Dear reader, gird yourself. These pages aren’t mere paper but a portal to (arguably) one of the greatest achievements in science fiction imagination of the twenty-first century in any subgenre, language, or artistic medium. As a fan, I quake with jealousy. I wish I too were freshly encountering the manifold wonders of The Star Rot Chronicles. The ensuing tales are apt to sear into your mind more powerfully than most milestones of so-called “real life.” I close my eyes — here in this cold basement where I compose these notes — and scenes appear as films projected upon the insides of my eyelids. The escape from the solar whale! The great war of the Adamites! The chilling return of — Oh, I must stop myself. No spoilers in my scholarship. I can recall these moments with greater clarity than my first kiss,1 high school graduation, or even the tragic events of 9/11 that so defined the America of my young adulthood. As your intrepid editor and Star Rot whisperer, I’ll confess I occasionally ponder how my life might’ve differed if I’d never discovered The Star Rot Chronicles. Likely, I’d have finished law school. There’d be no possible warrant for my arrest. I might have a steady job. A mortgage. A loving partner. The patter of pajamaed feet running up the stairs of my two-story suburban home; I pivot in my ergonomic office chair to see a young boy and girl in matching striped jammies rush to hug my legs and then look up with wide-eyed cherub faces to say, “Daddy, we love you. Daddy, you are special. Daddy, you are our universe.” Pedestrian pleasures. I have another universe, and it is the Metallic Realms.