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Several months into our journey, I begin itching. Not physically – I mean, that does happen sometimes, but I’m talking about mental itching. The kind where you know you want to do something, maybe even something specific, but lack the means to do so. Back on Earth, the aforementioned “means” would be time, or money, or space. But here, between star systems, I have nothing if not time. Money is irrelevant now, because I’m not on Earth, and space… well, there’s lots of it outside, but I can’t really use it as anything other than an incredibly risky sensory deprivation tank. I just don’t have the one thing needed for my specific itch: a student.
Gentle trills float into my consciousness, lifting me from sleep; the sound schools around me like fish, my own little murmuration of waves blanketing me.
“Is morning. Grace awake, statement.”
“M’awake.”
Today feels like a Tuesday. A Tuesday where you accidentally lie in, waking up minutes before your first lesson starts, and you pay for an Uber because it’s cheaper than the speeding ticket. And you arrive at work, and as an apology to your first-period students, you do an experiment.
Hm.
“Grace spend too long thinking. Is past breakfast time now. Rocky watch Grace sleep so long that Rocky concerned for Grace delicate digestive organ. Alive, question?”
“I’m up, I’m up,” I mumble, savouring my last roll-over for the day. Then, with a surprising amount of energy considering I haven’t eaten or had my coffee, I get out of bed rather than fall from it.
“Grace very not clumsy today. What is happening, question?”
“Shush, you,” I respond, my small smile turning into a grin the longer I think about my plan. “And, we’re doing an experiment.”
We’ve done literally everything I can think of.
Eridians and Humans have very different wares, owing to the fact that, of course, we have very different component materials, given that Eridians have figured out how to un-noble their gases. That, and two very different cultures will, of course, want to make very different things.
There aren’t many experiments you can do on a spaceship with limited resources. There’s the experiments the lab was outfitted for – the type where you find information, or – even better – stuff, and dissect it both metaphorically and literally until you understand every aspect of it. But you can’t really do experiments when your only resources are actual, real, planet-saving alien amoebas.
I could experiment on Rocky. I’m sure Rocky would let me experiment on Rocky. I’m also sure I’d let Rocky experiment on me, if he asked nicely. But experimenting on each other in a physical sense is kind of useless when I’ve got six copies of the entirety of human knowledge, and Rocky’s gonna take me to Erid, where there’ll be thousands, possibly millions of Eridian-focussed doctors that I can direct my questions to. So we either go psychological – a bad idea, considering there is absolutely no control for either of us – or behavioural. That one’s a little easier.
I’ve gone through the lab’s drawers about eight times since I found the googly eyes. I’m still convinced the lab is hiding something from me, and I’ll either find it in a blaze of glory or the Eridians who inevitably come to check out the Hail Mary will find everything and ask about my uncatalogued items. That’s beside the point, though – the point is, I’ve been through the lab drawers, so I can remember most of what’s there. I also know that Rocky won’t have a lot of this stuff on Erid, because they simply have different resources.
We tried cling film (which Rocky could only observe), three different types of rubber (two of which, again, Rocky couldn’t interact with), various metals and plastics, a selection of glass items, and an old thermometer which still uses mercury. Rocky was particularly- well, I wouldn’t say enthralled, because he seemed kind of freaked out, but intrigued might be a better fit. Interested, but only in the way I’d be interested in a broken leg – a morbid, anti-social curiosity.
I’ve honestly given up – there’s not enough stuff here. I know we were packing lightly – I know I oversaw quite a lot of it, actually, though I don’t have all of the memories themselves – but come on, why didn’t we put some things on this ship? Spare fabric? A bobblehead? Pokémon cards?
My train of thought is interrupted by a reflection. A bright white reflection, light bouncing off of something with hundreds of surfaces that I can easily see.
Foil.
“Hey, Rock,” I call out. I don’t need to. He’s standing opposite me still, sitting in his ball and tapping his claws as he tries to get a better read of what I’m looking at. I call out to him a lot anyway, because it’s something you do when you’re trying to get someone’s attention.
“Listening.”
“What do you think of this?” Walking over to the drawer, I open it, unroll some of the tinfoil, and break it off from the rest. This is quite possibly the largest roll of foil I’ve ever seen – it’s like it belongs in a kebab shop that only does takeout. Rocky immediately stops his clicking, and just stares at it. When he speaks, he speaks slow and quiet.
“Is strange,” he begins, pausing – he’s doing that thing with his hands which means he’s looking for the right words. “Amplifies everything. Like human music-playing device. Bring it closer, question?”
