Chapter 21: Chert

Honestly, Chert could wallop Feldspar. Not for voting to go ahead with the spacewalk - that was pretty much a given, because they're Feldspar. No, what they're most angry at them for is putting the idea into Gabbro's head in the first place. And for pressuring Riebeck into coming along, though that was probably out of sheer force of personality than malice. That's the problem with Feldspar, they don't mean to be self-absorbed. They just… are , sometimes.

Chert is still fuming as they suit up, yanking on their boots with more force than is strictly necessary. Gabbro must sense something's up, because they lope over with their helmet tucked under their arm, looking sheepish.

"Hey. Are we okay?"

"Yes, Gabbro, we're fine." Unsurprisingly, Gabbro seems to doubt the truth of this.

"'Cause, y'know, when we're out there, we're all on the same side. We gotta have each other's backs."

Chert sighs, their anger ebbing away. "I'm always on your side. And… I realise I should be more excited about this, but, well. I worry about you sometimes."

"I know. But if this is how things are gonna be, with the fatigue and everything, I figure I have to learn to live with it." Gabbro rolls their shoulders with a grimace. "I won't be much use if I can't keep up with the maintenance schedule."

"You - you know you're here for more than maintenance," Chert says, suddenly feeling rather as if they've stepped out onto a frozen lake and found the ice much thinner than they'd thought. "Right?"

"They didn't put me on this mission for my poetry."

"Don't talk like that. You're the best theoretical physicist Outer Wilds Ventures has ever had! Even Hornfels wouldn't argue with that."

"Maybe so, but they didn't put me on the mission for that either. I'm here to keep you and the others safe. If that means ship maintenance, then it's ship maintenance. If it means accompanying you and Riebeck on a spacewalk so you can study dead aliens…" Gabbro shifts as if physically steeling themself. "Look, I know you mean well, but I have to do this, okay? I have to look after you, not the other way around. It's literally my job."

Oh. "Is that… the only reason?" Chert asks in a small voice.

Gabbro gives them a weary look. "No, Chert. But it's the only reason that matters right now."

Feldspar's tinny voice crackles from the signalscope receiver in each of their helmets. "Hey, you two! Stop being gross and finish suiting up already! Riebeck's gonna explode if you don't get out there soon!"

"Ugh! Honestly, Feldspar!" Chert huffs, cramming their helmet onto their head, even though they're half-glad of the interruption. "Are you spying on us?"

"Nope, just made an educated guess. Now are you ready, or what?"

It's easy for Feldspar to be impatient, thinks Chert, as Gabbro quickly runs through their final suit checks. They're safely ensconced in Traveler-1 with the hatch sealed up tight. But… no, they're being uncharitable. It must be slowly killing them, being stuck on the ship and knowing they're missing out on the opportunity to explore. They can't even monitor things from the docking hub the way they're supposed to, as once the outer hatch opens the hub will be exposed, airless.

If they could, Chert would change places with them in a heartbeat.

"Alright," they sigh, steadying themself, doing their best to fill their head with the thrill of discovery and not the myriad ways a spacewalk can go wrong. "We're ready."

·◊◊◊·

"Whoah." Riebeck's voice comes through the signalscope, summing up what Chert suspects everyone is thinking. "That feels… weird. I haven't done this in forever." They're only a few inches from the open docking hub, still within grasping distance. But spread out before them is the hundred-foot stretch of empty space between the Traveler and the lifeless ship.

"Take it slow," Feldspar reassures them from Traveler-1's cockpit. "Nice and easy. You have more than enough oxygen to get there and back. As long as you don't forget about your tethers and get tangled up, you'll be fine." This is what Feldspar does best, when they're not risking their own neck trying to prove a point. Distilled confidence, in Hearthian form.

Gossan had trained the four of them for this in the relative safety of the zero-G cave. In the cave, there was always the faint sound of the wind whistling through the mine entrance, or the echoing skitter of falling stones. As far as games of pretend went, it was elaborate and immersive, but still.

