Chapter Text
Eva Stratt opened her eyes.
Welcome! Everything is fine, stated the green text on white wall across from her. We'll see, she thought, but felt no apprehension or fear of her surroundings.
To her left, a door she hadn’t noticed before opened. A tall South Asian woman stood even taller in emerald heels, a white suit, and a peacock feather bow tie.
“Hello, Eva,” she said in a posh English accent. “My name is Tahani. Please, come in.” She stepped to the side and gestured for Stratt to enter the next room. Slowly, she obliged.
The next room was an office, but much more colorful and inviting than usual. There was a desk with a very ergonomic-looking office chair, but no seats across from it. Clearly, the couch and plush armchairs were where meetings happened. Sunlight came in through the large windows, perfect and golden, illuminating a group photo of six people that included the woman standing next to Stratt. There were additional photos of people who looked like they could be her family, plants hanging from the walls and ceiling, and masterful abstract paintings, all in perfect balance. The room was not to Stratt’s taste, but she recognized that it was exquisitely decorated.
Stratt stood and took her time, observing the room openly and unapologeticly. The woman who identified herself as Tahani was clearly waiting for her to take a seat, but wasn’t in a hurry or offended by Stratt’s scrutiny.
Eventually, she chose an armchair positioned across from another. Tahani sat opposite, waiting for a beat to see if Stratt wanted to begin the conversation.
She did not.
“You must have a lot of questions,” Tahani offered. “Would you like to lead the conversation?”
“I don’t remember signing up for therapy,” Stratt said.
The woman laughed, but with no trace of mockery or mean spirit. “I am a sort of therapist,” she said, “but not in the way you mean.”
“What kind of therapist are you, then?”
Tahani took a breath, but Stratt got the feeling it was to prepare her rather than the woman who inhaled.
“Eva,” Tahani said. “You died. You are in the Afterlife.”
Stratt narrowed her eyes. Therapists were full of shit, of course, but she didn’t understand why one would say something so ridiculous. She remembered her life and who she was, but nothing about how she could’ve died.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Tahani said. “Let me show you something that might help. Janet?”
Out of thin air, a white woman appeared next to Tahani wearing heels and a purple skirt suit, hands clasped behind her back. Stratt couldn’t make sense of this.
“Janet, darling, would you pull up Eva’s file, please?”
“Of course,” Janet said, bringing her hands around to the front. They held a stack of paper which soared above the woman’s head and nearly brushed the ceiling. It should have been nearly impossible to balance, let alone lift, and yet the woman carried the stack with ease.
“Here you go,” she said cheerfully, setting the papers on the coffee table and disappearing – disappearing?! – with a pleasant bing.
“What was that?” Stratt demanded, the third sentence she spoke since arriving in this strange place.
“That is Janet. She’s a sort of computing entity who runs the Afterlife experience for residents. Also my dear friend. She can get you anything you need; just ask.”
“What I need is to understand where I am and why I’m here,” Stratt said.
“Of course! That is what I am here for,” Tahani said, playfully conspiratorial. “When people die, they go to the Afterlife. It’s not the Heaven and Hell you’re thinking of, but there is a Good Place, and there was a Bad Place.”
Stratt felt herself relax, then a prickle of defensiveness as Tahani seemed to notice.
Tahani continued. “Every action taken in a person’s life generates a certain amount of good or bad for the world around them, and this was tallied as Afterlife Points. It used to be that a person’s placement was based solely on their Point Totals. Very utilitarian,” she said, giving jokingly incredulous jazz hands.
“The problem was, in the past 500 Earth years or so, modern life became so complex that even the most virtuous individuals could not score enough Afterlife Points to earn a spot in The Good Place. Simply buying a tomato meant you were supporting forced labor, pesticides that destroyed biodiversity, air freight that contributed to climate change, and so on. Almost everyone was thousands of points in the negative by the time they died, simply from living an ordinary life.”
“Everyone was going to Hell,” Stratt said.
“Yes,” Tahani confirmed somberly.
Stratt took a moment to absorb this. “So now… everyone simply goes to The Good Place?”
