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Grace has been excited for this day for a very long time.
I am excited for it too, of course, though I understand the concept a little bit less than I let on. It does not seem to mind this. It has had very little to be excited for lately.
After we arrived in Erid's orbit is a blur. Grace was dying—starving, it called it—and its cells were eating themselves to survive. We had put together a probe in order to alert the elevator station of our condition, to begin the months-long process of thrumming for Grace's survival, but in the end we could not emphasize strongly enough how bad the situation was.
We nearly lost it. I nearly lost it. I believe what I did lose was a part of myself.
There were other difficulties to handle, other painful tasks that needed accomplishing, but I was hardly able to function myself. With time, I had forgotten how to be Eridian. I still cannot bring myself to place blame on Grace for this even as I cannot deny the impact it left on me. Mine was not a fast healing process, but I feel myself settle back into my carapace more and more each day.
The same could not be said for Grace.
Even when we figured out how to synthesize its nutrients, its vitamins, and eventually its food, it still found a new way to struggle. It would explain to me in shaky detail its newest sickness: on good days, it would speak, rumbly, dull chords trying to clumsily sooth our worries. On bad days, it would use its thinking machine to speak for it. On the worst days, which haunted its middle recovery, it would seem to forget about speaking altogether and we would be forced to guess at the meanings of its simple notes.
I kept myself busy. Adrian was in charge of my recovery, but with the task of spearheading the design for Grace's new living space, they found their time to needle me diminish very quickly.
I joke, of course. But I did keep myself busy during my rest periods anyways.
Grace was worried about the gravity—understandably so. It was one of the first big concepts it wanted to hash out when we started planning our probe design. Even the years it had been under 1.5 times Earth gravity had caused it stress, it explained. Adding another .5 on top of that would not kill it, but it would make life very difficult and add to the already dangerous situation it was expecting. So we planned. I created my designs during our journey, unable to build them with the fleeting xenonite materials I had remaining needed for potential repairs, and refused to allow myself to be taken care of on Erid until the designs had been brought to and started on by my old engineering thrum. (I believed Grace did not need to know this last part. It would be very upset. And I was proven right, when Adrian snitched to it.)
Now, though, I believe a safe day has finally arrived. I have been cleared to return to full nominal activity, and Adrian is willing to let me out of their sight for the day though I admittedly do not want to leave it—and I know Grace would enjoy their company, but they have insisted I visit alone today.
I suppose they do have important tasks to handle. Someone must observe Grace's habitat today, and who better than its creator?
I cannot help but tap my claw in anticipation as I wait for the airlock to cycle. Grace is so easy to hone in on, I almost don't have to, but I enjoy the clearer view. Its lungs are strong today. That is a good sign. A very good sign.
The airlock hisses around me as it repressurizes with oxygen and nitrogen. I shuffle back and forth anxiously. Grace will have heard me coming by now, even with its vastly weaker hearing. I hear it's heart speed up. Good. It seems energized today. The door opens and I hurry into the room.
Grace is out of its bed. And standing. It waves one claw at me as I chirp embarrassingly high-pitched in excitement.
“You are walking today!” I sing, my chords rushing together slightly. Yesterday had been a bad day.
“I am,” Grace nods, reaching for the rudimentary keyboard sling across its large carapace. Its mouth orifice curves upwards and I trill louder in wordless encouragement. I am always happy for it to practice. “Day is better,” it plays. “Creation helps.”
I resist the urge to tilt my carapace in the same way it tilts its smaller carapace when it is confused. “Creation?”
It brushes at one of its clothed legs. I skitter forward and press my claw to it. Grace chuckles with their chest. Beneath their pant leg is a thin but sturdy frame, and as I slowly tap my way around its shin and higher to its knee I cannot help the prideful hum that escapes me.
Grace's optical sensors roll in their sockets. “Show-off,” it mumbles, but it is proud of me too. It always shocks me how similar we are in showing emotion in our chords when it forgoes the use of the keyboard. “Well, there's my surprise for you. Yours next, question?”
“Yes yes yes,” I hum, one claw tapping the ground for emphasis. Our triplets are just one quirk I cannot bring myself to get rid of no matter how childish it sounds to other Eridians. “Habitat is finished. We are ready to give you the tour. Today.”
“Today, question?” Grace repeats, surprised and perhaps slightly amused. “No one told me about this.”
“Wanted to tell you first,” I say, smugly. Oh, and— “Also. You are the first and final test. Habitat scientists must observe before proceeding any further.”
“Ah, right.” Grace nods. “Guess I should've expected that, statement.” It takes a few steps and I can pick up on the too-low-for-it hum of the braces taking on its weight. They work. I resist the urge to shimmy in excitement. “How, uh, am I getting there, question?”
Silly human. I repeat as much out loud before continuing, for its sake, “Habitat will be connected to life support systems here. So that the medical team can access you when needed still. Very simple solution.”