This is… nothing like that. There are no cave walls, barely visible in the dark. Just a vast, cold universe, flecked with tiny, unfathomably distant lights. And with the knowledge that their home is no longer among them, the universe feels that much emptier.

Chert clenches their gloved fists and forcibly slams the door on that line of thought. It will return - it always does - but breaking down won't do them any good. Spacewalks are dangerous enough without distractions.

Gabbro takes point, thumbing the thruster control on their jetpack to ease themself slowly away from the Traveler and toward the Gloamer vessel, along with its lifeless former occupants. Chert and Riebeck follow closely, keeping their course as straight as possible. As Feldspar alluded to, no-one wants a snarled tether. They close the gap steadily, and at Feldspar's command they carefully ease back on their thrusters, adjusting their velocity to match that of the closest body, splayed out at the end of its tether in an uncomfortable parody of comfort.

It gleams black and smooth and segmented in the light from their torches, similar to the outer shell of the ship. Despite knowing that they're looking at a space suit, it still takes a few moments for Chert's brain to make sense of the unfamiliar arrangement of limbs, the sinewy shape of a body quite unlike their own.

It's as long as Gabbro is tall, and slender, with two pairs of arms, two pairs of stubby legs, and a long appendage at the end of its body that puts Chert in mind of the vestigial tails hatchlings are born with. After a moment's consideration and a little imagination, they conclude that the alien would probably reach somewhere between Gabbro's hip and shoulder, if they were to stand side-by-side.

"Well?" Feldspar demands, "Are they a Gloamer or not?" Tentatively, Gabbro reaches out and grasps one of the outstretched limbs. Stiff and frozen in death, the whole body tilts, its blank helmet giving nothing away. Chert shivers and tries not to imagine it staring straight at them.

Gabbro lets out a low whistle. "Would you look at that. Three fingers, paddle-shaped tips. It's a Gloamer all right." Sure enough, the suit's fingertips are curiously rounded, with raised circles on the pads. Riebeck lets out a breathy sound, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

"So they really are here. Or were here. Feldspar, did you hear that?"

"I heard it."

"A real Gloamer, I can hardly believe it! Oh, my friend, what happened to you?"

"Only one way to find out. Gabbro?"

"Hmm." Gabbro points to a depression in the front of the Gloamer's suit, ringed by a spiderweb of cracks. "If I had to guess, I'd say they got knocked away from their ship when it depressurized." What a horrible way to go. Though mercifully quick, at least. Chert is trying not to think too hard about that when they notice Gabbro fiddling with the Gloamer's helmet. They run their gloved fingers along the seam, searching for the fastenings that keep it and the rest of the suit sealed.

"What are you doing?" they squeak, and the others turn slowly to look at them. Chert can only imagine the quizzical look they're giving them behind their faceplates.

"We want to see what they really look like," Riebeck says, turning to Gabbro. "...don't we?"

"I know, I'm sorry, but it feels-" Chert fumbles for the right words, "Disrespectful to do it here, out in the open. Could we at least move them first?"

"Oh for the love of- don't bring the creepy dead Gloamer back here," Feldspar groans.

Gabbro motions toward the Gloamer ship, where the jagged tear in the hull offers enough room for three astronauts and a body to crowd inside. "We'll take them to the ship. Figure it's the least we can do for 'em."

"Thank you," Chert breathes, and after a bit of maneuvering to ensure their tethers stay untangled, the three of them resume their approach, with Gabbro towing the Gloamer's body behind them.

Up close, the ship resembles less an oaklouse and more… well, Chert can't think of anything to compare it to. The outer plating is made up of several large segments, yet between them hundreds of smaller, intricately joined segments form a scaled pattern. There is no obvious cockpit visible from the outside, though the engines Riebeck had pointed out earlier jut from the rear, cold and silent and hanging off, in places, from the rest of the vessel. At first glance, the bulkhead inside is made of something smooth and quartz-like, formed from more of those tiny scale-shaped pieces that reflect the astronauts' torchlight.

