Project Hail Mary

by Andy Weir

“Incorrect. Attempt number two: What’s your name?” I’m Caucasian, I’m male, and I speak English. Let’s play the odds. “J–John?”

How am I going to climb a 10-foot ladder? Ten-foot ladder. I think in imperial units. That’s a clue. I’m probably an American. Or English. Or maybe Canadian. Canadians use feet and inches for short distances.

Interesting. Knowledgde self vs world. If u wake up w no self memory would u survive ad tive

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!

What the fudge is going on?! Fudge? Seriously? Maybe I have young kids. Or I’m deeply religious.

Okay, take a breath. Let’s not jump to wild conclusions. Yes, the gravity is too high. Work from there and think of sensible answers. I could

“Here you go, sir. The steaks should be out shortly.” “I need another whiskey,” Marissa said. “Make it two,” I added. I blink. Another flash of memory. Was it true? Or is that just a random memory of me talking to someone who got sucked into a bogus doomsday theory? No. It’s real. I’m terrified just thinking about it. And it’s not just sudden terror. It’s a cozy, comfortable terror with a permanent seat at the table. I’ve felt it for a long time.

This is real. The sun is dying. And I’m tangled up in it. Not just as a fellow citizen of Earth who will die with everyone else—I’m actively involved. There’s a sense of responsibility there.

My vision blurs. I wipe my eyes. Tears. I can’t … I can’t remember their names. But … they were my friends. My comrades. Only now do I realize I’ve been facing away from them the whole time. I’ve done everything I can to keep them out of my line of sight. Scrawling on the wall like a madman with the corpses of people I cared about right behind me.

The mummy has no tubes attached. No monitoring equipment at all. There’s a small hole in her leathery wrist. That’s where the IV was when she died, I guess. So the hole never healed. The computer must have removed everything when she died. Waste not, want not, I guess. No point in using resources on dead people. More for the survivors.

I sit cross-legged on the floor. It’s time for a proactive step. I close my eyes and let my mind wander. I want to remember something—anything—on purpose. I don’t care what. But I want to initiate it. Let’s see what I get.

Petrova problem. But study after study confirmed their findings. The clock was ticking and the world needed to find out what was going on. So Project ArcLight was born. The situation was terrifying, but the project itself was awesome. My inner nerd couldn’t help but be excited. ArcLight was the most expensive unmanned spacecraft ever built. The world needed answers and didn’t have time to dillydally. Normally if you asked a space agency to send a probe to Venus in under a year, they’d laugh in your face. But it’s amazing what you can do with an unlimited budget. The United States, European Union, Russia, China, India, and Japan all helped cover costs.

“Angular anomaly: an object or body designated as critical is not at the expected location angle by at least 0.01 radians.” “What body is anomalous?” “Angular anomaly.” Not much help. I’m on a ship, so it must be a navigational issue. That can’t be good. How would I even steer this thing? I don’t see anything resembling spaceship controls—not that I really know what those look like. But all I’ve discovered so far is a “coma room” and a lab. That other hatch in the lab—the one that leads farther up—that must be important. This is like being in a video game. Explore the area until you find a locked door, then look for the key. But instead of searching bookshelves and garbage cans, I have to search my mind. Because the “key” is my own name.

So it was that with the apocalypse looming—possibly caused by an alien life-form—I stood in front of a bunch of kids and taught them basic science. Because what’s the point of even having a world if you’re not going to pass it on to the next generation?

“But she finished her answer first,” I said. “What’s the nearest star to Earth?” “Alpha Centauri!” Abby said quickly. “Wrong!” I said. “No, I’m not!” “Yes, you are. Anyone else?” “Oh!” Larry said. “It’s the sun!” “Right!” I said. “Larry gets the beanbag! Careful with your assumptions, Abby.” She folded her arms in a huff. “Who can tell me the radius of Earth?” Trang raised his hand. “Three thousand, nine hundre—” “Trang!” Abby said. “The answer is Trang.” Trang froze in confusion. “What?” I asked. Abby preened. “You asked who could tell you the radius of Earth. Trang can tell you. I answered correctly.” Outsmarted by a thirteen-year-old. Wasn’t the first time. I dropped a beanbag on her desk just as the bell rang.

“Get accommodated with your new lab, Dr. Grace. I have other things to deal with.” She walked out the door without another word. “Yes!” I pump my fist. I jump to my feet and climb the ladder to the lab. Once there, I climb that ladder and grab hold of the Mystery Hatch. Just like last time, as soon as I touch the handle, the computer says, “To unlock hatch, state your name.” “Ryland Grace,” I say with a smug smile. “Dr. Ryland Grace.” A small click from the hatch is the only response I get. After all the meditation and introspection I did to find out my own name, I wish there’d been something more exciting. Confetti, maybe.

I’ve spent the last few days without much information to go on. Now information assaults me from every direction. Every surface is covered with computer monitors and touchscreens.