Project Hail Mary : ÇÁ·ÎÁ§Æ® ÇìÀÏ ¸Þ¸® - ºô °ÔÀÌÃ÷°¡ ²ÅÀº 2021 ¿ÃÇØÀÇ Ã¥
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¡°A propulsive adventure.¡±?Entertainment Weekly
¡°Weir spins a space yarn in a way only he can. Fans of his earlier works won¡¯t be disappointed.¡±?Newsweek
¡°Andy Weir proves once again that he is a singular talent. Project Hail Mary is so fascinating and propulsive that it¡¯s downright addictive. From the first page as Ryland wakes up not knowing who or where he is, I was hooked.¡±?Taylor Jenkins Reid, New York Times bestselling author of Daisy Jones & The Six
¡°Reading Project Hail Mary is like going on a field trip to outer space with the best science teacher you¡¯ve ever had?and your class assignment is to save the world. This is one of the most original, compelling, and fun voyages I¡¯ve ever taken.¡±?Ernest Cline, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Ready Player One
¡°Two worlds in peril, a competent (but flawed and human) man, a competent alien, unending scientific puzzles to unravel, with humanity itself at risk, this one has everything fans of old school SF (like me) love. If you like a lot of science in your science fiction, Andy Weir is the writer for you.¡±?George R. R. Martin, New York Times bestselling author of A Game of Thrones
¡°I loved The Martian, but I actually find Project Hail Mary to be Mr. Weir¡¯s finest work to date. It¡¯s somehow both exciting, yet also personal. I¡¯m constantly amazed by how well Mr. Weir continues to write wonderfully accessible science fiction without compromising either the science or the fiction.¡±?Brandon Sanderson, New York Times bestselling author of the Stormlight Archive series
¡°Brilliantly funny and enjoyable . . . one of the most plausible science fiction books I¡¯ve ever read.¡±?Tim Peake, ESA astronaut and internationally bestselling author of Limitless
¡°Thrilling doesn¡¯t even begin to describe Project Hail Mary, which is undisputedly the best book I¡¯ve read in a very, very long time . . . I cheered, I laughed (a lot), I cried, and when the twist arrived and the book revealed its true target, my jaw hit the floor. Mark my words: Project Hail Mary is destined to become a classic.¡±?Blake Crouch, New York Times bestselling author of
Recursion and Dark Matter
¡°A joy to read . . . with Project Hail Mary, Weir is leaning hard into all that made The Martian kick.¡±?Locus
¡°Readers may find themselves consuming this emotionally intense and thematically profound novel in one stay-up-all-night-until-your-eyes-bleed sitting. An unforgettable story of survival and the power of friendship?nothing short of a science fiction masterwork.¡±?Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Chapter 1
¡°What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
Something about the question irritates me. I¡¯m tired. I drift back to sleep.
A few minutes pass, then I hear it again.
¡°What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
The soft, feminine voice lacks emotion and the pronunciation is identical to the previous time she said it. It¡¯s a computer. A computer is hassling me. I¡¯m even more irritated now.
¡°Lrmln,¡± I say. I¡¯m surprised. I meant to say ¡°Leave me alone¡±?a completely reasonable response in my opinion?¡©but I failed to speak.
¡°Incorrect,¡± says the computer. ¡°What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
Time for an experiment. I¡¯ll try to say hello.
¡°Hlllch?¡± I say.
¡°Incorrect. What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
What¡¯s going on? I want to find out, but I don¡¯t have much to work with. I can¡¯t see. I can¡¯t hear anything other than the computer. I can¡¯t even feel. No, that¡¯s not true. I feel something. I¡¯m lying down. I¡¯m on something soft. A bed.
I think my eyes are closed. That¡¯s not so bad. All I have to do is open them. I try, but nothing happens.
Why can¡¯t I open my eyes?
Open.
Aaaand . . . open!
Open, dang it!
Ooh! I felt a wiggle that time. My eyelids moved. I felt it.
Open!
My eyelids creep up and blinding light sears my retinas.
¡°Glunn!¡± I say. I keep my eyes open with sheer force of will. Everything is white with shades of pain.
¡°Eye movement detected,¡± my tormenter says. ¡°What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
The whiteness lessens. My eyes are adjusting. I start to see shapes, but nothing sensible yet. Let¡¯s see . . . can I move my hands? No.
Feet? Also no.
But I can move my mouth, right? I¡¯ve been saying stuff. Not stuff that makes sense, but it¡¯s something.
¡°Fffr.¡±
¡°Incorrect. What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
The shapes start to make sense. I¡¯m in a bed. It¡¯s kind of . . . oval-¡©shaped.
LED lights shine down on me. Cameras in the ceiling watch my every move. Creepy though that is, I¡¯m much more concerned about the robot arms.
The two brushed-¡©steel armatures hang from the ceiling. Each has an assortment of disturbingly penetration-¡©looking tools where hands should be. Can¡¯t say I like the look of that.
¡°Ffff . . . oooh . . . rrrr,¡± I say. Will that do?
¡°Incorrect. What¡¯s two plus two?¡±
Dang it. I summon all my willpower and inner strength. Also, I¡¯m starting to panic a little. Good. I use that too.
¡°Fffoouurr,¡± I finally say.
¡°Correct.¡±
Thank God. I can talk. Sort of.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Wait?¡©I just controlled my breathing. I take another breath. On purpose. My mouth is sore. My throat is sore. But it¡¯s my soreness. I have control.
