Chapter Text
"Nope, I'm not—" Ryland breathed in deeply, knowing this was the only time he'd get to argue a defense. "I will not attend the conference."
"You will," Stratt said, not unkindly, but resolutely.
She had already determined what was going to happen, and Ryland would not mess up her plans. There were too many moving pieces. Ryland would hold a presentation, doing just as well as he did when he was younger.
"But it's in front of—"
"Celebrities. I am aware." Stratt leveled her gaze with him, peeking above the tablet in her hand. "Celebrities are deeply loved, to a point, too loved. The public will listen to what they say. If they trust in the Hail Mary, then the public will feel secure."
"But…" Ryland's voice had already turned softer, his will to fight evaporating.
Stratt looked at Ryland, and then offered a settlement. "Movie night. I will attend if you do this for me."
Ryland didn't process the words for a few seconds, and once he did, his eyes widened. He looked at Stratt as if she had walked into the pit of hell for him, his eyes almost glassy, and entirely too hopeful.
Movie night was a bi-weekly morale boost that many employees attended on the Vat. Ryland rarely went to one, finding his time better spent in the lab or asleep, while Stratt had never been to one.
Ilyukhina had tried to bribe Stratt many times, but Stratt never gave in. Until now, though it was Ryland being bribed.
He added on a clause: "I get to pick the movie."
"Agreed." Stratt looked back down to her tablet, amusement in her eyes. Ryland's fist shot up to his chest, a small cheerful pump. She didn't have to observe those around her to know that people were staring at the two of them. "You are drawing eyes, Dr. Grace."
"I don't care," he said flippantly. "You just agreed to watch a movie with us. That's the best news I've heard since… Since I got put on this boat."
Stratt tilted her head up. "That's disappointing."
Ryland chuckled awkwardly, his hands in the pocket of his cardigan. "Not many exciting things happen here, Director." Nothing that he knew of, anyway. He was rather isolated compared to other workers. "This… This will be a memory I'll treasure forever."
"That doesn't make it better."
"Don't care. You agreed to movie night." Ryland bounced on the back of his heels, then playfully stepped closer as if he was going to bump their shoulders together. "I'll get you to come to karaoke one of these days."
"You do not partake in karaoke," Stratt reminded him.
Ryland waved it off with a flimsy hand. "I watch, and that's enough. I have better memories of those nights than the people singing do." Most of the singers who felt up to screaming their little hearts out were completely and utterly wasted.
Stratt would have liked to continue speaking with Ryland, but she received an email about a situation she couldn't ignore. She already had her free hand on a radio to signal over Carl so he could come back and watch over Ryland so he didn't die in the meantime.
"We leave tomorrow," she told Ryland, closing her tablet and holding it against her side.
"But the conference isn't for a week," he replied, his tone hinging on a whine.
Stratt wondered how Ryland managed to live for this long. Right… it was her interference. He had no idea how many times he had nearly died since he became her scientist. The world was ending, and stopping the inevitable drew attention.
"There are many things to do once we hit the ground." Stratt would distract him with something annoying. "You will have to get fitted for a suit."
"I already have a suit," he argued right on cue.
"Not a nice one," Stratt replied. Ryland opened his mouth, then closed it. "You will be representing all of the scientists who have worked endlessly to ensure the Hail Mary takes off next year. You will look your part. Only after you have smoozed all of the sleaziest influencers that were selected to be invited, may you go back to wearing cardigans and mismatched socks."
Stratt saw Ryland flinch. He pulled his cardigan around him, pushing it together like a shield. He seemed more compliant now, but there was still a stiffness in his shoulders.
"What is it?" she asked.
Ryland looked at her for a long moment. "I saw the list of people who were invited to the conference."
"… Yes?"
"The invites have already been sent out. Their rooms are booked at the hotel. There is no way to edit the list."
"Correct." Stratt didn't mess with the list. Celebrities were not something in her wheelhouse. There was a separate team who determined which celebrities would have the most influence on the public.
Ryland huffed out through his nostrils, looking down. "Okay. I– I'll just. Deal with it."
Stratt bowed her head, and walked past Ryland. He was uptight today. She suspected it was because of the conference, but his eyes held something heavy in them. She radioed Carl, and then swept the conversation behind her.
There was much to do until tomorrow. She couldn't be distracted any further.
The hotel where the conference was to take place was large and bulky, but elegant. Ryland saw the outside, the way that the windows seemed to be hand-sculpted, and tried to leave. Carl pushed him back into line.
Stratt wasn't at the hotel yet. She had a meeting to attend in the city, probably a reason why she chose this location for the conference. There were always other things at play, not that Ryland was upset about it. He'd set things up like that too if he was overworked while in high demand.
Ryland entered the hotel with the other agents who would attend the conference by his side. Ryland hadn't been told if they were his bodyguards; he just made assumptions after the same five people kept popping up to follow his every move every time they were on land.
He prepared to go to the front desk, only for Carl to say, "They know we're here." That was on him, then. Ryland should have expected that government people would check into hotels ahead of time.
