Chapter Text
Grace was on a bender, as Carl took to calling the times when Grace wouldn't leave the lab for anything, aside from a direct order from Stratt.
He estimated that he had about 4 more hours before Carl went to Stratt. She was the only person aboard the ship that could, quite literally, order him to do anything he didn't want to do. Most of the time, it was because she didn't have to ask him in the first place.
But Grace didn't want to be forced out of the lab tonight. He knew that if he just kept going, just a little while longer, he'd figure this out.
Look, to be honest, things were going as well as possible, considering that the world was being doomed to an ice age in 20 years. Stratt was looking into how to buy humanity more time, but any options she chose would sign her life away once the Hail Mary launched.
The Sahara Desert was overrun with black paneling, Antarctica was on the chopping block, and biomes across Earth were already slowly dying out. Grace couldn't count the number of times he cried in the corner of his assigned room about it. In fact, most people on Stratt's Vat understood it, since they sometimes broke out into tears out of nowhere too.
It was healthy, Dmitri said, only to then crack a joke and ask if Grace could talk to Stratt about being allowed to drink alcohol. Any drugs or alcohol that caused impairment were strictly outlawed, since they were working to save humanity.
They didn't have time to party. Supposedly, Ilyukhina was bargaining a way to break that rule. A going-away party, she suggested a while back, looking all too pleased with herself when Stratt had listened to the idea with half of her attention, instead of a quarter of it as per usual.
Grace was fairly certain that it meant that Ilyukhina, and Yao and Dubois, of course, would get to drink to their hearts' content at least one time before they were sent off to die in space. Grace wasn't sure how he felt about the way that Ilyukhina spoke about it—a party for their deaths, not much unlike a celebration of life.
He knew he wasn't that good with death. He was squeamish on a good day, and overly excitable the next. He still recalled the way he killed that first astrophage cell, only for Stratt to give him a flat look that read, 'how did it take you this long to think about poking it with a stick?'
He breathed out, pushing his glasses down so that they'd hang off of his ears. He rubbed at his eyes despite all the knowledge of knowing not to do so. He was exhausted and running on fumes, but the launch felt ever-present. It loomed over him constantly, not letting him take a breath without acknowledging that the air was turning warmer by the second.
Ignoring the elephant in the room, mainly the fact that the bags under his eyes were going to turn sentient soon if he didn't rest his ever-waking mind, he picked up another cup of coffee. It's the one that Carl got for him 18 hours ago. Carl refused to bring him another one, and if Grace exited the lab, he'd be accosted with other problems and pesky ails about his health.
Okay, so maybe Grace should have gone to bed yesterday. Or even this morning. However, he was close. He was so close. He opened his eyes back up, his vision blurry with black and white dots greeting him, and then pushed his glasses crookedly back onto his nose.
He sighed, heavy and low, before scooting the chair back to the microscope. He swerved to the side, reviewing his notes, internally grumbling over how his handwriting had only gotten messier since he left being a teacher behind.
That's where he was found three minutes later when the walkie on his belt sparked to life. Carl's voice was quick—and a little panicked, if Grace was honest.
"Grace, do you copy? Are you there?" Carl's voice sounded all wrong, actually. Like he was running and out of breath.
Grace pushed away from the counter and picked up the radio. He heard multiple weird noises, like connections and disconnections. Interference and static. It was odd, but then again, they were on a ship in the middle of the ocean, so communication lines going wonky happened occasionally.
He pressed a button, turning on his side of the radio, and replied, "I'm here. What's going on, Carl? Is– Is—" and that's when bad thoughts consumed his mind, "—Is everyone okay? Is everyone alive—?"
Carl's end was full of static, and maybe even gasps or breaths. There was background noise, and then something even a little stranger.
A new voice, one familiar and solid. "Dr. Grace, do not so much as move. I am sending personnel to your lab. You will not move anywhere without them protecting you."
Ah, so Carl did call Stratt in, huh? Grace rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit like a kid who was just asked to hang back after class by a teacher.
He clicked off the radio, the line going dead. Welp, he was properly fucked, eh? Carl called in Stratt, and instead of reacting in her normal way of appearing in his lab ominously with a quick order of 'go to bed before I drag you out of here myself,' she was sending agents to haul him to his quarters instead.
He leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet back so they rested on the legs of the chair, only giving him a slight propulsion with a swish of his shoe. He spun around in his lab, passing the graphs on the wall by, and that's when it all clicked together. His solution was staring him in the face.
Yet, before he could giddily stop his chair from rolling and begin his next set of experiments, the doors to his lab opened abruptly. The agents sent in were not kind or quiet, holding no respect for the door or the noise they created.
