Chapter Text
It really was exceptionally loud, is the thing. The floor panels across the ship vibrated so hard that some of them have come unscrewed. According to my stopwatch, it was a seventeen minute thirty-two second swell of sound, echoing somewhere between an orchestra tuning, a whale’s song, and ten summers worth of cicadas.
I’m glad they’re — having fun. My organs feel as open and empty as deep space. There's not an issue with the drip-tube, I had Armando check.
The delegation has not commented on the Reunion Song. They may be too busy machine-gun tapping at the xenonite panels.
They’re hanging out on the ceiling, for maximum looming. I’m in the sleeping nest Rocky and I set up in the lab capsule. Rocky had declared I would be most comfortable there; also, there was the widest area of hamster tubing, allowing for six Eridians to cram themselves above me, sardine style.
Rocky had invited everyone in, introducing them by a series of increasingly deranged titles that I've already mostly forgotten, then excused himself to go get in his ball. He wants to sit in between me and the delegation for the summit proper. I’m not sure if this is a cultural thing or if he thinks I’ll freak out if he’s not within arm’s reach. (I might.)
On my lap I've got the newest, most-ergonomic-yet model of my MIDI keyboard, and my translation software is up and running on the laptop. In theory, I can mostly understand them when they speak, provided they speak slowly and at the equivalent of a third-grade reading level, but I’d rather not kick off Earth’s First Intergalactic Incident because I misunderstood a pluperfect conjugation, or something.
Of course, for me to misunderstand something, they’d have to say something. They’re staring, mostly, drilling holes into the xenonite with the force of their echolocation taps. Which, understandable, I’m staring too.
I’m using Rocky as the platonic ideal of Eridianism, analyzing similarities and differences between the members of the ambassador squad and my good buddy. Obviously we've gone over the basic anatomy and physiology of our respective species, but it's fascinating to observe for myself.
Standard for the species: base body plan, including number and relative placement of limbs (some variation relative to the carapace, sitting higher or lower); requisite mineral exoskeleton; dorsal, irregular, individually motile radiator vents; visible auricle canals axillary to their limb joints. There is enormous variation in the appearance of the exoskeleton, or carapace, primarily in surface texture and color — Rocky has told me that the mineral composition is usually related to the landscape the Eridian habitually molts in, but there’s also plenty of aesthetic modification, including stuff that seems pretty much identical to ceramic glazing.
One of them, who was introduced as the ‘First Anatomist of Cool-System Healing’ or something like that, is a very pretty pale blue, like a summer sky in a picture book. Right next to them is a hulking spiky black one who looks like Sauron.
There’s also that huge variation in size. The reps here range from roughly beagle-sized to the height of a great Dane. It doesn’t feel great comparing them to dogs — maybe ‘shin height’ and ‘rib-height’? It would be easier if I could get objective measures, but I don’t want to make any sudden moves towards the tape measure.
So I… sit here. Staring.
You know, on Earth, staring at someone is kind of rude. We're hitting on four minutes now. It's looking like the long, percussion-only staring sessions are not just a Rocky thing, but an Erid thing. I am the one who is being weird. Feeling weird. I'm struck with the familiar blank, buzzy feeling I get when I have to present information to a group older than high-schoolers.
I take a deep breath. The tapping intensifies.
Fudge it. I plunk out an attempt at a polite hello. The notes are stilted and hollow-sounding compared to Rocky's warm tones. “Hello. It is a happy honor to inhabit-a-36-measurement-unit-perceivable-area with you-plural-honorific, polite-but-pleased-tone.”
The room erupts into chittering ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. I feel like a shy middle schooler presenting a powerpoint to very supportive classmates.
But: more data! There's variation in their vocalizations, as well, in pitch, timber, and tone. I don’t like any of them as well as Rocky’s, but that’s probably because I can understand his the easiest.
I am saved from attempting another sentence by the return of Rocky — and guest.
Rocky is first, rolling in smoothly from the direction of the systems corridor, but he's quickly eclipsed by the newcomer.
Rocky believes in contingencies, and has built three hamster balls. One is his primary, which he is rocking up in now, with a large touch panel, and he has an identical backup. His third has no touch panel, but is more 'motion operation efficient': it has two flat sides, and many more facets between them. It is essentially a transparent xenonite tractor wheel.
The tractor wheel, and the latest addition to the delegation, are coming right at me.
"Oh gosh," I wheeze, as they careen into the room and slam directly into one of the metal cabinets lining the wall.
The guest is big, bigger than Rocky by maybe a foot. The cabinet is hit with a decisive crunch.
"Oh my gosh, oh — oh geez," I say, as they course-correct, replant all five limbs, and slam themselves ass-over-teakettle towards my kneecaps.
