Image 1 — I think this might be the smallest change from the book with the most profound impact. I've thought about it for a while, and since the movie finally got a full home release today, I want to take a minute to unpack it.
Image 2 — I think this might be the smallest change from the book with the most profound impact. I've thought about it for a while, and since the movie finally got a full home release today, I want to take a minute to unpack it.

I think this might be the smallest change from the book with the most profound impact. I've thought about it for a while, and since the movie finally got a full home release today, I want to take a minute to unpack it.

It's just one line, it's as small of a change as it gets, but if you really think about it in the context the story's themes and worldbuilding, the implications are tremendous.

The difference between "I can give, I have extra" and "I can give, I go home six years slower" is that the former, while still a great act of kindness, is ultimately no skin off Rocky's back, whereas the latter involves Rocky actively going against his own self-interest. Obviously being alone in space sucks, but more importantly, it's dangerous - any additional time spent in it is necessarily going to lower the mission's overall chance of success. It's impossible to put a number on it, and it isn't big enough to not be worth it as far as Rocky is concerned, but it's not zero.

You could make the argument that, at least on a philosophical level, this is an even more significant sacrifice on Rocky's part than breaking into the Hail Mary's atmosphere to save Grace's life, because at least that was still actively beneficial to the mission. Obviously it was just as much, if not more, for the sake of his friend as it was for the mission as a whole, but it still was for the mission as a whole: "Save Earth. Save Erid." The director's commentary even confirms that the little xenonite figures Rocky left that tell Grace how to open the sample probe was his way of firmly saying "Finish the job."

Compare that to this scene, where, if only on a very small and abstract level, Rocky is saying "To hell with me and the mission - your life is more important."

This is very significant, because up until that point in the story, Grace and Rocky's friendship has been built on mutual self-interest - "live together, die alone". This doesn't make it less good or important, to be clear, but it's not at all unexpected. If you're a conscious, rational animal like a human or Eridian, it makes perfect sense to do that, and even if you're not, you're very likely to evolve the instinct to do it anyway.

The instinct to cooperate under mutually-beneficial circumstances is overwhelmingly common in nature and found in animals at every level of complexity, and it's so common to see it cross the species barrier that we have a name for it: symbiosis. However ruthless and brutal evolution tends to me, it usually makes more mathematical sense to be nice and cooperate with each other than to be an anti-social jerk.

Self-sacrifice, on the other hand, a willingness to actively go against your own self-interests for the sake of another living thing, is far more rare. Evolution is fundamentally a numbers game, and anything that lowers your chances of surviving to see another day and pass on your genes, however small, is going to be selected against. This is why most animals fall back on "every man for himself" when backed into a corner, even when their own offspring are involved - living to see more mating seasons is going to result in more genes being passed down in the long run than sacrificing yourself for one litter that won't survive without you anyway. It seems terrible to us, but it makes sense for an animal who isn't consciously considering anything they do and is just following instinctual urges honed by evolution.

So how do self-sacrificing instincts evolve, however rarely? By having a species become so social and cooperative, so intrinsically dependent on one another, that they start evolving and interacting with evolutionary pressure more often as collective groups than any one member does as an individual. A wolf willing to sacrifice itself for its pack is less likely to survive and pass on its genes, but a pack of wolves made up of members who are all willing to sacrifice themselves is more likely to survive than a pack whose members are only out for themselves, and over millions of years, the latter wins out over the former. And this is exactly what ended up happening with us.

Now, obviously, not all people are good. There's still a lot of selfishness in the world, but the fact that humans are willing to self-sacrifice at all, let alone as often as we do, is very evolutionarily significant, and a testament to how much being social and cooperative has molded the way we evolved. When you really think about it, on small levels, we act against our own self interest for others all the time - we wait to let people cross the street, we cover lunches and snacks and groceries for our friends, we sacrifice time and effort to talk to people if they need help or support, and so forth. We're more likely to do it for people we know, but we still do it for strangers constantly, and we often see it as an essential part of "what makes us human".

There's even a whole quote from The Martian about this: “If a hiker gets lost in the mountains, people will coordinate a search. If a train crashes, people will line up to give blood. If an earthquake levels a city, people all over the world will send emergency supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it's found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don't care, but they're massively outnumbered by the people who do.”

So we see, in this scene, it isn't just fundamentally human - it's fundamental to people. Any species that evolves to the point of being rational and conscious is necessarily going to be social enough to evolve these exact same traits, no matter what biosphere they do it in.

And the really neat thing is that this point is brought up in the book, very explicitly, but in a different scene that didn't make it into the movie. During some downtime, Grace and Rocky have a whole conversation where they talk about the traits they convergently evolved which made it possible for them to meet and communicate. They bring up the merits of self-sacrifice from an evolutionary point of view, and conclude that even though plenty of selfish humans and Eridians exist, it makes sense that they both evolved an instinct to be selfless at least sometimes because they both had to occupy the same evolutionary niche to evolve rational thought: cooperative, social, tight-knit pack hunters.

The filmmakers took a scene from the book that (I'm guessing) would have been difficult to work into the script and did some lateral restructuring, working the idea into the fabric of the story itself. It's much harder to consciously notice, but it's still just as impactful, if not more.

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 2 days ago

It just occurred to me how strange this interaction is, given that Rocky doesn't know humans can perceive light yet and therefore "hear" things across the vacuum of space. Maybe he did it impulsively and was SHOCKED when he got a real-time wave back.

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 3 days ago
🔥 Hot ▲ 8.3k r/MovieDetails

In Project Hail Mary (2026), the story's big twist is half-revealed almost as soon as the movie starts via the name tags on the personal kits.