“Heavens, no!” Tahani laughed, but again with no hint of ridicule. “Can you imagine? If people went straight from the mortal world directly to The Good Place? The Good Place wouldn’t be very good if you had Elon Musk running about convincing everyone to buy a Cybertruck!” She paused for a moment to laugh at her own joke. "What a weird creep. Why was I friends with him?"
The reference was dated, but Stratt did remember the name. He was an unserious player in the aerospace community at a deeply serious time. Musk had attempted to secure contracts on the Project exactly once before Stratt slapped him with a cease and desist.
“So the Good and Bad Place came to a solution,” Tahani continued. “A Good Place Architect will collaborate with a Bad Place Architect to design a Test for every individual to overcome their flaws and shortcomings. An individual will go through their Test as many times as necessary to be… healed. To work through their fears and failures until they can be part of The Good Place.”
Tahani gently clasped her hands on her lap. Stratt knew Tahani would not speak again until she said something first. She tried to prioritize her thoughts and questions into a list, one that would flow in a logical order to get the most information from the fewest words. This was a skill she excelled at throughout her life, which had apparently come to an end.
Stratt returned her attention to the room. It was colorful but serene, and for the first time, she noticed subtle birdsong. She took a deep breath.
“I have questions,” she said.
“Wonderful! I would be delighted to answer them,” Tahani replied with a warm smile.
“What is an Architect?"
“An Architect builds the Test for each individual. Traditionally, they designed Neighborhoods for either eternal paradise or torture. Now, the “Neighborhood” is more like a simulation that evolves to help its Resident work through their trauma.”
“Why is a Bad Architect necessary?”
“Bad Place Architects have a knack for getting under peoples’ skin, so to speak. And, in the past, literally,” Tahani added with an uncomfortable chuckle; Stratt shifted in her chair. “The Good Place Architect channels that knack into something kind; discomfort that helps a person grow rather than torturing someone for the sake of it.”
“You said you were ‘a sort of therapist;’ you are one of the Architects, then, yes? The Good one?”
Tahani smiled and tossed her hair behind a shoulder. “One of the best, actually.”
Stratt leaned back in her chair. For someone with authority in the Afterlife, this woman was awfully smug.
“Which is part of why I got your file," Tahani said. "Quite a lot of Architects wanted to design your Test, Ms. Eva Stratt,” Tahani said with an oddly congratulatory tone.
Stratt frowned. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, you lead a very interesting life.” Tahani easily pulled a page from the stack on the coffee table, looking it over. “And the ethical implications of your work on Project Hail Mary!” Tahani exhaled, impressed and near incredulous. “The choices you had to make in a single day are enough to give Chidi Anagonye a stomach ache for an entire year. It’s fascinating subject material for any Architect; most of us are well-versed in moral philosophy.”
“So that is why you wanted my case. How did you secure it? Aside from being ‘one of the best, actually?’” Stratt said in a very close imitation of Tahani. Tahani laughed, and Stratt cracked a little smile. The first one since she… died, apparently.
“Well,” Tahani said. “We have something in common. We’re both very accomplished women who played important roles in the fate of personity.”
“Personity?”
“Like humanity, but inclusive of all intelligent species,” Tahani clarified.
It seemed they both knew humans were not the only civilization in the universe. Stratt brushed past it.
"So where is my other Architect?"
"In most cases, we find it best that the Resident not interface directly with the Bad Place Architect," Tahani explained. "You probably won't meet Vicky during the Testing process, but it's possible."
“You seem to know all about me,” Stratt said, gesturing to the file pile. “What did you do for personity?”
Tahani shifted. She had seemed perfectly happy to talk herself up moments ago, but now, given the explicit inquiry to her accomplishments, Tahani seemed more serious.
“I was part of the Reform team,” she said. “The abolishment of The Bad Place in favor of the Afterlife Test. I was one of six.” She gestured to the photo Stratt had noticed earlier.