I do as I’m asked, bringing the tinfoil over to Rocky. I go slowly, and try not to crinkle it, but that’s impossible with tinfoil; he rearranges himself every time its structure changes, and it’s then that what he’s trying to say hits me.
“It amplifies your echolocation.” He nods at me minutely, readjusting to the foil again and again.
“Is like Eridian amplifying device, but much stronger. We use items with lots of surface area for help with sensing if Eridian has hearing problem, like Earth hearing aid, or Grace glasses. This much more sensitive.” The closer I get to Rocky, the less he moves, until he’s almost completely still. He stops clicking, able to get a good read solely using his voice – something which, I have learned, is a very strange sensation to an Eridian, akin to having eyes so well-adjusted to the dark that you can see perfectly well in a pitch-black room.
I try to breathe lightly, and when I speak, it’s nothing more than the ghost of a sentence, a gentle breeze in a storm.
“Do you want me to come closer?”
I’m practically up against the ball, but if closer is what he wants, closer is what I’ll make sure he gets.
“Not closer,” he murmurs, though I can sense a ‘but’. “Rocky have strange request.”
“Shoot.”
“Wrap Rocky ball in this.”
Okay, so, apparently, Eridians both love and hate tinfoil. Or, maybe it’s just Rocky, who has been oscillating between singing to himself and staying still as a deer watching a hunter load their gun. I wrapped the entire ball in the stuff. It reflects light, sure, but apparently its surface’s crinkly nature is perfect for reflecting sound as well. I tell him that people use it to wrap food up for later consumption, and he whistles before jumping about three feet into the air – no small feat, when he’s barely even half that height.
Out of curiosity, I boot up the translator again. I have it off sometimes – Rocky’s teaching me proper Eridian instead of the pidgin he’s apparently been using for me for the past however-long-we’ve-known-each-other. Normally, I either turn it off completely or leave it in the control room, with the text-translation working but without the voice. But now, all I can hear from Rocky is an amalgamation of language and song, both so deeply intertwined with his being that I can’t decipher one from the other. He sounds almost… flighty.
“Strange strange strange strange strange,” the translation machine says, wasting no time once I boot it up. “Echo echo echo of self self self self self self self self all Rocky can hear is self self breathing self thinking self living weird weird weird almost uncomfortable but nice like thrum like big caves like ♬♫♪♫ losing self to world but world losing world to self-”
“Woah-ho-ho, you okay in there, Rock?” He sounds like a college kid attending a festival for the first time, who also happened to have accidentally taken MDMA. Not that I’d know. “Are you- are you alright?”
“Overwhelm,” is the reply I get, and I think I understand. Slowly, as quietly as I can, I move back towards Rocky, and start peeling the tinfoil away from him.
“LOUD.”
“Yeah, Rock, I know, I’m sorry,” I coo. Coo? Since when did I coo?
“Thank thank thank. Is overwhelm, need remove.”
“Yeah, I gotcha.”
Carefully, I remove the foil, working as fast as I can without just straight-up scrunching the foil up. I can’t imagine that’d be pleasant for a guy whose entire perception is based around sound.
If it’s possible, Rocky makes a whoosh sound once he’s free. Then, a little laugh, breathy and short, like the type you hear sometimes when someone gets off a rollercoaster.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” Rocky confirms, quiet before he readjusts to his (lack of) surroundings. “Was very fun, but also very.” I hum in agreement, knowing exactly what he means; there are some people on Earth who do this kind of thing for fun. Not wrapping themselves in tinfoil, but, like, seeking experiences. Having times which aren’t fun and aren’t not fun. Which can be overwhelming in both a good and bad way. The only difference between the two is whether or not they have control over when it stops.
“You’re okay now though?”
“Yes. Grace so worry. Grace has put translator on again because Grace so worry. Rocky is okay, statement.”
I hum, and we sit in silence together. The lab is quiet; no machines whir in the background, there is no humming of panel screens. The only sounds Rocky can hear are those he or I make. I sometimes wish I could control my internal processes, if only to make it a little easier on him.
“Was nice,” Rocky warbles eventually, breaching the silence like a wave upon sand.
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t do it often though.”
“Like clubbing.”
“Human weaponry, question?”
“What? Oh, no, uh- clubbing is- it’s an activity. Loud sounds, lots of people, flashing lights. Fun when you’re young, but you wouldn’t want to do it every day, y’know?”
“Hm.”
“You usually get a hangover afterwards, too.”
“...Like clubbing non-weaponry, statement.”