Chapter Text
Nine days until launch.
Pressing my index fingers against the inner corner of my browbone, I pace around the room. I’ve been doing so since I returned from the lab which I had visited upon the sunrise, approximately two hours ago. There isn’t much time to sleep quite frankly.
Alas, I march from the kitchenette to the back wall where the bed frame presses into the wall. I’m careful to step over the mound of graphic tees and knit sweaters that I’ve been rotating. There was a laundry service- as in a Russian came to collect and bring them back mysteriously washed. I wasn’t much of a fan of the process and had taken to washing in my sink.
Despite the lack of a washing unit, the room was rather quaint and cosy with the necessary essentials. Temporary inhabitants supported by the Russians. There are dozens of us up and down the Baikonur Cosmodrome.
Honestly, I shouldn’t be pacing, I have mounds of work to be doing. Glancing over at the table that served as a desk, dining table, storage unit, and black hole (ignore the irrationality for a moment), I ran my hand through my hair and grimaced. One groan for the papers I needed to shuffle through, read, and sigh, and another for the grease that had embedded itself in my hair.
The bathroom had a shower, I just hadn’t used it in perhaps two, maybe three days. Squinting my eyebrows together I ducked my head underneath my arm and whiffed. I was pretty sure I had put on deodorant this morning. Ah, yes, I did. Though the cedar and vanilla were working overtime.
Alright, alright, after I get some work done. I shuffle over to the desk, lifting a pile of papers, a half eaten apple and a hair comb from the chair and place them on the floor.
See, the Hail Mary was complete and we were launching in nine days. The more than $10 trillion dollar over 2 million kilogram of spacecraft and fuel was in a stable orbit (four times the mass of the ISS). Took us what one-twentieth of the time. Wondrous what a determined powerful woman can do with the world at her beck and command. To be fair, the Petrova Problem outranked the petty squabbles of countries with fake conceptual lines and made up denoted boundaries. Earth vs Astrophage- the task was relatively simple… Right?
Wrong.
Everyday there were new issues and problems, malfunctions, and suboptimal equipment. Over the past few weeks ESA astronauts had been sending data back with details. Details of utter disappointment, problems. Over five hundred, which seems like a lot. It is, but none were of particular life ending, more so bugs that needed sorting. And, I had turned into your woman.
Why, was I an administrator- hadn’t the faintest clue. During my PhD I wouldn’t have been trusted to write a ticket into the building management to fix a light. Mainly because I’d simply stop the task midway, utterly forget that the light needed fixing, or complain that there wasn’t an appropriate drop down box option on the forum.
The process goes as such, I read, I sign, and I set ones that are specific for Stratt to one side. We have a meeting planned for tomorrow- as in she blocked out time on my calendar that reads meeting. Disappointingly (mostly for me- though I’m inclined to have a tad bit of disbelief in my own feelings) I haven’t seen her much the last four days. I wouldn’t say my shower habits shifted because of that fact, but, there is a potential correlation. Anyway, the administrative role is rather dull and I find myself distracted often. If Ilyukhina was an animal, would she be shrike or a tit.
Focus, Ryland.
Right. I shuffle through more papers. Read, sign, place in the Stratt pile.
I sigh, tipping my neck back, to look up at the ceiling. It was no different than looking out the window- sand coloured. The Kazakhstani steppes weren’t exactly whimsical. Tried to go for a run when we arrived, while the Russians were finishing up the launch facilities. All I got was a bunch of dust in my nose and subsequently my lungs. Stratt had giggled, yeah I get her to do that very rarely. I just needed to become hoarse after coughing up a lung to earn it.
I miss my kids. All of them, the hundreds I’ve taught. I wonder what lesson plans my replacement was giving. Oh, if they had taken their lavas, my students would have rioted. There were prizes for trade-ins in my bottom desk draw. I rarely if ever sat at the desk, thus naturally I had more space for important bits for my students.
They never swore at me, woke me up, created my schedules, or stared at me relentlessly… Okay, they did that last bit, but they did so out of interest for what I was going to say next. Would I answer their question or deflect it- which of course one of them noticed. Why she did it, I wasn’t all that sure… Okay, again not entirely true… Groan- it was complicated.
Add it to the list of my ever growing problems. What I wouldn’t give for my only problems to be the kid’s petty scrabbles. Easily resolved with a short conversation, a teacher-enforced handshake, or detention. I didn’t much enjoy the last option and very rarely did I have to use that tool, yet no one could suggest it wasn’t efficient. Worked like a charm.
There was a bit of contention between myself and the administration of Grover Cleveland Middle School because I refused to have parent-teacher conferences except for the district mandated yearly ones. Even if a student was acting up, I never brought the parents in. Rarely I’d have a situation that would need it, nevertheless it was a big no for me. Have you met Middle School moms in San Francisco, enough said.
