Work Text:
Abigail Eckhart pressed a button on her voice recorder.
“Do you play chess?” Abby grabbed a small, ratty box from her tote bag. It rattled as she held it up. The box claimed to host “Chess, Checkers, and Chinese Checkers!”, but Abby had lost most of the pieces to the other two games decades ago.
The woman across the table from Abby lifted one eyebrow slightly, bemused at this sudden offer. “Not in many years.”
“I thought it might be nice to break the ice a bit, rather than jumping straight into the interview.” Abby opened up the box, unfolded the board, and started setting up, not waiting for a response. She set the black pieces on her own side of the board, slowly placing each pawn as she watched her interviewee slowly lean forward in her chair. Her once red hair was now mostly white and her face was etched with wrinkles, but the glint in her eyes had Abby doubting if this woman was really in her seventies.
“Do you bring a chess set to all of your interviews?” Even though Abby knew the woman was Dutch, her accent still sounded unplaceably European to Abby’s American ears.
Abby nodded. “I also have Uno if that’s more your speed.”
The woman almost let herself laugh. “Chess is fine.”
During her senior year of high school—over twenty years ago now, she realized—Abby had read Agatha Christie’s Cards on the Table, where Hercule Poirot solves a murder by divining personality traits of four bridge players through the game’s score sheets. At the time, she had thought the story was full of it (and it didn’t help that she had known nothing about bridge), but now, as a journalist, she found Poirot’s methods quite helpful. And, where bridge requires four players, chess only needs two.
Eva Stratt, it seemed, preferred the Spanish Opening. Traditional, like the Italian Game, but a little more aggressive—and, unfortunately for Abby, harder for black to fight against. Abby found herself glad that Stratt had not played in so long. Her moves were unrelenting, decisive, assertive.
Abby managed to keep herself ahead, not letting Stratt take too much material. Stratt played quickly, too, making Abby doubt her own caution, compelling her to wonder if there was something Stratt saw that she did not. Abby held that doubt until she noticed a mistake—a seemingly innocuous move, just Stratt’s pawn taking one of her own, but with that move, Abby knew the game was hers.
It was ten more moves before Stratt, resigning rather than playing to checkmate, admitted defeat.
“Exactly how many years has it been since you’ve played?” Abby asked, incredulous at Stratt’s skill despite her loss.
“However long I’ve been in here,” she stated as she gestured to the prison walls.
Twenty-five years, thought Abby.
The Centre Pénitentiaire de Rennes was certainly one of the better prisons in France to be placed in—especially as a woman. While most of the prison system was incredibly overcrowded and underfunded, even before astrophage’s influence, Rennes focused exclusively on female inmates serving long sentences, allowing its population to sit at a mere 300 women. Stratt was only one of eight other women serving life sentences here, though she was certainly the most well known.
Abigail Eckhart and Eva Stratt currently sat in the prison’s media center—part library, part supervised computer lab—as it had closed for the day, letting the interview remain uninterrupted. Their surprisingly comfortable, if dirty, armchairs sat near a west-facing window. Through it shone the setting sun that threatened to blind them both if they stayed here too long. Only one gendarme stood guarding the doorway.
Abby swept the chess pieces back into the disintegrating box they had come from.
“You play chess so well,” Stratt stated. “Why not get a better set? One that isn’t,” she gestured, “falling apart.”
“Well, first of all, this one plays just as good as any other set,” Abby responded as she distractedly puts the lid back, “and second,” she returned the chess set to her bag and grabs her notebook from underneath it, “I’m supposed to be interviewing you—not the other way around.” She pulled the pen from behind her ear.
“So,” Abby began, “for the first time in the twenty-six years since the Hail Mary launched, you’ve agreed to an interview. Why?” White moves first. Pawn to e4. Straight to the point.
“You have been asking for this interview for the past five years,” Stratt rebutted, “willing to fly all the way to France despite your minimal salary. Why?” Pawn to e5. Not attacking, per se, but stopping any forward movement.
“If I answer your questions,” asked Abby, “will you actually answer mine?” Knight to f3. Control the center.
“Maybe we ask one question each, so nobody’s frustrated. Like a normal conversation.” Knight to c6. Equalize.
“Well, I asked first, so you answer first.” Bishop to b5. Threaten black’s knight.
“Actually,” Stratt clarified, “I believe I asked the first question.” Pawn to a6. Attack white’s bishop.
