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“Grace have sex, question?”
Grace almost spits out his mouthful of water. He then wishes he had when he ends up coughing for the better part of a full minute to expel it all from his lungs instead, Rocky tapping the barrier between them and chirping in concern all the while.
“Human body system soooo inefficient,” he grumbles for the nth time once Grace can breathe again, secure in the knowledge that he will survive this latest catastrophe. While Grace normally indulges—and even, to an extent, agrees with—his gripes, he has far more important things to focus on.
“Did you just ask if I have sex?” he asks, and it absolutely doesn’t come out as a squawk.
(Okay, it does, but who’s going to tell? He and Rocky are the only two intelligent life forms—that they know of, anyway—for millions upon trillions of miles, and Rocky has definitely seen worse sides of him than his voice cracking.)
“Yes,” Rocky replies, and then holds up a finger before Grace can do anything more than splutter in disbelief. “...Wait. Apology. Human language English confusing, did not include article. Rocky ask about biology, not ♪♪♫♩.”
Grace automatically looks toward the laptop at the unfamiliar word, then does a double-take of comical proportions. When did we add ‘copulation’ to the translator? he thinks wildly, and then narrows his eyes at Rocky. “Were you going through the dictionary on the laptop when I was sleeping? Again?”
“So much time to myself when Grace asleep,” Rocky says by way of answering. “Human thinking machine good good good for learning. Also, Grace not let Rocky say ‘fuck,’ must do it myself.”
“Oh my god.” On Ryland Grace’s list of accomplishments, right above seventh grade science teacher and below one-half of the duo who figured out how to save two planets from mass extinction events, will be introduced alien life to American-English vulgarity. His parents, whoever they are or were, would be so proud.
“No religious figures in space,” Rocky dismisses, and wow, when did he become such a comedian? “Now answer question.”
Grace squints suspiciously at Rocky over his glasses. “Why? We already went over human biology, I know you remember that.” Teaching a rock spider alien about the birds and the bees had gone over better than teaching an entire classroom of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds during their Reproductive Health module, but only marginally. Helping said alien distinguish between fact and wildly exaggerated fiction deep in the recesses of the internet circa 2023, on the other hand, has been a whole other beast—did Stratt really need to include every single iota of intellectual property on the planet on the laptops? Sure, having access to all of Wikipedia is nice, but on the other hand: Reddit. Tumblr. 4chan.
“Was very educational,” Rocky agrees. “Grace is good teacher.”
“Aw, thanks, pal.” Grace knocks an affectionate knuckle against the bit of xenonite closest to Rocky’s arm. Rocky taps back at him, the call-and-response between them long since instinctual. “But really, what’s with the sudden interest?” He taps on the barrier again, a quick one-two to accompany the question.
“Curiosity. Science. Also…” Rocky shifts his weight from one leg to another, a fully human tell of nerves that Grace is pretty sure he didn’t have when they first met. Eridian psychologists—assuming Eridians have psychologists—are going to have a field day with the two of them, each alone for so long until they had just each other, their own synthetic species of two. “Grace is important important important. Want to learn everything about Grace, want to learn everything about humans.”
“Rock…” Grace can’t help the upward quirk of his lips any more than the burn behind his eyes, and he presses his forehead against the hard xenonite, so, so achingly fond that he thinks he might burst with it. “All right, sure. Hit me with your best shot.”
“Ugh, Earth idiom! No hit Grace, human expressions so violent why,” Rocky complains, but the notes of his song are light, excited at the prospect of one of their cultural exchanges—to be fair, it’s been quite a while since the last, Grace reflects ruefully, and gets comfy himself. “Humans born one of two sex, yes, question?”
“Male or female, yep,” Grace confirms. He doesn’t bother with the minutiae of intersex people or other DSDs for now, although he’s sure that’ll be a rabbit hole for them to jump down another day.
“But sometimes decide sex is wrong and change, question?”
Ahh. During the initial Human Biology 101 crash course, Grace had wondered, with a distant sort of alarm, if and when this would ever come up. Barely two minutes in and he already feels, as he so often does, woefully inadequate as the de facto representative for human life.
“Okay.” Grace blows out an expansive puff of air, ignoring how Rocky shudders in exaggerated disgust. “I’m going to preface this by saying I am so far from an expert in this, okay? I took one gender studies class in college and it was an 8 A.M., I wouldn’t have remembered anything from it even if my memory wasn’t full of holes, and I’m a biologist but not that kind of biologist. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do my best, but my perspective here is incredibly limited and I’m really not the person to give this subject the nuance it deserves—”
“Grace is rambling,” Rocky cuts in, saving Grace from himself. “Too focus on not offend. No other humans around to offend—”
“Gee, thanks for the reminder—”
“Grace keep simple,” Rocky continues, trilling over Grace’s muttering without pause. “Explain as if Rocky five, like dumb humans request on thinking machine.”
“Introducing you to the internet was a mistake,” Grace groans.
