Work Text:
Humans, I decided a long time ago, are absurd.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve had years to get used to them—or, rather, get used to just the one. If all of them are as illogical as mine and Adrian’s, they like to turn everything upside down. Perhaps it’s something they can’t help. They were made that way, after all, with their soft outsides and hard insides, and their orifices. Leaking, leaking, leaking. Always. So inefficient. So alien.
But the strangest thing about them, I think, isn’t their inclination to share meals together (disgusting) or their constant need for sleep. Not even their inability to properly speak. No, I decided long, long ago. The worst part about humans is their determination to throw themselves into places where they aren’t meant to be.
It was an easy discovery to make, and it happened very early on. There are no words, no melodies or songs, that can properly describe the horror that I felt when I made first contact with the very best of their species. I listened to them from the safety of my ship as they launched themself outside of theirs in order to receive my message. It had been a very long time since I last felt that fear; not since I first realized I was completely alone, when the last of my crew slid into eternal sleep. This strange, four-limbed being was the first living thing I had interacted with in decades, and they were throwing themself into the emptiness of space!
I suppose, looking back, that they didn’t have any other choice; they had no robot. At least, not like the one equipped to the exterior of the Blip-A. (Later I would meet Armando, but at the moment, I had no clue of its existence. And it was installed inside the ship, which was absolutely no help at all.) Now I can recall the moment with fondness. Our foolish, clumsy Grace, so eager to build a friendship with me, a potential threat, that they tethered themself to the Hail Mary and crawled clumsily around its exterior, like a pebble learning how to walk for the first time. In the moment, however, it was nothing short of terrifying.
In the years that came to follow, our human willingly repeated the process several times. It never got any less stressful. Normal, perhaps, but I never listened to them donning their spacesuit and entering the airlock without worrying that they wouldn’t come back.
But they didn’t have a choice. Each spacewalk they did was necessary for our mission, and later on during the journey home, to keep the Hail Mary running. We were blazing trails in an environment we were never meant to survive in, and that required us both to push past our limits.
It will be different on Erid, I thought to myself often. No more spacewalks, no more danger. Grace will be safe.
If only I had known how wrong I was.
For a while, at least, my rationalizing held true. Grace spent a long, long time onboard the Hail Mary when we finally made it to Erid—they were too sick and too weak to be relocated anywhere else, and it took great feats of science and engineering to create a temporary medical ward for them on the surface of the planet. Which meant that there was no chance for Grace to get themself into trouble.
When we finally came forward to ask them with the plans for their permanent home, we asked their input on the design. Where would they like their house? What sort of temperature did they prefer? What natural features? What environment? As humans say, the sky was the limit—they’d risked and sacrificed everything to bring me home to our mate, to save our star, and all of Erid owed them more than we could ever repay. Especially me.
Well, Grace said, fiddling with their glasses, I mean, I’d be happy with anything. I’m just glad I’m still alive.
Don’t be stupid, I chirped at them, short and annoyed. The team of scientists behind me whistled low in aghast at the way I spoke to them. So blatant, and without the hero worship the rest of the population uses. We have always been the same, Grace and I, with no need for titles. Especially when they irritate me, which is often. Whatever it is, we’ll make it. Adrian is the best architect on this planet.
Grace pushed their glasses back up their nose, putting them on properly for once. I mean, if you’re sure… I really miss the beach.
This wasn’t a surprise. Grace’s favorite footage to pull up in the screen room was of the ocean; they had dozens of different beaches that they could summon with just a few clicks of the keyboard. I knew that water was dangerous for humans, similar to how it’s dangerous to Eridians: too much, and both of our species drown. Still, our Grace never once mentioned getting in it. They seemed to prefer to cling to the shoreline instead, and watch it from dry ground.
It seemed safe enough. And Grace, for all of their foolishness and their tendency to trip on anything, is not as stupid as I like to pretend; they’re one of the smartest people I know. Smart enough, surely, to avoid drowning in their own biodome.
Right?
The day I’m proven wrong, I’m pulled out of my work by the frantic footsteps of one of my beloved mates as they barge their way into my workshop. Adrian is supposed to be working on maintenance on Grace’s environment with them. To say I’m surprised to see them here is an understatement.