As the men descended upon his lab, and him by extension, he was forced to stop his spinning. He sat in the middle of some kind of quad formation, all of his angles protected. Grace gave a light, awkward laugh, feeling more than a little weirded out.
Look, he knew theoretically that he was an important asset, and that his health was a priority, but this was a bit much, wasn't it? He tried to move back to his microscope, but the agents practically hissed at him—well, alright, they just gave him a judgemental look, but still—when he went to do so.
So he sat there, four agents confining him into a bubble, until Stratt and Carl entered his lab with another wave of agents that usually hung around labs to guard doors and the products within.
Grace didn't know when his sleep schedule took such a high priority around here. It's not like he was the only one who had bad habits. He knew with certainty that Stratt was worse than him. If anything, she should be the one being escorted to bed.
But he didn't say that because he saw the way Stratt moved. Carl was in a similar position, his body language all wrong, a little too energetic, as if he was running on adrenaline.
Stratt marched right up to the bubble, the agents around Grace shifting so that she could look at him more clearly. Grace half-smiled, faintly wondering if he was going to be sentenced to death because he had never felt so much tension in the air.
Her eyes assessed him first, as if looking him over for damage. She was cold about it, not letting their eyes collide until she stood straight, her shoulders relaxing. It was off-putting because this wasn't how Stratt acted. Ever.
"Is, uhm…" Grace didn't know what to say, really. Other than, 'what have you done to Stratt, body snatcher?'
"You are unaware," she concluded, not giving him any context.
Great. This was great. They were reverting back to how it used to be, before they truly started working together. She was being short with her words, and he was to endure it until she decided that he could handle what was happening.
Stratt lifted her hand, and with it, Carl stepped forward. He looked perplexed and even concerned as he came into her orbit. She didn't glance at him, choosing to look at Grace instead. It made him nervous, his throat bobbing as he swallowed dryly.
Silently, Carl handed her a tablet. She clicked it on, scanned her fingerprint, and then swiped across the screen before turning it over to him
Grace gave Stratt and Carl a strange look, scooting closer so he could see what the tablet showed. He didn't bother adjusting his glasses. No one would care anyway, they were used to them being askew on the bridge of his nose.
He blinked as he realized the screen held words. It was a table, with some kind of dark metal across it. The words—the message—was spelled out with letters made of tiny chains, each letter warping into the other, almost like if cursive had no spaces in between words.
"What is this?" he asked, because even though it was a string of letters pushed together, he was able to read what it said.
HELLOEARTHWEAREFRIENDLYANDHERETOSPEAKTOGRACE
or rather,
HELLO EARTH WE ARE FRIENDLY AND HERE TO SPEAK TO GRACE
Stratt didn't reply to him, only swishing her finger across the tablet to reveal the next photograph. It was of what looked like a small container made of the same metal as the linked message. He frowned at it, preferring to do hands-on research, wanting to zoom in on the design so he could see it better.
Before he could, Stratt clicked off the tablet, passing it over to Carl without looking at him. Grace was given the brunt of Stratt's gaze, the impending doom livid in the air.
Grace didn't like what was going on. He disliked that Stratt was being evasive even more. She continued to stare at him, and after a solid two minutes, she lifted her hand to her forehead, and sighed long enough for it to be mistaken as a yawn.
She dropped her hand, and then said, "NASA picked up a frequency from space. Sensors detected a small object hurtling toward Earth. It was not an asteroid; it was this. Astronauts opened up the container after struggling to for three days, and then sent me the findings less than 20 minutes ago."
"Aliens?" he asked, because even though he was aware that astrophage was technically an alien, for there to be some kind of communication, it meant these new aliens were more intelligent.
He might have sounded overeager and excited because Carl let out a despondent noise as Stratt lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if asking to be granted more patience from those above.
"Yes. Aliens." Stratt's tone held no-nonsense. He trusted her more than he did anyone else. She wasn't messing with him, she was telling him something that likely no other souls knew about. "And they are aware of who you are."
Grace chuckled, ignoring the hysterical edge to it. "Grace is a common name. It doesn't even have to be a name. These are aliens! They're clearly trying to speak to the world leader. Not me."
Stratt didn't believe him, if the way she huffed was anything to go by. Grace didn't believe himself either. Especially once Stratt pulled up her phone and played a recording from it.
"♪♪♫ ♪♪♫ ♪♪♫♪♪♫ ♪♪♫ ♪♪♫♪♪♫ ♪♪♫ ♪♪♫."
"What was that?" Grace asked. "Music?" No, it couldn't be just music. These were aliens who were trying to communicate with humanity. It had to be— "It's a language?"
He looked at Stratt for answers, but she didn't have any she was willing to disclose. Unflinchingly, she pressed play on the next audio file.
