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So it turns out running is a lot harder when you're in higher gravity (no duh).
And when you're still recovering from a pretty major case of 'almost starving to death'.
And when you've just been introduced to your new, custom-made Alien Habitat Terrarium and are maybe going a little loopy after five years of being cooped up in small rooms and possibly aren't taking as much care as you should.
Point is, I took a spill.
It's really not that bad.
No seriously. It's a grazed knee and a bruise on my elbow— this is the kind of injury that I'd have to nag my students to get a band-aid for.
Unfortunately, people around here don't tend to believe me when I say that things 'aren't that bad'. Collapse one time (okay, maybe two times) after saying that you're “fine” and suddenly everyone starts doubting your ability to assess your own physical health. There's just no trust anymore. I blame the government.
Plus, in fairness, I'm literally the only lifeform on Erid that can bleed without it being a Major Fudging Deal. Creatures here tend towards hard exoskeletons made of minerals. Their bodies invest so much into defence that evolution got stingy with the maintenance budget. It's hard to cut through their outer shell, but if something does make it through then it's hard for them to heal and easy for the wound to get infected.
In fact I suspect that Joy (one of my medical team, named because I was starting to run out of famous fictional doctors) might be milking their concern slightly so that they can examine my cut in more detail.
Rocky, meanwhile, doesn't need an ulterior motive to express his concern. In his own way, of course.
“Grace forget how to use two legs, question?”
“Hey!” I shove him. It does literally nothing, but I hope he gets the message. “I tripped! There was a rock.”
“Apology. Grace forget how to use light sense to look where going, question? Amaze.”
“Shut up.” I hiss an intake of breath as Joy unexpectedly swabs my cut with disinfectant. Better safe than sorry I guess, though frankly any germ that manages to jump the species barrier from mercury-filled rock monsters to my squishy insides has probably earned the right to take me out.
I wisely don't share this idea with Rocky.
“I tell Adrian to replace all rocks in biodome with soft squishy things,” Rocky says. “Make walls and floors soft soft soft for delicate human. Put big sign next to all objects with big human writing saying ‘stop! Grace! Do not trip!’”
“Alright, bud, you made your point-“
“No, made mistake. Grace will run again. Will trip over signs and injure self.”
“Geez Rock. I tripped once!”
“Human memory is weak. You want me to say how many times I heard you trip in space, question? Including when no gravity?”
Joy pipes up, having finally done examining my knee to make sure it won't explode or fall off or whatever. “Rocky should not be mean to Grace!”
“Yes!” I clap my hands. “Thank you! See Rock, Joy is on my side.”
Rocky makes an annoyed hum and shuffles himself closer so that I can lean against him as I stand up. (Getting to my feet is another thing that's been a tad tricky since I decided to starve my body almost to death and then subject it to gravity that it was in no way evolved for.)
“Joy does not know Grace,” he grumbles. “Joy thinks Grace is ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩! I know Grace— mean is good for Grace.”
I'm about to argue back, but I'm distracted by Joy's annoyed whistle. “I do not think that!”
“Wait, what?” I look between them. “Hey, new word. What does Joy think I am?” I address this to Rocky, who is far more likely to tell me if I've just been insulted.
“Ignore,” Joy says. “Rocky is inaccurate.” She seems slightly scandalised, but not to the level that I think would be appropriate if she'd just been accused of something terrible. (Although, admittedly, my grasp on body-language for non-Rocky Eridians isn't exactly perfect.)
She's also shifting her carapace and tapping her feet in a way that I recognise from the time my basketball briefly 'went missing' on the journey to Erid, after I bounced it off Rocky's xenonite wall one too many times.
Joy is lying.
“Rocky, what does it-“
But before I can finish my sentence, Rocky stiffens and then scampers off down the beach. “Can hear Adrian is outside!” he calls behind him, and I'm forced to run (more carefully this time) after him before he can arrange to have my whole dome redesigned in cotton wool or something.
