Chapter Text
I spend a day sorting through theories that amount to semi-informed hypotheticals at best and desperate guesses at worst - one poor soul just sends in a single shrugging kaomoji, subject line ‘idfk’, and, you know what, you and me both, pal - and proposals that sound vaguely flimsy all across the board, but could maybe be combined into something workable with a lot of creative editing. I discuss the shortlist with the colleagues whose opinions I value and trust the most. I try to discuss it with Rocky, but he bullies me into lying down and having a nap instead. In fairness, at that point I hadn’t slept for 24 hours and was getting noticeably woozy, so maybe he was right to do that.
Finally, I drag myself into Stratt’s office and present her with the two main options.
A) Project Hail Mary continues as planned. All resources go into the construction of a ship that will be able to carry the three chosen astronauts to Tau Ceti, and investigate there. Whatever may or may not be happening to the sun is a secondary priority at best, which can be investigated after the launch, if the phenomenon is even still ongoing then.
B) We divert the Project’s focus towards our solar system. We get to the Petrova line as quickly as possible, throw everything we have at it, to figure out what is happening and how we can make it keep happening. Another ArcLight-style collection probe first, and then potentially a manned craft, for more sophisticated testing and data collection. We miss our best window for a Tau Ceti mission, but if a Sun mission succeeds, if we find a reason for the change and can cling to this status quo, we’re in the clear decades before the Beetles would’ve returned to earth, decades before global cooling will start ravaging the planet. Our astronauts won’t have to die. Millions of people won’t have to die. It’s risky, yes - but we’re just trading one hail mary for another, aren’t we?
After I’ve finished talking, finished putting a stack of folders on her desk that contain proposals that might be of use to Option B, Stratt is silent for a long time. She looks out the window. It’s rainy today, the sun hidden behind heavy low-hanging clouds above a tumultuous sea that reflects in her eyes.
“What do you think?” She asks me - even though I can see in her eyes that she’s already made her choice.
I still consider the question carefully. I think of Yáo Li-Jie and Olesya Ilyukhina and Martin DuBois, shining with such radiant bravery that my chest hurts when I look at them, sometimes. I think of my kids back in San Francisco, too smart to not be afraid of the end of the world, knowing full well that the too-few adult years they get will be harsh and exhausting and painful.
I think of at least two decades of slowly freezing, waiting and hoping and praying, hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee and holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners and please please please PLEASE PLEASE-
I think of the little metal ship sitting on my desk, which I’ve realised is a miniature replica of what the full Hail Mary will one day look like, when we are ready to send her off into the unknown. All the hopes of humanity, carried on a wing and a prayer, on the backs of three remarkable people who will die for us. Maybe, despite their best efforts, we’ll die with them.
I swallow.
“Option B,” I say, willing my voice to keep steady. The words taste bitter in my mouth. We could get more data from the alternative. The sun is so close, Venus is so close, it’s basically a weekend trip, we can do that anytime. Tau Ceti is far away, and we’ll only get one shot at it. If I say A, in the best-case-scenario, by the time the Beetles return we might have gathered plenty of local data, and would be able to compare it with that from our resilient distant neighbour. Option A is the smart bet, the conservative bet, the safe bet. Stratt likes her bets as safe as they can get. You can’t imagine the things she’ll do to make a bet even 0.01% safer.
But if we win with Option B, we win big. More importantly, we win fast. That’s worth a lot, when it comes to humanity’s chances for survival. And as long as the phenomenon persists - which can't be guaranteed yet, and that's the problem - we can have multiple attempts at investigating it. A margin of error, the chance to try again - I'm desperate to have that. But Stratt isn’t. Stratt’s approach is more ‘we do it once, and, god willing, we do it right’. I know that.
I don’t explain my reasoning. I hang my head, and wait for Stratt to overrule me.
“Alright,” she says simply, pulling the stack of ‘let’s see what our sun is up to, science-style’ proposals closer to herself. “Option B it is.”
“Um.” I blink. “What?”
“You’ve been very helpful, thank you, Dr. Grace.” Stratt opens the first folder, collecting potential improvements to an ArcLight 2.0 probe. “You can go now.”
“Wait. We’re going with- the sun, and-”
“Yes.” Stratt shoots me a thin smile. I think I recognise it as her ‘you are being very trying, please go away’ smile. Ah. I quickly get up and make for the door.
“Give Mr. Rockwell my best,” she calls after me.
“Hah!” I grin at her over my shoulder. “Noooo-no-no, I will definitely not do that.” And I don’t think that she genuinely expected me to.
Rocky and I watch the launch of the probe together, side by side in a crowd of other scientists and engineers. Stratt wanted to prioritise speed and quick first findings over equipping it with more complex data collection technology, since a manned mission will be able to do almost everything more competently and efficiently, so the main thing that was changed from the original ArcLight line is that this version is now astrophage-powered - but it still got a new name regardless. That’s the MidnightSun probe, off to a not-so-distant star, going for another headfirst dip into the Petrova line.
