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Repeat identity.
Grace raises his chin. “You might have to explain your change in rides.”
The Earth ship Hail Mary is ill-equipped for transmitting Eridian vocalizations, too attuned to human hearing ranges. The differences have been a constant problem since he first constructed the bridge to the alien ship. It’s no surprise the technology continues to present problems. But with the Blip-A fuelless and incompatible with Taumoeba containment, the Hail Mary was the only sensible option.
Grace keys in the correct sequences required for the return transmission to Erid. His fingers stumble over the human interface. The problems with coordination have increased as they got closer to Erid and the human’s food dwindled. He manages the sequence on the third try and gestures to Rocky to speak again.
Identity Rocky of Blip-A mission. Am returning on friend vessel. Solution achieved. Request elevator docking. Hazards: Pressure, atmosphere.
“You didn’t tell them about me,” Grace observes.
Declared friend’s ship. Declared self, Rocky counters. Declared solution.
“I get it, all more important than me.”
There is very little more important that Grace, but the Taumoeba and saving his star number among them. Grace solution important. Nutrients will synthesize. Everyone lives.
“That’s nice.” Grace mouth gapes open with one of his sleep indicators.
Sleep necessary soon.
“But we’re so close.” Grace adds a note of petulance to his words that indicates he will be in reluctant agreement with Rocky very soon.
Designation Rocky not understood, the transmission. Repeat.
“Were you stowaway or something?” Grace asks. “Would be a weird coincidence because I was also not on the Hail Mary’s original manifest.”
Rocky has to pause for a moment to consider his reply. He’d given the Hail Mary’s designation. His original ship’s designation and then his name. It has been a long time since he’d heard his full Eridian name. Grace has a recording of it saved to his thinking machine, but for many many cycles, he has answered only to Rocky. The human cannot vocalize the full name without mechanical assistances and the thinking machine’s translation program introduces a low frequency whine that neither of them enjoys.
He waits while Grace reengages the radio and then restarts the transmission with his name, spoken with the same infliction as Adrian used to say it. Then he sings his name as Grace’s translation program can manage, omitting notes outside a human’s hearing range. He finishes with the shortened version. The one that Grace had used throughout their many cycles together.
“What’s that first one again?” Grace asks.
Roky considers for a moment and then replies, Rocky Past, Middle is Rocky Present. Last is Rocky for amelodic humans.
Grace makes a derision noise. “Think they understand the need for a human friendly nickname?”
The radio crackles with all three names in quick succession followed by an identity acknowledgment.
I explain it to them after data transmission, Rocky says. Setup, then sleep. Mission concluding.
“Save Earth. Save Erid, huh Rock?” Grace answers, keying in the last sequence and sending the databurst they’d spent more than half the journey compiling. “We made it.”
Celebration later, Rocky says dryly. Sleep now. I’ll watch.
He is carefully not dwelling on the changes in his name. Rocky Past is closer to Rocky Who Departed. The one whose space travel had been confined to the elevator. Who knew of the potential risk of a mission failure but had yet to experience any of them. His people would infer that Rocky Present reflected the years alone in space, the difficulties of obtaining the Taumoeba and the triumph of success.
Rocky’s translations are much simpler.
Rocky Past: Rocky without Grace.
Rocky Present: Rocky with Grace.
Eridian names are complex by nature. Unique to a single entity, and therefore occasionally subject to change as the Eridian itself changes. He had not even noticed the shift in his own name. Eridian names are often shaped by those closest to them. Friends or family may offer slight alterations, meant to improve alignment with identity. Some of the changes are adopted, but only the ones that feel true.
When he had explained Eridian names to Grace, he had likened it to a human music practice called a symphony. The same melodies were interpreted by different performers through multiple years and cultures. The heart of the melody was always recognizable, but there were no identical performances.
Human symphonies are nonsensical, but the recordings Grace provided were amusing on the whole. Eridian language is much more reproducible. Changes are gradual, shaped with great care. The emergency medical staff honors the changes without question, too many other things wrong to worry about that sort of shift.
He has spent more than fifty years in spaceflight, most of them in isolation. The remaining time was spent on a spaceship with one fourth as much gravity as his home planet, in an atmosphere that would set him on fire if he was exposed to it. His carapace is less dense than it should be. Eridian atmosphere feels like an oppressive weight. He will require intensive feedings to regain any sort of equilibrium and that’s before dealing with the potential exposure to alien pathogens from the leaky space blob he brought with him.
He has been trying to communicate that Grace is the health problem, not him. Rocky is on Erid. He will recover. Grace is years away from home and compatible atmosphere. His human food stores area all but depleted, supplemented with Taumoeba which will solve calorie problems, but not nutrients. But more and more specialist are consulted to examine his health. Even one who announces himself as a speech specialist.
Rocky, the doctor greets using the version that no longer fits. Vocal alterations have been observed.
Rocky corrects the name.
Exactly, the doctor says, we are seeking reasons for the changes in your speech pattern. There are several octaves missing from your vocal range and staff reports you flattening cords.
It was second nature now. Difference in human and Eridian biology had demanded it. Grace could not understand full corded sentences and could not hear the highest nor the lowest part of the Eridian vocalization range. Grace’s speech uses rhythm more than flourishes to signify mood and Rocky has found himself adopting some of the odd syncopation in place of trills.
Hypothesis for observation, the doctor prompts.
No hypothesis, Rocky says. Communication limitations with human. Adjustments necessary for the mission.
Rocky cannot regret the changes and does not feel inclined to correct them, especially when his friend is still on the Hail Mary suffering alone.
And your name? the doctor prompts, Rocky?
Grace could not pronounce it, Rocky says helplessly. Grace is important.
That’s the moment the rest of his planet seems to understand the urgency.
Grace is slumped against the communications array when Rocky gets back, his human thinking machine propped on his lower appendages. He stirs when he notices Rocky. “Hey! I didn’t think they were going to let you back up here so soon.”
Someone has to watch you sleep, Rocky says.
“I might have had some takers soon.” Grace gestures at the device in his lap. “Calorie deficit has to be getting to me though. Haven’t needed the translation program in a while.”
Which meant that the Eridians he was talking with had not adapted to the smaller human hearing range. Rocky knew he’d included that in the initial databurst. They use words you cannot hear. Unfair.
“Solves that mystery, I guess.” Grace lets out a puff of air. “Should have told me you’ve been pulling punches on the vocab.”
Would not punch a friend. Very bad.
“Rocky,” Grace drawls in a way that signifies he is unamused with the deflection.
You cannot hear full Eridian vocal range, so I transposed. Rocky rolls his ball closer to Grace. Eridian Doctors notice my speech differences. Thought it was side-effect of space travel. Tried to diagnose.
“Diagnose what? An accent?” A pause. “Or I guess it’s more like a dialect.”
Word?
“Dialect?” Grace is already pulling up his translation program. “Shared word choices based on region and culture.”
Hail Mary dialect, Rocky decides.
“Two known speakers,” Grace agrees, registering the new word.
We can teach others later. He imagines Adrian will want to learn. He imagines many many scientists will be eager to communicate with Grace. But even more than that: Want people to get my name right again.
“Pretty sure I can’t get my voice around your name either.” Grace laughs.
Rocky could explain all of it. The way names bend with a person. The way Rocky’s automatic, almost unnoticed, human-friendly shift had done more to dispel distrust of a alien than even the Taumoeba.
Perfect for atonal human. He rolls closer, until the ball pokes into Grace’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Rock,” Grace mumbles leaning his head against the ball. “Watch me sleep?”
Always.