As the three Hearthians ease themselves into the hole in the hull, a shiver runs down Chert's spine. They can't shake the uncomfortable feeling that they're entering the belly of some unknown beast. The others must feel the same way, too, because when panels flicker into life on the floor and ceiling, bathing them in harsh white light, they all scream.

"What?!" Feldspar demands, "What's going on? Status report!"

"It's okay," Chert gasps, pressing a hand to the front of their suit, willing their racing hearts to settle down. "It's okay, it's only a light."

"Must have been on a sensor," says Gabbro with a breathless chuckle. "At least this thing still has auxiliary power."

"That's great and all, but could you maybe not blast my eardrums next time?" Feldspar grumbles. "Ya bunch of soft marshmallows."

Perhaps it's the absurdity of the situation, or the sudden release of tension, or maybe they simply can't help themself, but Gabbro says, teasingly, "Are you okay, Felds? You sound nervous."

"Psh. Says the goober who got scared of a light."

And, for an instant, Chert is cast back to the halcyon days of astronaut training, of the laps they ran around the village as a group, of the way they teased one another as they collapsed into sweaty heaps on the ground. It was always Feldspar who hauled them to their feet, goading them into one more lap, which would inevitably turn into two, then five…

Feldspar makes an exasperated noise, dragging them back to the present. "Go on, go do your creepy dead alien science. Try not to scare me half to death again."

Oh, right. As if in reproach at being forgotten, the Gloamer's body bounces off the bulkhead. Gabbro grabs it and pulls it down safely to the floor, motioning for Chert and Riebeck to hold it in place. And as Chert silently agonizes over whether to watch or look away, they slowly unfasten the helmet's unfamiliar mechanism, fingers made clumsy by their space suit. But at last they tug it free, finally revealing the face underneath.

The Gloamer's head is angular, their two eyes set far apart, open and unseeing. Despite being frosted over, their slitted pupils are visible, blown wide. Their skin is covered in a sheen of exquisitely fine scales, and though they don't seem to have ears, a web of fine scaled skin extends from their head like a hood. Their mouth is wide, and slightly parted to reveal only two elongated teeth. It gives them an expression of surprise.

"They're… beautiful, in a way, aren't they?" Riebeck says in a hushed voice. Chert would have to agree. The Gloamer's scales coruscate in the harsh electric light.

Gabbro's fingers stray to the Gloamer's glove, pulling it off with tender care to reveal a scaled, slender hand. The pads of the paddle-shaped fingers are tipped with ridges of fine bristles, and the appearance of something so familiar, yet alien, is breathtaking. Gabbro cradles the fragile limb for a moment before setting it down again, and then says, their voice raw, "We should bring the others back too."

"It's the right thing to do," Chert agrees. Looking out through the torn hull to the other tethered bodies, they can see the faint pinkish dot of Gloam Heart, barely distinguishable from a dust mote at this distance, but visible nonetheless. It seems especially cruel that these Gloamers should have met their end here, so close and yet so far from their home.

Then again, at least they had a home. After all, what wouldn't Chert give to look out of the viewport and see the faint pinprick of light from their own sun?

·◊◊◊·

True to their word, Gabbro reels the remaining bodies in and places them somewhat tidily on the floor of the ship. They're too stiff to lay out in a truly respectful way, but they'll stay put indefinitely, as long as nothing disturbs them. And they're together now, which makes Chert feel a little better. And Riebeck… well, they seem to be avoiding looking at the bodies, and have turned their attention to the Gloamers' vessel.

"You okay?" Chert asks them, pushing off from the floor to join them at the bulkhead wall. Riebeck is leaning in close, examining its fine scale-like structure. It takes them a moment to respond.

"Oh, um. Yes, of course."

"You've been very quiet."

"Well, I guess I do feel a little sick. Nauseous, you know? It's been a long time since I've done a spacewalk. I try to avoid them."