The voice grinded against his ears, similar to the sound of metal scraping metal, or fingernails across chalkboards. He wanted to cover his ears, but his curiosity got the best of him. He listened the message, and gasped a bit when he made out the first word.
"Computer," he whispered. He was no linguist, but the strange noise just said the word 'computer.'
Stratt merely nodded, agreeing with his assessment. The audio continued to play. It was painful, but words slowly came into fruition. The noise was creating its own jagged version of English, speaking it harshly. Grace couldn't tell how the words were created, but the message was being created slowly.
Computer. Bad. Could be better. Will do better. Priority is red line. Same situation. Allies.
When the audio clip ended, Grace looked at Stratt and Carl as if they held the universe on their shoulders. His heart was racing. There were aliens out there, and if he was correct—
"They're in the same situation as us. They came here to establish a relationship so that we can be allies and figure out how to stop astrophage from dimming the stars that are close to our planets."
Stratt's lips were pursed. After a long moment, with blood rushing through his ears, she gave an affirmative nod. "That is what I concluded."
"There are aliens out there, right now, trying to become friends with us," he said, voice cracking a little from the excitement he felt. His fingers were shaking at his sides, adrenaline pumping through his body like there was no tomorrow.
"They are possibly trying to form an alliance," Stratt allowed, not sounding too happy about it.
But why? Grace was practically buzzing at the idea. Aliens! Honest to God aliens! They wanted to be allies with Earth, why wouldn't they be interested in this olive branch? What if the aliens could help them?
He learned why a moment later, when Stratt continued speaking. "They specifically requested you, Dr. Grace. Other humans? They're interested in touching down to Earth, sure. But all they have really made known is that they want you to be the one to meet with them."
"They know me?" he squeaked out.
Stratt gave him a look. Yeah, okay, so they said that they wanted to speak with a 'Grace.' That didn't necessarily mean him. Everyone here was biased because they knew who he was. Oh, dang it! He shot his hand up, raising a finger.
"Do you think they have access to the internet?" That could be why they were asking for him. They didn't want to talk to Stratt—she was obviously too competent and intimidating—so they settled for her little scientist lap dog.
"That is… unknown." She cleared her throat, and then asked in a slightly more serious tone, "It'd be unlikely, would you not agree?"
"Of course," he said, bobbing his head, "but how else would they know who I am?"
He really craved a rope of licorice. He spun around in the chair, spotting the draw at his desk where the package of red vines was hanging out from a crack. He went to glide over to it, but the agents surrounding him stopped his momentum.
With a sigh, he turned around to Stratt. "Am I not allowed my sugar ration for the day?"
"You are not allowed any sugar from henceforth," Stratt commanded, raising her hand. With it, the agents grabbed Grace so that he stood up. "You are to have no caffeine either." He was guided roughly to the door to his lab. "You are to sleep while we investigate how life from deep space is aware of who you are."
Now that was just unfair. This was his life they were talking about! Even as the door to the lab shut in his face, and Carl and Stratt disappeared from his vision, Grace was upset. He would have folded his arms across each other if he wasn't being manhandled toward his quarters.
He was dropped off at his room, but was given no further instructions. There was no need for it, since Stratt had given the order already. He flopped onto the bed.
Barely shrugging off his shoes, he cuddled against the blankets. The mattresses in the rooms never needed work. Stratt used a nice portion of her budget toward their self-care, and the memory foam he squished his face against, was well worth it.
He turned onto his side, and then onto his back, looking up at the ceiling with lop-sided glasses.
He was just told by Stratt that aliens existed. Those same aliens knew who he was. He was supposed to be the one to meet them. They were going to be allies to combat the astrophage destroying their respective homes.
Maybe being shunned from academia was all worth it since it meant he was going to be given the chance to meet a sentient alien. Gosh, what would the kids think? Once he went back to teaching, he'd have all of these amazing stories to tell them. Would they believe anything he said?
They'd have to. If he were famous enough to be known by aliens, he would definitely be known by kids in junior high.
His face felt numb. It was probably reality setting in. Or the chill of the room. Maybe even the fact that he hadn't slept in a while was causing his body to glitch. That seemed most likely. He spun around again, tugging the blanket under him to wrap around his body. It was uncomfortable but he was too lazy to fix his position.
His mind continued to race even as his body's muscles loosened, urging him to sleep while he was given the time. He wanted to stay awake to continue discussing what was happening—aliens—but even he realized that he was in no state to be of help.
He should have gone to bed yesterday so that he could have stayed up late tonight to help figure out the alien thing. He'd do better next time, if only in case more aliens appeared asking to be allies with Earth.