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«What word mean, question?»
I pull myself out of my blanket cloak just enough to peer over at Rocky. He's rocking back and forth in his xenonite ball, screen-reader pointed at the laptop.
"Which one?"
He hums. I don't think it's words—I've been getting better at Eridian, though my grammar is awful. These are just thinking noises.
«Say, do you think some things are just ♫♪♫♪♪. What ♫♪♫♪♪ mean, question?»
"Oh," I say, "predestined. It's like… something is going to happen, no matter what. No matter what choices you make, things will always end up the same."
Rocky huffs, stomping his foot. «Predestined stupid. Eridians not have this word. Have probability, means something likely to happen. Have ♫♫♪, like probability, but less mathematical. More belief.» I mentally catalogue the new word as fate, though I'm not sure it's an exact definition. «But always choice. Always can make decision, affect outcome. Even in ♪♪♫♪♫—» he gestures with one arm at the laptop. We're watching a movie, some sci-fi-ish thing about time travel. «have choice. Make choice go on mission, fall in love, steal, hurt self. Hurt others. Save others. Always have choice.»
I laugh, I can't help it. Rocky's cute when he goes on a tirade like this, pitch rising and falling, hands waving to emphasize certain things. If you told me ten years ago that I'd be stranded in space with my best friend who was also an alien rock spider that I thought was cute, I would call you insane but, well. There are worse ways to end up.
"I mean," I say, because I can't just stand by while one of my favorite moves is insulted, "he had to do it. Think of all the lives he saved as an agent before, and then the deaths the bomber prevented—how much of a choice did he really have, anyway?"
Rocky makes a low noise, sort of like a growl. «Bad bad bad. Human should make choice not to die. Should go to own time, be happy happy happy. Instead choose to save, choose to die—stupid. Predestination stupid. Bad ♪♪♫♪♫. One with spiders much better.»
His carapace sinks to the ground, legs folded. I frown.
"This isn't about the movie, is it?"
«No. Yes. Movie human stupid. Brave human stupid. Die. Bad bad bad bad.»
I scoot over, so that my leg and shoulder are pressed against the ball. The straight edges of the xenonite will leave little indents in my skin, but its not uncomfortable enough to make me move away. I don't know that anything would be, honestly.
I've known for a while that Rocky will live hundreds of years longer than me, and that's… fine. It's good, really. We didn't talk about it while we were trying to fix the Astrophage problem—it didn't really matter, not when we both knew the mission would end with us going back to our respective planets. But now that we're headed to Erid it's different. Rocky worries about my food supply, my squishy human flesh, my lifespan. Especially with my food reserves running low. I should be able to make it to Erid, but we both know that complications may arise—and even if they don't, I'll still be living on a calorie deficit for months or even years, something that isn't good for humans or Eridians.
I remember what he said when I finally made it back to the Blip-a. How he'd told me to turn around and go back to Earth. As if he doesn't understand, even now, that I would die a thousand times over just to save him.
Guess you were right about me, Stratt, I think, imagining how her lips would quirk up in an almost-smile at getting to say 'I told you so.'
"Rocky, bud," I say, gentling my tone, "you know I don't regret saving you."
He shifts, pressing himself closer to the barrier between us. «Rocky regret. Rocky regret Grace die because Rocky cannot fix Taumoeba leak. Rocky bad—»
"Hey!" I snap, shaking my head. "I made the choice to save you. I made the choice, and I would do it again, and again, and I'm not going to die, anyway—" I say, even though I'm not sure because we've both done the math and just because humans can survive without necessary vitamins or enough calories for an extended period of time doesn't mean I will, "—and if I did, it would be worth it. Because I got to meet you."
(It sounds too much like I've made peace with it. I hope Rocky won't notice but, well. He's annoyingly perceptive.)
He tilts his carapace—it's a bit like a human shaking their head. I think he picked it up from me.
«Human life too short. Should not have to die. Should not—» he makes another upset sound, one that sits at the lowest ranges of my hearing. «Rocky selfish. Rocky glad Grace save. Rocky want all Grace time. All time is not enough. Rocky want—»
I cut him off by wrapping my body around the xenonite ball. He's been warming up to hugs, I think, or maybe he's just tolerating me. Either way he quiets, pressing himself as close to me as possible.
I sit back after a moment. I could hug Rocky for hours, but I would hate to make him uncomfortable. "On Earth, we have this concept called dog years."
