Chapter Text
Life in space, Dan figured, wasn’t so different from life back on Earth. He slept in what amounted to a shitty box, he spent hours staring into the void, and most of all, he was utterly and apocalyptically alone.
In other words, typical Tuesday.
Yes, he was feeling sorry for himself. He was feeling deep-down, brain-bad sorry for himself and that was fine because the circumstances finally matched his mood. He really was trapped in a stupid floating cage in the middle of a vast cold nothingness, disconnected from every human being alive. Even the radio didn’t work.
It had been something like twenty days since Dan had woken up on the ship and he was about ready to call it quits. Sure, he had done a few calculations. The first: how could he get home? Well that was a dead end, pun intended. Home was one hundred and ten years away, and he didn’t have the fuel for it regardless. Cool. A suicide mission. How very brave. If only he could remember agreeing to it.
He wasn’t exactly stable at the best of times. What was anyone thinking sending him up here to be responsible for the fate of the world? He hadn’t even been responsible for his assignments back in uni. True, he’d eventually muddled through and gotten his stupid molecular biology degree and then did what he should have known he’d always do: fail spectacularly.
The thing is he couldn’t quite remember how it was he ended up on this fancy useless spaceship. He was remembering–some things. More than he really would like to remember. (He remembered the news: First alien life form discovered. Surprise: the microscopic fuckers were eating the sun.) Less than what was required to be useful. (Like how he, nobody Daniel Howell from Reading, was supposed to do anything about it.) Whatever.
The point was: he had fully given up. He had found the vodka in an IV bag-looking contraption that the poor dead Commander who he couldn’t even remember had graciously labeled. He was sucking that down, listening to Muse –Space Dementia was so fitting that it had sent him into maniacal laughter for the length of the track–and once again, staring into the void.
Space was scary as fuck. Staring into the void had been such a lovely metaphor before. He hadn’t realized. There was no void on Earth. This was endless. Stars upon stars and all of them indifferent. He would never see a tree again, he realized, and burst into tears.
It was in the midst of that particular spiral that DIL decided to make his presence known.
“Approaching target destination in one hour,” he announced in one of those gallingly calm voices.
“Uh–what?” Dan said.
“In fifty-nine minutes and forty-five seconds DIL will arrive at our final destination, the only known star to survive destruction from the astrophages.”
Right. Astrophages. The fuckers eating the sun. Dan remembered a little bit of this. They found some star that hadn’t gone out, the idea was to go see why. See why. Dan didn’t know how to put on a spacesuit.
“Cool!” Dan said to the spaceship. Dimensional Intergalactic Liason, DIL for short, rarely paid any attention to him, but Dan couldn’t help but talk to him like he would listen. “Great! Fantastic!”
Dan was just drunk enough to pluck up the courage to look outside. Yup, there it was, mind-numbing void of space. But yeah, when he walked over to the other side of the ship–and thank christ this thing had some way of simulating gravity–holy shit.
“The sun,” he said, staring in awe. The ship had some kind of super-duper sun shades so he didn’t melt his eyeballs looking at it. It was beautiful. “Okay, obviously not the sun. A star. It’s pretty.”
He would admit he’d been talking to himself a lot since he woke up, but the vodka was making it worse.
“Don’t you think it’s pretty, DIL?”
“I do not understand you, Daniel.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
“Unexpected object detected near the astrophage beltway. Daniel, would you like to approach?”
“What do you mean unexplained object? Actually, nevermind, no. Do not approach.”
“Object is of slightly larger mass than DIL. Construction materials composed of xenon. Purpose: unknown. Fuel capabilities: unknown.”
“What do you mean ‘construction?’” Dan squeaked, although he unfortunately already knew.
He could see the ship from his vantage point through the spaceship window. It was little more than a dot now, floating next to the astrophage belt spanning out from this lucky sun. But its form was cylindrical, if spindly, and damningly symmetrical. It was constructed, all right.
“Fucking hell,” Dan said. “There’s aliens.”
“Yes, the astrophages can be seen ahead in the bright beltway they form on their path to the star–”
“No!” Dan said. “Real aliens! In the fucking ship.”