Since >!both of the original science officers died unexpectedly and Grace was put in their place at the last minute,!< the other two crewmembers have embroidered tags on their kits while his is labeled with sharpie.

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 4 days ago

I know Rocky's social media takeover isn't "canon" but this seems to be alluding to the popular interpretation that Rocky was just being a weirdo by eating in front of Grace in the movie rather than the movie changing Eridian culture

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 4 days ago

Following at least a dozen suggestions from you all, I have posted my Rocky POV chapters on Ao3!

When I uploaded that first chapter I had idea it was going to get so much kind attention and feedback, I can't thank you all enough. So many of you wanted me to upload them somewhere more official, so I've taken the plunge!

https://archiveofourown.org/series/6266106

Thank you all again! 👎

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 6 days ago

Fun history fact: Neil Armstrong and David Scott (7th person on the moon) almost died during a spaceflight in basically the exact same way that Grace almost died during the fishing trip

It was the Gemini 8 mission, if you'd like to look it up.

I learned about this the other day while watching First Man, in which Neil is also played by Ryan Gosling. Andy's commitment to hard science is so strong that in his book about aliens and interstellar travel, he still chose to almost kill his protagonist by having his ship lose attitude control, which it turns out is a very real, constant danger for real-life astronauts. It makes sense now that I've seen it, but still, I had no idea until I watched the film.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 11 days ago

The movie never directly references the "I'll starve if I go to Erid" thread, and I think in this version of the canon its more of a risk than a certainty, but I do think the mental health room having a wheat field while Grace is contemplating the choice is an intentional reference to it

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 13 days ago

Do Eridian hearts only beat when they want to move their arms/hands? Or are they always beating whenever they're awake and just constantly changing speed?

I'm re-watching Ben G Thomas' video about their biology and remembered I'd had this question for a while.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 13 days ago

I've seen a lot of people assert that there's no canonical basis for Erid having wars, genocides, corruption, and other atrocities the way that Earth does, but I actually don't think that's true at all. I think the text is actually pretty clear about it; the evidence just isn't put in one place.

The reason that last screenshot is important: it highlights that Eridians don't live in abundance and peace just because they have a lot more energy entering their biosphere than we do. Instead, their evolution rose up to meet the abundance of energy, took advantage of it, and now, they simply can't live without it. All the metal and rock their bodies are made up of isn't a "bonus" they get when food is plentiful, but a biological requirement.

This is reflective of how evolution actually works - it doesn't ever go "sweet, more resources than I could ever possibly use, that's nice," but instead, moves to take advantage of resources to the maximum extent possible. This is why enormous insects evolved during the Carboniforous period: the atmosphere had a lot more oxygen to work with and they evolved larger bodies to make use of it. When the oxygen levels dropped, the giant insects all died, just like Eridians would if their food sources were ever threatened.

u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 14 days ago

When Rocky makes fun of Grace's model construction abilities he doesn't actually use the Eridian word for "bad", so I have a dumb headcanon for it

https://preview.redd.it/xwwffbtko98h1.png?width=1032&format=png&auto=webp&s=ba95ff95524609ef10559a13f1de2ee7d7e907c6

We get a good listen to the Eridian word for "bad" when Grace shows him the Astrophage, but I listened to the sounds Rocky makes when he says "Grace very bad at make model" over and over and that noise just isn't in there. So I think what he actually said was the Eridian equivalent of "Grace shit at make model" and Grace, being Grace, just put the word "shit" into the computer as "very bad".

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 16 days ago

How hard would it be for an Eridian to even conceptualize the idea of "the sky"?

When the sky is overcast at night, we can look up and understand "wow, the sky is pitch dark tonight", because normally the sky is full of light in one way or another and we can use that as a point of reference. We spent our entire evolutionary history underneath an atmosphere where we could get plenty of sensory input through, so for us, "sky" is a very basic and intuitive concept.

Eridians never get any sensory input through the atmosphere above them, ever, and they never once could at any point in their evolutionary history. Would it even be possible for them to listen upward and "see" something that looks like a dark empty sky? Or would it be like a "blind-from-birth people don't see total darkness, they literally don't see anything" kind of thing?

I'm not blind, obviously, but the most salient analogy I've heard is "instead of imagining a TV that's turned off and being asked to describe what's on it, imagine if the TV wasn't even there, it's playing in another room, and then being asked to describe what's on it". Could the sky be like that to Eridians, just a completely null point of data?

They figured out how to build a space elevator and eventually reach space, of course, but science is able to observe and prove things that our minds don't really "get" all the time. We were able to prove the Earth was round over a thousand years ago with math and curiosity, but that happened in spite of the fact that we perceive the world around us as a planar surface, not because we were able to turn that perception off.

We do know that their atmosphere is teeming with life, almost like an ocean, and since many of them are predators it'd obviously be important for them to have a conceptual understanding of "up", but that isn't quite the same thing.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 17 days ago

I think people in the "Stratt did nothing wrong and doesn't need to face justice for her actions because the greater good absolves her of everything" crowd should pull their attention away from the murder thing for a minute and really consider the amnesia drug thing

I really think it's worth putting a fine point here, because it's a detail that passes pretty quickly in the middle of an intense scene so you can easily miss it - the amnestic drug Stratt forces Grace to take was developed for, quote, "interrogation" during "anti-terror operations". In other words, torture. She gave him a drug designed to help torture people.

I think you could make an argument that forcing him to take it was an even more egregious violation of Grace's bodily autonomy than murdering him, actually, because at least with murder, that's the end of it. After being forced to take the drug Grace is still a living, thinking, conscious person going about life, but with the full extent of his faculties taken away from him and his ability to make informed decisions interfered with, all in the interest of doing what another person wants. She even mentions that she expects he'll finish the mission before fully recovering from the drug; in other words, she expected him to remain brainwashed and unable to truly act of his own volition for the rest of his life and die without ever getting the full extent of his identity back.