“Jeez, someone's snappy today,” Grace snorts but reaches over to rest a hand on the top of my carapace. I exhale a warm puff of steam at it and it sighs, digits tapping on my suit. Sometimes I pretend this habit of its is meant to be Eridian and not a nervous fidget. Either way it is comforting to both of us. “Well, let's go then. I'm excited to see what Adrian and the team have been able to get up to. Lead the way, question?”
I hum in acknowledgement and slowly walk towards the airlock again. “New door is inside a separate airlock tunnel,” I explain. “In case of emergency. If airlock is compromised, the medical center will not be affected.”
“Smart thinking,” Grace hums back. It balances itself on me as we walk, testing out the braces with longer and longer strides. By the time we reach the airlock it is walking on its own with a renewed vigor I have not seen come back until now. “The airlock is already pressurized, question?”
“Yes yes. No cycle needed.” I ‘headbutt’ him in the thigh gently. “You go in!”
“Okay, okay!”
I lean my weight back and forth on either side as the hatch closes behind us and the one in front of us opens. No cycle is needed but there's still safety precautions in keeping areas pressurized separately. Grace hesitates when it finishes, though.
“Grace?”
It sighs softly, fiddling with the fraying edge of its sleeve. “Sorry. I just got nervous for a sec.”
“No nerves,” I huff. Human worries can wait until after! Leave it to Grace to get nervous the moment it is able to have something good happen. “All excitement!” I encourage, ‘headbutt'ing it again (though gentler this time). “Let's go!”
“Yeah, you're right buddy,” it chuckles. It takes a step through the airlock and sinks down into rough sand and pebbles. I chirp and hop down after it. Grace has not seen the biodome yet, but neither have I, and in my enthusiasm I dart slightly ahead.
Grace inhales so sharply that I turn to hear him better in a panic. “Grace? Grace, what is wrong? You are hurt?”
My assumption is quickly corrected when, without warning, it bolts.
“Grace?!”
I skitter after it—getting my footing in the sand takes a moment. “Grace! Come back! We must go slowly!”
It is running. I have seen it run before, though not like this. This is like the running I have heard on the thinking machine: it pumps upper legs, its muscles tense and retract, its lower legs pound the sand rhythmically. At some point, its upper legs extend fully on either side as it turns and weaves and as I slow and observe I realize that it is crying.
It changes direction, abruptly, dodging and ducking some invisible thing, and it sprints nearly the length of this side of the beach with a loud whooping cry splintering out of it wordlessly. I can hear its muscles burning and stretching with the movement. Cathartsis, I think briefly. How long has it wanted to do this? It spins in a circle a few times before running back towards me in the same fashion.
Though, it begins to lose steam (an idiom I had been overjoyed to learn existed) as its breath rate increases, and it pants slightly as it comes to a very slow, very unwilling stop.
Before I can rush to help it, its lower joints buckle, and it crumples.
“Grace!!!” I shriek, kicking up sand as I sprint over to it. “You are injured?!”
Grace sways a little bit on its knees before its top half falls backwards and it lets out a soft oof. “No, Rocky, I'm… I'm okay. I'm okay, I promise. Guess I'm not running /=!”( anytime soon.”
“What?” I question.
It waves a claw up in the air. “Don't worry about it. I—”
“Worried,” I butt in. “Very worried.”
Grace huffs a laugh. I poke at where I know their squishy side reacts the most. It squeaks and twitches away. “Hey! We agreed on no tickling!”
I chitter softly in response. Grace rests its small carapace on the sand, claws working at the granules absentmindedly. And then it… Well. I am not quite sure what it does.
For a panicked moment I think it is seizing until I reassure myself its heartbeat is steady and strong. I watch as it moves its limbs in unison to flatten out the sand beneath it in four nearly equal arcs. It giggles, softly, and I bask in the notes before I realize I still have no clue what it is doing. It reminds me a little of a pebble's burrowing instinct, when they first brave the outside of their nest. Grace should not have that instinct, unless we have fundamentally misunderstood its description of Earth hatchlings.
“Grace?” I warble, drawing out the chords of its shortened name in hope of solidly distracting it.
“Mm… Yeah bud, question?”
“...What are you doing?”
It stills, save for the quick rise and fall of its chest. I didn’t understand the indicator at first. Now it brings me great relief when I watch it.
“It's called a snow !,%÷),” Grace murmurs after a beat or two. “Or I guess a sand one, in this case. Um, it's a creature from Earth stories. It has wings, like birds, but it's shaped like a human. In some mythology they protect humans like guardians and watch over them. Moving my arms and legs like this makes me look like one from above.”
“You make good angel,” I state, however. I substitute a word from an Eridian nesting tale I remember Adrian humming every now and then. A creature that has large fins guiding sailors down into our oceans.…I'm not really sure if what I'm thinking of is accurate. “Show me later,” I finally say, before crawling up closer and tapping as I pace around it. Grace, thankfully, picks up on my hope for it to stay still. “Can compare.” It's still pleasing to observe.