***
I'm getting ready for bed in my new, thankfully still not cotton-woolified, biodome. Adrian was, as usual, a welcome calming influence on Rocky, and has managed to negotiate a peace treaty between the two of us. Rocky will stop freaking out every time I break a nail, on the condition that “Grace will be more careful with soft, squishy, fragile human body statement.” It seems fair enough.
Neither of them are available to watch me sleep tonight. They've been invited to another science thrum. I wish I could attend— they sound fascinating— but unfortunately they can also last up to fourteen hours and there are no bathroom, snack or sleep breaks allowed.
I mean, they'd probably make allowances for me and my squishy fluid-filled human body, but the only one of those three needs I'd be able to take care of in my xenonite outdoors suit is sleeping, and that tends to do a number on my back.
So I get to stay at home and go to bed nice and early while those two crazy kids have their night on the town. I mean, technically it's always night on Erid, but still. It's a good thing that I'm a bizarre alien from beyond the stars who saved two whole planets, because otherwise I'd be downright boring.
I spit my toothpaste into the sink and head for my bedroom, stopping to wave at the xenonite cube in the corner.
We've had to make some compromises about sleeping arrangements, me and the Eridians. Letting me sleep alone at night isn't an option. Partly because it goes against every social instinct they have, but also because I'm a terrifyingly fragile alien being with a ton of starvation-related health problems living in a highly flammable atmosphere. Like I honestly can't blame them for wanting to keep an eye on things.
But at the same time, I can't sleep with a strange Eridian in my room. I just can't. Rocky I can conk out in front of, no problem, and I've gotten used to Adrian and a few of the friendlier Science Eridians, but sleeping as often as I do (and I sleep plenty often, thank you Rocky) I can't always rely on those guys being available.
The first time they tried leaving me with a stranger, I spent the night making awkward small talk and lying awake with my eyes open.
The second time, I tried pretending that they weren't there and spent the night feeling irrationally angry at my stupid human brain for somehow being able to 'feel' the gaze of a creature that didn't. have. freaking. eyes.
The third time, the designated Watcher Eridian made the mistake of trying to nag me into going to sleep, which led to me throwing a pillow at them (it bounced off the xenonite barrier, but it's the principle of the thing) dragging the rest of my bedding into the bathroom and locking myself in there for the night.
So now we have The Cube.
I know that there will be at least one Eridian inside it. I know that they can hear me through the opaque xenonite barrier as easily as through the clear stuff. I know logically that there's no real difference between having them in there and having them in one of the xenosuits that Rocky and Adrian use. But this isn't about logic, it's about making my stupid monkey brain feel safe, and the stupid monkey brain doesn't understand about sonar.
I turn the lights off, mutter “goodnight” and shut my eyes.
After a few seconds, I hear some noises from within the cube. Eridians will often sleep-watch in pairs so that they have somebody conscious to chat to, and people who are new to the team tend to underestimate how much I can hear. They'll stop if I ask them to, but I don't really care. It's kind of soothing.
It reminds me of being a kid and getting put to bed on the couch during a family visit, dozing off to the sound of the adults chatting in the next room.
I still can't remember too much of my childhood. Maybe I never could. I couldn't tell you which family we used to visit, or how often, or how old I was the last time.
But I can remember the feeling. Warm and safe, wrapped in a blanket made of slightly scratchy material, breathing in the musty smell of the couch cushions, the door left open a crack to let in the hallway light.
I shut my eyes and let the darkness take me. Just before I drift off, I swear I hear somebody hum: “Grace look ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩ when sleeping, statement.”
“Agree. ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩ ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩ ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩!”
Huh.
***
Sometimes it just doesn't get better than two best buds, sitting on the beach, watching the sunset.
True, technically I'm the only one actually watching the sunset— Rocky tried to watch one once with his light vision wand and quickly declared the mess of fading textures to be “boring”. But he's here in his suit to keep me company and is happy to carry any major compliments I have about tonight's sunset back to Adrian and the biodome team.
Which reminds me. I turn to him. “Hey, I almost forgot. I got a new word I need translating.”
