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“Grace?”
Rocky’s pincer-like finger taps on the door of the storage closet.
“You are hiding, question?”
I groan, letting my head flop back against the aluminium door. He taps again, harder this time, and I feel it through the metal against the back of my skull.
“You know I hear where you are anyway, question?”
“Yes.” I huff. Of course Rocky could hear anything and everything I was doing—there wasn’t a single place I could hide from him on the whole dang ship. Even if the Hail Mary was twenty times bigger he would probably be able to pinpoint my exact location. Sometimes having an alien for a best friend is a curse when privacy is a concern, but I can’t complain. I’d much rather be out here with him, flying out towards what may very likely be death by starvation or malnutrition, than heading home alone. That doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating sometimes.
Because even with the company of a friend, four years alone on a ship feels like a long, long time. Four years of anything feels like a long time, really–it’s 5.23% of my estimated lifespan. Of course, though, that’s just an estimation. It doesn’t take into account the amount of times I’ve been exposed to ammonia, extreme heat and wildly dangerous g-forces. I’m drawing from data taken from before the Hail Mary was even sent off—the average lifespan of a white male in the United States has most likely plummeted back on Earth since astrophage started doing substantial damage to the sun.
But I try not to think about that too hard. I did my best, didn’t I? I hope I did. And I hope it was good enough. It’s hard not to think about anything other than the beetles and whether they’re on the correct course for Earth, whether it doesn’t matter since it could be too late, whether Earth has already frozen over and succumbed to another ice age.
I know I’m beating myself up over it too much. I did my job, and I did it dang well. If everything goes smoothly I’ll have saved the planet from mass extinction! Except for a few critical ecosystems (and large chunks of Antarctica) of course, but humans are pretty resourceful, I’m sure they’ll have figured something out back home. No, I’m not too upset about how things have gone so far—it was thanks to Rocky that any of this was possible, and I trust his mind and his hands a lot more than my own these days.
What’s bothering me really is something stupid. Measuring time gets a bit muddy when relativity is involved, but I’m pretty sure today is the fourteenth anniversary of the Hail Mary’s launch. It’s cool! Totally not making me freak out. After all it isn’t like I’ve experienced fourteen years in space—at most it’s been around six months for me. I’m sure I could ask the ship to tell me, but I don’t want to know. I can be as logical as I want about everything, but it doesn’t make that awful weight that’s settled down in my belly shift even an inch. All my friends have moved on. Not that I had many to begin with, really, but the point still stands.
The world moved on without me.
I sit alone in the storage closet (or pretending to be alone) as Rocky occasionally trills to himself, muffled by the door. My Eridinese is getting better without the translator, and I can tell he’s mumbling to himself about his work, checking his figures as he tinkers away on something new. It’s oddly human. I’ll have years to practice before we get to Erid—maybe I’ll be fluent by the time we get there.
Rocky treats today like any other day. He watched me sleep in the early hours and worked away quietly on his side of the ship, letting himself run wild with the new scientific knowledge I gave him. Right now he’s trying to understand computers, enamoured with my ‘thinking machine’ (laptop) and trying to reverse engineer it. He’s doing well, having sped through the past hundred years of electronic engineering in only a week or two, never bored. The four-year trip to Erid must feel like nothing to him—he’s already been out in space for forty-six years.
But despite how much he has to entertain himself with on the way back to Erid, it isn’t always smooth sailing. He’s painfully regimented and particular, liking his routines and organisation, and he gets annoyed when I don’t do something exactly the way he asked me to or frustrated when things don’t go to plan.
He reminds me of my students sometimes. And myself, but that’s obvious.
Right now I can hear him working just a few metres from me on his side of the xenonite wall. He was in his ball when he tapped on the closet door, but he seemed to have given up and decided to let me sulk until he heard me move around a bit.
“Why Grace hiding, question?”
“Human thing.” I mutter quietly. I know the closet is pretty good at soaking up sounds—I’ve shoved a malfunctioning stopwatch in it before when it wouldn’t stop beeping—but Rocky’s ears seem to be no match for literally anywhere on the ship.
Rocky lets out a frustrated chord. He’s probably wiggling in irritation. “Stupid human thing. Not like. Why hide from me, question?”
I groan at his insistence. God, he really won’t let it go. I fumble blindly with the door before pushing it open, getting to my feet. Rocky doesn’t pause his work—he has a few dozen wires laid out beside what looks like a xenonite radio, trying to see if he can figure out how to make a human radio based on his own Eridian version. He’s doing a good job, but I don’t comment on it for once.
“Today is an anniversary.” I explain, more curt than usual, fiddling with the scarred skin of my burnt arm. “I’m annoyed. Upset.” Today isn’t even a day, really—it isn’t like we’re orbiting my Sol back home. There’s no reason to stick to arbitrary day cycles other than to sleep, and the sentimentality isn’t lost on me. I’m frustrated that I care and frustrated that I shouldn’t.
“Not know word.”
“Anniversaries are… when the day of a special event from a past year is repeated. We use it to remember important events that happened.”
Rocky lets out a wordless hum, shifting his carapace to the side, pincers tapping together as he works.
“We have anniversary.” He confirms. “Like celebration. Anniversary for life. Death. Anniversary for big events.”
I nod in understanding. “Yeah, that’s what we have them for too. Big important events.” It figures that two separate social species would commemorate the same thing.
