Project Hail Mary

Only now does it occur to me: I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I do. I don’t remember anything at all.
“Um,” I say.
“Incorrect.”
A wave of fatigue grips me. It’s kind of pleasant, actually. The computer must have sedated me through the IV line.
“…waaaait…” I mumble.
The robot arms lay me gently back down to the bed.

I still don’t remember my own name, but I remember random bits of information about the Petrova problem. They call it the Petrova problem. I just remembered that.
My subconscious has priorities. And it’s desperately telling me about this.
I think my job is to solve the Petrova problem.

Life had changed surprisingly little since the announcement about the Petrova line.
The situation was dire and deadly, but it was also the norm. Londoners during the Blitz in World War II went about their day as normal […] 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.

I’m on a suicide mission. John, Paul, George, and Ringo get to go home, but my long and winding road ends here. I must have known all this when I volunteered. But to my amnesia-riddled brain this is new information. I’m going to die out here. And I’m going to die alone.

I only notice the tears when the first of them drops off my face. That decision to put us in comas killed two close friends of mine. They’re gone. I don’t remember a single moment with either of them, but the feeling of loss is overwhelming. I’ll be joining them soon. There’s no way home. I’ll die out here too. But unlike them, I’ll die alone.
I wipe my eyes and try to think of other things. My whole species is at stake here.

Ilyukhina would have loved this moment. She would have been absolutely bouncing around the cabin with excitement. Yáo would have been stoic and steady, but he would have cracked a smile when he thought we weren’t looking.

I check the corresponding star in my catalog: It’s called 40 Eridani. But I bet the crew of the Blip-A call it home.

That’s the message. “We’re from the 40 Eridani system. And now we’re here at Tau Ceti.”

But there’s even more to it than that. They’re also saying “40 Eridani has a Petrova line, just like Tau Ceti.” [...] They have some pretty good science going on, so they did the same thing we did. Make a ship, and go to Tau Ceti to see why it’s not dying!”

My jaw drops. Yes, I’m in zero g. It still drops.
There was no pronunciation or inflection of the sounds. Just notes. Like whale song. Except not quite like whale song, because there were several at once. Whale chords, I guess. And he was responding to me. That means he can hear too.
And notably, the sounds were in my range of hearing. Some of the notes were low, some of them high. But definitely audible. That alone is amazing. He’s from a different planet, and totally different evolutionary line, but we ended up with compatible sound ranges.

“Do you ‘see’ with sound?” It would make sense. Humans use electromagnetic waves to understand our three-dimensional environment. So why couldn’t a different species use sound waves? Same principle—and we even have it on Earth. Bats and dolphins use echolocation to “see” with sound. Maybe Eridians have that ability, but on steroids. Unlike bats and dolphins, Eridians have passive sonar. They use ambient sound waves to resolve their environment instead of making a specific noise to track prey.

Just a theory. But it fits the data.

“I sleep better if you observe.”
“Why?”
He waves a few arms, trying to find a way to phrase it. “Eridians do that.”
Eridians watch one another sleep. It’s a thing. I should be more culturally sensitive, but he threw shade when I talked to myself. “Eridians are unusual.”
“Observe. I sleep better.”
I don’t want to watch a dog-sized spider not move for several hours.
“Have some other Eridian observe you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I am only Eridian here.”

“What the heck is wrong with you?” I said.
“I don’t like little dictators in their little kingdoms,” she said. “Drives me crazy.”
“You can bend a little once in a while.”
“I’m out of patience and the world is out of time.”
I held up a finger. “No, no, no! You can’t just use ‘I’m saving the world’ as an excuse every time you’re a jerk.”

“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.”

“How many years have you been alive?”
“Two hundred ninety-one years.” He pauses. “Yes. Earth years.”
Holy cow. Rocky is older than the United States. He was born around the same time as George Washington.

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.

“[…] It is name of my mate.”
I widen my eyes. That little devil! He never told me he had a mate! […]
“You have a mate?”
“Unknown,” Rocky says. “Mate possibly has new mate. I gone a long time.”
“Sad,” I say.
“Yes, sad. But necessary. Must save Erid.”

Adrian is absolutely gorgeous in person. Bands of dark and light green cover the orb, and the reflected glow from Tau Ceti is simply breathtaking.

I probably got to do this with Earth too. I wish I could remember. Man, I really wish I could remember that. It must have been every bit as beautiful.

“Isn’t it amazing? Astrophage, I mean? It’s like…the coolest thing ever! Again, God’s just handing us the future!”

“Cool?” I said. “It’s an extinction-level event. If anything, God’s handing us the apocalypse.”

He shrugged. “I mean, maybe a little. But man. Perfect energy storage! Imagine a battery-powered household. Like—you have a double-A battery, but full of Astrophage. That’d last your house about a hundred thousand years. Imagine buying a car and never having to charge it up? The entire concept of power grids is going to end. And it’ll all be clean, renewable energy once we start breeding the stuff on the moon or something. All it needs is sunlight!”

“Rocky! What have you done!”

The crazy bastard must have used the large airlock in the dormitory! He came into my partition to save me. And he’ll die because of it!

He shivers and folds his legs under himself.

“Save…Earth…Save…Erid…” he quavers. Then he slumps down.

He could have let me die. He should have, really. He could handle the centripetal force, no problem. He could have taken his time, whipped up an invention, and used it to get back control of the ship. Yeah, I know, he’s a good guy and he saved my life, but this isn’t about us. He has a planet to save.

“I want heroin,” Ilyukhina said. “I have been good girl all my life. No drugs. Limited sex. I want to experience massive pleasure before I die. People die from heroin all the time. Must be very nice.” […]

“I want a gun, please,” said Yáo. “A Type-92 handgun […] I will be the last to die. If anything goes wrong, I will be on-hand with the weapon.’

I looked down at the table. “But I…I don’t want to die….”
“Nobody does,” said Stratt.
“It must be your decision,” said Yáo… “But I urge you to say yes. Billions of lives are on the line.”

I’m not some intrepid explorer who nobly sacrificed his life to save Earth. I’m a terrified man who had to be literally dragged kicking and screaming onto the mission.

I’m a coward.

“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.”

“War, famine, pestilence, and death. Astrophage is literally the apocalypse. The Hail Mary is all we have now. I’ll make any sacrifice to give it even the tiniest additional chance of success.”

I lay down on my bunk and faced away from her. “Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

So that’s what I’m left with. Option 1: Go home a hero and save all of humanity. Option 2: Go to Erid, save an alien species, and starve to death shortly after. I sob into my hands. All I see when I close my eyes is Rocky’s dumb carapace and his little arms always fidgeting with something.

“Rocky…that news about Sol…it…it makes my whole life have meaning. You know? I still can’t…I can’t…” I start sobbing again.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

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.