“So you did.” Damn. Bishop retreats to a4. Abby glanced at the box peeking out of her tote bag. “It was a gift, from one of my middle school teachers. He taught me to play, then forced me to join the chess club so I would leave him alone at lunch.” Maybe giving a bit more information than necessary would incline Stratt to give Abby more than frustrating, overbearing personality.
Black’s move. Stratt paused, seeming to muse upon Abby’s story—but Abby knew she was only thinking about how to phrase her own answer. Stratt breathed in. “You ask why now, after twenty-six years. I believe you already know the answer.” Knight to f6. Threaten the e4 pawn.
“I may,” Abby conceded, “but I’d like to hear it from you.” White castles on the king’s side. E4 pawn is undefended, but the king must remain protected.
“It took the Hail Mary thirteen years to arrive at Tau Ceti.” Abby noted how assured Stratt sounded that the Hail Mary had, in fact, safely arrived at Tau Ceti. “It takes another thirteen for any information to return. The window for the probes to return finally opened last month.” She paused, looking at Abby to see if she was satisfied with this non-answer. Abby was not. “I find myself much more willing to subject myself to interviewers when they actually have things to ask me about my work—and now that work has become relevant again. It’s tiring, being asked if I regret anything I’ve done or being accused of irreparably destroying the planet’s climate when I’ve already pleaded guilty.” Bishop to e7. The e4 pawn is left alone.
“Some would say your work on the project has always been relevant.” Rook to e1. The pawn is finally defended.
“And are you one of those ‘some’?” Pawn to b5. Threaten the bishop.
“Most of the people still alive today wouldn’t be, if not for Antarctica.” Bishop retreats to b3.
Stratt huffed, yet the shadow of a smirk crossed her face. “Even as a journalist, you should learn to answer other people’s questions—not just ask them.” Black king-side castles.
“Well, it is your turn to ask one, per our deal—I’ll get some practice. Is that the one you want me to answer right now?” Pawn to c3.
“Not yet. I believe I asked one before.” Pawn to d5. Eva Stratt sunk further into her chair and awaited an answer as she brought steepled fingers to her lips. The dangerous Marshall gambit—dangerous for white, that is, if Abby chooses to take it. She does.
Abby remembered. “Why did I ask to interview you? Any reporter worth their salt would jump at the chance to interview the Eva Stratt—especially while the others in the Petrova Taskforce are regathering.” White’s e-file pawn takes d5 pawn.
“Except,” Stratt cut in, “you aren’t a reporter. You’re a science correspondent for a tiny paper based in San Francisco. This interview, quite frankly, has nothing to do with your job. So why come all the way to France?” Black knight takes white’s pawn at d5.
“Nope—my turn now.” White knight takes black’s pawn at e5. Abby needed to return Stratt’s assertiveness with her own if she wanted to remain on equal footing with this woman. “The Petrova Taskforce is reassembling in preparation for the return of the Hail Mary’s probes, this time without you as the head. In a world now lacking the international unity that allowed the project to progress so far twenty-six years ago, what obstacles do you believe the Taskforce may face this time around?”
Abby saw Stratt’s gaze move to stare over her shoulder as she left her own question behind, genuinely considering her answer. With how strangely this interview had begun, Abby was glad to see that Stratt was at least taking the game she had suggested seriously rather than just waiting to ask her own questions. Maybe, Abby thought, she should consider answering Stratt’s questions for real.
“Well, even before the beetles arrive, the Taskforce will surely be working on probes that can be sent to either the sun or Venus—perhaps they will even consider a manned mission, in case the solution from Tau Ceti could not be handled by a simple probe. And, unfortunately, space exploration infrastructure is not nearly what it used to be.” Stratt paused, then returned her gaze to Abby. “I expect that most problems will not stem from anything scientific. They will be diplomatic in nature—what countries are willing to dust off their space programs? What leaders are most willing to risk spending money on a project that may fail rather than food? And if the Taskforce is made up of merely scientists this time… those problems will be much harder to solve.” Black knight takes white’s knight at e5.
Despite her active voice recorder, Abby frantically took notes. Stratt waited for Abby to finish. “Okay,” Abby conceded. “I’ll answer yours now.” Rook takes black’s knight at e5.
