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There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
'Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
It was the adverts that woke him up. They always came on too loud, blaring about this, that, or the other. And, it being post-watershed, the other was usually something he didn't want to think about, like erectile dysfunction, or piles. Very suave.
Today, it was the wonders of ribbed condoms that brought him out of his microwave curry-induced haze, slumped half on and half off the tiny sofa in his tiny living room in his tiny apartment. He didn't mind the lack of space though, North Side San Francisco was gosh-darn expensive, and it wasn't like he was sharing.
He didn't even have a dog.
"What, huh?" were the first words out of Doctor Ryland Grace's mouth upon awakening, as he tried to re-orient himself back in reality. He'd been having a lovely dream about the Large Hadron Collider, but it was slipping away like oil on water, so he shook himself and sat up. Then he checked his watch, and very nearly swore. It was only years of teaching instincts that kept his tongue firmly where it was, which was rather ironic, given that his teaching responsibilities were causing the issue. He'd meant to plan the 8C biology lesson tonight, but had coerced himself into doing it after dinner. And look where that had got him.
Hoisted by your own petard, Rylan.
Right. Fudge. What were we doing in 8C? Reproduction cycles, mitosis and meiosis. They'd just gone over sexual reproduction, which had been so very enjoyable in a room full of immature teenagers, as it always was. (Ryland loved the kids, but five straight minutes of giggling after he'd said the word 'sperm' was a bit excessive.) So what was next? Asexual? That would do.
He grabbed his laptop and re-settled himself on the sofa, silencing the TV halfway through an advert waxing lyrical on the benefits of getting a vasectomy and pulling up the browser. Sure, he knew the scientific definition of asexual reproduction off the top of his head, but it was two in the morning, and it would be good to check. It wouldn't do to provide his students with incorrect information.
Seconds later he was clicking on the first page that came up, which happened to be Wikipedia. Yes, the kids would have a field day if they ever caught wind of him using the forbidden site, but they cited their sources most of the time, and the information was solid enough. Maybe that made him a hypocrite, but so be it.
But this page didn't seem right. Maybe Wikipedia wasn't so handy after all. There was a big image of what seemed to be some kind of flag in the top corner, black and white and purple in horizontal lines, and no diagrams to be found. He scanned his way down the page, reading aloud. It was a bad habit that frequently annoyed the other teachers in the staff room when he was checking his emails, but one he couldn't seem to shake. "Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in.... or... desire for sexual... activity."
He trailed off into silence, contemplating. This clearly was the wrong page. He should go find what he was really looking for. But...
It may be considered a sexual orientation - or the lack thereof. It may also be categorized more widely to include a broad spectrum of asexual sub-identities. For more information on the asexual-aromantic spectrum, click here.
He clicked.
It might have been minutes, or hours, but it was most likely the latter, for when Grace finally shut the top of his laptop with the distinct feeling he'd been clubbed over the head, dawn was snaking its golden tendrils over the horizon. He hadn't got round to the 8C lesson, but that was alright. They'd figure it out as they went along. There were other things to think about right now.
It wasn't even like he was particularly surprised. It had always been there, as he watched his co-workers and peers getting married, having children, the whole shebang. They moaned about their significant others whilst making it clear they would do anything for them. They shot him sly looks and made thinly veiled innuendos about the 'benefits.' And he just... never got it. Yes, there had been relationships, brief ones, but he always felt a strange sense of relief when they inevitably sat him down and began the 'its not you, its me' speech. He just hadn't thought there was a word for it.
There were several words. So many words. God, why were there so many words? Demisexual, aromantic, allosexual, his brain had begun to hurt when he'd found the helpfully colour-coded chart. Now, he resigned himself to an hour and a half of rest before getting up for work, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
It took a few weeks of consideration, but Ryland found his word. It was a good word, he thought, and a fun flag that went along with it that even matched his colour scheme. There was no great sense of relief, no wild moment of understanding. It was more like Oh. Really? Fair enough. Guess that's me. But that didn't mean he didn't lean into his new identity. Hell, he even bought a little pinbadge. Orange, yellow, white and blue. Aroace.
He stuck it on the end of his tie, and answered every question asked by a curious student. America may be horrifically behind some countries in terms of lgbtq education, but he could still teach the kids. They honestly could not care less, just nodded, shrugged, and asked him if he had any idea what the canteen was serving that day.
Of course he knew what the canteen was serving. Who did they think he was?
---
Times change, the sun gets dimmer, people are recruited to top secret operations on the North Sea. Grace loses his house, his teaching position, most of his sanity, but he keeps the badge. Its pinned to his jacket, on his collar, on the bobble of a woolly hat, wherever he feels like, and no one notices much. It answers questions before they're asked, which is helpful, as some people seemed to be under the impression he and Stratt were lovers. (which, no. No.)
Everyone has bigger fish to fry than who Grace may or may not be sleeping with, apart from Ilyukhina. Ilyukhina makes time for him, responsibilities be damned. He wasn't all that bothered, she was incredibly clever and could be fun to hang out with after a vodka or three. It was on one of these nights, drinking in the Vat's bar with Dubois and Annie that Ilyukhina made the discovery.