“Soulsong,” I say in greeting, setting down my tools. “What are you doing home so early?”
“It’s Grace!” Adrian whistles, low in distress.
My first mate is not quick to panic, or rise to anger. They are steady as the stone we live surrounded by every day, and possess a certain coolness that I’ve never found in another. To hear them so upset immediately makes me sink down to hide behind my carapace behind my limbs; a leftover, biological instinct from when our kind were prey. My body’s attempt to protect itself from something painful.
“What’s wrong? What happened to Grace?”
Adrian points one claw in the direction they came from. “I can’t find them anywhere. We planned to meet up so we could go over some fine-tuning, but…”
I lurch for the door before they even have the chance to finish singing their sentence. Grace. Missing. Two words that should never go together; an impossibility. The biodome we created for them is wide, with plenty of enrichment to keep them healthy, but still—they can only wander so far. And there is no way for them to leave without alerting any of the security. Someone is always posted at the airlock, and that’s the only route in and out. It isn’t as if Grace leaves often, anyway; most Eridians prefer to come to them, rather than the other way around. Getting them into their xenonite suit is a hassle, and it makes them clumsier than usual. Easier for everyone else to come to them instead.
Besides, it takes an entire team to get them ready. They can’t just slip away, like a rebellious pebble sneaking out to join a recreational thrum with their friends.
I make it to the biodome and wriggle into my xenonite suit in record time. Daily visits mean I’ve gotten good at slipping it on and off with ease, a skill I have never truly appreciated until this very moment. The one appointed to oversee the airlock today tries to get me to wait for the proper authorities.
“Savior Rocky, please, don’t be hasty,” they trill. “We can’t risk contaminating the scene—”
But I’m not one to be deterred, or talked down to by some low-level guard. Especially not now. I close up the suit and tell them simply, “If you don’t let me in, I will have your title stripped, and you’ll be off the biodome team completely.”
It isn’t my proudest moment. I’m aware, however vaguely, that I should be ashamed of such a blatant abuse of my power. But I don’t care. There are far more important things to worry about at the moment; like finding my dearest friend, one of my life partners, who somehow managed to get themself into trouble in the very environment we created for them to keep them safe. I knew we should have installed more surveillance. But Grace insisted on a need for privacy, and I was foolish enough to listen.
Starting today, that will change. After I find them. And I will—I will refuse to entertain any other possibility.
The guard croons a low, unhappy melody, but they don’t try to stop me as I enclose myself in the airlock. It takes entirely too long for the systems maintaining the pressure to match that of the biodome’s, and then I’m barreling through the other side and into the world we made for Grace to thrive.
And it’s just as Adrian said. There’s no sign of them.
Something sad and fearful warbles out of me that I cannot contain, but I refuse to let it consume me. They’re here somewhere.
I decide to start at the house, regardless of the fact that it was surely where Adrian looked first. A few rapid-fire taps against the front door tell me all I need to know. No Grace. It hits me like a blow despite already knowing that they wouldn’t be here; on a normal day, they would be grading after finishing up teaching their pebbles. I would knock, just to be polite, and they’d tell me to come in without even bothering to check who it is. Because they always know it’s me.
But not today. The house is completely empty.
I tap two of my claws together, my body too full of nervous energy to stay still. Think. Think. Where else might they be?
The security team is surely getting a search party rounded up, and I should wait for them. Having more people to listen for our human means it’s less likely for them to slip through the cracks. But the thought of lingering and loitering while the seconds trickle past is agonizing.
No, I tell myself. No, I will not wait. Grace needs me. They’ve never let me down before, and I’m not about to let them down, either. And then, when they’re home and safe again, I’ll yell at them, which will be very satisfying for me and very unpleasant for Grace. But I cannot slow down until then.
This is a very good plan. Everyone else will catch up later, but I’m here now. Grace came for me when I needed them, when the taumoeba escaped its containers and devoured all of my fuel on the Blip-A, and now I’m coming for them.
Hold on, Grace.
