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Rocky, meanwhile, doesn’t use any system to record what I’m saying or doing. No computer, no writing implement, no microphone. Nothing. He just pays attention. And as far as I can tell, he remembers everything I told him. Every word. Even if I only told it to him once several hours earlier. If only my students were that attentive!
I suspect Eridians have much better memory than humans.
Broadly speaking, the human brain is a collection of software hacks compiled into a single, somehow-functional unit. Each “feature” was added as a random mutation that solved some specific problem to increase our odds of survival.
In short, the human brain is a mess. Everything about evolution is messy. So, I assume Eridians are also a mess of random mutations. But whatever led to their brains being how they are, it gave them what we humans would call “photographic memory.”
It’s probably even more complicated than that. Humans have a whole chunk of our brains dedicated to sight, and it even has its own memory cache. Maybe Eridians are just really good at remembering sounds. After all, it’s their primary sense.
I know it’s too early, but I can’t wait any longer. I get a vial of Astrophage from the lab supplies and bring it to the tunnel. I hold it up. “Astrophage,” I say.
Rocky’s entire posture changes. He hunkers his carapace a little lower. He tightens his claws a bit on the bars he uses to keep in place. “???,” he says, his voice more quiet than usual.
I check the computer. It’s not a word I’ve recorded yet. It must be his word for Astrophage. I note it in the database.
I point to the vial. “Astrophage on my star. Bad.”
“???????????,” Rocky says.
The computer translates:Astrophage on me star. Bad bad bad.
Okay! Theory confirmed. He’s here for the same reason I am. I want to ask so many more questions. But we just don’t have the words. It’s infuriating!
“??????????,” Rocky says.
My computer pops up the text:You come fromwhere, question?
Rocky has picked up the basic word ordering of English. I think he realized early on that I can’t automatically remember stuff, so he works with my system rather than trying to teach me his. I probably seem pretty stupid, honestly. But some of his own grammar sneaks in once in a while. He always ends a question with the word “question.”
“No understand,” I say.
“You star is whatname,question?”
“Oh!” I say. He wants thenameof my star. “Sol. My star is called ‘Sol.’ ”
“Understand. Eridian name for you star is??????.”
I note down the new word. That’s Rocky’s word for “Sol.” Unlike two humans fumbling to communicate, Rocky and I can’t even pronounce each other’s proper nouns.
“My name for your star is ‘Eridani,’ ” I say. Technically we call it “40 Eridani,” but I decide to keep it simple.
“Eridian name for my star is?????.”
I add the word to the dictionary. “Understand.”
“Good.”
I don’t have to read the computer screen for that particular translation. I’ve started to recognize some of the more frequent words like “you,” “me,” “good,” “bad,” et cetera. I’ve never been artistic and I’m about as far from having a musical ear as anyone can be. But after you hear a chord a hundred times, you tend to remember it.
I check my watch—yes, I have a watch now. The stopwatch has a clock feature. It took me a while to notice. I had other things on my mind.
We’ve been at it all day and I’m exhausted. Do Eridians even know what sleep is? I guess it’s time to find out.
“Human bodies must sleep. Sleep is this.” I curl up into a ball and close my eyes in an overdramatic representation of sleep. I make a fake snoring sound because I’m a bad actor.
I return to normal and point to his clock. “Humans sleep for twenty-nine thousand seconds.”
Along with perfect memory, Eridians are extremely good at math. At least, Rocky is. As we worked our way through scientific units, it became immediately apparent that he can convert from his units to mine in the blink of an eye. And he has no problem understanding base ten.
