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‘Project Hail Mary is in full motion, already set off to Tau Ceti, according to global sources, with three brave astronauts taking the long journey to source exactly what is preventing Tau Ceti’s dimming.’
The news played idly in the background, just noise to fill in the peaceful quiet between himself and Jody. They were curled up comfortably on the couch, Jody under his arm against his side, a coffee held in his other hand. He’d finally got the life he’d always wanted with Jody, and it was much better than any of the movies. Things had settled down, and Colt couldn’t be happier.
Then, he jolted forward. Jody beside him tensed, lifting her head “Colt?” Her voice was soft beside him, and while he was aware he’d disturbed her, all his focus was on the screen. He frantically reached for the TV remote, freezing the frame, nearly dropping his coffee in the process. His hands shook as he pointed at the screen, unable to form words. Jody’s eyes followed his pointing hand, only to find an image, the spitting image of Colt, right there on the screen beside the reporter. Beneath it ran the name of the man: ‘Ryland Grace.’ She paused, thinking for a moment, wondering where she’d heard that name before. Then it hit her: it was Colt’s twin brother. He’d only spoken of him once, his little brother, born only seconds later. He’d spoke of Grace with such a strange tender bitterness back then, obviously proud of his brother, but still harbouring some kind of past tension. Things hadn’t ended the best between them, Colt had explained.
Finally, Colt mustered up the words, “That’s… No, that can’t be right.” He looked over to Jody, as if making sure she was seeing the very same thing that he was, then returned his attention to the screen. Colt was still for a moment, then slumped back, running a hand through his hair, "That can't be..- No, it's not Ry, he'd never..." Jody listened to his mutterings patiently, her eyes softening with his apparent distress. She shifted back over to him, settling against his side once more, not saying anything. It was better to be present and allow him the time to process than to potentially make things worse. Colt's body was radiating heat, yet he looked incredibly pale, almost sickly. He'd never been in these sorts before, even when covered in blood, or when performing a risky stunt. The last time she'd seen him this way was when he'd broke his back, when he was barely conscious on the stretcher, being rushed off to the ambulance by paramedics who'd pushed her aside. The comfortable silence from before was now weighed down heavily, the air almost suffocating with tension and the faint hum of the frozen TV in the background. Colt finally placed his arm around her once more, resting stiffly over her shoulders as he placed his coffee down and dug around in his pocket for his phone. She watched helplessly as he punched in his code then dialled a number, the one belonging to Grace. It went to voicemail immediately, and Grace's voice filled the space:
'Ryland Grace speaking, sorry I'm unable to receive your call, please leave a message.'
Colt tried again with a frustrated grunt, only to be met with the same outcome. Again, and again. Still no answer, all being sent directly to voicemail without even dialling. The phone slammed down on the table, and Colt slumped forwards once more, head in his hands. She gently rubbed his back, fingers lightly pressing in the space between his shoulder blades. "Maybe his phone is just off." Jody assured, though she wasn't quite certain she believed it herself. The evidence was right before them on the news, "It's late on a weekday, he may be asleep already." Colt didn't respond, didn't even lift his head. She sighed with a frown, still rubbing his back, but no longer saying anything. Eventually, she reached for the TV remote and flicked it off. "Come on, Colt, let's go to bed." She tried again, moving her hand to squeeze his shoulder. He merely nodded slightly, standing up after and tracking behind her like some zombie, not even finishing his coffee.
.- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / --- ..- - / - .... . .-. . ..--..
Colt barely slept that night, laid awake on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling. He imagined the sea of stars, the endless universe, and somewhere within it was his brother, innocent, trapped, left to die after the job was over. He remembered how distanced things had become between them in their adult lives. He was a stuntman, his brother was a brilliant scientist. He recalled the numerous calls he'd ignored from Ryland when the news reported on his supposed suicide at Sydney Harbour. The string of concerned texts. The apologies, the begging, the desperation. His job had always been the dangerous one, he never imagined Grace would one day be the one with his life on the line, especially not all the way out in space. They only had each other, the only immediate family left. Yet... It didn't exactly feel immediate. Colt almost laughed at the irony. They were just as bad as each other, disappearing and running away when things got particularly rough. He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, 07:18, it read. He then turned to look at Jody beside him, still sleeping peacefully wrapped up in the blanket, Jean-Claude laid straight between them. The latter raised his head, noticing Colt's attention. "Silence, d'accord?" He whispered, sitting up and placing a finger over his lips. And Jean-Claude did just that, laying his head back down with a deep sigh. Colt slipped out of bed and cleaned himself up as quietly as possible, getting dressed before silently making his way downstairs. Morning light peeked through the drawn curtains, gracing strips of the room with a warm light, one directed at the front door. It was like in the movies, the light pointing at the path that the character should take, illuminating the way that was already set in stone. Something good was sure to come of it, lest his movie knowledge failed him. He grabbed his cap and placed it on, taking his keys from the bowl and closing the door behind him carefully as he left. Colt was certain a walk would clear his head, and he could pick up coffee and breakfast for him and Jody on the way back. As far as he was concerned, it was a win-win.
