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“So that’s it?” Grace stared at her. “After everything?”
“We are not friends, Dr. Grace.” Stratt’s voice was low, firm. There was an edge of warning there that Grace rarely ever heard. It’s what told him that she wasn’t as cold-hearted as she pretended to be.
“I don’t buy it!”
She took a breath, looking down as she tried exasperatedly to convey her messed up reasoning. “Then you are deluded. You work for me, I have authority over everything you do, both professional and personal-”
“Yeah, I know. World’s first global dictator.” Grace cut her off harshly. He understood the power she wielded - better than most - and had seen the ruthlessness of her decisions first hand. She’d all but kidnapped him in the first place anyway. But he’d been able to accept that.
This, however…
He could not accept dying.
And he could not accept the betrayal.
“I will do what I must for the sake of the Earth!” She looked frustrated, which was humorous. Stratt was ordering him to die and she was frustrated?
“I know,” he ground out, trying and failing to keep his voice from rising. “But just admit it’s wrong!”
She paused, looking almost confused. “It’s not wrong.”
That set Grace back a step. His eyebrows rose as he tried to process what she was saying. “It’s not wrong to condemn someone you care about to death?”
She scoffed. “It’s terrible. But if the ends justify the means then it has to be done! It is the only acceptable option.”
He appraised her for a long moment. She held his stare unflinchingly.
“You’re a monster.”
She was silent. The words floated between them, coating the air with their awful truth. The atmosphere in the room changed, and with it whatever remained of their relationship.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” was all she replied.
A small gasp escaped Grace’s lips. Not at what she’d said, but at the realization that this was happening. This was actually going to go ahead, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
“You do this willingly… or you do it unwillingly. Don’t make this harder.”
An incredulous scoff covered the spike of panic beginning to claw its way up Grace’s throat. “You’re insane…”
At her gesture, the door to the office opened and two doctors walked in, flanked either side by a couple of Stratt’s security agents and Russian soldiers.
“No… no, no, no-”
“Do we need to do this?” Stratt asked coldly. It was as if they’d never known each other at all.
“Screw you!” he shouted. “I’m not going!” He looked desperately around the office for any way out of this. They were crowding the exit, but behind the floor length window blinds he knew there was a fire door leading directly to the outside. It was his only hope. “You can not do this!”
The doctors waited by the threshold, and the security team advanced. Stratt was saying something patronising, probably telling him to calm down, but he couldn’t hear her above his pounding heartbeat. It was now or never. In a flash, he bolted for the fire escape and pushed the handle down before he even realised it. Cold Kazakhstani air flowed over him as he ran for it.
He didn’t try to listen to the sounds behind him. He knew they’d given chase, but he was too terrified to waste energy working out how far away they were. He couldn’t have slowed even if he’d wanted to. He’d never had so much adrenaline flowing through his veins. His legs carried him away from Stratt’s office at a pace he’d never believed he was capable of. Past the trailers, around the back of the teaching labs, toward the outer perimeter of the base… What was he going to do when he got to the barbed wire fence?
He rejected the thought. He’d figure it out. Just keep running. His breath was coming in pants, but he still wasn’t tired. Shouts from behind spurred him on, but he focused on nothing other than taking one giant stride at a time.
He’d never be able to climb the fence. The main entrance to the base would be a terrible idea. How the hell was he going to keep this up?
For the first time, a flare of doubt flickered in his gut.
No. Push on. Just keep running. You’ll figure it out.
He reached the corner of the engineering department and made a split second decision. Instead of keeping going straight toward the fence a couple hundred feet away, he turned left and hugged the side of the building. Thankfully it was pretty deserted around this part of the compound, with not many windows overlooking the empty grass. His legs carried him along the side of the building without any sign of flagging.
Hide.
It came to him instinctually. If he could find somewhere to hide for a couple of days, they wouldn’t be able to put him on the ship. They’d have to find someone else.
…Was he being delusional? Could he actually outsmart the entire Baikonur security team long enough to avoid launch?
It was his only chance.