“The man in glasses and a sweater vest is Chidi Anagonye, who I just mentioned. He was a professor of ethics and moral philosophy. And there’s Janet, who you met a moment ago. Eleanor Shellstrop is the adorably short blonde and my best friend in the entire universe. Jason Mendoza is in the track suit. And the last person is Michael, who was an Architect.”
Stratt had several questions. Why did only some of these people have last names? Why were some in past tense? How did these six come to be a team, and why them? Again she was having trouble settling on an order.
“Tell me more about the Reform.”
Tahani sighed. Stratt got the sense that most of this speech was well-prepared, but she had ventured a line of questioning most others didn’t travel. She straightened.
“The first Afterlife Test was actually designed to be torture," Tahani said. “Michael was a Bad Place Architect who was bored of the status quo and thought the Afterlife could be more fun for Demons if they tortured people psychologically in bespoke settings, rather than by standard physical methods.”
This Michael sounds like an asshole, Stratt thought. But she could appreciate the spirit of bold innovation, however misguided.
“His first Neighborhood was designed for four humans: Eleanor, Chidi, Jason, and myself.”
Stratt’s eyes snapped to meet Tahani’s. “You have a photo on your wall with the Architect who tortured you in new and innovative ways?”
“Yes,” Tahani laughed gently, “because it didn’t work the way he thought it would. We four drove one another mad, absolutely. But we also helped each other become better. Chidi coached Eleanor – and eventually all of us – in moral philosophy. Janet met our needs and helped us solve problems. Michael was our guide to navigating the various dimensions of the Afterlife. Jason made things simple when everyone else made them too complicated. And Eleanor provided leadership to our group.”
For the first time since they entered the room, Tahani was not looking at Stratt. She stared wistfully at the photograph. Clearly there was more to this story than could quickly be summarized.
“And what did you do for the Reform?”
“Comparatively little, I'm afraid,” Tahani said. “I helped the group bond. I was a thought partner. But others’ contributed much more to the effort.”
"But you said we were both accomplished women," Stratt prompted.
"Well," Tahani said, “I was part of the Reform team. We all helped each other through very difficult times and solved complex problems together. It’s difficult to explain without getting into the full story. What’s easier to explain is that I am the first human Architect in the history of the universe.”
Stratt looked at Tahani. She had inferred that other Architects were some kind of non-human entity, and Tahani had been the subject in an experiment to find new ways to torture humans. But with so much to consider, she hadn’t realized that Tahani was a special case.
“Well,” she said. “Congratulations on a truly historic first.”
"Thank you, Eva," Tahani said.
Both women were silent for a beat, each considering their own history.
Stratt broke the contemplative moment. “How did this Neighborhood contribute to the Reform?”
“That’s a very long story,” Tahani said. “When we initially arrived at the Neighborhood, we were all told we were in he Good Place. Eventually, Eleanor figured out we were being lied to, that we were actually in the Bad Place, and so Michael rebooted us to try the experiment again.”
“Rebooted?”
“Yes. Architects can reset the memories of their Residents.” Stratt’s chest felt tight. “He rebooted us over and over, hundreds of times, but he couldn’t get the experiment to work the way he envisioned. Each time, we figured out what he was doing. And if Michael’s boss figured out that he had failed, he would have been tortured along with us. So we teamed up. It was a long road, but we figured out that everyone was going to the Bad Place regardless of the life they lived, and so we proposed a new system: Everyone gets a chance to earn their spot in the Good Place.”
“A chance?”
“Yes,” Tahani said. “You have to work your way through the Test. Work through your flaws, heal your trauma, and become someone you’d want to spend eternity with.”
Stratt scoffed. “Eternity? I don’t want to spend eternity anywhere.”
“Well, near-eternity,” Tahani corrected herself. “After a person arrives in the Good Place, they can spend as long as they wish experiencing anything they would like to experience. And when they achieve a certain peace, they can choose to walk through a door and end their time in the universe.”
A beat.
“What if… what if a person never passes their Test?” Stratt asked.
“There is no guarantee everyone will pass,” Tahani explained. “But I have designed thousands of Afterlife Tests. Every single person who was willing to accept that they were flawed, willing to try, and willing to be brave, they all eventually pass.”
