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“So, what’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”
Stratt sighs. “Please, Dr Grace. Small talk has never been your strong point.”
We’re stuck in one of the various supply cupboards across Stratt’s Vat, and the interior clearly wasn’t built for human occupation. A set of metal shelves around the walls are stacked against the back wall, filled with cleaning equipment. If a third person somehow managed to squish themselves into the place, we’d all be crushed into some kind of superheated, human plasma.
Unless we remove the mop, leaning against one wall. Maybe then it would work.
“Come on. We’ve been working together for months, and I hardly know anything about you.” She probably knows everything and anything about me, down to how I arrange my socks. Being the most powerful person on Earth has its advantages. “We can talk, you know.”
(Color order, by the way. Redder socks on the left, bluer ones on the right).
Her walkie talkie crackles, and a voice comes out. “We’ve searched down to deck 3 ma’am. Moving to deck four. Over.”
Stratt presses on the walkie talkie’s side button. “Copy that. Keep me informed on the search. Over.”
Placing the walkie talkie back on the shelf, she looks at the door frame just above my head.
Stratt’s Vat has many floors, - decks, they’re called - and unfortunately I’m not observant enough to keep track of them, when we were on our way to the astrophage storage rooms. Stratt wanted to talk to some of the scientists, and I don’t question what that woman wants. I also don’t seem to have a sense of direction, because I managed to lead us into a cupboard. One whose door handle is broken enough to only open from the outside.
In my defence, the corridor lights were dim, and on the carrier its procedure to close any door after you go through it. Open doors just block routes.
“Oh, stop ignoring me, Stratt. I thought I was meant to be the immature one.”
“I’m not ignoring you, Dr Grace. Just waiting.” She replies. “Even if this is your fault.”
“I was tired, okay? Besides, how was I meant to know that this blasted door wouldn’t open?”
“If you kept track of the deck number, we’d be out already. Searching every cupboard in an aircraft carrier is impractical, to say the least.”
“ You didn’t keep track either, may I add.”
She leans against the shelves, rolling her eyes at me. They’re blue, darker near the center. Cold-looking, and very Stratt-like. Stratt-like. You know you’re important when you have an adjective named after you.
Stop analysing your boss’ eyes, Ryland.
“So, favourite ice cream?”
“I don’t do small talk, Dr Grace. And neither should you, considering your questions.”
“We could be stuck here for hours. Do you really want to spend all that time in silence?”
It seems that she does, given the lack of response.
“Fine, I’ll answer. Vanilla. My students always call me boring for it, but it tastes too good.”
Still nothing.
“I had a kid, a few years back, bring in a homemade sundae for me as a birthday gift. Vanilla, of course. He went to my class before first period, with a little cooler and everything. Best thing ever, until the second scoop.” I grimace at the memory. “He decided it would be really funny to put some green-coloured flavour in the middle. I don’t know what it was, but it tasted horrible .”
I could swear I saw Stratt’s mouth twitch. Just for a moment, a small upwards flicker. But she stayed silent.
The next five minutes went by in silence. She’s still leaning against the metal shelves, which I can’t imagine would be comfortable. I have the door to lean against, and even that aches. Perhaps her sweater provides some padding. She’s definitely got several of the same, given that it's almost all I see her wear. And it looks good on her. White, with a turtleneck suited for the colder weather as we approach the Antarctic. Paired with her wireframe glasses, she looks surprisingly cute. Strange that she’s wearing glasses; usually contact-
Hang on. Cute?
Ryland, you did not just call the most powerful person in the world, the woman who dragged you to the other side of the globe, the one in charge of saving humanity, cute.
I didn’t. Well, I did. But I can ignore that. Hopefully. Stratt would kill me if-
“Tangerine.” She says. I’m too distracted to hear her.
“Sorry?”
“My favourite ice cream flavour. Tangerine.”
“...Any reason why?”
Stratt hesitates, opening her before closing it again. As if she’s gathering strength. Stratt. Gathering strength. I thought she was born with a bottomless well of it.
“When I was a girl,” she begins. “Me and my mother lived in The Hague. She’d take me to the beach on the weekends. One of her friends owned a little ice cream shop. We’d get ice cream for free. They had a tangerine flavour, with little toffee cubes in it. I’d always get it.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was.” She’s looking at me, smiling. But it's a sad smile.
“Well… This is probably intrusive, but you don’t look too happy about it.”
Stratt doesn’t reply.
“Sorry. None of my business.”
There’s a pause, before Stratt replies. “Have you ever lost someone, Dr Grace?”
“As in… they died?” She nods. “A couple people. Family members. Have you?”
“My mother died when I was twelve. A car crash. My father was… a problematic man, so her friend looked after me after she died. The one who owned the ice cream shop. I’d get tangerine ice cream every night.” She laughs. Actually laughs. It's a quiet laugh, sad like her smile, but it's the first time I’ve heard one from her. “Not good for my teeth, but it tasted delicious.”