By this time in the morning, the streets were busy, full of students making their way to school, typical early workers on their way to work - the dismal minimal wage office was what came to mind. Colt weaved through the crowds in something of a haze, head down, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His head was still a mess, and while the fresh air did help, being alone in a crowd of many did nothing to ease his mind. He'd catch people walking in groups out of the corner of his eye, laughing and chatting. At one point he saw a pair of high schoolers walking together, in their matching uniforms, an older boy and a younger girl. Siblings. He paused in his tracks to watch them, ignoring all of the irritated huffs and indignant tuts from the people that rounded him. Their forms shifted, melting in the harsh light, becoming images of himself and Ryland. Ryland was small, lean, his serene blue eyes framed by those glasses that never remained in proper position on his face for more than an hour or two. Not exactly the typical type. They were opposites, the brains and the brawn, Ryland Grace and Colt Seavers. Two sides of the same coin, even if their surnames differed. He quickly shook his head and rubbed his eyes, cursing his lack of sleep for the momentary vision. He turned away, focusing back on his destination of the café nearby, coffee so divine he could almost smell it.
The door bell dinged above him as he entered, the scent of fresh pastries and smooth coffee gracing his nose. It was a very cosy little place, woodsy and warm, themes that reminded him of an autumn forest, away from the concrete jungle. He stepped up into the queue behind a tall, broad guy draped in a black coat, the type cartoonish villains or detectives wore. It was the morning rush, office workers and builders amongst elderly lingering around the space, collecting breakfast. Safe to say, it moved incredibly slow, a snail's pace. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it idly. Well, that's what he'd rather say he was doing. He found his finger immediately tapping on the messages app, subconsciously checking for any messages from Grace just as one from Jody popped up. He opened it, fingers flying over the keyboard as he assured her he was merely getting them breakfast and coffee, and that he'd return soon. After hitting send, he opened his chat log for his brother, scrolling up through the short conversations, the blocks of texts from one, often left on read by the other. All the while, the line shifted forwards slowly. Just as he automatically stepped forwards again, he found himself colliding head first with the man that was in front of him. The guy looked just as stunned as he was, holding two coffees, one for each hand. “Grace?”
The world stopped spinning for a split-second. The realisation that this man knew his brother struck hard and quick. He craned his neck back slightly to meet the other’s eye, not exactly used to people being this much taller than him. The man’s features were nigh unreadable, a perfectly controlled expression that belied the slight crack in his voice; guilt. The urge to grab this obviously more capable man by the collar and demand what they did with his little brother flared up within him, yet instead, he found himself clenching his fist at his side. A better idea came about. He’d force them to confess differently. He wanted them to feel at least half of the pain he felt when staring at that screen. So, he quenched the urge to just be straightforward and merely smiled at the man, a tight-lipped expression that he hoped gave nothing away as he stepped past the guy to speak to the cashier instead. ”Two coffees, please, and a couple of those pastries…” He ordered casually, pointing at a few different pastries within the display case, completely ignoring the stunned silence radiating behind him. “Oh, extra milk in one of the coffees, too.” It wouldn’t hurt him to have coffee how Ryland used to take it, would it? Extra milk, extra sugar, cream, anything to remove the bitter taste that he adored, yet Ryland hated.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder before Colt could pay, forcing him to turn around, “It can’t be you, you’re supposed to be in space.” The man’s voice was low, heavy with a certainty that made his sudden paranoia all the more satisfying.
”Space, huh?” Colt responded, swallowing the storm of different emotions coursing within him, his hands quivering slightly on the counter. He tried to play it casual, keep calm, treat this like a stunt he felt particularly uncertain about. All the while, his eyes scanned the man, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that would give away who he was or, more importantly, who he was working for. “S’pose I am.” The man before him froze, a brief flicker in his stone cool expression, only to be quickly blanketed again. Behind the counter, the barista slid two coffees in a holder across to him, paired with a neatly packaged paper bag filled with all the pastries he’d asked for. Colt gave the man a final smile, then swiftly made his way out. He’d have to inform Jody of the news later, right now, his direction was set towards Grace’s apartment.
Despite the rough nature of their relationship as they stemmed into adulthood and went their separate ways, he always kept the spare key to Grace’s apartment. Just in case, he’d always told himself, and now was glad he’d done so as he practically ran down the streets, managing to catch a bus on the way there, making his journey much easier. He sat in his seat restlessly, clutching the pastry bag perhaps too tightly, likely squishing the delicate doughs within. The elderly woman sat beside him kept glancing over with that familiar gentle pity that old people always gave, as though she could hear his racing thoughts loud and clear. The journey wasn’t a long one, however, and he stumbled over the lady to press the stop button, barely even waiting for the bus to slow before making his way up the aisle. He threw a careless ‘thanks’ over his shoulder to the driver then continued the rest of the way on foot, a motion almost subconscious now. He’d probably pass out if he stopped even for a moment.