And yes, to be clear - "What she wants" in this case is, categorically and unambiguously, the best interest of the human race. And yes, that does make it the correct and necessary thing to do, above all else. All of that can be true at the same time as "She violated another human being's bodily autonomy and a decent society shouldn't abide by that in any context."

And to be further clear, Stratt is one of my favorite parts of the story. She's a compelling, thought-provoking, brilliantly-written character specifically because of what she did and the fact that she voluntarily put herself in the position to do it. I am anything but a "this character did something problematic so they're a bad character and liking them is equivalent to defending people who do that in real life" kind of toxic fan.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 23 days ago

Another Rocky POV re-write from me! When I first got to this part after watching the movie I was extremely disappointed when it cut off right when it was getting good, so this is partly an attempt to ameliorate that

Contextual information in my two previous posts here and here.

--

"This is Earth gravity?"

It felt odd, having actual solid ground beneath my claws outside of the ship's commissary. Thanks to a lucky accident early in our space history (unlucky for the poor bastard it nearly killed, to be clear, but very lucky for science as a whole) it had been discovered that gravity was necessary for the body to properly recover after eating. As such, a ring of special soundproof rooms had been built into the ship that could lazily turn in place to take advantage of centrifugal forces, and those utilitarian little dens had been the only place where I could actually stand for a very long time.

Grace glances at his screens.

"Yes," he confirms. "This is Earth gravity."

When I have the time, I've already decided, I'm going to figure out how to retrofit my ship's optical system into something I can use by hand, get a proper read on Grace's gallery of magical information rectangles. Not to say that I distrust him, but relying on anyone other than myself for critical data about the ship and potentially the whole mission just made me feel antsy.

I press my claws against the walls of my life support dome and roll it a bit, getting a feel for our newfound bearings. The pull wasn't so weak that it was going to be a problem, I'm pretty sure, but it was certainly weaker than I was naturally calibrated for.

"Not much gravity," I say. "What is value?"

"9.8 meters per second per second."

Ah, that tracks. It was just reminding me of the way gravity felt about halfway up the space elevator back home, where things weren't quite "floaty" yet but you definitely started to notice things getting lighter, including your own body. Falling was slower, but a lot of vertical and lateral movements were faster. New employees at the place causing or receiving minor injuries was so common, often from just overshooting while talking with their hands, it was a staple part of the workplace culture.

"Not much gravity," I affirm. "Erid gravity is 20.48."

Grace puffs out a little air, not quite a laugh but still a sign of levity. "That's a lot of gravity."

With how precarious they were, I held doubts that an Earthling could ever walk on Erid. Not that it would be high on their list of problems.

On that note: yeah, now that we had gravity, I'd finally had the chance to hear an Earthling walk. Grace had explained it already, even done his best to demonstrate what it sounded like, but it only did so much to prepare me for actually hearing it.

Earthlings had, as promised, evolved highly specialized arms where we had remained generalists. Two were for interfacing with their environment, that much was clear with or without gravity, but the other two, the ones that seemed all but useless until now, were used nigh-exclusively for locomotion. The two interfacing arms were attached far too high to reach the ground, leaving them to be held in a restful pose or just dangle when they weren't in use. That left the other two, all on their own, to either remain planted to support the body's weight or to exchange it back and forth to get the body around; suddenly the shape of the "hands" at the end made a lot more sense.

The long, multicultural affair that lead to the ship's launch ended up really coming in clutch here. I happened to know from brushing so many elbows back then that, while it isn't common, there are some languages that use different words for arms and claws depending on what they're being used for. So, describing the specialized arms that Earthlings walked upon, their "legs" and the "feet" they ended with, was as simple as borrowing a few of those words.

While we were in zero gravity, Grace had generally tried to keep his face toward his direction of travel with his thorax perpendicular to the ground, and now I knew why - that's the exact posture Earthlings assume when they walk. So now I needed to get used to the sound of him all reared up and imposing on me like that at basically all times.

Listening to Grace walk was like hearing a painful gymnastic trick that should only last a few seconds go on indefinitely: in one sense, disturbing, triggering that "uncanny" kind of feeling in your insect brain, but also so confounding and remarkable that you couldn't pull your attention away from it. Apparently, there was a whole section of his brain whose main job was keeping the body balanced like that, and I believe him - the guy was a natural klutz if I've ever met one. If it were at all possible for his brain to mess this up he'd be flopping around like a fish on land, yet he remained entirely nonchalant.

As an aside, while Grace was as interested as he always was, he didn't seem at all surprised when he finally saw me walk around. Apparently, while there was nothing on Erid that moved like an Earthling, almost every land animal on Earth moved more or less the way I did, and the departure from this norm was one of the critical things that allowed Earthlings to dominate their ecosystem. Not sure how to feel about that.

"So," Grace began, directing my attention back to the present. He was letting gravity pull him back into his pilot's seat; it shaped his legs into a natural cushion so it probably felt nice. "What's the plan? Fly into the Petrova line and get some Astrophage?"

"Yes!" I answer. "But first, I make xenonite room for me."

It was presumptuous, I know, but I'm going to need to do business with my rations eventually. I point at the hatch that lead to the rest of the ship.

"Mostly in sleep room. But tunnels in lab and... small area in control room. Is okay?"

Proud to say, I'm getting a little better at reading the nuances of Earthling facial expressions. My request seems to puzzle him, but then he relaxes and dips his face down for just a moment - a sign of understanding - likely reaching the same conclusion I did.

"Yes, that's fine. Where is the xenonite?"

