Chapter Text
The video call was already in full swing when Eva Stratt strode into the room, brisk, and with a hard gleam in her eyes. An assistant came forward with a mug of coffee, dark and steaming, which she accepted with a nod. She turned to the projector screen that took up half the wall.
The room was silent save for the hum of the ship's engines and the occasional nervous cough. On the video, several world leaders were displayed in their respective boxes; the tidiness was pleasing to an extent but their awkward and subtle shifting slightly ruined the effect.
But good. They were uncomfortable. As they should be after the incident an hour ago. Her people were still cleaning up from it. Carl still sported a bloody brow and they'd had to lock away Dimitri's vodka, lest he attempt to drink away his perceived guilt at what happened.
Stratt sipped at her coffee, sparing a moment for a short lament at the lack of quality and depth in the roast. She was accustomed to many allowances for the project, but even she could accept some restrictions on what was available to her— coffee was one of them but this, however, was not.
She cleared her throat and finally addressed the screen. “Thank you for joining me. Before we begin, let me remind you of something.”
Here, she squared her shoulders and looked at each leader, usually so proud and resolute — if not also arrogant — and allowed for a measure of unease to creep in.
“Please remember that any and all attempts at denials or hesitation will only result in delays for the project which ultimately leads to millions more in danger of death in the years to come.”
Stratt let that land with them, let the precarious future play out in their minds as, no doubt, the advisors with them blanched at this new branching crisis. New numbers, new logistics… already they were overburdened.
One leader, a red cheeked man from Central America, let out a disbelieving huff. “Is that a threat, Stratt?”
Stratt's cool eyes swept over to him. “It is a statement of fact, Mr. President, but please take it as a threat if it better motivates you. We cannot complete this project with the absence of my leading science officer, not without disrupting the delicate timeline we've established.”
No one on screen would overtly admit it but Stratt knew they were rattled. A broken timeline to launch meant a longer rationing period; resources were already limited as it was, with no one able to afford much flexibility.
Stratt watched as heads bowed, mouths pinched tight, and more than a few sets of eyes shifted, no doubt looking toward the responsible party.
Her lips ticked up, just slightly, into a viper's smile, and she took another sip of her mediocre coffee. “Now, pleasantries aside, which one of your intelligence agencies foolishly kidnapped Dr. Grace?”
The name drop had its effect. Stratt could see the leaders’ resolve bend slightly under the weight of his value to the project. They maintained enough dignity to pause for a dramatic beat before—
“It was the American CIA.”
“It was a private third party, we claim no alliance—”
“Under the orders of your CIA director, I heard!”
“And they wrecked havoc in my country and—!”
“Well now it's a mess I now have to clean up—”
Satisfied, Stratt snapped her fingers behind her for Carl. Her security officer stepped from his spot in the shadows, glaring down at the group, somehow more imposing than the tall screen before him.
“Get what you can from them and send a team out. As many as you need,” she told him, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder. “And bandage up that cut.”
"Yes, ma'am."
The matter settled, Stratt turned away to deal with the next item on her agenda (crisis counseling and tighter security — perhaps a personal bodyguard for Dr. Grace, and herself…). Before she exited the room, she heard Carl address the leaders.
“It's okay. She's not mad, she's just inconvenienced.”