Project Hail Mary

by Andy Weir

I know Liberia uses imperial units but I don’t know my own name. That’s irritating.

“What’s your name?” “I am Emperor Comatose. Kneel before me.”

“What’s your name?” the computer asks. I look down at my sheet toga. “I am the great philosopher Pendulus!” “Incorrect.”

I shook my head. “How can there be a sudden change in the sun? It’s a star, for cripes’ sake. Things just don’t happen this fast for stars. Changes take millions of years, not dozens. Come on, you know that.” “No, I don’t know that. I used to know that. Now I only know the sun’s dying,” she said. “I don’t know why and I don’t know what we could do about it. But I know it’s dying.”

How do I know that? I like kids. Huh. Just a feeling. But I like them. They’re cool. They’re fun to hang out with. So I’m a single man in my thirties, who lives alone in a small apartment, I don’t have any kids, but I like kids a lot. I don’t like where this is going… A teacher! I’m a schoolteacher! I remember it now! Oh, thank God. I’m a teacher.

All life needs is a chemical reaction that results in copies of the original catalyst. And you don’t need water for that!”

“You think they’re…eating the sun?”

This star I’m looking at…it’s not the sun. I’m in a different solar system.

“How did you do it? What killed it?” “I penetrated the outer cell membrane with a nanosyringe.” “You poked it with a stick?” “No!” I said. “Well. Yes. But it was a scientific poke with a very scientific stick.” “It took you two days to think of poking it with a stick.” “You…be quiet.”

“It’s water. Astrophage is mostly water.”

“What does this all mean?” she asked. I put my head in my hands. “It means every scientific paper I ever wrote is wrong.”

Besides, if I had a nickel for every time I wanted to smack a kid’s parents for not teaching them even the most basic things…well…I’d have enough nickels to put in a sock and smack those parents with it.

Light is a funny thing. Its wavelength defines what it can and can’t interact with. Anything smaller than the wavelength is functionally nonexistent to that photon. That’s why there’s a mesh over the window of a microwave. The holes in the mesh are too small for microwaves to pass through. But visible light, with a much shorter wavelength, can go through freely. So you get to watch your food cook without melting your face off.

It’s a ship. Another ship.

You never know with xenonite.

What if Eridians have a life-span of 2 million years and waiting a century to reply is considered polite? How am I going to get rid of this red 7 on the rightmost pile? I don’t have any black 8s in my deck and—

But this is the interstellar equivalent of a stranger offering me candy. I want the candy (information), but I don’t know the stranger.

Human beings have a remarkable ability to accept the abnormal and make it normal.

Dimitri pursed his lips. “It is…good. Time for science!”

Also, until I hear otherwise, his name is Rocky.

I just need to keep doing what I’m doing. Work on science communication. The verbs and nouns of physics. It’s the one set of concepts we’re guaranteed to share—physical laws are the same everywhere. And once we have enough words to actually talk about science, we’ll start talking about Astrophage.

The knot in the tape comes loose, recoils wildly, and smacks Rocky’s hand. He shakes the affected hand in pain for a moment, then continues messing with the tape measure. “Yeah. You’re definitely a scientist.”

“No?” I ask “No,” he says in Eridian. “So, ‘yes’?” “No, yes.” “Yes?” “No. No.” “Yes, yes?”

Oh thank God. I can’t imagine explaining “sleep” to someone who had never heard of it. Hey, I’m going to fall unconscious and hallucinate for a while. By the way, I spend a third of my time doing this. And if I can’t do it for a while, I go insane and eventually die. No need for concern.

“We’re part of the ecology, Ms. Stratt. We’re not outside it. The plants we eat, the animals we ranch, the air we breathe—it’s all part of the tapestry. It’s all connected. As the biomes collapse, it’ll have a direct impact on humanity.”

He turned back to me. “So here I am. Environmental activist. Climatologist. Antiwar crusader.” He looked out to sea. “And I’m ordering a nuclear strike on Antarctica. Two hundred and forty-one nuclear weapons, courtesy of the United States, buried fifty meters deep along a fissure at three-kilometer intervals. All going off at the same time.”

I’ve gone from “sole-surviving space explorer” to “guy with wacky new roommate.” It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out.

He’s not even that old for his species. There are old Eridians out there who were alive when Columbus discovered (a bunch of people already living in) North America.

“You are good human.”

“Amaze is wrong word,” he says. “Amaze is compliment. Better word is ♫♪♫♪.” “What’s that mean?” “It is when person not act normal. Danger to self.” “Ah,” I say, adding the new chord into my language database. “Crazy. My word for that is ‘crazy.’ ” “Crazy. Humans are crazy.”

Do you believe in God? I know it’s a personal question. I do. And I think He was pretty awesome to make relativity a thing, don’t you? The faster you go, the less time you experience. It’s like He’s inviting us to explore the universe, you know?”

I just stared at him for a moment. “You are, without a doubt, the most optimistic person I’ve ever met.” He gave me a double thumbs-up. “Thanks!”

“Be careful,” says Rocky. “You are friend now.”

Thanks, adrenal glands.

“Computer! Painkillers!” “Additional dose available in three hours and four minutes.” I frown. “Computer: What is the current time?” “Seven-fifteen p.m., Moscow Standard Time.” “Computer: Set time to eleven p.m. Moscow Standard Time.” “Clock set complete.” “Computer: painkillers.”

There was another word he threw around a lot, but he declined to tell me what it meant.

Drugs are bad.

The hardest part about working with aliens and saving humanity from extinction is constantly having to come up with names for stuff.

The computer finishes its boot process and brings up a screen I’ve never seen before. I can tell it means trouble, because the word “TROUBLE” is in large type across the top.

“Human brain useless!” “Oh, shut up!”

It’s a dark and depressing feeling to have all your closest colleagues get together and decide you should die.

“Good. Proud. I am scary space monster. You are leaky space blob.”

“Yeah. I’m going to miss you.” I take another swig of vodka. “You’re my friend. Heck, you’re my best friend. And pretty soon we’re going to say goodbye forever.”

“Not when they find out about quantum physics. Then they’ll be really annoyed.”

Yes, inches. When I’m stressed out, I revert to imperial units. It’s hard to be an American, okay?

“You are…” he squeaks. “You…” he squeaks again. “You are here!”

“Settled.” He puts his claw against the divider. “Fist my bump.” I laugh and put my knuckles against the xenonite. “Fist-bump. It’s just ‘fist-bump.’ ” “Understand.”

I love meburgers. I eat one every day.