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Rocky had been charged with guarding its sleeping hatchmate when they were very young. It was a common practice to teach youths to care for each other. Their parents had always been just a room away, so there hadn’t been too much pressure.
Still, Rocky had known it was very important to do a good job. It had tried to remain still, observing diligently and quietly, but this was not stimulating enough for its young brain. It had settled on chattering at length instead, speaking aloud whatever thoughts were on its mind. Its parents did not rebuke it, unable to find anything objectionable in the behavior as long as Rocky was keeping watch attentively.
Rocky had never lost the habit. Boredom became less of an issue as it learned to tinker with small machines to pass the time, but it kept talking anyway. There was something soothing about talking to its loved ones when it was impossible for them to hear. It could speak of confusing, precious, or shameful things without reservation.
Then there had been three hundred and ninety-seven straight years of keeping watch. Its crewmates had been motionless, their legs limp forever, their vents gone hot. Rocky had still talked to them for a while. Its voice rang through the ship, reaching no one.
It had sometimes tried to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, that for some reason the whole crew had gone to sleep at once and Rocky was talking to them as it normally would. But after a few years alone had passed, Rocky talked less and less. Eventually it stopped altogether.
Now the creature was nestling across from it on the other side of the partition, strapping itself to the wall. It huddled in a mass of woven material, possibly to keep its cold, lanky body from freezing. After some fussing and fidgeting, it stilled.
For a short while, nothing happened. Then, the cycling of air in and out of the creature’s body took on on a new, slower rhythm. The airflow rattled in its facial orifices, creating a sharp sound. Rocky dropped the project it had been working on, squeaking in alarm. But the creature did not appear to be in any distress. To the contrary, it seemed at peace, even as Rocky could hear the violence raging in its soft body.
Rocky waited, but the creature did not quiet any further. Perhaps this was what sleep was always like for its kind. If so, Rocky wondered how it could possibly be restful.
It tried to return its attention to the repairs it was doing, but it was too hard to focus. The creature was captivating. The trunk of its body stretched and expanded and sank and rose. Its one heart pounded and its blood rushed just underneath the surface of its soft external tissue.
Rocky shivered. It was so loud. It was so strange.
Rocky put down its tools and crept up to the xenonite barrier. Carefully, almost guiltily, it tapped on the wall, attempting to get a better look. It raised its voice experimentally, letting a steady, gentle hum fill the space at a moderate volume.
The creature’s body continued to churn and roar, but it did not move its limbs or face openings.
So Rocky spoke.
It unloaded its shame for the twenty-two crewmates it hadn’t been able to save. How, as its friends succumbed one by one, Rocky had panicked that it would soon fall ill too. How, as their number had dwindled until Rocky was one of only a few, it had begun to panic instead that it wouldn’t.
It spoke of its guilt for leaving Adrian for so long, for not returning yet, instead staying and failing to complete its mission day after day at this unyielding star.
It spoke of its grief for the world it had left behind. Of its fear that it would not be welcomed back, hauling the corpses of twenty-two comrades. Its worry that its people would think it was responsible. Whether they would be right.
Most agonizing of all, it told the creature of the hope it had now, the hope that would have seemed like insanity only days ago. It dared to voice the possibility that now, after so many years of failure and solitude, the creature might ease its despair.
Rocky told this stranger everything it wanted to say, knowing it was dormant and wouldn’t understand what the vast majority of the words meant even if it was awake. Some part of Rocky hoped, somehow, the stranger still might hear and understand, that it might forgive it. That it would know the truth and still choose to stay with it, to keep it company on an island of sound in the endless silence.
Grace slept a lot these days.
He had done the math and had Rocky check it. They were sure that his rations, supplemented by taumoeba, would get him to Erid with a few months to spare. He would be weak by the end, but he would be alive, and if the Eridians could figure out how to synthesize more food he might even survive. That had sounded great at the beginning of the trip. Back then he had just been glad starving wasn’t a foregone conclusion.
A little less than a year away from Erid, being undernourished was turning out to suck pretty hard. He’d lost weight and hair and he was tired all the time. His thoughts were foggy. The headaches were constant.
He conserved what little energy he had by reducing activity. Sleep. Bed rest. Being bored out of his skull.
Rocky was always there, doting on him. When he was resting, Rocky brought Grace anything he needed before he could get up. He helped him change clothes. He helped him clean up.
Grace wrestled with this. He did need the help. This wasn’t in question. At the same time…well. He wasn’t exactly sure how to untangle everything he was thinking at the same time.
He couldn’t imagine he was particularly good company for Rocky anymore, even though Rocky never complained. They still talked and cuddled when Grace was awake. When he felt up to it, they listened to music and audiobooks. Grace couldn’t stand to look at a screen for long when his headaches were bad, and they were almost always bad now, so movie nights had stopped. They could play card games, but sometimes they had to put their hands down mid-game so Grace could rest. They couldn’t roughhouse, and they didn’t have sex as often or as energetically.
If Grace ever got well again, it wouldn’t be till after they arrived on Erid. So being alone and healthy on their little space road trip was a closed chapter now. However good it was now or would be on Erid, that version of them was gone, and he hadn’t even thought to appreciate it that way when it was happening.
He felt really bitter and bad when he thought about that. So he tried not to.