Well, Chert can hardly blame them for that. But that's not what they're trying to get at, and they suspect Riebeck has picked up on it perfectly well. "I mean, how are you feeling? Since we found these Gloamers…"

"What are you getting at?" Riebeck's faceplate is still turned to the bulkhead, their shoulders stiffening beneath the layers of their space suit.

"It's just that I know you were hoping to find them alive, and-"

"-and we're already on course for their outpost. This is a single ship. Its occupants clearly ran into trouble."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Space is dangerous," Riebeck says flatly. "Accidents happen."

"Yes," Chert agrees softly. They hadn't meant to upset Riebeck - stars, it's the last thing they want to do - but apparently they've touched a nerve. Over by the breach in the hull, Gabbro stills.

Feldspar clears their throat, perhaps in an attempt to dispel the awkward atmosphere. "Hey, you're approaching sixty percent oxygen remaining. Just so you know." Sure enough, Chert's helmet display tells them the same thing.

"Perhaps we should think about returning and resting up before we explore further?" they suggest. Gabbro hums quietly, considering this.

"We've got a decent window for looking around before we go. We can find the control room, or whatever the Gloamers used to pilot the ship, and see if there's anything worth returning for."

It's smart thinking, Chert has to admit. "Alright," they concede. "At worst, it will save us the effort of another spacewalk. Though, actually, I want to examine this paneling material more closely. I'm sure Riebeck would agree."

Riebeck nods, their irritation apparently forgotten. "Yes, I would. It feels like stone, but of course that's silly."

"On it." Gabbro pulls a chisel and a small hammer from their toolbelt and raises it to the wall.

"Gabbro!"

"What? You need a sample. I'm getting you a sample." Chert wants to argue, to say… what? That it feels wrong to go knocking bits off dead ships? It's not as if its former occupants will mind. Gabbro chips away a handful of wafer-thin, white slivers, and deposits them in a spare pouch on their belt. A crude way of gathering material, but an effective one.

The front end of the ship beckons. A far cry from the jumble of stowed gear and sheathed wiring of the Traveler, the Gloamers' vessel is spartan, though that may be in part to rapid depressurisation. Occasional scrapes and holes mar the bulkhead where objects have been ripped free from their mooring.

After a tense few minutes of shuffling along this strange corridor, they reach an area that can only be the cockpit, with coils of thick cables and broken control panels crowding every surface. The absence of any kind of viewport is disorienting, but any Hearthian recognises buttons when they see them, even with all the lights and display panels dead and dark. And in the center of the already cramped space is a raised column of sheer glass, filled with a layer of dirt and a spindly tangle of dead plants. Deep cracks web its surface.

"What on Hearth is this doing here?" Chert wonders, pressing their gloved palm to the glass. "Did they keep plants on board for oxygen?"

"Maybe?" Gabbro says doubtfully. "There are more efficient ways to produce breathable air."

"I don't think the plants were the point." Riebeck points, and the others follow their gaze to the floor of the enclosure, where something white and delicate is scattered amongst the dirt.

"Whoah, are those bones?" It's a testament to Gabbro's curiosity that the first thing they do is lean closer, their faceplate almost touching the enclosure. Normally, Chert would chide them for it, but their attention keeps snagging on the jagged cracks running across the glass. The sight makes uneasiness gnaw at the pit of their stomach, and it takes them an embarrassingly long time to realize why - it's the same impact pattern that peppers the Gloamers' suits.

"Oh, blazes," they blurt out. "Somebody broke this. Or tried to. Whatever environment was contained here never stood a chance when the ship depressurized."

"But who would have done such a thing?" says Riebeck.

"Could've been flying debris," Feldspar suggests.

"No, the bulkhead is pristine," Chert says impatiently. "Anything that hit the glass should have struck the wall too."

Gabbro pushes off from the vandalized enclosure and bends to inspect the broken control panels. They must have found what it was they were looking for, because a moment later they make a grim noise in their throat.

