Chapter Text
I slow the ship to a stop. I stare at Earth in a trance; it's more beautiful than I remember. How long has it been? Over thirty years? I wonder how my students are, and how many of them are alive. I glance at the sun, which is slightly to the right of the beautiful planet called Earth. It’s bright as ever; Rocky’s people were correct. Earth is safe now. I snap out of it and look back at the multiple screens. I had entrusted the Eridians to make my ship able for descent onto Earth properly, but yet again, it’s a planet they’ve never seen nor experienced. Every tweak to the ship was made with my knowledge and the hopeful truthfulness of Wikipedia (which isn’t really a good thing to hold on to). I had also never been trained for descent to Earth—it was a suicide mission after all. Maybe Yao or Ilyukhina would know, considering they were astronauts.
Were.
They’ve been gone for so long now, but it still turns my stomach to think about them. Everything about Rocky, Yao and Ilyukhina, and my findings were already sent with the beetles, so no worries about really explaining everything. Part of me wants to turn around and go back to Erid. I mean, what do I have on Earth? I don’t have a lover or any close friends—other than Rocky, but he’s not here.
I’m pulled out of thought when my eye catches it, a satellite.
“Holy crap,” I hadn’t thought about it until now: A big spaceship suddenly appearing in the solar system, Earth must’ve noticed me. But why wouldn’t they try reaching out via radio? I sit in silence for a moment.
“Oh my gosh…” I hit my forehead. The Hail Mary is now covered in xenonite instead of aluminum. Sure, it looks similar to the Hail Mary, but with a bunch of advancements that aren’t human-made. I brush the thought away; I sent pieces of Xenonite in the beetles, surely Earth can identify that both my ship and those metals are the same. And if not, it’s not like Earth would try to attack an alien spaceship, not after all the information I sent about Rocky.
Back to the situation at hand: I don’t know how to successfully land a spaceship on Earth, but I’m well aware that I shouldn’t go full speed towards it. The Eridians added a system to my ship that uses mini-engines to propel me away from Earth as I land to make me go slower (almost like the alien spaceships in Sci-Fi movies). There are five mini engines: two further at the back of the ship (Osiris and Isis), two at the front near the outside of the control room (Nephthys and Set), and one in the middle of the pairs (Ra). Why name them after Egyptian gods? I don’t know, ask Rocky, he just enjoyed the names, I guess.
I practiced landing a few times on Erid, but Erid is insanely different from Earth. Plus, where do I land? Spaceships normally just land in the water to reduce impact, but the new propulsion system that my ship has is made for solid ground, not bodies of water. The Eridians insisted that I land on flat ground instead of in water. I’m not sure why, but after everything I’ve gone through, I’ve just decided to trust their judgement.
I sit up in the chair and go down to the lab. I open a container that is securely attached to the wall and grab the laptop that resides in it. I open up a photo of Earth’s map. Where in the world can I safely land without killing anyone or causing too much destruction? Ideally, I’m looking for flat land and an area away from cities. After all, I don’t know exactly what the output of the propellers could do on Earth’s surface, so maybe a cold place, too, would help with the heat that I expel. Canada is first to come to mind, but the terrain is way too mountainous and forested. Sure, I could simply land more north, but I don’t know how quickly people would be able to get to me, considering how little the population is further north. I could land in the middle of Africa, as the area is relatively flat and lacks anything that could catch fire, but I don’t know whether the Astrophage farms are still there (they most likely are).
“Russia!” I exclaim out loud. The West Siberian plains are cold and flat. It is also surrounded by cities, without being too close to any of them to cause a problem. The Russians are also probably already looking at my spaceship as we speak, so they would be quick to be on scene before I freeze. But there’s no saying how much the ship would still work after I land, considering it would be more of a crash. I’m also relying on the idea that the Russians come to my ship instead of simply monitoring it until more nations come to investigate. Yet again, where else would I land? The map doesn’t exactly have an option for “Best places to land a spaceship”. I pick up the laptop and go back to the control room. I sit down and look out at Earth, then back at the computer; Russia is up to my right.
“Alright, Grace, all you gotta do is successfully navigate to face Russia, kinda.” I take a deep breath and start the engines.