Stratt took time to word her question carefully. “Part of my willingness to be interviewed today is because of the beetles’ return window opening. You have even kept to this line of questioning so far. Yet, if I remember correctly”—Abby knew that she did—“every few months for the past five years I have received a request for an interview by one Abigail Eckhart.” Pawn to c6. “I won’t ask for what original reason, as I’m sure your later questions will make this clear, but I will ask this: why have you been so persistent? Surely you thought I would never say yes after the first few years.”
“My persistence and the original reason are actually very intertwined,” Abby admitted. Pawn to d4.
“I will wait for the answer then.” Bishop to d6.
“You’re sure? You don’t want to ask another? Or tell me to answer anyway?” Rook to e1.
“I am patient.” Black queen to h4. Patience is arguably (even inarguably, to some) the most important quality in a chess player.
“As long as you’re certain…”
Stratt nodded once.
“Alright.” Abby turned the notebook back to her prepared questions—then discarded them, turning back to her page of notes. “You say the Taskforce needs a diplomat. Is there anyone in particular you believe could do the job well? Someone specific they should bring in?” Pawn to g3.
“Yes,” Stratt stated. “Me.” Queen to h3.
“You?” Abby exclaimed. Rook to e4.
“There’s no one alive who knows the project better, no one who understands the crisis like I do. If they need a diplomat, I am the logical choice.” Pawn to g5.
Abby could not believe what she was hearing. “You’re in prison for war crimes!” White queen to f1.
“I remember—don’t worry. But, Ms. Eckhart, you have already brought up that countless people, even more than have already died, would be lost if not for those decisions. I do not make any decision lightly, and never for myself—something I believe few others on this planet could claim.” Black queen to h5.
Abby was too dumbfounded to continue writing her notes. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” She blinked. “Do you think they’ll try to contact you?” Knight to d2.
“They will if they’re smart.” Bishop to f5.
“I’m sorry, I don’t–” Abby closed her eyes and exhaled a short breath. “Your trial is the most-watched live-stream in history—still, to this day. You don’t think that that, or your crimes, or your prison sentence, or your reputation as the ‘world’s dictator’ have hurt your effectiveness as a diplomat at all?” Pawn to f3.
“I will answer your question, even though it is my turn to ask,” Stratt replied. She languidly sat up in her chair. “I don’t think my reputation would not hurt my efforts. I believe quite the opposite, in fact. However, I also believe that, even with this encumbrance, my expertise and my ability to remain unbiased and impassive make me the best candidate.” Knight to f6.
“You sound pretty biased to me,” said Abby. “And you’re right, I’m not a reporter, because if I were I’d be able to keep this to myself right now and move on with the interview. And, yeah, I’m a science correspondent, so I’m not really up on my logical fallacies or conflicts of interest or whatever the hell this is, but I’m pretty sure that picking yourself as the most qualified candidate counts as a fucking bias.” Rook to e1.
“Est-ce que tout va bien?” the gendarme called from her post.
“Ne t'inquiète pas,” Stratt replied. “C'est juste pour le plaisir.”
Abby, unfortunately poorly versed in French, stared at Stratt, waiting for an explanation, wondering if she was about to get thrown out.
“I simply explained that we’re having a bit of fun. No need for you to leave until you’ve actually attempted to murder me.” A-file rook to e8.
“Excuse me?!”
“Why else would you come here under false pretenses?”
“Isn’t it enough to want to ask you some simple questions to your face?” White rook takes e-file black rook.
“Wouldn’t your science credentials have been enough reason if you just wanted to ask me some simple questions? But setting up an interview in a remote part of the prison would require something more.” The remaining black rook immediately takes back.
“If you’re so sure I’m out to get you, why did you even invite me here in the first place? You could have said no like every other time I asked you and stayed safe in your little hidey hole, safe from your decisions and their consequences on the rest of the world.” Pawn to a4.
“What other consequences would you like me to take on for crimes that, I will remind you again, I pleaded guilty to.” Queen to g6.
“You still haven’t been charged with murder!” Abby cried, her voice breaking. White’s a-file pawn takes black’s pawn at b5—and with this small move, white has unintentionally started down the road to defeat.
Abby had prepared so much for this interview. She had learned everything she could about Stratt’s methods, played that chess game to learn even more, and tried so hard to seem friendly. She really had tried! There were even points where Abby felt like she had overestimated Stratt—Stratt gave up her own questions, answered Abby’s genuinely. Sure, she was discerning, and sure, she knew more about Abby than Abby was comfortable with, but it had seemed like twenty-five years in prison had diminished her influence.