Tahani gently clasped her hands on her lap and looked at Stratt the way she had when she removed the threat of a Bad Place. Stratt’s cheeks burned and she fixed her gaze on the stack of paper she couldn’t see the top of.
“I did a lot of bad things in my life,” Stratt said quietly. “Terrible things. To good people who didn’t deserve it.”
“I know,” Tahani said, the most somber she had been the whole conversation.
Quiet birdsong and golden sunlight filled the space between them.
“...Does he forgive me?” Stratt said.
“Eva, I can’t speak on behalf of others,” Tahani said. “But you will most likely be able to ask him yourself one day.”
Stratt met Tahani’s eyes.
“In the Good Place?”
“Yes,” Tahani said. “In the Good Place.”
Stratt was quiet for a beat.
“So what happens next? I begin my Test?”
Tahani nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, you simply walk through the door you came in, your memory will be reset, and you will begin your Test.”
“My memory? Excuse me?” Stratt recognized the irony in her indignation. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment and panic. Is this what it had felt like?
“If you retain your memory of this conversation, you will know you are being Tested, and it won’t work towards your healing and growth,” Tahani said.
“Then why have this conversation at all? Why not send me straight to the Test? Or erase me from the universe?”
“Your memory will be reset after each iteration of the Test. You will remember everything about your life up to that point, but you won’t retain any knowledge of any of the Tests before. At least, not any explicit knowledge,” Tahani said. “There will be a faint notion of what you have learned before, like a little voice inside your head, encouraging you to do the right thing. We do this orientation so that the little voice knows you are safe, and loved. Your Test will be very close to your life on Earth, but not exactly.”
Stratt stared at the window to the left of Tahani. She wasn’t ready to go back to Earth. She had just been there, she knew, but Tahani would put her back in endless conference rooms. On the Chinese aircraft carrier. Back in Baikonur.
“What are my other options?” Stratt said brusquely, as if Tahani were one of her science advisors presenting options for combating a cooling climate or the production of two million kilograms of Astrophage.
“Well, there is a Medium Place,” Tahani said. She gestured, and a new door appeared opposite the first one. “You can spend as much time as you need there, and whenever you’re ready, you can take the Test. It’s neither good nor bad, and you will be alone, but it’s yours to choose.”
“Or?”
“Or we can chat for a while longer.” Tahani smiled.
Stratt was silent. She couldn't meet Tahani's eye. After a long moment, Tahani spoke.
"Eva, I know that you are concerned about many of the choices you had to make on Earth. 'Ends justify the means' is a very limited maxim, but I encourage you to consider the positive outcomes of your work. You have a lot to be proud of."
“I didn’t design the beetles. Or the ship. Or discover the Taumoeba that saved our sun.”
“No, but you managed the Project that made all this possible. You made choices and sacrifices that kept humanity alive.” Stratt winced, and Tahani changed the subject. “You know, speaking of beetles, Paul McCartney is my godfather.”
Stratt narrowed her eyes at Tahani. “Is your family name Al-Jamil?”
“Yes.”
“I knew your parents. I met them once at a fundraising event, before my time on the Project.”
Tahani smiled. “And I heard of you when I was on Earth, of course. I died in 2018.”
That was after the discovery of the Petrova problem, but before the Hail Mary was launched. Certainly before the Astrophage Crisis got ugly.
“You picked a good time to get out,” Stratt said.
Tahani laughed. “You know, I died twice, actually. The first one didn’t take.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell that story another time. Maybe after you pass your Test?”
Stratt looked at the stack of papers that represented her life, much taller than the woman herself. She looked at the photograph of Tahani Al-Jamil and her team, happily smiling next to someone who once tried to torture her for eternity. She looked at her own hands and considered everything she had done in her 76 years.
Stratt rose from her chair. She turned around to face the door she came in through, which seemed to shimmer around the edges. Tahani stood next to her.
“You’re going to do great.”
Stratt nodded, strode forward, and reached for the door handle.