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Eva Stratt had been promised she wouldn’t need to take anybody’s bullshit when she was given the job of saving humanity from extinction. World leaders and law enforcement would bow to her, because her every move would be trusted to be in humanity’s best interest. She’d accepted those terms
Right now, this conversation was some bullshit. And she was extremely aware that she had not finished her job yet.
“Ms. Stratt,” Xi Jinping, Chairman of China’s Central Military Commission said, “I understand your scientist has made great contributions to astrophage studies, but he is not the only scientist to be able to do so, and frankly, he is overstepping.”
“I appreciate your concern but Dr. Grace has gotten us the most information on the astrophage with minimal resources and no team. And he is accosted to how this project is run. I’m not firing him to hire a sub-par replacement I’ll have to retrain,” she responded through grit teeth, not bothering to keep her tone neutral. Who cares about offending anyone, she’s here to get her job done.
“And frankly,” she finished, “I don’t know what you are talking about, when you say Dr. Grace is overstepping.”
“We are saying,” he started, but she cut him off.
“I also do not care.”
“You’re giving a civilian access to classifying government information,” John Ratcliffe, director of the CIA butted in, “He went through no background checks. He has no qualifications besides a PhD in microbiology. We did some digging and he is an eighth grade science teacher that you are treating as a second-in-command.”
“I am not treating him as a second-in-command,” Eva lied, “I am treating him as the world’s leading expert on the thing we need to know.”
“There are so many more qualified people,” Sergei Shoigu, Russian Defense Minister deadpanned, “Pick one of them. Less security risk. More testing on how they do in stressful environments. You like that, no?”
“I’d like if this meeting of nations’ secret and less-secret militaries," she gestured to her computer, where at least eighty different officers were listening to her over Zoom, “was more focused on the matter at hand. Presently, my climatologist has assured me that nuking Antarctica—”
“We hear you, and we are working on your plan,” Fabien Mandon, French Chief of Defence Staff said, “We ask very little of you, Mademoiselle Stratt—”
She’ll remember that whenever France asked anything of her for the rest of her life.
“We just ask you to find someone more qualified than Monsieur Grace to be your right hand man,” he finished.
“I refuse—” she gripped her desk.
“Give us one good reason you have to keep Ryland Grace around, or we come after you for kidnapping him once this is all over and done,” John Ratcliffe.
Everyone quieted down. Because it's not often you find someone willing to say the quiet part out loud. Eva has been aware, since the beginning, that saving humanity will require breaking the law. They told her she’d be allowed to do so—she even had a piece of paper essentially making her immune to arrest, signed by every member of the UN—but she’s no idiot. She has known the second that she isn’t needed anymore, she’ll be thrown in jail for the rest of her life, if she’s lucky. If she’s not, the electric chair.
“I’ll look into it,” she replied in a monotone voice, before slamming her computer shut.
She forced herself to take a few deep breaths while grabbing her tablet, and pulled up her contract. Because, yes, this was her job that she was being paid to do, and she had a contract. It outlined the parameters of her authority—that being none—and exactly what was expected of her. And some other hokey bullshit she didn’t bother thinking about too much, but that’s exactly where she went to today.
There was a section detailing who she was supposed to keep on the carrier. Sailors, herself, a spouse, and the most qualified person for any of the listed jobs. Underneath, there were job descriptions like “engineer” or "assorted scientist” or "translator.” She tried to think of how Dr. Grace could fit into any category other than microbiologist, before a much simpler solution occurred to her.
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“Dr. Grace, would you sign these for me,” Stratt burst in through the lab doors holding a thick stack of documents. Internally, he sighed. It must have escaped containment, because Shapiro looked up from her test to glance at him.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s get this over with,” he said, as Stratt put the stack on his desk. He sat down and was about to search for a pen in his mess of a drawer, before she pulled one out of her own pocket and offered it to him.
“Thanks,” he twirled the pen through his fingers, “Have you already read these or do I need to.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve already approved all of them, they just need a second signature.”
“Thank god,” he smiled, grateful as he pulled paper after paper out of the monstrous stack and signed the bottom. He didn’t read what was on it, he didn’t even look up. They couldn’t be that important, if Stratt came to him to cosign them.
So he zoomed off without a thought, signing and signing and signing. He decided he’d go for the world record in “Fastest Fat Stack of Documents Signed Ever” and boy, his little pen was up for the challenge. It really glided across the page. Maybe he’ll keep it, if Stratt doesn’t actively ask for it back.