“No life forms detected in unknown object A. However, DIL is too far away to detect any if there were.”
“Great.”
“Object B is approaching quickly.”
“What?!”
“There is a small object floating toward us. Thirty centimeters long. Its trajectory suggests a point of origin from Object A. Would you like to intercept it?”
“No.”
“Understood.”
“Wait,” Dan said. “Maybe I should. I mean. The alien is sending me a message?”
“I do not know.”
Dan paced in the cramped mission control room. “Or something else. Fuck! It could be a bomb. DIL, what is it?”
“Uknown.”
“Aren’t you a genius spaceship with all the Earth’s repository of knowledge saved inside it, DIL?? What do you mean you don’t know??”
DIL paused. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”
Dan was maybe about to make first contact with a sentient alien life form and he felt bad for the souped-up Siri. He sighed. He really was lonely. “Sorry, DIL,” he said. “I was being an asshole.”
“Noted,” DIL said. “Preparing to change trajectory to avoid Object B.”
Dan paced faster. He smacked his head on some lever that was probably important. Being tall in a spaceship sucked. “And then what?” Dan said. “I rot in this ship trying and failing to do anything useful? And I never know about the alien?”
“Changing trajectory in 3, 2, 1–”
“Wait!” Dan said. “Let me think about this.”
“Trajectory unchanged,” DIL said.
“Is this stupid?” Dan said. “Am I really that much of a coward?” A cord got caught on his ear and nearly sent him sprawling again. He ripped it out of the wall. “Whoops.” Nothing exploded, at least. “Or,” he went on, “is it even dumber to risk myself talking to a maybe-ready-to-vaporize-me alien? Like, I reckon I’m Earth’s last resort?” Dan’s voice was getting kinda unhinged-sounding. “DIL, run uh-diagnostics? Predictive–analytics?”
“I don’t understand,” DIL said, sounding awfully unimpressed. “Do you mean regression analytics, a classification model, or–”
“I would rather throw myself out of the airlock than work out what any of those words mean,” Dan said.
“That’s not adv–”
“Fuck it,” Dan said, making himself stand still. He was tired of being scared and useless. Or maybe he was just tipsy enough to fake being brave. “Go ahead. Grab it. Intercept. Let’s do it.”
“Changing trajectory,” DIL said.
No “good job not being a ninny” or anything. Typical.
DIL positioned them so the airlock was in place to accept what turned out to be a tiny spinning cylinder. Once it was inside the airlock Dan closed the outer door and opened the inner one so he could retrieve it. It felt like metal. It was cold to the touch. Dan ran his fingers down the grooves of the geometric shapes etched into it from top to bottom. They were purposeful, artistic.
“Someone made this,” Dan said in awe. He shook by his ear like a little kid, but sure enough, something did rattle inside. Like he already knew how, he twisted the two halves of the cylinder apart and it opened easily. He upended the bottom half into his outstretched palm. It was cold and metal like the container, and also beautiful, delicate, purposeful. Dan’s first thought was that it looked like a Star Wars figurine. In fact, it looked like a spaceship. It looked like… “Me. It’s my spaceship. They made a… me.”
Dan woke up the next day mildly hungover and, for the first time in a long time, feeling truly awake. He had slept with the damn alien spaceship figurine in his hand. There was an indentation along his palm to prove it.
“Shall we meet an alien?” he said to DIL. He didn’t respond to his question or his maniacal chuckle.
Dan pressed his nose up against the circular window as they approached. The alien ship was–well, gorgeous. It was made up of some kind of golden material, and its spires were delicate, almost fragile-looking. Dan was still staring at it in awe when something on the alien ship began to move. The movement was hard to understand, as if the very material itself was capable of movement, but as the ship rearranged itself, it became apparent that it was sending out a long column, like a single finger reaching out to touch.
And it did. It attached itself to the airlock.
Dan went to look through the airlock window. Yes, it had sent a long, hollow tube. Big enough for one space man to walk through.
“Shit,” Dan breathed.