It was only now that Abby realized that all of this—even accusing Abby of attempted murder—was part of Stratt’s game.
“Ms. Eckhart,” Stratt breathed, “what was your teacher’s name? The one who gave you the chess set.” Bishop to d3.
Abby took a deep breath in. Slowly, she let it out. She stared, frowning, at the chess set sticking out of her bag as she refused to meet Stratt’s eyes.
“His name was Ryland Grace.” Queen to f2.
Eva Stratt did not immediately respond. She merely gazed out the window, the light of the setting sun pouring over her face.
“Would you say we have stumbled across the reason for your interview?” Rook to e2.
Abby sat silently. White queen takes black’s e2 pawn. The queen is left in danger, undefended and alone.
“I believe you still owe me an answer,” Stratt insisted. Bishop to e2, taking white’s queen.
Abby nodded her head. Checkmate is inevitable. White surrenders, the king falling to the board.
Silence permeated the library. Abby closed her notebook and put it away. The click of her pen as she put it away seemed to echo across the bland walls. Stratt picked at a string trailing from the arm of her chair.
As Abby reached for her voice recorder to turn it off, the silence was finally broken.
“Not yet,” Stratt urged. Abby’s hand tentatively drew back. “For how long did he teach you?”
“Just a few months,” Abby replied, “until he started working for you. But…” Abby couldn’t keep speaking without tears interrupting her.
“But he is the reason you love science.”
“How did you know?” Abby sniffed.
“I knew so little in the beginning. Even in conversations involving basic chemistry I felt like I was drowning. Dr. Grace had a knack for explaining things so simply and so eagerly that you sensed you would never forget it. And if he had that effect on me, I can only imagine his influence on a twelve-year old.”
Abby couldn’t help but start crying at Stratt’s use of the past tense for her teacher.
“Why did you kill him?” she choked.
Stratt did not react. She did not speak at first. Instead, her eyes simply gathered a sadness in them, a depth of emotion and conflict cradled within her gaze—and Abby knew she was seeing behind Eva Stratt’s mask.
Stratt reached toward the voice recorder and paused it. “I had no other choice.”
Her voice did not hold regret. Abby knew Stratt would have no difficulty in making the choice again. Even in this lack of regret, though, there was anguish. There was bitterness. There was heartache.
Abby did not have time to ponder Stratt’s emotional turmoil. Stratt did not have time to further explain her moral verdict. Before either woman had the opportunity to open her mouth in reply, a deafening, concussive roar, like thunder, shook the building. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and just as Abby covered her head in a panic, shattered glass fell over her arms and bricks crumpled to the ground.
Despite the dust, the setting sun glared into the room through a much larger space than where the window had been. Most of the library’s western wall was gone, now mere debris, and standing in place of the window was a woman completely unfamiliar to Abby.
“Apologies for the commotion, Director Stratt,” the woman stated. She sounded Australian. Beyond the doorway, the gendarme was audible, yelling for backup.
Seemingly unfazed, Stratt stood and dusted herself off.
“You agreed to an interview so you could escape?!” Abby interrogated.
Stratt just shrugged. “Actually, I was told I was being broken out. Your interview was not my choice—but thank you very much for that game of chess.”
“Let’s go, Director,” the woman insisted. “We only have a week until splashdown.”
The beetles—they had made it back.
“The helicopter arrives in two minutes,” the woman continued. “We need to be there to meet them or they won’t land.”
“Wait!” Abby called out. Surprisingly, Stratt waited. “Take me with you.”
Stratt cocked her head. “Why?” She seemed genuinely puzzled.
“You don’t just need a good diplomat,” Abby explained. “If you just strongarm everyone into helping, your job will be so much harder. You need someone who can explain the science to the average person, and explain it well. No, I’m not a reporter, but I am a science communicator—and a good one. You need someone like me.”
The drone of a helicopter drifted into hearing.
“And why would you help me?”
“I don’t care about you,” Abby declared. “I care about making sure he didn’t die in vain.”
Stratt nodded before gesturing past the rubble, inviting Abby to follow. “We have work to do.”
Abby grabbed her recorder and her bag with the chess set before stepping through the rubble into the light of the sun.