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.

“I’m old. Give me a break. It takes me a while to get ready in the morning.”

“Oh, you had to eat, right?” Rocky says, a tinge of disgust in his voice.

“You told me not to talk about that in polite company.”

“I’m not polite company, my friend!”

I snicker. “So what’s up?”

He wiggles and jiggles. I’ve almost never seen him this excited. “I just heard from the Astronomy hive. They have news!”

I hold my breath. “Sol? Is it about Sol?!”

“Yes!” he squeals. “Your star has returned to full luminance!”

I gasp. “Are you sure? Like, Iℓℓ percent certainty?”

“Yes. The data was analyzed by a thrum of λV astronomers. It checks out.”

I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I start to tremble.

It’s over.

We won.

Simple as that.

Sol—Earth’s sun—has returned to its pre-Astrophage brightness. There’s only one possible way that happens: Astrophage is gone. Or at least reduced in population so much that it doesn’t matter.

We won.

We did it!

Rocky cocks his carapace. “Hey, your face is leaking! I haven’t seen that in a long-ass time! Remind me—does that mean you’re happy or sad? ’Cause it can mean either one, right?”

“I’m happy, of course!” I sob.

“Yeah, I thought so. Just checking.” He holds a balled claw against the xenonite. “Is this a fist-bump situation?”

I press my knuckles to the xenonite as well. “This is a monumentally epic fist-bump situation.”