Archive of Our Own

There were two constants in Courtland Gentry’s – Sierra Six’s – life. The first: not being found. The second: finding other people. 

His life as he knew it – years of operating from within the grey areas of governmental operations – was over after the first constant was broken. Carmichael and Hansen had made it nearly impossible for him to lay low over those days, Hansen finding and pressing on one of Court’s pressure points to ensure that he himself broke his self-imposed rule and came to Zbrka guns blazing. 

Court could only be thankful that no harm had come to Claire, and that Hansen had not located his only other two pressure points. If he had, Court thought grimly, Miranda wouldn’t have gotten the missile launcher.

After that fiasco, Claire by his side, Courtland had vowed never to break his first constant rule again. The second, he could reasonably leave behind. Finding other people, and more often than not, ensuring those people ended up in a shallow grave somewhere, was what Sierra Six was trained to do. Court, whilst he still carried that man with him, was more than happy to stop finding other people (with two notable exceptions), and be entirely content to be left alone. 

Of course, Claire needed somewhat of a normal life. He owed it to her, at the very least. Fitz’s will had, naturally, left everything to her, and had also – much to his surprise, and not at all to Claire’s – named him as her legal guardian until she turned eighteen. The next few months after … everything had happened were a blur of safehouses, perimeter checks, and building a new life. One that Claire once had, and one that he had only ever had a taste of. 

Courtland’s normal life had ended at fifteen years old, when his father said, alcohol on his breath, that he didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. Court had proved him wrong. 

Sierra Six was left to the grey areas, to late night watches and obsessively chewing gum. Court built himself up from the ground, filing for papers, a driving licence, a passport, everything he had once been disallowed, under a name he felt he could finally own. He was looking forward to telling Colt he’d chosen ‘Grace’, not ‘Seavers’.

Courtland Grace and his ward settled into a small suburb of San Francisco. Court enrolled Claire in school, much to her chagrin, and began fighting on the frontlines of the job market. Eventually, he found a private security company willing to take him on. It was boring, the jobs slow and often the companies that hired them only needed guards for show, or to soothe rich clientele's nerves. It was, in all, perfect. 

The next part of building a life came with some trepidation. Court waited until he was truly back on his feet and it seemed fairly certain that C.I.A operatives were not going to batter down his door at three in the morning. 

Claire had pestered him daily about it, telling him to rip the bandaid off and get it done. 

“What, are you scared?” She taunted him over dinner one evening. 

“No!” Court said. He gestured with his fork. “Eat your veg.”

Claire muttered something rebellious, speared a piece of broccoli, and said nothing more about it. She didn’t have to. She had hit the nail on the head. 

Not that Courtland would ever concede to that. 

The twins knew Courtland was out there somewhere, not in prison. They knew he couldn’t talk about his job, nor visit very often. They knew not to ask questions about the stitches or the scars when he did manage a very quick, very off the books meet-up. What they didn’t yet know was that Court was out. He’d disentangled himself from the Sierra Program, and was getting another real go around. 

What Court didn’t know was whether the twins thought he was dead. The Zbrka castle insanity had made world-wide news, as had the supposed bombing in Prague, and the plane crash during his extraction from Bangkok. Naturally, the finer details had all been expertly suppressed, but grainy footage from some security camera had picked up enough of his profile that it would be recognisable to Colt and Ryland. They would know he had been mixed up in it all, and news of any survivors had been thin on the ground, to say the least. 

So, yes, Claire had a point. No, he wasn’t scared, but perhaps … ‘nervous’ might sum it up. 

He had kept tabs on his brothers all these years. Sent them a few postcards when he could. Had flown straight out to Sydney when he heard Colt had been accused of murder. Courtland had been ready to step in, watching Colt two steps behind him and from the shadows. But he had it handled. Albeit, in a very Colt way. Court wasn’t sure the French attack dog was entirely necessary, but it had been fun to watch. 

He had hoped that keeping tabs on Ryland would have been more soothing than Colt. It had been, for a little while. He had been at the back of the hall when Ry had stumbled over the stage to receive his doctorate. Ryland disappeared into the world of academia, and although Court couldn’t understand three-quarters of the papers his little brother wrote, he still read them all. And then, because Ryland had apparently decided to emulate his twin that day, he had called an internationally accredited scientist a ‘staggering waste of carbon’ at the UNESCO conference. Academia shoved Ry out and black-listed his name so fast it had made Court’s head spin. 

