Энди Вейр - Project Hail Mary

The computer’s not being unreasonable. If I can’t remember my own name, I probably shouldn’t be allowed into delicate areas of the ship.

I climb onto my bunk and lie on my back. I keep a wary eye on the robot arms above, but they don’t move. I guess the computer is satisfied that I’m self-sufficient for now.

I close my eyes and focus on that flash of memory. I can see bits and pieces of it in my mind. Like looking at an old photo that’s been damaged.

I’m in my house…no…apartment. I have an apartment. It’s tidy, but small. There’s a picture of the San Francisco skyline on one wall. Not useful. I already know I lived in San Francisco.

There’s a Lean Cuisine microwave meal on the coffee table in front of me. Spaghetti. The heat still hasn’t equalized yet, so there are pockets of nearly frozen noodles next to tongue-melting plasma. But I’m taking bites anyway. I must be hungry.

I’m watching NASA on TV; I see all that stuff from my previous flash of memory. My first thought is…I’m elated! Could it be extraterrestrial life? I can’t wait to tell the kids!

I have kids? This is a single man’s apartment with a single man eating a single man’s meal. I don’t see anything feminine at all. There’s nothing to suggest a woman in my life. Am I divorced? Gay? Either way, there’s no sign that children live here. No toys, no pictures of kids on the wall or mantel, nothing. And the place is way too clean. Kids make a mess of everything. Especially when they start chewing gum. They all go through a gum phase—at least, a lot of them do—and they leave it everywhere.

How do I know that?

I like kids. Huh. Just a feeling. But I like them. They’re cool. They’re fun to hang out with.

So I’m a single man in my thirties, who lives alone in a small apartment, I don’t have any kids, but I like kids a lot. I don’t like where this is going…

A teacher! I’m a schoolteacher! I remember it now!

Oh, thank God. I’m a teacher.

“All right,” I said, looking at the clock. “We have one minute until the bell. You know what that means!”

“Lightning round!” yelled my students.

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, with the understanding that occasionally buildings get blown up. However desperate things were, someone still had to deliver milk. And if Mrs. McCreedy’s house got bombed in the night, well, you crossed it off the delivery list.

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?

The kids sat in neat rows of desks, facing the front. Pretty standard stuff. But the rest of the room was like a mad scientist’s lab. I’d spent years perfecting the look. I had a Jacob’s ladder in one corner (I kept it unplugged so the kids didn’t kill themselves). Along another wall was a bookshelf full of specimen jars of animal parts in formaldehyde. One of the jars was just spaghetti and a boiled egg. The kids speculated on that one a lot.

And gracing the center of the ceiling was my pride and joy—a huge mobile that was a model of the solar system. Jupiter was the size of a basketball, while wee Mercury was as small as a marble.

It had taken me years to cultivate a rep as the “cool” teacher. Kids are smarter than most people think. And they can tell when a teacher actually cares about them as opposed to when they’re just going through the motions. Anyway, it was time for the lightning round!

I grabbed a fistful of beanbags off my desk. “What is the actual name of the North Star?”

“Polaris!” said Jeff.

“Correct!” I threw a beanbag to him. Before he even caught it, I fired off the next question. “What are the three basic kinds of rocks?”

“Igneous, sedentary, and metamorphic!” yelled Larry. He was excitable, to say the least.

“So close!” I said.

“Igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic,” said Abby with a sneer. Pain in the ass, that one. But smart as a whip.

“Yes!” I threw her a beanbag. “What wave do you feel first during an earthquake?”

“The P-wave,” Abby said.

“You again?” I threw her a beanbag. “What’s the speed of light?”

“Three times ten to—” Abby began.

“C!” yelled Regina from the back. She rarely spoke up. Good to see her coming out of her shell.

“Sneaky, but correct!” I chucked her a beanbag.

“I was answering first!” Abby complained.

“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.

The kids leapt from their chairs and collected their books and backpacks. Abby, flush with victory, took a little more time than the others.

“Remember to cash in your beanbags at the end of the week for toys and other prizes!” I said to their retreating backs.

Soon, the classroom was empty, and only the echoing sounds of children in the hallway suggested any evidence of life. I collected their homework assignments from my desk and slipped them into my valise. Sixth period was over.

Time to hit the teachers’ lounge for a cup of coffee. Maybe I’d correct some papers before I headed home. Anything to avoid the parking lot. A fleet of helicopter moms would be descending on the school to pick up their children. And if one of them saw me, they always had some complaint or suggestion. I can’t fault someone for loving their kids, and God knows we could do with more parents being engaged in their kids’ educations, but there’s a limit.

“Ryland Grace?” said a woman’s voice.

I looked up with a start. I hadn’t heard her come in.

She looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing a well-tailored business suit. She carried a briefcase.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Can I help you with something?”

“I think you can,” she said. She had a slight accent. Something European—I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “My name is Eva Stratt. I’m with the Petrova Taskforce.”

“The what?”

“The Petrova Taskforce. It’s an international body set up to deal with the Petrova-line situation. I’ve been tasked with finding a solution. They’ve given me a certain amount of authority to get things done.”

“They? Who’s they?”

“Every member nation of the UN.”

“Wait, what? How did—”

“Unanimous secret vote. It’s complicated. I’d like to talk to you about a scientific paper you wrote.”

“Secret vote? Never mind.” I shook my head. “My paper-writing days are over. Academia didn’t work well for me.”

“You’re a teacher. You’re still in academia.”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “But I mean, you know, academia . With scientists and peer review and—”