“Incorrect, smartest decision Grace ever make. Explain now.”
Pretend it’s a classroom, Ryland. He swallows back the memory of the last time he saw his kids’ faces and tries again. “All right, all right. Yes, some people feel that the sex they were born as doesn’t match the way they feel on the inside, and so they take certain steps to change that. They alter the way they dress, the way they refer to themselves, and even get medical procedures done to change their bodies to fit with their internal identity.”
“Change outside to match self inside,” Rocky muses. “So complicated, being human. Eridians far superior, all have all same sets of reproductive organs. No multiple sex to choose from, no need to feel wrong in body.”
“Well, your sex isn’t something you necessarily choose, it’s biological, based on the different reproductive organs you’re born with. It’s different than gender identity, which—”
“Need word.”
“—if you’d hang on for two seconds, geeze,” Grace teases, and Rocky makes a noise that Grace mentally translates as a thhhhbpt. “Gender is more about self-representation, how you present yourself to others according to social norms and personal experience. Less physiological, more of a psychological concept. So, someone born with female reproductive organs might not feel like they align with the social and cultural views of being female, and decide they want to be referred to as a man instead, or vice versa. And some people feel like they don’t fit into either gender and don’t want to be referred to as male or female; we call them non-binary, and use gender-neutral pronouns for them, usually. Some even choose to use multiple sets of pronouns, and use them all interchangeably.” Grace knows there’s more, knows vaguely about neopronouns and the like—he’s a middle school teacher, he hears about these things—but honestly, he’ll leave that particular deep dive for Rocky to discover on his own.
“No have word for this concept,” Rocky says, and Grace huffs a laugh.
“I’d be surprised if you did.”
“Will create.” Rocky deliberates for a moment before warbling a series of staccato notes, and Grace obediently logs the new word for gender in the translation system. He peeks over at Rocky once he’s done, endeared by the way he’s holding himself expectantly, leaning toward Grace.
“What’s up, bud?”
“Use pronouns to convey sex or gender only, question?”
“For the most part, yeah, why?”
“Many sets of pronouns in Eridian languages,” Rocky informs, drumming his fingers on the ground. “Use for different social status, profession, place within family, community, not for individual identity or expression. More than 53 sets of pronouns in most prevalent language on Erid.”
Grace stares, and only closes his mouth when Rocky complains, “Eurgh, close mouth hole, no want hear mouth sounds, Grace disguuuust,” stomping one leg in a mini tantrum. “Yeah, that’s… that’s much different than English—than most Earth languages, I’m pretty sure.”
“No gender on Erid, evolve different sets of identifiers. But…” Here Rocky pauses, and the next series of taps he makes feels hesitant, almost timid. “Grace use same pronouns for Rocky as for Grace self, question?”
Well.
Whoops.
“That’s, uh…” Grace clears his throat, and Rocky doesn’t even pretend revulsion at the noise like he usually would. This, more than anything, tells him that this is the question Rocky had been working toward from the start of the conversation. “Listen, it was an arbitrary decision I made before I knew anything about you beyond ‘alien’ and ‘sentient,’ and maybe it wasn’t very conscientious of me but I wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity when we met, and I just…” Grace ruffles a hand through his hair, scratches awkwardly at the nape of his neck. “I defaulted to thinking of you as a ‘he,’ same as me. Sorry.”
Rocky, uncharacteristically still throughout Grace’s winding explanation, sings a single note of confusion. “Why Grace apologize, question?”
Grace blinks his own perplexity back at him. “Well, I sort of… assigned you a gender? Without asking? I mean, you guys don’t even have genders, or different sexes, and I just assumed—”
“Grace say some humans decide gender,” Rocky interrupts.
“Sure, but not other people’s genders—”
Rocky trumpets, a loud honking sound that never fails to startle him, and his mouth snaps shut with a loud click. “Grace being stupid. Not bad assumption to make, need way of referring to Rocky. Make sense.”
“And you’re not… upset?” he checks. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing this—some leftover vestige of societal propriety, perhaps, or maybe his brain just can’t accept that he really didn’t make some sort of egregious faux pas during that initial phase of first contact.
(It occurs to Ryland, somewhat belatedly, that he has had two—three, if he counts the Taumoeba, not to mention the entire ecosystem of bacteria swirling above planet Adrian—instances of first contact with an alien species, and if he weren’t already sitting down and leaning against the xenonite barrier bisecting the Mary’s dormitory, he’s pretty sure he’d fall over. He just might fall over anyway. Jiminy Christmas, he’s a middle school teacher.)
Rocky turns one facet of his carapace toward Grace, deliberate, and he doesn’t have eyes or even a face but Grace can feel the judgment of his nonexistent deadpan stare anyway.
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to look at me like that—”
“Rocky not looking at Grace. Rocky no have visual receptors, Rocky say to Grace many time—”
“You know what I mean,” Grace huffs.
