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BLUETOOTH
My name is Rocky. I’m an Eridian. I’m an engineer; I’m good at fixing things. I was part of a space mission to save my planet. I have a human.
If I had to go to one of those human work meetings to build team spirit—the kind Grace has told me about with shivers—that’s how I’d introduce myself. Grace wouldn’t really agree with the use of the verb “have,” but that’s the expression we Eridians use to talk about those people who are so important that they’re part of who we are. Rocky has Adrian. Rocky has Grace. But, if I had to introduce myself, I think it would be better to say that I have a human. It would make more of an impact.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to test my theory. Most likely, I won’t have to introduce myself anywhere ever again. I went into space and saved the world. As if that weren’t enough to secure lifelong fame, I brought an alien back with me. I’m the first Eridian to make contact with an intelligent alien—and also the first to befriend one. I’m the biggest celebrity on the planet. You can’t get any higher than that.
I’m being sarcastic. I don’t like people thinking I did something incredible or amaze. I did something hard, difficult, and necessary. I spent 46 Earth years in orbit around a star 10 light-years from Erid, but it wasn’t heroic or exciting. It was sad and lonely. And then I met Grace. Grace is a strange alien to most Eridians, but to me he is… Grace. Grace found me and found a solution for both our planets. And then he gave up returning to his home planet to save me and Erid. I didn’t bring him with me; he brought me here. He’s my best, best, best friend. There are no words in my language or his to express what he means to me. Grace is the most special and wonderful being in the entire universe.
I love, love, love Grace. I love him so much that sometimes it’s scary. During those first days on Erid, when Grace was so weak and sick that he could barely walk, one of the engineers who was present during his transfer told me with honest wonder that he didn’t understand how I could stand being so close to such a disgusting being. That idiot, idiot, idiot ended up needing medical attention. When I say it’s scary sometimes, I’m talking about other people. I’m perfectly comfortable with the way I love my Grace.
I’m kidding. Grace always says I’m a goofball. That incident did happen, but the circumstances were extreme. Grace was in really bad shape, and I was under a lot of stress. Nowadays, I don’t go around attacking people for their opinions about Grace—I just use strong language. No one’s afraid of me. Grace thinks I’m the least intimidating Eridian he’s ever seen. Some Eridians scare him—Dr. Frankenstein terrifies him—but he’s never found me scary. Perks of being clumsy and a bit silly.
I apologize; I’m getting off topic. I’m not good at telling stories. Adrian weaves wonderful tales with its voice, but I’m only good at fixing things. But I want to tell a story about Grace. I want to start telling lots of stories about Grace. I’ll never forget everything I’ve lived with him, but I want future generations to know what he was like. I don’t want Erid’s collective memory to be just that of a savior alien. Grace is so much more than that.
Originally, Grace’s mission was a one-way trip. Humans hadn’t had much time to prepare for it, because Earth had only a few years left before it became uninhabitable, and they hadn’t been able to produce enough astrophage to provide sufficient fuel for the return trip. When I met Grace, he believed that, once he completed the mission, he would die in space, alone. He didn’t tell me right away; it took him weeks to confess the true nature of his mission to me. Due to a miscalculation stemming from our lack of understanding of what Grace calls “relativity,” I had several million kilograms of astrophage to spare, so, naturally, I offered to give him as much fuel as he needed to return home.
It wasn’t until then that I realized Grace had always been sad, simply because I had never known his happy version. Ever since I offered him my spare astrophage—and with them, the chance to keep living and return home—Grace was happy all the time. How do I know, question? Well, for starters, he held his body straighter and moved faster. Furthermore, he hummed and whistled—something he’d never done before—and it sounded like the babbling of a newborn Eridian pebble. And most importantly: he never stopped smiling. He smiled all, all, all the time.