(Godspeed, little trooper. Bring us back good news.)
When we get confirmation from the probe control team that launch has been successful and the MidnightSun is on its way towards the Petrova line, everyone around us heaves sighs of relief or lets out cheers, some people throw back a swallow or two of alcohol - and then, within minutes, the crowd disperses. Back to work. We’ve got a manned craft to refit, and every launch window we can possibly feasibly barely catch is better than the ones after it. We know we haven’t got a moment to lose.
(If the sun starts dying again before we can get up there… no. No, I’m not thinking about that. I have enough nightmares about it, I’m not going to let my brain gnaw on the thought during my waking hours, too.)
“That was pretty cool, huh?” I bump my shoulder into Rocky’s as we walk back to our workstations at the main lab. “We just witnessed the successful launch of the very first astrophage-powered spacecraft! Awesome, right!? Did you see how smooth its ascent was? Did you see?”
(It doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore, in the grand scheme of Project Hail Mary, to have one little probe go into the sky without blowing up - but it is. It should be. It’s a HUGE deal, a lot of work went into it, and successfully utilising astrophage fuel is one heck of a scientific advancement.
I keep imagining my kids, somewhere on the mainland, watching footage of the MidnightSun boldly going where ArcLight has gone before. I hope their substitute science teacher is showing it to them, discussing in class what made it possible, what it might do.
I hope they know earth is fighting tooth and nail for their future.)
“I see,” Rocky shrugs. “Boring.”
“Bo- boring!?” I nearly trip over my feet in how quickly I whirl to stare at Rocky, who does indeed look pretty unimpressed. “Wow. You’re a tough crowd, bud. What would it take to impress you?”
“Hmmh.” Rocky hums, thoughtful, angling his head, fidgeting with his fingers in what I recognise as his thinking-fidget. “...would have been better as puppet show.”
I laugh. Yeah, should’ve expected that. Rocky and his puppet shows. He’s got a real obsession, it’s kind of cute. He also says this at the end of every movie we watch together, even if he really liked it - it would always be better as a puppet show, in his opinion.
“When all this is over,” I promise him, “I’m taking you - and Adrian, if they want to come - to one of the dinosaur puppet shows at the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles. I accompanied a field trip there once, and all the kids loved it. For weeks afterwards I kept telling them, guys, I’m supposed to teach you that mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell, we can’t talk about dinosaurs again, but they just wouldn’t let it be.” I sigh, but it’s a fond sigh. “God, I miss teaching.”
Rocky’s silent for a while. Then, “does Grace… do you want to go back to teach?”
“Yes.” I haven’t really thought about it all that much, but. Yeah. I’ve got connections now, I could probably get back into academia if I pulled a few of the strings that got tangled in Project Hail Mary. I just don’t want to. Whenever I’ve dared to imagine an ‘afterwards’ to all this, then it’s always me in a classroom, teaching kids. Old friends used to feel bad for how I got stuck in a dead-end job. But, you know what? To me, that’s a happy end. I want that again. I want it so bad it hurts. “I really… I mean, not now, I can’t yet, but. Afterwards, yeah.”
“Why not now?” Rocky’s frowning. “Sun is fixed.”
“We don’t know that, we still-”
“Sun is fixed.” Rocky repeats, with an unshakeable certainty that is kind of baffling. Where did that come from? “You can go home, and teach again.”
“Listen, Rocky, it’s a sweet thought, but. No. No, I can’t.” I smile weakly. “For one, Stratt would never let me.”
“She should.” Rocky’s expression darkens immediately. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up our benevolent dictator. “You have done enough. Not needed anymore. Should be free to go.”
“Are you- geez Louise, Rocky, are you trying to get rid of me?” I frown. Seriously, where did that come from!? Rocky’s being really odd, and not in the usual way. Is this him wanting to go home, to Adrian, to whatever he’s been doing before, and he’s just projecting it on me? “I’m not leaving yet.”
“You should.”
“No.”
“You should!”
“No.” I rub my hand over my face. Oh, we’re really doing this, are we?
I pull Rocky aside into an empty corridor, I don’t want people squeezing past us while we’re- are we fighting? Is that what it is? Rocky’s getting all prickly and petulant, and I’m… I need him to understand. That’s all.
“Okay.” I clap my hands together. “Thought experiment. Let’s imagine I decide to leave the Project. Let’s imagine Stratt lets me hitch a ride off this aircraft carrier tomorrow, and Grover Cleveland Middle School is ready and willing to re-employ me. Let’s imagine that, by next Monday, I’m standing in front of my old class. Do you know what will happen then, Rocky?”
“You will be happy?” Rocky challenges, arms crossed in front of his chest. “You will feel at home?”
