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“Okay, okay. Settle down you guys.”
My fingers slide mindlessly across the organ keys as I take a headcount for each young Eridian beyond the partition. All twenty-three of my students sway on their respective ledges, a chaotic tune of trills and hums filtering through the xenonite wall. For a moment it feels just like my classroom back on Earth, senseless chaos as everyone sorts through what they’d done the night prior and their plans for after class.
All that’s missing now are a couple of paper airplanes and spitballs. Eh, on second thought those can stay on Earth. I’ll have to write it on a piece of paper and toss it into my “Earth Customs” shoebox later. Make sure it’s not entirely lost knowledge someday.
One by one the chaos quiets as carapaces tilt toward me with undivided attention. I like to think my students are so well behaved because I run an efficient classroom, but it’s probably because their teacher is an alien. That type of thing can’t get old, can it?
Either way, it’s a stark contrast to the five years I’ve spent in Rocky’s company. I can’t remember a single interaction we’ve had that wasn’t at least 80% sarcasm and snark. At this point attitude must be something Eridians grow steadily into as they age. That, or Rocky was the wild child of his cluster. I can believe that too.
I blow a piece of dust from the top of the organ. “Today we’re going to talk about Astrophage.” It’s been a long time since that word instilled fear in me. The moment Taumoeba was proven to reduce the Astrophage population, Erid’s smartest thrums turned their attention away from worrying over it and toward its other capabilities.
Like Rocky’s new idea for air conditioning. And as a stable fuel source for additional space exploration. I can only imagine Earth’s doing the same.
The kids don’t flinch like Rocky had when I pull out a thin petri dish of Astrophage. It’s still as much of a black paste as ever, and even though the kids can’t really see it like I can, I like to think the context clues are enough to get the big picture. Otherwise, I’d just be holding up some random plate.
...please let them get the picture.
“Mr. Grace?” Michael pipes up from his ledge. Is it weird to give my new students the same ones as I had back on Earth? I don’t think so. The kid has a pizza-shaped triangle on his carapace, and Michael always tried to sneak pizza from lunch into my classroom. I can’t be judged for that association; mnemonics have practically been a godsend on Erid.
Besides, it’s okay to give my life a semblance of normalcy again. Adrian had insisted on it.
Michael makes another chirp. “Can Astrophage really explode?”
I glance back at the petri dish. Crazy to think this thing could do a whole lot of damage under the right circumstances. It looks about as threatening as a piece of black liquorish someone sat on. “Yeah,” I play, “Buuut, these guys are stored properly. No explosions today.”
There’s a chorus of disappointed hums. The second rule of the universe: all middle schoolers like explosions. Alien or not.
“No one’s gonna give Mr. Grace enough Astrophage to explode,” another kid, Abby, pipes up. It should sound snarky, but there’s no warble in her tone. She’s just stating a fact. “He’s too important.”
“That’s sweet-” I start, but Michael’s already turning toward Abby. Oh boy.
“They would if he asked,” the kid says. “If he needed it for research.”
“But we have science Eridians for that,” Tamora cuts in. “Mr. Grace is a hero. My mom says he should be enjoying retirement.”
“Okay, ouch,” I say without thinking. My English manages to snap all three students’ attentions from their debate and onto me. I take a breath and focus back on the organ. “You all make good points. My research days are far behind me,” More like I’ve done enough research in the past decade to give myself an aneurism. “And everyone does like me alive.”
I do kinda get anything I ask for, too. Not that anyone should know that.
“But I like teaching. It’s kind of my thing.”
I throw a leg over the piano bench to reach my xenonite chalkboard with my other hand. Well, it’s as close to a chalkboard as I’ll probably get. This one doesn’t use chalk or any writing utensil, just elevates wherever I touch to give it necessary bumps to be legible for Eridians. I begin to scrawl out “Astrophage” with one hand and play the organ with the other.
“Now, back to Astrophage-”
“What do you think about your statue?”
My finger freezes on the careful swoop of the “g.” I almost trip throwing my leg back over the bench to focus solely on the organ. “What, question?” Okay maybe it’s a little childish to add the “question” bit, but it’s the only way I can think of conveying emphasis right now.
It definitely gets the kids’ attention. “You haven’t seen your statue?”
I have a statue? I glance around the room. Nobody speaks up.