Smiling is curving the orifice that humans use for speaking and eating upward, and it expresses joy. To be honest, at first, that gesture that came so naturally to Grace when he was happy made me uneasy. His mouth, with all that moisture, didn’t really appeal to me in general, and I didn’t find it pleasant to hear so clearly the bones protruding from his internal skeleton that he uses to chew his food. I also found it strange how his smiles changed the appearance of his face. When his mouth stretches, his cheeks and the area around his eyes fill with creases, and it was… strange. His face looked different when he smiled, and it took me a while to get used to it. But I did. And now I love, love, love his smiles. They mean that Grace is happy, and for me, there’s nothing more important than that.
Grace sacrificed himself to save Erid. He had been happy, thinking he’d return to Earth, and a little sad when we said goodbye, but mostly happy because he could go home. But there was a problem. The nitrogen-resistant Taumoebas we’d bred had also developed resistance to xenonite, and they began escaping from their breeding tanks on his ship and on mine. Grace is smart, smart, smart, and he was able to solve the problem quickly. But he realized that my entire ship was made of xenonite, and that I’m not a smart scientist like him. He figured I’d be in trouble. He was right. Within a few days, I had run out of fuel and was adrift. Luckily, my friend Grace decided to come back to save me. He sent probes to Earth carrying the Taumoebas and all the information needed to save Sol, and then he came back for me.
No matter how hard I tried, I could never describe what I felt when I heard him calling me from outside my ship. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved Grace in that moment.
The seer happiness I felt didn’t last long. Grace hadn’t just been out of fuel; he hadn’t had much food left either. When we completed the mission and prepared to return to our planets, he had just enough left for the trip back to Earth. That meant that if, instead of going home, he rescued me and took me to Erid, he’d have food for the trip but would run out soon afterward. He’d already experimented with Eridian food and found that it contained heavy metals that are deadly to him. The moment he didn’t have human food, he would starve to death. He knew this, and yet he chose to save me. Of course, I refused to accept it. Grace was my best, best, best friend; he couldn’t die. We found a temporary solution—eating Taumoebas—and I promised him that the science Eridians would find a way to feed him.
Everyone knows this story, and everyone knows it has a happy ending. We both made it to Erid, and the doctors and biologists managed to create food for him and keep him alive. What most people don’t know is how difficult it was, and how much Grace suffered. For a long time, he could only eat Taumoebas, which provided calories but lacked virtually all the vitamins and minerals his body needed to function properly. Luckily, even though his body seems so soft and fragile, Grace is much tougher than he looks. Any Eridian in his situation would have died. But he fought, fought, fought to keep living, and I will always be grateful to him for that. If I had lost him… I’ll just say that, back then, even though I had my wonderful Adrian by my side again, I felt that if Grace didn’t make it, I wouldn’t survive either.
It was hard, hard, hard. The lack of nutrients and vitamins caused him to develop several human diseases, and Grace was always weak and in pain. One of the diseases was especially nasty, but Grace tried to stay positive. He called it pirate disease, and he thought that having it made him a pirate, and that was cool. Apparently, pirates were humans who traveled in ships across Earth’s oceans, boarding other ships to steal, so I’d tell him I didn’t understand why he’d want to be one, and he’d just laugh and say that almost all human children dream of being pirates, and that he’d been no exception. Pirates might be appealing to humans, but their illness certainly wasn’t. Grace’s mouth bled and bled, and one day, suddenly, one of the bones in his mouth loosened and began to wobble. Grace pinched it between two trembling fingers, gave it a little tug, and the tooth came out without a fight. It lay in the palm of his hand, in the middle of a small pool of blood, and Grace stared at it for two long Earth minutes, lost in thought.
“Grace, question?” I called. My voice came out shaky.
Grace looked up.
“It’s okay, Rock. I’ll put it under my pillow in case the tooth fairy comes,” he said, making something with his face that resembled a smile but which was wet and wrong, wrong, wrong.
Then another tooth fell out, and then another. Three teeth in total. Grace was very upset, but he was trying to hide it. He jokingly mentioned that tooth fairy thing several more times, so I looked it up on my thinking machine. Originally, the machine was meant for the science Eridians, so that Erid would have access to all of Earth’s knowledge, but now they have the entire Hail Mary at their disposal, with all its thinking machines, so I kept the one Grace gave me. I discovered that the Tooth Fairy was a made-up magical being that collected the provisional teeth of human children when they fell out.
