Project Hail Mary

by Andy Weir

What’s the cube root of eight?” I take a deep breath and speak slowly. “Two times e to the two-i-pi.” “Incorrect. What’s the cube root of eight?” But I wasn’t incorrect. I just wanted to see how smart the computer was. Answer: not very.

I ask myself: How far is it from L.A. to New York? My gut answer: 3,000 miles. A Canadian would have used kilometers. So I’m English or American. Or I’m from Liberia. I know Liberia uses imperial units but I don’t know my own name. That’s irritating.

They say hunger is the greatest seasoning. When you’re starving, your brain rewards you handsomely for finally eating. Good job, it says, we get to not die for a while!

I’m a scientist! Now we’re getting somewhere! Time for me to use science. All right, genius brain: come up with something! …I’m hungry. You have failed me, brain.

The gravity in this room is too high. It’s 15 meters per second per second when it should be 9.8.

Thing is, nothing affects gravity. You can’t increase or decrease it. Earth’s gravity is 9.8 meters per second per second. Period. And I’m experiencing more than that. There’s only one possible explanation. I’m not on Earth.

Cool thing about pendulums: The time it takes for one to swing forward and backward—the period—won’t change, no matter how wide it swings. If it’s got a lot of energy, it’ll swing farther and faster, but the period will still be the same. This is what mechanical clocks take advantage of to keep time. That period ends up being driven by two things, and two things only: the length of the pendulum and gravity.

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 want me to look at the dots?” I said. “Yes.” “The whole world put you in charge of solving this problem, and you came directly to a junior high school science teacher?” “Yes.”

“This is not optional,” she said to my back. “Seems optional to me!” I waved goodbye. Yeah. It wasn’t optional.

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

I gasped. “Wait a minute! Am I a guinea pig? I’m a guinea pig!” “No, it’s not like that,” she said. I stared at her. She stared at me. I stared at her. “Okay, it’s exactly like that,” she said.

“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.”

“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.

“We have figured this out, yes,” said Dimitri. “With lasers. It was very illuminating experiment.” “Was that a pun?” “It was!” “Good one!”

They gave me reference material on stuff that can’t possibly be useful. But hey, it’s nice to know that if I need the average rectal temperature of a healthy goat, I can find that out! (It’s 103.4°F / 39.7°C.)

I clench my teeth. I clench my fists. I clench my butt. I clench every part of me that I know how to clench. It gives me a feeling of control. I’m doing something by aggressively doing nothing.

I pick up the cylinder and try to pull off the top. It doesn’t budge. On a whim, I try to unscrew it. It also doesn’t budge. But there’s no reason aliens would follow the righty-tighty-lefty-loosey rule, is there? I turn the lid to the right and it rotates. My heart skips a beat!

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

Hey, for small spaceship velocities I think in metric! Much better than “cubits per fortnight” or whatever.

That’s when I hear a sound come from the other side: Knock, knock, knock.

Well, I say “his hand,” but maybe it’s her hand. Or some other pronoun I don’t have a word for. They might have seventeen biological sexes, for all I know. Or none. No one ever talks about the really hard parts of first contact with intelligent alien life: pronouns. I’m going to go with “he” for now, because it just seems rude to call a thinking being “it.”

Ally!

The bailiff walked forward. “Ma’am. I’ll have to restrain you if you don’t comply.” “You and what army?” Stratt asked. Five armed men in military fatigues entered the courtroom and took up station around her. “Because I have the U.S. Army,” she said. “And that’s a damn fine army.”

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.

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

“Enlighten us, then,” I said. “If the deaths at your solar farm weren’t your fault, why are you here?” “Because the government thinks I embezzled millions of dollars.” “And why do they think that?” I asked. “Because I embezzled millions of dollars.”

“You are okay, question?” “Yes!” I sob. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you! Thank you thank you!” “I am happy. You no die. Let’s save planets!” I break down, crying tears of joy. I’m going to live!

“Are all Russians crazy?” “Yes,” he said with a smile. “It is the only way to be Russian and happy at the same time.” “That’s…dark.” “That’s Russian!”

“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.”

“Okay, so the Krebs cycle in Astrophage has a variant—wait. Do you call her Dr. Shapiro while having sex?” “Of course. That’s her name.” “I kind of like it,” she said. “I’m sorry I asked,” I said. “Now, the Krebs cycle…”

“Yes. Things are good. All is good!” “Yeah. For once, everything’s going great.” Then the lights go out.

I start to hyperventilate. “We’re dead in space. We’re stuck here forever.” “Not forever,” Rocky says. I perk up. “No?” “No. Orbit decay soon. Then we die.”

“This doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore,” I say into my radio. “Do task,” Rocky replies mercilessly.

“Um…” I say. “Rocky, you can make screws, right?” “Yes. Easy. Why, question?” “I dropped one.” “Hold screws better.” “How?” “Use hand.” “My hand’s busy with the wrench.” “Use second hand.” “My other hand’s on the hull to keep me steady.” “Use third han—hmm. Get beetles. I make new screws.”

Right around then I got a sinking feeling. “I think I see where this is going.” “As I’m sure you know by now, your tests came up positive. You are that one in seven thousand.”

“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.”

“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.” — Yeah? Well, hell’s coming back to you, Stratt. In the form of me. I’m hell.

“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.”