The universe, Ryland Grace had decided, was deeply committed to ruining his blood pressure.

First there was the whole “wake up alone in deep space” thing. Then came astrophage eating the sun. Then came Rocky, an alien engineer shaped vaguely like a nightmare spider and somehow also the best friend Grace had ever had.

And now? Now there was apparently a teenager drifting through space.

“Bad. This is bad,” Grace muttered as he stared at the holographic scan projected above the console. “Why would anyone send a teenager into the death vacuum? That’s terrible planning. Even for Earth.”

Rocky’s musical chords echoed through the ship. “Human Earth desperation makes poor choices, question?”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s becoming very obvious.”

The unidentified vessel had appeared on long-range scans barely an hour ago, small and battered, clearly human-built. At first Grace assumed it was debris or maybe an automated probe sent before the Hail Mary mission.

Then he scanned life signs. One occupant. Human. Young. Grace’s stomach dropped the second the biometric estimates appeared. Teenager. “Absolutely not,” he whispered.

Every teacher instinct he possessed immediately overpowered the astronaut part of his brain. Suddenly he wasn’t the reluctant savior of humanity floating near Tau Ceti, he was Mr. Grace from Grover Cleveland Middle School again, the exhausted science teacher who carried granola bars for kids who forgot lunch and stayed after class helping students who pretended not to need help. Because that was a kid.

Grace quickly pulled up environmental readings from the ship. Oxygen stable but low. Power fluctuating. Nutrient reserves minimal. Several systems offline. “Oh, this is horrifying.”

Rocky tilted slightly, concern radiating through the changing tones of his voice. “Human teenager alive, question?”

“I don’t know.”

That was the worst part. Grace stared through the observation window toward the distant shape of the drifting ship. It looked damaged, scarred along one side like something had torn through part of the hull before emergency sealing foam hardened over it. Whoever sent them out here had been desperate.

His fingers hovered over the communication controls for a moment. What if nobody answered? What if they were dead?

Grace swallowed hard and activated the transmitter anyway. “Uh. Hi,” he started awkwardly, immediately wincing at himself. “Great opening, Ryland. Super professional.”

Rocky made an amused chord.

Grace continued, voice softer now. “My name is Ryland Grace. I’m… technically an astronaut, which still feels weird to say out loud.” He rubbed tiredly at his face. “I detected your ship and scanned a life sign onboard. If you can hear this, I need you to answer, okay?”

Silence filled the cockpit.

Grace kept talking anyway. “You’re probably scared. Honestly, I’m scared too, and I’m like forty percent more qualified to be here.” He glanced at the monitor again. “Your resources look rough. I can help if your comms still work. Food, oxygen, repairs, whatever you need.”

Still nothing. His chest tightened. Then, quieter this time, almost instinctively, “Hey, kid… please be alive.”