"Xenonite parts in bags in dormitory. Liquids, mix, become xenonite."

There's a particularly mobile bundle of tiny muscles over his eyes, and they raise up at that. It's harder with my sonar, but to human vision there's apparently very obvious markings there that evolved entirely for the purpose of conveying emotion.

"Interesting!" he says. "Someday I want to know all about xenonite."

A job for the science team, I'm afraid. Shit, if they were still here, we'd probably be wrapping up the whole Astrophage affair with a nice bow, and the new, equally-indominable threat to both our worlds would be getting the three of them to shut up.

"I not understand science," I admit, breaking my train of thought before I get gloomy. "I just use. Apology."

He smiles. I don't think this is a straightforward "happy" smile but it isn't bad either, its something more subtle. "That's okay. I can't explain how to make a thinking machine, I just use it."

I make an attempt to return a tilt with the same energy. "Good, you understand."

"How long will your xenonite construction take?"

I patter a few fingers. "Four days, could be five days. Why you ask?"

"I want to work fast."

That's rather unlike him. He'd been more than patient with all my questions and just as eager to spend hours asking his own, sometimes for whole Erid days without a break. I know those conversations weren't frivolous, they were ultimately very useful for learning each other's languages, but still.

"Why so fast?" I ask. "Slower is safer, less mistakes."

It's only the safeguards keeping us from fucking dying and taking both our planets down with us, after all, maybe worth an extra measurement or three.

But I think he's giving me a dark look. He shuffles in his chair and glances away, trying to find the right words.

"Earth is in a bad state," he finally says. "It's getting worse all the time. I have to hurry."

I mean, yeah, fair. But that's "let's not dawdle" levels of urgency, not "worth risking the integrity of our life support with a rush job", right? Especially for his planet, it's already beyond frigid.

"No understand. Why Earth bad so fast? Erid go bad slower. Have at least seventy-two years before big problems."

The face he makes as soon as he checks the number gives me a bad feeling. He turns away from the screen and stares at me, eyes wide, then he looks away again. He reaches up and digs his fingers into the side of his forehead, his whole face crumpled with careful thought.

"... Erid is much hotter than Earth," he finally says. "And Erid is much larger, with a much thicker atmosphere. So Erid has a whole lot more heat stored in its air."

I think I caught the emphatic word there. My gut tightens.

"Earth is getting bad fast. Very fast. In fourteen years, most Earthlings will be dead."

... What?

I repeat the words to myself, trying to imagine any other possible way I could interpret them, but I come up empty.

Fourteen years. It's hard to even think.

Earth years. Fourteen. Twenty-two.

It took us almost that long just to figure out what the problem even was, and that's how long it would be until at least half of the people of Earth would be dead.

I hadn't even been old enough to... oh God no, no, I don't even need to go there: an Earthling lifespan is a sufficient point of reference here. Just the other day I had been astounded when Grace explained his species' life cycle to me. I'd struggled to take in the implications, said a few not-entirely-tolerant things about how purposelessly fast it all seemed, and yet-

My arms almost buckle as I make the connection. There were babies being born on Earth, right now, today, who would immediately start growing at a rate I could scarcely comprehend, and they still wouldn't be adults by the time their world was half empty.

I don't know the whole timeline here, I don't know what the numbers were when they first discovered Sol was infected, but if things on Erid had ever gotten to the point where we had only fourteen years to work with? We'd have all died. Simple. Nothing else to consider - we'd be fucked. Our species would have vanished from the universe with barely a cosmic second's worth of warning, lucky to have even figured out what was about to hit us. Our final days would be spent starving and eating each other until the very last Eridian wasted away in a ditch somewhere, and that would be that.

And yet, here Grace was, and here was his ship. A monumental show of collective effort and manhours, technology and resources I can scarcely understand, all flung trillions of kilometers into the void. Fourteen years, and still just as determined to get the damn thing done.

I try to process the implications of that, and... I can't. I don't have any other points of reference to work with. This is the most alien Grace has felt to me since the first time we met, it almost frightens me.

But I don't need to do all of that comprehending right now. I just need to trust that he's telling the truth.

I'm going to need to use my time a lot more intentionally from now on. I take a deep breath, steadying my voice to the maximum extent possible. "I understand. Stress. Concern."

Could be my imagination, but I think I hear tension leave Grace's body. "Yes."

I get a good click as I bring two claws together.

"Then we work, we work now!" I'm already listening to the living space throughout the ship, mentally doing measurements. Getting this done in a few days will be a challenge, and all of a sudden, I'm in the mood for one. "Learn how to kill Astrophage. You return to Earth, you explain, save Earth!"

I make a good trundle for the exit, expecting Grace to meet my enthusiasm. Once again, I'm surprised.

He sounds uncomfortable, I think. He breathes in quietly, then lets it out a little louder, more deliberate. It's not quite a self-soothing sort of breath, I know that's common to both our species and this is different. And before I can ask what's eating him, he answers me.

"I'm not going back. I'm going to die here."

My arms buckle properly. I should be embarrassed, but I don't even notice.

"W..."

Now I can't think. I want to replay what he said, figure out what words I got confused, but, the only memory my mind wants to present is the sound of my airlock depressurizing. When I finally force myself to speak, it's robotic.

"Why?"

"My ship only had enough fuel for the trip here. I don't have enough to go home," he explains. The sad but gentle way that he speaks scares me far more than the words, I may barely know the language but I know that tone. "I have tiny little probes that will return to Earth with my findings. But I will stay here."

I know it's wrong, but the first thing that breaks through the numbness is anger. Ugly, primordial anger, the kind nobody should be proud of because it leads to something worse.

"...Why is mission like this?"