- .... .. -. -.- / --- ..-. / -- .
Before him was Grace’s closet, and like the rest of the apartment, clearly tampered with. He knew Ryland, knew that he worked best in controlled chaos, his own mess, he wouldn’t just… Move things. He wasn’t exactly the type to part with particular things, too. Especially not gifts from the children he taught. Ryland loved the kids more than anything. The completely bare fridge was a tell-tale sign someone else had been here before Colt. Grace wouldn’t willingly go to space, wouldn’t willingly volunteer for a suicide mission, he was certain. Colt sifted through the clothes, finding his suits neatly pressed and hung up on one side, perhaps the only organised thing in the entire place. The rest of the clothes were those stupid science pun shirts that he collected, more casual bottoms like jeans and sweatpants, and a few sweaters and cardigans. What else did he expect from a middle school teacher’s closet? But there was one specific item he was looking for: Grace’s fox cardigan. He knew it was a favourite of his, top comfort and decent material for something handmade. But he’d now checked all the potential places it could be and still came up with nothing. It must’ve been one of the many things they’d taken, packed in some little bag for him to take to space. His hands tightened on the fabric of the shirt he was holding, one printed with ‘I cry periodically,’ except the ‘I cry’ part was made up of the elements I, Cr, and Y. And, in all honesty, he only really recognised iodine. With a clenched jaw, he threw the shirt back into the closet and slammed the door shut, finding himself stood in front of the mirror again. Colt took a deep breath and reached over to the bedside table, managing to find a spare pair glasses Ryland always kept around in case of emergency. He gently unfolded the arms and guided them to his face, the freezing metal feeling odd resting on the bridge of his nose. Then, lifting his gaze, he looked back at the mirror. Staring back at him was the visage of his brother, which quickly became clouded. Colt tore the glasses from his face and threw them aside onto the bed, raising his other arm to his eyes to wipe away the tears before they could even escape. He kept his nose buried in the crook of his arm for a few moments, taking deep, uneven breaths.
Before he knew it, his feet were moving, carrying him out of the bedroom, and over to the living room. He wandered to the shelf perched dutifully on the wall, the shelf that carried years upon years of memories. Photos of Ryland with the classes he’d taught, the children surrounding him with bright smiles, crowding him like he was some beacon - a treasure. Some dated back further, like the one of him stood awkwardly, holding up his diploma. Colt remembered taking that photo himself. There was another tucked nearby, just visible enough to catch some light. A photo of them as children, himself with a toothy grin - missing a few, admittedly - covered in dirt and scrapes while Ryland fussed beside him, pointing erratically at specks of blood forming on his bare arm. His lips quirked slightly as he reached up, taking a few off the shelf and holding them close to his chest, hugging them like they were actually Grace. Grace, the one common factor in each of the photographs he’d pulled down. Colt stumbled back and slumped into the couch, curling his form around these photographs, precious memories. Things he’d taken for granted before now much heavier in his hold, an incredibly poor substitute for his little brother, of whom he felt such pride for, of whom he loved dearly. Of whom he’d never be able to hold close again. Never be able to say goodbye to. Colt’s shoulders slumped and his jaw tightened, a horrid mixture of pain stirring within. The shock of it all the previous night hadn’t quite settled into grief, until now, anyway. It was like a floodgate crashing open under immense storm pressure, a tide of regrets flowing through his mind, along with a multitude of what-ifs, scenarios he was unable to form into reality as, this time, it really was far too late.
.. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.--
Cry. Cry is what he did. Long, hard sobs that had never come from him before. At least, not as far as he recalled. Sure, Colt had moments of weakness, thumbs-down moments, everyone did. But he’d never cried for a loss that was permanent. He’d only shed tears for matters that were momentary. Easy fixes. There was no easy fix here. There was no front door to nervously approach, to pace outside of for half an hour before finally mustering up the courage to make anew.
“You’re going to kill yourself one day, you know?” He recalled Ryland’s voice clear as day, slowly rising, but firm with underlying concern. A worry that was unmistakable. “This isn’t just a few circus tricks, Colt, this… This— You’re being set on fire over and over again for goodness sake!”
“Well at least I actually enjoy my job.” He’d snapped back with a roll of the eyes. “I don’t recall ever hearing you say you’ve had a good time. You just don’t want to admit it. Your dream hasn’t chalked up to shit, has it? Not what you envisioned?”