I scream. Above me, the gargoyle jury reach similar volumes. The pretty blue one says something similar to "blood FAST loud LOUD", but that's about all I comprehend, focusing on maintaining my limb count.
Malnutrition bows to adrenaline. In a show of flexibility I do not have and will regret later, I whip my leg up knee-to-collarbone, bouncing backwards into my blanket nest and out of the line of collision. There is another bombastic crunching noise as they collide into an aluminum table leg.
"APOLOGY. APOLOGY. APOLOGY," trills the Kneecapper — who I can only assume is Adrian — as they extricate themselves from the furniture. Their voice is clear and sharp, more metallic, maybe, than Rocky's, like a harpsichord compared to a piano.
They rotate on long, sharp legs, tilting their carapace towards Rocky, who hovers in the entrance, as though he was the one who they may have offended. Not that I'm offended, moreso that I'm fond of my body parts where they are.
Rocky is half-crouched and stiff, knees high. I know that look. He's forcibly holding back his ridiculous giggles. It's one of my favorite Rocky postures, as mean-spirited as it usually is. I glare at him, but turn my attention to maybe-possibly-Adrian.
They've gotta be Adrian, right? They came in with Rocky, separate from the rest of the delegation. They elected and were granted permission to crash out in one of his balls.
They're… very pretty. When they sit still.
They're blue-green as the Pacific Ocean, faceted and sparkling like the Bay on an August afternoon. They're striated with something green, almost algae-colored — maybe malachite? — at their joints and the lower portion of their carapace. Their edges are crisp and crystal-sharp, with jagged changes in topography at the highest points of their vents. I'm thinking collisions may be a regular part of their routine.
"Hello," I say, then shake my head, fumbling for my keyboard. "Uh — Hello, polite-but-welcoming-tone."
Their carapace twists in my direction. Not to face me, obviously they have no face, but to acknowledge my presence, and maybe to hear me more closely.
Being heard at by the Rockspider Jury for ten minutes is nothing compared to being perceived by maybe-Rocky's-mate. I am very aware of how close my bones are to the surface of my skin, and of my missing tooth, how loudly my heart beats in my throat and at my wrists, how clunky and awkward my keyboard sits in my lap, and, of course, the fact that I am sitting in a big nest made of blankets, because I am too incompetent to sit on a chair like an adult at the first diplomatic summit between two planets.
Before Adrian can say anything, Rocky is rolling in, visibly enjoying how effortlessly he maneuvers the ball. "This is the High Compositional Healer of Lowest Ecosystems," he says, with an expansive gesture toward the kneecapper.
Thanks, pal. Net zero information.
"As High-Compositional-Healer was not present for initial introductions, I now repeat." Oh no. "I introduce, from the Redwood Estuary, where the peaceful sea and the land rumble past one another, of the Soil-of-Sol, Cell-Workings Scholar, Savior Grace." Rocky extends jazz hands.
My face burns. The pale blue Anatomist, the one who had squeaked about the volume and velocity of my blood, is pressed so hard against the xenonite that only two limbs are left to prop themself up.
The titles were inevitable. A big chunk of it is clan, which I don't have, and geographical background (with lots of love given to tectonic plates, which you know what, they deserve), plus my CV. The savior thing — well, I don't love it. It wasn't my idea, and of course it wasn't Rocky's. One of the operators insisted that we use it "for now", as it was the only placeholder title the Entity could agree on.
"Now that all plural here," Savior Rocky barrels on, "Conversation may begin."
A craggy, beagle-sized yellow Eridian, introduced as 'Speaker for the Northern Understorm within the Mountains of Cymophane' — taking them to be the governor of Idaho, here — takes this as their cue.
"First discussion point," they warble, "the Star-Eater Crisis, and the solution Grace-Rocky plural find at Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet."
Beside them, Sauron and a few others wobble in agreement.
Rocky shifts his weight. "Grace-Rocky plural locate and identify solution," he says, "but is Savior Grace refine, perfect, create reproducible solution for 40 Eridani. Rocky provide support but not equipped to educate on. Savior Grace now gift you with explain of Solution."
I stare at him. Everyone else in the room stares at — well, pivots their carapace towards — me.
What a load of bull-honky. Rocky was the one who originally recognized the significance of life in planet Adrian's atmosphere. Sure, I had bred the Taumoeba to be able to actually do what we want them to do, but none of that would have happened without Rocky's brilliant engineering, his swift ideating, his keeping me alive to do literally anything at all.
He's underplaying himself in front of his people. Why? Is that kind of modesty or self-effacement good manners on Erid? It hasn't come up yet, and actually Rocky's ego was more usually in the category of 'staggering and swaggering', but it's possible. In any case, bickering with him in front of the delegates doesn't seem like the move to prop him up here.