"Ryland, how do you spell it again?"
"It?"
"Your identity" she replied, gesturing vaguely at his lapel. He pulled a pen from nowhere (a teacher's habit) scribbled it down on a napkin for her and passed it over. She squinted at it for so long Grace was slightly concerned she'd fallen asleep upright, but eventually she plucked the pen from his slackened grip and wrote something beneath. Craning his neck earned nothing but a glare from Ilyukhina and he hastily retreated. It wasnt until both Dubois and Annie had seen the napkin that they took pity on him and put it out on the table. Beneath his untidy scrawl was the careful lettering of someone who had learned English as a second language. It was perfect legible, but tipsy as he was it still took a couple seconds for him to get it.
Aerospace
Aero. Space. Aro- ohh
"Very funny" he said to a grinning Ilyukhina.
"You are Grace the Space Ace!"
"You're not calling me that" he replied in his firmest teacher voice, but unfortunately that only worked on Ilyukhina about 50% of the time. He wasn't so lucky tonight, she'd adopted an impish little expression that told him he was getting nowhere.
"You were going to get a nickname eventually" Annie consoled him later "really, it was that or Stratt's Lapdog"
Which made him feel so much better. But, he had to admit she had a point, there were worse things to be known as. The space part was a bit inaccurate though, it wasn't like he was actually going up there. That was for braver men (or women) than Ryland Grace.
---
Right.
About that.
Stratt knew Grace was going to space by the time the ringing in her ears from the Baikonur Research Centre explosion faded. There wasn't another way. He might refuse, he might run, but in the end, she had all the resources she needed. Ryland Grace would save the world, whether he liked it or not.
But that didn't mean she was heartless. Loading of his uniform and personal effects had to be done very quickly, but luckily a lot had been prepared in advance, on the slim chance that both the primary and secondary science officers died horribly. Now that edge-case had come to pass, things were moving quickly. Even as she made her way to the final piece of the Mary (the part that would carry the crew into space and connect with the behemoth already in orbit) Doctor Grace was under general anaesthetic having his appendix removed. Of course, there could be complications with the surgery happening so quickly, but Stratt prayed that would not be the case.
Or she would, if she was the praying type.
She didn't have the time for this trip. There were emails to be answered, people to be charmed, cajoled or outright threatened, reports to be read over. Even so, she kept walking towards the hangar where the crew capsule of the Mary waited for its occupants. Engineers doing final checks shot upright and got out of her way as she approached, and only one dared to ask "Uhh, Ms Stratt?"
"I need access to the crew's personal storage." she replied shortly, and the engineer nodded and cleared the way for her.
"Right away ma'am." he replied, saluting smartly. She hated it when they did that.
Ilyukhina and Yao's boxes were stacked neatly at the very back of the storage room, embossed lettering reading their names, nationalities and positions. Doctor Grace's box was in front, placed slightly lopsided where it had obviously been shoved in last-minute. There was no fancy title for him, just his name 'R.Grace' scribbled with sharpie on the top of the lightweight plastic. She knelt down and removed the lid, reached into the inside pocket of her coat, and brought out a small stack of square card. Printed photographs. She laid arranged them carefully atop his blue uniform, one by one.
A classroom filled with grinning students, all waving at the camera and holding up interestingly shaped rocks.
Grace, Yao, Ilyukhina, Dubois and Annie surrounding a stony-faced Carl wearing a party hat and 'birthday boy' banner.
Doctor Grace dozing on his desk, coffee cups littering the table, his back covered in post-it notes written in a variety of languages, mostly Russian and Chinese.
The canteen at the Vat, midnight on new years Eve. Streamers and balloons thick in the air, everyone cheering, drinking or kissing. Doctor Grace standing on a table and trying to fend off a pucker-lipped Ilyukhina.
There were no pictures of Stratt, she'd made sure of that. They could cause him to regain his memories faster than earlier anticipated, and she couldn't risk the mission for sentimentality. Pictures done with, she brought out one last item. A little pinbadge, striped with orange, yellow, white and blue. She could not give him much, but she could give him this. She secured it carefully to the front of the uniform just above the mission crest, stood, and made her way from the warehouse.
Two days later she watched the trail of smoke the final capsule left in the sky as it carried the best hope for humanity away forever.
She had done all she could.
---
Although finding out who you are tends to be pretty high on the list of things to do when you wake up from a mysterious coma, Grace didn't think to examine the little badge for while into his trip. He was two days from Tau Ceti when it occurred to him. The other members of the crew (whoever they were) hadn't had anything similar, this wasn't a part of the uniform, embroidered on like his name and nationality. He didn't have any idea where to start, but for some unexplainable reason he had access to about the entire sum of human knowledge with a few button clicks, so the answer was probably out there. Nothing to do but get digging.
He began with state and county flags, with the idea it might be some specific part of America. No dice.
Sports teams? No.
University banners? Uhuh.
