Work Text:
I’m sunning myself like a lizard beneath the sun lamp when I hear the knock. It’s curious, but not enough to rouse me – Rocky won’t be here for a few hours yet, and the Eridian scientists typically get my attention by a series of knocks, similar to how people back on Earth use specific rhythms for familiarity.
It’s probably just ambient noise. I’d rather spend the time ‘sunning’ myself to ward off vitamin D deficiency than spend fifteen minutes checking the perimeters of my habitat when the sound is likely nothing. I only have about ten minutes here before I’m finished anyway.
The knocking comes again, but this time it’s a short, deliberate staccato against the xenonite, and I sit up with a groan. “Hold on,” I call, pitching my voice to carry while pulling on my shirt and pushing myself onto my feet. It’s a twinge painful in the knees, and I wonder how long it’ll be before arthritis fully sets in. Typically on Earth I could expect a good chunk of time before such issues, but the gravity here is already making its mark on my squishy human body.
I walk over to the window where I typically talk to Rocky, but there’s nobody there.
Huh. I knock against the xenonite, mirroring the short burst from a minute ago.
The sound comes again, and it’s close enough to pinpoint the location. I follow it, sticking my head curiously through the double doors that lead into my classroom.
A small Eridian is crouched on the other side of the xenonite, hunched low with a single claw extended against the barrier. The room is otherwise empty.
I double-check my watch, but no, I haven’t lost track of time. Class isn’t meant to start for a couple more hours. “Hi,” I say in English, moving over to the organ and playing the word in Eridian as well.
The child drops her claw down. I recognise her easily as one of my students – her name has no translation into English, but her carapice has a reddish tint, so I’ve taken to calling her Carmine. She likes that a lot, and it seems to have started a trend of my kids asking for me to identify their closest colour in my visible spectrum and using it as a nickname for them. I have to get creative with some of them so there are no overlaps, but it’s a lot of fun.
As for her gender, well. I’ve taken to asking each of my students which one they prefer, since Eridian gender is as complicated as Earth’s, and doesn’t always have clear pronouns that match. Asking seems to be the most polite way to go about it. Most Eridians seem to choose human pronouns with the sounds that they like the most instead of to denote any gender-based roles, which follows the trend of most of their aesthetic choices.
It makes me wonder what the future might hold for interspecies communication. The thought keeps me awake with wonder and suppositions sometimes, as do many other potential interactions of knowledge and culture.
For now though, there’s one very unexpected interspecies conversation to have.
Carmine’s solo visit is unusual, and the way she sags, like Rocky does when dejected, immediately draws my attention.
“Is everything okay?” I play, settling into my chair like I always do when teaching the class. It’s easier to play the keyboard this way, and I’m not towering over my students either.
She gives a low, sad hum. “Teacher Grace. I hope it’s alright to talk to you, if you are not busy.”
My Eridian is good enough now for me to pick up her tone easily. I might not always know all of the in-jokes – kids are the same no matter what planet you’re on – but I’m not concerned about any language barrier here.
The issue of cultural heuristics though? That, I’m far more terrified of messing up.
“Of course,” I respond, playing harmonic notes to indicate a tone of openness and curiosity. Which I only learned to properly recognise several years into the voyage to Erid, finally removing the need for Rocky to state when he’s asking a question. “What would you like to talk to me about?”
She shifts back from the xenonite a bit, curling her claws together. “I don’t know if I’m being rude. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”
“I won’t be angry if you’re accidentally rude. You need to ask me something?”
She keeps curling her claws in and out, like she does when she’s stressed during a test. “Did it make you sad to leave Earth?”
I pause, tilting my head as I consider how to reply.
She sags, making a low, sorrowful sound. “You are angry.” Her harmonic tone is soft and nervous.
I shake my head. “Not angry. I’m thinking, because leaving Earth caused lots of feelings.” I gather my thoughts, pushing away the horror of my duress. Only Rocky knows about that, because he knows me so well to have had some questions about the deep sadness I experienced as I wrestled with my returned memories during our flight here. It’s not something we decided to share with the rest of Erid.
I take a deep, slow breath. I know why she’s asking – all of my kids have been specially chosen as candidates for the first Eridian-manned mission to Earth. That’s the whole reason they’re learning from me, the real live alien who helped save them all, and who also happens to be the resident Earth expert.