“No, I-” I hesitate. “...well. Yes. But only for a minute. Because then, one of them will ask, ‘Mr. Grace, where have you been all this time.’ What will I say then? Project Hail Mary’s classified. I suppose I could maybe get away with admitting I was part of the Petrova Taskforce. Then they’ll ask what I did there, can’t really tell them that, either. And at some point, inevitably, those kids, my kids, they’re going to look up at me and ask, ‘Mr. Grace, why did you leave the Taskforce? Aren’t the dots still eating the sun? Are we all gonna die?’” I can hear them say it. I can hear their voices in my head, as if I’d only taught a class yesterday. “What do I tell them? Huh, Rocky? What do I say?”
“Sun is fixed,” Rocky repeats, stubbornly. “Tell them that. Easy.”
“Sure. Okay. Good news, guys! Sun is fixed! No more dimming!” I do little jazz hands. That’s Rocky’s influence. He doesn’t mimic me as he usually would. “Yes, Olivia? You’ve got a follow-up question? See, Rocky, my kids always have follow-up questions, they’re smart and curious like that. So, I call on Imaginary Olivia. D’you know what she’s going to ask me? It’s a really simple question. Favourite question for children. They love asking it. I used to hear it a hundred times a week, got a little sick of it to be honest.”
(I really shouldn’t get so upset about this, but. Does Rocky not understand this? What it’s like? Does he not understand!?)
“She’s going to ask me why! Just that! Just, why. And I’m not able to tell her.” The thought alone turns my stomach a little bit. Terrified children looking to me for answers, and I’ll have nothing to offer them. “I can’t- I need to know why, before I can leave. Not for myself, not for my own ego or my peace of mind, but so I can look those kids in the eye and tell them everything’s gonna be alright - and then give them an age-appropriate explanation for why. So, I’m staying. I’m staying until the MidnightSun data gets back, until the Mary has done her roundtrip, until I know what the fudge is going on with the sun!”
“Is FIXED!” Rocky snaps, and something about his voice - I can feel it in my chest, like a dissonant chord ringing through the whole corridor. “Why stupid, stupid Grace not accept!?”
“Yeah, see? Why.” I laugh, but this time it’s an unkind sound. “Because I’m a scientist, Rocky, and you’re thinking like an engineer. As long as it doesn’t explode, who cares why it works, right? But I do. I care. I need a reason. And you would, too, if you weren’t so goddamn-”
Wait.
Wait, no.
I blink. Swallow down whatever I was about to say. It wasn’t anything good. I would have regretted it.
…I’m already regretting what I did say. Jiminy Christmas, I can’t believe I still get like this when I’m worked up. I thought I’d left this side of me behind in academia, but I guess not. At least I didn’t say the c-word (carbon) again - I don’t think Rocky would appreciate it as much when it’s directed at him.
“Is that what Grace thinks?” Rocky’s expression is very, very blank all of a sudden. “Of me?”
“No. No, that’s-” I take a step back. I’ve been crowding Rocky against the wall. He’s been letting me, even though he could subdue me with just the strength he has in his little finger. Geez, I feel like a monster. And maybe I am one. “I don’t think that, I’m sorry. I got- I didn’t mean any of that.”
“Hm. You never do. I know.” Rocky’s eyes are blank, too. Then, after a moment’s pause, “you want the reason? I can give. Only engineer’s reason, of course. Not worth much, to Grace’s clever science brain, but maybe-”
“Don’t, Rocky,” I groan. “I was being a butt. You’re brilliant, you’re amazing, you’re way more use to this Project than I am, honestly. That’s what I really think. Can we drop it now? Just drop the whole thing?”
“...fine.” Rocky says, and then takes a few steps back to the main corridor.
Then he stops.
Turns back towards me.
“Are you not coming?” He asks.
Huh. I didn’t realise he still wanted me around, even after that conversation. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised - despite the relative-social-isolation thing he was doing back when I first met him, I think Rocky actually hates being alone.
“Right behind you, buddy,” I say, and sheepishly follow.
“Hey, Rocky?” I call out to him, later, before I head off to meet DuBois and Shapiro to run through some simulations with them. Our training timeline has just been accelerated dramatically. “In the name of fairness… how about you insult my profession, too? So we can be even. I’m hereby giving you an official free voucher to say the worst thing you can come up with. Okay?”
(This isn’t exactly how they teach you to do conflict resolution in the classroom, but I still feel weird and guilty about the whole thing, and if there’s one thing that reliably cheers Rocky up, then it’s insulting me.)
All I get from Rocky in response is a thumbs-down (he’s not even turning to look at me, ouch), so I figure he’s still mad, and I should just… give him time to work through it.
Turns out Rocky actually needed that time to come up with a really good insult.
Three days later, right as I’m taking a sip from my can’t-believe-it’s-not-coffee cup - coffee beans are steadily becoming a more rare and expensive commodity as harvests are producing meagre yields, so now we’re drinking coffee substitute with added caffeine, which… is much better than it sounds, honestly - Rocky turns to me and says, gravely, “astrobiologists would not find intelligent life up their own anal cavity. Statement.”
I laugh so hard that I snort out the not-coffee through my nose - to Rocky’s immediate horror and regret - and am not able to smell anything but roasted grain for the rest of the week.
Guess I deserved that.