I scramble my way back down the long, winding stairs leading to the beach. Their classroom is on the far end of the shore, and I head for it as fast as I can. Treading the sand is difficult; I didn’t realize just how cumbersome the small particles make it until right now, but I don’t let that stop me. The tiny rocks go flying as I plow through them as fast as I can.
Just like at the house, there’s no sign of them in their classroom. All of their equipment is exactly as they leave it whenever they’re done for the day, so that it’s ready for the next Earth morning.
No pebbles on the other side of the xenonite barrier. The entire space is completely barren of any sign of life; it’s a pitiful scene. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s waiting for something, or someone, to return. It’s a poignant thought, and does me no good, but I linger on it anyway as I tap frantically at the floor to get a clear image.
Pay attention. If there’s any sign of something amiss, surely it will be here. Grace’s class would have called for help if they hadn’t shown up, so they must have been here until very recently. There has to be some sort of hint to where they are that I just have not found. I am an engineer, not an investigator, but even I know that much.
Focus, I think to myself. Focus, focus, focus. Where…
There.
Draped over the back of the spinning chair at their desk is an article of clothing. Their favorite piece—their precious knitted cardigan, soft and slightly pilled from years of wear. I skitter across their floor to gather it up carefully, carefully, carefully in my unsteady claws.
For whatever reason, Grace has left some of their other garments behind, too. Their shirt and pants lie folded up neatly on the chair. And their glasses—those fragile, twin lenses of crystal they need in order to see. Their shoes and socks are on the floor under the desk. Why would they do something like this? It makes no sense. Eridians wear clothing too, of course, but it isn’t nearly as important for us as it is for humans. With their soft, squishy skin and their vulnerability to the elements, layers of protection are important. Even in a carefully-controlled environment like my human’s.
Either they shed them intentionally, for some reason I cannot comprehend, or someone else did. Which isn’t possible; with the airlock, there’s no way someone can simply slip in or out. Which means Grace must have left them behind on purpose. But why?
I recall reading about something called hypothermia. During one of Grace’s sleep-cycles on the long voyage home, I availed myself of the laptop, the portable Earth thinking machine, to study as many human diseases as I could. Grace mentioned that their health would worsen upon their arrival to Erid, and I was determined to do all I could to stop it. Familiarizing myself with human illnesses seemed like a good first step.
Of course, looking back now, I realize how foolish and naive I had been. There was nothing I could have done to reverse the effects of our Grace’s malnutrition. But I think, even if I had known then, I still would have tried.
Hypothermia is, according to the laptop, a human medical condition caused when someone’s core body temperature drops too low. There are several symptoms, such as mental fogginess and loss of coordination. But the one that stands out most to me now is referred to as paradoxical undressing: when the victim’s squishy brain, confused and slowly dying, senses extreme heat despite experiencing the exact opposite.
Humans run far colder than Eridians, and need much cooler temperatures to survive. But perhaps there’s something wrong with the climate systems in the biodome; maybe it’s too cold. Maybe Grace, with their soft, vulnerable brain and permeable body, thinks it’s too hot.
It makes the most sense. I cannot feel the temperature, not with my protective xenonite suit, and if the systems are too damaged, it’s possible they couldn’t even have sounded any warning before the disaster struck. My crystal mind is running a mile a minute, as the humans say, as I try to form a plan. If my theory is true, then I have to find Grace now, before they get any worse.
Behind me, there is a splash of water. There shouldn’t be; Grace is the only sentient thing that calls the biodome home. Their freezing, artificial ocean is completely sterile.
I hone in on the noise the second the soundwaves wash over me. Grace’s classroom is nestled in a cozy little bay surrounded by two headlands, where the water is almost in arm’s reach. The raised platform of their class is right on the shore. With the water so close, it takes me no time at all to find the source of the noise that shouldn’t be there.
I drop the cardigan immediately in horror, and it hits the floor with a soft sound muffled by the fibers it’s constructed from.
Out in the water, dressed down in just their flimsy undergarments, Grace reaches one hand above the water they’re submerged in to wave at me, as if there isn’t anything wrong.
“Rocky!” They grin at me, seemingly entirely unaware of the danger they’re in. “You’re early.”