“Yes, obvious. Always understand Grace, even when Grace being dumb.”
“I didn’t want to overstep!” Grace protests, and Rocky wiggles his entire body in annoyance.
“Rocky change mind,” he says, clicking his claws in a way that equates to a human eye-roll. “Rocky upset. How dare Grace, most offensive thing Grace ever do, Rocky never never never forgive—”
“You’re so dramatic,” Grace says with an eye roll of his own. He reaches a foot out to nudge against the xenonite, and Rocky flails back as if burned.
“Now Grace KICK Rocky!” he wails in notes like a violin’s screeching, slumping to the floor. “Grace deserve jail, jail for one thousand Earth years!”
“I’ll get right on that,” Grace promises. “Are you done?”
“Grace have no appreciation for Rocky performance,” Rocky grumbles, but he rights himself all the same. “Even display knowledge of Earth humor for Grace benefit, but no receive thanks. Grace hate Rocky.”
“Memes aren’t exactly what I would call peak Earth humor.”
“Grace have bad sense of humor. Not best judge.”
“Ouch.” But he smiles, and Rocky chirps his high-pitched laugh, and lightness fizzles in Grace’s chest like an exploding star.
It’s only when Rocky’s soft “Grace” breaks the comfortable silence between them that Ryland realizes his eyes have fallen shut. “Yeah, bud?”
“Rocky choose gender,” he says.
Grace feels his eyebrows raise all the way up his forehead. “You sure? Because you really don’t have to. I know the concept is, well, alien to you, I could just start using gender-neutral pronouns if you’re not—”
“Grace say can choose gender, base on personal experience,” Rocky says. He hunkers down slightly, limbs curling into himself the tiniest bit. His voice when he speaks next is soft, mournful. “Rocky spend 46 Earth years alone. No crew, nobody to talk to except Rocky self. Rocky start to lose identity.”
Grace’s throat gets tight. Rocky doesn’t often bring up what it was like, those many years by himself in space, but whenever he does, Ryland’s heart breaks all over again from the pain of it. Rocky likes to argue that Grace’s situation was worse—forced into a years-long sleep with no one to watch and forgetting literally everything about who he is are, according to him, the stuff of an Eridian’s worst nightmare—but to Grace, who only really experienced the pure misery of loneliness and missing someone during those long weeks when he and Rocky had been separated, the ordeal Rocky had gone through seemed infinitely worse. He crushes his fingers against the barrier, wishing it didn’t have to stand between them, that he could press divots into the hardness of Rocky’s carapace, imprint the whorls of his fingerprints in a mimicry of the mark Rocky’s sacrifice had burned into his own skin.
“But then Hail Mary Grace appear,” Rocky continues, breaking into Grace’s maudlin train of thought. “Grace not know Rocky intention, Grace not even know own self, but Grace decide respond to Rocky, figure out communicate, help Rocky. Grace teach Rocky about relativity, radiation, help Rocky understand what happen to crew, give closure. Grace Rocky talk, share culture, experience, life. Grace give Rocky identity again.
“Then Grace save Rocky—”
“You saved me first,” Grace murmurs, and Rocky croons at him, tenderness layered with impatience at the interruption.
“Grace save Rocky,” he repeats. “Again and again. Grace turn back for Rocky after Taumoeba leak. Grace give up Earth to save Erid, to save Rocky, at great great great risk to self. Grace… Grace is ♫♩♩♪♫♪.”
Grace is a leaky mess, is what he is. He tears his glasses off and wicks the tears from his eyes, doing his best to muffle his sniffles into the shoulder of his shirt. “Need, uh.” He tries to clear his throat again, with minimal success. “Need word.”
“♫♩♩♪♫♪,” Rocky repeats, and the sound of it is beautiful, tinkling and light. “Is… hm. Difficult to translate. Closest is… purpose. Person who give reason. Grace ♫♩♩♪♫♪ for Rocky. Is best friend, closest companion. Most most most important. Rocky want to share everything with Grace, Rocky identity tied to Grace. So Rocky choose same gender, share this part of Grace identity with Rocky. Is… is okay, question?”
Oh. Grace laughs a little, and if it’s in an attempt to cover up the sob clawing its way out of his throat, well… he’s pretty sure Rocky can hear it anyway, but it's the principle of the thing. “Of course,” he says, hoarse. “Of course it’s okay, Rock.”
Rocky perks up and trills, the notes bright, effervescent. “Grace Rocky match! Is good good good.”
“Is good, yeah.” The weight of Rocky’s care for him, his genuine devotion, smothers him, fills him from the inside out with its comforting warmth. “I, uh… me too, you know. You, for me.”
Incredible. Astounding grasp of the English language. Good job, Ryland.
Rocky presses a hand against the xenonite. “Rocky already know this, is obvious. Grace no have to say. But is nice to hear anyway.”
“Yeah.” Grace matches his hand to Rocky’s, imagines grasping his claws, never letting go. “It sure is.”