Whatever may have happened, if the Blip-A could be fixed, he would have fixed it by now. The only explanation for it still being dead in space is that it has no fuel. He wasn’t able to stop the Taumoeba in time.

I put my head in my hands.

I can go home. I really can. I can return and spend the rest of my life a hero. Statues, parades, et cetera. And I’ll be in a new world order where all energy problems are solved. Cheap, easy, renewable energy everywhere thanks to Astrophage. I can track down Stratt and tell her to shove it.

But then Rocky dies. And more important, Rocky’s people die. Billions of them.

I’m this close. I just need to survive four years. Yeah, it’ll be eating nasty coma slurry but I’ll be alive.

My annoying logical mind points out the other option: Launch the beetles—all four of them. Each with their own Taumoeba mini-farm and a USB stick full of data and findings. Earth scientists will take it from there.

Then turn the Hail Mary around, find Rocky, and take him home to Erid.

One problem: It means I die.

I have enough food to survive the trip to Earth. Or I have enough to survive the trip to Erid. But even if the Eridians refuel the Hail Mary right away, there won’t be enough food for me to survive the trip back to Earth from Erid. I’ll have only a few months of food left at that point.

I can’t grow anything. I don’t have any viable seeds or living plant matter. I can’t eat Eridian food. Too many heavy metals and other major toxins.

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 pull on my hair.

I sob into my hands. It’s cathartic and exhausting.

All I see when I close my eyes is Rocky’s dumb carapace and his little arms always fidgeting with something.

It’s been six weeks since I made my decision. It wasn’t easy, but I’m sticking with it.

I have the spin drives off for my daily ritual. I bring up the Petrovascope and look out into space. I see nothing at all.

“Sorry, Rocky,” I say.

Then I spot a tiny speck of Petrova light. I zoom in and search that area. A total of four little dots, barely visible, are on the monitor.

“I know you’d love a beetle to take apart, but I couldn’t spare one.”

The beetles, with much smaller spin drives, won’t be visible for much longer. Especially with them zooming off toward Earth and me headed almost the opposite direction toward the Blip-A.