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The Sun was dying, taking the Earth with it, and Eva Stratt had been sidelined.
All of the scientists that had flooded into the Centre spatial guyanis since the announcement that the sun was dimming were experts in their fields. Chairs of departments at the best universities in the world, chief government advisors, the heads of labs at internationally recognized companies of all kinds.
In other words, scientists who had made the transition to politics.
They had formed some kind of steering committee, and then immediately revolted against the ones who had taken places on the steering committee for thinking themselves above everyone else. At last count there was a Steering Committee (a third iteration), a Scientific Board, a Board of Advisors, and a Trustee Network. When she sat down at her desk that morning, the first email at the top of her inbox was the announcement of a newly formed Task Force. The scientific and political communities had managed to decide that a probe should be sent, and that due to the placement of the CSG both politically and physically it should be sent from there, so every expert necessary should arrive as quickly as possible.
It had been one week since the announcement. Nothing else had been decided since.
She had to track their goings-on; unfortunately, she did now report to them. She had previously been the highest-ranking ESA official on the base, reporting only to the head office in Paris, but orders had come through that she should now take orders from the "experts" regarding assembly and launch of the probe.
In some ways her job had never been easier. A great deal of the past three years of her life had consisted of waiting for Europe to wake back up and approve her orders. Now, nobody could agree who she reported to singularly, which meant that she had effectively no supervision. The head of one of the supposed governing bodies had emailed her the previous day to let her know that discussion was ongoing, but everything should be done in the meantime to maintain and prepare the facilities for the launch of a scientific probe towards Venus. Which was a long winded way of saying “Do whatever bureaucrats do, sweetheart, and leave the rest to us”.
Most of the employees at the CSG lived in the city of Kourou nearby. Stratt had requested housing on-site as part of her promotion; there was precedent, so they had dusted off an old, standalone home just outside the beginning of the compound. It was one of those western european buildings from the seventies that looked like a fragile bird made out of concrete and glass. They might have given her this specific one as a joke; probably enjoyed putting the German woman in the concrete house. But she enjoyed drinking her coffee at the expansive second floor windows in the morning, surveying where the jungle ended and her domain began.
Or, she had enjoyed doing that.
It was hard to enjoy anything now. With the sun dying, and all. She had taken to watching the sunrise over Kourou out of the window. She knew that the sun’s dimming wouldn’t be visible to the naked eye yet, but she felt better keeping an eye on it.
Eight days into the new mission, she walked into her ostentatiously large and peacefully barren office, and connected her laptop to her monitor as she always did.
IMPENDING BUDGET INQUIRIES 3 hours ago
Director Stratt,
Writing from New York to let you know the UN has approved a practically unlimited budget for this project. Drawing mainly on funds provided by the USA, China, and EU. Negotiations w/ the Russians ongoing. Accounts are cash and withdrawal-approved to ensure payments can be guaranteed. Please let your team know to use the following budget code in all their reporting. Account code is included to ensure there aren’t any mix-ups. Anything and everything necessary to the project should go on this going forward.
0000-99999-999
Thanks,
Manon Robert
There was a second email. A smaller message appended to the first.
Eva,
Good luck. If anyone can do this, it’s you.
Eva scoffed. She and Manon had been in the Graduate Trainee Program together. Manon was capable, of course, but she was also so much more willing to play office games than Eva was. Eva had moved up through sheer force of will and extreme competency; Manon had bounded ahead just by being willing to not tell previous directors they were wrong once or twice, and sending flowers for someone’s birthday. Of course she understood that contractors and supplies had to be paid for, but the fact that they still needed an account code…
Her fingers stilled on the keyboard.
Oh.
The thought germinating in the back of her head for the past nine days finally sprouted fully, blooming into the bright, tropical light streaming through the windows.
She felt goosebumps raise on her forearms and took a slow, even breath to steady herself.
This really was going to be all up to her, wasn’t it? The way she always wanted to cut through the tangled web and just do. This code—that email earlier in the week—they were permission, if she read it right.
She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair.
Okay.
What would it mean, to just go ahead and start the work? To do it herself?
Well, not herself. Doing anything like this alone would be impossible. But to start. To grab hold and run with the problem.
Getting fired. Becoming totally untouchable and unemployable. Probably jail time, depending on how far she got before she got caught.
In a world operating as normal.
But every second they delayed was another life lost. Not potentially, not maybe. The world was about to change irrevocably. This was—Blitzkreig. The Winter Palace. The Berlin Wall coming down. Or, more accuratley, the beginning of walls going up.
Was this a change, for her? It didn’t feel like a change. Something was settling. The part of her that she had always had to hold back to make life work. Every comment ever received that she was too much and worked too hard and needed to loosen up was obsolete now.
She took another deep breath, looking around her office like some kind of veil had been lifted. The singular picture of her childhood home that she kept on her desk, with the lilac bush outside in full bloom. The rug on the floor that was the only thing from the previous director’s decorations she had liked. The movement outside in the office space as everyone continued to try and figure out what their new normal looked like.
There wasn’t going to be a normal anymore. When there wasn’t normal to fall back on, humans needed guidance.
She could–no, she would do this. No more equivocating. If this was going to become her life–and what was her life, in the face of the whole world?–she had to surrender to it.
Fifteen minutes later, she had her department heads gathered on the various couches and chairs arranged in her office. She moved to perch on the front of her desk. Normally it took two weeks of Dianou wrangling all their schedules to pull this off. Now they had a group chat.
“Did you finally get some orders?” Mihai, her Engineering and Science Chief, looked hopeful.
“No.” She said. At least three of them opened their mouths, and she held up her hand. “Wait.”
They did. Good.
“Orders haven’t come yet, and I don’t know when they will.” She watched their faces intently; horror, disillusionment, understanding. “I’m tired of waiting. We have all of the expertise that we need sitting in this room.”
Everyone transitioned to shock immediately. “Wait, what do you mean?” “But all the orders are to listen to the scientists.” “What’s the point of flying everyone here if they can’t decide on anything?”
“No, she’s right.” Tammsaar said quietly, but everyone else shut up when he started speaking. Launchpad manager, essentially her second in command–he was the only one she’d been a part of picking. Good to know she had done well. “All the approvals we normally need are out the window, right?”
“The only orders I’ve received are to maintain the launchpad and to prepare for a probe launch to Venus.” She nodded, leaning back. Her finance manager, Flanigan, piped up.
“I…I see what you’re suggesting, Stratt.” She started, tremulously. “But where’s the money coming from? How do we explain it to everyone else?”
“I received a budget code this morning for an essentially unlimited budget.” Flanigan blanched. “To my understanding, it’s connected to a fully funded cash account to ensure that no payment drops. As for explanations…” she spread her hands. “Nobody has asked or told me anything. None of them have even come to my office.”
They all looked at her.
“If you’re not comfortable moving forward on my orders, you don’t have to. I’ll be more than happy to grant you extended leave for personal reasons. But you’re all capable experts." She took a deep breath. This was it. "If you would like to help me save the world, I would value your input.”
All of them shifted forward.
Perfect.
“First we need to establish payload so we can understand which rocket will fit the situation best. Let’s not forget that we won’t have an optimal launch window like we normally do. Mihai, get back in touch with the Russian engineer who consulted on the Solar Orbiter and Colombo launches.”
“Doctor Komorov? Yes, you’re right, he’ll be a good help again. I can call him la–”. He caught the look on her face. “I can step out and call him now.”
“Good.” She focused back on the group. “Now, payload. It needs to be simple, effective, and it needs to be able to do a high altitude sample drop. Thoughts?”