He makes a questioning sound, a trilling sort of hum that would have endlessly endeared me to him if I wasn't already.
"Right, you wouldn't know what that is. Um, a dog is like a pet—a domesticated animal, humans keep them for company."
«Remember. Grace tell Rocky about this.»
"Okay, yeah. Well, a dog is a specific mammal, um, some of them are kind of your size, actually—anyway. Dogs' lives are shorter than humans, a lot shorter. Probably around fifteen years at the maximum. I don't know, I didn't have one." The old hurt resurfaces, but I press it down. "Anyway. Because of the differences in our development speed, people say that one year for humans is actually seven for dogs. So if your dog is three years old, it's really twenty-one, and then their average lifespan is actually seventy dog years."
Rocky makes an upset noise, a warbling click that reminds me of a baby owl. «Is lie, statement. Is too young. Even if really V∀V, still too young. Even ∀λV too young. Is tragedy on Erid.»
I shut my eyes. Ever since Stratt told me I was going on the mission whether I wanted to or not, I've been living on borrowed time. I made my peace with the fact that I would die young—or tried to, at least. Now, I have (potentially!) a full human lifespan before me, and it's still not enough.
I make a decision: I'm going to make it to Erid. No matter what it takes, no matter how weak I am, even if I die the second we touch down on the planet's surface, I have to get Rocky back to his people. He's told me—not a lot, but bits and pieces about the 46 years he spent in isolation. I think he left out the worst of it, but I know enough to be horrified by what he went through.
Knowing all that, how could I ever, in good conscience, let him be alone?
«Grace deserve better than tragedy, statement.» He thunks his carapace against the xenonite a few times, the vibrations echoing throughout my chest. I swallow hard, trying to fight back tears. I wish, not for the first time, that I could touch him.
"Aw, bud…" I settle for patting the top of the xenonite ball a few times, as if I was ruffling a kid's hair. Rocky shifts his weight a bit, leaning ever so slightly away from me. He can probably tell that I'm about to say some useless platitude like it'll be alright, so I change tactics.
"Listen," I say. He cuts me off.
«Rocky always listen. Rocky best listener, much better than Grace.»
I laugh, though it comes out wet and sob-like. I'm sure if we weren't both so emotional Rocky would be calling me gross gross gross.
"Listen," I repeat, "none of this is a tragedy, okay? I don't care about—about my lifespan, or the food issue, or what things are like on Erid, I don't—none of this is a tragedy, because I got to meet you, okay? We get to be together, which means—" it hits me, suddenly, all that I'm saying. How this is the kind of too much that would have scared anyone else off, how this is not the kind of thing you should say to your best friend who you've really only known for a few months. Then I remember that said best friend is, again, an adorable alien spider and decide normal doesn't apply. "—which means there is literally no world where I don't get to have a happy ending."
Rocky lowers his carapace. «Happy for Grace. Rocky always here for Grace, Grace have Grace Rocky forever, if want.» He drops even lower, barely a sliver of space left between his base and the floor. When he speaks, his voice is so low I can barely understand him. It makes his tone when he spoke about his crew sound downright joyful. «But not same for Rocky. Grace die. No more Grace Rocky, no more Rocky. Only sad sad sad sad.»
He makes a thin, airy noise, one that dips in and out of the frequencies I can hear, from a high wail like an emergency whistle to a low droning like the hum of an electric current. His legs are locked, body unmoving, and—the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. He's crying.
Something inside of me rips open. I press myself back into the surface of the ball. The hot xenonite burns my face a bit, but I ignore it. It's not hot enough to cause any real damage, and even if it was, I couldn't move away if I tried. I know Eridians don't need physical contact in the way humans do, but I can't shake the deeply ingrained instincts screaming at me to get closer.
"Hey, hey, shh," I whisper, wracking my brain for memories of trying to comfort my students. I know that I've done it, I just can't recall any specific examples right now. Of course. "you're okay Rock. I'm here, you're gonna be okay, I mean, you'll have Adrian—"
Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Rocky thumps two legs on the xenonite, causing the ball to wobble forwards. «No!» I jolt back a little, startled. Immediately his carapace lowers.