Four hours later, he could tell you that the oldest continually used flag in the world was Denmark's, and that FC Barcelona's flag used to feature a bat, but he still couldn't tell you his address, parent's names, age, or what the hell the badge was supposed to mean. The words were blurring into one on the pixelated screen and he really fancied some real food, unfortunately that weird ass robot arm was only providing bags of mildly lumpy sludge for now. But he wasn't going to complain too much in case it went evil and tried to strangle him or something, and the sludge didn't even taste that bad, just had a horrible texture.
He was about to give in when he saw an unobtrusive hyperlink to 'identity flags' and clicked on it out of sheer boredom. What met him was far closer to what he was looking for, striped bright colours without detail. It only took him another five minutes to locate the flag.
Oh. Right.
That might make some sense. He'd been wondering for a few days why no inkling of a significant other had popped into his mind. He'd assumed he was single, and that was clearly the case. A little more than single. Ultra-single? Uber-single?
Well, it was no skin off his nose. He'd checked the fuel levels, the mission status, the farewell notes. There was nothing to suggest he would be making it home, and a whole lot to suggest the opposite. No partner, no one to miss. No one to miss him. He understood why he'd volunteered for this now. It was the noble and brave thing to do. was that who he was? Noble and brave? The thought gave him some energy, and he slouched off to beg the computer for more suspicious meaty slurry.
---
"Tell me about Adrian." Grace asked one day, after they'd closed up experiments for the night. Rocky had insisted they have period of time to chill out because apparently Grace get annoying when no relax, statement. It wasn't like the taomeba would breed any faster with him watching them anyway, so instead they spent their time swapping information and watching old movies. Rocky was quiet for a suspiciously long time, so Grace glanced around to try and gauge his friend's reaction. Hard to judge the facial expressions of someone without a face, but he was getting better, and correctly interpreted the silence.
"That bad, huh?"
"Rocky misses mate Adrian very much, is painful to talk about. But I should, is good to remember good times."
And what good times they were. Grace had opened the floodgates to Rocky's memory, and sat back to reap his reward. He learned that Adrian was the Eridian equivalent of a biologist, and a damn good one at that. Although, Eridian biologists did seem to spend more of their time running around after said biology with a tranquiliser gun, which explained how they were able to handle Rocky all this time. Adrian was smart, Adrian was funny, Rocky didn't have a bad word, and who could blame him? Fifty years without the love of your life and their idiosyncrasies must fade into the background. Grace noticed the way Rocky's voice changed when he spoke of Adrian, the slight alteration in cadences and phrasing, the unusual rises in pitch and the way he tapped his foot when reliving a fragment of the past. He asked questions where appropriate, but mostly let Rocky talk. It seemed to be for the best.
After some time, Rocky had lapsed into silence and Grace was thinking over all that had been said. He had been wondering if Adrian could be the one to handle the integration of the taomeba onto Threeworld, it seemed fitting after their partner had been the one to bring it back to Erid in the first place. That would be some poetic symbolism right there, and he was about to voice this idea when Rocky spoke.
"Does Grace have mate, question?" From beside him, he heard Rocky shifting round, as if to regard Grace with one particular side of his carapace. That was something he was picking up from Grace, he realised, and wondered internally what Eridian attributes he was adopting. He had caught himself tapping his foot after a question once or twice already.
"Oh. No, not really my thing."
"Explain. You said humans have mates."
"Most do, yeah. Its not as, well, intense as you guys, but we have partners. I was never really interested in it though."
"Explain."
"Jeez, Rock, is everything an interrogation with you?"
"Is everything so confusing with you. Why no partner, Grace not get lonely, question?"
Welp. Time to explain sexuality to an alien space rock. Grace sighed. "No, not really. Some humans feel no need for that kind of thing. We're happier on our own. Its called being aromantic. I'm aromantic well, aroace, but that's a bit more complicated. Look, here." he held up the front of his uniform, with the little badge pinned to it. Rocky considered for a moment, then responded.
"We have too. Eridian word is ♪♪♫ ♪"
"You have a word?" he replied, stunned. A small part of Ryland Grace, a miniature, gloating piece was yelling into the abyss of his mind take that you conservative fuckers, the aliens are gay, how'd you like them apples, but the rest of him was doing its best to consider the societal and evolutionary impacts, as any good scientist should. Rocky nodded, actually nodded, and he had to supress a grin. The human habits were setting in.
"Yes. Erid diverse, some have many pebbles, some have many mates. Some have none."
"Huh. Okay, fair enough. If Earth can contain multitudes why shouldn't Erid." he got up to add the new word to their collection with a strong sense of relief that this particular concept spanned the galaxy. As he did so, Grace thought back to his classroom, buzzing with noise and excitement, his kids grabbing the Earth ball out of the air to answer a question, beaming in delight when he told them they were right. He'd never had children (or pebbles) of his own, yes, but that didn't mean he hadn't raised any. That made him smile.
Rocky had moved onto other things, and was tinkering about with something or other in a corner, completely unconcerned. Strange, that even here, acceptance would be worth so much. But it isn't the place, its those who give it to us, and how we value them.
"Grace."
"Yeah, Rock?"
"Can we watch Die Hard again tonight, question."
"Sure, buddy. Sure"