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“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality,” goes the opening line of The Haunting of Hill House. The conditions onboard Stratt’s Vat could definitely be counted as absolute reality in Grace’s eyes, and he had been existing there for a long time.
There was simply no time for anything else beyond absolute reality. Every minute of his day, and most of his nights too, was filled with meetings, testing schedules, planning conferences, training sessions, and a myriad of other exhausting activities. By the time he finally got to his basic room in the small hours of the morning, if he ever got there at all, he had no time for anything beyond falling unconscious for a few hours before being forcibly awakened to do it all over again. Nothing to give his constantly cortisol-riddled brain a break.
Something had to give.
The day had started out normally enough. A 4am wake-up call ahead of a long meeting with a supplier of something Grace couldn’t quite remember, followed immediately by another meeting with a diplomat who represented one of the Sub-Saharan countries impacted by the Astrophage breeding programme. That one had gotten tense, but Stratt had dealt with it easily enough, so Grace had left and made his way to the lab, where he was due to supervise some training with DuBois and Shapiro.
When he arrived, he was surprised to hear raised voices. Despite the stresses on board, fights were rare. Stratt was careful with who she brought into the Project and big egos were not tolerated for long.
“I just don’t see why you’re not willing to even try it,” an unfamiliar voice demanded.
“I can’t say I fully understand the science behind it,” DuBois replied calmly as Grace entered the room; "however, Dr Grace has done many months of careful research and has determined that this is the best method. I trust Grace, as does everyone else involved, and so this is the method we’ll be using. Changing things now is just wasting time and resources.”
Dubois’ eyes met Grace's over the shoulder of the man he had been arguing with, and the other man spun around.
"Oh, look who it is," he spat, "Dr Ryland Grace. I don’t know how you convinced this lot that you’re some kind of visionary genius who shouldn’t be argued with, but you’re not convincing me.”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Grace asked.
The other man snorted. “I should hope not. Anyone with an ounce of self-respect wouldn’t be seen in your company even now. I only agreed to consult on this stupid little project of yours as a favour to Dr Andersen.”
Ahh, Grace got it now. Dr Lars Andersen, AKA the “Staggering Waste of Carbon", always did have a little trail of lackeys who liked to follow him about and make him feel important. This guy was clearly a new addition to the flock. He also clearly liked the sound of his own voice, and it was starting to attract attention; pretty much everyone in the lab was now watching them with varying degrees of subtlety.
“I don’t know whose boots you had to lick to get here, but I bet they’re pretty damn shiny now, huh?”
”I think that’s enough,” Dubois interrupted, but the guy clearly had this planned out and wasn’t stopping now.
”You do all realise that the guy you’ve put in charge of this entire project is the same guy who called out dozens of his own peers by name in a paper and literally called them idiots? You know how low you have to go for an entire academic field to work together to make sure you’re never published again? And to do all that before you even turn 30?” He started slow clapping.
There was some murmuring from around the room, and Grace felt like he might be sick. He was exhausted, hungry, and having his dirty laundry aired in front of an entire room full of people he actually liked and who he hoped liked him back. He could feel himself shutting down, fighting back tears he absolutely would not shed here.
“I was there, by the way, in Copenhagen,” the guy added with undisguised venomous glee. “I saw you make a complete ass of yourself in front of everybody. You might have gotten to name Astrophage but that tantrum is all anyone in the field will ever remember you for. That and…”
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned away from Grace to come face to face with Stratt who, if looks could kill, would have eviscerated him multiple times over in an instant.
”Doctor Grace is not in charge of this Project, I am,” she began. "He is, however, my lead science officer, a position he has reached through hard work, dedication to this team, and most importantly to me, through results. I don’t know what circles you move in, Mr Holt, but I assure you I move in better ones, and every person I spoke to from Oxford to Tokyo gave me the same name when I needed those results. They were correct. So now I’m going to have my security team escort you off this ship so that my lead scientist can get back to saving the world for you and your friends, just as he has been admirably doing for the last several months, instead of listening to a little man like you attempt to insult him.”
Grace watched as the guy was escorted, perhaps a little more roughly than was necessary, out of the lab. Someone whistled.
”Are you ok?” Shapiro asked, but Grace had shut down. He was shaking. ”Dr Grace?” She asked again, giving his hand a squeeze.
”Let me handle this,” Stratt said, stepping up to the pair of them. She put her hand on Grace’s elbow and silently led him out of the room.
Grace allowed himself to be led without putting up any kind of resistance or even thinking about where they were going. He wanted to cry, scream, do something, but he felt locked inside his own head. The shutdown was absolute. Stratt was talking, but he couldn’t focus on anything she said.
“Grace?”
They were at his door, and he fumbled with the key card to open it. She took him inside, sat him on the edge of his bed, and got him a bottle of water from somewhere. He drank it mutely. Stratt crouched down in front of him and gave him a half smile.
”I had forgotten about your diagnosis; you mask a little too well sometimes,” she said, and the words somehow made it into his head. He looked at her and swallowed.
“Autistic shutdown?” She asked. Her voice was kind. He managed the tiniest of nods. He hadn’t been overwhelmed to the point of shutting down like this since he was a teenager. He thought it was behind him, he felt immature and stupid. “Can I have your laptop?” She asked.
Grace looked over to indicate where it was sitting, and she picked it up, bringing it over to him for him to type in the passcode. Stratt spent a minute doing something before handing it back.
”I’ve cleared your schedule until tomorrow morning. Rest, do something fun, enjoy the silence. I’ll have someone bring you meals.”
Grace’s face crumpled, the tears now silently flowing; he felt like a complete failure. Who else on this whole ship would need Stratt mollycoddling them just because someone was mean to them? She reached out and squeezed his knee gently.
”I meant what I said back there,” she told him. “You’re my top scientist, and there’s a good reason for that. But I see now that I’m pushing you much too far, and I haven’t factored in your health needs like I have for those people on this ship with other, more physical health requirements. I need results from you, and I’m not going to get them if I work you into a situation where one big stressor can completely shut you down. Right now, I need you to reset so you can come back tomorrow and give me the results I need, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t get this bad again. Do we have a deal?”
Grace looked up into her eyes and nodded. She squeezed his knee again before getting up and leaving him alone. He shrugged off his clothes, hating the scratchy sensation of the seams as he craved softness and comfort, and crawled into bed. The room was silent; no one was asking him questions, and no one was demanding he speak, and they wouldn’t for nearly a whole 24 hours. He allowed himself a shaky exhale and closed his eyes. Everybody was scared of Eva Stratt, but right now, he knew she had his back better than no one ever had before.