I’m particularly interesting, so pretty much every scientist on the planet came together to thrum up ways to keep me alive. I’m told it was the second-largest science-oriented thrum ever executed. (The largest, of course, was when they had to make a plan for dealing with Astrophage.)

Thanks to my Earth scientific journals, they know all my nutritional needs and how to synthesize the various vitamins in labs. Once they solved that, smaller, less-focused groups worked on making them taste better. That’s more or less up to me, actually. Lots of taste tests. Glucose, common to both Eridian and Human biomes, comes up a lot.

The best thing, though, is they managed to clone my muscle tissue and grow it in labs. I can thank Earth science for that. They were nowhere near that technology when I first showed up. But that was sixteen years ago—they’re catching up quite well.

Anyway, it means I can finally eat meat. Yes, that’s right, I’m eating human meat. But it’s my own meat, and I don’t feel bad about it. Spend a decade eating nothing but odd-tasting, vaguely sweet vitamin shakes and then see if you’ll turn down a burger.

I love meburgers. I eat one every day.

I grab my cane and head out. I’m not a young man anymore, and the high gravity of Erid has only made my bones degenerate faster. I think I’m fifty-three years old now, but I’m not sure. I’ve done a lot of time-dilated travel. I can accurately say seventy-one years have gone by on Earth since I was born, for what it’s worth.

I leave through my front door and cross the grounds. There are no plants or anything—I’m the only thing on this planet that can survive my environment. But there are some very tasteful and aesthetically pleasing rocks. It’s become a hobby of mine: making the grounds as pretty as possible. The Eridians just see a bunch of rocks, but I see all the colors.

They installed lights at the top of the dome that get brighter and dimmer on a twenty-four-hour cycle. I explained that’s critical to my mood and they took my word for it. Though I did have to explain to this species of interstellar travelers how to make lightbulbs.

I make my way along the gravel pathway to one of the many “meeting” rooms at the dome’s wall. Eridians value face-to-carapace communication as much as humans do, and this is a good compromise. My side is within my bubble environment. And on the other side of the 1-centimeter clear xenonite is a room that’s out in Erid’s natural atmosphere.

I hobble in. It’s one of the smaller meeting rooms, really only suitable for a one-on-one conversation. But it’s become our go-to spot for meeting up.

Rocky waits for me on the Eridian side. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for ℓλ minutes! What took you so long?!”

I can understand Eridian fluently now, of course. And Rocky is equally fluent in English comprehension.