Oh god. I have a statue. Like an actual statue that apparently everyone’s seen except me.
And as if it couldn’t get any worse, “It’s in the middle of the cluster. In the plaza.”
“Uh...” Well, that’s certainly a surprise. I kind of just figured that the Eridians would give me a place to live as a thanks and call everything even. I mean, I’m calling that even.
“He can’t go outside, remember?” Abby’s tone takes a new warble, snarky but a little to the left. I think she's being smug. "There’s too much pressure.”
Yeah, points for Abby for remembering this planet could squish me like a bug at any given moment, but that’s not the point. The point is nobody told me, and this sure as heck feels like something I would’ve liked to know.
What else is going on beyond the walls of my biosphere? I have an entire statue that I never knew about. What else have they made? A museum for the Hail Mary?
Huh. Now that I think about it, there’s definitely a museum for the Hail Mary. It’s probably got all sorts of things in it, like the tools I didn’t ask to keep for my makeshift classroom. Human technology had immediately fascinated Rocky, I can’t imagine the Eridians had given up any opportunity to study humanity.
Oh no. They totally have an exhibit all about me. I—I never got any of my clothes back that were in the Hail Mary’s laundry compartment. Or thought about all the grey slurry that was still left once my Taumoeba diet started. Holy shit, there might even be a piece of meat on display made from my muscle tissue.
“Mr. Grace?”
I blink. Right. Right. I have twenty-three students all unaware they’ve just completely reworked my worldview. I should continue the lesson. Yep. That’s the responsible thing to do.
My fingers fly across the organ before I can think better of it. “Yes. Right. Let's—let's get back to the lesson.”
"The kids said something interesting today." I say. It feels...nice to be able to talk in English when it's just me and Rocky hanging out. Nobody ever mentions the evolutionary perks of being able to speak and have free hands to do whatever with. Not that I need them right now.
As it stands, sitting on the beach with the sand between my toes is enough.
"I'd hope so," comes Rocky's warble. It's warm where his xenonite ball presses against my arm, and for a moment it almost feels like we're back on the Hail Mary, just two aliens trying to fill time I thought would never end.
I try not to feel too nostalgic about it. Rocky’s gotten a little too close to calling me the Eridian equivalent of a crybaby.
“Yeah, yeah, save the snark.” It’s a beautiful day like it always is within the biosphere, light fog dimming the overhead stadium lights. A part of me doesn’t want to ruin the careful calm the ocean waves and Rocky’s presence bring, but the other half can’t help it. I’m a scientist who needs answers before my brain fills in blanks for me.
I just need to play this cool. I risk a breath, spreading my fingers across the sand. "Why didn't you tell me I had a statue?"
Rocky's mindless humming pauses. I can hear the light tapping of his claws as he turns his carapace toward me. "You didn't know?"
"I didn't-!" Well, there goes the calm and collected plan. I take another breath. "No I didn't know."
Sue me, I never took Eridians as the type to build statues and museums. Well, unconfirmed on the museum part, but the issue still stands.
Rocky shuffles back toward the ocean just as a wave sends water beneath us. His tone has that snarky warble again. "What, did you think you'd come to Erid and that'd be all?"
I stiffen. Frankly, I didn't think I'd make it to Erid in the first place. Had a whole cathartic crying session about it and everything. But now that I'm here, they what? Didn't think the insanely advanced biosphere was enough?
Rocky's tone shifts into something softer. "You saved Erid."
My legs twitch. I should get up. Walk this energy off until my world doesn't feel like one grand joke again. Has all of Erid been staring at me like some savior this whole time? I'd kind of just been banking on the whole "Rocky brought back an alien" thing, not...this.
Instead I drag a hand down my face, knees bowing out awkwardly across the sand. "I'm not some hero, Rocky," I say, miserable. The waves continue to crash beyond us. The beautiful, stupid waves that are a perfect temperature because a science Eridian had heard me mention something about it once. "I'm just not."
The biosphere quiets. Then, "I don't understand. If you're not a hero, who are you?"
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? At my core I’m a junior high teacher that was way in over my head with Astrophage and should’ve left when Stratt first dismissed me. I mean, I was there! I was right there, back in a classroom with twenty-eight middle schoolers all ready to give me attitude at the drop of a hat.
Just couldn’t take the cushy job, could you, Ryland? You just had to put yourself right in the middle of an apocalypse, huh.
