Chapter Text
A soft breeze blows in from the Gulf, smelling faintly of saltwater and the nearer and more pungent fire-smoke, though to be fair, Astra thinks both smells are interesting. The wind kisses her cheeks, blowing a tendril of dark hair across her face. It makes the fire in front of her dance and flicker, makes the blue tips disappear and reappear with amazing speed.
The firelight cast across her face throws her into partial shadow, but it reflects in her eyes as she stares, entranced, at the flames. Rocky shifts in his gyro next to her, intrigued by the fire, to be sure, but mostly amused at how entranced Astra is with watching it burn.
“You’ve really never seen fire before?” Sherwin asks, coming up from behind her and handing her a glass of water, “Do I need to tell you not to touch it?”
Astra rolls her eyes as she takes the glass of water.
“My heat tolerance is likely higher than anyone’s on Earth, but even I know it would burn me.”
“Good,” Sherwin replies, “here, take this.”
He hands her a long piece of metal with two little pointy bits on one end and a handle on the other. Astra examines it curiously, touching with light fingers the pointed ends. They’re dull with use and slightly blackened, though not charred.
“It’s for marshmallows,” Sherwin supplies, “Andy will be out in a moment. He’s on the phone with Legacy.”
“Oh. Makes sense.”
“Hot dogs, too, if you’re feeling fancy. I tried a potato once, but it just blackened the outside and didn’t do much to the inside.”
Astra shakes her head in rueful awe.
“You have so much variety in food.”
“What did you eat on Erid? What do you eat?” Sherwin asks curiously, “What does Rocky eat? Both of you have been so cagey about food.”
A discordant-sounding hum emanates from Rocky’s gyro, and his carapace wiggles from side to side.
“Rocky has, uh,” Astra thinks for a moment, absently turning the stick in her hands, “I suppose it would be called a cloaca in English. In Eridian, it’s—” at this, she makes a three-note hum in the back of her throat, and Rocky answers in kind, with another wiggle—“yes, I know, Rocky, but he doesn’t have to see it.”
Sherwin’s brows raise as he tugs out his phone and brings up a dictionary app.
“I confess I’ve not heard that word before. Is it spelled like it sounds?”
“No. C-L-O-A-C-A. It’s not complicated. Rocky has one orifice for eating, eliminating, and reproducing. It’s…impolite to allow oneself to be seen eating. I picked up on it.”
An amused smile touches Astra’s lips as she watches the play of emotions over Sherwin’s face. She’s never been very fluent at reading them, but enough practice with her father and the scads of television shows on the Hail Mary has made her proficient. Sherwin’s brows furrow as he thinks, his chin tilting ever so slightly to the side. Evidently, it starts to click, as his nose wrinkles, but he quickly wipes the expression off his face and says evenly,
“That must be…interesting. How often do you need to eat, Rocky?”
Rocky replies in a musical hum.
—Every week or so. Astra eats more often. Every day, though sometimes she forgets.
Astra lifts a shoulder, too absorbed with the arrival of the marshmallows to care. Andy walks towards the bonfire, the flickering light illuminating his small smile.
“What can I say? There are lots of things more interesting than food. Where’s Thea?”
“Behind me,” says Andy, “she’s black, so she blends in well with the night. Thea!”
In bounds the dog, barreling straight towards Astra on the outdoor couch, and Astra’s musical laughter echoes in the twilight as Thea bounds up onto the couch, straight onto Astra’s lap. She starts rambling again in that odd-sounding, high-pitched Eridian hum, scratching enthusiastically behind Thea’s ears as the dog licks her face.
“Humans are so weird,” Astra says after a moment, her wide smile coloring her voice, “the near-concurrent domestication of dogs and humans is my favorite thing right now.”
Andy hands her a mug full of marshmallows.
“Concurrent? I though humans domesticated dogs. Don’t give Thea a marshmallow, by the way. Awful for her digestion.”
Astra obediently pushes Thea’s head away from the mug and sets it on the opposite side of the couch.
“I mean, from what I’ve read, Terran wolves saw humans as a source of food and play, and humans saw wolves as adorable companions, which you totally are, Thea.”
Thea’s tail thumps harder as she settles in next to Astra, setting her chin on her leg. Astra falls silent as she scratches behind Thea’s ears, a small smile touching her lips, though as the silence stretches longer and longer, her smile starts to fade.
“Is this a common thing?” Astra asks suddenly, “Roasting marshmallows? Do you think—do you think my father would have done this?”
A small smile touches Sherwin’s face.
“I would think so. It’s a bit of an American tradition, in a sense. Here, stick the marshmallow on the tines of the fork. The trick is to hold it close enough to the fire, or to the coals, so that it toasts the outside of the marshmallow golden, but not to burn it.”