But, both Colt and Ryland had picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and carried on. Owner of a stunt man company, a well-loved teacher at a middle school. Normal, safe (sort of, on Colt’s part) and steady.  

All built without Court being there. 

It was time for Court to be there. 

***

He stood in front of the door, Claire’s accusations of scared running around his head, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs. He could hear voices on the other side. Sierra Six’s constant of finding other people appeared for a very brief encore. 

The apartment belonged to Ryland. Colt was visiting between shoots, his new film currently in production just outside the city. It had been worryingly easy to find their schedules. Court pushed the thought away: he had worked hard not to let things like that bother him anymore. The twins didn’t need an overprotective C.I.A agent turning up tonight. They needed their big brother. 

Before he could overthink it any more, Courtland reached up and knocked three times on the door. 

“Yeah, hang on!” 

Court suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He tried them behind his back, and immediately hated it. By his sides felt too weird – in his pockets? 

The door opened. Colt wasn’t looking at him, leaning on the doorframe with one hand and gaze fixed behind him. “Ry, if you start that movie without me, I’ll –” Colt seemed to remember there was someone in front of him, and cut short his threat. He turned to look at Court, and paled. 

“Hey, Colt.” Nice, Courtland. Could you be any more casual? 

Colt just stared, eyes roving up and down Court’s frame. His grip on the doorjamb was now white-knuckled. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Colt, hurry up, the menu screen’s looped twice now and I’m getting bored of the music.” Ryland’s voice floated out to them. It seemed to ground Colt a little. 

“Uh, Ry?” He moved to one side, allowing Courtland in. 

Court closed the door, turned, and found Colt standing close to him and still staring. 

“What? If it’s that salesman again I –” The younger twin rounded the corner into the small hallway. 

Silence stretched, taut and thin between the three of them.

“So, I take it you didn’t expect to hear from me again.” Court said eventually, and then winced. That was much worse than ‘hey Colt’. 

Something incredibly unexpected happened then. Court had raised the twins from infants until they were ten years old. He knew time had elapsed since then – too much time – but his understanding of their personalities remained the same. Colt acted without thinking, all impulse and energy. Ryland thought too much, weighed and measured every action, reaction and choice. Colt was loud, emotional only in private. Ryland was quiet, and wore his heart on his sleeve. 

But clearly, such an intense shock to the system could alter anyone’s personality. 

Colt’s face crumpled, tears shining in his eyes before they fell silently down his cheeks. Court barely had time to react, his unconscious response to reach for Colt and pull him in for a hug, before Ryland’s fist connected very messily with his cheek. 

It wasn’t a strong punch, Courtland suspected Ry had never punched anyone before in his life, but it was so unexpected that it sent him reeling. His fight response, the flight one having been trained out of him years ago, surged as he leaned on the hallway wall. He pushed it away roughly. 

“Ry, what the fuck?” Colt was nearly yelling, standing between Court and Ryland, facing the latter. 

Over Colt’s shoulder, Courtland watched Ry shake his hand out, inspecting his knuckles with something that seemed like awe. It made him smile – but only a little, his cheek still stung. 

“I think that was fair enough.” Court said, putting a placating hand on Colt’s shoulder. Colt turned to look at him, and after a moment, nodded and stepped out from between the pair. Court looked at Ryland. “If I say sorry, will you hit me again? Or is that it?” 

A flash of emotions, one after the other, darted behind Ryland’s eyes. Anger, sadness, grief, longing. The smallest trace of fragile hope. Court felt his heart sink. He’d caused all that and more in the people he had sworn to protect.    

“We thought you were …” Colt started, trailing off. “We didn’t hear anything, at all. For weeks. And you usually check in, or – or send a stupid fucking postcard or –” 

Court did act on impulse this time. He reached out and pulled Colt in close, wrapping his arms around his little brother’s back, careful to avoid the surgery scars that ran the length of Colt’s spine. 

Colt immediately melted into the embrace, his own arms tight over Court’s shoulders. 

“Ry?” Court said quietly, eyes flicking to where Ryland still stood, seemingly frozen to the spot. 

“We thought you were gone.” Ryland whispered, tears starting in his eyes now. “Again.” 

Court didn’t respond, and only gently lifted one arm off Colt and reached out to the youngest. 

They all ended up on the floor of the hallway. Court had made the decision for them all to sit, guiding his brothers down to the carpet when he felt how hard Ryland was shaking. He wasn’t sure how long they all spent there, wrapped up in one another. He didn’t care. Court could only bring himself to let go when Colt had stopped gripping his shirt so tightly he was sure it had stretched, and when Ry had stopped trembling. 

