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Rocky wasn’t lying. Adrian is the most beautiful eridian I’ve ever seen.
I told Rocky, some amorphous blob of time ago, that I didn’t want to meet Adrian until I was better. Like, “could sit up by my own volition without pulling a muscle” at least. But that was a long way away, and Rocky told me Adrian was asking to meet me. Specifically, Rocky used a word that translated roughly to “badgering,” but with an affectionate prefix.
Yeah, I guess if I had a mate and said mate came back from the dead with an alien in tow, I’d want to see it. And Adrian is a scientist. A biologist. I need to remember what kind. But it wouldn't matter if Adrian was the eridian version of an accountant is, or an artist or whatever – I get it. I’m scientifically and existentially interesting. Put that on my resume.
Oh yeah, they got me on morphine again.
I forgot how long ago Rocky and I had that conversation. I forgot that I fell asleep. I think I was sleeping. Or unconscious?
I’m vaguely aware of the airlock. Is someone coming or going? I’m more aware of the drugs replacing everything with tingly static. Some of the tingling is nerve damage. Electrolyte issues. So on. Starving to death hurts a lot. It doesn’t hurt right now. Ehhhh, it does, actually. But it’s far away. Sometimes I ask for morphine and they can’t give it to me because too much for too long is bad. But it’s not bad right now. Thanks, morphine.
“Is 🎶🎵?”
Familiar sounds. But I don’t recognize them in that way in that order. I don't. Right? Maybe I do, or I did. But. Someone? Someone is here who isn’t Rocky. Who?
The panic cuts through the fog. My vision swims when I open my eyes, but I know who it is.
I knew what color Adrian was thanks to Rocky’s stone. But it’s so brilliant in the flesh. In the rock? In the person. In person, in front of me. In my atmosphere. Oh god, are they okay?
They're the color of those super clear lakes you see in the Pacific Northwest. They have little brown spots like Rocky has blue. Oh my gosh, that's so cute. But are they okay?
Rocky is there and he asks me something. He sounds. Fine. I feel the touch of the suit, pressing into my…arm. Right. Yeah. Adrian has one. Five arms! One suit. Adrian has one that was bigger than all the others because they were tall. I forgot how tall Rocky said they were. I’m squinting. Where are my glasses? I can’t think about my glasses! This is—
“Adrian.” My tongue is so heavy. My mouth is dry. There’s water somewhere. Doesn’t matter. Adrian. Gosh, I can’t drink in front of them. I don’t want to scare them. Don’t be rude.
I’m tired. I’m slow and stupid. I try to sit up and I don’t pull a muscle, only because not a single one responds to me. I knew we should have waited. I want to tell Rocky that, ask him if he hates me specifically for letting this be my first impression on his mate. But Adrian is talking. Don’t be rude. What are they saying? Their voice is smooth and hums against my ears. It washes over me and I can’t focus but it's nice. Can I tell them that? Is that weird?
“Sorry,” I gasp. I’m out of breath. I feel so bad. I was lying when I said it didn’t hurt, but I don’t know where the hurt is. I want to ask Adrian how they’re doing. I can at least say hello. I want to apologize again. I was learning how to speak eridian, I should use it. Hello. Sorry. Rocky loves you, I think I do too.
I’m out before I do any of these things.
Rocky wasn’t lying. Grace is an alien – it is alien – and it is incredibly sick.
Rocky’s descriptions of Grace were perfect because they were Rocky’s, and Rocky was brilliant. But it was also an engineer whose tolerance of biology came from me and me alone. So I requested access to one of the human thinking machines, and Rocky showed me how to use it so I could learn as much about this new species as possible before meeting it.
After all, how else would I build it a home? I started the plans before Rocky even asked me.
But I need an atmosphere suit first. There are hundreds of engineers working from the design Rocky brought back, but it insists on making mine on its own. And the day it’s finished, Rocky takes me to it. “Him.” There is a difference in the human’s language. It’s an unnatural sound, basically a word Rocky made up. But I’m getting used to it. I don’t want to be rude.
The reality of the situation hits me when I’m closed inside the suit. Not unlike the protective clothing we use to explore the shallow waters of 🎶🎵 to collect samples. But that was routine. This was something else entirely. And it was the only thing protecting me from frigidly cold oxygen.
Rocky hums comfort to me and I hum back. It looks so natural wearing it. It and the alien lived together for years. That fills me with confidence and dread.
I thought I would hear it better inside the airlock. Slightly better, but it’s still so fuzzy. Mostly water, in all of its amorphous glory. How does it move? I read how, muscles and ligaments and electricity. But how?
The cycle of the airlock is loud, but Grace does not move. It must be a sleep cycle.
