Chapter Text
---
Worst First Day on a Job (With Bonus Ethically-Dubious Boss Who's Also a Kleptomaniac)
"It survives on the surface of the sun. Does that sound like a water-based lifeform to you?"
No. No, that does not sound like a water-based lifeform. But the first spark of excitement at this possibility is dashed by what they are asking.
They want him - Ryland Grace - to be the first one to look at the Petrova samples.
Bonkers.
But then someone in another black suit is taking his bike helmet from his hands and the woman, whatever her name was, is still talking.
"Keys?"
Grace opens his mouth, confused.
"Your keys, Dr Grace," she says again, and it is not dissimilar to the way he might try to talk to one of his inattentive students. "One of my men will take your bicycle back to your apartment."
His brain catches up. "Uh yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll just give you the keys to my apartment."
He fumbles with the keys in his pocket, wondering if he should just take off the key to his apartment, or if he should just hand them all over even though they have his school keys and the key to his neighbour's apartment because sometimes he has to feed their cat when they are away for work and his fingers fumble before he just shoves the entire keyring into her outstretched hand.
She doesn't even bat an eye when she hands them to Carl, and he hands them to another suit guy who starts pushing Grace away from his bike.
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
"Right. They will also pack a bag for you, change of clothes, whatnot. I'm assuming they will find everything in the usual places?"
Fudge.
Everything is not in the usual places, if by usual, one means any system of organization that can be understood by another human. Because his apartment is basically an extension of his brain which means it is wildly disorganized and a little bit manic but all part of a system that really does make sense.
"What? Oh, no, that's ok, you don't have to pack me anything."
"Dr Grace," she says, and again he feels like a misbehaving student. "Time is of the essence. It is our hope that you will be able to analyze the sample quickly but I always want to be prepared. So these men will go to your apartment, pack a bag, anything that you might need for a few days. Any requests?"
"Uh, it may be a bit untidy. But yeah, clothes in dresser, uh, toothbrush and razor and whatnot in the bathroom. Oh, and have them grab my sweater. I left it on the chair. In the kitchen."
"Sweater?" She says it like he just asked for them to pack drugs, or a porn collection. Neither of which he has. Well, mostly.
"Yeah. Like a knitted sweater? With foxes?" Why is he such an idiot? Why did he say anything at all because now he has to explain and he is talking way too much. "It's like my favorite sweater and if, you know, I need to save the sun, I might as well be comfy. Or, like hey, even if you or anyone gets cold. It's really warm..."
"Stop talking, Dr Grace."
"Yep."
"Did you get that?" she asks the suit who now has his keys and helmet and bike. "Don't forget the sweater."
It seems everyone starts rushing around, people getting into cars in front of him and behind him and Grace is led to a large, black, obviously government vehicle.
"The sun's really dying, isn't it?"
Carl nods. "Yeah, it is."
So Grace gets in. The woman is already seated and on the phone. Carl gets in after him and thankfully it is one of those fancy government cars with two rows of seats facing each other so he doesn't have to ait in between them like a kid sitting between his parents in the principal's office. He ends up sitting on the opposite side of the bench of the somewhat-intimidating-but-also-somewhat-attractive woman, with Carl across from him.
They start driving, and the woman puts down her phone long enough to hand him a folder.
"It is about a 25 minute drive. Please, sign these forms."
She gets back on the phone and starts talking in a language he doesn't even recognize. He opens the folder to see a substantial stack of very fine print papers with official looking letterhead. There are at least a dozen of those little sticky note flag things marking where he has to sign.
Across from him, Carl hands him a pen.
"This is legit, right? I mean, I'm not being kidnapped or sold to the mob or anything."
"We're legit.'
"That's it? The kidnapping part doesn't have a response?"
But Carl doesn't respond. He glances to the woman - come on, what was her name?? - but she is ignoring them both.
"Should I, like, read all of this?" Why does he sound so stupid? Come on, Grace! You are an adult, too!
"Twenty-three minutes now. How fast do you read?"
And Grace knows that there isn't a chance in heck that he will be able to read all of the documents in twenty-three minutes. So with a shake of his head, he just starts signing. And signing. And writing his initials. The date. And more signing.
When he is done, Carl takes the folder and adds his signature to a few of the 'witness' boxes.
The woman is still on the phone but it almost sounds like she has switched languages. She has a tablet in her lap and wait, there's something in her hand, like a fidget, or....
Lava. His earth hackysack. The one from his classroom. She still has it!
He looks to Carl and opens his mouth but Carl just shakes his head.
Okay, then. Fine. Being kidnapped and sitting between the muscle and the thief. That's fine. He is fine with that. Totally okay.
---
It's totally not okay.
Because they arrive near the wharf, the end of a long series of warehouses and shipping containers. As soon as they stop, she leaves, still talking on the phone, holding her tablet under her arm and still holding his hackysack in her hand.
Carl exits next and Grace knows it's his turn. He gets out, grateful he doesn't trip, and looks around him.
It is busy!
Cars and vehicles and people in suits and military guys with guns. And there are a lot of important looking military people, too. People with lots of medals and those little color things on their uniforms, men and women and they are definitely not all American military or American government and holy heck, this is really happening.
The woman returns - not holding anything now, where did she put his hackysack?? - and gestures to him.
"This way, Dr. Grace."
He is led through some doors and there is a whole lab inside and wow, they have it decked out! And it is all secure and there is a change room and air lock and that's where they want him to go.
She leads him to the far side where a group of lab technicians in clean suits wait for him.
