Chapter Text
"What's up?" I lean into Stratt’s office doorway. “Dimitri said you wanted to see me?”
Stratt didn’t look up immediately. She was standing over her desk with three different paper folders open at once, reading one while signing another. I’d stopped trying to figure out how many parallel tasks her brain could run months ago.
“One moment.”
She signed the page, clipped it into a folder, slid the folder into a stack to her left, then finally looked at me.
“Come in, Dr. Grace.”
I step inside and shut the door behind me.
Only a week until launch.
Which meant every conversation now carried the exciting possibility of total catastrophe.
Though honestly, if anyone on Earth could finish launching this operation without a hitch, it was Stratt.
At this point the Hail Mary design was finalized. Had been for weeks. The astrophage farms were running. Fuel reserves were stable. The spin drives worked. The beetles worked. The astronauts were as prepared as they could be.
Stratt gestures toward the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”
I sit carefully. “Can this be quick? Dimitri wants me in the lab in like ten minutes and apparently we’re recalibrating the—”
“Dr. Grace,” Stratt interrupts, “would you like to marry me?”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“For spousal privilege mostly. Many jurisdictions recognise the rights for a spouse not to have to testify against their partner in certain cases,” she continues. “While I don’t expect that to be the case for most of mine, it might make pettier claims easier to resolve.”
Not exactly a great sign when your fake proposal includes legal prosecution.
Or at least I presume so anyways, not like I haven’t been in this position before.
Stratt continues before I can answer.
“Additionally, spouses generally receive visitation rights, medical authority in emergencies, inheritance priority, and various procedural protections.”
I blinked at her.
“You made a list?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “First of all: what?”
“You are statistically the person most likely to face repeated legal scrutiny after launch,” Stratt said. “You possess extensive operational knowledge of the Hail Mary Project and direct awareness of several ethically questionable actions.”
That was one way to phrase it.
“And why me specifically?” I ask.
“You know more about this project than anyone except me,” she says. I open my mouth to reject this but she holds her hand up. “I’m quite sure that’s correct, Dr. Grace. You are the most likely person to be subpoenaed repeatedly.”
You are the number two.
Yao's voice echoed in my head.
Fudge, guess he was right.
Well if not number two, certainly not what I thought I was. "Are you sure?" I ask. "Like surely there's someone else I mean I'm—"
"No, I'm quite sure." Stratt interrupts me.
“You think there’s actually going to be trials?” I ask.
“There will certainly be investigations,” she replies. “Criminal proceedings are almost certain for the heads, and prison time is definite for me I’d presume, if I don’t get executed first.”
I rub a hand over my face.
God.
I try very hard not to think too much about the legal side of the Hail Mary project because once you start mentally listing all the things we’ve done, it gets difficult to stop. Seized resources. Forced labour agreements. International blackmail. The Antarctic explosion. The list goes on.
Most notably is the fact that Stratt effectively overruled half the planet for years because everyone quietly agreed someone had to.
But once there’s no immediate extinction hanging over everyone’s head anymore, people are probably going to start rediscovering the concept of laws.
And Stratt knows that already.
“You’re serious,” I say finally.
“Yes.”
“And your solution to this is marriage.”
“One of several solutions,” Stratt says. “If it makes you feel better, it’s not as though I’m planning to avoid whatever charges are eventually placed on me. This would simply make some of the smaller ones easier to manage. It may also offer you limited protection.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Stratt watches me quietly for a second.
“Have you made a decision yet?” she asks.
“No!” I answer incredulously. “You know your little paper with the ‘I can do whatever I want’ or whatever on it doesn’t mean you can just spring this on me?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m asking.” Stratt responds.
Something about that answer makes me vaguely uneasy.
Not because she’s threatening me exactly. Stratt generally doesn’t bother with implied threats. If she wants something done, she says so directly. But there’s still something deeply alarming about the reminder that she technically could force almost anything she wanted through if she decided it was operationally necessary.
And apparently the thing stopping her from arranging a government-sanctioned strategic marriage without consent is just…personal preference.
“I don’t even know you personally,” I object. “Like outside of work.”
“You know enough.”
