Chapter Text
Blip A detected.
“Bluh?” I say blearily, rolling out from my tangle of covers and immediately stubbing my toe against Rocky, who is perched beside my bed, perfectly alert. The ship is at a standstill, generating gravity as we'd directed it to when a stop was necessary. “Rocky? Did Mary say—a blip? Did I dream that? Are we close to Erid?”
“Grace stupid, question?” Rocky says, his voice warbling over the familiar sound of the computer, and I sigh. Maybe my plan to fully learn Eridian will turn out to be a mistake. Maybe it's better to be able to turn off the translator and live in peace sometimes. “Two more year travel left. Blip not Erid.”
I frown and fumble for my glasses before following Rocky toward the flight deck, wanting to ask more. Through the window, though, is the answer. Blip A is…
“...Huh.”
I drop into the captain’s seat and lean forward onto my elbows.
“Not Eridian ship,” Rocky helpfully clarifies, and I gently knock his side with an elbow. I’d have to be blind to not immediately recognize that this was no work of Erid nor Earth. “Human ship?”
“Definitely not,” I say. “That ship is definitely not Earth made.”
Rocky trills uncertainly, and I peer closer out the window. It almost looks like something is darkening one of the windows on the other ship, but it’s just too opaque to make out.
“Should we dock?” I ask. With Rocky's swift xenon crafting, we could make contact within a few hours.
I should be freaking out. This is a new species. More flipping aliens?
But surely it couldn't be weirder than a talking rock. No offense to the rock in question. Maybe this one would be green, or bipedal.
While Rocky works on docking, I record a new message. I've been doing this more often lately, speaking to the people of earth, since I know that the Eridians will be able to send probes that way with whatever I want on board. Once we actually get to Erid, that is, assuming I survive near-starvation long enough… No, no, best not to think about that. I focus on Blip A. The new alien. Maybe they’re looking for answers about astrophage, too.
I've fully lost myself in thought when a clang echoes through the Hail Mary—two long bangs. Rocky's signal for me to come deal with something. Sometimes these requests are of vital importance, sometimes it’s because Rocky has gone down a bad rabbit hole on the thinking machine.
I carry the video camera with me, getting a shot of the ship outside with Rocky's tunnel-in-progress nearly reaching it.
“Ready soon,” Rocky reports. “Grace get dressed, statement. Then gravity stop.”
“I am dressed, Rock,” I say, turning off the camera once I've gotten that important clarification on the record. “Give me five minutes.”
We've never talked about a plan for if we meet another alien. It hadn't seemed within the realm of possibilities. You know, maybe we ought to send out a satellite a la Voyager into space, something with instructions on how to stop the astrophage, for anyone else out there.
Maybe Rocky ought to go alone down the tunnel—he is far sturdier, in case the alien goes straight for a laser gun or something. Then again, I have a suspicion that I'll be less intimidating than a spider-like creature. Eridians, spiders, crabs, they all developed in totally different environments, so it stands to reason other planets might have arachnoidish species of their own and, in my opinion, it seems unlikely that another planet would have a favorably viewed spider creature when Erid has that covered.
But Rocky told me to get dressed, so it seems I am the nominee for alien ambassador. This is the kind of thing I would enjoy being consulted on.
As I get the last pieces of the suit on and grab a helmet, the gravity abruptly cuts off, and I yelp as I start drifting toward the ceiling.
“Warn a guy, Rocky!” I shout.
When I reach the airlock, Rocky is waiting with a petulant Rocky did warn Grace and a litany of instructions, but I cut him off.
“Not my first rodeo meeting aliens in a dark tunnel, pal,” I say. “I'll fall back if they make any sudden movements.”
“One creature on Blip A,” Rocky says, and I pause, helmet halfway on.
“You can see it,” I say. Of course he can. It's been ages now and still, I don't always remember intuitively that walls don't mean much to Rocky. We don't speak about the last time I forgot.
“Rocky!” I exclaim. “What does it look like?!”
“Rocky think Grace right ambassador,” Rocky says. He thinks he's funny.
“What's that supposed to mean?” I ask. “Is it fleshy? Blobby? Squishy? Goopy?”
“Rocky think Grace like synonyms too much.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
I'm picturing some kind of massive, gelatinous orb. That’s probably close to how Rocky perceives me. No wonder his only response to the smooch I once laid on the top of his suit-encased carapace was a vehement disgust, disgust! I wouldn't be too pleased if an anthropomorphic stress ball got up close and personal either. I certainly hope this new alien won't try to kiss me.
“Shoot. Okay,” I say. I take a sharp, puffing series of breaths to steady myself, and I latch my helmet on.
The tunnel is far shorter than the first one Rocky built for our two ships, and a hair wider, probably to account for me navigating it in zero G and the fact that we don't necessarily know the mechanics of the other ship’s door. Unlike the tunnel to Rocky's ship, at the other end of it isn't a glass wall—it’s a strangely ovular metal door. The material itself is unfamiliar at a glance, the most obvious sign yet that this is a third alien planet and neither of our own planets’ design. I wish I'd brought the scanner, to see if this one is made of…helium or mercury or something.
Hesitantly, I lift one fist and knock. I have to kind of bang my hand on the door, with my knuckles muffled by the thick gloves. I realize after I'm done that I've just knocked shave and a haircut, and I smile slightly as I push back from the door and get a grip on the ceiling to stay in place a few feet away. I can imagine Rocky querying why I chose such a specific rhythm.
I'm running through dialogue options for Rocky’s commentary on the matter and trying to think what the Eridian words would sound like when there is a sound. Not the sound of the ship tearing away from Rocky's dock (we preemptively carabinered me to a tether for that possibility), nor the squeal of a large door opening. It’s a bang, like mine. Two bangs.
Two bits.
I jerk and go tumbling into a wall, my heart pounding.
“What the—” I shake it off. Coincidence. There is no reason to think it isn't a coincidence.
There’s no more noise from the ship, so I hedge forward again. One knock.
One knock.
Three knocks. Three knocks.
Shave and a haircut. Two knocks.
“Holy crud,” I say, pressing my hands against my helmet. “Jesus. I've lost my mind.”
The sound of air hissing makes me jolt and stare at the door. It’s opening. It’s opening! Second contact. It’s time! It’s here! It…doesn't sound as cool as first contact, but second contact is upon me.
The door pressurizes and rolls to one side, into the ship and out of view. It’s bright on the other side, and I cringe for a second, letting my eyes adjust until, suddenly, I see.
There, floating in an alien spaceship in the far reaches of the galaxy, is a human man. A big human man, with bare feet and heart-print boxer shorts.
“You're in your underwear,” I say dumbly. Even from here, I can hear the faintest echo of Rocky calling me stupid.
The man is staring at me in a way that makes me want to hide—eyes poring over every inch of me, like I'm being assessed head to toe. The man's right hand clenches and unclenches at his side.
Finally the man moves, his head tilting ever so slightly as he squints at me.
“Are you supposed to be fucking NASA?”