When the lights automatically went down to simulate evening, Grace was already in bed with his eyes closed, listening to an old murder mystery novel from the computer’s library. Knowing Rocky couldn’t detect the lighting change, Grace paused the book and called out softly. Within a minute, Rocky had clambered down the ladder into the dormitory.
“Sleep now, question?” Rocky asked, leaning on the bunk.
“Yeah,” Grace said. “Would you talk to me for a while?”
Rocky smoothed Grace’s hair back from his forehead. “Have to promise to sleep and not stay awake to listen.”
“Well, then you better talk about something boring.”
Rocky made a soft squeal of complaint. “You think everything is interesting.”
“Everything you talk about is interesting,” Grace said.
“I talked about sanding down dwelling walls for nice sound quality and you thought that was interesting. Talked about system of reconciling disputes in fishing business and you thought it was interesting. Talked about mineral composition of Erid rocks and you thought it was interesting.”
“All super interesting! I don’t know what to tell you.” It was getting difficult to keep his eyes open. “I really don’t care what you say, I just want to hear your voice.” He reached for Rocky’s second hand and pulled it close, tucking it under his chin.
Rocky made another discontented noise, but his claws curled around Grace’s hand. “Fine. I will list names of all my hatchmates and cousins. Meaningless to you.”
“Not totally meaningless,” Grace mumbled. “Might meet them.” If I live, he didn’t say.
Rocky squeezed gently. “You will.”
The ship’s lights clicked from “dim” to “off” and Grace drifted away to the soft, musical tones of Rocky’s voice.
When he woke, Rocky was nestled against the bend of his knees, tinkering with some convoluted piece of machinery. Grace realized Rocky was still speaking, and in full, true Eridian. Grace tried to cut through his grogginess enough to follow it.
“Nothing more boring than fishing disputes. But perhaps if you find that interesting, you will like Erid, and that is encouraging. I am afraid sometimes that you will not like Erid. After everything you have done.…It will be perfect. I will make it perfect.
“And if you don’t like it…I will help you go wherever you need to, my love. But you have to live first. That is your job. That is the only thing you have to do. I know it is a big one.…You have…you have changed so much. I am so afraid some days, when I see how you shake now…and how much sleep you need. Humans already sleep so much. Hardly any time spent awake! And such short lives already…no. Will not think of that. It is not time. Must remember it is not time. I will not be the only one left again. And I will not arrive on Erid and have to tell them about my scientist alien friend and how good and smart and loud and beautiful it was because you will be there. You must—”
Rocky stopped suddenly, and Grace knew he must have finally noticed that his breathing had changed.
Grace sat up, leaning forward to touch Rocky’s carapace with the tips of his fingers. “Oh, buddy.”
“How long were you listening, question?”
“Just a minute or two.”
Rocky scrunched his body, pulling his carapace inward. “Bad habit to speak while you are sleeping. You wake too easily, not like an Eridian.”
“It’s okay,” Grace said, bending to kiss the xenonite over the center of his nearest leg, right where the heart was. “I didn’t know you were so worried, Rock. I’m doing okay, I promise.”
Rocky didn’t relax his posture, but he shuffled closer so Grace didn’t have to stretch. “Would not tell you those things on purpose. Sorry sorry sorry.”
Grace frowned. “Well, why not? I want to know.”
“Should stay my thought.” Rocky locked two of his claws together tightly. “Private. Not for you to worry about.”
“Oh,” Grace said. “No, buddy. Hey. It’s okay.”
“Not okay,” Rocky said.
“It is okay,” Grace insisted. “I don’t—I don’t want…Rocky, how much have you been keeping from me?”
Rocky hesitated. “Not much. Not important.”
“Rocky—” Grace said, but Rocky cut him off.
“You are feeling bad enough,” he said, and he reached out to plant one of his little hands against Grace’s cheek. “Do not need my silly fears too. Stay calm, healthy, alive. Worry about me when you are strong.”
Grace grabbed Rocky’s hand and pulled it down to his lips, gently kissing his palm in the way that always made Rocky shiver. Right on cue, a little tremor went through his body, and Grace smiled. “I think I could get it out of you.”
Rocky made a cacophonous sound that reminded Grace of a squashed accordion.
Grace traced his finger across Rocky’s hand. “Come on. Talk to me.”
Rocky was silent. Then he finally said, “Wish I could starve instead.”
Grace blinked. “What?”
“Wish I could give you my food and I take yours. You eat, I ration. Only fair.”
“I—what?!” Grace spluttered. “How the fudge would that be fair?”
“You give up everything,” Rocky said, his voice dropping into his low registers. “You suffer. You get sick. So I do not die. So Erid is saved. Not fair.”
“That’s so stupid—”
“Would like to starve with you,” Rocky interrupted. For all his protesting, it seemed like he couldn’t stop talking now that he had started. “Since I cannot trade food. I would ration my food like you. Be sick with you. Want want want. But I must stay strong to take care of you, manage the ship, make sure they make food right on Erid.”
“Rocky, buddy.” Grace’s throat closed.
“Six years left,” Rocky said. “Less than one Earth year. Soon. Soon soon soon. Everything fixed. You will be healthy. You will be safe.” Rocky’s claw clenched around Grace’s hand so hard it hurt. Grace didn’t mind. He wanted the pressure. He wished it would crush him into dust.
“Yeah, buddy,” Grace whispered. “Soon.”