They didn't take the elevator up to the third floor; they took the stairs. When Ryland asked why, Carl fixed him with a hard look, and then turned back to face the front. Ryland withered, and continued to trudge up the steps.
Once they were in the hallway of the third floor, Ryland felt like he could breathe. Not too harshly, though. The hotel was beautiful and he didn't want to destroy it. He was fairly certain that the paintings hung up on the walls were pieces usually reserved for museums. It was terrifying.
When they arrived at the room, the two guards in front of their pack unlocked the door before going in first, having the rest of them stay in the hallway.
Ryland turned to Carl, the person he confided in too much. "What are they doing?"
"They're ensuring your safety." Carl eyed him. "You do know that you are a highly valuable asset, right?"
Haha… right. Him, Ryland Grace, middle school teacher, theater kid, and scientist lapdog, important. Yeah, that didn't really compute in his brain. Carl was just saying things so that Ryland felt worth something.
The guards returned a couple of minutes later with an all-clear. Ryland entered to have his breath, once again, taken away.
Everything was bright, it practically sparkled. He understood now why Colt wore sunglasses inside when they video called. This was just… garish. Too much.
"We can't be here," Ryland said, really meaning, I can't sleep here.
"Tough luck," Carl responded, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's the only room that fits our criteria." Then, as if acknowledging that something could be done, he added, "We can dim the lights, if that helps."
"Please," he said, shuffling inside anxiously, "and thank you."
He settled into the room swiftly, mainly because there was next to nothing to unpack. He was allowed a single bag, and in that bag were two pajama sets, his favorite cardigan, and the electronics that he carried with him everywhere like his life depended on it. He had to be able to work no matter where he was in the world.
By the time he remembered that he was supposed to eat at some point, dinner had passed. Room service brought up a late serving for all of them. Multiple carts were strolled in. The carts had their own sets of guards to keep it safe during transport. Ryland wondered if Stratt's food was on the same carts. He hoped she would come to the hotel soon. He didn't like being alone with men in suits.
As he picked through his meal, he thought about the conference. There were a few days until the other attendees arrived, but soon enough, he would have to give a presentation on Project Hail Mary and why it was the world's best shot at survival.
He was stressed. Everyone knew it. Just… they didn't get the whole picture. That was because he hadn't provided it, but—
"You sighed again," Carl remarked. "That's the fourth time in as many minutes."
Ryland looked across the table he was sitting at. Carl was the only guard sitting on a chair with him. The other guards would eat later, they said. Their food was still covered to keep warm. Ryland was the priority.
Ryland wished he wasn't always the priority. It meant that people looked at him. Judged him. Inspected him. Waited on him.
"I…" Ryland pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. With his eyes squeezed shut, he tried to shake himself out of his funk. When his hand dropped, he admitted, "My ex is attending the conference."
The room went silent, but not in awkwardness. It was intrigue.
Carl sat up, his eyes sparking to life. "Dr. Grace gets around, eh?"
Ryland gave him a look that he hoped amounted to, blow up into a million fiery pieces. Carl continued to smile, delighted to discover something new that he hadn't known.
"So who was lucky enough to catch your attention?" Carl asked, after Ryland looked at his dinner in contemplation like he was hoping to drown in it. "I know the list of all attendees. Do you know one of those science-y space Youtubers?"
Ryland wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Bury him in soft soil and leave him for dead. He wouldn't be upset about it. He'd welcome it completely.
"It was– It was a fling," Ryland said, rushing out the words in his anxiousness. "It didn't really have… meaning. I was around 24…? No, I'd have to be older than that. He liked calling me doctor."
"… Geez, that is something I did not need to know."
Ryland hummed, not looking up at Carl. "I didn't like it. He'd just use it as an excuse to do dumb things, and then be like, 'Dr. Grace will explain it to me, now, right?' Cripes—" Ryland held his head, a migraine incoming, "—he was so fudging irritating."
"Sounds like a charmer," Carl said dryly.
Ryland shook his head, his hand curling around his hair. "I… It wasn't all bad, but it lasted for longer than it should have. It was just really difficult to end things."
Great, he was coming up with excuses now. He was no better than Ryder. At least he wasn't throwing gifts at people and telling them to hop on planes so they could meet up. Ryland could be way worse. If he truly wanted to mimic his ex, he would dye his hair and tell Stratt that he wanted new guards because his current ones didn't 'fit his vibes.'
Ryland ground his fork across the plate, the awful sound snapping him back to the present.
"It would've been easier to end it if he wasn't my brother's employer." Ryland should ask next time he was on land if he could visit Colt. "I think it only lasted for so long because I was worried he'd retaliate."
It was a complicated mess. Thankfully, Colt's contract was written in a way that Ryder couldn't go back on it. Colt was guaranteed job security and Ryland could end the relationship. They all won in the end. Ryder was even dating someone else again.
"… Yikes," Carl murmured.
"He's exhausting." Ryland met Carl's eyes. "I don't know what I'll do if he tries to talk to me. I might throw myself out of the window. If we were closer to the bay, I'd land for the water. The ocean can take me. Take me far, far away from here."
Carl tapped the table with his fingers. "You won't die on our watch." The other guards made noises of agreement. "We'll protect you even from yourself."