He knew where the spacesuits were. He even sort of had some muscle memory about how to work them. Still he almost sent himself into a panic attack when he closed the helmet over his own head. I mean, how sure was he that he understood how the oxygen worked. Like, yes, the meter said full but–?
He took off his helmet. He had seen too many movies, was the thing. This never turned out well. The aliens were luring him over for tests. Probing! Probably! Torture, for sure. Or, worse, they might be really, really boring. Like, space ducks or something.
Dan sighed, looked at where he had set his little alien figurine up on a shelf. He was pretty sure that it wasn’t made by a space duck. He put on the helmet.
His personal passageway was made of some stuff he’d never seen before. It looked more like whatever golden stuff the spaceship was made out of than the figurine. He reached out to touch before realizing he wouldn’t be able to feel it through the space suit. But then it moved. Dan yelped and jumped back. It bounced back from where he had touched it. “So cool.”
He continued on, with only the flashlight beam of his helmet to guide him.
It took longer than he thought, and the journey was uneventful. He was kind of out of breath by the time he reached the end–a wall of some sort. “Hello?” he called. “Uh, I’m here?” His voice was all high and shaky. Embarrassing.
In front of him was some kind of see-through barrier. Like glass but obviously not glass. Its not-panes were shimmery, shifting even as he looked. Beyond the transparent barrier he couldn't see much of anything.
Dan held up his offering. “Uh, I only had like, wooden chopsticks. But I made you this.” He held up his own alien spaceship replica.
The transparent panes shifted and the unmistakable form of a hand appeared, pressed against the barrier.
Dan shrieked and the hand disappeared.
“Fucking hell,” he said. “I’m sorry! Wait. Don’t go away. You scared the shit out of me.”
Dan pressed his hand up to the pane. He waited. Nothing.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m–I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long. I think it’s been–weeks since I’ve been here. Will you come back?”
Obviously the alien couldn’t understand English, but what else could Dan do? He waited, hand pressed against the barrier.
And finally, finally, the hand returned. The alien had five fingers, just like him. “Wow,” Dan breathed.
He used his other hand to press his silly chopstick-replica to the pane. “Did you see it before? It’s you.”
The alien made a noise for the first time–something like a squeak–and then the panes shifted into full transparency and his full form appeared.
Dan shrieked again and took a step back, even as he stared in wonder. The alien was–a human? No, not quite. But he was amazingly similar. He had a face like a human’s–big blue eyes–and even a head of very light, almost platinum blonde hair like a human’s, the same number of arms and legs. The only thing alien about him was little extra triangular appendages from the top of his head that seemed to move of their own accord.
“Cute,” Dan said, and then almost took his own helmet off to let his head explode in the depressurized space.
He did try to put his hands over his face, forgetting in the moment that the helmet was in the way and just sliding his hands over the round glass like a dweeb.
The alien seemed kind of like he was–laughing at him, which was ridiculous.
“You don’t even know what I said!” Dan said.
The alien said something back. His voice was deep and also human-like. The words, of course, were all different. The tone was decidedly unimpressed. But he was smiling.
“You’re not gunna kill me, are you?” Dan said, laughing.
The alien fluttered his hands and walked closer to the glass. Then he pointed to himself and said a word Dan had no hope of repeating.
“Is that your name?” Dan said. “Uh–” He made an attempt at repeating the sound.
The alien looked at him like: be for real.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I can’t say that. But I’ll keep trying! But it sort of sounded like the human name Phil, so I’m gunna call you that. And gender is a meaningless human construct but I’m gunna call you he/ him for now, okay?” He was babbling. He breathed and pointed to himself. “Dan.”
The alien looked pleased he was possibly capable of higher cognitive functions and chirped back a noise that sounded nothing like Dan.
Dan smiled. “Sure, that’ll do. So, are you also here because of the star? That’s not getting eaten alive?” He made a ball with one hand and then mimed chomping at it with the other, like a pantomimed Pac man.
Phil was already nodding his head vigorously, using his hands as he spoke. Dan could make out–chomping. Yes, astrophages, okay. And then both hands were chomping which didn’t make any sense to Dan.