His hands rise up a little, along with the connecting points of his arms. I'm so angry I feel sick; I know he's trying to communicate something to me, the only person he has left to confide in about being put to death, and I understand nothing.

"This is all the fuel my planet could make in time."

... oh.

The anger doesn't leave, exactly. But, as I realize the gravity of his words and my rational brain steps in, it... fails. Like a potent chemical reaction without a catalyst.

Of course. What else could they do?

I have enough information. I could have come to that conclusion myself. I didn't have to force him to make this conversation longer than it needed to be.

Astrophage is a particular little bastard. It insists, politely but without compromise, on remaining 96.415 degrees Celsius at all times; never more, never less. Introduce any more energy than that, and it will soak that energy right up until it can soak no more, and then simply ignore it.

That's exactly why they've been such a pain in the ass for both our planets - they eat themselves fat on the best sources of energy in the universe, the ones we just happen to depend on to live, and then use it to fuck right off. That evolutionary quirk is what we exploited when we made all our nautical breeder tanks. The oceans of Erid may not be as abundant as the sun, but they're still more than warm enough to satisfy the Astrophage appetite.

Earth, meanwhile? Grace told me, its average temperature sits at a dismal 15 degrees Celsius, with barely an atmosphere to speak of. Under those conditions, Astrophage would be hot, nearly hot enough to boil water, and anything hot is constantly losing energy. They had the miracle of interstellar travel at their fingertips, just in time to save themselves, only to discover that accumulating the power needed to do it wouldn't just be an uphill battle - it would be a bucket with billions of tiny holes. A bucket that they had no choice but to fill, under a time crunch so extreme I still didn't know how to imagine it, or else everything they ever knew and loved would die. It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Grace is still looking at me. It's hard to say, but I think he knew this would be difficult for me. Me, the one who gets to go home and enjoy the rest of his own stupid life at the end of this mess - that's who he's thinking about right now. And they sent him here to die. Him and two other Earthlings I'll never get the pleasure of meeting.

"... You knew this when you left Earth?"

He gives a soft nod, "Yes."

I should be furious. Their own people, they sent them all to die. The living Hell that was this mission was always going to have one survivor, and it was always going to be me. Why am I so calm?

Part of it, though I hadn't wanted to admit it, is that some part of me saw this coming. The size of the ship, the capacity of the tanks relative to the amount of usable fuel, the skeletal crew size - I'd avoided thinking about it, tried to brush it off as a bunch of "Earthling stuff" I didn't understand, but now it all made sense

But mostly... he said so himself, not even a minute ago: fourteen years. Those hideous, half-formed mental images, they're still fresh in my mind. In as much as I can, I try to imagine the desperation of his people.

Would we have done the same thing?

... Of course we would. What a stupid question.

Not everybody would like it, I'm sure. A lot of bleeding heart-types would want us to just roll over and get ready to accept extinction with dignity, eat our last meals and let half a million years of recorded history come to an otherwise-avoidable end. But other people would find sense. Enough people. Our entire crew had been hopeful to return but entirely ready to die; what difference would a guarantee have made, really?

They didn't do this because they wanted to. They were just overwhelmingly unlucky, and they didn't even realize it. It's irrational, and I know it isn't helpful, but a part of me feels guilty over ever being so afraid for Erid. They had a little more technology, sure, but so what? It's technology, it's not miracle work.

They sent my friend out here to die, and I did not hate them. But it didn't make me any less sad.

Focus.

Right. I need to keep all that to myself. However much better he deserves, the least I can do is keep this from being any harder for him. For what little it matters, I steady my voice.

"You are good Earthling."

"Thanks."

I don't know how much longer he has, but I hope it's enough for me to learn how to say something better.

"... So," Grace turns his chair toward his screens, obviously wanting to change the subject. "Let's collect Astrophage. I have a few ideas for how we can get some samples."

... hang on.

"My equipment is very good at detecting trace amounts-"

I hold up a claw, "Wait."

Returning to an objective state of mind made me remember something, something so obvious it made me feel like an idiot. Could it really be that simple...?

"How much Astrophage you ship need to return to Earth?"

The chair turns again. Grace looks very taken aback, even I can tell. "Uh..."

But my brain doesn't even wait for an answer. It's already frantically taking measurements of the fuel bays, making a lot of educated guesses, doing math-

"... just over two million kilograms?"

Oh my God, I don't even need to do math! It wasn't just simple, it was trivial!

I pipe up, only for it to be far too high for his range of hearing. I force myself to take a breath and speak clearly.

"I can give."

Grace jolts up from his seat. "What?!"

"I can give, I have extra," I explain. I know this is going to raise a lot of questions, but I can't wait. "Can give that much and still have plenty for my return to Erid."

I hadn't recognized it at the time, but I've only heard his body this riddled with shock once before - the very first time he saw me.

"Seriously?! It's a lot of fuel!" Earthling voices don't range in pitch to show emotion nearly as broadly as ours, but they still do it, and I'd never heard it more pronounced than this. "Let me repeat it: two million kilograms. Two times ten to the sixth power!"

His heart is beating so loudly I can't even tune it out. I think this is fear, his brain is so afraid of further disappointment it instinctively fights any good fortune that could set it up. And who could blame him?

"Yes," I step closer to him, as much as I could manage in the space we had. "I have much Astrophage. My ship was more efficient than planned on trip here. You can have two million kilograms."

He stares at me. When he finally blinks again, his eyes unfocus and he stares out into... the wall? Nothing? I thought I spoke as clearly as I could, but his body isn't calming down at all. If anything, it's getting worse.