"Oh, uhm, well, yes," I begin. "Ope, I mean — I affirm, polite-professional-tone."
I fumble into a solutions-oriented summary of the Taumoeba situation. Pivotal points: the astrophage has a natural predator, we collected a small population of that natural predator, and I selectively bred that population so that it can survive the atmospheres of both Venus and Erid's Venus-equivalent, Threeworld. The Venus-predators have been sent back that way, and we have the Threeworld-predators with us on the ship now. When I skim it like that, we really sound very efficient. For now I'm leaving out the multiple counts of almost dying.
I've never had a more rapt audience for a lecture. Sauron sits low, mostly still in the way Rocky gets when he's listening very intently, and occasionally politely taps the floor to ask a question in his low, rumbling voice. The questions are mainly clarifying, making sure that he's correctly tracking our methods and timeline. His title implied that he was a heavyweight in the space elevator project, and he sounds more like a project director than an engineer.
Maybe-Adrian is definitely a scientist. They listened through the first chunk, but as soon as I got into the atmospheric composition of Venus, they were abuzz with questions. Nitrogen? And Soil-of-Sol contain high concentration oxygen, question? Taumoeba flammable, question? How prevent Taumoeba flammable, question?
The governor of Idaho cut them off, declaring that "Soil-of-Sol Grace may field questions after statement, firm-but-not-dismissive-tone." She's been through the Eridian equivalent of media training, I think. Her voice, posture, and word choice are all poised and effortfully calm.
So I do. Once I've floundered my way to the end of my spiel — "The end, hopeful-tone?" — I look up at them all, in the general direction of their carapaces. I don't know if they recognize 'looking' as a sign of… well, anything, really, but it's drummed in as polite to me, so hopefully the intent reads. "Are there, uh, follow-up questions?"
"Yes, follow-up," the governor jumps in, once Rocky translates. "Soil-of-Sol Grace clarify location of Threeworld-Predator, please."
Oh. Uh — "Did Rocky not—"
Rocky rolls himself in front of me. "Rocky transmissions to telecommunications operators clear. Speaker-for-the-Northern-Understorm need clarification, question?"
"Operators relayed information reliably to Entity," the governor accedes. "But perhaps Second Engineer Rocky repeat for all current present plural, for transparency and group understanding."
Rocky shifts his weight, his ball rocking gently back and forth — he takes a moment before he responds.
"Rocky repeat, glad. Star crisis solution provided when Grand Entity authorize Rocky proposed civil, medical, infrastructural project for continued survival, safety, comfort, and happiness of Savior Grace."
"What," I say.
He doesn't move, but he does repeat himself. "Star crisis solution provided when Grand Entity pledge to protect and provide for Savior Grace."
The governor's vents puff, the only tell of — some kind of emotion. Rocky's not a subtle guy, his emotions even less so, but the governor is so suppressed that I can only assume she's displeased.
The survival of her planet is being held hostage for an alien blobfish. Pretty displeasing.
When she speaks, her tone is as measured and unruffled as ever. "Delegation gathered today represent intent of Entity of Northern Understorm to honor Second Engineer Rocky's request."
"Savior Rocky," interjects Adrian. Their voice is decidedly not unruffled, but I have no clue how to parse it. Kind of tighter, maybe? The notes even sharper and thinner than before. Their limbs are straight and stiff but shaking, just a little.
Rocky straightens further, jutting up his carapace. Jiminy Christmas.
"Savior Rocky," the governor repeats, with the patience of a saint. "It takes time, many six-sets of days, to gather Greater Entity, then again to gather Grand Entity. All Erid plural suffer, suffer already, will continue suffer — may yet increase suffering. Still Savior Rocky says wait?"
I should step in, at this point. Say something. Do something. There's been some kind of misunderstanding, maybe some hyperbole or sarcasm taken the wrong way — Rocky's not genuinely going to allow his entire planet — it's just not the kind of guy he is.
And Adrian, who lives on this planet, is less than four feet away. Standing sharp and tall, teetering in their ball, making sure the delegates use their mate's proper honorific, which means. Something. Maybe that Adrian is also insane, to back Rocky up while he chooses my safety over...
Something inside me shuts down. I'm the one misunderstanding the situation. What would I say, anyway? Nobody is looking for the alien's input on this one. What argument can I make about their political processes? Call me if anyone has any more questions about Nitrogen.
Rocky's legs are so stiff his joints must be locked. "Well, Speaker," he says. "With time such concern, perhaps it is time for you to get started."
