Chapter Text
It’s been approximately six Earth months since Grace unbelievably came back for me, giving up his chance to go home. I’m just starting to process that this is real life instead of a fever dream as I slowly go insane from loneliness and starve to death. Now we’re trying to work out the realities of living together in such close quarters for so long. Grace doesn’t appreciate me commenting on his clutter – any more than I appreciate said mess – and I’m still working on remembering to be quiet while I watch him sleep. He put up with it while we had a deadline to save both our planets, but now that we’re ‘off the clock’ as he would say, he’s much more insistent on getting good rest. I try to be mindful, but when I get excited about and absorbed in a project, I have been known to forget.
But we talk it out, and make it work. I love Grace so much, and I know he loves me too, no matter how annoyed we are in the moment. Something has been bothering Grace lately, though, and I haven’t been able to convince him to tell me what it is. So when I walk in on him frantically working on the thinking machine, I wonder if he’s using that to find more things to be anxious about, or if he’s finally shifted to working on a solution.
“What Grace doing, question?”
He looked at me in a way that I’ve learned means he’s feeling a little guilty. Now I’m even more curious to know. There’s no way he’s getting out of telling me. Fortunately, he reads me almost as well as I read his body language, and immediately caves to my stubbornness.
“Well, since I’m going to live the rest of my life on Erid, I figured it would be for the best if I could talk to people without needing anyone to translate. So I’m trying to reverse my translation software so it spits out Eridian when it hears English. Synthesizing the voice is pretty difficult, though, since you’re the only example it has access to. And I don’t want to steal your voice for this. So right now I’m trying to combine my voice with yours to create a new output.”
Grace is so fucking good. And nice. He’s working so hard on this, even though most Eridians could pick up English no problem, probably even easier than I did. I’m only good at engineering. Most others have so many talents, but I’ve never cared to develop any others. Literally no one would blame him for sticking with English. It’d be completely fine for him to keep his language as one of his few reminders of his home. Yet here he is, trying to figure out a way to speak a language he doesn’t have the physiology to verbalize.
“Play play play! Want to hear.”
“Okay, but I’m still work-shopping this, so no sass”
“No promises. Statement.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Here goes nothing.” He brought the listening device up to his speech-hole (mouth, I remind myself), and continues, “Rocky is the best engineer in the universe!”
First off, that fucking suck up. I love him all over again. Secondly, “Weird weird weird! Voice not good. Back to drawing board. Statement.” I stomp one of my legs, just to really emphasize the point. I can definitely hear what Grace is trying to do. His voice is clearly overlaid with mine, but instead of becoming its own, unique voice, it’s just two voices resonating at once. They’ll be so confused by that at home. It’s distracting, and my Grace can do better.
As much as I eagerly wait for Grace to demonstrate his trademark wit in response to my snark, instead he wilts right in front of me. “Yeah, I figured. The computer knows how to combine different human voices to create something new, but combining a human voice with yours is a struggle since they’re so different. I’m not gonna give up, though. Especially since speaking it myself is out of the question. I’ve got years to perfect this. And hey, your feedback is super helpful. You’ll know best when I’ve got it right, after all.”
Perhaps Grace was right when he proclaimed me the best engineer in the universe, because I’ve possibly just engineered the best solution to this problem ever. An idea both perfect in function, and – as a bonus – funny as hell. I have to be careful, though, so Grace doesn’t catch on too quickly. My Grace is smart, and knows me well. “Have an idea. Need word.”
Grace perked up, and immediately pressed a few buttons that I’m assuming switched the translation software back to its default. “Word is ♩♫. Same language, different pronunciations, different words.”
“Dialect. The word is dialect.”
“There is dialect that only uses one air bladder. Widely known. Grace sound strange, but less strange than thinking machine. Would be understood easily.”
“Oh! Like sign language! Humans have a language spoken with hands for those whose vocal chords don’t work for whatever reason.”
Not laughing was so damn difficult. I just can’t give in now, though. It’ll be so worth it if I can hold it in. So instead I focus on how Grace is actually correct in his assumption. Pebbles are born with all five air bladders, but independent control of said bladders doesn’t come until they’ve developed more of their fine motor skills, so in a way, this ‘dialect’ is indeed for those who can’t speak the more complex chords. Perfect for Grace with his monotone voice. Time to teach my super-smart-scientist best friend how to baby talk.