I’m hurtling myself down the little beach not even a second later. “Grace! Grace! Do not move!”
Flailing only causes a drowning victim to sink faster; everyone knows this. It’s drilled into our minds from a very young age, the moment we are old enough to leave our homes and attend lectures. Death by water is one of our greatest fears—our bodies are simply too dense, and we have no buoyancy. We sink right to the bottom.
How Grace has managed to escape this fate when they’re so far from shore, I have no idea. A rare stroke of luck, for our human, who’s determined to look death in the eye far more than they ever should. I don’t have the luxury to ponder it now, though. Their good fortune is bound to finally run out soon enough, I have to find some way to haul them to shore before—
Much to my terror, Grace dips below the waves completely. I cannot stop myself when I shriek their name in fear, the same way I called to them to wake when our fishing trip went so disastrously wrong.
No! No, no, no. Things aren’t meant to happen this way. I fought too hard to bring them home, to Erid, to share this life with Adrian and I. All the danger was supposed to be behind us now, once the science team developed a source of food to keep them alive.
My base fear of water is not enough to stop me from plunging right into the surf. It’s supposedly cool, as per Grace’s wishes, but I’m immune to the freezing temperature as I search for our human. The waves aren’t strong enough to carry them away, Adrian and the others made sure of that, but if Grace was caught off-guard… It doesn’t take much to drown. It’s an easy death, and that’s why we fear it the most.
I’m not even deep enough to submerge myself entirely when I finally spot them. With the constant moving of the water, it’s difficult to find them or get a clear image—which was likely how I missed them the first time—but I catch a glimpse when they rise back to the surface, their head breaking through the tides first as they rise to stand in the shallows.
The motions they go through to return to the air is strange to see. Grace moves their limbs methodically, much the same way they used to when the Hail Mary was at zero gravity. It shouldn’t be possible. To tread water like that, to float in an environment that brings nothing but death, is something I can’t comprehend.
But they’re alive. Somehow, miraculously, wonderfully—they are alive. Beaming at me even, from where I stand with the ocean up halfway up my limbs and watch with incredulous fear. They make it the rest of the way towards me on foot as they haul themself out of the water, and run the palm of their hand down their face to clear away stray droplets.
“I thought I was gonna meet you at the house after Adrian and I were done,” they say, as if nothing at all had happened. “It’s your turn to pick the board game tonight—”
I wrap one xenonite-enclosed claw around their wrist when they’re finally close enough, and pull them away, safe towards shore while they yelp in surprise. I don’t use nearly as much force as I would if it were anyone else; our Grace, with their delicate bones and their tearable skin, is so fragile. They had bruises, bleeding under the skin, when I pulled them away from their broken pilot’s chair years ago when everything went wrong. Despite their assurances that it was fine, that they would heal, it haunted me for days.
But that still doesn’t mean I give them a chance to let go. To escape. Because our human seems to have a death wish, and I refuse to give even an ounce of slack, lest they throw themself back in the ocean like the fool that they are.
And to think, I can’t help but fume. To think, despite their fear of dying alone, stranded in space after our mission was done—to think, despite their fear of starvation—that they would do something so incredibly stupid! Everyone knows water means death. Everyone fears the deep. Everyone.
So why don’t they?
“Whoa, Rocky, buddy,” they say, as I drag them to the stoney beach. “What’s going on with you?”
What’s going on with me? As if I’m the idiot who’s determined to drown, and leave them behind! Once I’m sure they’re safe on solid ground once more, I let go to hiss at them, a wordless exclamation of irritation. The sound is one they’re more than familiar with; I throw it at them often, and they put their hands up reflexively in a display of the innocence they don’t have.
“You are what’s wrong,” I whistle at them. “What were you doing, submerging yourself in the water like that? Don’t you know how dangerous it is? If we had known you were going to try to drown yourself in the ocean we made for you, Adrian and I would never have agreed to designing it! What were you even thinking?”
Human biology is a strange thing. Even now, after all the years we’ve spent with our lives intertwined, it’s still foreign to me. Grace’s wet, gelatinous light-sensing organs, their eyes, widen as my song washes over them.