”Colt—“
”No, Ry. Here’s what I think. I think you’re still fucking miserable, and you’re not facing it.” A silence hung between them, air thick enough to cut in half with a blade. “You’re pissed off that it’s not working out for you, Doctor Grace. Your co-workers think your ideas are ridiculous, an alien creature not reliant on water, the source of all life? I don’t blame them.”
”At least I have something stable, don’t expect me to say I didn’t tell you so when you’re paralysed from the neck down— Or worse!”
Colt scoffed, “Stable? Yeah, financially. Bet you’re still on the ledge of every social circle there. Not particularly close with anyone, are you?”
”Don’t act like you’re not in the same boat.” Ryland folded his arms over his chest defiantly, “Who’ll be left to attend your funeral after a freak accident if I refuse? No one.”
From that day forth, things changed. Things fell apart. They only came together again after he’d broke his back, and the entire time Ryland had remained by his side. Or, that’s what the doctors told him. All through his induced coma, his little brother was right there, day in, day out. Apologies were exchanged the day Colt woke up, but not proper ones. That was also the day that Colt had discovered Ryland had given up on academia, becoming a middle school science teacher instead. Colt had said nothing then, but he was glad that he’d found contentment in something, rather than chasing after disproven theories. He’d found his calling once more, and there was his older brother, broken in a hospital bed. A failure. He wasn’t invincible, he’d only proven Grace’s fears. No formal make-up happened, he’d just… disappeared. Ran away from his own shame. He’d been so certain that neither Ryland or Jody would want the thumbs-down version of himself. And while he managed to eventually confront Ryland - what he’d called a practice for facing Jody at the time - it felt more like a polite exchange of new phone numbers, like making an acquaintance rather than reconciling with family.
Colt slowly pulled away from the photo frames, shoulders still shaking. He sorted through the pile until he came across the photo he’d taken of Ryland on his graduation day again. Droplets of his tears fell from his jaw and onto the glass as he stared, unconsciously tracing the side of Grace’s face with his thumb. He had no way to tell him how proud he was of him upfront, no way to apologise properly, and smooth out ridges from the past. He should’ve done more, he thought to himself, held onto his only family tighter.
.. / .-.. --- …- . / -.-- --- ..-
The next couple of days, Colt spent his time donning his twin’s person. He’d taken a few of the remaining clothes from Grace’s apartment, and he’d return to that very same coffee shop every morning at the same time, hoping to run into the big guy from before. Each morning was the same, he’d show up, order a coffee with far too much of some kind of sweetness in it - milk, sugar, cream - and then sit at a back table, waiting for the guy to show up, if he ever would again. After a few days of this, and a consistent no-show from the man, Colt was beginning to lose hope sat at that back table alone, drinking a coffee far too sweet for his liking. It was beginning to get cold with how long he was dragging it out, swirling around whatever was left in the bottom of the cup as he watched the door closely. Another day, another morning wasted at the café staring at the entrance like some desperate ex. Just as he was about to down the rest of the coffee in the cup, the bell above the door chimed, catching his attention. And lo and behold, it was the very same man from nearly a week ago now, dressed exactly the same in that mysterious black coat and meticulous suit beneath - which he was now beginning to think must be some kind of uniform. He finished what remained in the cup, his eyes never leaving the man as he approached the counter and ordered the same thing - two black coffees. Colt slowly stood and made his way over to the nearest trash can, binning the coffee cup, making sure he didn't get spotted by the man as he waited for the order. Black coffee didn't take long to make, anyone who wasn't a barista, like himself, could tell you that. Still, he waited, kept a safe distance, pretending to be distracted by something occasionally, even as the barista passed over the two coffees. Colt took a deep breath then followed out of the shop, catching a glimpse at the man's car and numberplate before making a jog over to his truck to continue the pursuit. The journey there was a careful one, unlike the chases he'd done before, this one had to be done without detection. So, while he did attempt to keep right behind the car, he also allowed the occasional few vehicles in between as cover, like he wasn't actually following and just so happened to be going the same way. Though that strategy began to prove more difficult as they left the city and into the country side, homes and buildings becoming slowly more sparse the further they journeyed. Adapt was his middle name, however, and adapt Colt did by slowly pressing down on the brake to put a large distance between them, enough that the man wouldn't be able to recognise him - or rather, Ryland - if he looked in the rear view mirror. The destination finally came into sight after almost a good couple of hours driving without an obvious aim. Though this destination wasn't exactly what Colt had expected, even if he now realised he should've come to expect something like this. It was like some kind of base, from what he could see at this distance, surrounded by high fencing topped with barbed wire. "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, quickly pulling over and getting out of his truck. He paced around in circles running a hand through his hair while racking his brain for a possible way in. There was no way he could just stroll up to the entrance and ask to be let in, Grace was supposed to be in space for crying out loud, they'd catch onto him immediately. There must be some kind of blind spot, there always was. At least, in the spy movies there was. It then struck him. Movies. He was a stuntman, of course, he’d just have to find some kind of unconventional way in.
