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“Will Ms. Stratt not be joining us?” Dubois asked from his seat on the smallest couch in the world, where the crew had convened to watch the launch of the Hail Mary’s main compartments.
“I don’t think so,” said Dr. Grace. “She doesn’t care about fun stuff like launches. She’s probably going over spreadsheets in her office or something.”
“Then it’s fortunate that we have you here. To represent her, in a way.”
“Me? Represent her? How did you get that idea?”
Ilyukhina, hearing mention of Stratt, spun her head to face Dr. Grace. “You are number two, no? You are first officer of Project Hail Mary?”
“What? No! I’m just one of the scientists. Like all these guys.”
Ilyukhina and DuBois looked at each other. “You honestly think this?” she asked.
Bob Redell spoke up behind them. “You’re not like the rest of us, Grace.”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The point is,” DuBois interjected, “you are, somehow, special to Ms. Stratt. I had assumed you two were engaged in sexual congress.” Dr. Grace looked like he might vomit, or maybe faint. It was highly entertaining.
“Wha—what?! Are you out of your mind?! No! No way!”
“Huh,” said Ilyukhina. “Perhaps you should be? She is uptight. She could use good roll in hay.”
“Oh my God. Is that what people think?” Dr. Grace turned to face the scientists, most of whom averted their eyes. “Nothing like that is going on! And I’m not her number two! I’m just a scientist— drafted into this project like the rest of you!”
The crew continued on with their speculations, but Ilyukhina turned her attention back to the launch. There was still another three minutes until lift off but her mind was racing with unsolicited images of Dr. Grace and Stratt. She'd heard all she needed to. And she thought that the microbiologist doth protest too much.
Later that night, Ilyukhina was exactly where a day like today would take her: the breakroom. It was, at one point, a larger-than-average storage closet—big enough for a table and chairs and not much else. But it got the job done. Ilyukhina had started a small stash of alcohol in a cabinet behind some leftover storage bins. A little something for the particularly long days, but a couple bottles of vodka did not a cocktail party make.
Nevertheless, it was better than nothing. What started off as a drink every once in a while turned into a daily ritual. Finish for the day, change clothes, decompress in the break room. Even when she didn't really want anything to drink, she'd still flop into a chair and pour herself water from a repurposed vodka bottle also kept in the cabinet. She did have a reputation to uphold, after all.
But tonight she needed a drink. Badly.
It wasn't like her to linger on a conversation, but she didn't understand the vehemence with which Dr. Grace had denied Dubois's assertion earlier. He knew the intimate details of Dubois and Shapiro's entanglement but couldn't admit that he was hooking up with Stratt? Did he actually think he was convincing anyone that they weren't hooking up?
They were always together. Ilyukhina tried to recall the last time she'd seen them apart. Dr. Grace had waved at her from the lab a few days ago. They'd shared friendly greetings in the hall this morning, but that didn't really count since he'd knocked on Stratt's door moments later.
There was the time a couple weeks ago, however, that she had spotted Stratt alone. It was late (as most nights were) and the day had taken its toll on the crew, so Ilyukhina had wandered up to the deck for some fresh air. The chill had barely brushed her cheeks when her eyes landed on Stratt on the other side of the deck, elbows leaned against the rails, looking out into the infinite nothingness. The ocean breeze twirled a lock of strawberry blonde hair around her shoulder and the moonlight accentuated her jawline. Ilyukhina had turned tail and gone back to her room, despite craving the brisk air more than ever.
Ilyukhina's cheeks warmed at the memory. Why would Dr. Grace lie about sleeping with Stratt? She poured herself a drink and took a hearty swig. Why would he be ashamed to have such a beautiful woman in his bed? Because she's his boss? Grow up.
Ilyukhina's ponderance was interrupted when none other than Eva Stratt entered the break room. They were both momentarily caught off guard; neither one expecting to encounter company.
"Hello, Stratt," Ilyukhina said before she polished off her drink.
"Good evening, Ms. Ilyukhina. I didn't mean to intrude."
"No no, please!" Ilyukhina smiled. "You are not intruding."
Stratt, still in the doorway, gripped the doorknob like she was preparing to leave. An awkward air of silence passed between them; Stratt looking for all the world like she would flee, and Ilyukhina hoping she would stay.
Eventually Stratt relented, released her death grip, and shut the door. Ilyukhina, filled with cautious delight, pulled out the chair next to hers. Stratt gestured to her empty glass. "Top off?"
"Yes, please," said Ilyukhina, "it's in the…" she trailed off as Stratt strode over to the super secret liquor cabinet and retrieved the vodka stashed inside. How the hell did she know about the super secret liquor cabinet? The answer promptly presented itself when Stratt reached further into the depths to pull out another glass and a half-empty bottle of gin.
