Opposite the metal stripe is what looks like a pipe. It’s made of the same drab xenonite browns and tans that the tunnel wall is made of. And it’s square. It also runs the long axis of the tunnel.

With a whoosh, Rocky’s side of the tunnel fills with fog. Then a second whoosh fills my side. That’s what the pipe was for, I guess. Delivering the appropriate atmosphere to both sides. I’m glad Rocky has a supply of oxygen to work with.

The Blip-A door opens, and Rocky emerges, encased in his geodesic ball. He wears something like overalls with a bandolier across the bottom of his carapace. The AC unit is on his back. Two of his hands hold metal blocks. The other three are free. One of them waves to me. I wave back.

The spaceball (what else should I call it?) floats into the airlock and then sticks to the metal plate.

“What?” I say. “How…”

Then I see it. The ball didn’t magically move. Those blocks Rocky is holding are magnets. Fairly powerful ones, I guess. And the metal strip is obviously magnetic. Probably iron. He rolls the ball along the metal line and into the divider airlock. He manipulates metal controls through the xenonite shell with his magnets. It’s mesmerizing to watch.

After some hissing and the sound of pumps, he repels a plate away, which opens up the door on my side of the airlock. From there, he rolls along the metal line to my door. I open it.

“Hello!”

“Hello!”

“So… do I carry you around? Is that the plan?”

“Yes. Carry. Thank.”

I gingerly grab the ball, worried it might be hot. But it isn’t. Among other things, xenonite is an excellent insulator. I pull him through and into the ship.

Rocky is heavy. Much heavier than I thought he would be. If there were gravity, I probably wouldn’t be able to lift him at all. As it is, he has a lot of inertia. It takes a lot of oomph to pull him along. It’s like pushing a motorcycle in neutral. Seriously—he’s as heavy as a motorcycle.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He told me all about his biology and how it uses metals. Heck, his blood is mercury. Of course he’s heavy.

“You are very heavy,” I say. I hope he doesn’t take that to mean Hey, fatty! Go on a diet!

“My mass is one hundred sixty-eight kilograms,” he says.

Rocky weighs over 300 pounds!

“Wow,” I say. “You weigh a lot more than me.”

“What is you mass, question?”

“Maybe eighty kilograms.”

“Humans have very small mass!” he says.

“I’m mostly water,” I say. “Anyway. This is the control room. I operate the ship from here.”

“Understand.”