I’m not sure what to say. “My mum died too. When I was at university. I still had my dad, though. I’m sorry about your parents.”
“It’s alright. No point in worrying about the past.”
“You should get some ice cream flown in. Tangerine flavoured. They don’t have any onboard, do they?”
“No. Besides, I don’t eat it anymore.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs and looks away, once more at the doorframe. I don’t push her. Getting thrown off an aircraft carrier doesn’t seem like a fun fate, for one thing. And I’ve never seen her look so… solemn.
“If you need to talk about things,” I say, switching to my teacher's tone. Calming worried tweens teaches you a lot about stuff like this. “I’m here. So is everyone else. We’re a team, you know.”
She nods. The dim cupboard light is bouncing off her glasses and eyes, its orange reflection like a flame in the midst of the blue. They look warmer now, unlike their coldness earlier. “You’re… you’re a good man, Dr Grace. I’m sorry about relocating you. It's harsh, but necessary.”
I don’t know how to reply to that one, either. Stratt rarely apologises for anything. After all, she rarely makes a mistake. Assigning me to Project Hail Mary wasn’t a mistake either. Cruel for me, sure, but not a mistake.
“Thanks. You’re not a bad boss, either. It must be hard, managing everything.”
The radio crackles once more, startling me. Stratt looks unsurprised. It's the same voice from earlier. “Deck 5 cleared, ma’am. Still no sign of you. Moving to deck 6. Over.”
Moving to pick the walkie-talkie, Stratt nudges against a bottle of floor cleaner that topples in Looney-Tunes fashion, tipping the walkie-talkie to the ground. Me and Stratt both crouch for it at the same time. Our cheeks graze, and our hands touch on the device.
Stratt looks up at me, eyes twinkling in the light, reflecting off her lenses. She’s so close I can feel her breath, see the short blond hair just above her forehead. And at that moment, she has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
And then the mop falls on us.
It bangs against my head, and I curse as I stand back up. Stratt has already bolted upright, a blush on her cheeks. We’re still far too close, my hand brushing hers holding the walkie talkie, and our lips are-
The door opens, and cold corridor air rushes into the cupboard.
“Found y- oh!”
I turn to face the door. It’s Ilkyukhina and Yao, both wide-eyed. She’s giggling, and he looks vaguely mortified. Me and Stratt are hardly in the best position. Practically pressed against each other, almost holding hands, and she’s blushing.
“Well,” Ilkyukhina says. “I didn’t realise-”
“Itreallyissnothingreally,” I say, tripping over my words. “We just- I mean, I-"
“The mop fell on Dr Grace and caused a bit of confusion. That’s all.” Stratt says. The blush is completely gone from her face, and she prods me to go out of the cupboard. “Now, unless I’m mistaken, you two should be in the launch simulator.”
“We finished early,” Ilkyukhina says, face back to its usual stern expression. “The equipment needed maintenance.”
Yao nods. “Ilkyukhina suggested we help search for you.”
“Yes,” she says, grinning. “But I didn’t expect to see you two acting, like, how do you say-”
“Since you’re not busy, you can help clean the toilets on the third deck. They’re being scrubbed in half an hour; you can join the cleaning team.”
Yao nods, and Ilkyukhina sighs overdramatically. They both accompany us as we walk down the corridor, while Stratt calls off the search through her walkie-talkie (seriously, what are they called?). Ilkyukhina taps me on the shoulder, slowing down slightly to let the other two gain some meters on us.
“What’s going on between you and Stratt?” she asks, voice lowered, waggling her eyebrows.
“Nothing,” I reply, my face heating up, hoping it doesn’t show. “She’s my boss, and I’m an employee. That’s all.”
“Riiiight. Nothing happened in that cupboard. Nothing. We have never seen Stratt blush. How did you do it? Kissing? No. Something more, surely.”
“Shut up,” I hiss. Yao and Stratt can surely hear us, even if we’re practically whispering and they’re a good way ahead. “She’ll kill us both. Slowly.”
“Me, maybe.” She shrugs. “But I’ll die anyway, here or in space. But she won’t kill you, oh no. She’s got other plans for you.”
I don’t respond. That’s the best line of action with Ilkyukhina. Don’t rise to her taunts, tempting as it may be. It works, as she doesn’t talk for the rest of the journey. We finally make it to the storage room, hot and filled with big metal tanks, and three floors below where I thought it was. Embarrassing. Stratt goes in first, then Ilkyukhina. Yao waits at the door, stopping me before I enter.
“Dr Grace,” he says, voice low. He doesn’t speak if he can help it, so when he does its usually something important. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes. That I won’t be here for the wedding.”
He splits a grin, patting me on the back before entering the storage room. I mentally curse whatever gods there may be. You know it's bad when Yao’s making fun of you.