«Apology. Did not mean—Rocky miss Adrian. Rocky want want want see Adrian. Rocky hope Rocky Adrian mates still, Adrian big big big important. But…» he wobbles back and forth a little. His crying seems to have subsided, mostly, though he still lets out the occasional sad whine.
When he speaks again, his voice is quiet quiet quiet. «Grace big big big important, too. Rocky—Rocky need Grace. Feel like no more Rocky without Grace.» He makes a small, dejected sort of hum. «Rocky knows Grace might not understand. Eridian and human sometimes different emotions, different cultures, know some humans have feeling only for mate. Even if Rocky not understand.»
"No!" I say, too loud, wincing at the sound. Birds of a feather, the two of us. "No, I meant—I understand. Rocky is—" I swallow. Is it fair to hoist this onto him, right after sending him into a spiral over my mortality? Is it fair to say this, knowing I'll never be able to give us more time, no matter how much he means to me?
"…Rocky is big big big important, too." Most important, I think, but don't say. That's definitely too much.
He hums. It still sounds sad, but at least he's not crying anymore. I don't think. He might just be doing it at a frequency I can't hear.
«Need word.»
"Yeah, bud. Which one?"
«Hmm… in Eridian, called ♪♫♪♪♫♫♪. Means big big big important. Necessary for life. Want protect, want keep safe, keep happy happy happy. Want to stay with always always always.»
I blink quickly. "Oh. Oh that's… humans call that love."
«♪♫♪♪♫♫♪,» he says again. I can't help but think his word for it is much better than mine. It rises and swells, like the crash of a wave, ending on a high note that makes my ears ring. Often, when Rocky teaches me a new Eridian word, I try to echo it, whistling the notes as best I can. This time, though, I don't even try—I know my limited human vocal cords would never do it justice.
«Rocky love love love my Grace,» and, yeah, that does it. I burst into tears, covering my face with my hands to shield him from the worst of my leakiness. He can probably hear right through my hands, but it's the thought that counts. Hopefully.
"Crap," I say around a hiccuping breath, "yeah, I. I love you too, bud."
I do my best to stay upright—he always complains about me getting tears and snot on his ball—but relent after he bumps into my side a few times, draping myself back over him. I feel like a weighted blanket.
«Rocky understand Grace actions. Even if not like. If Grace ship had Taumoeba leak, Rocky would save at cost to self.» His carapace lowers. «But Rocky still not want Grace to die. Rocky love love love Grace.»
"Grace love love love Rocky," I say, trying my hardest to stop crying. Not that it's ever worked for me before. Who would have guessed that the best engineer I've ever met would also be the biggest sap? "and, look, I have enough food to make it to Erid, and you said the other Eridians will be willing to help me—it's going to be okay, Rock, I promise."
«Rocky still worry worry worry. Grace leaky squishy fragile, Grace have short human lifespan. Sometimes Rocky miss Grace even though Grace right here.»
My chest hurts. It's worse than when I'd nearly suffocated above Adrian.
"Sweetheart…"
Rocky clicks two claws together. «Rocky knows—Rocky hope Grace will survive. Grace tell me humans are resilient, Rocky knows Eridians will help Grace, make food make habitat, Grace live long life on Erid with Rocky. Rocky not always worry. But Rocky worry worry worry today.»
I adjust my grip on the ball, so I'm more hugging him than just laying on him. "What can I—how do I help you when this happens, Rock?"
He wobbles back and forth a little. «Rocky like hugs. Like to listen to Grace heart, breathing organs, digestive track. Can always hear Grace in ship, but like when Grace is close close close.»
I frown. I know I've been struggling with the lack of physical contact—curling up in blankets and laying against Rocky's xenonite enclosure helps—but I didn't know my little problem went both ways.
"I didn't know physical contact is important to Eridians."
«Is not important for Eridians. But… Rocky like. Grace make Rocky strange Eridian. Rocky think from ♪♪♫♪♫ that Rocky make Grace strange human. Not human and Eridian from Earth or Erid, just Grace Rocky from Hail Mary.»
I blink hard. I'd read, during one of my many Wikipedia rabbit-holes, about humans who were isolated with others for long periods of time forming small cultures, with their own language patterns and social norms. Gosh, I bet anthropologists on Earth would just love to study us.
I kind of love the thought. Not a human and an Eridian, just two aliens. Just me and my best best best friend that I love. Jesus.
"Yeah, Rock. Just us. You know, you're such a sap."
