#heliosphage

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝒀 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑩𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫. The centrifugal force had nearly killed her and Grace, and it didn't bear thinking about how deeply wounded Rocky was after his exposure to their atmosphere. Ruby had her own bruises and sprains, but it didn't compare to the other two, chemical burns and poison down into their lungs.

Where did that leave her? An astrophysicist doing the job of a microbiologist, limping from one side of the lab to the other, studying samples, ruling out edge cases, seeking out points of failure. Ruby ensured the samples were stored as well as they could be, save for the one she wanted to study. The rest were left to sit in the xenonite tanks, waiting for the experts to get their hands dirty.

What was there to do but continue the work while waiting for them to wake up again?

To hope they'd wake up at all.

She'd grown used to working in a group, listening to the bickering and easy banter of the boys as they tracked data and ran experiments. The silence was oppressive. Their ghosts hung over her shoulders. She took her time, hearing Grace's voice in the back of her mind reminding her not to get too ambitious, to take frequent breaks, to sit down, gosh darn it! You're limping again!

But if she stopped moving for even a second, then she would have to face just how much of this was out of her control. Hope had never served her well in the first place; who was to say anything would change now? But at least she could work. She could continue the mission. She could do that much for now.

The hours dragged into days that felt like months. She lost track of time. She stopped listening to the pain. At the end of her shifts, aching like never before, Ruby stood at the xenonite wall, a hand on the clear surface, and reported her findings to Rocky, or she sat at the edge of Grace's bed, going over the data.

The kiss on Grace's cheek had been impulsive and, quite honestly, she had still been half asleep when she'd done it. Still. His flustered reaction makes her crack a smile. Then Rocky's comment makes her laugh.

It's the first time she's laughed in ages.

How did she get here? How was she alive? Nan -- her name was Nan -- floated in an escape pod somewhere between the stars. She'd pulled another stitch just trying to stretch out, and the vivisection wound began to bleed anew. The damn first aid kit was running out of clean bandages. There was plenty of fuel, but that was useless to her until she figured out how to work the controls.

Hurt. Everything hurt. Gods, she was hungry.

Entity detected.

Nan's attention shot up from her latest attempt to staunch the bleeding. Entity? What entity? The screen displayed a little blip with a series of numbers that made no sense to her hole-riddled mind. A glance out the porthole told her there was nothing out there but stars.

Entity detected.

Stupid, busted computer. Stupid fucking escape pod. And stupid fucking space.

Nan kicked a lever, and reeled back at the sudden light pouring in from the porthole. Half blind, she dragged sunshade down and blinked away spots. How had she somehow flashbanged herself? In space?

Emergency beacon active.

It was a completely unaccounted for thing, and yet Banks had still cursed himself for not being more careful. He knew the Hail Mary hadn't been made for a round trip, but one could at least hope to expect the ship would hold up for long enough to send data back to Earth! Then again, why would anyone on Earth account for the gravitational pull of a planet in an entirely separate solar system in what short time they'd had? How could they have known scaling the outside of the ship would be like sending their last hope off the side of a sky scraper? At least if they fell here, they'd probably burn up before making contact with anything solid enough to squish them.

Fall they hadn't however, for even though the siding had collapsed underneath Banks, he hadn't felt himself drop into the abyss, nor felt his cable snap. Instead, the air was forced out of him as he was grabbed up; two of the four probes tucked under a single arm that was clung tightly to his chest as the other practically constricted the other man. The siding collapse had been a sudden thing, and completely silent in the vacuum that surrounded them. It had been a good thing that they'd noted the weak plating on the way out to retrieving the probes, but he'd pinch himself later for being so absent-minded on the return. Grace had recalled the danger, but he'd known Banks wouldn't...was that some sort of teacher instinct?

Their panicked breathing was the only thing that could be heard between them, and Banks chanced a glance to where he'd been sidling along not a moment ago; the siding now entirely gone and dropped off into the void. That could have been him...oh god, he felt like he was going to be sick...that would need to wait until they were inside...

Something instinctive made him cling closer to the other, and it wasn't until he'd done so that he'd realized they were even embracing...and when was the last time he'd done that? Allowed himself to be held? Maybe it didn't really count as far as life or death situations went, or between the padding of the EVA suits but...huh.

*⁑. OFF 𝕮AMPUS SENTENCE STARTERS. 🪞｡˚ * 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ➷ ❪  @heliosphage ❫

𝓣𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝓒𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕. And for Marzanna, survival comes by way every window of her apartment left wide, wide open, ice shaped into stars to suck and chew on, and a silksy, matching, no-shirt-indeed set of lace shorts and bralette that proves, quite emphatically, what pleasing, swan-like contours one can achieve with just a bit of vanity, a can-do attitude! and murdering yourself 18 hours a week during hot pilates.

She opens the door. Grace yelps in a pitch only dogs can hear -- and Marzanna, immunized at an early age against being jumpscared, doesn't flinch.

❝ That is the ideal way I would live my life. But. I have no interest in switching fields at the moment. ❞ S.T.E.M needs you, or whatever! Casually, she plays with the bit of ice along her molars like she would a wad of gum.

Seconds go by. Maybe even minutes. Or years. ❝ Ryland, you cannot be serious. This is not a big deal. And . . . we dated? We dated pretty thoroughly. Unless that time bothered you so much that you willingly forgot about all of it. ❞ She wipes a “tear” from the side of her cheek (sweat, it’s a bead of sweat). And if she were chewing gum, now’s about the time she’d pop the bubble.

The vessel is strange in make and design–and if Cybel is any judge, it is a long, long way from home.

The prospect is exciting, and protocol must be observed. The lifeforms aboard the vessel must be contacted, protected, offered aid and resources should they be in need of it, for life is so scarce in this universe, so preciously finite; and though the stars are vast and beautiful and full of possibility, they are a merciless place, pure and harsh as diamond.

Cybel contacts the vessel, establishes a tenuous sort of communication. It starts working on a patchy scaffold of language from the small sample of strange noises it receives over the comm link as it spends the next hour boarding its own shuttle, initiating takeoff sequences, and carefully, carefully steering the shuttle into the space adjacent to the interloping vessel. The boarding chute extends and seals. Oxygen floods the chute.

It is time.

Cybel's multiple hearts pump a quickened, rhythmic beat as it traverses the expanse between vessels. It has been so long since contact has been established with another race. It must make a good impression.

𝑺𝑯𝑬'𝑺 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑹𝑼𝑵𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑨 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬. Ruby had been managing to balance work and her meager social life for years now, but a few slip-ups could be forgiven. After all, she had just ended the lives of two men who thought they could get away with stealing from her client. Their friends were looking for a woman in all black and a heavy jacket, which was why she slipped into the back alley and reversed the jacket to reveal a dark red leather and a patterned button down underneath. Nothing too loud, but distinctly not black.

A quick once-over showed that she was free of any blood splatter, gloves and weapons stowed in their various pockets, and she just managed to slip in with a group of laughing women as the pursuers made their way down the street. Two blocks later, Ruby stood outside Letterby's, heart racing once again. Just the adrenaline, she told herself, and failed to acknowledge that the source of said adrenaline was sitting at a table waiting for her.

what if we shipped // @heliosphage ;;