Work Text:
Greetings, fellow Earthlings.
This is Captain Dr. Ryland Grace, writing from across the stars.
I'm writing from the planet you call 40 Eridani Ab, though I've been calling it Erid. According to the locals—and my dubious translations—they call their planet something like "silent singing from the deep, firm bellow." It's a difficult sound for human ears, like five musical notes sung at the same time, and oddly similar to their word for "mother." I have now been living on Erid for almost two Earth years.
After I rescued Rocky, we came here. Actually, "came here" makes it sound simple. It was not simple. There was panic, improvisation, engineering miracles, near-death experiences, and a great deal of Rocky insisting everything would work out while I explained why it absolutely would not. Rocky was right more often than I care to admit. The last year of our voyage and my first year on Erid were difficult. The Eridians kept me alive through a combination of scientific brilliance and sheer determination, and have since synthesized edible food for me—real food, not the taumoeba-based creations Rocky and I managed to cook aboard the Hail Mary. To be fair, those meals were technically edible. Mostly.
The Eridians built a biodome where I can live comfortably, and I have spent much of the last year teaching children. Apparently, no matter what planet you're on, children ask impossible questions. I like that. It reminds me of home. I won't pretend I don't miss Earth. I miss coffee, rain, oceans, trees, and occasionally even traffic, which is frankly ridiculous. But every day I wake up surrounded by friends who crossed the stars to save my life, and I remember how lucky I am to be here.
As for Erid itself, I am still struggling to comprehend its scale. The first population estimate they gave me was so large that I assumed the translation software had malfunctioned. It had not. Erid is roughly twice the size of Earth. Eridians inhabit vast underground networks spanning much of the planet (even under the oceans), and their natural lifespan approaches one thousand years. The result is a population exceeding two trillion individuals. Yes, two trillion (2x 10^12). I spent approximately twenty minutes staring at a wall after learning that number. Rocky thought I was sick. I was not sick—just human.
One of the greatest honors of my life was meeting an Elder of extraordinary age. A tiny fraction of Eridians—perhaps one in a million which reach 1.000 years—reach two thousand years old. Think about that for a moment. I met an individual older than the Roman Empire. Naturally, I attempted to call him Methuselah. He did not approve the sound. After lengthy negotiations we settled on the name Julius (with a really long sssss at the end). Julius appears to regard me with the same mixture of curiosity and exhaustion that most human adults reserve for exceptionally energetic children. An Elder such as Julius spends much of his existence dormant and can effectively communicate only through vast musical gatherings called thrums, where thousands of Eridians sing together. He is rarely interested in anything. Except humans. Apparently, we are weird.
This message accompanies six small capsules launched with a request—actually, a request from me. I would like samples. As many samples as possible. Minerals, metals, medicines, seeds, books, art, music, soil, fabrics, plastics, consumer products, historical objects, educational materials, microorganisms, scientific databases—anything you can spare. If somebody can fit a coffee bean into a one-gram sample container (size dosent matter, Eridians like synthetizing, I would personally appreciate it. Each capsule can carry ten kilograms. If individual samples weigh no more than one gram, we could receive sixty thousand unique samples, or thirty thousand duplicated for redundancy. The capsules have sufficient fuel for a relativistic round trip, meaning I should receive them in approximately thirty-two Earth years.
That may seem pointless. After all, I'll be much older by then. Well, not exactly. Because Eridians are geniuses. I know, I know—I say that a lot. But they keep proving me right. They have constructed a relativistic vessel capable of maintaining near-Earth gravity while traveling at substantial fractions of light speed around their star. Through time dilation, those thirty-two years will feel like only six years to me. The project has become a major scientific effort involving thousands of researchers studying relativity, astronomy, human biology, engineering, and anything else they can think of—which, unfortunately for me, is quite a lot. I will miss teaching more than I expected, but several alternative plans exist, and I may leave the vessel at various points and return to my biodome on Erid. The Eridians are also conducting extensive studies of human physiology. Apparently, an alien who survives on another world is considered valuable scientific data. Who knew?
Now, to diplomatic matters.
In exchange for sixty kilograms of Earth materials, the Hail Mary itself (which the Eridians insist belongs to me - and Earth - despite my repeated explanations that it was essentially abandoned hardware after my time ended. Literally. But for and the scientific and cultural knowledge exchanged between humanity and Erid, the Eridians propose the following. First, they are developing future taumoeba missions to other star systems to save all the stars and would welcome astronomical observations, planetary surveys, and any scientific information humanity wishes to contribute. Identical data archives may be placed aboard all six capsules. Second, the Eridians formally welcome future human visitors to Erid and express a strong desire eventually to visit Earth themselves. Current estimates suggest this may become practical within fifty to one hundred years. Third—and perhaps most importantly—they intend to send approximately ten million kilograms of astrophage to Earth within thirty-two years. The shipment will arrive aboard an uncrewed vessel carrying numerous gifts, including large quantities of xenonite. The Eridians respectfully request that these gifts be received through the United Nations and distributed fairly among all nations in proportion to population.
We await your response.
And if you're wondering about Rocky, he remains Rocky. He still interrupts my lectures, still believes half my safety procedures are unnecessary, and still thinks humans are absurdly fragile. To be fair, we are. He is standing beside me as I record this message and would like me to add the following: "Earth people. Good. Grace friend. Rocky friend. Exchange knowledge."
One final thought. By the time this message reaches Earth, many of the people reading it may not yet have been born when I recorded it. That's a strange thing to think about. I've decided not to think about it too much. For now, I have students waiting for their lesson, an entire civilization asking impossible questions, and a best friend who is almost certainly about to interrupt me again. Some things, it seems, remain constant throughout the universe.
On behalf of Erid—and one very fortunate human—
Dr. Ryland Grace
Citizen of Erid
Formerly of Earth