Work Text:
The laws of entropy insist that natural systems always move to a state of constant disorder, constant change, constant expansion. You would not know any of this if you meet Eva Stratt, because as shocking as she may seem to the average person, she is achingly predictable. It is not her fault if her choices are unforgivable in the eyes of the law, or the UN, or someone’s deadbeat uncle cursing over his phone. They should not have expected anything different.
She remembers—and she hates herself for it—Grace’s description of his favorite beach, long ago. You can come here every day and always find a different beach—sunshine, riptides, gentle waves, storm clouds, whatever. But it will always be the same water, the same sand.
This is today’s Eva Stratt, as same and as different as always. Former ESA administrator, current head of the Petrova Taskforce. Always maker of lists, haver of chronic migraines, casual enjoyer of OxyContin. Made protector of this one fragile Earth, alive with her two hands and two feet and always-only-one heart in the middle of Ryland Grace’s tiny San Francisco apartment, an eviction notice stuffed into her purse.
Eva is no stranger to showing up to places uninvited (that part comes with her job title), and this time is no different.
It’s easy to categorize what she’s learned so far:
1) Grace’s landlord is an old woman, kind eyes and floral print and all. It took her three months to notice the missing rent and a fourth to put out an eviction notice.
2) Grace must have been a wonderful teacher, with the fridge covered in drawings and magnets and the numerous #1 Teacher in the World and fox themed gifts tucked safely away in the dark of a cabinet. Eva does not have to look to find the spaces that used to belong to what is no longer on Earth.
4) Everything is as she left it.
3) It is still easy, asking people to die for Earth.
In another universe, perhaps one where Eva was allowed the privilege of kindness, this list would have affected her more. Instead of dwelling on that realization, she pulls the eviction notice out of her purse, shifting the weight of the plastic bags in her other hand to place the limp sheet of paper on the dust-covered folding table.
In approximately three hours, all that Earth has left of Dr. Ryland Grace will belong to the folded up boxes in those bags. Those boxes will follow her to her own apartment, at least until her amnesty wears off. Then they’ll go somewhere else–to Carl, maybe.
Eva begins packing Ryland’s things in a simple, clinical manner. If she believed in ghosts, then perhaps she would feel him peering over her shoulder, sipping a hot chocolate with an espresso shot and wearing that bright, sunshine yellow raincoat.
—--
Eva Stratt graduated university with a Bachelor of Arts in History and a minor in Astrophysics. She has never told anyone on the Petrova Taskforce about that minor.
When she was 13 years old, her mother bought her a telescope. A cheap one, nothing fancy, but it was enough for her. This was how most stories started with people that loved space–sitting outside for hours on end and charting every constellation they could see. There is an astounding beauty and melancholy that comes with admiring something you will never be close to.
Eva fell in love with the universe because it made her feel small. It’s odd that there was once a time where she was allowed to feel unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
To 18 year old Eva who chose to study history, that reason was not enough. There is no point in reveling in your atom-sized existence in the scope of the stars when the only home you will ever find is on this Earth.
She tucked that idea away into the infinity of her body that came from stardust and will soon return to stardust, and only reconsidered it when she was staring at a sleek black binder with the words Project Hail Mary embossed across the front.
—--
On Ryland’s ceiling, there is a glow-in-the-dark smattering of the solar system. All eight planets, a smattering of (accurate, she can confirm) stars, and a red line of yarn taped between the sun and Venus. The Petrova Line, of course.
An expanse of emotion hits her so hard right then she almost drops the box of books she’s holding. Orbital by Samantha Harvey flops onto the floor. It’s as if this ceiling is a perfectly preserved replica of the solar system she first met Ryland Grace sitting under, flattened and lovingly pressed between the pages of a heavy book.
For the first time since Eva ordered Ryland to be sedated, anticipating the fight-back, she feels exposed. Today, Eva Stratt is an intruder, a god-player, an exorcist for a ghost that no longer belongs to Earth. And whose choice was that? a voice inside her head asks.
Then she remembers something else: In the early stages of training the original astronauts, Eva was given a choice in what colors the Hail Mary mission jumpsuits should be. The answer from her brain was: why are you asking me this? You are the head of design, go do your job. The answer from her heart was: yellow, sunshine yellow. Bright grass yellow. Raincoat yellow.
Oh, god. Eva lets out a long, world-weary sigh, feels a migraine start to rattle behind her eyes. As she carefully folds and packs someone else’s closet full of dress shirts, worn jeans, and colorful t-shirts, she begins that all-too-familiar process of compartmentalizing her feelings:
1) There is regret somewhere, but it is as foreign to her as a word encountered for the first time. There was no real choice of whether or not to send Dr Grace to space. In another life, she and Grace would’ve been friends, yes. But in this one, it is just the weary, dying Earth and her job to save it. She accepts this–has already accepted it–as just part of the natural order of things. The sun is dying, for fuck’s sake. Eva no longer believes in what she cannot know.
2) Humans are impatient creatures. This time, Eva is not an exception. The wait has just begun, and she is already tired of it–she was tired of it to start with. She is Atlas with the world on his shoulders and none of the stories to go along with it. She is Atlas with the world on his shoulders and still a dog on a doorstep, waiting and waiting and waiting. One day, twenty something years into the future, the beetles will return and Eva will be alive to see it. Today is not that day.
3) Sorrow? Pride? Anger? She does not know what this feeling is, the one that she finds when she takes the mismatched fridge magnets off of his student’s drawings and tucks them into the box of clothes for safekeeping. There are so many gifts from Dr Grace’s students around his otherwise cheaply furnished apartment, a stark contrast from his surprisingly lovely, painstakingly decorated classroom. Was this not enough for Grace to be brave for? It was enough for him, for all his idiotic, irritating self-deprecative glory, to fight her for just three dots of alien life, but not to save his own planet? She supposes it doesn’t matter anymore.
God, Eva does not understand what it is about Grace that makes him so special. It has been four months since the Hail Mary launched. She has encountered celebrations, preemptive memorials, outrage-spurred social media movements, and even thank you cards mailed to the Petrova Task Force Headquarters, and she has sat in her office and seen them all. Her choice was never about the sentiment, but humanity is what all of this is for. Commander Yao Li-Jie, Engineer Olesya Ilyukhina, and Dr. Ryland Grace will be hailed as heroes, in the end. She will make sure of that.
Maybe it’s the idea of the simple companionship they could’ve shared. She does not have any particular attachment to Commander Yao or Ilyukhina other than a sort of gratefulness that they made her job easy, but perhaps she will sometimes miss (she does miss it) the sound of stubborn, cowardly Grace’s idiotic jokes or the accidental taste of his disgusting coffee order after a mix-up.
She punctuates this thought with the rrriiiipp of packaging tape over the last of the boxes. Reality is this–these 8 boxes labeled Dr. Ryland Grace in neat, even handwriting–same as when she entered this apartment.
Eva Stratt does not cry. She doubts she even has it in herself to do so anymore. She is used to that, too.
She takes out phone and calls Carl, letting him know that she’s done. He’ll be outside the apartment in a minute, so Eva clears the boxes out of Grace’s apartment, and lets herself have one cursory glance around the apartment. It is wholly empty, except for the planets and the stars on the ceiling. A peace offering, almost.
The weight of a red string is heavy in her pocket.
It is a beautiful day outside, with a gentle breeze and the last of the wavering sunset. She does not pause to look at it, just silently loads the boxes into the back of the van alongside Carl and gets into the passenger seat. The tinted windows dim the sunlight, but there is a future where that will no longer be a frightening premonition.
To Eva Stratt, that is enough. The end will justify the means.