────⋆⋅⃝␥⋅⋆────
The following cramped, shambling, tube-to-tube-to-airlock shuffle of the delegation is anticlimactic. There was a whole bit with formal goodbyes, through which the governor spoke very little, and Sauron took up the mantle of bellowing a foghorn "Until our next meeting". Rocky escorted them all out, which mostly entailed rolling underneath them and talking them through the re-pressurization process.
The-Eridian-Who-May-Be-Adrian and I are left alone.
Without the tapping and active-listening grumbles and whistles of the delegation, the low background hum of the Hail Mary strains to fill the silence. I feel sweaty.
I have no idea how to ask them if they are, actually, Rocky's mate, and if they know— well, I don't know what they would need to know about me that isn't contained in my ridiculous title. Maybe I open by asking them to please, please not call me Savior Grace.
Mercifully, it is Adrian who breaks the silence. An amazing thing about the Eridian vocal bladders: with five of them, you don't have to pause to take a breath. I am saved from asking or answering any potentially embarrassing questions by a seven-minute introduction to Adrian's career history.
I learn that 'High Compositional Healer of Lowest Ecosystems' translates to something like 'marine chemist'.
When Erid needed to multiply their astrophage, they tossed it into their 202°C ocean — marvelously efficient. Less marvelous for the surrounding ocean and its ecosystems, which apparently were rocked pretty horrifically. It's kind of hard for me to track, since Adrian talks very rapidly and way above a third grade reading level (and my brain is still stuck in a sluggish, buzzy place), but roughly: ocean absolutely borked. Too much CO2. Big science necessary to unbork ocean. Adrian do big, big science from undersea facility, which I'm imagining as wet Dexter's Lab.
It sounds impressive and, honestly, interesting, especially when they start getting into stimulating the regrowth of native biotic communities (sounds like Erid has something similar to slime mold, cool). I wish I had a brain that would connect to my ears. Or my mouth. Both may be too much to ask for.
For now, I tune into their tinkling voice and let myself just listen. They're nice to listen to, even if I'm not really getting all of it, and the warm yellow of Mary's "pretend it's evening" light cycle glints and sparkles off the sharp peaks of their dorsal vents. I focus my eyes on that and I don't think about — I don't think about it.
I feel a guilty sort of relieved when Rocky rolls back in, hovering at the edge of the lab. I mean, his coming had been a little foretold, as Adrian rotated towards him thirty seconds before he came into my view.
"Goodbye, Cell-Scholar Grace," they say. "I hope that our conversations may continue soon."
Calling it a conversation is very generous. To me or to them, I'm not sure. I readjust my keyboard, plunk out, "Goodbye, Healer. Thank you for your company."
Rocky ushering Adrian out is kind of unbearably gentle. He fully exits the lab with them, thank God, so I don't have to see whatever gestures of affection, what little hums or claw-to-carapace rubbing or whatever they engage in. Or maybe right now Adrian is reaming Rocky out for going completely insane and holding the safety of their shared planet hostage. I remember that they can touch each other, actually touch each other, and I roll myself up burrito-style in my good-luck blanket. I am suddenly very tired.
"Mary, lights to 10%."
"Of course, Dr. Grace."
It's quiet out there. It's not the big swell of romantic drama from earlier, but it doesn't sound like Rocky's being ripped a new one, either.
Rocky returns only a few minutes later. He reenters slowly, quietly, as though I am already asleep. Obviously he can tell when I am asleep and when I am awake, but he also knows that sometimes I like to pretend that I'm already out, and that I appreciate it when he plays along.
"Hey, Rock," I say.
He perks up a little, moving more quickly, using the touch panel and his omnipresent grip-holds to haul himself up onto the table and into my blanket pile. "Hello, Grace friend." He tucks himself against my torso, the ball warming the tops of my thighs. It's stuffy and too hot and I'm kind of stupidly grateful for it.
He folds his legs under himself. "What Grace think of delegation, question?"
"I think you're absolutely nuts," I say, with no real heat.
He pulls out one limb to waggle a dismissive claw. "Not Rocky question. What Grace thoughts, opinions, impression of delegation? Specific of above on individual delegates?"
I huff. "Why-ever do you ask, Rock."
"No reason big. Just wonder if any particular Eridian stick out to Grace. Perhaps very smart, very beautiful, interesting, compassionate, wise, attractive."
"Rocky, is there something you want to tell me about the High Compositional Healer?"
Rocky preens, rubbing two limbs together, not unlike a cricket. The movement wobbles his carapace smugly.
"Adrian very important. Well-respected before mission separates, rise even higher in Eridian estimation in time Rocky away. Vital work healing Erid's oceans, rebalancing aquatic ecosystem through big big chemistry."
"Yeah, they seem — they seem like a real VIP." Then, and completely outside of my control, I continue to speak. "They're a looker, too."