“Yeah, look,” Dan said, “this is all very cute. Like, literally I haven’t had entertainment, so I would watch you make an idiot out of yourself for hours. But I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Maybe we should start with the basics? Like.” He made the ball with his hand. “Star. Okay? Star.”
Phil, annoyingly, repeated “star” with perfect English diction. Then he said a word in his own language. Dan tried to repeat it and knew before Phil rolled his eyes that he had not succeeded.
“Sorry! Sorry. I can barely speak German,” Dan said. “Hell, I can barely understand Northerners.” Dan laughed at his own joke.
Phil frowned at him and then reached up around his own neck and mimed pulling something off. Then he pointed at Dan.
“You want me to take off the helmet?” Dan mimed doing it on himself. Phil nodded vigorously. “Yeah, no,” Dan said, “I can’t.”
Phil kept pointing and miming it.
“No, for real,” Dan said, “I would explode.” He pointed to his head and mimed his brains exploding everywhere. “Dead. Extra dead.”
Phil shook his head and kept miming it.
“Yeah, I know you want to see my handsome face better,” Dan said, “but you wouldn’t see much, all right? Kablooey.”
Phil started doing something fast and complicated with his hands Dan couldn’t follow. But then he held up two delicate circles with blue jewels on them. Together it kind of looked like a crown. Then he reached down to the barrier and did something to it so it formed a drawer-like contraption. It looked like the things convenience stores with bulletproof glass have for passing over money.
“Whoa,” Dan said. “How’d you do that? That’s so cool.” He reached for it and found that the drawer pulled over easily to his side. He picked up the tiara thing Phil had made. “It’s really pretty.” Dan touched a big clumsy spacesuit finger to one of the little stones. “They’re like your eyes. So blue.” He looked up at Phil again. “Actually, no, your eyes are… different. They’re three colors. Not just blue. There’s green, and yellow too.”
Phil was staring back at him. Dan needed to get it together. “Anyway,” he said. “It’s really pretty. Thank you. Can’t remember the last time someone’s given me a gift. And now I have two. Actually, I don’t think anyone’s ever made me something as a gift. Ever. So. Yeah. I appreciate it.”
Phil cocked his head to the side like he was trying to puzzle something out, which was also extremely cute.
“I really want to stay,” Dan said, and he meant it, “but look, my oxygen tank is down to halfway. I don’t remember how much I used to get over here. But I’ll be back! Promise.”
He turned to go, and the alien said, “Dan!”
Dan threw his hands up as he turned back. “So you can say it right.”
Phil giggled, but then he pointed to the tiara thing and held up eight fingers. He showed them emphatically to Dan and babbled something he had no hope of understanding.
“Eight?” Dan looked at the tiara again. Well. There were eight stones on each of the circles. Huh. “Is eight important? I don’t–”
Phil mimed taking his helmet off again.
“Bro, I’m telling you I can’t–” Holy shit. Eight electrons. Two rings. O2. “Oxygen.” He held up the pretty tiara that was, in fact, a clever symbol. “You’re telling me this is oxygen. In here?” He pointed to the ground at his feet, to the tiara, and back down.
Phil nodded emphatically again, repeated the whole helmet-off routine.
“Shit. Okay. Fuck, how’d you work out I need oxygen? You’re some kind of pretty alien genius? Okay.”
Phil was looking at him expectantly, obviously pleased he had worked it out.
“You’re asking a lot, bub. How am I supposed to know this isn’t a ruse?” Dan didn’t think it was a ruse. What would the ruse even be? But more than that, this alien was clearly… nice. And how was he supposed to say no when he had gone to all the effort to bring him oxygen?
“All right,” Dan said. “Okay. Pretty alien genius wants me to take my helmet off in his spaceship. This sounds like something they warn you against in primary school.”
He sighed loudly. He looked at Phil. “You’re sure?”
Phil mimed it again and again, hands getting more fluttery each time.
“Okay, okay, knock it off. You look like you’re about to break your own neck.”