“I beg to differ. I don’t even know what your favourite animal is.”
The second I say it, I have absolutely no idea why that was apparently the missing piece of information my brain decided mattered.
Not her childhood. Not whether she has siblings. Not political beliefs or religion or previous relationships.
Favorite animal.
Excellent work, Ryland.
Stratt considers the question seriously.
“Dolphins,” she says after a moment. “They’re remarkably similar to humans in many ways, which is fascinating.”
I let out a small grin. “I like foxes.”
“I can tell.” Stratt says dryly and I laugh.
I lean back slightly in the chair, rubbing my forehead.
The problem is that I do know her. Just not in the way people usually mean when they talk about marriage.
I know exactly how many hours Stratt can stay awake before her handwriting deteriorates. I know how many hours she can go without coffee. I know she starts speaking even more bluntly than usual when she’s exhausted. I know she absolutely will make horrific decisions if she thinks they’re necessary and then carry them out without hesitation.
I know she’ll also carry the consequences herself.
“Do you have any particular objections to this arrangement?” Stratt asks. “You do not currently have a romantic partner, so I assumed infidelity would not be a concern.”
“Of course it’s not about cheating,” I say. “It’s about how completely insane this is.”
“That is not a specific objection.”
“Oh my God.”
“And additionally,” she continues, “if this arrangement becomes inconvenient later, divorce exists.”
“Also,” I add quickly, “maybe I want an actual romantic relationship someday.”
Stratt tilts her head slightly.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know? Maybe?” It’s not like I’ve had much time to think about it over the past few years.
I haven’t gone on a date in a several years anyway, even before the whole astrophage situation. And even my last was just one of Marissa’s work friends that she insisted would be a good match for me. Safe to say, it didn’t go the best.
The whole thing mostly consisted of me trying to figure out when I was supposed to hold her hand and whether I was currently being too formal or not formal enough. There seemed to be rules everyone else understood instinctively that I somehow missed.
I might roll my eyes at my students fumbling over their crushes, but I must admit I’m no more clued in than them.
It’s not really a surprise that all of my—admittedly limited—romantic encounters have ended in disaster.
And besides, never really been too interested in all that. It’s not as though I don’t want to settle down someday, it’s just my life has always been good enough as is.
More pressing though, is the idea of having to continue being Stratt’s lapdog.
Providing I’m not in a cell beside her, it seems unlikely that she’d just let all this power, and operations go. While she did say that she didn’t mind being the world’s whipping boy, I can’t help but wonder how well that will hold up in all reality, when she won’t have the ability to operate on almost anything.
I mean, if she loses all her political power after the Hail Mary is launched, what will happen?
Who keeps everything moving?
Who explains why Antarctica had to happen?
Who argues for continuing projects nobody wants to politically touch anymore?
A cold feeling settles in my stomach.
If I’m apparently the one with the most knowledge of this whole situation, besides Stratt, if she’s incapacitated, it will fall to me.
And marrying, and therefore obtaining visitation rights to, her, will surely make me a messenger at least.
However, she’s run this whole operation pretty well so far, so I don’t exactly distrust her judgement.
“Dr. Grace?” Stratt rouses me from my thoughts. “Have you made a decision?”
“I—Well—But,” I rub a hand over my face. “Fine.”
“Very well.” Stratt nods. “I have already arranged an officiant and witnesses. We can complete the paperwork in 20 minutes if that works for you.”
And for the millionth time in this conversation, I’m lost for words. “We’re not even going to ease into this?” I ask. “I mean I haven’t even got you a ring!”
“Yes, you did.” Stratt opens a drawer to her left and takes out a small ring box. Inside, is a golden band, with a smoky black crystal embedded on top.
I smile a little. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”
Stratt rolls her eyes at me. “I thought it would be better to get one for realisms sake.”
“Wait,” I say. “You knew I’d agree?”
Stratt shrugs. “I thought it was more likely than not, Dr. Grace.”
I nod slowly.
This cannot possibly be happening.
Although at the same time, a couple years ago I was a middle school teacher and now I’m helping work on an interstellar suicide mission to save Earth, so maybe this tracks perfectly.