He looked into their faces, moving away but not disentangling himself. “I think we have a lot to catch up on.” 

“No shit.” 

Colt gasped and rounded on Ryland. “You swore!” There was that familiar light back in his eyes, the one that Court knew meant I plan to mess with you for the foreseeable future. 

“I’m allowed to swear on occasion.” Ryland said, pushing his glasses back on straight. “This feels like such an occasion.” 

“I’m telling.” 

“What are you, five? And who are you going to tell?” Ryland rolled his eyes. 

“Court, Ry swore.” Colt said promptly, giving Ryland a grin as he did so. 

Court watched the exchange unfold before him, something warm and peaceful spreading through his chest. He had missed this. “You’re both idiots.” He went back in for another hug. 

Explanations could wait. The night was still young, and besides. This was everything he needed right now. 

***

“So, do you, like, know what each other is thinking?” Claire asked, swinging her legs as she sat on the kitchen countertop. 

“Claire, get down.” Court said with no real heat, sitting on the couch, beer in hand. “Sorry,” he said to Jody. “Carry on – what was that bit about the alien?” 

Claire stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned her attention back to Colt. “So, can you?” 

Colt stood by the stovetop, absentmindedly stirring frying onions whilst Ryland wrestled with a can-opener beside him. “You’ve got to click it in, Ry.” 

“I’m trying, the darn thing won’t click!” 

“You have a doctorate in molecular biology, and you can’t use a can opener.” Colt winked at Claire, who tried to stifle her laughter. “Sorry, kid. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people who have asked us that. ‘The Twin Thing’, right?” 

“Is it? A ‘thing’, I mean?” 

“Let’s see, shall we?” Colt turned down the heat on the stove, handed the spatula to Claire and looked at Ryland. He was still fighting for his life with the can-opener. “Ryland.” 

“Colton.” Ryland put the can-opener down and glared at it. 

“What colour am I thinking of?” Colt said. He went over to the fridge and pulled a magnetic shopping list off of it, thrusting it into Ryland’s hands. “Write it down.” 

“Why are we doing this?” Ryland said, sighing and uncapping the pen. 

“Because Claire asked an interesting question, and you’re a teacher.” 

Ryland finished writing, keeping his answer close to his chest so Colt couldn’t see it. “Yellow.” He said flatly.  

“It was in fact not a colour, but the number seven.” Colt said, reaching up to ruffle Ry’s hair. 

“Well, that defeats the point of the experiment if you change the parameters like that.” Ryland ducked out from under Colt’s hand. “You do dinner, I’m going to … I’m going away.” As he passed Claire, he dropped the notepad into her lap. 

Claire laughed delightedly as she decoded Ry’s awful handwriting. Colt peered over her shoulder, liberating the spatula from her hand. 

He’s thinking of the number seven, but it’s not a ‘twin thing’, it’s because he’s so predictable.   

“Hey! I am not predictable!” Colt called over, immediately thoroughly annoyed because Ryland said it at exactly the same time. 

Ry sat down next to Court, who was trying and failing to hide his own smile behind his beer bottle. 

Twenty minutes later, Colt served dinner. The can of tinned tomatoes he had planned to use remained on the kitchen counter. The can-opener had also defeated him.

Saturdays had become something of a cosy ritual for them all. Jody and Colt were still in San Francisco shooting, and would be for the foreseeable future. Colt had even sat down with her since Court’s reappearance to talk about investing in a house in the city, perhaps relocating permanently to the Bay Area rather than in the heat and smog of L.A. She had seemed amenable to the idea, more so than Colt could have hoped for. They had told the others of their plan last Saturday, and the looks on Courtland and Ry’s faces had been enough to set the wheels fully in motion. They had brought pictures of some of the places they had been looking at tonight, Jody flicking through them on her phone and animatedly talking to Claire about what colours might suit which rooms best.

“How’s school, Claire?” Ryland asked, passing the salt over to Colt. 

“Boring.” 

Ryland put a hand to his chest in mock agony. 

“Her report card came through with straight A’s yesterday.” Court said mildly, earning him a glare from his ward. 

“Atta girl.” Colt said. “Although, I hear this one subject, science, is super easy. Like, fall asleep in class easy.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Be nice to Ry, Colt.” Jody said. 

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side!” Colt said, affronted. The routine was well worn, and well loved. 

