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“One of the children asked why I can’t vocalize like they do,” Grace says, smiling.
Rocky knows his friend by now. He recognizes the tone invites him to share in the humor. Grace’s posture is loose and easy, so he is not in distress. Not exactly.
“How did you answer?”
“Oh, science-y stuff—the differences in our respiratory and masticatory apparatuses,” Grace answers, huffing a laugh. “But you know, sometimes I wish I could. Communicate organically, that is. Obviously, with the help of technology, I get along just fine, but…”
Rocky makes an affirming motion. He thinks he understands. Only yesterday, after Rocky woke from a long sleep, Adrian had turned to him and said: He must be lonely. Rocky didn’t have to ask who she meant; he often worries about Grace’s situation.
“You are a good friend to all Erid,” Rocky says, because it never hurts to remind him. “And you may speak Earth language with me whenever you are sad.”
“English,” Grace corrects, absently. “But I appreciate it.”
“Do you want to go home, question?” Rocky asks. Although Grace has explained that he doesn’t need to articulate the grammar of the sentence, the old habit sneaks in any way.
“Maybe someday,” he says, not smiling this time. “Sorry, I guess I’m feeling maudlin. How is Adrian? It’s been a while since she visited.”
Rocky answers, but he is already picking at the exchange in his mind. He hates a problem that he can’t solve himself.
Two worlds may be indebted to Grace, but Rocky’s obligation to the human is personal. There are two beings in the universe that matter more than all the rest, and he wants to see them both happy.
He returns home, resolving to discuss the issue with Adrian. Adrian, at least, seems to understand.