“Aaaand done!” He finished a few minutes later, hand cramping. Stratt silently grabbed the papers, not seeming all that impressed by his definitely record-breaking performance.
“Are they taking a test?” she asked, looking over to DuBois and Shapiro, who were hard at work on their open-ended question.
“How else will I know if they’ve learned?” You can take the man out of the eighth grade classroom but you can’t take the eighth grade classroom out of the man.
Maybe he didn’t like the way he phrased that thought.
“...okay,” she said. Before she left, she also got Dubois to sign one of the papers too. Must have needed a third signature. But soon she was gone, and Grace went back to doing what he always did when his students were busy taking a test: play tetris while his students struggled between guessing C or B
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“Ms. Stratt, to what do I owe the—” John Ratcliffe started, seemingly surprised she’d taken that time out of her schedule to talk to him.
“I don’t expect to hear any more comments on Dr. Grace’s presence,” she cut to the point, holding up their marriage certificate.
Her tiny, harsh cursive was contrasted by Dr. Grace’s loopy signature, but complemented Dubois’s straightforward print on the line labeled “Witness.”
John Ratcliffe’s mouth fell open, and he sputtered out, “Con—congratulations?”
“Thank you,” she didn’t smile at his obvious confusion, but she really wanted to.
“Anyway, I hope you understand when I say this, but if you ever impede Project Hail Mary’s progress again I will have you thrown out of office and arrested” she didn’t need to yell, or scream, or try to intimidate. The fact that they both knew she could, and that she wasn’t bluffing was enough to make her statement threatening, “Clear?”
“Y–yes. Very clear, Mrs…Grace,” he responded, unsure of himself.
“You stick with Stratt.”
“Of course ma’am.”
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“Ry!!!” IIyukhina came bounding up to him in the hall, right after he had given DuBois and Shapiro their graded tests back. Both of them got A pluses, but who would expect differently of two of the smartest people on the planet.
“Hey IIyukhina!” he waved to her. He felt a little awkward. He never knew what to call her. Everyone in Stratt’s vat stuck to calling each other by their last names, save for Shapiro and IIyukhina. Shapiro only called DuBois by his first name, but IIyuhkina had nicknames for everyone on the ship. Grace didn’t have a problem with it, not at all, in fact, he’d love to call her by a fun little nickname. Except he didn’t really know how to pronounce her first name and its way too late to ask. So IIyukhina it was.
“You dog,” she punched his arm, “You dirty, dirty dog.”
“What’d I do?” he laughed, rubbing his arm. Ouch.
“Putting a ring on it, eh?” she wiggled her eyebrows.
“...what?”
She didn’t seem to notice his question, or at least she didn’t respond. Instead, she laughed, “I am happy for you, although I will admit, a little jealous.”
“...of what?”
“You,” she rolled her eyes, smirking, and didn’t continue further.
“Ha ha, very funny,” he said after a second, “What specifically?”
“You and Eva! She is quite the lady. You know, if you two ever want a third—”
“Woah!” he held his arms up in an X-shape, “I thought I’ve told you guys before. We’re not together. We’re not having sex.”
IIyukhina tilted her head, “But you are married?”
“We’re what??” Grace asked, heart stopping. He’s ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t ever start dating Stratt, let alone get married to her.
“That is what I’ve heard,” she looked genuinely confused, “Everyone says you two are married. Martin says he was the witness.
“IIyukhina,” he gripped his chest, willing himself not to have a shock induced heart attack, “Everyone is wrong. It’s a dumb rumor. I guarantee it.”
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“WE’RE WHAT?!?” he screamed, reacting so viscerally he physically staggered back.
“We’re married,” Stratt repeated, as if he just hadn’t heard her.
Grace whipped his glasses off, as if that would help him better understand the situation, “When???? Why????”
“Because we’ve been dating this whole time. Haven’t you noticed?”
He looked her in the eye, and for a terrifying second he believed her. Then she cracked a small smile.
“You—you poop-head!” he yelled as she chuckled. God, she was gonna kill him one day.
“Seriously though, why are we married?” he asked once she’d stopped laughing.
“It’s for the project,” she answered, as if that made any sense. It must, though, because Stratt doesn’t make decisions for no reason.
“Okay then,” he shrugged. Ryland Grace is a married man now, he guessed. He then went off deeper into the Chinese government aircraft carrier he was sorta-kidnapped onto to study cellular life from space in order to stop the sun from dying. What he’s saying is, weirder things have happened to him than being married without him knowing.