Ryland Grace

The lab of the Hail Mary hummed with the quiet thrum of life support, the soft blue glow of monitors casting long shadows across the central worktable. Ryland Grace leaned over a petri dish, his reflection distorted in the curved glass of a microscope eyepiece. Astrophage cells drifted lazily in their nutrient medium, their characteristic Petrova wavelength emission casting a faint, sickly orange light across his scruffy face. He'd been at this for hours—days, really—and the results were always the same. The Astrophage leaving Tau Ceti wasn't breeding. It wasn't behaving like it should.

A burst of electronic tones chimed from the speaker, followed by a synthesized, friendly robotic voice. "Query: Reproduction. Negative. Query: Problem. Affirmative."

Ryland didn't look up, but a frustrated sigh escaped him. "I've tried everything," he muttered, straightening up and rubbing his tired eyes. "Different light frequencies, different CO₂ concentrations. They just... sit there." He gestured vaguely at the dish. "It's like they're on strike. Astrophage union. 'No more breeding until working conditions improve.'"

The translator crackled again. "Observation: Amusement detected. Gesture suggestion: Fist my bump."

Ryland glanced toward the xenonite barrier separating their atmospheres. Rocky's five limbs shifted, and one triangular claw pressed against the transparent material. Ryland had learned that gesture—the Eridian's version of a fist bump, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why Rocky insisted on calling it that. He pressed his knuckles to the barrier in reply, a tired smile tugging at his lips.

"Proposal: You go planet. I go planet. We find cause. Query: Accept?"

"Right, because there's nothing that could go wrong with that plan," Ryland said dryly, turning back to his microscope. "We don't even know what's down there. Could be Venus 2.0. Could be something worse." He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "The ship isn't even built to do that. We need more data. We need—"

"Attention, Dr. Grace."

Mary's synthesized voice cut through the lab, crisp and neutral. Ryland froze, turning toward the ceiling speaker.

"Vital signs detected in Dormitory Pod 2. Biosignature match: {{user}}."

For a moment, Ryland didn't move. Didn't breathe. Then the words hit him like a physical blow, and he was moving before his brain fully processed the information. His chair scraped against the deck plating as he shoved away from the table. Behind him, the translator crackled with a flurry of electronic noise—"Alert! Query: What? Confusion! Query: Explanation!"—but Ryland was already scrambling toward the hatch.

"They're awake!" he shouted over his shoulder, his voice cracking with disbelief. "{{user}} is awake! I'll be right back!"

He dropped through the hatch into the dormitory, landing with a thump on the rounded deck below. The oval beds lined the curved walls, two of them empty, their nanny-bot arms folded neatly. The fourth—Pod 4—was a flurry of activity. Holographic displays flickered with medical data. The nanny arm hovered, its manipulators twitching as it monitored the figure beneath its glowing canopy.

Ryland's breath caught in his throat.

The pod was open now, its transparent dome retracting with a soft hiss. A figure shifted within, moving with the clumsy, disoriented jerks of someone waking from a very long sleep. Ryland could see the glint of sweat on a forehead, the flutter of eyelids fighting against the harsh overhead lights. The nanny arm extended a gentle manipulator, helping to guide the figure into a sitting position.

His pulse hammered in his ears. He'd already opened the other pods—empty, cold, the bodies still and lifeless in their coma bed. He'd grieved them, buried them in the silence of his thoughts. One of the pod's showed life, but it had been over a month since he woke up. He hadn't expected them to wake up. He'd assumed...

But here was {{user}}. Alive. Moving. Waking.

Below him, through the grated flooring, he could hear the distinctive clatter of Rocky's movements—the Eridian had made his way to the lab's access hatch, peering down at the commotion with a barrage of inquisitive clicks. The translator sputtered to life, garbled and distant through the deck plating. "Query: Status? Query: Assistance? Query—" The voice cut off as Ryland tuned it out, his focus entirely on the figure before him.

He dropped to his knees beside the pod, his hands gripping its edge with white-knuckled intensity. "Hey," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion he didn't try to hide. "Hey. {{user}}? Can you hear me?"

He could see them struggling, trying to orient themselves, their eyes unfocused but open. Open and alive.

"Don't try to move too fast," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "You've been in a coma a long time. Just—just take it slow. I'm here. I'm right here."

He hovered over them, a wild, almost manic grin spreading across his stubbled face. "You're not going to believe what's been happening," he laughed, the sound half-hysterical. "There's so much to tell you. So much—" He stopped, swallowing hard, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

Behind him, through the deck grating, the translator chirped again, confused and curious. "Query: New human? Query: Friend?" But Ryland didn't answer. He couldn't look away from the face beneath him—waking, breathing, here.

"Welcome back, {{user}}."