.-. -.-- .-.. .- -. -..
Since the Hail Mary’s blast off, Stratt had been buried in work: various meetings with the world leaders to predict just how long they should wait before giving up on the mission, meetings with specialists to estimate just how long the Earth would really last before things started to get dire and how they could perhaps buy more time. There was no time to stop, time was precious now, and any moment wasted could potentially cost humanity. Repercussions were inevitable, but the extinction of numerous species - particularly humanity - was possibly preventable if this goes right. A knock on the door forced her out of her thoughts and she waved them in. Carl entered, placing both coffees on her desk.
”Black, like always.” He stepped away, hands at his side like a soldier standing at attention.
”Thank you.” She responded, picking up one of the cups and taking a sip, allowing a silence to settle before asking, “Any news on that man you saw a week ago?”
Carl was silent, prodding his cheek with his tongue before answering, “No, I’ve not seen him since.” He then shifted. “However, I believe he’s somewhere near.”
”What makes you say that?”
”A truck.” Carl pointed out the window, referring to the road rather than directly outside Eva’s office. “I’m convinced someone’s followed me all the way here.” Before she could even respond, her door burst open, and a man dressed in security uniform acknowledged the both of them with a hasty nod before rushing over to Stratt’s desk, carrying a laptop. He placed it down, ushering Carl over as he pulled up a clip caught on a camera barely twenty minutes prior.
”It’s Dr. Grace, Ms.” He breathed, pausing the clip just before the camera cuts off to static completely. The frozen frame showed a man who looked just like Grace, dressed like him too, holding a gun up to the camera lens. There was no mistake to be made. However, every party in the room knew that Grace was in space, was aboard the Hail Mary. They’d seen to his send off, both Carl and Stratt, they knew he couldn’t possibly be here.
Stratt leant back in her seat, pursing her lips as she stared at the screen. She then turned her sharp gaze onto Carl. “That’s the man you saw at the café?” When Carl nodded in confirmation, she placed a hand under her chin. “Impossible…”
In the meantime, Colt was making his way around, finding blind spots and shadowed nooks to hang around while avoiding anybody passing through the halls, slipping in and out of empty rooms. This place was indeed heavily guarded, and he knew his stunt with the security camera wouldn’t go unnoticed. Though, he did notice how empty it was despite the occasional people going through the halls with purpose. Many of the rooms were empty, as mentioned earlier, which allowed him to evade notice from the very few people he’d crossed. The Petrova line was a worldwide issue, or so the news said, so why wasn’t more people around? Unless they didn’t need to be around, considering the ship has already been sent off. The sound of footsteps rapidly approaching caught him off guard, and he quickly slid into yet another dark room, the scent of antiseptic hitting him immediately. Colt watched through the window subtly, watching as a distressed seeming man dressed in security uniform rushed by, seemingly engrossed in whatever was on his screen. He shrugged it off and turned around, finding a room that looked more like an abandoned medical ward. The bed was made, the scent of cleaning supplies lingered, and said bed in the centre was surrounded by an array of monitoring machines. It looked as though it could take a patient at any second. The scarceness of the room really unnerved him. Colt wandered over to the bed, running his fingertips over the sheets while looking around, only just now noticing the chairs pressed up against the far wall right in the corner. For visitors, he imagined, though that was likely to be few and far in between. Just then, he heard footsteps again. Swiftly, he dropped and rolled over to hide behind the door, out of potential line of sight. Peering through the glass once more, he recognised the man immediately - the one from the coffee shop. The man briefly glanced his way as he passed, and Colt immediately ducked down again. Footsteps ceased. Then continued on with vague muttering he didn’t quite catch. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. After all, he didn’t want to get caught out immediately, even though he was already caught on numerous security cameras by now.
Colt spent the next few hours lingering in less visible areas, sometimes waiting more than half an hour just for someone to pass by. No one had spotted him yet, or if they did, they didn’t point him out, didn’t even stop. Then, while he was hanging around a shadowed area outside, a woman passed. She then froze, staring directly his way. He also paused, staring back. It was like those western standoffs before the two gunslingers turn their backs and step away ten paces each, maybe more. During the stare, which felt like agonising minutes, though probably only a few seconds, he took in her features. Tired, worn, dressed head to toe in black with two coffee cups in hand. There was a certain air about her, one that Colt couldn’t exactly put his finger on. But she definitely knew Ryland. He could tell from her reaction. The way she’d stopped, then quickly turned away with rigid movements, her pace quicker than before as she walked off.
Colt had a particular feeling that she was important.