"Alright" she says. "I'll take your personal belongings."
She is holding out a her hand and he hesitates, his brain catching up, before he grabs his wallet and phone and put them in her hand.
"Lock these up," she says to Carl, then turns back to him. "Ok, these people will help you get changed and suited up and I'll check in once you're in the lab."
"Wait, hey, I'm not sure about this."
She just smiles. But it is a smile you would give to a dog that you want to do a trick, not a smile that you would give for actual reassurance. "You'll be great. Now, please, get ready."
He tries to speak but another suit guy approaches.
"Director Stratt, everyone is assembled."
Stratt! That's her name! Eva Stratt, he remembers now.
His victory is short lived as he is shuffled away. Before he knows it, he is being helped into a Hazmat suit, hooked up to a headset, connected to an air line, and elegantly shoved in a decontamination tent before entering the lab.
He looks over to to see Stratt and all those important government and military people he saw earlier behind a steel and glass barrier.
"Is all of this necessary?'
"Yes." And yeah, she still sounds like she is talking to a child. Except he is the child. "Please analyze the Petrova sample."
He turns, looking around.
"Just one thing," she adds. "The entire room is filled with argon so try not to rip your suit."
What??
"Uh. Am I expendable? Is that why you want me?"
"That's not the only reason." And it would almost sound like flirting except he thinks she was right when she said she didn't do jokes because there is definitely a lack of humor in her general direction.
"So, mostly, you don't care if I die?" And he chuckles because, come on, this can't be real.
But then she turns to talk to all those bigwigs with her instead of just responding.
"Hold on. You have to talk about it?"
She nods to the crowd before turning back to him.
"The consensus here is that it would be preferable if you do not die."
Not good at jokes? But apparently very adept at sarcasm and psychological torture.
"Thanks, guys."
And he swears they are all laughing, even Director Not-Good-At-Jokes-But-Still-A-Thief Stratt.
"Well, here goes nothing..."
He snaps open the latches.
---
Embarassing. That's what this whole thing is. Embarrassing. Because he was in that lab for hours and hours and they watched him and teased him and patronised him and even fell asleep on him (except Stratt - he guesses she never sleeps). He made first contact will alien life, killed alien life, and managed to discover that this alien life that lives on the sun is made of water.
Because of course it is.
The technicians help him out of the Hazmat suit. They hand him a duffle and - at least something went right - his favorite sweater is right on top. Aww, they even folded it!
They ask him if he needs anything and, to be a jerk, he says instant ramen. But in less than ten minutes, a thermos of ramen is in his hands. He heads into the access tunnel to eat and mope in private.
Until Stratt walks over. And stands right in front of him.
"Sorry if I over-reacted in there," he says. "Just realizing I was wrong about the only original idea I ever had."
She has no sympathy for his pity party. "Yeah. What else did you learn?"
He scoops up some noodles from the thermos. "They give off infrared light when they move. Like so much. I don't know how they store all that energy." He sets the thermos down. "But their wavelength is exactly the Petrova frequency."
"The light is how they move?"
He picks up the thermos again. "Yeah, they consume the sun's energy and then expel is for propulsion. They toot to scoot basically."
She looks startled as if trying to process his eloquence and he puts his ramen down, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Why did it go to Venus?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. We'll tell you."
"What?"
"I have 347 other biologists in 21 countriea mobilizing as we speak. So thank you for your help. I'm glad you didn't die."
She grabs her walkie talkie. "Let's pack this up!"
He sits, stunned, before jumping up to follow her.
"That's it?" He turns to Carl. "That's it, Carl?'
"Talk to her."
He turns back to Stratt. "You're taking all this stuff?"
"At the school, you said there were thousands of people more qualified that you, so..." She turns to face him.
"I was being modest."
"I don't need modest," she says simply. "I need people who think they're right when everyone else thinks theyre wrong. I need people who piss other people off."
"That's me!"
"Do you want to be on the project?"
He stutters. "If you.. you think I could help, then.."
"Just answer the question," Carl snaps.
"I want to help the world."
She nods. "I left you three dots."
"Just three, huh?"
"Plus the one you killed."
"I would take the three." Man, that Carl doesn't miss a thing!
Stratt looks at him expectedly. "Yes?"
"I'll take the dots."
"Get to work, Dr Grace." She tosses him his earth hackysack. "The world is counting on you."
Then she gets in the vehicle and drives off. Grace stares after her a moment before turning to Carl.
"She stole this from me," he explains, holding up the little ball.
"She gave it back to you."
"Hmm. She was going to leave me the three dots anyway, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
"So me begging just made me look even more pathetic."
Carl's face twitches like he's trying to hold back a smirk. "You got your ball back. She doesn't always do that."
Grace chuckles. "You mean she keeps the stuff she steals from other teachers she kidnaps?"
He doesn't expect a response until Carl responds softly.
"She still has my pen. It's got my name engraved on it and everything."
"Oh." Grace doesn't know what to say to that. So he looks around, nods, and heads back towards the lab.
"It was my favorite pen," Carl mutters quietly as Grace passes him.
"It's ok, Carl. I'll buy you a new pen."
"You ride a bike to work. You don't have money."
"You're right. I don't have money. I won't buy you a new pen. Sorry."
Carl grumbles but follows him as they head though the tunnel back to the lab.
"All right, Carl!" Grace claps his hands. "Let's do some science."
"You do science. I'm going to watch safely from back there."
Grace nods, shaking his head.
"Yep. I'm still expendable."
---