When Grace lost his third tooth, I placed a xenonite figurine under his pillow while I watched him sleep. I’d tried to make a pirate like the ones in the images on the thinking machine— a human with one eye covered, a winged creature on his shoulder, and a stick where one of his legs should be. When he woke up and found it, Grace leaked for more than five Earth minutes, and told me I was the best friend that has ever existed in the entire history of Earth and Erid. But he didn’t smile. He hadn’t done that since the first tooth fell out.
Grace’s condition worsened after that. The doctors decided to put him into a medically induced coma to help his body heal.
Back then, all I wanted was for him to wake up and smile again.
Grace woke up. The scientists had managed to synthesize vitamins, and Grace took them mixed into liquids and purées. He recovered very slowly, but he did recover. He never got to be as strong and healthy as he would be on Earth, because Erid has twice the gravity of his home planet, and that affects his bones and internal organs. But he’s as well as he can possibly be here, and we’re both learning to accept that. He’s handling it much better than I am; he seems content with his new life in the biodome that Adrian designed for him. As for me, selfishly, I am happy, happy, happy that he’s here—if he’d gone back to Earth, I would never have seen him again, and that is inconceivable now—but I’ll never forgive myself for the fact that Grace has to live in less-than-ideal conditions because of me.
The illnesses he suffered have also left their mark on his body. His mouth is full of gaps where his teeth used to be. Grace uses them to eat, and when scientists are able to prepare solid food for him, he will have difficulty chewing it. He also uses them when he speaks, to produce certain sounds, and sometimes his words sound strange. He used to show them when he smiled, but now he smiles much less. When he does, he puts a hand over his mouth, as if he were embarrassed and wanted to hide the fact that he’s missing teeth. He forgets that we Eridians can hear his mouth anyway, and that I always hear his broken smile. It fills me with guilt. It makes me sad, because I know Grace doesn’t like his own smile anymore. And Grace has to smile, smile, smile. He has to be happy.
I’ve decided I’m going to fix it. I’m going to fix Grace's smile.
I do some research on my thinking machine. Humans have doctors who specialize in the bones of the mouth—they’re called dentists. Some humans lose all their teeth, and dentists make them dentures that stick to their mouths with a special glue. But Grace hasn’t lost all his teeth. In those cases, dentists make fake teeth called prostheses and place them in the gaps. There are some dentures that can be taken out and put back in, but their images make my carapace wrinkle, so I’m going with permanent implants. I think Grace will find them more comfortable, even if it requires a minor procedure. I’m sure Dr. Frankenstein will be delighted to have a new project, and the teeth should be easy to make. I remember perfectly well what Grace’s lost teeth sounded like, so I can make replicas for him.
Adrian helps me with samples of different minerals, and in the end we choose a type of rock with a hardness, density, and texture similar to what I think Grace’s teeth are like, and I get to work. It doesn’t take me long.
I’m excited. I have three teeth for Grace, to replace the ones he lost because of pirate disease. Once they’re in place, his teeth will be just like they used to be, and Grace will smile again.
I arrive at the biodome a little earlier than usual, and when I reach Grace’s house, I knock three times on the door and then go inside without waiting for him to come and open it.
“Rocky is here!” I announce in an unintentionally high-pitched voice; I’ve never been good at controlling my emotions.
“Good morning!” Grace’s voice greets me. He’s in the bathroom, and his voice sounds muffled and wetter than it usually is, so I figure he’s brushing his teeth. Very fitting.
“Rocky got surprise!” I sing happily.
“A surprise?”
Grace comes out of the bathroom and approaches me. As always, he greets me with three taps on my xenonite suit.
“Is gift,” I tell him, stretching out my carapace. I’m hiding it between the two hands farthest from Grace; I know the light doesn’t pass through my body, and that he can’t see what I’m holding in them.