“Just one more thing.” I say. Stratt glances up from her papers. “Please call me by my first name.”
-
I’m pacing nervously across the length of my quarters.
Is this even legal?
Actually no, bad question. Under Stratt’s authority basically everything is currently legal if she says it is. Better question: would this become illegal later?
Because “marrying a major witness in your future criminal proceedings” feels like the kind of thing prosecutors get very excited about.
Then again, I have absolutely no idea how the trials will proceed. Maybe the entire legal system collapses under multinational emergency governance law. Maybe no one will care because civilization is busy trying not to starve.
Still.
If anyone ever finds out this marriage exists only because Stratt anticipates prosecution, that will create some problems.
Though proving intent would be difficult.
And honestly, there’s enough gossip around the project already that maybe people would just assume we were secretly involved beforehand. God knows half the people working on Stratt’s Vat already seem convinced we’re sleeping together. Still don’t know what that’s about.
What a fascinating thing to think about so soon to my wedding.
Does it even count as a wedding though, really? Knowing Stratt it’ll just be a piece of paper I have to sign.
Regardless, I probably should have dressed up. It’s a special occasion after all.
Instead, I’m wearing a shirt with “Did you hear oxygen and magnesium got married?” with their chemical symbols below.
Either way, it’s too late to change now, as Stratt strides into my bunk, with Steve Hatch and two others who I don’t recognise in tow.
Stratt closes the door behind them.
“Proceed,” she says immediately.
Hatch blinks like he’s been physically nudged forward by the word.
“Oh! Right. Yes. Okay. Hello, everyone.” He pauses, then adds, “Well, not everyone. Just the two of you. Obviously. I mean, unless you count the engineers—witnesses, whatever—which I suppose you do, but you’re the primary participants so—yeah.”
I feel myself being quite grateful that he’s there. At least someone isn’t trying to pretend. I don’t know what the engineers are doing, although I’d wager a guess they were just the first available people Stratt found who could speak English.
Hatch glances down at the tablet he’s holding.
“Okay. So. I’m Steve Hatch. I’ve been certified through an accredited online officiant program. It is legally recognized in multiple jurisdictions, and we confirmed with legal that this should be valid under current emergency governance conditions.”
Hatch clears his throat.
“I also want to say I’m really honoured to be doing this.”
He gestures vaguely between Stratt and me, then immediately looks like he regrets the gesture because Stratt glares at him.
“Anyway,” He fumbles a tablet from under his arm and clears his throat. “I, uh, legally speaking, have to verify that both parties are entering this marriage willingly.”
Stratt folds her hands behind her back. “I am.”
The guy turns to me carefully.
I sigh.
“Yes. Voluntarily.”
Mostly voluntarily.
Probably voluntarily.
God, this was weird.
“Excellent,” he says far too quickly. “Okay. Great. Wonderful. So, uh…”
He scrolls through something on the tablet.
“Do either of you have prepared vows?”
“No,” Stratt says and I nod in agreement.
Hatch nods with visible relief. “Fantastic. Makes things easier.”
One of the engineers coughs suspiciously hard into his hand.
Hatch straightens.
“Eva Stratt, do you take Ryland Grace to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“Yes.”
The officiant turns to me.
“Ryland Grace, do you take Eva Stratt to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
I glance at Stratt.
She looks completely calm.
Which somehow makes this more alarming.
“I mean apparently,” I say.
Hatch blinks.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I correct quickly. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Great. Great, great, great. Okay, this is actually going really smoothly. I’ve seen way worse, honestly. At my cousin’s wedding she punched her husband so this is already above average.”
Stratt’s eyes flick to him.
Hatch seems to realise that he should probably stop talking.
“Not relevant,” he adds quickly. “Anyway.”
He looks down at the tablet again and scrolls a little too aggressively.
“Okay. Then by the authority vested in me by an online certification program,” he says, then pauses. “Which is a real thing. We checked. A lot. I mean, a surprising amount of legal consultation went into this.”
Great, more things I didn’t know about.
“I now pronounce you… married.”
No one really reacts. Stratt nods slightly and the witnesses look like they regret being here.
Hatch immediately seems uncomfortable with the silence.
