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“Grace awake question?”
I roll over in bed and bury my face in the pillow. Getting up early didn't used to be such a problem. In fact, once upon a time, I used to be one of those annoying early-bird people who would bound through the school gates with a spring in their step having just finished a refreshing early morning walk in the fog.
Me, Yao and Dubois used to have a little early morning coffee club on Stratt's vat (technically Stratt herself could also have joined if she had the inclination, but only because I'm pretty sure she never slept).
One time I got a bit too chirpy during a 6am zero-g training session and Ilyukhina— who was not in the early bird coffee club— threatened to push me into the pool.
Fudge, this is why I try not to think too much about the past. Ratched, my own personal shrink (named when I was still in my grumpy-and-suspicious-of-everyone-who-wasn't-Rocky phase, precipitated by the whole starving to death thing, and kept because she actually found it hilarious) says that I'm still trying to hide from my grief. That if I just let myself remember my wonderful, brave and very dead friends, it'll stop feeling like I'm being stabbed in the heart and start feeling normal.
I think that, while Ratched has definitely made a lot of headway with her study of human psychology, I'm still technically the most knowledgeable person about how human minds work on this planet and I'm pulling rank on this one. Ratched and me have had a lot of arguments that aren't really arguments about that. Maybe she's right and I just need time.
Speaking of time.
“Grace awake question? Grace open door?”
“Adrian not know how to wake lazy human. I show how.”
Oh no.
I jump out of bed just as Rocky begins to emit an uncomfortably loud, high pitched whistle, like a steam train might make. He discovered this little trick during our journey to Erid and we agreed to keep it only for emergencies.
(I may have made some threats about getting Mary to play 'Baby Shark' over the speakers on a loop again. Rocky might think he can be annoying, but I was trained by middle schoolers. Test me at your peril.)
Guess, for Rocky, keeping Adrian waiting counts as an emergency.
“Alright, alright! Coming!”
I hear Adrian through the door. “Rocky is mean!”
I open the door. “Yes! Rocky is mean,” I agree, gesturing for them to come in. “Rocky is mean and cruel to poor humans who need their sleep. Shame, shame, shame!”
Rocky is unrepentant. “Humans sleep too much. Boring.”
“That's not what you said on the Hail Mary!”
“Then Grace needed sleep for mission. And then because starving. Science Eridians say that Grace is much improved. Needs to use energy, get muscles back. I plan.”
Oh great.
My house isn't actually big enough for me to exercise much yet. It's just a few rooms and an entry way with an airlock so people can come in and out. I wonder what Rocky's plan for getting me to exercise is and grin at the image of a giant xenonite hamster wheel.
Honestly I wouldn't put it past him.
“Grace sleep well question?” That's Adrian. Always polite. Even when it's unecessary, since they and Rocky are coheads of my care team and probably get a message from the Eridians watching me sleep every time I roll over.
“Yeah. I slept well. The new day night cycle is really working for me.”
“Good. Glad. Down to business.” They pull out a list from the pocket of their suit. Eridians don't have a concept of modesty like humans do, and they certainly don't need clothing for warmth, but that doesn't mean that they're immune to the lure of pockets. The list is carved on a think sheet of metal. I pull out my own, which is on one of my white boards.
Rocky fidgets, the way he does when he's uncomfortable about something. “I have to be here, question?”
“You don't have to bud, but I'd like it if you were.”
I know it's hard for him to talk about this. He watched his whole crew slowly die and couldn't save them, and then spent six years in what must have been constant dread of having to watch the same thing happen to me.
But the fact is, I'm not going to be around forever. There are a thousand and one things waiting take me out. The dome getting breached. My brittle body giving out under the strain of too much gravity. Some Eridian bacteria evolving to breach the species barrier and kick the crap out of my immune system. My mental health.
Eridians never developed any complicated customs for disposing of their dead. They don't need to. A dead Eridian doesn't rot, it solidifies. They get moved out of their houses, put in some nice spot and eventually become part of the landscape.
It's something I'd actually quite like for myself, were it not for the fact that if I ever got taken outside the biodome my body would probably catch fire or explode distressingly.
(I haven't asked Rocky if, when I met him, the rest of his crewmates were still aboard the Blip-A. Not sure either of us would get anything good out of that conversation.)
“Alright,” I say, looking at my list. “Option one. Word is-“
“Gross,” Adrian says, firmly. “Word is gross, word is disgust, word is NO.”
“Aw come on! Humans do it all the time-“
“Do not lie to Adrian, human. I have thinking machine now. I look up. Humans do not do this to other humans. Grace is just gross and weird even for a human. Disgust, disgust, disgust. No.”
Rocky pipes up, uncharacteristically tentative. “What is word, question?”
I reach for my laptop. “Word is-“
“No!” Adrian's tone is loud and sharp. “Do not tell! Do not look up! I tell Rocky later if still want to know. Is gross and upsetting. Is also incompatible with Erid atmosphere and pressure, unless we keep biodome up forever.” This last is directed pointedly at me.
Welp, I can't argue with that. With a sigh of defeat, I cross 'taxidermy' off the top of my list.
Oh come on! It would be so cool!
“Option two-“
“Not mounting skeleton either, statement. I tell Grace to stop being mean to Rocky or we cancel meeting.”
“Fine.” I shoot a guilty glance at Rocky, who is curled up in his suit looking the way he did the first time he had to supervise Armando tube feeding me on the way to Erid. “Sorry Rock.”
“Humans are gross and weird,” he complains.
Adrian makes a presumably comforting noise that is just at the edge of my range of hearing.
