Project Hail Mary

by Andy Weir

Maybe it was a mild admonishment. I mean, he could have made five fists, but he only made one.

“Well, you’re not alone anymore, buddy,” I say. “Neither of us are.”

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.”

“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.”