"Even from Ryder?" Ryland asked, looking up from his lashes, hopeful for the first time since he stepped off the Vat.
"… Ryder?" Carl's voice sounded slightly strangled. "Tom Ryder? Why– Your fling was with the Tom Ryder?"
Ryland cringed, backing away in his seat. He squished his body against the back of the chair. Voice high-pitched, he asked, "Why are you saying it like that!?"
"Tom Ryder is– is a big shot!" Carl waved his hand in the air. "How the hell did you end up with him?"
"I don't know," Ryland said mournfully, pushing his food across the plate with his fork. "It just happened. He said I looked prettier than my brother, then he kept spraying water in my face, and before I knew it, I was in his condo and he was serving me, like, the champagne with gold in it. Except he said this was the good stuff, not the boring kind, and I just accepted the next morning that we were a thing."
Carl blinked, his face saying, that's a lot to unpack. Ryland wanted to be smothered. He'd pass away peacefully and without a fight.
"Why did he spray water at you?" Carl asked after a long pause. His priorities were enlightening.
"The make-up artists had these spray bottles and he liked to spray me whenever I wasn't paying attention to his scenes."
"Wow," Carl drawled, sounding put-off and oddly… angry? "And that was normal for him?"
Ryland shrugged helplessly. "It's just how he is." Much worse had happened. Ryland had witnessed more than a few horrors on and off-set.
He shouldn't have mentioned it. The rest of the night was spent with Carl speaking with the other guards in a low voice. Ryland lay on the bed, wishing he wasn't going to headline a conference. Wishing he was anywhere but here.
But tomorrow, he was going to attempt to convince Stratt to give him a phone so that he could call Colt. It had been a while. If he was lucky, Colt would be able to visit in person, but Ryland knew he wasn't given that much luck. No one was.
Ryland woke up to people in his room. While it wasn't abnormal considering that he was in a hotel, he felt odd about it because these were new people he didn't know.
His hair still ruffled with sleep, he sat up, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes. He slipped on his glasses as a last-second thought, and looked around the room. Strangers were in his room, and everyone else seemed at ease.
Noticing that he had woken up, Stratt said, "Pull yourself together, Dr. Grace. You will be fitted for two suits and some daily wear today."
When did Stratt get here? Ryland turned to her with a lost expression. She didn't acknowledge him, choosing to return to her phone. She was on a call, it seemed, but took the time to speak to him for a moment. How kind of her.
After a couple of minutes of him not moving, Stratt nonchalantly commented with her hand over her phone, "I will spray you with water."
Oh, fudge sticks, they ratted him out. Ryland was suddenly wide-awake. He looked over at Carl, who was suddenly enraptured by the flooring of the hotel room. Traitor.
He got dressed, and then he became partially undressed. Getting his measurements taken in front of so many people made him self-conscious. He hated the prying eyes, even if most of these eyes were friendly.
By the time he was free, he had missed breakfast, and lunch was about to pass by as well. Stratt had knowledge of the future, and ordered lunch to be brought in before Ryland could even ask for it. He nearly wept when he saw the stack of fluffy pancakes. It made Stratt look at him for a moment longer than normal—concern written across he brow—before she continued on with her day.
He was back to work after eating. Carl was gone, now. Probably to sleep or check perimeters or whatever guards did when they had a little time away. Ryland missed him already.
Ryland got through quite a few things without any distractions to keep him company. His inbox had never been so clean. Lokken was going to be jealous once he showed it to her when he returned to the Vat.
The following days passed relatively the same. Ryland would wake up at odd times because he'd get stuck on a project, food would arrive unprompted, and Stratt would occasionally scare him to death when she appeared next to him with no forewarning.
But then the day before the conference, attendees began to check in. Ryland wasn't allowed outside of the room even before others came in, but now there were guards at the door. Ryland knew part of that was because Stratt was staying in the same suite as him, but that didn't calm his racing heart.
"I want to see the sky," Ryland said on the morning of the attendees arriving. He could hear their footsteps outside and above him, but he could not interact with other human life forms.
"You will get to see it," Stratt replied, "just not today."
"If there was a window, at least I could breathe in some fresh air." He sighed wistfully. He wanted to look up at the stars. They were dying, didn't she know? Ryland needed to appreciate them while they were as bright as they could be.
Stratt chimed in, "If there was a window, we wouldn't be here. It would be deemed a security risk."
Ryland blew a raspberry. "Do you have an answer to everything?"
"Most things? Yes." Stratt's lips were twitching, that hidden smile of hers that she rarely showed.
Ryland tilted his head at her, feeling psyched up. He could do this. "Can I… Can I get a phone?"
Stratt looked up from what she was doing. She inquired, "What for?"
"To call Colt." It was rather obvious, was it not?
"That is unnecessary," she responded, then turned back to her work.
Ryland looked up at the ceiling for strength. It only made him squint his eyes, finding the decor of this room distasteful. He missed his small bunk on the Vat. How pitiful was that? If there was any solace in him giving a speech at this conference, it was that he got to be on solid ground, unlike the others remaining on the boat.