Rocky makes an affirmative sort of sound, continuing to fiddle with his contraption. I take a deep breath, my chest rising and falling.
“Well today is the anniversary of when the Hail Mary was launched.” I explain as bluntly as I can. The words get caught in my throat a bit, and I’m sure Rocky noticed.
He pauses at that. The two hands that were working slow until they’re still, his shoulders pushing back a bit.
“Oh.” He trills. “Grace sad, question?”
I chuckle awkwardly, leaning back with a throaty scoff. “Just peachy, buddy.”
“Grace not peachy.” Rocky faces his carapace towards me. “Grace hide like young. You sad.”
My laugh turns a little genuine at that, albeit bitter. I guess I do look like a kid.
“Yeah. I guess… I guess I’m sad.” I sigh at how childish it makes me sound. Vulnerable topics are always hard to broach between us—nuance and sensitivity are hard to convey with our language barrier. Blunt, simple phrases seem to be best, even if they’re a bit humiliating.
I run a hand over the side of my face as I lean back against the xenonite wall, letting myself slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor. My stubble feels raw against my palm. I should shave, really. Rocky’s feet tap on the metal floor as he approaches me.
“You not awake for trip,” Rocky comments, “you not remember leaving Earth. Why anniversary matter, question? You not there. And launch successful.”
“Because it just does.” I groan. He knows a bit about what happened back on Earth, but I haven’t explained how the process of getting on the ship actually went down. He still thinks I was a willing participant.
“You miss Earth, question?” Rocky trills from behind me. I don’t answer for a moment.
“I’m not sure. I feel… conflicted. That means I’m not sure how to feel. I’m overwhelmed. It’s difficult to think about.” I stumble over my explanation, frowning.
“Understand. You worried. Worried about future. Worried about new things, question?”
I can practically hear how his carapace tilts to the side as he asks the question. It made me think of a dog the first time he did it.
“Worried.” I nod, rubbing my face frustratedly. “Afraid. But mostly worried about before, not the future.”
Rocky sits with that for a little while, not moving. The Hail Mary hums quietly, machinery working away quietly, a gentle white noise keeping us from going crazy in the silent vacuum of space.
“Not understand.” He says quietly. “You did good. You save Earth. Did everything correct. Why sad still, question? Mission go well. We go to Erid and refuel you ship—you go home.”
“No,” I shake my head, growing upset, “no I don’t want to go back, I don’t want that.” I don’t really know what I want. “I don’t know, buddy, I just…” I trail off, grimacing as I feel my eyes grow wet, reaching up to cover my face. “Getting on the Hail Mary was really hard and really scary. I didn’t get closure. I didn’t leave Earth how I wanted to.”
Rocky says nothing. I wouldn’t be able to feel him, even if all eight hundred pounds of him were pushed right up against the wall behind me. I try to keep myself from letting out any wet noises as I cry.
“You finish mission.” He begins quietly, his voice a few octaves lower than normal. “You do good. We save Erid and Earth.” I open my mouth to retort, but he interrupts me. “Me nervous to go home. Worried things be different. Me ship gone for long time. Erid change.” The chords of his words waver slightly. “…Lonely. But we together. We save people together. We good.”
I half-laugh, half-cry. God, this is all so insane. I don’t know what else to say, so I say that plainly.
“This is crazy.” I mutter, stifling a sob with the sleeve of the jumpsuit tied around my waist. “Actually crazy.”
“Me not crazy. Me smart. You crazy. You leave ship in EVA suit. You breed taumoeba to survive nitrogen. You hurt arm and get sick and still save Erid. You try help me when me sick. You save me even when mean you might die. You alive even though wet and leaky and fragile. You brave.”
Wow. He sure knows how to lay it on a little thick. I shake as I wipe my eyes.
“Grace?” Rocky taps on the xenonite wall behind me. “Grace hear me, question?”
“Yeah, I hear you buddy.” I sniffle as I try and fail to steady myself. “That’s… all very nice of you to say. Real nice.”
“Me nice.” He agrees. “Because you friend.”
“Yeah.” I swallow, pressing my back against the wall, presumably up against where he is too. “You’re my friend too, Rock.”
“We go back to Erid. We find food for you. We give you astrophage to go home if you want.” He reiterates, himself comforted by the hard fact that yes, he’s going to have a planet to go back to. “But you welcome on Erid. You save Erid. We keep you happy.”
“You’re sure all your people really want me there? I’m work to keep alive.” I chuckle weakly. I feel guilty every time he brings it up. He probably wouldn’t receive such a nice welcome if he were to come to Earth—he’d probably be subject to test after test in a sterile lab somewhere in the middle of the desert. But maybe he’d enjoy that—he’s eager for any opportunity to learn.
“You me friend. You alien. They want to learn. We keep you alive and happy.”
He makes a good point.
I let out a deep sigh this time, trying to calm myself down properly, rubbing my eyes one last time before turning to face the xenonite wall. It isn’t like he couldn’t see my face this whole time, but it’s the gesture that counts.
“Thanks, buddy.” I swallow, glancing up at his carapace.
“You welcome. Thank for coming back.” He presses one hand against the xenonite towards me. “Thank for saving Erid.”
“…Thank you for saving Earth, too.”
Rocky shakes his carapace in contentedness as I press my hand up against the wall, against his own.