“Hmm?” The hum is similar in tone and pitch to the noise a human would make to mean 'what?' or 'go ahead'. That's because it is the noise a human would make, Rocky got it from me.
I pause and then try to whistle the chords. Eridian was never designed for a human voicebox, but sometimes I can approximate simpler words by humming or whistling. “What does ♩♭ ♭♬ ♫ mean?”
“Human gibberish.” Sometimes I can get the words right. Rocky gestures with his third hand, the first two still tinkering with one of his endless projects. “I make keyboard. Why Grace not use keyboard, question? Wasteful.”
I sigh and reach across the sand. “♩♭ ♭♬ ♫,” I type.
This time Rocky tilts his carapace in confusion. “Is tool,” he says. “Small tool for working with xenonite. Carves small small small lines or patterns to change texture. Someone show one to you, question?”
“No?” I pause, equally confused. “Is there another meaning? Something that you might call another person?”
I want to say light dawns on Rocky, but light has literally no effect on Eridians. Sound becomes louder? His sonar gets clearer? When I was prepping for first contact, I never thought I'd spend so much time fussing over metaphors.
Rocky chirps in understanding. “Think you mean ♩♭ ♬ ♫ ♩.” He hums it slowly, so I can hear the notes, and has me play it back a couple of times on my piano until he's satisfied with my pronunciation. “Word Joy said after you fall. After you fall in biodome first time, clarification. Not after numerous other times Grace fall. Apology if confusing.”
I ignore the teasing. “Yeah, and I think one of the people watching me sleep said it last night? What does it mean?” I pause, remembering how Joy reacted. “It's not rude is it?”
Am I about to hear some newly invented anti-alien slur?
“Not rude,” Rocky assures me. “Word means… means small.”
“What?!” Okay, was not expecting that. “But I'm literally the tallest person on Erid! Your word for human literally includes the tones for 'tall'.”
I probably shouldn't be as defensive about this as I am. I know I'm average height now, but, like I said, my early years are still kind of a blank page. Maybe I took a while to hit my growth spurt as a kid. “Why are they calling me short?”
“Wrong wrong word,” Rocky explains. “Not small like small size. Small like small Eridian. Like small Eridian feeling. Want to protect.” He pauses. “Like when we watch video of small Earth animals and Grace leak and make weird noises.”
I think back. “Hey, that was a normal human reaction!”
Okay maybe not normal for every human, but just you try watching a video of cute puppies whilst knowing that you're never going to see a real live puppy ever again. Because puppies (and everything else) might have already gone extinct. Potentially because you fucked up in your big mission to save the sun. The mission that your friends all agreed they wanted you to die for.
It brings up some complicated emotions, is what I'm saying.
Wait.
“Hang on, are you saying they're calling me cute? Like baby animal cute?”
“Yes yes yes,” Rocky agrees. “Many Eridians think Grace is like baby Eridian.”
I splutter. “What? Why?!”
“Because Grace is like baby Eridian, statement.”
The virtual sunset is reaching its peak, the sky a mess of orange, pink and lime green. (Turns out colours are kinda hard to figure out when you can't percieve light. Honestly I think it's an improvement.) I drag my eyes away and back to my friend.
“Uh… explain?”
Rocky shrugs, another gesture he picked up from our time together. “Grace is young, like baby. Grace is soft, like baby. Squishy and can sense organs through skin, like carapace not developed yet.” I deliberately don't fold my arms over my stomach, the way I did the first few times Rocky let slip that he can see my insides. It doesn't block his view anyway. “Grace needs more food and more sleep than adult. Grace even speaks like baby.”
I clutch a hand to my chest in mock outrage. “You said my pronunciation was improving!”
“Is improving! Good good good for human! Less good good good for Eridian. Cannot do all the tones.”
He's got me there. My keyboard may be capable of more variation in tone and pitch than any Earth instrument I've heard, but it's still restricted by my dumb human hearing range.
I slump back onto the sand, looking up at the dimming sky. I'm definitely not sulking about this. “I thought you said I was gross,” I say, trying not to think about why I suddenly find gross more appealing than cute. I dunno, gross alien blob just sounds… cooler.