.- -. -.. / .. .-..-. .-.. .-.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-
Stratt stood before the whiteboard, the screen displaying numerous screenshots taken from CCTV footage, each containing physical evidence of the supposed Dr. Grace. In one hand she held a decent pile of papers, reports. “It’s been a week, we’ve compiled the evidence.” She gestured to the whiteboard, “Numerous sightings on camera footage, unmistakable.” She then placed down the papers with a certain force, warranting rustles. “Reports from many persons on site, even ones of whom have never interacted with Dr. Grace before.”
”So this really isn’t a faulty system or mass hysteria?” Someone from seated on the long table asked, a rough voice, almost like gravel underfoot.
”No one has come forward and claimed to have seen either Captain Li-Jie or Ms. Ilyukhina.” Stratt flicked to the next slide, showing close-up images caught of Dr. Grace. “Only this man has been caught on camera.” She gestured to one particular image with her finger, “Though eerily similar to Dr. Grace, a slight difference in both hair colour and style gave the man away, no matter how impressive his likeliness is. We’ll take action now. I want this man caught.” She finalised, returning her attention to the long table before her. Each person in the meeting room was part of security, mostly guards, others CCTV specialists. Without any further conversation, people stood and left the room, returning to their assigned posts while keeping an eye out for the faux Dr. Grace. When the door finally shut, Stratt sighed deeply, running a hand down her face. For an entire week she’d had security and other staff completely ignore this man’s presence. From her position, he seemed harmless. The day she’d first witnessed him, he was stood idly in a shadowed area, like a lost bird hiding from a pack of foxes. There was no malice in those eyes of his. No malice directed to anything possibly going on here. He was obviously not interested in the project. The unquestionable spark of rage in his eyes was directed solely at her person. She recalled the disproportionate anger in Grace’s eyes when he found that astrophage was made almost entirely of water. The look was very similar, though she could never imagine such a thing coming from Dr. Grace, no matter how much his being haunted her. Grace was forgiving, she knew that, but she also knew that he didn’t wish to die. One life for the sake of humanity was a price she was willing to pay, however. No matter how much that life dreamt, no matter how much light it produced. She swallowed thickly, just knowing that Grace was out there somewhere, and in the long run, he’d have already forgiven her. Stratt turned the whiteboard off, shaking her head and leaving the meeting room to return to her office.
Colt arrived on site as usual, sneaking in, keeping to his blind spots that he’d come to learn over the week. But something felt… Different. He snuck past security guards with shoulders more tense than before, grips on weapons more firm than he’d seen before. Plans must have changed, protocol change meant they were onto him. Well, they already were from his first day here. But now they were actually out for him. Of course, he was no stranger to being chased, nor being on the run. Just as he turned away to keep on the move, he ran right into something. Rather, someone. Before him was the man from the café, same stern expression on his face. Colt froze, having to crane his neck slightly to look up at him, just about managing a nervous smile. He then turned and bolted. ”We’ve got a runner.” He heard the man speak firmly into a radio with urgency, and out of the corner of his eye, some of the security guards immediately sprung into action, heading his way. Colt turned his eyes ahead again, sprinting as fast as he could, listening to the sound of numerous boots crunching on the grass behind him grow louder as more guards joined the chase. Wind rushed past his ears, the slight chill pricking the tip of his nose and drying out his eyes. Behind him the shoutings and crackles of radios increased. Colt was confident he could outrun them. He was faster than Ryland, always had been, despite both of them being decently athletic (only because he used to force Grace into playing sports with him as kids, then always dragged him along to the gym too as they grew older). There was no way he was being caught now, no way he was going to allow himself to be tossed to the side without even meeting the person behind all this. The one who sent his brother to space. To an early grave. Colt shifted his course and sprinted towards the building, bursting through the double doors and rushing down the halls, his shoes squeaking as he went. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he ran into a random room and closed the door behind him, fumbling with the lock until finally hearing the click. Colt breathed heavily, turning and leaning against the door, sinking down slightly, allowing his eyes to fall shut.
”I’ve got him, thank you, Carl.” A woman’s flat, accented voice broke his brief respite, and his eyes shot open again. Immediately, he realised the mistake he’d made. In all the rush, he hadn’t stopped to check what room it was he was blindly wandering into; a lamb to the slaughter. He dropped his head back against the door and sighed loudly, covering his eyes with his hand as he cursed under his breath. Before him was none other than the woman in doused in black, strangely regal in her position before the large window, back to him. Over the week, he’d learnt of her name - Eva Stratt - and had also come to assume her position was relatively high. People spoke of her with a mixture of fear and utmost respect. Stratt issued the orders, people followed them. That’s how this place worked. She finally turned around, giving him a once-over. “How about you take a seat?” She offered, gesturing to a chair before her desk. “You’ve done an awful lot of running.”
He remained quiet for a moment, his mind working over his options. Either he goes back outside and risks being caught immediately, or he remains here to question this mysterious woman. In all honesty, the latter was far more enticing, less bruising to the ego. “No thanks.” Colt pushed off the door, shaking his head and huffing, evening out his breath.
