Chapter Text
When I wake up, I feel groggy. I try to raise my arms, but I think they turned into lead overnight. Stratt isn’t going to be happy about this—I have to get out of bed. She’s expecting me to start teaching the first launch group today. The quicker I can tell them everything I know, the better off they’ll be when the Hail Mary launches.
I take a deep breath. Okay. I’ll get up on three. One, two, three…
I press my palms flat against the mattress and push until I’m upright in bed. My whole body starts to tremble from exhaustion. My breathing is too fast. I start to feel lightheaded. Still, I can’t stay here.
However, my stomach seems to have other ideas. I slap my hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut tight.
“Oh, God,” I groan.
Something white hot and acidic is climbing up the back of my throat. There’s no time to search for a trash can. I lean over the side of the bed and vomit straight onto the floor. The rhythmic rocking of the ship makes my tummy do flips. Fortunately, I haven’t been eating as well as I should be lately, so I don’t have much to throw up. But my body keeps shuddering—trying to vomit even though I have nothing left to give. It takes over two minutes for me to finally get my breathing back under control.
When it’s over, I slump back down into the sheets, exhausted. My bangs stick to my forehead from sweat. I want to shrug off my cardigan, but I’m too weak. It’s so hot. With sheer force of will, I manage to drag one arm up and through the sleeve of the sweater. The relief is instant: the air conditioning cools my heated skin within moments.
I shiver and roll over onto my side. The digital clock on the nightstand blinks at me. In the back of my
mind, I know I’m supposed to be somewhere right now. But it’s too late. I’m out like a light.
--
“What’s wrong with him?”
A woman’s voice. She sounds vaguely familiar.
I feel something tightening around my upper bicep. I want to pull away from it, but someone else is holding me down.
“Could be anything, really,” a man says. There’s a sudden whoosh of air as something deflates. “126/70. Test hasn’t come back yet, but it’s probably the flu.” The sound of Velcro unlatching. Someone must have taken my blood pressure. Those numbers are more elevated than normal. I must be sick.
“How soon will he get better?” the woman—Stratt, I realize—asks.
I crack open my eyes; everything is a blur. The man next to me is wearing a white lab coat. He’s packing all his medical supplies back into a little gray box lying on the table.
“It will take at least a week for him to recover.”
“I don’t have that long,” Stratt says. “I need him better now.”
The man stands and brushes invisible dust from his slacks. “Not possible without around the clock care, and all of us are too busy preparing for the launch to watch him constantly.”
“Can you spare anyone?”
He shakes his head. “Not unless you want to risk potentially delaying the launch.”
Guilt creeps up the back of my spine. If taking care of one ill man can delay the Hail Mary’s departure, then Stratt must really be running things as efficiently as she can. But I’ve screwed everything up. I’ve turned into a liability. I start to wonder if she’ll pull me off the project entirely.
Then, Stratt nods and says something that I never expected. “I'll make sure he gets better.”
“Are you sure? He might slow your work.”
She stares him down. Her eyes are hard. She’s made up her mind. “He’s integral to this project. I will ensure he is healthy. The best thing about my job is that I can do it from anywhere.” She turns to another man on her right. “Grab everything off my desk and bring it in here.” The man nods and scurries away.
I almost want to open my mouth and thank her, but I’m drifting off again before I can piece together something to say. Knowing Stratt, it’s unlikely she would have appreciated it anyway.
--
When I awaken again, everything is still too hot. There’s a wet cloth on my forehead, but it’s not doing the trick. I feel like I’m being cooked alive in an oven.
Stratt is sitting behind a desk—she must have pulled one into my room to complete her paperwork. I try to call out to her, but my throat is dry as a bone. I cough instead. That seems to catch her attention. She sets down her pen when she notices that I’m awake.
“There’s water next to you,” she says.
I crane my head up. She’s right. There’s a glass sitting on the bedside table, slick with condensation. I’m so thirsty that I can barely swallow. Tears spring to my eyes whenever I do; my throat is incredibly sore.
I’m not sure if I can reach for the glass. I almost ask Stratt for help, but I doubt she wants to waste her time with me, and I don’t want to be a burden. I’ll just try to get it by myself.
I stretch out my arm and shakily reach for the glass. My fingertips brush against the cold surface of the cup. It’s almost within my grasp, but I can’t seem to bridge the gap. My body thrums with pain; every muscle is aching. Then, suddenly, someone raises the glass off the table. I look up: Stratt is standing by my bedside. She sticks a bright purple straw into the water and leans down to guide the tip to my cracked lips.
“You can ask for help, you know,” she whispers.
I don’t know what to say. As soon as the straw is between my teeth, I suck down the water as quickly as I can. Stratt pulls back slightly.
“Slowly.”
I begrudgingly oblige. The water is ice cold. It soothes the burning ache in my sore, abused throat and clears some of the fog from my head. For the first time in forever, I feel like I have the energy to speak.
“Wharrrtyo?” I ask.
Okay, maybe she’s right: I need to take it slow. Just because I can speak doesn’t mean I should.
Despite herself, Stratt seems amused. The edges of her mouth perk up in a slight smile. “Try again,” she says.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “Wha’ are you doin’ here?”
She returns to her desk, but she doesn’t sit down. Instead, she grabs the chair and rolls it over to my bed. “I’m working.”
I look her over. “Doesn’ look li’e it.”
She shrugs. “Taking care of you is a full-time job, apparently.”
I don’t know if she’s joking or not. I slump down into the pillow. “I’m sor’y,” I say.
She reaches over and removes the washcloth from my head. She reaches down at her feet—there must be a bucket of water under the bed—and soaks the cloth. “Don’t apologize,” she says. She rings out the excess water and brushes it over my flushed cheeks; my chin; my neck. It’s so gentle, I nearly cry.
When was the last time someone treated me so tenderly? I can’t even remember. I haven’t been this sick in such a long time. I don’t fall ill very often. But when I do, it’s usually bad enough to keep me down for a couple of days. And I’m always on my own.
But not this time.
“You…” I pause to grasp for the right words. “You stayed.”
She repositions the cloth on my forehead and sits back. “I’m not sure I understand.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not worth treating.”
It’s not what I meant to say. What I meant to tell her is that the mission is more important than me, but I guess what I said still conveys the same meaning: I’m not worth the trouble when there’s so much more at stake here. Stratt must understand. She stares at me. She has a way of looking at people that seems to make your heart swell—or maybe that’s just me. I haven’t figured her out yet. I’m not sure if I ever will. Maybe we’ll have time to talk once the Hail Mary finally launches. She’s nice to talk to.
“You’re worth caring for, Grace,” Stratt says. “So, stop doubting yourself.” She looks at me for a moment longer, then stands and brushes her hands over her coat. “I’m going to get you something to eat.”
I immediately recoil—the thought of food makes me feel queasy. “I don’ think my stomach can handle it.”
“You can,” she says. “I need you back on your feet in two days. Chicken noodle, okay?”
“Yea, I guess, but—”
“I’ll be right back.”
Then, she’s sweeping out the doorway and into the endless maze of the ship before I can stop her. Despite how crappy I feel, I can’t help but chuckle. Stratt really is something.