Rocky lowers his carapace to sit next to me. Despite being mildly annoyed, I shuffle across the sand so that I can lean against him.
“Grace is gross. Grace is also like baby Eridian. Baby Eridians are gross. Leak fluids, eat in public. Disgust. Like Grace.”
Okay. I laugh.
Rocky warms to his theme. “Grace is gross gross gross. At first thought suit was weird, weak carapace. Then sense true carapace inside of body. Like ♬ ♫ ♫.” He translates before I can interrupt. “Creature from Eridian mythology. Has body inside out. If you touch, it dissolve your carapace with its fluids and makes new carapace grow inside. We will listen to soundshow sometime. Creepy. Creepy.”
“Hmmm…” The biodome team are dropping the temperature along with the light levels to simulate nighttime. I switch on the headtorch I brought out with me and enjoy the warmth that seeps through Rocky's suit. “Y'know, some humans would definitely find Eridians cute.”
Rocky chirps. Indignantly. Cutely. “Human lies! Eridians are scary space monsters, like Earth spiders, statement.”
“I keep telling you, spiders aren't actually that big.”
“Giant spider monsters then. Scary scary scary.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You're bigger than a spider, but you're a lot smaller than a human. And your voices are really pretty actually.”
“True,” he preens. “Still scary. Hard carapaces, no light sensors, see through walls. Blood hurts humans. Like in gross monster movie you make me watch.”
So I showed Rocky ‘Alien’ on the journey to Erid. Hey, it's a classic.
Unfortunately I hadn't quite considered the impact that certain scenes would have on a species that uses one hole on their stomach for eating, pooping and reproducing, and has taboos around all three. It was two weeks before I was allowed to pick a movie again, and he still makes fun of me for essentially showing him weird scat-themed body horror porn.
“The gross monster movie alien was killing people though,” I point out. “And it got really big near the end. Most of you guys stay small.” A thought occurs. “We have an earth animal called a ham-ster,” I enunciate the syllables, like I always do for new words. “They're tiny little things and kids keep them as pets. You can buy balls and tunnels for them to play in, like you had on the Mary. I'll show you a picture. They're super cute.”
Rocky trills. “Human child tunnel pet strong enough to pick human up and drop them in ocean, question?”
He moves as if to grab me and I shuffle back on the sand. He can definitely move faster than me over short distances, especially while I'm still recovering from malnutrition, but he lets me scramble to my feet and step out of reach before skittering towards me. “Weak squishy humans are no match for scary space monsters!”
“Ha!” I step away from him, walking backwards. “You'll have to catch me first!”
We've had some trial and error with chasing games, Rocky and I. I can handle them, so long as we don't go too fast and so long as I don't have my back to him.
It's the sound of running feet behind me that tends to trigger the flashbacks.
I still tire quickly though, so it's not long before I allow myself to be caught. Rocky crows in triumph and balances on two of his legs so that he can use the other three to properly lift me above his carapace. I dutifully express my terror at the horrifying space monster that has captured me.
Then my stupid human body decides to start yawning, and Rocky declares that playtime is over and walks me back to my house for sleep.
It's full dark by now, so I don't protest much. Once we get inside, I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed and try to ignore what I'm pretty sure are the sounds of Rocky surreptitiously tidying my bedroom. Guy is a total neat freak.
My suspicions are confirmed when I exit the bathroom and the first thing I see is Rocky holding a pair of my socks. Busted. I raise an eyebrow at him.
He drops the socks. “No crying to Rocky if you trip over garbage with stupid human feet in the morning,” he grumbles.
“You got it pal.” I all but fall into bed— all that playing around on the beach really did a number on me— and turn out the light. “G'night Rocky.”
“Sleep well Grace.” I hear him positions himself in his usual spot beside the bed. As I let myself relax to the sounds of his usual background hums and clicks, I hear: “Grace is maybe a bit cute.”
A pause.
“Gross gross gross, weird weird weird, but maybe also cute.”
I laugh sleepily.
“Right back atcha Rocky...”