“Aaaw, Rock. You’re spoiling me,” he says. “I feel like I'm a bad friend. You shower me with gifts, and I never have anything to give you in return.”
“Grace friend, but Grace stupid. Grace has already given everything to Rocky,” I say quickly, almost impatiently. I could spend my whole life giving him gifts, and I’d never be able to repay him for everything he’s done for me. Doing things for him is the least I can do, and I’d do it anyway, even if I didn’t owe him anything. He’s my best, best, best friend.
“And Rocky to Grace,” he says, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching them.
“Not everything. Have not given new gift yet.”
Grace hides his face behind his hand and laughs.
“You’re right. What is it?”
“Rocky is tooth fairy!” I announce, lifting my carapace.
Grace snorts sharply through his nose.
“Um, okay, I think you didn’t quite get…” Grace trails off, because suddenly I turn around and show him what I’m holding in my hands.
Grace stares intently at the teeth I’ve made for him. For a few moments that feel like an eternity, he says nothing. Then:
“Are those… Are those teeth?” he says, in a neutral tone of voice that I have trouble interpreting.
“New teeth for Grace!” I confirm. “To fill in the gaps in mouth and fix smile.”
Grace blinks once, twice, three times. And then he bursts out laughing. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and starts leaking through his eyes.
“Not understand reaction,” I say, confused and, admittedly, a little offended. “Grace happy or Grace not happy, question?”
“Oh, Rocky,” Grace says, wiping his eyes and trying to take a deep breath. “Rocky, it’s… It’s a lovely gesture. Amaze. Truly. But…” Grace starts laughing again, and this time he doesn’t even bother to cover his mouth. “The thing is, human teeth are a very specific color.”
“Oh.” I listen intently to the three sodalite teeth I’ve crafted so carefully. To me, they seemed like perfect replicas, but of course, it hadn’t occurred to me that bones might have a particular color. “Understand.”
“But I love the idea,” Grace hastens to say, placing his two hands on my xenonite suit. “Seriously. Thank, thank, thank. It’s such a thoughtful gift. Are they permanent implants?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Researched options on thinking machine. This one seemed best.”
“Good choice,” Grace nods.
“Dr. Frankenstein want to screw teeth into Grace’s mouth,” I inform him, and Grace shudders.
“Yes, that’s how they work.”
“Why Grace not like Dr. Frankenstein, question?” I ask.
Grace snorts.
“I’ve got nothing against it. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that I’ve never liked doctors. Not even human ones.”
“If Dr. Frankenstein knew Grace named it after monster from human story, it would not like Grace either.”
“But Rocky is a good friend and he’d never tell it,” Grace says. There are wrinkles around his eyes. “It’s green with cracks on its carapace. And besides, Frankenstein is actually the human doctor in the story. It’s not a bad name.”
I don’t really agree. Grace has told me the story. In my opinion, that human doctor is much worse than the monster.
“Did it take you a long time to make the teeth?” Grace asks me gently.
I knock two of my fists.
“No. Easy, easy, easy work.”
“Maybe… Hmm. How about you show me the materials, and I’ll tell you which ones are closest in color to my teeth?”
I feel joy and relief.
“Yes, yes, yes, good plan. But teeth can’t just be the same color. Must have same hardness and density as original teeth. Need to work well.”
“We’ll keep that in mind, too,” says Grace. He seems happy. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best, best, best friend in the entire history of best friends?”
I trill happily. Grace looks at me with an expression that seems to be brimming with affection, although it’s sometimes hard to keep up with all the subtle changes on his face. Grace is too expressive. He’s always moving his facial muscles.
But yes, I guess right. He feels affection, because he wraps himself around my xenonite suit in what humans call a hug, and I press myself against the barrier separating us and emit a few soft notes. Grace sits up, slowly, and pats my xenonite suit. Then he looks back at the wrong-colored teeth. He is pensive for a while, and then raises an eyebrow. His lips tremble as if they want to smile. He lets out a little chuckle. It seems something amuses him.
