Chapter Text
“Wait, just- wait.” You sat your full weight back in the flimsy plastic chair, feeling its edge cutting into your shoulder blades. The groan it made sounded almost panicked- accusatory- but you had little time or energy to pay it any mind. “You can’t actually be serious? Why me?”
Across the table from you, the straight-backed woman let out a small, irritated sound through her nose, like a puff of air. She leaned forward in such a way that her blond hair brushed the sides of her aged face, green eyes boring into yours with deadly certainty. “I am serious. And you have your reasons. There is no time for argument or discussion.”
“Then make time!” You snapped, reveling slightly in the furrow that brought to her brows. The rest of her face had been stony and unreadable for the entirety of our conversation, but her brows- those were the keys to her mind. “You can’t just take me against my will- that would be kidnapping. You need me to agree. So why not explain it to me so I can make an informed decision?”
“You misunderstand my intentions.” The woman got stiffly to her feet, leaning both thin hands on the table and bringing herself several inches closer to your face. The energy in the room became immediately darker, thicker, and more commanding. It took real effort not to lean back and keep the distance. “I am not here to convince you, or recruit you. I am simply here to retrieve you. The helicopter is waiting up at the main building.”
You opened your mouth to retort, to argue, but one hand raised by the woman had you swallowing any hope of dissent. She leaned back to rap two knuckles against the door, an action that immediately summoned two broad men from the hallway. Though you couldn’t see their expressions, your face paled at the view of their readily-wielded assault rifles and body gear. The European woman offered only a tight smile in return. “I have the full force of the US army on my side, and we are- well, as you would put it- kidnapping you to save the world.”
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Sick didn’t even begin to cover how you were feeling.
Helicopters. Jets. Speed boats. Private airways. From one transportation vehicle to another, it somehow felt as though you were being thrown in every direction but back home. It had only been a few hours since your unceremonious kidnapping, but you already missed the cool pacific northwest air, the overcast chill, and the smell of rain. On your way to your destination, each stop had been shorter and less comfortable than the last- most of them hot and muggy. Ugh. You hated hot weather.
Stratt- the European woman, whose name you finally learned- was also poor company. The first few hours of the trip had been spent with you going between crying and screaming at her to take you home, while she ignored you and armed soldiers kept you in check. After several hours of wearing yourself out, you had finally quieted and taken to sulking as far from her as possible. There was no time to sleep between vehicle changes, and by the time you had hit 24 hours since your last nap, you were too worn out to fight anymore.
You stared blankly down at the endless blue expanse of ocean below the private jet, waves cruising by at unimaginable speed, careless to your plight. In your hand was gripped a small, nearly-crushed bottle of water and a pair of sleeping pills from Stratt half-melted in the heat of your palm. You’ll need your rest, she had said.
It was hard to rest when two men with assault rifles never took their eyes off of you.
“Tell me about the mission.” You croaked, voice sounding dry and cracked from hours of screaming, keeping your eyes on the ocean below you. In your peripheral you saw Stratt raise her eyebrows and turn her head towards you, lowering the handful of scientific papers in her hands, momentarily forgetting them to focus on you instead.
“It could use your expertise, if you’re willing.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
You laughed, then- dry, raspy, sardonic. “Exactly. So you might as well tell me.”
“Do you know about the Petrova Line?”
You pondered that for a moment. Not whether or not you had heard about it- of course you had, every scientist in the world had been on the edge of their seats since its discovery- but what your ‘expertise’ could possibly have to do with an astrological phenomenon. “Yes.” you finally answered simply, turning your eyes to the sky like the red glow might be visible from the ground.
It wasn’t.
“Then you know about the dimming of the sun.” Stratt didn’t wait for confirmation this time, setting down her scientific papers and shuffling them into a neat stack on the table in front of her. “And how, in just a handful of short years, earth- and humanity- will begin to die.”
“Yes.” Again, what did this have to do with you?
“The Petrova Line showing up at the same time as our dimming sun isn’t just coincidental- its causational.” This caught your attention- that had never been mentioned in the papers you’d read. You turned your gaze to Stratt finally, watching her with curious, hooded eyes. “The line isn’t just light- it’s infrared. And it isn’t just reflection- it’s emission, from a single-celled organism. Not of this world.”
You paused, for a moment- then threw back your head and laughed. Stratt’s lips tightened into a thin line, but she didn’t interrupt you. “Are you fucking kidding me? You expect me to believe this shit? What the fuck are you smoking…”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I have to say.” The European woman finally spoke up as your laugh petered out into breathy chuckles, placing a pair of glasses on the tip of her nose and looking at you disapprovingly. “But I expect you to work with them and see the proof for yourself.”
Your mouth dried even further at her words, the remainder of previous mirth dying in your throat. She really wasn’t kidding. Either you were on a plane with some nutjob-in-power, or your entire world view was about to be turned inside-out and sideways. “I-”
“You’ll be working under Dr. Ryland Grace, our leading- and only- expert in Astrophage biology. I will expect you to be his hands for repeated experiments so he can preserve his brains for bigger and better discoveries.”