“Option three,” I say. “And okay I know this sounds like options one and two, but I promise, promise, promise this is something that humans really do when they die. And it would be useful. It's probably what I would have done on Earth.”
Rocky raises his carapace off the floor slightly. “What is question?”
“Donating my body to science,” I say proudly. “Means that after I die, the Science Eridians could use me to learn more about how humans work.”
Rocky seems to consider this, his claws fidgeting. “They cut you up, question? Humans do this question?”
“Yeah, it's pretty normal,” I say. “It's a standard, recognised human way of disposing of a dead body. Respectfully,” I add, with a look at Adrian, who I suspect is coming dangerously close to being done with my nonsense. “It's a way to help people, even after you're dead. Sometimes they can even take your organs and put them into other humans to help them live longer.”
“Amaze, amaze, amaze.” Rocky has perked up significantly at this, as he always does when I mention ways to increase human longevity. The me-burger lab will probably be getting a request to clone some of my organs any day now. Just in case.
“We can do this,” Adrian says. “But what will happen to Grace body after Science Eridians done, question?”
Good question. “Well, the two other options on Earth are usually either burial or cremation.” I get out the laptop. “Burial is when you put the body somewhere where it can't be seen. Usually under the ground, but sometimes in the sea.” I feel a sudden pang. “I buried my crewmates in space. I put some of their things that they'd brought with them on top of their bodies— pictures of their families mostly— and I sent them out the airlock.”
I sniff and rub my sleeve over my eyes. Rocky comes closer and I put my arm on the top of his carapace. The warmth and solidity helps. He hums softly.
Adrian gives us a moment. “Usual to do burial with objects belonging to dead person, question?”
“Uh, yeah,” I sniff again. “Um, normally things that you think they might like to have in the afterlife.” I explained 'afterlife' to Rocky during our trip back to Erid. Still not sure I believe in it myself. The Eridians have a similar concept though, so it translates pretty directly. “Even if you don’t believe in it, it's nice to send the dead person on their way with something that meant a lot to them in life.”
Don't think about the fox keychain. Don't think about the St Christopher medallion. Don't think about your favourite cardigan or the pictures drawn by your students. Abort. Abort. Abort. Stop it Grace.
“Anyway, so that's burial. The other option is cremation. That's— the body is turned into a powdery substance called 'ash' using a process called 'combustion', and then the ash is scattered somewhere that meant a lot to the person. Or sometimes friends and family keep it in special containers called 'urns'.”
Rocky perks up again. “I could make container. Make nice, nice, nice container for Grace ash. Use xenonite. Keep safe.”
Hmm. I think about this. “Sometimes cremation ash gets divided,” I say. “So it goes to different people. Friends and family all get to keep their own piece of the dead person.”
Adrian trills, an Eridian smile. “Rocky and Adrian would want some. So would science Eridians who work with Grace. Maybe some goes in museum, question?”
“Yeah.” The more I think about it, the more it seems… right. Comforting. My body doesn't have to stay in one place or be used for one thing. I can give a piece of me to everyone I care about.
Speaking of which. “Could you…” I trail off. “Never mind.”
“Grace,” Adrian says, encouragingly. “Erid will do whatever we can for this. Ask.”
Next to me, Rocky does his agreement jazz hands.
“Could you send some into space? Just a piece of me? Maybe,” I swallow. This is ridiculous. This is scientifically unsound and sentimental and asking these people who have done so much for me to put in even more effort for something that is essentially pointless.
But also I want it. I want it so, so, so much.
“Could you try to send a piece of my remains back to Earth?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Rocky jumps in before Adrian even has a chance to respond. “Will do this. Will make Eridian scientists do this. Promise. Promise. Promise. Will make sure Grace body can go home if Grace want.”
“Thanks bud.” I'm tearing up again, but darn it! I'm a grown man and I'm going to get all teary eyed over my best friend's dedication to sorting out my remains if I want to. I lean down and give him a hug.
“Grace get gross human water all over Rocky's suit. Disgust,” he complains, squeezing me back gently.
“Enough death talk,” Adrian says. “Current plan is: Grace body given to Science Eridians and then after combustion and given to friends and to Earth.”
I lift my head from Rocky's suit. “Sounds good.”
“Good. Good. Good. Now Grace too leaky and Rocky too quiet. First one normal normal, second not not not normal. Scary. Strange.”
I laugh. Rocky makes an annoyed note, but I can tell he's not really mad. Adrian scurries over to my shelf and picks up a box. “Science Eridians give this, question?”
“Oh, yeah.” I release Rocky and sit up straight again. Gosh my back does not like this Eridian gravity. “They said it was a game?”
“Child game,” they say. “Fun for adults too. Me and Rocky teach question?”
“Sure.” My stomach rumbles, and I realise that I haven't actually had breakfast this morning. Adrian gives a faint shudder and politely leans away from me. Rocky laughs. “Go eat. Me and Adrian set up.”
When I come back from snarfing down one of my vitamin shakes (still gross, but nowhere near as gross as Taumoeba), they've laid out some complicated arrangement of blocks and sticks and what look like tokens in the shape of little Eridians.
It turns out that there are parts of this game that are straight up impossible to play if you don't have sonar. And other parts that are actually way too easy if you can see the structure.
Me and Rocky get into a pretty lively debate about whether being able to see that some of the blocks are slightly different colours counts as cheating.
Adrian, who likes puzzles, starts proposing various rule changes for the game, some of which work and others of which fail hilariously.
My list of burial options lies on the table. Theirs is tucked back onto their pocket.
I know that there are a lot of things outside this house waiting to kill me, and that most of them are painful and bad.
But fudge it, I think as I listen to Rocky and Adrian debate one of their proposed rule changes— I'm alive now.