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The cell is dark and quiet. Stratt wasn’t sure why she’d expected it to be any different. She knew every centimeter of this place, and yet, somehow, it still managed to surprise her sometimes.
There were no guards here now; she’d dismissed them when she first arrived. It wasn’t as though she was particularly worried about an escape attempt (Grace might be the world’s leading expert in Astrophage, but he was hardly an escape artist, let alone strong or fast enough to fight off the guards. She remembered Grace standing in front of his school, saying “I ride a bike to work, and it’s not for the exercise”, and resolutely refused to think any further about Grace’s school, or his students; she’d thought enough about them in the last three days to last the rest of her life, and she knew that she was hardly done), but about what he might do to himself. He’d threatened to sabotage the mission, which he wouldn’t, and it wouldn’t be particularly hard to injure himself enough that sending him would be too dangerous.
She knew he wouldn’t. Dr. Grace was a coward, through and through, more worried about the preservation of his own life than the survival of the human race.
(She refused to think about how he demanded to be part of Project Hail Mary, even when he had the opportunity to back out. To go back to his classroom, to his students, to his perfectly average life. She wondered if it was because of those students, that he decided to stay. And if so, why they weren’t enough to die for.
She wondered if, in his place, she would be any different. If most of humanity would’ve been any different.)
The guards had obeyed her without question, of course. One of them had rapped his knuckles on the door, announcing that she was there, before he did.
Stratt wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she entered.
Grace was just... sitting there, on the cot, hands in his lap, looking at her. His eyes were dull, but there was still hate in them. Mostly, she just saw sadness.
He’d given up, she realized. He knew that he wasn’t going to escape. He knew that he was going to die.
(“You’ve murdered me!”)
(She would have taken the venom and hate in his usually kind eyes and soft voice then, over this.)
“What do you want.” His voice was cold, his gaze accusatory.
Stratt wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “You’re doing this for the survival of Earth,” she wanted to tell him. “You’ll be a hero. Every single person on this planet will know your name. Isn’t that enough?”
Or maybe she just wanted to hug him, and say that she was sorry. That she really didn’t want it to come to this, but it had, and there really were no other options. That she wished she’d had a dozen backups, instead of just one. That she wished she’d had the foresight to consider accidents like this one. That she wished there was any other option, than this one.
Stratt didn’t know what to say. For the first time in years, she was speechless. Being decisive and sharp wouldn’t do her any good now. Wouldn’t do him any good. What could she say? “I’m sorry, but your life isn’t worth all of humanity’s?” “You’ll be a hero, and all of Earth will know your name. Isn’t that enough?” “I didn’t want it to come to this”? None of that would change the circumstances. The situation.
“How are you?” is what came out.
Grace laughed. There was no mirth in it. There was no humour in any of this. “Oh, I’m great. Just great. You know, I’m going to die.” He stood up, taking a few steps towards her. She carefully didn’t flinch. “I’m going to die, alone, in space, because... what? Because of a measuring error?”
Her lips formed a thin line. She knew he wasn’t being callous about DuBois’ and Shapiro’s deaths intentionally, but it still made her angry. Good. Anger was good. It was anger that had kept her going, all this time. Anger at the world. At its governments, who had to try to kill each other instead of working together to save all of humanity. Anger at the fact that someone had to be the one to make the hard calls, to force everyone else to fall in line and focus on the bigger picture, the fate of humanity as a whole. The fact that she had to be that someone, because no one else was willing to do it. Anger at the fact that no one else understood why she was doing all of this, that she hated it even more than they did. Anger at the fact that two people she cared about, two people she would have wanted to consider friends, were dead, and instead of letting anyone grieve she had to just keep going, keep moving, because there was so little time left. Anger at the fact that she had to kill three people –three exceptional people–
“It’s not like you actually care,” Grace said, and she flinched at that. Why would you say that, she thought. Why would you say that, when you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in years? “All you care about is the mission.”
That isn’t true, she wanted to say. If there were any other choices I’d take them, and you should know that.
I wish you’d backed out when you had the chance.
“The Hail Mary leaves in three hours,” was what came out of her mouth. “I wanted to...” To what? Say goodbye? Say you’re sorry? What good will that do a man who’s already dead?
Grace’s lips formed a thin line. “To remind me what’s at stake,” he said. “Like I don’t already know.”
She closed her eyes. If I had any other options, she wanted to say, you know I would take them. “You’re humanity’s last hope,” she said instead. “And I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
Stratt opens her eyes. Her cell is still dark and quiet, and her fingernails had cut bloody crescent moons into her palms.
“I’m sorry,” she says, to no one– to a memory, to someone who will never hear her say it. “I’m sorry. I wish there had been another way.”
I wish I had never darkened your doorstep in the first place. I wish I had left you in that classroom where you belonged.
It’s too late for wishes now. Far, far too late.