"Chert's right. Whoever broke the glass did a number on the controls too." They run a gloved hand over the surface of the control panels. Amongst the chipped and broken keys are vicious dents, too deep to be anything but deliberate. Riebeck lets out a little moan of dismay. Not that Chert can blame them; they'd been so sure that some horrible accident had befallen this ship and its Gloamer crew. Now it's looking as if it was anything but.

"No wonder the ship's dead," Gabbro says. Then, "Or… huh. Maybe not quite dead. Look." Chert pushes off from the floor to look as well. There, on the panel before them glows the faintest outline of a familiar hand shape, outlined in weak red light.

In cycles to come, Future Chert will replay this moment over and over in their head in a sweat-filled haze of panic. Why, they'll ask silently, why would I do something so foolish? I'd been so careful. It's what they've warned Gabbro about so many times before, with varying levels of exasperation. But Chert doesn't know this, can't know - all they see is the shape of an alien hand, so familiar yet strange, yet without the squick factor of it being attached to a body. And, despite the dangers they've faced, their instinct is to reach for it.

The last thing they would have expected was for such a simple touch to do anything, especially with their hand cocooned in the protective layers of their suit. But, impossibly, the display above them flickers to life. There's no fancy graphical display, only a single line of Gloamer text, filled with its characteristic peaks and valleys. It could mean anything, or it could be meaningless.

"If only Hal could have seen this," says Riebeck softly. It's exactly the kind of thought Chert has been careful to bury. But before they can muster a reply, the text on the screen warps and flickers, before disappearing. The display pulses a dull red, once, twice, a third time, and goes black.

Then the ship starts moving.

Chert feels rather than hears the dull clank-clank-clank of long-unused machinery grinding to life, the protest of damaged metal being forced to move.

"What the-?" Gabbro is cut off as the floor suddenly tilts , sending the three astronauts careening into the bulkhead as sheer instinct makes them overcompensate for the movement in the gravity-less environment.

"Hey! What did you do?" Feldspar demands through the signalscope. "The ship's…" they inhale sharply. "Blazes, it's curling up! Get out of there, now!" Their frantic words are punctuated by a sharp wave of vibration, and the floor jerks sharply. It's getting hard to tell which way is up.

"On it," Gabbro says tightly, and grabs Chert's hand, pulling them upward towards the exit. They shove them through the doorway into the shifting length of the ship, followed a second later by a dazed Riebeck. The previously straight corridor is folding in on itself dizzyingly. Gabbro is right behind them, wordlessly urging them forward, using their jetpack thrusters to speed them along. There's no time to check their tethers; the groaning of the ship is stronger now, who-knows-what damage the already torn hull is taking. Distantly, Chert realizes this is probably why the Gloamers kept their ship so clutter-free… but it's highly likely that the ship wasn't designed to do this while there were astronauts running around inside it.

The whole ship shudders violently as they near the breach in the hull. The tremors are strongest here, where the damage is greatest. The poor Gloamers are tangled in an undignified heap, dislodged from their new resting place. The hole in the hull is rapidly closing, as the shriek of metal tears through the vessel. The lighting panels flicker and dim. Panic grips Chert, the memories of the last time they had to make a rushed escape flooding back to them. Gabbro had made it out, last time - but barely. Feldspar hadn't been so lucky. Almost blind with fear, they kick off from the bulkhead, aiming for the breach and blasting their rear thrusters as soon as they're through to put more distance between them and the ship-

They feel the exact moment their tether snaps.

They catch a glimpse of it trailing behind them, of the useless other end tangled around a sharp scrap of hull. Gabbro and Riebeck have their arms flung out toward them, already hopelessly out of reach. They grasp for them anyway, but that only sends them into a spin, with nothing to grab onto to right themself. The others are yelling through the signalscope, the receiver cutting out as their voices cross one another.

"Chert, n-"

"-don't pan-"

"-match your-"

"-use your-"

"-just brea-"

"-velocity-"

"-thrusters!"

It's too much, too fast. The noise, the spinning, the rapidly receding shape of the Traveler, the infinite blackness on all sides. Helpless, Chert swallows a scream, crosses their arms over their faceplate, and squeezes their eyes shut as space swallows them whole.