That last bit gets Astra’s attention, and without saying much, she sticks the marshmallow on the roasting fork and thrusts it into the flame. The marshmallow catches fire, and with a delighted sort of giggle, she pulls it back out and inspects it. Heat kisses her cheeks and flames dance in her eyes.
“It burns,” she says delightedly, “look at that! It holds a flame!”
Sherwin opens his mouth, about to tell her to put it out, but she beats him to the punch and extinguishes the flame with a quick puff of air.
“Do things burn easily around here?” Astra asks, taking the marshmallow off the fork and popping it in her mouth, “Mmm. Sweet.”
Andy just laughs quietly in his chair at Sherwin’s expression. He loves his husband dearly, but Sherwin is used to people following his orders without a question, and Astra’s blatant disregard of his authority is the best amusement he’s had in years.
“Yes,” Sherwin says after a moment, “they do. In a sense. And fire is destructive, so don’t go around setting things aflame just because you think it’s pretty.”
“Obviously I know fire is destructive,” Astra fires back, “did you forget about my ship? And I’m not an arsonist. Can I have another marshmallow? That was fun.”
Andy puts a placating hand on Sherwin’s back, then tugs him over to sit on the other outdoor couch.
“There’s a mug full of them to your left, Astra,” he says.
“Oh, right.”
Astra sets another marshmallow aflame, and then four more after that, and her cute little giggle every time the sugar alights in flickering tongues of orange and red is enough to lift Sherwin’s vague annoyance at her flagrant disregard for his rules. It’s not necessarily about her disregard of his authority—just that she’s so reckless.
(At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. His ego isn't that big...right?)
When Astra’s about five minutes in to roasting a marshmallow to golden perfection, shadows flickering across her face that’s furrowed in concentration, Sherwin chances a question.
“What is life like on that ship, anyways?”
Astra lifts a shoulder.
“Same as life in my home bubble, I guess. I’m used to smaller spaces. I prefer them, actually, though it was nice to have a space to run. Rocky installed a treadmill in one of the exterior gravitational capsules in the Hail Mary, but it’s not the same as running outside.” She inspects the marshmallow briefly, then sticks it back close to the coals of the fire. “Lots of chores. The biggest one is the food and fuel. They absolutely, positively cannot mix. It would be utterly disastrous. I inspect the containers at least once a day, and have a continuous temperature monitor going that alerts me to any change.”
“Huh. Why can’t they mix?”
Astra inspects her marshmallow again, and her face brightens.
“Like that?” she asks Sherwin.
He nods and nudges her foot with his own.
“Nice job. A perfect golden marshmallow.”
“Yay! Rocky, did you get the data?”
—Yes yes yes! It took approximately forty-three seconds per quadrant of marshmallow, rotated twice through to obtain the ideal color. I’m recording it now.
Sherwin leans over to see the translation on Rocky’s tablet, and he can’t help but to chuckle.
“It’s important data,” says Astra through a mouthful of marshmallow, completely unbothered, “and in regards to your question, Sherwin, it’s because my food on the Hail Mary is astrophage’s natural predator. Rocky, tell them about my dad rescuing you.” She sends a small smile to Sherwin. “It’s his favorite story to tell. Rocky, do your best to keep your voice within a range the software can translate, unless you want me to tell it.”
Given that Rocky is scrambling excitedly in his gyro as he navigates to a space where Sherwin can read his tablet easily, Astra has correctly guessed Rocky’s not going to let her tell the story. She doesn’t remember it, obviously, as she wasn’t even conceived until about two years later, but it was one of her father’s favorite stories to tell.
All those years ago, when her parents were just two lonely humans in a small spaceship, they’d set off for home. They were flush with pride at solving the astrophage problem, though it was tinged with bittersweet, as their friendship never quite felt the same without Rocky there. They talked, they played games and read books together in the dorms, pressed hip-to-hip for some semblance of comfort, and tried to get used to the thought of spending four long, lonely years in this spaceship.
But then, during Ryland’s daily ritual of scanning the vast darkness of space for Rocky’s engine blip, he’d noticed that it had disappeared. He did a full check, and nothing.
Nothing.
No engine blip. No glimmer of astrophage burn-off. No sign of their best friend who saved their lives.
Nobody would have blamed them if they ignored this sudden change and continued home. Two humans—turned three—given the chance to head back to their homeworld and be lauded as heroes for the rest of their lives? Of course nobody would have blamed them if they carried on.
It didn’t take long for them to decide to turn around. They sent off the Beatles, turned the Hail Mary around, and began the long process of guessing where Rocky’s ship, the Blip A, had disappeared. It took a while—almost a month—and by then, with the added desperation of giving up any chance they had at returning home, and ostensibly, to living a long life, their relationship had slipped past platonic.
It hadn’t escaped Rocky’s notice what his two best friends—and eventually, when Olesya realized what had happened, Rocky’s goddaughter—had given up to save him, and the day he heard Ryland’s familiar voice echoing through his lonely, desolate ship, he’d made a vow to himself to do whatever it took to make sure those three humans could live the rest of their long, long lives together.