Great. So you were going from one Research Tech job to another- no matter the source. And you highly doubted this one paid any better than your previous job.
“Yippee.” You muttered, finally lapsing into an uncomfortable silence and turning your gaze back to the ocean outside the window. Astrophage. Petrova Line. A dying sun. Aliens. The implication of it all was starting to make your head hurt. After several long minutes of silence, you shifted in your chair to crack open the bottle and toss back the melted sleeping pills with a swig of metallic, stale water.
Sleep was better than this.
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[Day 01 on Project Hail Mary]
It wasn’t until (what you estimated to be) 5 hours later by the setting sun that your jet had arrived at its destination; a massive aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean, waves lapping up its impenetrable walls like wailing ghosts. Your eyes followed the large Chinese flag emblazoned boldly on the side as your jet touched down on the runway, gripping your harness so tightly it hurt.
You had never been a good flier. At this point, you were just glad you landed in one piece.
“Welcome to the PLAN Gansu.” Stratt spoke brusquely and with little pretense, getting to her feet and delicately brushing off her already-immaculate blouse. “Your home-away-from-home, as it were. As well as your new mobile workplace.” The European woman gave a brisk nod to the two armed men, who shuffled around to stand behind you on the plane. With them blocking the back escape hatch, that made only one exit- the loading door.
Intentional, and not subtle.
Stratt watched your eyes dart to the back of the plane for a moment before she offered you a wry and knowing smile, stepping delicately out into the aisleway and walking, straight-backed, towards the front loading door. “After you, if you please, █████. I’ll get you introduced to Dr. Grace and settled into your new position.”
“Can you not-” Your sentence was cut off abruptly as you exited the plane behind Stratt, all air immediately sucked from your lungs by the cold, buffeting sea breeze. It was fucking freezing out here on the ocean. Stratt seemed entirely unbothered by the cold despite her airy blouse and smart slacks, her only reaction being to shrug on a sharp-shouldered brown blazer. “-not call me that? Please?”
“It is your name, yes?”
“I mean… I mean, yeah, legally, but-”
“Then it is what you’ll be called. Ah! Punctual for once, I see, Dr. Grace.” Stratt moved on from your open-mouthed and brow-furrowed complaint with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, leaving you spluttering in her wake as she made her way briskly towards the side of the landing strip. Her path took her in a straight beeline to a figure placed awkwardly alongside a stack of storage boxes, who immediately perked up at her words and started walking towards you.
You trailed behind, if only to escape the buffeting of the private jet’s idling engines- and the hard stares of the men with assault rifles that were never far behind you, like they dared you to make another move. In that regard, Stratt was your best chance of survival.
“You’re pulling strings early today. Already up and kidnapping people before noon?” The man spoke to who you could only describe as ‘stone’ with a sort of comfortable familiarity that escaped you, bright grin far outshining her tight-lipped grimace.
He wasn’t exactly what you expected, all things considered. Stratt and her choice bodyguards had been the only figures of this- organization? Expedition? Goose-chase?- that you had met, and all of the above were stern, tight-lipped, and chilly at best. Dr. Grace, in contrast, was warm- his boyish smile, while awkward, lit up your eyes in a way that Stratt hadn’t. He was average height and build, dressed in a large chunky cardigan and baggy button-up shirt, dirty-bottomed cargo pants resting with familiarity over a pair of stained white converse. Casual, not buttoned-up like Stratt.
And he was… well, your age, unlike Stratt who looked to be in her 50s. Tousled blond hair, deep blue eyes, a just-perfectly-unkempt beard across his jaw and throat that was almost close enough to be considered stubble. His round-rimmed glasses, slightly askew on his nose, rivaled the size of yours. All things considered, Dr. Grace was… attractive. Young.
He was also faceplanting directly on the pavement at your feet.
“Oh my- oh my god.” You stumbled back in abject surprise as Dr. Grace tripped over his own untied shoelace, mouth opening into a comical ‘o’ and hands flying out to catch himself as his chest connected with the asphalt. His glasses, luckily unharmed from the contact, skittered towards you and bounced off of your boots with a clatter.
You looked over at Stratt in horror, but she just pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
“Jesus, are you ok?” You broke out of your surprised stupor a moment later, taking a surprised step back and leaning down quickly to swipe his glasses from the ground. Dr. Grace’s ears had turned bright red with embarrassment, grimacing, apologies tumbling haphazardly from his lips as he hauled himself to his feet. You found yourself caught between offering him a hand and staying out of his way, settling instead for an awkward extended hand that helped neither of you and served no one.
Stratt sighed again. ‘Scientists,’ you thought you heard her mutter.
