The blinking cursor taunts you from the blank screen. Your fingers lie still atop the keys.

If there was an award for Most Useless Astronaut, it would probably go to you. You aren't a scientist. You aren't an engineer. You can't even change a bedsheet without throwing a tantrum.

What you are good at is writing.

Dr. Grace would record the equations; you would translate them into thrilling tales of your misadventures aboard the Hail Mary. A Folie a Deux... and a half.

Rocky sleeps in his glass ball beside your computer.

Grace had an epiphany, which means he's hiding in his lab microanalysing every single atom in the room, leaving you the task of observing the Eridian.

You envy it. That stillness beyond still. You wonder if he dreams...

"Sleep," a voice murmurs nearby. "I watch."