"Sneaky sneaky," Ilyukhina teased.
"I could say the same of you," Stratt said as she took a seat. She poured a reasonable amount of vodka for Ilyukhina before serving herself a splash of gin.
The two women sat in silence for a handful of minutes. Stratt nursed her gin like it might tell her what to do in this situation. After a while, she supposed, it might. Eventually, the silence got the better of Ilyukhina and she asked Stratt about her day. Stratt, not one for small talk, returned Ilyukhina's question with one of her own.
"What's wrong with you?"
"What?"
"You are never this quiet. Especially when you've been drinking. Something is clearly bothering you."
Ilyukhina stared at her glass of liquid courage for a moment. "It is silly. Nothing I should be worried about in the first place."
Stratt accepted her answer, however flimsy it was, and nodded. "The mind rarely cares what it should be worried about."
Huh. In all the time Ilyukhina had known Stratt, she couldn't remember a single time she'd said anything that wasn't directly related to the mission, let alone something vaguely philosophical. It was exciting.
"Wow," Ilyukhina said, "smart and wise." Her words got a small rise out of Stratt, who gave her a sharp look.
"Those are the same thing."
"Not true. Intelligence is knowing someone is hot, wisdom is knowing they are out of your league."
Stratt's glare shifted for a split second before she said, "I suppose you have a point."
Ilyukhina clinked her glass against Stratt's and knocked back her drink in one go. If only it was stronger. She set the glass down with more force than necessary.
"Did you watch the launch?" Ilyukhina asked. She ran a finger mindlessly along the rim of her glass.
"No," said Stratt. "No time to spare."
"We watched it. Yao and Dubois and the rest of the team. Even Dr. Grace was there." Ilyukhina cast a furtive glance towards Stratt at the mention of Dr. Grace, but Stratt gave no sign of interest. "He is very funny."
Stratt snorted. "That's a new one."
"He is!" Ilyukhina pushed on. "He gets flustered so easily. Dubois implied that he was engaging in sexual congress and he almost passed out."
Stratt raised a single eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. He was super uncomfortable and denied everything." Once again, Ilyukhina watched for any sign that Stratt might be reacting to Dr. Grace's denial of their arrangement, but she found the same cool indifference as always. Man, she's good.
"He can discuss your methods of suicide but not his personal life," Stratt said, taking a sip. "Typical."
"He was very cagey about it. As if we would be mad at him. Ha! Imagine Shapiro being upset about Dr. Grace having sex with you after she propositioned Dubois right in front of him."
Stratt's glass froze halfway to her lips. "I beg your pardon?"
"Yes!" Ilyukhina continued, picking up steam. "Shapiro said that Dubois told Dr. Grace about their relationship so there would be no secrets. And then they made plans to have sex after their training while Dr. Grace was right there in the room with them!" Ilyukhina, giggling at the memory, cast her eyes over to Stratt. The laughter died on her lips.
Stratt looked at Ilyukhina with an expression between utter confusion and seething rage. It settled deep in the pit of her stomach.
"What's wrong?"
"Who did Dr. Grace claim to be having sex with?" Stratt's tone was measured. Deadly.
"He did not say," Ilyukhina said. "That is why we were teasing him."
"Then why, pray tell, are you under the assumption that it's me?"
The blood rushed from Ilyukhina's face as she realized her mistake. "It's not—we thought—" She scrambled for the right words, but the cocktail of alcohol and adrenaline coursing through her system did her no favors. "Aren't you?"
"Of course not!" Stratt's cool temperament melted away to reveal a swirling inferno. "I don't even like—why on earth would Dr. Grace and I have sex? Let alone on a consistent basis?"
“The same reason anyone else does, to blow off some steam!”
“Hardly.”
"Stratt, if that is not the case, I apologize. I did not mean to offend you. Really. I misspoke."
"Quite the slip-up," Stratt chided, then shook her head. "Is that really what the crew thinks?"
Ilyukhina weighed her options. She could tell Stratt the truth. Or she could lie, blame it on the alcohol, and backpedal into neutral territory—arguably the wiser choice.
"That is what most of them think, yes."
"Unbelievable."
"You are always together! What are we supposed to assume?"
"Nothing!" Stratt said with more emotion than Ilyukhina had ever heard from her. "I expect more than the most important minds on earth sitting around speculating about the sex lives of their colleagues." Stratt looked directly at Ilyukhina. "I expect more from you."
The words hit her like a truck. "Me? Why me?"
"You are different. You haven't locked yourself away in a lab your entire life. You've lived, had worldly experiences. You know better than to make assumptions about people you hardly know."
"I hardly know you because you tell us nothing about yourself."
"You want to know something about me? Fine. How about this: I am not fucking Dr. Grace."
"Could have fooled me," Ilyukhina grumbled.
