grace finds a camera and a stack of film in addition to the polaroid (of himself, alone) that was tucked into his personal belongings. the first picture he takes is of himself in the lab holding up his cup of surprisingly perfect space coffee in a “believe in the hail mary” branded mug. he scribbles, “time to get to work” across the bottom.
he takes a picture of yao and ilyukhina’s name patches that he’s pulled from their flight suits. another picture of the empty control room. two more pictures of the view from outside the airlock — the vastness of space and the twinkle of stars.
when rocky shows up, he’s found a much more interesting subject to photograph. he’s got some pictures of the alien tinkering with something, giving him a thumbs “up” (“no, that’s down”) or jazz hands. rocky can see him holding something up, can hear the click of the shutter and the whir of the internal components that spit out the photo, but grace has to explain the entire concept to him.
“we take photos to remember things,” he says.
“human brain weird,” rocky replies. “can remember some things, but not all. eridian remember all.”
grace’s collection grows. pictures of rocky in his enclosure, goggles and gloves drawn on the clear xenonite. rocky sleeping and grace in the corner, holding up a peace sign. rocky moving across the tunnel in the lab so quickly he’s just a brown blur.
he’s still got some film by the time they make it to erid. he documents the progression of his ecosphere on the alien planet, from tiny bubble to full on habitat. he’s got a picture of him and rocky, standing proudly in his new and improved life support suit. rocky and adrian, standing by the water. his first class of students, standing behind him in their celebration clothing for the first eridian-human graduation ceremony.
rocky will occasionally sneak away his favorite photos to transcribe them onto small stone slabs that line the walls of his home with adrian. in each of the pictures, there are noticeable changes to grace — more grooves in his face, a dip to his posture.
when grace’s eyes can no longer see light, rocky gifts him with one of these slabs. it’s a picture of grace flanked by rocky and adrian. in front of them is a smaller eridian, half the size of its parents, its carapace made up of marbled grey and brown stone. grace is laughing, watching as the young eridian tries to find its footing in the life support suit.
grace traces the grooves of the stone with his fingers.
“it’s us,” he says. “it’s a picture of us.”
“it is memory,” rocky replies. “for grace.”