I¡¯m wearing a breathing mask. It¡¯s tight to my face and connected to a hose that goes behind my head.
Can I get up?
No. But I can move my head a little. I look down at my body. I¡¯m naked and connected to more tubes than I can count. There¡¯s one in each arm, one in each leg, one in my ¡°gentlemen¡¯s equipment,¡± and two that disappear under my thigh. I¡¯m guessing one of them is up where the sun doesn¡¯t shine.
That can¡¯t be good.
Also, I¡¯m covered with electrodes. The ... sensor-¡©type stickers like for an EKG, but they¡¯re all over the place. Well, at least they¡¯re only on my skin instead of jammed into me.
¡°Wh?¡©¡± I wheeze. I try again. ¡°Where . . . am . . . I?¡±
¡°What¡¯s the cube root of eight?¡± the computer asks.
¡°Where am I?¡± I say again. This time it¡¯s easier.
¡°Incorrect. What¡¯s the cube root of eight?¡±
I take a deep breath and speak slowly. ¡°Two times e to the two-¡©i-¡©pi over three.¡±
¡°Incorrect. What¡¯s the cube root of eight?¡±
But I wasn¡¯t incorrect. I just wanted to see how smart the computer was. Answer: not very.
¡°Two,¡± I say.
¡°Correct.¡±
I listen for follow-¡©up questions, but the computer seems satisfied.
I¡¯m tired. I drift off to sleep again.
I wake up. How long was I out? It must have been a while because I feel rested. I open my eyes without any effort. That¡¯s progress.
I try to move my fingers. They wiggle as instructed. All right. Now we¡¯re getting somewhere.
¡°Hand movement detected,¡± says the computer. ¡°Remain still.¡±
¡°What? Why?¡©¡±
The robot arms come for me. They move fast. Before I know it, they¡¯ve removed most of the tubes from my body. I didn¡¯t feel a thing. Though my skin is kind of numb anyway.
Only three tubes remain: an IV in my arm, a tube up my butt, and a catheter. Those latter two are kind of the signature items I wanted removed, but okay.
I raise my right arm and let it fall back to the bed. I do the same for my left. They feel heavy as heck. I repeat the process a few times. My arms are muscular. That doesn¡¯t make sense. I assume I¡¯ve had some massive medical problem and been in this bed for a while. Otherwise, why would they have me hooked up to all the stuff? Shouldn¡¯t there be muscle atrophy?
And shouldn¡¯t there be doctors? Or maybe the sounds of a hospital? And what¡¯s with this bed? It¡¯s not a rectangle, it¡¯s an oval and I think it¡¯s mounted to the wall instead of the floor.
¡°Take . . .¡± I trail off. Still kind of tired. ¡°Take the tubes out. . . .¡±
The computer doesn¡¯t respond.
I do a few more arm lifts. I wiggle my toes. I¡¯m definitely getting better.
I tilt my ankles back and forth. They¡¯re working. I raise my knees up. My legs are well toned too. Not bodybuilder thick, but still too healthy for someone on the verge of death. I¡¯m not sure how thick they should be, though.
I press my palms to the bed and push. My torso rises. I¡¯m actually getting up! It takes all my strength but I soldier on. The bed rocks gently as I move. It¡¯s not a normal bed, that¡¯s for sure. As I raise my head higher up, I see the head and foot of the elliptical bed are attached to strong-¡©looking wall mounts. It¡¯s kind of a rigid hammock. Weird.
Soon, I¡¯m sitting on my butt tube. Not the most comfortable sensation, but when is a tube up your butt ever comfortable?
I have a better view of things now. This is no ordinary hospital room. The walls look plastic and the whole room is round. Stark-¡©white light comes from ceiling-¡©mounted LED lights.
There are two more hammock-¡©like beds mounted to the walls, each with their own patient. We are arranged in a triangle and the roof-¡©mounted Arms of Harassment are in the center of the ceiling. I guess they take care of all three of us. I can¡¯t see much of my compatriots?¡©they¡¯ve sunken into their bedding like I had.
There¡¯s no door. Just a ladder on the wall leading to . . . a hatch? It¡¯s round and has a wheel-¡©handle in the center. Yeah, it¡¯s got to be some kind of hatch. Like on a submarine. Maybe the three of us have a contagious disease? Maybe this is an airtight quarantine room? There are small vents here and there on the wall and I feel a little airflow. It could be a controlled environment.
I slide one leg off over the edge of my bed, which makes it wobble. The robot arms rush ¡©toward me. I flinch, but they stop short and hover nearby. I think they¡¯re ready to grab me if I fall.
¡°Full-¡©body motion detected,¡± the computer says. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±
¡°Pfft, seriously?¡± I ask.
¡°Incorrect. Attempt number two: What¡¯s your name?¡±
I open my mouth to answer.
¡°Uh . . .¡±
¡°Incorrect. Attempt number three: What¡¯s your name?¡±
Only now does it occur to me: I don¡¯t know who I am. I don¡¯t know what I do. I don¡¯t remember anything at all.
¡°Um,¡± I say.
¡°Incorrect.¡±
A wave of fatigue grips me. It¡¯s kind of pleasant, actually. The computer must have sedated me through the IV line.
¡°. . . waaaait . . .¡± I mumble.
The robot arms lay me gently back down to the bed.
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