I taught 8th grade science for three years and was switched to 6th grade this year when the school hired a new sport’s coach and needed to drop him into a class. Having been given my loosely made curriculum (which I figured he couldn’t even read or understand) the school felt safe for their yearly testing marks. Snorting, I placed another paper in her pile. Testing marks as if that was the indication of intelligence. Sometimes for a brief second I do miss competitive academia. Don’t worry, the feeling doesn’t last.
I love my kids and I’d do almost anything for them. 6th grade is only two years below 8th (obviously) yet it’s the difference between eleven and thirteen which is huge. Parents don’t even recognise the vast gap until it’s too late. They’ll have a rough go of it. Thirty years seems quite a lot but my kids will only be about ten years older than me when the population is destined to dwindle by a quarter. Plus, it’ll take the Hail Mary thirteen years to get to Tau Ceti and another thirteen back. And that implies that the crew (who are brilliant) figures out the problem and has a solution. Not to mention that the beetles would need to come back intact with the life saving news. My chest tightens.
“Onwards,” I announce, enough of that.
The stacks never seem to shrink as I move another batch closer to me. If the Earth wasn’t already dying in essence, I’d lament about the amount of trees needed for all the paper. As it is, deforestation might not be the worst considering we’d prefer having carbon dioxide in the atmosphere for greenhouse gas emissions. The melting ice caps, deforestation, paving the Sahara Desert, marvels never cease to exist even in the end times. I wasn’t looking forward to experiencing the climate switches or the famine.
Still, the requests could have been an email- Russians and their hard copies. Predictable and inconvenient. The ESA crew found some inconsistencies with one of the operations for the feeding transport system. Nothing super dreadful, part of the tertiary system and with 95 percent effectiveness anyway. Though between Stratt and I we only settled for 100 percent, hence the request. A spare slurry pump would be only 250 grams and with a current open allowance of 83 kilograms left, easy solution. The crew could sort it out in orbit.
The next presented potential ballast issues, slightly more advanced than the previous request. Balance was important and the Hail Mary had its center of mass along its long axis. It was accomplished by pumping Astrophage around as needed (yeah those little guys came in handy a lot). Currently, the ESA are attempting to rearrange supply bags within the storage compartment to create a better counter balance. They wanted my input on the numbers as noted from not only the request paper but my name squalled at the top reading for Dr. Grace.
Buuuzzzz
Ah, an interruption was wondering when that was going to occur. Shifting my weight, I leaned over the chair and fumbled with my hand to find where I had left my phone.
“Ow” I banged my shoulder into the table corner.
That was going to leave a bruise. Welp, it can match all the others I have that have less of a backstory (I don’t know how I got them).
Finally my hand brushed against an object that resembled a phone. Lifting it nearer my face, squinting (I forgot where I put my glasses and to be fair I don’t have the worst eyesight- it’s mainly distance that causes me trouble… anyway).
Meet me
Huffing, I scrambled to my feet. Ever bossy and straight (hehe) to the point. Now, where have I put my shoes? The DOOR!
I didn’t enjoy bringing the dust and sand that inadvertently somehow appeared from the dunes around us, onto and into my shoes. My allergies were sensitive enough.
Dropping my head down, I clocked that my phone was 20 percent, yeah I forgot to charge it overnight. Nothing to do about it now. Switching it to a low power setting, I stumble over to the front door. I place one converse on, double tie and then place the other and… Wait! I forgot my cardigan.
Fudgenuts. I trip over the laces of my untied shoe and I find myself on the floor. I’m good about falling now, so I’m fine- just slightly irritated.
First trying the laces then standing, I make it to the door, grab a hold of my favorite jacket, a dark coloured beanie, assemble the collars to fit appropriately and head out.
The campus, it’s what I’ve deemed to call it, is busy, as always. Luckily, it’s overcast today, feels just like home. As I pass by other humans on my way to the cafeteria depot (a pitstop is required and implied) people mutter their greetings, “Hello Dr. Grace” some say while others ask me what may be considered as quick questions. I do my best to answer, though many questions should be redirected to Stratt.
Entering the mess hall is one of my least favorite activities. Immediately I am overstimulated. It’s loud, there are way too many smells, people are pressed against each other, and all the tables have a sticky residue on them (why I don’t know- we don’t eat maple syrup often if ever).
I quickly made a beeline for the coffee and managed to catch only four or five people (a record).
“Yeah, I don’t know why you want my stamp of approval, but send it along to my abode and I’ll have a look,” I tell the engineer as I finish mixing the appropriate amount of sugar and milk.
Stratt always comments how particular I am on my milk and sugar measurements, however I am absolutely in the right. For a woman who is particular and controlling in all other aspects in life, how can she simply go off “vibes” alone. Some days it's straight black, other days medium brown, sometimes sandy brown, even cream. With the amount of coffee she drinks I’d assume there was a system- there is not.