His extremities shake, then his entire body. Within seconds, he's breathing so hard it distorts his entire outline. It's like the room has suddenly gotten desperately hot - or, I guess in his case, like his body desperately needs oxygen for a matter of life or death. He reaches up and braces his hands against his head, tipping back until the chair catches him. His heart is now hammering at a volume I hadn't even thought was possible, making his whole circulation cycle plainly clear.

"Oh my Ωæd..."

"No understand," I say, nervous. I know I shouldn't be making assumptions, but, I expected this news to make him happy, and everything about this screams "distress".

Then instead of answering me, he starts... bleeding?! It's coming out of his face, his hands move as if to staunch it. Whatever it is, it definitely shouldn't be there-

"You are okay?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm okay..." His voice is so strained I can barely understand him. "Thank you... thank you, thank you-!"

"I am happy, you no die!" I yelp, frantically trying to get him back to the motivated state he was in before. "Let's save planets!"

But I only make it worse - or at least, it was always going to get worse, and I failed to stop it. His voice degrades into something I don't even think are meant to be words. It sounds terrible, like he suddenly can't empty his lungs unless he uses his voice, loudly and painfully, to force it. The bleeding, or whatever this is, gets much worse; he stoops over and tries to staunch it with both hands but it makes no difference.

Oh Dear God, I've killed him-

"Grace?" I clamber up against the nearest face of my ball, trying not to panic. "What is wrong-?!"

No reaction. He either can't hear me, or he's completely incapacitated.

"Grace?!"

Nothing.

Is this how the mission ends? Are two civilizations going to die because I had no idea you could make Earthlings spontaneously bleed out by talking to them at just the wrong angle?

Breathe. Don't be stupid. What can you do?

Very little, actually! I'm stuck in this damn ball!

I'm tempted to bump into him, anything to get his attention at this point, but I have no idea how much momentum and weight would be too much for his spongy body. I may have already killed the poor bastard with my words, I'm not going to press my luck with physical force.

At a loss, I rattle my claws against the wall and shout. "Grace!"

It could just be the state I'm in, but I think I finally got him to flinch. One of his hands pulls away from his face, shaking violently all the way, and he weakly holds it up. He's only barely holding the gesture together, but I still recognize it - "Wait."

Uh...

Am I being stupid? Is this just another Earthling thing? An overwhelmingly fucked up but ultimately normal Earthling thing? It wouldn't be the first time.

He's not dead yet... as overclocked as his vitals are, they're anything but unlively. An Eridian losing this much fluid would have been a serious medical emergency pretty much immediately, he'd be dead many times over by now if that was the standard we were working with.

The hand he was gesturing with drops, falling against the surface of my ball. He doesn't move it back.

Uh...

Am I supposed to be doing something?!

I pivot on the spot, feeling like an idiot and surely sounding like one too. Very nervously, I reach for where he's touching.

"You are okay...?" I ask again. He still can't speak but he finally answers with a jerky nod. There's a lot more force behind it than he usually uses.

Just as I was feeling a little reassured, his body awkwardly slinks down from the chair and situates itself right next to me. I really don't want to be any closer to whatever this is but I feel obligated to stay in place. He slumps against my life support ball, both hands now gripping their opposite arm and tucking everything in tight. Nothing's stopping him from just hemorrhaging into the open air now, just as hard as before and even louder without anything to muffle it. I can't read his expressions at all but he must be making a lot of them, all the tiny muscles are just as worked up as everything else.

I have no idea what... state this is, for want of a better word, but it does not seem voluntary at all. Doing anything seems like it takes him a lot of effort, so I resist the urge to ask any more questions. A part of me wonders if I should politely excuse myself, maybe this is a thing that's supposed to be private, but then I remember that the only way out of this room is through a hatch only he can open. Either he wants me to stay, or he's too incapacitated for it to make a difference. So I do as he asks and simply wait.

It probably wasn't actually that long, probably between one and two hundred Earth seconds, but after what feels like an excruciating length of time, Grace starts trying to speak again. He has to gulp down a lot of air for every syllable, and even then I can't make most of them. I catch his word for my name a few times. I think he's still trying to thank me, profusely.

"No understand..." I say, still nervous to set him off again.

He nods again and tries taking a deep breath, only to crumble back into those terrible mouth noises. His head falls and (shudder) presses up against my wall, making the sloshing, squelching inner workings as obvious as they possibly could be. It's unpleasant up close at the best of times and it's simply revolting right now, God, no wonder they never evolved decent hearing.

After still more waiting he tries again, failing in the same way, but then finally succeeds on the third try. His breathing is raspy, it shudders horribly in both directions and the leaking hasn't even slowed down, but he finally seems to have a little more control.

"Grace, you are healthy?" I ask, interrupting before he can dissolve into more platitudes.

"Y... yes," he nods a third time. He makes a wet noise with his nose that I really don't appreciate. "Yes, h... healthy."

He makes another weird noise, and then, I think, tries to smile. He lifts himself from the wall, barely, and scrubs his sleeve around his face.

"'M sorry, th- this is... probably really weird for you."

"Yes", I answer. I want to say "Holy shit, man, you fucking think?" but at least we're getting somewhere. "Hurt?"

"Mmm-mm," he mumbles, shaking his head. He's gesturing a lot, probably to make up for the fact that he can barely talk. "E-Earthling thing, g... good for us."

I'm fed up. I'm doing my best to be patient, but at this point, I can't keep an indignant shrill out of my voice: "How is leaking good for Earthlings?! Gross!"

His reaction is nothing I could possibly have expected - he laughs. It's not much at first, he has to really fight to get it going, but in no time at all it's completely taken over. He turns around and leans back against the ball, howling with joy so loudly that it vividly sharpens the whole ship. He's still leaking everywhere, just as hard if not harder, but something about my outburst has sent him from overcome with those awful sounds to overcome with laughter.

