Project Hail Mary

by Andy Weir

You and me both willing to die for our people. Why, question? Evolution hate death.” “It’s good for the species,” I say. “A self-sacrifice instinct makes the species as a whole more likely to continue.” “Not all Eridians willing to die for others.” I chuckle. “Not all humans either.” “You and me are good people,” Rocky says. “Yeah.” I smile. “I suppose we are.”

Three days off the painkillers and I’m a lot smarter than I was. At least he understands that much—I wasn’t just some stupid human. I was a human with enhanced stupidity.

“Yeah. For once, everything’s going great.” Then the lights go out.

“Amaze. Humans helpless without light.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Believe it or not, Dr. Grace, I kind of like you. I don’t respect you very much, but I do think you’re a fundamentally good man.” “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one being murdered! You’re murdering me!” Tears rolled down my face. “I don’t want to die! Don’t send me off to die! Please!”

“I always assumed the American CIA would have the best interrogation drugs. But did you know it’s actually the French? It’s true. Their DGSE has perfected a drug that causes retrograde amnesia that lasts for long periods of time. Not just hours or days, but weeks. They used it during various anti-terror operations. It can be handy for a suspect to forget he was ever interrogated.”

I craned my neck back toward the door and screamed, “You can’t do this!” “Just think of the kids, Grace,” she said from the doorway. “All those kids you’ll be saving. Think of them.”

I yawn. “I’m going to sleep soon.” “I watch.” “Good night, Rocky.” “Good night, Grace.”

“You make angry sound. Why, question?”

“How long since last sleep, question?” “Huh? I’m talking about fuel here! Stay focused!” “Grumpy. Angry. Stupid. How long since last sleep, question?”

I blink a couple of times. “You can do that?” “Obvious I can do that! You are stupid right now. You sleep. I watch and also design replacement tank. Agree, question?” He starts down the tube toward the dormitory. “Huh…” “Agree, question?!” he says, louder. “Yeah…” I mumble. “Yeah, okay…”

“You are slow,” he says. “You are mean.”

“Eridians need water, too, you know.” “We keep inside. Closed system. Some inefficiencies inside, but we get all water we need from food. Humans leak! Gross.”

“On Earth, we have a scary, deadly creature called a spider. You look like one of those. Just so you know.” “Good. Proud. I am scary space monster. You are leaky space blob.”

He absolutely explodes with noise! His arms flail, his hands clatter against the tunnel walls. It’s just random notes in no discernable order. After a few seconds he calms down. “Yes! Good! Good good good!”

He bounces back and forth some more. “Erid will live! Earth will live! Everyone live!” He curls the claws of one hand into a ball and presses it against the xenonite. “Fist me!” I push my knuckles against the xenonite. “It’s ‘fist-bump,’ but yeah.”

“You look great!” I say. “Thank! This is special clothing for celebration.” I hold up a liter of vodka. “This is special liquid for celebration.”

“You will miss me, question? I will miss you. You are friend.” “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.”

“You face is leaking.” I wipe my eyes. “Human thing. Don’t worry about it.” “Understand.” He pushes himself along to his airlock door. He opens it and pauses there. “Goodbye, friend Grace.” I wave meekly. “Goodbye, friend Rocky.”

“Go to hell.” “Oh, I will, believe me. You three are going to Tau Ceti. The rest of us are going to hell. More accurately, hell is coming to us.”

Right now I have an engineering problem. I wish Rocky were here. I always wish Rocky were here.

I drift off to sleep. It feels wrong to sleep without someone watching.

I bred up a bunch of Taumoeba that evolved to survive…in xenonite breeder tanks.

“Sorry, Rocky,” I say. Then I spot a tiny speck of Petrova light. I zoom in and search that area. A total of four little dots, barely visible, are on the monitor. “I know you’d love a beetle to take apart, but I couldn’t spare one.” The beetles, with much smaller spin drives, won’t be visible for much longer. Especially with them zooming off toward Earth and me headed almost the opposite direction toward the Blip-A.

Space is big. It’s…so, so big.

Side note: I’m going to die. “Stop,” I say. Whenever I think about my impending death, I think about Rocky instead. He must have a sense of hopelessness right now. I’m coming, buddy.

I fist-pump. “Yes! I’m definitely going to die!”

“Rocky!” A crackle. My ears perk up. “Rocky?!” “Grace, question?” “Yes!” I’ve never been so happy to hear a few musical notes! “Yeah, buddy! It’s me!”

“Yes! I’m here!” “You are…” he squeaks. “You…” he squeaks again. “You are here!”

“I know! I know. It can get through xenonite. That’s why I’m here. I knew you’d be in trouble.” “You save me!” “Yes. I caught the Taumoeba in time. I still have fuel. Set up the tunnel. I’m taking you to Erid.” “You save me and you save Erid!” he squeaks.

He bounces from handhold to handhold. “I am very very very happy,” he says with a high pitch.

“You…you no can die.” His voice gets low. “I no let you die. We send you home. Erid will be grateful. You save everyone. We do everything to save you.”

He trembles. “No. You no can die. You are friend.”

“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.”

Yes, that’s right, I’m eating human meat. But it’s my own meat, and I don’t feel bad about it.

I love meburgers. I eat one every day.

“Yeah,” he says. “It really is something. Go do your job, old man.” “Later, Rocky.” “Later!”

An Earthlike organ keyboard sits in the center of my area, oriented such that the operator faces the kids. The organ has quite a few more options than a typical keyboard found on Earth. I can apply inflection, tone, mood, and all the other little intricacies of spoken language. I settle into the comfortable chair, crack my knuckles, and start the class. “All right, all right,” I play. “Everyone settle down and get in your seats.” They scamper to their assigned desks and sit quietly, ready for the lesson to begin. “Who here can tell me the speed of light?” Twelve kids raise their claws.