“Sorry, sorry- good lord. I’d be lying if you said that hadn’t- uh- happened before.” Dr. Grace offered you a sheepish smile as he scrambled back to his feet, taking his glasses from your proffered hand with a breathless ‘thank you.’ “Stratt, um- who’s this?” He threw the question over his shoulder, but averted his attention to you without waiting for a response and threw out a hand. “Ryland Grace. Nice to meet you. Well- Dr. Grace, technically, which sounds a lot more impressive than it actually is.”
“█████ ███. She’ll be your new research assistant.” Stratt cut in before you had a chance to respond. There was a moment where you faltered, opening your mouth to object- but her words from before (“It is your name, yes?”) echoed dangerously in your head, and you found yourself swallowing your ego.
“It’s a pleasure.” You responded simply after a slight pause, averting your gaze when Ryland’s brow furrowed microscopically, eyes darting between you and his boss. Both of your boss. “To be honest, I... have very little clue of what’s happening.”
“Stratt tends to have that effect on people.” Dr. Grace wiped the confused look from his face in an instant, instead awarding you with another lopsided smile and clasping your hand with his. His palm was larger than yours, warm and smooth, shaking it in greeting. “She tends to leave out the whole saving the world part and jump right into bureaucracy. I’ll get you up to speed.”
“Make sure you do.” Stratt quipped, fixing her piercing green eyes on you. “█████, I expect you to be up to full working order by tomorrow morning. We don’t have the time to waste. If you need me- don’t.”
You winced internally again at the use of your legal name, but nodded. “Yes ma’am.” A large part of you wanted to argue, fire back, or bitch in response- but years of working in a university lab environment had you naturally falling in under her authoritarian leadership.
“Good. Dr. Grace- good day.” The European woman turned on her heel without giving you a second thought and took off brusquely down the carrier deck, guards following close behind her and taking their eyes off of you for the first time that day. You felt yourself relax immediately, shoulders shaking free of your ears and cracking as they lowered.
“Is she-?”
“Always like that? Yes.” Dr. Grace smiled awkwardly at you, bringing up one broad hand to scratch uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I remember what it was like to be whisked away by her. Come on.” He turned on his heel and beckoned to you, making his way back towards the main body of the carrier. You followed close behind, careful not to stray too far from his stride. “So, uhm- where did you go to school, Dr. ███? It’ll be nice to have another pair of knowledgeable hands in the lab, saving the world.”
Your throat caught, then- burning with embarrassment. “She… didn’t tell you?”
“She doesn’t tell you much.” Dr. Grace chuckled to himself. “Perks of the job.”
“I’m, uh…” You trailed off then, your throat closing as you fell uncomfortably silent for a moment. Dr. Grace’s footsteps faltered slightly, glancing back at you with curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I’m… not a doctor. I have a four year degree. That’s it.”
Dr. Grace stuttered to a halt then, looking back at you with surprise plastered on his handsome features. Blonde eyebrows rose so far up his forehead you worried they would disappear into his hairline, chin tilting downwards as he gave you a curious look over the top rim of his glasses. “Really?”
“Really.” You muttered, feeling your cheeks sting with shame and embarrassment. You found yourself averting your eyes to look at anything but him, trailing your gaze across the unfamiliar walls, cargo, and personnel. “Not for lack of trying.”
“Yeah. That’s—no, that’s great. Totally fine. Degrees are… you know. A spectrum.” After a pause, Dr. Grace’s posture relaxed and he offered you a small, easy smile, scratching awkwardly at the side of his head. “Stratt hired you, so...”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Her version of hiring. Eva Stratt doesn’t do ‘charity hires.’ She does ‘terrifyingly competent or morally flexible’ hires. Sometimes both. So statistically, you’re probably brilliant.” He leaned in slightly then, lowering his voice conspiratorially. The smell of his cologne- warm, musty, a little bookish- washed over you as he closed the distance. “Between you and me, academia is like… 60% confidence, and 40% Googling things very quickly when no one’s looking.”
You barked out a laugh then, tension around you both cracking like ice under pressure as your posture visibly relaxed. Dr. Grace’s eyes twinkled in response, seemingly pleased with himself or your reaction- you weren't sure which.
“You’re not what I expected.” You conceded after a moment, shaking the tension from your hands absentmindedly and wiping previously-sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans. He was… Goofy. Awkward. Not judgmental or superior in the way that all the PIs you’d ever worked for had been.
“What did you expect?”
“Cold. Clinical. Governmental, maybe.”
“Ha.” Dr. Grace offered you another lopsided smile that transformed rapidly into an awkward grimace, eyes bouncing back and forth between two invisible points like he was following a 2-sided tennis match. “Not quite. I’m just a middle school teacher- or, was, I guess, before everything. Sorry if you were expecting a Nobel prize winner.”
“Apology accepted.” You took his offered olive branch, shaking off the previous embarrassment as best you could. This was your new coworker, your new boss, your new purpose- your new life.
“Come on. Let’s get inside and out of the cold.”