Work Text:
I have to say, I like the dome. I like the dome a lot.
Everything about it has been perfectly tailored to me. The right gravity (nine point eight meters per second squared), the right air temperature (sixty-two Fahrenheit), a little windy and a little foggy, the ocean just like it was when I showed it to Rocky in the Don't Go Crazy room on Mary. But more importantly, I like it because Rocky made it for me. Well, Rocky and a whole bunch of other Eridian scientists. That makes it even better, knowing that a lot of these guys are invested in maintaining my existence on their planet, putting work into making it comfortable.
Rocky likes to walk on the beach just as much as I do, hence the creation of a tradition that neither of us have yet to break in the time I've been here. Every day I open my eyes and there's sunlight, familiar and morning-warm through the window, and then there's Armando, and then Rocky banging impatiently at the door, incredibly irritating and also the best sound in the world.
"Do you have to do that every time?" I say, once I'm dressed and opening the door.
"Yes," Rocky says. He backs up so I actually have room to step outside. "You take so long, every morning. Lazy human."
I raise both my hands, palm-out, and start walking. I've explained this as a symbol of surrender to Rocky, which usually satisfies him just fine, though apparently not this time.
"You walk slow. Joints make noise."
"I'm still waking up. Gotta stretch a little." I raise my arms over my head until something in my back pops. Yeah, joints make noise alright.
"Not waking up. Awake now," Rocky says. He meanders a bit into the sea foam washing up the Eridian-made stones, then back to my side. "Walking, talking."
I snort. "Yeah, got me there. I'm old, okay? Just give me a second."
Rocky doesn't respond, so I start to gaze off at the artificial horizon. The morning sky is a soft cloudy grey today. At first, it was grey every time, before I explained that every Earth sunrise is different, and also what the concept of color is (that was fun), and then the Eridians tweaked it.
A handful of moments pass. Then, "How old, question?" Rocky asks.
I open my mouth, and then I realize exactly what I just walked into.
Since we made it through the daily life-or-death struggle of Project Hail Mary, it's a lot rarer that we stumble upon sensitive subjects like this.
We've talked about death before, but we haven't exactly discussed the concept of lifespans. I know Eridian lifespans are long, because Rocky has been with Adrian for one hundred and eighty-six years. Point three. I'm not sure what percentage of his existence that is, but I've always imagined he's got a ways to go still. Humans, on the other hand…
"Um," I say, absently reaching up to fiddle with my glasses. I pretend there's sea spray on the lenses and take some time to wipe them off with the cuff of my cardigan. "Y'know, it's really just—"
"No," Rocky interrupts. "Grace stop."
"Huh?"
"You deflecting. Grace take long time to think and then try change subject."
When did this space rock alien get my number? Jeez. Who am I kidding.
I huff out a breath that's also a laugh if you squint at it, and look down at my feet. "I'm forty-six years old," I say.
"Not old. Infant."
I swallow, saliva suddenly thick in my mouth. "It's half my lifespan." More than, technically.
There's a long stretch of silence. Rocky stops walking, so I do too. Without the sound of our steps, it's just the in-out rushing of the waves. I should pitch adding some sea birds to the dome.
"Ninety-two, question?"
I shrug and look off at the water again. "Ish. Maybe more like… eighty?"
"Bad," Rocky says immediately, that quick high trill of upset that I don't like hearing, the one he only makes when things are really bad. His arms fidget on the shore, the surface of his fitted containment suit brushing up against the pebbles, like he wants to run somewhere. "No. No. Not long enough. Sick, question? Injured, question? Why short short short, question?"
"It's just," I try. "It's just how it is." I've never been good at this sort of stuff, at hard questions. Better these days, but still not good. "Cells stop dividing. Stuff stops working. Occasionally a human makes it to one hundred, but, uh, not much older than that."
"One hundred," Rocky repeats, short and clipped. He hunches into himself, the facets of his carapace fitting close together. "Too short. Eridian lifespan six hundred. How humans function, question?"
The corners of my mouth curve up. "Good question." I lower myself into a crouch and then fall back to sit on the shore. It puts me at about Rocky's height. The sandy pebbles dig into my skin through the fabric of my pants and I loosely hug my knees. The tide can't quite touch us here, but it gets close. "I guess we just make do."
"Make peace, question?" Rocky asks.
I huff, running a hand down the side of my face. Stubble's getting a little long. "Most people aren't actually good at that."
"Yes," Rocky says. "You not good at that."
I laugh, once and surprisingly loud, and I don't have anything to say 'cause it's true. Instead I just prop my chin onto my crossed arms and stare off at the ocean. Rocky does similarly.
"I no make peace," Rocky says after a couple minutes. "I fix."
"Fix?" My mouth opens and closes as I try to think of something to say. I look over at him. "Rocky…"
"Half of one hundred years not enough. Not enough with Grace friend. Grace best friend."
And I won't lie and say that doesn't make my heart well up with something. Something really, really nice. "You're my best friend too," I say. "But I'm not sure it's really something we can fix." Even if Eridian scientists can find some way to delay senescence in a species they have almost no knowledge of, there's that whole 'quality of life' business to deal with too.
I take a breath and hold it for a second before letting it out. The breeze is starting to turn colder and I tug my beanie down over my ears.
"I get to live a lot more of my life than I was supposed to, 'cause of you. And I like being alive, and I'm not alone, and I get to spend my time here with people I care about, so I really can't ask for anything else," I say, the words half-stumbling as they leave my mouth. Behind my nose is starting to burn, so I'm probably about to get a question about why I'm leaking right now. I wipe at my eyes prematurely.
"Happy crying," Rocky says, "or sad crying, question?"
"Both," I say. "Mostly happy."
"Confusing human," Rocky says, and then he's wrapping two of his arms around me and I'm returning the hug as tight as I can, twisted awkwardly at the middle to make it work. A couple tears drip off my chin and land on his containment suit.
"Sorry," I say. Sorry I can't stay longer.
"Okay." His claws press into my back as he says it, not too different from fingers looking to hold onto something and not let go. "You here. Okay."