Grace sighs, closing its sensor coverings. It looks peaceful. There is still water tracking in thin rivulets down its front. “Haha, that works. Sure we can find some sort of picture on the computer. But seriously, Rock, this is… Incredible. I can't even… It's just incredible.”
“You are leaking again.” I can't resist the tease, just a little.
“Of course I'm leaking,” Grace huffs, though it brushes at the water with the back of one claw. “I just… I really can't believe everything you guys pull off, every time. It's too much.”
“In a good good good way. Not even the last of it,” I puff insistently, clicking my claws together. “Explore it all. Grace and Rocky. Big big habitat to run run run in.” I'm getting more and more excited with how much of Adrian's work there is to show off and it shows. I love to praise their work, to almost anyone, but it is especially rewarding to show it to Grace.
It laughs, a real laugh that pops out from the large muscle above its stomach and bursts into warm, low notes.
“Alright, alright,” Grace sings, mouth orifice curved again. It sits up and shakes its smaller carapace back and forth. Sand flings from its strands and plinks against my suit and I shriek dramatically, knowing it will enjoy my reaction. It, predictably, chucks a handful of sand in my direction and I skitter off with a trill.
I am so so so happy to see it playful, if only for a short time. I have missed the Grace I first met. It has been so very long since I have seen it like I have today.
And Grace's renewed energy has me considering something. When we were stuck on the Hail Mary, Grace would sometimes run in circles in the bigger parts of the ship. It said it needed to keep up exercise, at least a little, though as time went on it could manage less and less movement. It had further explained when it became nest-bound that some days it felt so restless it could burst out of its skin. Terrifying idiom aside, once we cleared up my worry I understood. Grace had not complained much openly about being nest-bound here on the surface except for its worst days, but now I was realizing just how cooped up it had been.
“Grace,” I say, feeling its sensors turn onto me. “Can you stand up?”
“Huh– Uh, yeah. What's up buddy?” It pushes itself up onto its lower legs, unbalanced in the sand.
I hum a pleased note and click two of my claws together as I sway slightly back and forth. It fuzzes a little at the edges but that's okay, I don't need its image to be sharp right now.
“Uhhhh, Rocky? Whatcha doin’, b–”
I pounce.
Grace shrieks at a higher octave than usual as it dodges backwards. Good. I was aiming to miss, anyways. “Rocky???”
I steady myself and click a few times encouragingly, though it's in too low a register for Grace to hear. “You say humans are stamina hunter, yes?” I spell it out. “You run. I run. You feel better.”
“It kind of sounds like you're saying you want to hunt me,” Grace huffs.
I don't bother with a verbal response, simply settling into position again with a sway.
“Nuh-uh, don't you do it—”
I dart forward and Grace groans as it dodges again, but I've anticipated this and I shift quickly to meet it. “Grace run!” I chirp.
Grace's sensors stare down at me. It doesn't move for a good twelve seconds. And then suddenly, it lunges forward. I scurry backwards with a whistled laugh but it doesn't stop like I did, and I'm forced to scramble quicker than I planned.
“Two can play at this game,” Grace chuckles, a little out of breath as it grabs at me. I duck through its claws and take off down the beach.
It is still slow and unsteady and I am far quicker than it's two lower legs even when it is healthy, but it doesn't seem to be bothered by my going easy on it. Grace chases me up and down the beach until it loses too much breath to keep going.
We flop back down on the sand, Grace's chest heaving and my own vents whistling gently. Grace seems to actually enjoy the sound.
“You know, we have a game back on Earth called /!%. Whoever's ‘it’ chases the other players until it /!%# everyone or gives up. You can modify the rules and stuff, like…” Grace breaks off with a yawn—a horrifying reflex, but I give it a pass for being involuntary. “Freeze /!%, manhunt, sharks and ?>,,[×#…even make up your own. You play /!% too?”
“Yes,” I duck my carapace in a nod. “Called chase. Older pebbles learn to chase food. Younger pebbles learn not to be food. Older hatchmates play as a game.”
“Huh. Look at that,” Grace laughs softly. “Hey, Rock?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
I shuffle closer until I am leaning up against its side and purr, vibrations rumbling. Grace sighs deeply and leans against me too.
“You made it run!?!” Adrian shrieks, after I have finally reassured them that Grace had only dozed off, not passed out.
I wince, or at least my best approximation of it as I lower myself apologetically. “It wanted to!” I defend. “It had fun! Sure, it will be tired, but it needed something to make it laugh again.”
That much gives Adrian pause. They rumble their vents in a sigh and scrape at the ground with one claw. “...Okay. It could have gotten hurt more. But it didn't,” they agree, before I can interject. “Even still—”
“I know, I know. Will tell you beforehand next time,” I offer.
“No!”
“What?!”
"No! Invite me next time!”