But then it shifts. Its light organs are still closed. I believe that is what they look like when they're closed. Translated two-dimensional maps from the thinking machine could only get me so far.
“Is it…Is he conscious?”
The second I speak, Grace is looking at me. Its light organs are damp, and I can barely make out the raised centers. They move in tandem and shift in tiny increments, but the centers stay facing me. In my xenonite suit, I feel horrifically exposed.
“Grace,” Rocky says. It moves quickly to the bed, holding one of Grace’s upper limbs. “How are you feeling?”
“Adrian,” Grace answers.
It takes me a moment to recognize. My name, in the human language. Rocky had played the recorded sound for me.
“Yes yes, I brought Adrian to meet you.”
Rocky gestures for me, and I come closer. I could touch it if I reached a limb out. I don’t, because it’s so…🎵🎶, it’s so soft. What if I split its carapace with too much pressure? Its atmosphere is so thin. Like the 🎵 that form in upper mountain ranges, that snap when you step on them. I do not want to snap Grace!
The thrum of Grace’s heart echoes in the room, and gets progressively faster. A sign of distress or excitement. Maybe there’s a way to tell the difference? But I don't know. Am I scaring it? Not for the first time in my life, I sit on the floor in an effort to be smaller.
There’s a hollowness to its carapace. The internal carapace, the one that made up the structure of its body. So strange for the rigid structure to be inside, like something turned inside out. When I listen closely, I can hear the porosity. I hear the way its soft carapace stretches over them and the places where the structures meet. I also hear the flexing of the muscles around its heart, pounding away.
I’ve been in the room with the doctors discussing Grace's condition. But even if I hadn't, I could tell Grace is deeply unwell. Call it a scientists’ intuition, or the ability to tell when something capable of feeling pain is currently feeling it. Perhaps that's an evolutionary constant.
I don’t dare move closer. But I can talk. I recite the human hearing range to myself, think the sounds in my head so I can adjust the pitches properly before I speak. The wrong frequencies can damage hearing. I can't hurt it more than it already is. And I need it to hear me clearly.
“Hello, Grace.”
I practiced what I was going to say. I haven’t forgotten, but the song feels so heavy now that I’m here. Heavy but beautiful and something I can hardly believe. How many cycles did I spend imagining what would happen when the crew came home? What Rocky and I would say to each other when it came back and everything was okay again? And then it happened. Everything was not okay, but it was real. And, it felt like it would be okay more often than it didn't. Thanks to a living thing from another solar system that knows my name.
A nonsensical cord slips out. Rocky trills to me and I’ll never be tired of the sound. It soothes the cracks deep in my carapace that threaten to swallow me whole.
“Grace. You brought my love back to me. I waited so long for an answer, and you were part of it. You are the reason I can hear Rocky’s song again. And the reason Erid will still have a song to sing in the future.”
I sink lower as a sign of respect. “There is no amount of gratitude I can offer that would be enough. But, thank you.”
Grace says something. His throat vibrates in a singular pitch that is very small and airy sounding.
“What did he say?”
“Idiot, why are you apologizing?” Rocky asks, exasperated and so, so fond. It curses to itself. "I should have set up the translator.”
It explains to me while it grabs one of the human devices. “Grace is basically fluent in Eridian, but not having food is bad bad bad for his brain. It’s harder for him to understand.”
Rocky taps the buttons on the device like it showed me earlier. “Some days are better than others, but he also learned all his Eridian from me. Other voices can be overwhelming.”
“You, teaching him language?” I sing. “He’s going to speak like a 🎵🎶.”
“I was a good teacher! The best!”
“I know you were,” I say, and mean it with all my hearts. A strange sound comes through the speakers of the thinking device.
“Grace, I set up the…” Rocky stops. Then, quieter. “Ah, he’s asleep.”
“Really?” I had Grace in my periphery the whole time. There was hardly a change at all, other than him covering his light organs.
“Human sleep is crazy, Adrian. They can still hear things. They wake up so easily.”
“Oh!” I tone, at the softest volume I can.
“It's not normal for humans to sleep so much or so easily. Expected for Grace in his condition, but…”
“It’s good for him to conserve his energy,” I say. I direct my voice very pointedly at my beloved, who I know has been putting off its sleep cycles, and it knows that I know.
“Yes,” Rocky says innocently. He sits next to the bed. “But I’m staying to watch him sleep.”
I bend to touch the top of its carapace with mine. Xenonite on xenonite resonates at an odd frequency. I’ll get used to it.
“I will watch you sleep. Both of you.”
“You are sure?”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I simply shift closer so I can enclose Rocky in two of my limbs. We aren’t shaped the same way we were before, but our edges still fit together. Very quietly, I start to hum. Rocky won't hear me while it's asleep. But Grace can. I hope I'm here when he wakes up again.