“Wait a minute, hang on. Rocky, what are you talking about? I’m not—I wasn’t drowning, buddy.”
“You were in the water!”
“Yeah, I was swimming. I read a study about how aquatic therapy can help with pain, and I thought I’d give it a shot after my class.” They squint their flimsy eyelids at me, to make their eyes seem narrow. “Did you really think I was drowning?”
I sing angrily at them, smacking one claw against the ground to get my feelings across better. “Of course I did! You were under the water. Stupid, annoying Grace. What else was I supposed to think?”
“Not that,” Grace responds, as if that’s supposed to sweep away the last several minutes. “You know what swimming is, bud. We’ve talked about it—we’ve watched Jaws—”
“Jaws is a bad movie,” I interrupt, because it is, and also because they’re trying to change the subject. “And I’ve never seen you swim before! How was I supposed to know what you were doing, when all I knew was that Adrian couldn’t find you, and you were out in the water…” My song trails off, discordant and sharp. Grace has gone quiet too, watching me with an almost Eridian stillness that is never a good sign when it’s them. “I thought you were dying.”
The weight of it is almost enough to crush me. I am so, so tired of almost losing our human. One day, I’m afraid I’ll be too slow, or too far away, and they’ll slip through my claws no matter how hard I try.
I know that I am fighting the inevitable; it’s only a matter of time before the years come to claim what is theirs. But I’m still determined to hold them back for as long as I can. The both of us know that, even if we refuse to, as Grace says, look it in the eye.
Grace’s soft and pliable face changes. It’s one thing I envy—their ability to change their appearance to help convey their emotions, even if Grace’s sad expression is one that never brings joy. Their mouth sags down into an unhappy frown, and their eyes go all creased in the corners as they furrow their brows.
“Aw, bud.” With a sigh, they lower themself into a crouch so that we’re closer to the same height. It’s awful on their knees, especially on the shore, but this time I hold back from calling them out on it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t swim much back on Earth, and then we were in space together, and it wasn’t like I was really up for it for a while after we made it home. Guess I can’t really blame you for freaking out—it probably looks pretty weird to you.”
Weird? It looked worse than weird. Before Grace brought us their knowledge of radiation and all of its impossible power, we feared drowning more than anything.
“Eridians cannot swim,” I remind them, with a small, low hum. “Our bodies aren’t built for it, and we sink. I thought that was happening to you.”
Grace runs their fingers through their hair and sighs long and heavy. “I should’ve figured. Here’s the deal—next time I take a dip, I’ll let you know beforehand. That way there’s no more confusion.”
“And Adrian.”
They start to echo me in agreement with a nod. “And Adri—wait, hold on. What time is it?”
When I tell them the hour, they start to make a dash for where the rest of their clothing sits at their desk. “Aw, fudge! I totally lost track of time. No wonder you were so panicked. Gimme a second to get dressed again, and I’ll head right over.”
I stamp one claw in the sand again with exaggerated irritation. “You have a watch! An Earth watch! We plan everything on human time. You don’t even need to convert anything to Eridian hours. How are you still forgetting?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Still damp from their swim, they pull their clothes over their body. My carapace isn’t nearly as sensitive as human skin, but I can still imagine that it can’t be comfortable.
“Don’t tell me sorry. It’s our mate that you scared!” And me, of course. But we’re moving past that now, I believe. Until I feel like bringing it up again. Which I will. Eventually. “And the entire security team. You can be the one to tell them to call off the search; it’s all your fault, anyway. They’re not going to like the idea of swimming any more than I do. They’ll probably insist that you need someone to watch you.”
Grace tries to appease me the entire way back to the house, but I think that’s just because they’re trying to talk me out of that idea. Too late; I’m already drawing on our thousands of hours’ worth of movie nights, and I recall things called lifeguards that sat up high on ladders, like babysitters specifically for water.
Grace will hate it, of course. Perfect. Maybe that’ll finally get our Grace to stop throwing themself into places they shouldn’t be.
(I doubt it’ll actually work, because stubbornness seems to be humanity’s second-strongest trait, but it’s worth a shot.)