Stratt scoffed. "This is highly inappropriate, Ms. Ilyukhina." She took a long sip of her drink and the silence settled around them like the aftermath of a bomb.
When the silence became deafening, Ilyukina said, "I am sorry, Stratt. Really I am. We should not have assumed anything."
"You’re right, you shouldn’t have." A tense moment passes between them. Then: "if you're so worried about Dr. Grace's sexual health, perhaps you should see to aiding him yourself."
"He's not the one I'm worried about." The words were out of Ilyukhina's mouth before she could register what they meant. How much she meant them. Vague panic twisted her insides, then something else twisted in a different way when she saw the look Stratt was giving her. Gone was the rage and confusion and myriad of other new emotions Stratt had shown tonight, replaced by a completely neutral expression. Cool consideration, nothing more and nothing less.
"Don't worry about me." Stratt's voice was level. "I can take care of myself."
"When was the last time you let someone else take care of you?"
Stratt contemplated the question, found it distressingly difficult to come up with an honest answer. Instead, she said, "I can assure you that Dr. Grace is not what I am looking for."
Ilyukhina turned her body towards Stratt. "Then what are you looking for?"
"I'm not looking.” An aura of regret wrapped itself around the room.
"Why not?"
"I am committed to this project. There is no room for anything else."
"Bullshit." The word was harsh but Ilyukhina's tone was gentle. "Dubois and Shapiro found room. You could too, if you wanted. There is nothing you have wanted for the Hail Mary that you have not achieved. This much I know about you, at least."
For the second time tonight, Stratt looked like she might leave. And for the second time tonight, she didn’t.
"As true as that may be, Ms. Ilyukhina, might I remind you that we are less than ten days away from final launch. There is no room for error."
"So you have sacrificed the possibility of happiness—not even happiness, fun—out of fear?"
"Out of necessity."
Perhaps it's the alcohol, or the emotional outburst, or the creeping realization that in two weeks time she'll be in a coma, hurtling towards another star system, never to return. And Stratt will be here, on Earth, left to pick up the pieces of a tattered life. Whatever it was, it was all she needed.
"Connection is a necessity," Ilyukhina said softly. "Comfort is a necessity." She brushes a pinky against Stratt’s. "Human touch is a necessity."
The longer Stratt took to respond, the more concerned Ilyukhina became that she'd doomed humanity by hitting on her boss. But that worry came to a screeching halt when Stratt's pinky twitched against hers.
"It's not easy for me," Stratt said. Ilyukhina understood what she really meant. She took another leap of faith and curled her pinky under Stratt's, holding their hands together in a fragile embrace. The air around them felt even more fragile, like one wrong move would shatter this novel moment. "It never has been."
"I get it," Ilyukhina agreed. "More than maybe you think I do."
Stratt's pinky wrapped just a bit tighter.
"But maybe it doesn't have to be so hard. Maybe," Ilyukhina positioned herself forward in her chair, "we can make it easier. Together."
"None of this will ever get easier," Stratt said, leaning forward to mirror Ilyukhina, eyes swimming with something unfamiliar.
"You work with scientists," Ilyukhina said. "Don't you know there's only one way to find out?" Her pinky strayed from Stratt's to curl her fingers around her wrist. Her pulse hammered under Ilyukhina’s touch. "The most important part of the scientific method." They were hardly a breath apart now. "Experimentation."
It was Stratt that closed the final distance and pressed her lips to Ilyukhina's.
The first kiss was slow, yes, but not timid. Cautiously exploratory in the way only science professionals could manage. Each mapped out favorable areas, noted the way Stratt sighed, memorized the softness of Ilyukhina's lips. It was a quiet dance of observation, of learning. That is, until Ilyukhina nipped at Stratt's bottom lip and elicited a mind-numbingly beautiful whine. She pulled back suddenly, heart thundering in her ribcage like it might beat right out of her chest. Stratt controlled her breathing much better, but the dusting of pink upon her cheeks was enough to blow her cover and drive Ilyukhina mad.
"I think," Ilyukhina said, voice hoarse, "that I need to go to bed."
Stratt was silent. However she was feeling, she didn't let on.
"I think that,” Ilyukhina leaned forward to capture Stratt's lips once again, “you should come to bed, too."
Stratt pulled back. "I think you might be drunk."
"Doubt it."
"You've had quite a bit to drink," Stratt said. Her eyes darted to Ilyukhina's empty glass on the table.
"Oh, Lisichka," Ilyukhina whispered, "I have not had a drop of alcohol since you walked in."
It's true that Stratt had grabbed the repurposed bottle and unwittingly poured her two fingers of water instead of vodka, but in the end, Ilyukhina hadn't needed the liquid courage to close the gap between herself and Stratt. She had only needed encouragement.