«Rocky is not Earth-plant-liquid, statement.»
I laugh. It's watery, but it's a laugh, which is better than all the sobbing. "No it's… it's an expression. It means you're really sentimental, or emotional."
Rocky makes a chittering laugh. «No, Grace is ♪♫♪. Grace big big big ♪♫♪, always leaking on Rocky with disgust human fluids.»
"Hey!" I cry, shoving at the side of his ball. It doesn't do anything, of course—Rocky weighs over four-hundred pounds, I couldn't move him even if I was trying. Except, of course, for Adrian, when I thought he was—nope, nope, not gonna think about that.
Rocky makes a noise that sounds surprisingly like a human gasp. «Grace shove Rocky, question? Bad bad bad Grace push innocent Rocky, question?»
I grin, feeling like a little kid at a sleepover. It's crazy, probably, that we went from Rocky having a breakdown over my mortality to playing alien footsie like a couple of seventh graders so quickly, but I guess you have to get pretty good at repressing and moving on from traumatic events to live through all the crap that we have. Still, I make a mental note to bring this up later. I don't want him to spend the rest of my lifespan preemptively grieving me. I should also avoid sad movies for a while.
«Grace, question?» he asks, after thumping his ball into my side a few times in retaliation.
"Yeah?" I say, uncurling from my defensive position (knees in front of my torso, hands playfully blocking my face even though they do nothing to prevent Rocky's sonar or the mostly-gentle press of his xenonite hamster ball into my skin.)
«Need word.»
"Sure, buddy. Which one?"
«Word Grace call Rocky when upset. Glucose-taste and human circulatory system organ.»
I rack my brain for a moment. "Sweetheart?"
Rocky chirps. «Yes yes yes! What mean, question? Rocky not have human circulatory system organ. Is confuse, statement.»
I flush. Oh, jeez, that one just… slipped out, huh? I was too focused on calming Rocky down to think about what I was saying. Typical.
I suppose I could just lie to him about what that means, save myself the embarrassment. But that's… I don't want to lie to my best friend just because I'm a coward.
"Um," I say, "human term of endearment. Means… someone that you care about a lot. Mates might use it for each other, or it's something a parent might call their child, but it can be for anyone you, um. Love, I guess."
Rocky trills happily. «Amaze amaze amaze! Rocky understand. Grace is very glucose-taste and human circulatory system organ to Rocky, statement. Eridian language have "term of endearment" also. Word is ♫♫♪♫♪♪. Means, hm, stone with many faces. Sound best, better than others, is most precious.»
He pauses, then: «Grace is ♫♫♪♫♪♪ to Rocky, statement.»
I start crying again. Or maybe I didn't stop? Crap, I'm going to be so dehydrated after all this.
"Yeah—Rocky is uh, that, to Grace, too."
He trills happily, pressing into the xenonite before slumping down, carapace hitting the floor with a soft clunk.
«Mm… Rocky tired.» I bet—I always feel exhausted after crying, it makes sense that Rocky would be the same. «You watch me sleep, question?»
I drape one side of my quilt over his ball. I know it doesn't do anything for him, but it's the thought that counts.
"Yeah, bud, I'll watch."
«Grace call Rocky word again, question?»
Something inside of me burns. He's—back on Earth, I never thought I would get this close with anybody. I'd never been good with people. I was too silly, or too short-tempered, or too distracted by my science to actually notice the world around me. I still can't believe I got to meet him—that everything aligned so perfectly that we would be working on the same mission at the same time, that we would save each other so fully.
I clear my throat. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll watch."
Rocky's legs go limp for a moment before stiffening up, vents stilling. I pull the computer onto my lap and pull up one of the many, many copyrighted medical journals Stratt saw fit to send with us on the mission. Though I'm sure the reasons I need to look into grief counseling are very different than what she would have expected, I appreciate her foresight all the same. Funny, how things work out like that.
Anticipatory grief, I learn, is a coping mechanism to help individuals process the impending loss of a loved one, most commonly felt by the caretakers of patients with cancer or dementia.
My chest aches at the thought of Rocky going through all that, but I press on. I won't force him to talk about this when he wakes up or anything—I would hate to make him more upset—but I need to know how to help the next time this happens. I think maybe this has been happening for longer than I realized.
I look over at Rocky, asleep next to me.
"Love you, Rock," I whisper. "Love love love love."