“Leaving Earth was sad,” I confirm, “and trying to figure out how to stop astrophage was scary, and sometimes made me frustrated. I was also sad when my crew died. But meeting Rocky, and saving Earth and Erid, makes me happy happy happy.” I repeat the word, with the emphasis that I’ve learned over the years is a strong indicator of emotion. It’s sometimes considered childlike in Eridian conversation, which explains why Rocky used the repetition so much when trying to bridge the language barrier between us, as children tend to fully grasp tonal harmonics rather late in their language development. When used by adults it’s typically to convey intense emotion, or to hammer a point home.
Which, well…
Carmine hums. It still has a sad edge, but is now more curious. “You are not going back to see your family and friends?”
I sigh. “I don’t have any family or friends. You are still learning about physics, and will soon learn about something called time dilation when travelling close to the speed of light. If I go back to Earth now, a lot of the people I know will probably have died. That is the difference between human and Eridian space travel – human life is very short. Eridian life is long enough that travel to and from Earth will not be long enough for your cluster to be gone when you get back.”
It’s a lot to share. Perhaps too much, when she’s still so young, but I already have a feeling where this is going.
Her little claws clench and unclench faster. “You have no mate?”
“No mate,” I reassure her, adding in a casual harmonic tone. “Not all humans have mates. Maybe if I stayed on Earth I might have had one, but I’m okay. Rocky and Eridians are special friends. You and the others make me feel like I have kids. I’m happy.”
This is getting very personal, very quickly. It’s far beyond the level of propriety if I had been having this conversation with one of my human kids. However, Carmine isn’t here to learn middle school science. She’s here in preparation for a space voyage the likes of which has never been done by anyone before – a return journey to Earth. There and back again, if you will.
“Sad,” she intones, with a harmonic note to match. “No cluster?”
“Rocky and Adrian are my cluster,” I try to reassure her. “That’s all I need.”
“That’s why you don’t go back,” she realised.
I smile, making the movement exaggerated so she can easily recognise it. “Yes. I have my cluster, and I have you kids. I think I love it here too much to leave. The journey to Earth is long for a human’s lifespan, and very dangerous. I like staying here.”
Her carapice, which has lifted during our conversation, dips again. “Space travel is very dangerous,” she agrees. “Only you and Rocky returned.” Her tone goes sad again, the same heavy harmonic present from the start of our chat, and her notes are more drawn-out.
Oh.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I gather my thoughts. “That will not happen to you. I’m teaching Earth science, and the technology from the Hail Mary is giving Eridian scientists even more knowledge than I know. Your voyage will be the safest ever in the known history of space travel, and your crew will be like a big cluster for you.”
“But what if I never come home? What if something happens, and I never see my cluster again?” Her song is low, the equivalent of an Eridian whisper.
“It’s always a possibility,” I agree, seeing no point in lying to her when she already knows the truth. “Think of it this way though – you are in my class because… question?”
She stirs from her drooping, shifting from claw to claw in contemplation. “I dream to visit another planet. I want to meet more humans, and help with diplomatic connection.”
“Your cluster is very supportive of your dream,” I remind her, recalling the two mated pairs who have grouped their several children together in a single family unit. Her four “parents” have attended every parent-teacher meeting with excitement for their brightest child’s ambitions. “It is a wonderful dream, and you will return with stories and connections that will make the rest of your life feel filled with contentment at what you achieved. And if you decide not to join the voyage, that’s okay too – you can use what I teach you to help other Eridians, and there are still so many amazing adventures that you can have.”
“You think I’ll come home safely?”
I nod. “There’s risk in everything, but we’re doing as much as we can to make sure the risks are the lowest possible. Remember that greater adventures hold greater risks, and with space travel…”
“Failure isn’t an option,” she intones.
I tilt my head. “That’s what they say on Earth. But what about me? What do I say about space travel?”
She makes a pleased harmonic sound. “You never know until you try, so reach for the stars!”
I smile again, waving my hands in the air in celebration of her answer before responding. “That’s right. I know that whatever you do, Carmine, you’ll shine brighter than any star.”
She waves her hands back, somewhat shyly. “Thank you, Teacher Grace. I feel a lot better. I should go, I need to sleep soon. Our talk will help me to relax easily.” This time, her harmony is lighter, and it warms my soul.
“Anytime. I’ll see you in class after your sleep.”
Carmine waves one of her claws. “Yes. Thank you.” She turns to leave, but then pauses halfway to the door. “Teacher Grace?”
“Yes?” I say, in the process of stepping away from the organ. I lean over the keys, but she seems to have picked up on the English word, or at least my tone, because she speaks again before I can.
“I’m glad you’re happy now,” she says.
I smile, my heart swelling as my eyes suddenly prickle. “Thanks, Carmine,” I play. “I’m glad I’m happy now, too.”