Dan realized, right before he took off his helmet, that this was a very dumb thing to do, from Earth’s perspective. “Bye, Earth,” he muttered, and did it anyway.
And he breathed. And didn’t explode. “Holy shit, you did it!”
Phil was laughing and clapping his hands together. Then he approached the glass, staring intently at Dan. Dan approached too. Phil said something that sounded contemplative.
“Do I look hideous by Phil-people standards?” Dan said. He tried to fluff out his curls which had surely been demolished by the helmet. “This looks better usually, I swear.”
Phil went on staring at him. Dan had the insane thought that it was going to be hard to leave.
“I like your –ear? Things?” Dan said. He touched the part of his head where Phil’s ears were. “They’re cute.”
“Cute,” Phil said, and cocked his head like a question.
“Oh, uhhhh, that’s just you. Cute.” Dan gestured at Phil.
Phil smiled like he knew what Dan meant.
“How are we going to do this?” Dan said. “I can’t keep relying on you to make me molecule gifts forever. Pictures? I’m absolute shit at drawing. Wait. Computer! Okay, I’ll be right back!”
Dan turned to go.
“Dan!” Phil called out again. Dan turned around. Phil had no business looking as bereft as he did.
“I’ll be back,” Dan said. He put his hand over his heart. “I promise.” He mimed walking away and coming back. “Yeah?” He put his hand over his heart again.
Phil copied the gesture.
When Dan came back, laptop and full oxygen tank in tow, Phil pointed to the drawer again, but then he stopped abruptly when he saw Dan.
“What?” Dan said, looking down at himself. “Oh, I took off my space suit. It’s super uncomfortable.” He wore a simple T-shirt and sweats that were made out of the kind of outrageously cheap material that he couldn’t believe any version of himself had packed. “These clothes are horrendous. Sorry.”
Phil shook his head and pointed at the drawer again.
Inside Dan found another figure. “Me?” he asked, and pointed to himself. Phil nodded. “You even made my hair,” Dan said, running a finger over the little curls. This figure, like the other, was made of the same black metal. “How did you make this so quick? Thank you. I love it.”
Dan sat close to the wall and opened his laptop. “I think we can figure out how to talk more, yeah? Umm, where can we start? Well. Should probably start here.” He pulled up a photo of the astrophage beltway. “Astrophage,” he said.
Phil nodded seriously. “Astrophage.” He started talking again, heated.
“Yeah,” Dan said. “You said it. Okay, let’s keep going.”
Dan taught Phil English words all night long. Phil tried to teach Dan his own language at first, too, but Dan was absolute shit at making the sounds necessary. He didn’t realize how long they were at it until he was yawning.
“I’m too tired,” Dan said. “Gotta go to sleep.”
“Sleep?”
Dan mimed it. Phil nodded. Phil lay down on his side of the barrier as if miming sleep too.
Dan laughed. “Yeah, exactly.” He picked up the laptop and his two figurine gifts. “You can get up now, you spork. Yes, you’re very smart and understand everything so quick in that big alien brain. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? You better come back.” He pointed a finger at Phil threateningly. Phil’s eyes got bigger. “I don’t think I can stand to spend another day alone.”
Phil sat up and stared some more.
Dan waved. “Good night!”
“Dan,” Phil said. “No. Sleep.”
“Yes,” Dan said. “Sleep. I really have to. Maybe you don’t need to as much. It’s okay,” he said when Phil still looked distressed. “I’ll be back.” He put his hand over his heart. “Now get up from there, I can’t leave if you’re sitting there looking like that.”
Phil still seemed unhappy but he nodded and put his hand over his heart, too.
“I really will be back, okay?” Dan said. “I feel like I miss you already. It’s…nice. To get to meet you. I thought everything would be horrible all the way to the end. You’ll never know how much I’m grateful.” He shook his head. “I’ll have to stop saying so much. You already know too much English. Goodnight, Phil,” he said, reached out to press his palm to the barrier.
Phil pressed his palm to the pane on the other side. Dan had been right. It was hard to make the long dark walk back to the spaceship on his own.