He took a turn and sprinted down an alleyway of two connecting buildings. He didn’t even know what they were from outside - he’d never been around this part of the launch facility. The shouts had faded away, or perhaps Grace had just tuned them out. He took another turn. The alley was narrow. A set of circular iron steps led up to one of the levels above, and he flung himself up them three at a time. Grasping hold of the fire door, he was amazed to find it actually opened. He wasted no time getting inside. He was in a dark corridor - clearly only used as a fire escape. Slamming the door behind him and lifting the handle to lock it, he leaned against the cold metal, panting into the relative safety of the darkness. He screwed his eyes shut as he listened for voices outside. A few seconds later, he heard them. Russian commands being yelled from all directions.
They must have alerted the whole base.
In that moment, Grace knew he’d lost. His trembling hands were still on the door handle, keeping it lifted in the lock position. He forced himself to let go. It was over. They’d find him. They were always going to find him. In his panicked state, he’d actually believed he would be able to avoid this.
His terrible fate came to him in a crushing wave of horror and despair. He could barely stand. His adrenaline left him suddenly and ruthlessly, leaving him a hollow wreck of a man. He took a shuddering step away from the door. He probably only had seconds before they were banging on the door. Minutes perhaps until they broke it down. He blinked away the tears that clouded his vision.
Well he wasn’t going to wait here in the dark. Slowly, using the wall for support, he edged along the corridor until he found a second door. This one opened onto the roof. He sobbed as he stepped outside again. The wind felt nice against his sweaty face.
From here, he had a good vantage point of the Baikonur launch facility. Soldiers were running here and there amongst various buildings, and a few hundred feet away a helicopter hovered high above the facility.
Damn, was that for him too?
He stepped closer to the edge. It was a beautiful place, really. If you looked beyond the barbed-wire fencing and men with guns everywhere. He took a moment to look at it all. Every feature of the facility, then out to the plains beyond. It was a desolate wasteland beyond the base, but it was Earth.
Soon, he’d never see anything like it again. Never feel the wind on his face again. Never smell the sandy breeze.
The helicopter was moving closer. Behind it, a soft rainbow graced the pale sky. It was beautiful.
“Ryland Grace, do not move. You are being apprehended.” The voice was magnified, coming from the helicopter.
Grace couldn’t care less what it was saying. He stepped closer to the edge, his toes now hanging above the thirty foot drop, the tips of his sneakers unsupported. Could he do it?
Should he do it?
He didn’t want to die. But having the choice taken away from him… There was a part of him that wanted to reclaim it. And a less rational part of him that whispered if he took back control now, he wouldn’t have to endure the hell of outer space.
He took a deep breath.
Soldiers below had stopped running around aimlessly and were amassing in the spot below.
He was probably being dramatic. Would a fall from this height even kill him? What if he ended up surviving?
He really didn’t want to think about it.
People were shouting at him from below. The helicopter was instructing him to step away from the edge. He knew he didn’t have long until they got through the door that led him here. He closed his eyes. What was it going to be?
The coward’s way out, or disgraced submission?
In perhaps an act of holy mercy, the decision was made for him. A loud bang behind him told him they’d burst through the door and entered the roof.
“Step back!” a heavily accented soldier shouted from behind, but Grace didn’t have time to do anything before hands grabbed his arms and shoulders and pulled him away from the edge. He stumbled, before being pulled down to the ground as at least three soldiers climbed on top of him.
Damn, that hurt. His shoulder was pulled so tightly and their weight pressed him painfully into the gravel of the roof. He struggled, fighting for reprieve, but his cries were ignored by the buzz of the soldiers around him. They were all talking, either into radios or to each other, or possibly even to Grace.
“Please,” he begged, knowing it would do nothing.
“Be calm,” someone said.
More tears only forced their way out of his eyes, tracking down his temples as he lay there waiting. After a couple of minutes, the doctors must have arrived, because hands were angling his face sideways to expose his neck, and the scratch of a needle penetrated his skin.
He couldn't help it. He screamed as he felt the injection go in. Thrashing did nothing - they had him pinned down tight. “STRATT!” he shouted as the needle was withdrawn, not sure if he was begging her to stop this or cursing her name.
“Just relax,” someone said.
He whimpered.
He could feel his muscles doing exactly that. One by one, he lost control of them, his limbs going limp without his consent until he could no longer move. His head sank further into the cold gravel, his eyes slowly closing. He tried to blink them open. Tried to focus on the rainbow. But eventually Stratt’s plan succeeded, as they always did. He closed his eyes for the last time, and sank into oblivion.