Chapter 16: Chert

"Oh, Feldspar," Chert says exasperatedly, when Feldspar shuffles into their cabin. "You're meant to be staying off those injured legs."

"They're just sprained. They're not going to fall off."

"And they won't heal at all if you keep walking on them!" Chert raises their eyes to the ceiling. Hoping for rain. A meaningless gesture in space, of course, but lifelong habits like that are hard to break. "You'd better come sit down."

Feldspar gingerly lowers themself onto a crate that Chert pulls out for them. Chert should probably ask if they've been taking the bitterwillow they've prescribed them, but they're really not in the mood for that argument right now. Instead they say, "I assume you didn't come here just to make me regret not tying you to your cot."

Feldspar opens their mouth, on the verge of saying something, then shuts it again. They do this a few more times, picking at the frayed edge of a hole in their shirt. Chert has to squash the urge to tell them to spit it out. They've never known Feldspar to be at a loss for words before.
Eventually, the pilot gives a little shake and says, "I've been thinking."

Chance would be a fine thing. But Chert can sense that they're not going to be happy with what comes next. "Oh?" they say wearily.

"There is no anomaly, is there?"

Oh. Oh dear. Chert wasn't expecting that, though perhaps they should have been. They force themself to meet Feldspar's fierce gaze, and say honestly, "We can't know that for sure, at least, not until we take a proper look."

"But you and Riebeck are the experts, surely you'd know? Wouldn't you have noticed?"

"I mean, it's possible, but I don't-"

"-It's not even a real theory, really, just something I pulled out of my-"

"-I don't know!" Chert bursts out, throwing their hands up and startling Feldspar into silence. "I don't know. All I can say is I hope to sky that you were right, that I've made a horrible error somewhere, and frightened everyone over nothing, because the alternative…" is that Timber Hearth, the only safe haven in a vast and uncaring universe, has been ripped away from them. A terrified sob claws its way out of Chert's throat, and they clap a hand over their mouth as if they can take all their fear and grief and shove it back inside. As if letting it escape somehow makes it more real, a tangible thing.

Feldspar is staring at them with a horrified expression. Probably second-hand embarrassment, seeing them break down for the second time since the start of the mission. Then they reach out and hesitantly pat Chert's shoulder, and for a second Chert forgets about the storm threatening to overwhelm them.

"Did.. did you just pat me?"

"Uh. Yes? My skills at reassurance are pretty much limited to piloting," Feldspar says with a rueful shrug. "Sorry."

"Yes, I can see that."

How in Hearth's name have they ended up here? Mere weeks ago they launched from Timber Hearth in such good spirits, filled with giddy anticipation of the wonders they would discover. But since then everything seems to have gone wrong, as if the luck that has sustained Outer Wilds Ventures all this time has finally run out.

Chert is drawn back to the present by Feldspar fidgeting beside them. "So… what now?" they ask, looking so uncharacteristically lost that Chert can't help but feel a surge of pity for them.

"We wait," Chert says with a sigh, resigned to the sleepless cycle they have ahead of them. "We wait, and we hope."

·◊◊◊·

The hours crawl by, and the travelers busy themselves as best they can. They drift around the Traveler like ghosts, filling their time with maintenance tasks that don't strictly need doing yet, but which they do anyway because anything is better than staring at the ship's computer, waiting for a ping to magically arrive. Or pressing themselves to the viewports, straining for a glimpse of… well, Chert doesn't really know what it is they're supposed to be looking for. Gravitational lensing? A great big sign that says "ANOMALY" on it?

In any case, they find nothing. Of course they find nothing. There never was anything to find, only a desperate need to cling to something resembling hope, because even that was better than the truth. That everything they've ever known is gone.

Then the realization hits them all at once; they're utterly alone out here.

·◊◊◊·

No, not quite alone. When their panic begins to finally subside, some indeterminate amount of time later, they become aware of a jumble of raised voices. They uncurl from the floor and follow the noise, dragging themself through the docking hub to Traveler-1 in time to see Feldspar elbowing past Gabbro and Riebeck to the computer.

"I've had enough of this. There's no way Hornfels doesn't have a backup for the radio tower," they snarl, fingers slamming the keys. "They'll have a backup for the backup. If something has gone wrong, if we've made a mistake, they'll tell us. They have to-"

"Feldspar, stop," Riebeck pleads. "It's too late. There is no radio tower-" they flinch away as Feldspar rounds on them.

"Shut. Up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Hey, c'mon, that's enough. Yelling at Riebeck isn't going to help." Gabbro opens their lean arms and takes Feldspar's shoulders, gently but firmly pulling them away. The pilot shakes them off, panting with the effort. They're not well enough for this. Their breathing is ragged, their face tight with pain. Gabbro makes a half-hearted grab for them as their injured legs threaten to give out, but Feldspar is already moving for the hatch, stumbling against the bulkhead. Their gaze skims right over Chert as they pass by.

No one moves to stop them.

A few seconds later, the hatch to Traveler-2 slams closed.