I'm dumbfounded. I have no choice but to wait until he can speak again and explain himself.

Remember when he was urging us to go downstairs and start working on my hab as fast as possible, under threat of death to half his species? That was nice.

"E-earthlings... 'leak' when we feel v... very strong emotions," he finally says, mopping his face again. "Uh... u-usually when we're sad, but... also when we're very, very, very happy."

Okay, that... explains nothing. But it begs the obvious.

"... You are happy?"

He laughs again and hits against the wall. I think it was meant to be friendly but it's so loud it makes me jolt. I know it was a stupid question, but come on, man, I'm trying to be considerate!

"Of course*! Of course I'm happy, I- R-Rocky, all this time, I thought- I..."*

He needs a moment: the leaking sounds are back. God almighty, I never could have guessed "I'm mostly water" meant "My body can afford to dump several times the amount of water in your entire body for no other reason than to talk about its feelings." Like a deluged version of what he calls "laughing."

Actually... it really is like that. I make the connection now that I've heard him go from one to the other in both directions. These leaking sounds and the sounds humans make when they laugh, they're not the same but they are strikingly similar, like they stem from the same basic biological chain reaction. Thinking back, it should have been obvious - I freaked out pretty bad the first few times I heard him laugh, but since then I've just gotten used to it. And I know what laughing is for...

"Rocky, you saved me," Grace finally says. "I'm g... I'm going to live*, of course I'm happy!"*

"Good, happy," I repeat. "But why leak?"

He takes a few moments to steady himself, as I hoped. Nudging the subject to biology always seems to do that.

"It's for- it's a communication thing. Sometimes we're, uh... sometimes we're bad at talking, so we 'leak' to let each other know how we feel. Other Earthlings see it and know you need help."

So I was right, it is like laughing? Except... oh.

Oh my God I'm a complete piece of shit.

Okay, no, I need to be fair. I'm doing a lot of things for the first time here.

In one respect, I couldn't have possibly known what all that meant, and it was disgusting. Horrible. Oriented for a much weaker range of hearing, where that amount of noise would be tolerable. Realistically, I couldn't have been expected to hold back my innate responses.

But in another respect... someone I care about (and even if I didn't, so what?) had spent all this time so wracked with the need for consolation that his body plunged into this stressful, incapacitating state in order to beg for it as loudly as possible, to any soul that could hear. And I've just been standing here, the only company for trillions of kilometers, doing nothing but bitch and moan and wait for him to stop.

Of course it was disgusting and loud - it evolved for the purpose of grabbing attention, invoking a pressing response. I'm sure Earthlings, in turn, evolved to notice it and understand what it means and drop everything to act accordingly. I could have intuited that, I have pattern recognition. It was crude and biologically-wasteful but fundamentally no different from the dozens of emotional sounds we make.

And shit, what had caused it in the first place? All-too-casual alleviation from the one primal fear every living thing should be on the same level about. Every living thing except me, apparently.

Yeah, no, I'm a piece of shit. They really, truly could not have sent a worse person to do this. Literally anyone else on the ship-

Normally, this would be when a commanding voice would dutifully lance itself into my brain, but this time, it was something much gentler:

It wouldn't kill you to be a little kinder to yourself, you know.

Fine, fine: I'm not a piece of shit. I'm just stupid. And I've been out here alone for too long. And that's a bad combination if you don't want to act like a piece of shit.

Was there anything I could have done, really? Earthlings don't thrum, and even if they did, I can't imagine the fat blob they call a brain would be compatible with the cinder block sitting where mine should be. But there's an obvious thing to do instead of agonizing over hindsight.

"How Earthlings help?" I finally ask.

I can tell he heard me, but he needs a second to answer. I try to read his face, but its gotten so inflamed and soggy that all the nuance was lost on me. He pats his hand against the wall again - much softer, thankfully.

"Rocky, I don't need... you saved my life, w-why would-"

Another break, more noises. I think the leaking has finally started to stem but little things are still setting it back off. He does seem to be making an effort to steady himself, though; when he speaks again it's strained and rough but no longer takes a concentrated effort to understand.

"You already helped me, Rocky, you've giving me the chance to go home. Why would you need to do anything else?"

Why indeed. It's a vice, I admit it.

"Need to work fast, save Earth. Can't start yet, how help?"

Grace laughs again and nods. He pulls in another deep breath and manages not to shudder, though its still shaky on the way out.

"Right, yeah, you're right, uh... just stay here. I'll be okay."

Well I can't exactly not stay here, but I don't think that's what he meant.

"Understand."

He starts putting in more effort to calm himself, I think. If that is what this is, it's working, bit by bit. He fumbles around in the pockets of his jumpsuit but doesn't seem to find what he's looking for, so he unzips it slightly, tucks his mouth and nose into the fabric, and mumbles an apology. Then he makes maybe the most offensive Earthling noise I've heard yet, it reminds me of that involuntary lung-related thing he does now and then that I don't have a word for, only a lot wetter.

"Gross."

He laughs again, wiping a hand on his front. "Yeah," he agrees. "Gross."

He makes a few more tube-clearing noises, and then, finally, starts getting to his feet. He wobbles a little, I know the ball is already steady enough to catch him given our weight difference but I still brace a hand down to steady it anyway. Once he's up he takes another deep breath. Everything is still shaky and watery, probably going to be for a while, but the worst of it seems to be out of his system.

"Okay..." he says, probably to himself. "Yeah... yeah, okay-!"