“Oh! Uh—wait. There’s usually rings, right? Or something? We can do rings. If you have rings. Or don’t. Rings are optional. But it seems like a nice thing to do. I mean personally—"
Stratt interrupts him.
“We can just proceed to documentation.” She says, but still hands me a ring out of her pocket anyways.
I slide it onto my finger.
Perfect fit.
Slightly unsettling.
Hatch turns the tablet toward Stratt first.
Stratt signs immediately.
I take it afterwards. It feels heavy in my hands.
It feels like I should feel something specific here, but instead it’s just noise. Like my thoughts are all trying to move at once and none of them are getting through.
People date because they’re “supposed” to feel certain things, and apparently everyone else receives some internal instruction manual explaining the difference between friendship and romance and whatever this is.
Meanwhile I’m still standing here mentally categorising my own wedding as something that may or may not help in criminal proceedings.
I realise I’m still holding the tablet too tightly and force my hand to relax before it becomes obvious.
Hatch clears his throat again, visibly trying to make this feel like a normal event, which is not working.
“Okay,” he says, a little too brightly. “So that’s done. You’re officially married! You two actually seem like you’d make a great couple. Unlike my cousin and her husband.”
Stratt doesn’t even turn her head.
“Dismissed,” she says.
That ends it. He shuts his tablet a bit too fast and steps back, clearly deciding that it’s in his best interests to leave the room as quickly as possible. The two witnesses follow him out without looking at either of us for longer than half a second. I didn’t even learn their names.
The door closes.
Silence stays.
Stratt is still standing exactly where she was, hands behind her back, posture unchanged. She looks like nothing has happened at all.
I keep staring at the ring on my finger for a moment because it’s the only physical thing that confirms any of this actually happened.
I try to imagine explaining this to literally anyone from my old life.
Hey, Marissa, funny story, the terrifying Dutch woman coordinating humanity’s survival effort married me this afternoon because future international tribunals might become inconvenient.
“So,” I say, and immediately regret how that sounds.
Stratt looks at me.
I try again, but it doesn’t get better. “So we are… done?”
“That depends on your definition,” she says.
I nod once, because that answer doesn’t help and I don’t know what else to do with it.
Another silence builds. It’s not comfortable, and it’s not hostile either.
I suddenly become aware that I have absolutely no framework for what this relationship is supposed to look like now. Most married people probably don’t begin from “strategic legal insulation against future prosecution.”
Or maybe they do. Divorce statistics are pretty high.
“You understand the purpose of this arrangement has not changed,” she says.
“Yes,” I answer immediately, then add, “I mean, yes. I think so.”
“That is sufficient.”
I hesitate again. What do you say to your wife who’s not really your wife?
“I’m just not sure if there are additional expectations now.”
Stratt tilts her head slightly.
“Additional expectations?”
“Social ones,” I clarify. “Marriage-related ones.”
“There is no operational requirement for behavioural changes.”
“That sentence alone should legally disqualify you from ever getting married.”
“I am already married.”
I snort out a laugh before I can stop it.
“So,” I say, slower this time. “We still… work together the same way.”
“Yes.”
“And the legal part is the main point.”
“Yes.”
That should be simple enough, but it still doesn’t settle anything.
I glance at her face, trying to find something that makes this feel like anything. Just half an hour ago, I had no idea I’d be married. I wonder if there’s a course on things like that.
Or just how to act like a married couple in general, that would be extremely helpful.
I nod again, a little more rigid this time. “Right. Okay.”
Stratt looks down at her own tablet like the conversation is complete.
It probably is, in her mind.
I stay where I am for another second too long.
Then I realise I have no idea what the correct way to exit this situation is, so I just turn slightly toward the door and stop again. It’s my bunk, seems weird to just leave it. But Stratt isn’t making any moves to leave either.
“Stratt,” I say.
She looks up.
I hesitate. “Do I… are we supposed to tell people yet?”
A pause.
“No,” she says. “They’ll figure it out after the launch. We kept it quiet for professional reasons.”
That should be the end again.
But it isn’t, because I still have questions, I don’t know how to prioritise.
Instead of asking any of them, “Okay,” I say. “Got it.”