·◊◊◊·

"-got you. I've got you. I've got you-"

Chert slams back into their own body as a pair of strong arms wrap around them. Something bumps gently against their faceplate, and there's the familiar but distant blast of jetpack thrusters, and a sense that they're no longer out of control. They crack their eyes open to find Gabbro's helmet pressed against theirs, their voice on the signalscope low and steady.

"I've got you, okay? Chert? I need you to breathe. Do it in time with me. In…"

It's not the first time Gabbro has talked Chert through meditation. Or tried to, anyway. Usually it leaves Gabbro blissed out and Chert feeling decidedly silly. But it's familiar, so perhaps that's why, despite the residual panic clawing at them, they gradually find themself leaning into the familiar breathing pattern. After a frankly embarrassing amount of time, they stop hyperventilating long enough to become aware of a distant shape in the distance, getting slowly but steadily larger. The Traveler.

It seems impossibly far, and when Chert notices there's nothing - literally nothing - between them and it, the realization almost sends them spiraling into another frenzy of terror. "Gabbro, your tether!"

"I know, it's okay, I promise. I used the last of my fuel to get us on course for the Traveler, but Riebeck's on their way. They'll intercept us and tow us back. And we can use your jetpack to course correct if needed." A highly dangerous maneuver, and not one Gossan would ever have approved of. But Chert feels their own tension ease slightly.

The HUD inside their helmet peeps at them - 7% oxygen remaining - and they blink at it in shock. "Seven percent? How long was I-" they trail off, not wanting to voice the rest of that sentence.

"Not that long, but we were already running low after our escape. And your stress levels were obviously elevated," Riebeck says kindly. Shame floods the hollow of Chert's chest.

"I panicked. Again."

Gabbro's arms tighten around them. "You had a pretty good reason."

As it happens, there's very little course correction needed. Chert has at least enough presence of mind to reduce their velocity so Riebeck can intercept them. There's a brief moment of fumbling as Riebeck grabs onto them, and Gabbro quickly clips all three of their suits together - it wouldn't do to let anyone else go drifting off into the void - and then a tangible wave of relief goes through them, their grip loosening on Chert a fraction.

"Okay, we're tethered. Reel us in, Feld- oh."

"Yeah, oh. I can't do that, remember? I'm stuck in the cockpit." Feldspar's bitterness is palpable even via the signalscope. But there's no malice in it. They must have been going crazy, watching Chert falling away from the Traveler and being powerless to do anything about it. "Just… get back here alive, okay? Or… or I'll be really blazing mad."

Riebeck has to pull them along, burning their jetpack slowly to conserve fuel, climbing hand-over-hand along the length of their tether. Chert is hyper aware of their dwindling oxygen supply, but they can't bring themself to mention it aloud. Nor can they look too closely at the Gloamers' ship, its segmented hull now curled into a circular shape. The damaged segments aren't quite as snug as the rest, and Chert can still make out the breach, behind a jagged tangle of torn metal. They shiver and try not to think about what would have happened if the three of them had ended up trapped inside.

The moment the outer hatch closes behind them and the air pressure and oxygen levels in the docking hub have stabilized, Chert throws off their helmet and gloves, collapsing on their hands and knees on the cold metal floor. It's good to feel, if not terra firma, then something solid beneath them. The air is sharp with the metallic smell they've grown used to over the years that they can only describe as 'space'.

Then their breaths turn to sobs - as if needing to be rescued wasn't humiliating enough - and in a heartbeat Gabbro is there, their own helmet tossed aside and their arms flung around them, holding on tightly as if they're afraid Chert will disappear at any moment.

They'll have to let go eventually. There are suits to put away, oxygen tanks to refill, and - stars help them - probably an awkward debrief in their near future. But… not right now. Right now, Chert needs Gabbro to hold them together lest they shatter, all their broken pieces flying off in separate directions, forever.