Before I could get my act together, I already felt the horrific heat on her planet. Sweat poured out of me, soaking my clothes. I started trudging along the small surface, no more than a few kilometers in diameter, so minuscule you could actually see the ground curving into itself. I continued on my wretched walk, quietly cursing myself for insisting on this visit. I lowered my backpack and took out a bottle of water. I was about to open the cap when I tripped on a large stone. The bottle fell and rolled into a crater.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hissed. It took me a moment to notice the staircase winding into the ground. I quickly descended the stairs. The heat abated with every step, until the temperature became almost bearable. At the bottom of the pit I found the bottle, and myself standing in front of a small dark door devoid of any sign. I was dripping onto the doormat and tried to wipe myself dry, without much success. I took a deep breath and knocked twice.

3.

IT TOOK HER about two minutes to come to the door. Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail speckled with blue sand. She was wearing a faded white tank top and brown shorts. A thick sleep mask pulled up to her forehead was covering half her left eye. She let out a gaping yawn.

“Say, aren’t you tired of trying?” she asked in English, her tone something between grumpy and desperate.

“What? No,” I replied in English. “I mean, I …”

“What’s that accent? You Israeli?” she asked in Hebrew.

“Yes.”

“So why are you speaking English, dummy?”

“Because you did.”

“You’re not the sharpest pencil, huh?” she said and sighed. “At least you didn’t come in a suit.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, and couldn’t snap out of the shock. “Wait, let’s start over. Remember me?” I stuttered with a smile.

“Yes,” she answered, and I’m fairly certain I felt a fleeting surge of optimism. “But I’m not selling the planet,” she announced, and took a step toward me. “I’ve already told you and the others thirty times now, I’m not selling. Am I being clear?”

“What are—”

“Yes or no,” she raised her voice. “Do you understand the sentence ‘I’m not selling the planet’?”

“Wait, but …” I tried to explain.

“Listen, you’re starting to get on my nerves. Do you understand or not?”

“No,” I said.

“Too bad,” she replied and slammed the door in my face. I knocked again, but she wouldn’t open. I found myself explaining to the door that I didn’t know who she thought I was, but my name was Golan. And that we had met at that lousy party six months earlier, on the Rings of Saturn. I heard her footsteps approaching.