’s soul. The creature is enormous, bigger than the sub, bigger than the entire Hail Mary, and it lunges at them through the air. A mouth opens, wide and cavernous and splitting like flower petals made of flesh and bone and blood and teeth. It has so many teeth. 

He wants to scream, but all he manages is a terrified squeak as the many teeth snap closed like a thunderclap just shy of the submarine and the creature disappears back down into the ocean. Grace shudders, and for a moment he just leans against the xenonite structure, his knees shaking. Rocky slumps against him on the other side. It’s… they did it. They got away. They got Simon out. 

Grace’s eyes go wide as he remembers Simon. He scrambles out of the piloting hub and pulls himself toward the airlock, a litany of “shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot” going under his breath as he reaches for his space suit. He pulls it on in a hurry, cursing the close-fit design (even though obviously he needs it) and glances back at Rocky, who has followed him in his ball. “Rock, you alright? You’re gonna need to be manning those controls so we can reel ‘er in.” 

Rocky trills softly. “Yes. Fine. Will be ready, Grace let Rocky know.” Grace frowns slightly, thinking that he’s probably more shook up than he’s letting on, but lets it go for now. He jams the helmet on and presses the button to depressurize the airlock, his fingers sure on the tether by now as he hooks it to his suit. “Simon! Simon, are you there?” he half-yells, and thank god the suits have built-in radios. 

*** 

Simon is floating. He is weightless, just hovering in the air off the floor. He opens his eyes sluggishly and then flails, startled, which sends him in a little half-spin. Oh. Oh, he’s in space. It worked. His joints are aching and his chest is tight and the pain feels omnidirectional but he can still hear Grace over the radio. He swallows. “Here.” 

He glances at the radio, and paddles his way over to it. Only one of his arms works without pain and he grabs onto it tightly. Grace is talking. “Okay, we’re gonna reel you in and seal the sub to the airlock, okay? Where’s your hatch?” 

It takes Simon a moment to process. He feels sluggish. “… no hatch. ‘M welded in. Watch the— the camera. At the front. Lotta radiation.” He can’t breathe. His chest is tight and he cannot breathe. He gulps. Grace is rambling again, and he tries to follow along. Something about cutting into the sub. Suddenly that music is back, saying something unintelligible, and Grace pauses. “You breathe oxygen, right?” he asks, and Simon realizes why he’s having trouble. He nods, and then realizes that Grace won’t be able to see that. “…yeah. Ox— Oxygen’s low. Havin’ trouble… breathing.” 

There is stunned silence, and then a flurry of sound. “O-okay. Okay. Okay okay okay. Just hang on, okay? We’re coming. I’ll be right there.” Simon grunts in the affirmative and curls up as best he can, focusing on taking shallow, slow breaths. It’s stale in here, and the metallic smell he’s gotten used to is coming back. For a very small eternity nothing happens except noise on the radio that he can’t turn into words anymore, then there is banging on the hull. It’s across from him, three rhythmic taps. Simon pushes off the wall and that propels him over to it. He raps back, and the radio crackles. “Just gotta pressurize, we’re so close. We just have to cut this open. Stay back, okay, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Simon pushes back against the wall again. “Got it.” He closes his eyes and grits his teeth as the metallic sounds of some sort of tool grate against the hull of the Iron Lung. The plating is thick, the metal old and stubborn, and it takes time before he sees sparks. It’s hot in here. He sucks in another shallow breath, and his chest is not expanding. He’s a little worried that his vision is getting dark around the edges. 

There is a loud clang, then another, and the wall moves. A section of it is pushed inward, and Simon pulls himself along the pipe to the left sluggishly so he’s not hit by it. He blinks against the sudden light, and squints as a rush of fresh, cool air hits him. He gasps automatically, chest heaving with the exertion, as a gloved hand braces itself on the edge of the hole. Then he appears. Simon’s deus ex machina. He’s clad all in red, and the suit obscures his shape, but Simon can see through the glass of the helmet that he smiles. “Hello, Simon,” Grace says, and holds out his hand for him to take.