Stupid. So unbelievably stupid.
And now I get to grapple with the crippling reality that this entire time I’ve been on a pedestal I was never meant to be on. Stratt—ugh, Stratt of all people—was right, I'm not meant to handle things associated with risk. I'm a creature of habit, so much so that Stratt had been genuinely surprised the day I demanded to stay on the team.
I don't belong on an alien planet with a classroom and fully custom enclosure and a statue all because I happened to have the instruments to help Rocky collect the Taumoeba. It was pure dumb luck that Stratt gave the Hail Mary everything a scientist could dream of.
I shouldn't even be alive at this point. It—it should be Yao and Ilyukhina, people who actually wanted to risk their lives for the benefit of society. Not me. Anyone but me.
I swallow. My throat feels too dry. "I don't know."
Rocky's carapace lowers. "We saved Sol and 40 Eridani," he repeats. Unsure. "You saved Erid."
I stare beyond the waves toward the painted panels on the opposite side of the makeshift ocean. There is no getting through, is there? No one will see me as the human that somehow stumbled his way through Taumoeba with sheer dumb luck. They won't even know it was guilt of all things that didn't let me leave Earth and Erid to freeze.
"Okay." I squeeze out. It's the only thing I can think of as I drag my hands through my hair. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Um," my eyes sting. "Maybe we reschedule this? I have a few papers to grade and-"
"Grace not just hero."
I freeze. It’s so stupid, but I freeze like a deer in headlights. It’s been too long since I heard that careful, broken speech from Rocky. Not since...well, not since our second year on the Hail Mary when learning Eridian grammar was a good means to kill time.
If Rocky notices, he bulldozes straight through the idea of stopping. He shimmies from side to side. “Grace is...smart. Smart smart smart. Like science Eridian. Grace is funny when have good joke. Get angry at small things. No patience,” He takes a step back, wriggling his carapace. It reminds me of an animal wrinkling its nose. “Is human thing. Is okay.”
I swallow. It...it is a human thing. Eridians have incredible patience (of saints, some would say).
“Grace is clumsy. Not like name. Opposite of name.”
“Ouch,” I test. My voice comes out far more wobbly than I would’ve liked. “Is this meant to make me feel better?”
“Grace no talk. Not done.”
I raise my palms in quiet surrender. “Sorry.”
“Eridians hear stories about Grace. ‘Grace is alien. Grace save Erid. Smart smart smart. Thank thank thank.’ See Grace with no wrongs. Need new word.”
I don’t speak. Rocky likes to queue new terms like nobody’s business.
“Word for Eridian with no flaws. Perfect. Above others. Save everyone. ♫♫♩♪”
Savior.
“Erid see Grace as savior. I see Grace normal. Grace not alien. Grace is wrong. Many many many times.”
My chest remains tight even through my laugh.
“Grace is hero. Statement.” Rocky says. “But Grace is human.”
"Rocky is Eridian," he pushes on. "We are same. Rocky not want status and talk of me in cluster. I helped Erid." He pauses. "...is enough for me."
I feel like I can't breathe. I'm drowning, and it isn't even possible because Rocky won't let me. We've been together since I (practically) woke up from my coma, and he's not about to let me go now. "Same," I definitely don't sniffle, "I don't need the fame and glory. Just letting me stay on Erid is enough."
"Letting, question?" Rocky asks. "Grace always welcome. Grace is friend."
It shouldn’t, but I swear those three words take the floor from right under me. Rocky does get it, he doesn’t like our unexpected claim to fame either. To him, he’s just an engineer that did what any Eridian would’ve done for their species.
Like a good person would. Like we did.
"Grace okay now, question?"
I quickly swipe my thumbs beneath my eyes. "Yeah, just the salt content in the water, y'know? Gets in a guy's eyes and-"
Rocky makes a doubtful chirp and I give his xenonite ball a playful nudge. It doesn't move an inch but Rocky makes an indignant squawk anyway. "Yes. Thank you, Rocky."
"Why did you skip it?"
I blink. "What?"
"The savior complex. You never got one."
"Oh." Another wave sends water spiraling beneath my feet. "I don't know, I'm just...not the type. Sometimes we skip those things."
Rocky hums. "Humans are strange."
"Yeah." We are. "And you're stuck with the strangest one of all."
"That's okay. I wouldn't want it any other way."