It takes longer than I expected; who knew navigating to face the world’s largest country would take 30 minutes. I double-check everything in the lab so nothing randomly falls as soon as we gain gravity and velocity. I strap myself securely into the control room’s chair. I swipe through the systems—you can never be too safe. The plan is to accelerate slowly towards Earth. Once the panel tells me we've gained at least 1 g of gravity, I’ll turn off the engine and rely on gravity to bring me down. Although I’ve already positioned myself towards the West Siberian Plains, I’ll have the controls for the engine just in case. On another screen, I open the Minis' controls. The screen setup is visibly different from the others since the Eridians set it up, but I ignore it—maybe it’ll help me not get the propeller controls and engine controls messed up. After all, my palms are already sweating from anxiety, and who knows how lightheaded I’ll get going down.
My finger hovers over the power button for the engine.
What am I doing?
5 years ago, I would have clicked this button so fast without a second thought. It’s not like I can go back to Erid—not after all of that, at least. I want to press it, I want to go back to Earth, to my people—but I can’t. It’s like a tingling feeling in my stomach. I’ve been gone for so long; I even shaved my beard and cut my hair all for this. I sigh. I look back at Earth, and it seems so…bright.
“Stratt was right, I’m such a fucking coward,” I mutter to myself. Wait, did I swear? It’s been so long since I’ve sworn, the last time was when one of my Eridian students was acting u—
“Freak this,” I press the engine button, and I begin to cruise slowly towards Earth. My measurements are right; only a minute or so later, the gravity reading on the screen changes to .2 g. I keep the engine on and keep my eye on the screen for that 1 g. I look out around me—I forgot about satellites—as I make sure I’m not going straight towards one. I glance back at the screen displaying gravity: 1.15 g already? That was quick. I turn off my engine and let gravity take me towards Earth. Unsurprisingly, I pick up speed as I approach Earth. Along with the gravity pop-up, it also shows me a screen that displays how close I am to any objects, including planets. I keep an eye on how far I am from the surface--50 miles--time to turn on the Egyptians to slow down my descent. As I'd expected, they feel very different under control compared to when I was on Erid, but as long as I go down slower, I have no complaints. I keep an eye on the Plains. My stomach drops quickly, and I check how fast I’m going.
“Holy crap,” things are moving faster than I would like (literally and figuratively). I increase the power on the minis. I slow down, but not a lot.
I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.
Breathe Grace, breathe.
I increase the power to the minis again, and a warning comes on the screen--something about the risk of heat--but I quickly switch it off. It’s odd--on Erid, I was able to turn the mini engines on high without any warning. I check speed—it’s better, and (kinda) survivable if I hit the ground. I look back up,
That’s not The Siberian Plain; It's too much to the left. I don’t have the map right now, but I know buildings when I see them. I’m on a straight course to some random city, and not a small one. If I were a few more miles up, I could easily use the engine to reposition myself, but I’m too close to the surface; who knows how quickly down I would go if I used the engine now? I turn on Osiris to max; it moves me just enough that I’m not heading straight for the city, but I get another warning. This time, I pressed the X before even reading it —hopefully it wasn’t important. I look back up, and the ground is even closer now. I go to turn off Osiris’s power, but there’s a large X over the control for it.
Were down a mini.
Looks like Osiris is in the Nile (get it?). It’s okay; I turn the power to the other ones up to account for the loss of Osiris. Just a few seconds later, I feel the ship hit the ground with a bang and a few crushing noises. Instead of a slow stop, I feel the ship drag along the ground. I’m pushed forward in my seat, thank the lord for seatbelts. Then my vision abruptly goes black.
My ears ring disturbingly, and the sound of crackling fire slowly comes to me. My head falls to my side as my vision blurs into order. A corpse lies beside me, its flesh rotting and infested with maggots. Its eye sockets remain empty, yet I refuse to believe it is not staring at me back. I want to scream, I want to cry so badly, but my body insists I keep still. I assume the adrenaline has yet to leave, as I feel nothing. I move my head back to look at the roof. Burn marks line the aluminum walls and ceiling. I glance down at my body, which is bloody and purple. I rest my eyes. I’m going to puke. I turn my head again—this time, there’s no rotting corpse, which is good considering I puke up my guts immediately after turning my head. I cough, but I wish I didn’t, turns out adrenaline doesn’t work like the stories tell because I feel every one of my bruised or broken ribs tells me to sit still.