Stratt barely flinched at his refusal, didn’t show any form of reaction, merely moving over to her own chair behind her desk. “Suit yourself.” She took up a mug off a coaster and brought it to her lips. Colt found the entire thing odd. How calm she was, mostly. Like having an intruder in a heavily guarded base some way out from the city for a whole week wasn’t of any kind of concern. Lest he’d been under her thumb this entire time. She had been of aware of his presence from day one, no doubt, this was all really coordinated by her, not him.
He cleared his throat, “You’re.. Uh… Not bothered, are you?”
”Not particularly.” She responded. Short, quick, not exactly snappy but her manner really pricked into you, like a needle. She was sharp, cutting, like glass.
Colt shifted away from the door, dragging his feet across the hardwood floor. He edged closer to the desk, a certain strong smell wafting through the air, becoming stronger as he got closer. It was coffee, strong, pure, unfiltered. Almost like the woman before him. Tastes really do reflect a person then, huh? “Not particularly… That’s really it?”
”Yes.” She placed the mug down, then rested her forearms on her desk, meeting his eye. “Doppelgängers within the same country, let alone same area is extremely rare. Only a fool would fail to recognise an identical twin. Am I correct?” Colt pursed his lips then sighed, one hand resting on his hip while the other went through his hair. But of course, there was no fault within her logic. If he was just some random lookalike of Ryland’s, why would he go through all this effort? Familial bond is the only potential reason. His silence dragged on, and she indulged it just for a moment before continuing, “Your silence is very loud. Admittedly, I was under the impression that Dr. Grace was without immediate family.”
Colt’s jaw tightened. Immediate. In a way, she was right. He wasn’t exactly immediate, they weren’t as close as they were once upon a time. A pair of twins - especially identical ones - were stereotypically inseparable, and that’s how they’d once been, even when their parents had divorced. They’d remained close, still saw each other every day at school and found time to hang out together without having to be in the presence of either parent. Days after school spent at parks, or hopping between different stores, only ever leaving with cheap drinks and candy. A kid’s pocket money can only go so far. But good times don’t exactly last forever, Colt knew full well. “And that’s why you sent him?” He asked finally, his voice low, fists clenching at his sides. “No immediate family, no one to care about him, right? That’s what you thought?”
She was quiet. “Yes.” She laced her fingers together on the surface, the thumb on top slowly drawing circles on the one beneath. “He’s a middle school teacher, lives alone in a small apartment. No mention of parents, not even a pet, no less a sibling—“
“And that gives you the right to kill him?”
”You’re murdering me!”
This time, Stratt actually paused, and he watched her shoulders jolt slightly with tension, her expression tightening. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. The memory was unexpected, undoubtedly triggered by the similarities in the situation. Even down to the crack in the voice. Twins were certainly impressive. “Please, calm down Mr…?”
”Seavers. Colt Seavers.”
”Mr. Seavers.” She finished, making a repeated pinching motion on her forehead with her forefinger and thumb. “Dr. Grace understood the stakes, he was our leading scientist when it came to studying the astrophage. He knew he was needed—“
”Bullshit, all of it!” Colt snapped, slamming a fist down on her desk. “I know Ryland, there’s no way he’d willingly sign up for a suicide mission! Ry’s selfless, yeah, but he doesn’t want to die, that’s too far even for that asshole.”
Stratt parted her fingers, pressing them down flat to push herself up out of her seat. “I had no choice, Mr. Seavers.” She responded firmly, her composure starting to get to him. There was no visible break, no sign of guilt, an acceptance that grated at him like nails on a chalkboard. “Three lives for the entire world. It’s a price that I’m willing to pay.”
”But one wasn’t even willing! What about… I don’t know, ethics? It’s all you science people ever talk about!”
”I’m a historian, Mr. Seavers.”
Colt paused, surprised that she wasn’t some astrophysicist or something. Why would they put a historian in charge for a project related to space? Of course, she seemed like an intelligent woman, but her speciality was in no way needed here. But he hadn’t any time to consider any of that thoroughly, so quickly recovered. “Even better, you must know ethics better than anyone here!”
”I do.” She nodded. “However, I’m also aware that some boundaries need to be pushed for the sake of the greater good. I’ve accepted the circumstances.” Colt stared her down, watching as she sunk back into her seat. “Three lives for a potential 8.3 billion, more with the ones uncounted. There are ethical issues with sending Dr. Grace non-consensually, amongst other things, someone had to do it.”
Colt ran a hand down his face, wandering over to the chair before her desk and slumping down into it finally. “So.. So what? You’re the scapegoat?” He scoffed weakly, shaking his head as his throat tightened, a stinging sensation building. “And.. And that’s supposed to comfort me? The knowledge that you forced my little brother onto a death mission for the world is something you’ll probably get snagged up for is supposed to help me sleep at night?”