“Wow,” Sherwin says softly, after he’s finished reading Rocky’s final words, “that is…quite the story, Rocky, my friend.”
—They were good humans, Rocky says quietly, —their presences are sorely missed. Astra has fallen asleep.
Sherwin blinks.
“Huh?”
He glances over to the other outdoor couch, and sure enough, Astra has curled up into an impressively small ball. Her head rests on Thea’s furry tummy, and the lab seems perfectly happy with her chin resting on the armrest of the couch and her tail thumping softly against the cushions.
Rocky’s carapace tilts in that smiling way.
—I will wake her. She will not like to sleep outside.
He rolls over to the couch and nudges it with the gyro. One of Astra’s eyes cracks open, and she groans dramatically in Eridian. Rocky replies in kind, trilling his amusement, and Astra pushes herself up to a seated position.
“Rocky is right,” Astra yawns, “all this bigness feels oppressive. Can the dog sleep with me? She’s warm, and it’s freezing here.”
“We’re in Texa—” Andy cuts himself off abruptly as Sherwin gently smacks his shoulder.
“Of course Thea can sleep with you,” Sherwin says, “and we’ll get you a bunch of comforters, too. Have you ever slept with a weighted blanket?”
Astra gets to her feet and rubs her face.
“Weighted—blanket? Isn’t that counterintuitive?”
Sherwin laughs softly.
“We’re not on a spaceship, doll. It’s nice. Feels like a hug. I got one in storage you could try.”
“Huh.”
As the two men set up the guest bedroom for Astra, she closes herself into the bathroom and pulls out the two Eridian steel urns from the bag at her feet. She wraps her arms around them and sits in between the toilet and the bathtub, feeling slightly more at ease with walls around her.
—Earth is weird, Astra says, her voice a soft hum, —and I miss you, papa. But I see why you liked it. Things are so wide and expansive and so varied and colorful. You’ll be home soon. And you too, mama.
Astra sighs and rests her forehead on her knees, humming a melody to herself that her father used to sing—badly—before bed when she was a kid. Those days feel a thousand years away, and the loneliness is pervasive.
But then a warm, wet nose sticks its way under her arms, and Thea’s warm, dark eyes meet hers, and things feel a little better.
“Good girl, Thea.”
Sherwin’s voice. Astra looks up and finds him leaning against the bathroom counter. He’s changed into a tee shirt and loose, shiny-looking shorts, making him look a bit older and much less intimidating than that perfectly-pressed military uniform.
“Room’s ready,” Sherwin says, smiling gently, “Rocky built a little hamster tube alone the west wall, then got really excited when I told him about hamsters. He says it isn’t permanent, and I hope he’s right, as I am not very fond of that style of construction.”
Astra gives a little smile as she gets up, tucking the urns against her side with one arm.
“It is. He can put it up and melt it down in just a span of a few hours or so. Won’t leave any residue. He just likes to skitter around while I sleep. Tinker.”
“Mmm. Alien houseguest. Never put that in my fifteen-year-plan.” Sherwin laughs to himself, then grows a tad more somber. “You keep them with you?”
Astra pulls the urns tighter to her body.
“Yeah.”
Sherwin rubs his chin thoughtfully.
“You know…you don’t have to let all of them go. Do you know what jewelry is?”
Astra shoots him a dirty look.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Hey, I can’t assume things about my alien houseguests,” Sherwin says mildly, “just thought I’d ask. I know someone that can make a ring or a necklace or something out of the ashes. Just so that…when you put him to rest, and your mother, you don’t have to leave all of him.”
Tears fill Astra’s eyes, and Sherwin starts to feel a little bad.
“I know it’s not easy, doll, but I wish I’d—”
“You should go,” Astra interrupts as a few tears drip off her chin, “you’ve said enough, and I want to be alone.”
Sherwin’s mouth snaps shut, and he rubs the back of his neck.
“Okay. I’ll see you three in the morning, then.”
He shuts the door behind him with a quiet snick. Feeling rather miserable, Astra sets the urns on a small table beside the bed, then climbs under the mounds of blankets. She makes to pull them up around her shoulders, but one of them is much heavier than she’s expecting. Her grip breaks and she nearly clocks herself in the face. She curses under her breath and tries again, with both hands this time, and carefully lies down on the mattress.
—That is the weighted blanket Sherwin talked about?
—Yeah, Astra replies, —it’s actually…kind of nice.
She wriggles around a bit, getting comfortable, then calls for Thea. The dog isn’t usually allowed on the bed, but she’s more than happy to hop lithely up and lick Astra’s face before curling up next to her, tail thumping softly against the bedspread.
—Good night, starling, Rocky says softly, —I love you.
—I love you too.