“Talk about a crash landing…” I smirk slightly, and I feel blood run down my face from my nose. Then I smell something--it’s a poisonous gas that I shouldn't be inhaling. What was the name? There’s no point; my brain is mushed right now. I think I have a concussion. I sit up, my ribs scream at me to lie back down, but I push through. I scream, getting up, my ribs aren’t the only thing that’s broken, I guess. I want to look down, surely one of my ankles is facing the other way, but I’m not in the mood to throw up again. I lean up against a wall for support and glance around the ship. There’s smoke everywhere; the lab is completely on its side. Wait, lab? Holy crap, I fell all the way from the control room down to the lab, no wonder I feel like I got run over. I pull up my shirt to cover my mouth. In the smoke, I see a lighter area. Seems like the explosion was enough to blow a hole through some of the xenonite. As I walk-…hobble over to the opening, I feel the harsh cold bite at my neck and arms and all the other exposed skin, which apparently includes parts of my leg—I guess some holes were made in my pants. Yet, I still refuse to look down. The edges of the opening seem orange-ish red. This makes me think that the blast happened somewhere where this wall used to be, considering the sides are that hot.
I stand at the edge of the hole; as expected, there’s snow everywhere, but I see some lights far away that the snowstorm disrupts my vision of. I take my first step into the snow. I let out a painful scream and fall to my knees. I groan as I finally look back at my lower body.
It’s ugly.
My left ankle is facing the wrong way, and there’s bone sticking out of the skin. Burn marks that trail up my leg in 1-2-inch-wide patches are visible through the holes and rips in my pants—that was why I felt the wind against my leg. The same burns across it accompany the other leg, but with a gash that runs along my-
I throw up into the snow in front of me; this time, it’s more like bile and blood than my lunch. Everything hurts now, the adrenaline is long gone, and I feel like just falling into the snow and dying. Realistically- never mind realism, if I can get the gash to stop bleeding, I could hopefully get up and walk to the light I see. But I can’t just use some of my clothing, I don’t want to freeze.
I glance back at the hole in the ship, then at the red-hot edges.
“Hah…” I painfully get up with a fair share of grunts and screaming and make my way to the hole. I place a fistful of my shirt into my mouth and bite down. I bring my leg to the edge and hold the part with the gash up against the edge. I scream, it hurts, it hurts so bad. But I don’t pull away.
Step, hop…
Step, hop…
Step…
I fall into the snow. It hurts too much, I don’t want to move. I wish I had Yao’s gun right about now. I would be able to end this quickly and end this suffering. I’m not thinking logically anymore. Whatever was making me think so straight earlier has worn off, and now all I want to do is allow the void that’s been whispering to me to take me. I feel his symphony, his angels call out to me so perfectly, like a father calling back his dog. The snow is warm, his warmth. My injuries feel light as he holds me close. His sweet, sweet symphony calls to me. A King in Yellow compared to my insufferable flesh of so-called knowledge. His voice calls out to me. But no happiness lasts. His admirable singing symphony turns into a yell of Russian words.
“Come back…do not leave…me…” I cough once again, my ribs rattling with ignorance. A man wearing a military uniform quickly kneels below me. He speaks Russian to another whom I cannot see. I turn my head, and there are three jeeps covered in that one white camo. All of which have many Russian soldiers surrounding them. Another soldier comes beside me,
“Do not worry, Grace; we got you. Keep your eyes open.” His accent is thick; it's surprising I even understand what he’s saying in my condition. I feel a hand place itself under my head, and it hurts—now I know how I got the concussion, I'm bleeding up a storm in my hair.
“Mgh..mmm…” I try to speak, but it comes out as mumbles and whimpers. The English-speaking one slides his other arm under my legs. He orders a command to the other soldier, who promptly nods and gets off his knees. I hear him walk to the jeeps and yell orders at the soldiers.
He lifts me from the snow, but I feel no difference in temperature. I assume the frostbite has already taken its effect. He walks slowly to the jeeps, ensuring not to harm me anymore. Are all Russian soldiers this kind?
“My name is Yukslav,” He says as he steps into the back of one of the jeeps with me. Inside is warm, and it stings my frostbite a bit because of the sudden temperature change. I lay atop the laps of two other soldiers—one at my feet and the other at my head. The one at my head wasted no time and started to wrap my bleeding head with gauze.
“…’m Ryland…” This time I get out more coherent words.
Yukslav laughs, “Everyone knows who you are, Grace.” The man smiles down at me. The man at my feet tells Yukslav something in Russian while checking my legs. Yukslav turns back to look at me, “Ivan says your broken foot bleeds no more because the snow stopped it, that is good.” I smile, I’m happy about the foot and all, but I’m talking with another human being, for the first time in so long.
The rest is a blur; turns out head trauma actually does that. One point to the movies!