”If there truly was a way to save everyone without risking lives, we would have taken that route by now. Your brother will be donned a hero, find solace in that.”
”Right… Right…” Colt murmured bitterly, turning his gaze to the side, staring at the windowed wall draped in blinds near shut, allowing a dribble of warm sunshine into the office. He sniffled, then swiped his hand under his nose quickly, stubbornly refusing the tears that wanted to escape. A thick silence engulfed the office, what he would have preferred to be more comfortable felt more like strangulation. Colt couldn’t deny her logic in the slightest, it was a simple trolly problem, like the ones teachers show high school kids. One unwilling man or the entire world; the answer should be simple, yet Colt couldn’t help the ache still left in his chest. The gaping hole left by mistakes of his that he thought he could just put off until later, only now to be face-to-face with the reality that there was no ‘later’ this time. There was no later, and the woman before him had come to accept that. But he couldn’t just let go of the rope so easily.
”Would you like a tissue, Mr. Seavers?” Stratt’s voice and the sudden realisation of a box of tissues being held right under his nose cracked the stifling silence and his thoughts that had caught his attention. He merely shook his head, wiping his eyes with his forearm. Stratt observed him closely, then took a breath, one filled with patience despite how it came off otherwise.
Colt took the moment to compose himself gratefully, swallowing thickly as he cleared the rest of the dampness from his eyes with his fingers. “I understand the stakes, I just…” He brushed at the tip of his nose with the length of his forefinger, “…I should’ve been there.”
Stratt stared at him blankly, then pushed herself up off her desk once more. He paused, following her figure with his eyes as she moved from around her desk and over to a chest of drawers. Each of her motions were carefully predicted and calculated, and it didn’t take her long to produce exactly what it was she was looking for. It was a yellow raincoat. The exact same one that Grace used to have, used to wear to the school on rainy days. He claimed the yellow was supposed to be positive during gloomy weather - it was something he’d also did when they were children - you’d never catch Grace wearing something dark lest it was a science pun shirt. Stratt held the thing up, curtained from view by it, par from the bottom half of her legs and her head. “Yellow is the colour of cowardice in numerous cultures.” She started, “So I didn’t pack it in his bag.” Stratt folded the coat over her arm and moved back over to her desk, but didn’t sit down again. “It was one of the few items from his temporary accommodation on the boat that I didn’t pack. There was nobody to hand it off to, so I kept it. I see the colour yellow too often these days.”
”What—“ He stammered, trying to put together what she was plotting. From how she presented herself, he couldn’t tell if this was supposed to be an act of kindness or pity. Perhaps both. “Where is this going?”
”I believe it’s best you keep it.” She responded plainly, like it was obvious and he was looking at the complete wrong picture. When he still had that same bewildered look on his tear-stained face, she sighed, “It has no use in my possession, and since you’re his brother…”
As Stratt trailed off, he nodded and thrust himself onto his feet, taking the coat from Stratt’s hands. Colt just held it for a moment, the almost rubbery water-proof fabric feeling almost foreign. Uncanny. Stratt didn’t interrupt whatever moment he was having now, merely sitting back down and tending to her coffee. Colt shifted his fingers over the smooth material, then gripped tighter as his shoulders began to quiver again, against his will. He took the coat to his chest, hugging onto it like it was actually Ryland right there before him. Fingers digging in tight, arms tensed and refusing to let go, just how he imagined he’d hold Ryland right now if he was here. It was almost like he could imagine the coat full, could feel it. Like he could grasp onto the body of his brother and hold on, never let go. A warmth he knew was too good to be true, a materialisation of the one thing he wanted nothing more at this one moment. Even the vague scent of Ryland was still there, though he couldn’t tell if it was also his imagination as his tears finally poured. He’d forgotten all about Stratt’s presence, consumed by the false sense of company that Ryland’s coat gave, bright yellow like the blinding light of sunshine through fog. A lighthouse or beacon in the deepest depths of nights at sea.
All the while, Stratt watched through occasional glances, attempting to provide him with some kind of privacy, but unable to ignore the presence Colt had. His presence at the base, looming around while looking like Grace had certainly been troublesome. He’d scared the life out of numerous staff members, but as he could understand her circumstances, she sought to take things from his perspective. Becoming the ghost that haunted the staff left behind on Earth was quite the stunt, leaving many on edge, others thinking they were going insane from guilt. Stratt herself had to stop to consider once, had to assure herself it wasn’t actually Grace lingering around every corner.
Not yet, anyway.
Not yet, she assured herself, even as the ghost draped in yellow curled himself into the protection that his older brother’s arms provided. She daren’t disturb either of them, yet silently prayed that they both found peace in another universe. That they remained together, content in some normal, mundane lives.