He makes a move to undo the hatch, moving very fast all of a sudden. As it slides aside he looks at me, smiling. I'm taken aback - I've heard him smile before, a lot, it was the first Earthling expression I learned and I learned it very early, and I'm still taken aback. His entire face has to stretch and contort to accommodate the size of this one. It's... creepy to listen to, honestly, but I have a feeling that's not how an Earthling would see it.

"After you, ϐ°r," he says, gesturing and using a very odd tone of voice I don't follow. "I °ɲϐiϐıt."

"No understand."

He laughs even more, already stooping down to help me with my ball. I assumed he wouldn't be able pick the thing up now that we were working with gravity, I'm over twice his weight now. Maybe he can at least help me steer?

"What? Got cold feet about those r˘ɲæᵛӘı°æɲϐ all of a sudden?"

"What?!"

Two hands land on the ball. If I didn't know any better, he was about to toss it.

"Let's go build your room!"

"Ah! Yes, build, yes!"

I scramble to get moving before he hurts himself.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 24 days ago

Musing about why Eridians have very human-like family structures despite having R-type reproductive adaptations

Full disclosure, I'm not an expert on biology and evolution by any means, this is just me running my mouth based on what I do know.

So in nature, there are two broad categories that you can put a species into in order to describe their reproduction strategy - K-type and R-type. They aren't hard and fast rules, but in simple terms, K-type is "quality over quantity", while R-type is "quantity over quality."

K-type organisms are like us - they dedicate a lot of time, energy, and resources into the process of finding a mate and taking care of their offspring on an individual basis, making it significantly more likely that the offspring will survive in exchange for not having very many of them. Large mammals and most birds fall under this category.

R-type organisms, on the other hand, simply have as many babies as they possibly can and put very little, if any, care into ensuring their survival; the vast majority of these offspring won't survive, but the genetic line keeps going via sheer overwhelming numbers. Small mammals, most reptiles, and especially fish fall under this category. Off the top of my head, the most extreme example I can think of is the giant clam - for millions of years, they've kept themselves going by just freely releasing hundreds of millions of egg and sperm cells into the ocean and counting on probability to do the rest.

Again, everything here is in generality, but you're more likely to see specific adaptations showing up (sometimes convergently) in K-type animals that usually aren't seen in R-type animals and vice versa, simply because they're an adaptation that's more mathematically conducive to each strategy.

You might see where I'm going with this - on paper, Eridians have a lot of R-type coded adaptations. They're hermaphrodites (less time and energy on specialized organs), they lay eggs and fertilize them externally (no resources spent on being "pregnant"), and they have around five babies at a time with a gestation period of a little under two months. That may not sound like much, plenty of animals have larger litters in less time, but remember, Eridians live for hundreds of years. An average of five babies in two months is an absurdly fast rate in the context of a lifespan that long; just imagine what it would look like if we could reproduce that fast, and we live about a tenth as long as them.

Despite this, Andy's document spells out that they're very much K-typers with exactly the same basic family unit that we have - they mate for life, a process that presumably takes a lot of time and bonding, and both parents have an instinct to care for their children. The intricacies are no doubt very different, but the basics are the same.

So how'd they turn out like this? The cynical answer could be that it would simply be too unsettling to a human audience - to have a species with sapience and personhood and the ability to choose between right and wrong also feel nothing for their offspring and leave them to fend for themselves from birth. Maybe it isn't "fair", but we're so viciously hard-wired to care for young members of our species, whether or not they're related to us, that it's basically impossible for us to not see that kind of behavior as reprehensible.

But I don't want to go for that answer, that's boring; I'd like to think there actually is an interesting, evolutionarily-sound reason for this seemingly-contradictory arrangement. So far, I've come up with two main schools of thought, neither of which are mutually exclusive:

1. Pre-civilization Erid was such a dangerous place that it simply rose the bar for an R-type animal

We know that Erid is absolutely teeming with life, and therefore teeming with danger. It's essentially an ocean of gas with many times as much solar energy getting dumped into it as our liquid oceans, and oceans are where you get the most extreme R-type reproduction strategies here on Earth. Maybe the rate at which Eridians reproduce is actually fairly conservative by Erid standards, maybe it actually meets their planet's definition of "K-type", because the Earth standard for K-type reproduction simply wouldn't cut it there - you need to meet a baseline of reproduction speed or you simply go extinct.

This would also be pretty sad, because it'd mean that prehistoric Eridians had an obscenely high infant mortality rate, but that isn't exactly unrealistic if you look at our own history.

2. Pair-bonding and parenting are fairly recent evolutionary developments for them, and they dominated their planet before their physiology could "catch up"

This would be interesting, because it'd mean they got to the same place as we did via a very different road. For us, the instinct to care for our young runs very deep - as I said, it's very mammalian. We were doing it long, long before we became people, possibly as long as we've existed as an evolutionary kingdom. A lot of new things happened to us on the path to becoming human but the instinct to love and protect our offspring and mates, while it became more complicated as we grew more intelligent, isn't one of them.

For Eridians, maybe evolving those instincts was an active part in paving that path. Maybe they had evolutionary ancestors who reproduced like insects, and in the modern day, they can track their history of gradually becoming more and more sapient by looking for fossil evidence of parenting and pair-bonding.

Grace does speculate in the book that maybe the way they sleep was the beginning of their pack instinct, and its intuitive how that trait would put evolutionary pressure on them to change their parenting styles - if you've evolved a biological need to pass out and become a sitting duck for predators every few days, you're overwhelmingly more likely to pass on your genes if you actually stick around and protect your babies while they're in that state rather than leave them to fend for themselves.

This is all just speculation though, and it might not be as scientifically-sound as I thought - as I said, not an expert. If anybody else has any other ideas I'd love to hear them, speculative evolution is one of my favorite niche hobbies.

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u/SayFuzzyPickles42 — 25 days ago