Chapter Text
Light.
That’s the first thing that I notice. Green-tinged light, filtering through the glass – no, through two layers of glass. I’m wearing glasses. Or, more accurately, there are glasses precariously balanced between my nose and the window, half fallen off my head. I reach to push the frames back up, but my arm movement is sluggish and my hands reach some kind of surface a few centimetres from my head. Strange. My fingertips brush soft material, and it’s at this point I realise that they’re not brushing each other as I flex my hand. Okay, I’m wearing gloves. Strange, again, that I didn’t know this already, but–
It’s at this point that I realise I don’t know where I am.
And it’s at this point that I realise: I don’t know who I am.
And then I look, properly look out of the visor – it’s a visor; I’m wearing a helmet – to see a massive green sphere that can only be a planet that is not Earth.
And then I scream.
***
I open my eyes and there’s a flipping ceiling, right there, up above me – there’s an up! – and it’s dirty and slightly grey and oh my God, where’s Rocky? I stumble-jump out of bed (I was in a bed: an actual, horizontal, not-strapped-to-the-wall bed) and push off towards the door and oh shoot, there’s gravity, my bad, because the momentum only makes me fall over my own feet and my nose meets the floor with a painful crunch.
“Ow...” I groan.
And then I frown, the pain very much not forgotten but temporarily put aside.
“Ow?” I say again, and still, the weird feeling hangs around. I don’t... sound right. I spent long enough working out I was from San Francisco, and now I sound... not from San Francisco. Without getting up from the floor (doing that feels like it might hurt) I turn my head ninety degrees so my mouth isn’t kissing the ground, and mumble, “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” Yeah, I know that’s for typing, but I needed something to say, and that covers enough vowels and consonants for me to know something’s up. The voice that comes out of my mouth is familiar, but it’s not my own. It doesn’t even sound American. “What the fudge?”
There’s a banging on the door and I scramble to my feet – “Ow!” because apparently, I have a roommate! A roommate who uses knocking to get my attention, no less, which implies–
It’s not a roommate, it’s a guard. Like, a prison cell guard. My heart sinks. I’m in a prison cell, and it’s got a door at least an inches thick – still think in inches then, good to know – and the door has a window with bars in it, and through the bars I can see a guy with a weird military-looking hat and a walkie-talkie strapped to his belt. He frowns. “Qu’est que vous faites à votre visage?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“L'anglais? Sérieusement?”
“Um.” All I can do is stare. The words are similar enough to English that I know what he’s getting at, but I still have no idea why he’s speaking French.
“C’est sérieux?” he grumbles, then, with exaggerated slowness: “What have you done to your face?”
At the reminder, one hand flies up to my nose. Despite bracing for the impact, it doesn’t touch glasses, just skin and blood. When I prod a little at my nose, it hurts, so I stop. I bring the hand away; it’s red and sticky. It’s also... not my hand. Okay, I tell myself, at least you remember what your hand looks like. That’s better than last time you woke up like this. But this isn’t like the last time I woke up like this – disoriented, I mean – because, well, I can remember where I was before I went to sleep.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t go to sleep at all.
I count facts in my head.
My name is Dr. Ryland Grace. I am a junior high school teacher. I am currently on the Hail Mary – no, false, not anymore – with an alien called Rocky. I am a scientist. I named Astrophage. I was put on the Hail Mary to save the Earth by–
“Ms. Stratt, do you want me to call for medical?”
I stare at him. “What’d you call me?” The first word feels weird in this mouth – oh my God, this isn’t my mouth – like it’s not used to speaking informally.
The guard looks away and unhooks a walkie talkie from his belt. “I don’t have time for this, Stratt, I’m calling for medical. Vous avez l’air d’une casseuse.”
Stratt.
My name is Dr. Ryland Grace. I am a coward. I am a teacher, and I am a scientist, and I was put on a spaceship called the Hail Mary by a woman called Eva Stratt to save the world.
And my accent is Dutch.
This is... bad.