“You know what? On second thought, I think I’ll keep one of these. We can redo the other two.”
“But is not the right color.”
“No… and yes.” He laughs. “It’s great, actually. They’re blue,” he says, as if that explains everything. “I could have a blue tooth! Bluetooth!”
Grace seems excited, but I…
“Not understand.”
“It’s a human thing. Trust me. I’m going to be the coolest human in all of Erid.”
If I had eyes like Grace’s, I’d roll them upward like he does when he thinks something is ridiculous. Since I’m an Eridian, I move my carapace from side to side and click the fingers of one hand three times. Grace covers his mouth and laughs.
Human teeth, like their bones, are a color that Grace calls white—a color that reflects every shade of the spectrum visible to humans. We’ve decided to remake his teeth with zirconium; apparently, it’s a material used by humans who make dental prosthetics. The white color comes out a little translucent, according to Grace, but we dye the fake teeth until he gives the thumbs-up.
I’ve now crafted two nearly perfect replicas of Grace’s lost teeth. Just two. Grace insists on keeping a sodalite incisor, which will go between his central incisor and his upper left canine.
When everything is ready, the robot Armando injects Grace with a local anesthetic for his mouth, and Dr. Frankenstein implants his new teeth. Grace isn’t a very good patient, but he endures the procedure as stoically as he can: he just repeats several times that he’s even more afraid of dentists than he is of doctors, and then tries to speak in the middle of the operation with his mouth wide open and numb, and he only produces gibberish. He doesn’t seem too scared, though, so I hold his hand, just in case, and let Dr. Frankenstein continue.
The new teeth fit perfectly. Grace’s mouth sounds just as I remember it.
Grace is delighted. He smiles, smiles, smiles. He spends time showing off his teeth to his mirror—a reflective surface in which he can see himself—and laughs.
“I’ve got built-in Bluetooth,” he says with the widest smile he can manage. Or, simply: “Look, Rocky, I’m Bluetooth!”
I can’t really notice his blue tooth, of course. To me, it sounds practically the same as all the others. At first, I thought Grace liked having a blue tooth because, from what he’s told me, Earth and Erid look blue when viewed from space. That seems like a very good reason to me to want to wear things of that color. But Grace’s reason is different.
Grace finds it funny because Bluetooth is the name of a technology from Earth that allows humans to connect electronic devices to transfer information without wires. And, in turn, that technology is named after a famous Viking king named Bluetooth, and according to Grace, Vikings were just as cool as pirates—or even cooler—and now he feels like a pirate and a Viking at the same time, which is incredibly cool. The Vikings were a group of human people known for being fierce warriors that ravaged and plundered other groups of people, so I still don’t quite understand why those things are appealing to Grace, who is kind, funny, generous and totally harmless.
But that’s just Grace. The smallest, most unexpected things make him happy. And if Grace is happy, I’m happy. I think he is. I hear his smile all the time. I don’t hear it the way he sees it—I can’t see the blue tooth that, according to him, makes it so special—but even so, it’s my favorite thing in the world. It’s always been special to me.
“My kids would think I’m the coolest teacher,” Grace tells me. “They’d definitely call me Bluetooth. Kids always give teachers nicknames—it’s inevitable—and I’d have the best one. I’d be the envy of the entire faculty.”
“Wish other humans could see Grace new smile. Eridians not appreciate,” I reply.
“Bah, I can see it, and that’s enough. Other adult humans would think I’m weird.”
“Other adult humans wrong. Grace not weird. Grace special.”
Grace tosses his head back and laughs.
“You really are special, Rock. And I mean it in a good way.”
“Special is good word. There is not bad way.”
“No. You’re right,” he tells me, smiling gently at me.
I listen closely to his smile until it gradually fades away. I’ve known for a long time that the next engraving I make on my carapace will have something to do with Grace. There will probably be more than one, because nothing more important than meeting Grace has ever happened to me—nor ever will.
I decide that one of them will be a small sodalite embedding, and another will be the exact, exact, exact curve of his smile.