Looking at the time posted on the wall, I settle for black and head out. She’ll be walking her normal route. I’ve told her that perhaps it’s a good idea to change up her routine… I do believe she used the term paranoid, which flabbergasted me. If I’m paranoid, what does that make her?
Anyhow, I take a sip of mine- perfect… I grabbed a small. She is just going to have to live with it. Honestly, she probably could use less caffeine, we all could. Maybe after the Hail Mary launches we can cleanse together. Turning to follow a road far away from the center of the field, I smile at passing bodies. There are a few trees and some green grass despite our location (don’t be fooled, desert doesn’t always mean sand dunes exactly- biomes are way cooler than that). Quite a few birds are singing and my lungs are enjoying the fresh air.
Stratt is standing with her back to me as I approach. She turns to face me in her dark coloured coat and baseball cap with a scarf wrapped around her head covering her beautiful orange-blond hair.
I lift up the cups continuing till I’m standing beside her facing the launch pad.
“A small?”
“I knew you were going to say something.”
She smirks, reaching her hand out.
I pay half a mind to continue teasing her, lift the cup far out of her reach, but I don’t.
“We ran the sampler simulation again this morning,” the cup passed from my hand to hers, “ Shapiro and DuBois nailed it again.”
“Okay. What about the others?”
I nod shifting my weight to briefly look at the ground and back to her gaze, “They’ll be ready.”
Her head tilts ever so slightly as she swallows, “I expect so,” her head comes back to a neutral posture, “They have a great teacher.”
Now, I really should have teased her with the coffee. Too late. My tongue runs over my lip catching between my teeth, as I struggle to respond. We’ve been here before and I’d prefer not to be. Everyone on the campus had four words after their name, dozens of published works, and were revered by their respective governments. I… well… I was a middle school teacher who couldn’t accept that I’d been beaten (to be fair I firmly stand behind my thesis to this day).
“Can you take a compliment please?”
“No,” I bit back immediately.
I follow her eyes as she dips her head enough to furrow her brows in a “serious” fashion, “It’s an order.”
Gasping my shoulders thrust upward as I shake my head and pan to the ground, this woman continues “Okay.”
Snorting a chuckle escapes my lips, impossible she is absolutely impossible, “Okay. If it’s an order, I’ll take it.” I nod, “Thank you.”
Her lips purse as she nods, “Good,” and a smile grows on her face.
Our eyes connect then and I’m certain my heart palpitates (I want to barf- though that would increase my anxiety). The smile lines deepen reaching her eyes and I can’t help but lock in on their blue gray colour. They match the sky.
I break contact first, clearing my throat and taking a sip of the coffee.
“What do you think?”
I glance to the side and follow her line of sight to the launch pad.
Sighing, I twist into her direction, “It’s pretty impressive.”
One would agree that what has been curated in the short amount of time is beyond comprehendible. And here I am standing with the one that made it happen.
Her head bobs, “Yeah…”
The words start tumbling out of my mouth, “You’re…”
I can see the edges of her mouth perk up again, nope nope nope. Abort mission. Think think think.
“You’re good.”
What is worse, that phrase or that I bow to her while saying it. What? Internally I facepalm so hard I can feel the handprint on my forehead.
The smile softens (but doesn’t fade) as she jerks herself backwards taking another sip of coffee. I know, I know. Stupid. Dumb. Lame. Oh my god, why must I be so socially awkward. I can feel the tips of my ears pulse with blood.
Sighing, I go to try again…
“Nine days, huh?”
Biting my lip, I look her up and down before shifting away again, “Yeah.”
The floor is rather interesting- maybe I should plant onto it- probably would be less embarrassing then this conversation.
I can feel her staring at me waiting for my next move. Though she probably predicted it as soon as I walked up to her. I hate being predictable.
“So, what are you gonna do for the next 20 years? You got a plan?”
That was indeed the best I could come up with. It’s not great.
To my delight, a deep chuckle comes out of her, and an even deeper smile.
I do everything to keep myself from doing a victory dance. I settled for a twist of my body, right to left, right to left, and hid the grin behind my coffee cup.
A light flashes in the distance. Screams. I almost don’t notice as her teeth separate and she laughs wide mouthed.
Immediately, she turns around (she must have seen it in my glasses).
Ohhhh nnooo! A shockwave hurtles toward us.
I dive for her instinctively but it doesn’t matter. Both of us are forced to the ground, twice.
With the wind knocked out of me, I struggle to get up. But not Eva Stratt. No Eva Stratt runs full force to the gate, pulling out her phone (that is most certainly charged) from her pocket, opens the locks of the gate, and runs across the field toward the research science building.
I’m not far behind and all I can think of is
Nine days