“Sorry, darling, I just like him more than you.” She raised her cocktail glass at him, smiling.

Colt smiled back, unable to help himself. Some days he wasn’t sure how he got so lucky. 

Gentle quiet descended over the table, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery and murmurs of appreciation for Colt’s cooking. Even though they all gathered habitually at Ryland’s apartment, Colt suspected he did more actual cooking in his brother’s kitchen than Ry ever did himself. The microwave was that man’s best culinary friend.

“How’s school, Ry?” Court asked when everyone had finished, standing and stacking the plates. There was a glint to Courtland’s eyes that only appeared when he was teasing his youngest brother. 

Ryland sighed, and started collecting glasses. Colt could see the amusement on Ry’s face. The same thought again, but slightly to the left: how did he get so lucky? He followed the pair into the kitchen, perching himself where Claire had sat an hour before.  

Both Jody and Claire had retreated to the couch again, Claire asking about the plot of the film Jody was currently directing. Another part of the ritual: the brothers got their ‘bonding time’, as Claire called it, over doing the dishes. 

“It’s … yeah.” Ryland plunged his hands into the soapy water, submerging a few plates. Colt and Court both waited, but Ry didn’t expand. 

Colt shot Courtland a look. Ry loved talking about his work, his kids, how smart they were, what topics he was covering. If Ryland didn’t want to talk, something wasn’t right. Colt remembered that from their shared childhood, before Court was taken away. He had assumed it was true even after they had been separated, the foster system unable to keep two traumatised twin brothers together. 

He remembered vividly a meet-up in a park, the Seavers and the Graces doing their very best to keep the brothers in each other’s lives, where he had overheard Mrs. Grace ask his foster mom what she should do. Ryland had been silent for two days straight.

“He does that, sometimes.” Colt had said, not really understanding it was rude to eavesdrop, and even ruder to input on a private conversation. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Ry…?” Court said softly. He accepted the sudsy plate Ryland handed him. “Everything okay?” 

Ryland washed a few more plates, brows furrowed, clearly thinking hard about something. He shot a glance over to Jody and Claire, still wrapped up in conversation. 

Colt tried again. “Hey, is something the matter at work?” Despite being only eight minutes older, an elder brother’s protective instinct ran deep in Colt’s core.

Ryland sighed. He bobbed a glass up and down in the water. “You … you can’t say anything.” 

That got Court’s attention, no mistake. 

Colt watched as he stiffened, assessing Ryland with eyes gone a little too cold and calculating. The agent peeking out from behind his enforced enclosure. 

“Are you in trouble?” Courtland asked, his voice low. 

“No, I – I don’t think so?” The rising inflection at the end of Ryland’s sentence made Colt feel uneasy. Ry was usually so sure of everything. 

“Talk to us, Ry, what’s happening?” Colt said, leaning forward on the counter a little. 

“I haven’t been at work the past few days.” 

“What?” Colt said, now completely perplexed. Ryland once had a near panic attack at the mere thought of calling in sick to work, half out of his mind with the flu. The fact that he seemed relatively calm about missing days of work was so bizarre it left Colt with a vague sense of disorientation. 

Ryland took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I’ve been in an argon-filled lab somewhere, I don’t know where, they didn’t let me see out of the windows on the journey there, analysing what is probably alien life and it’s eating the sun and we’re probably all going to freeze to death.”

Courtland looked at Colt, worry evident in his expression. Clearly, he had the same thought process as Colt did, as Court reached over and pressed the back of his hand to Ryland’s forehead. “You feeling okay, buddy?” 

Ry batted the hand away, annoyed. “Yes, I’m fine, get off.” 

“Well, what you just said didn’t really feel like ‘fine’ to me.” Colt said, sliding off the counter and coming to stand on Ryland’s other side. He peered worriedly into his twin’s eyes, wondering if someone had slipped him something. “You seeing unicorns?” 

“What?” 

“Okay, unpack that one later, please.” Court said, and turned his attention back to Ryland. “I think we need some clarification, kiddo.” 

As the pile of clean dishes grew, so did Courtland and Colt’s incredulity. Of course, they had heard of the Petrova Problem. Colt had watched the ArcLight probe splash down on TV. He had followed all the subsequent news reports. ‘Astro–’ something they were calling it. And it turned out that his little brother was mixed up in it, all because he had written his dissertation on such an out of pocket theory that it had caught the attention of – 

“What was her name again?” Court asked, flicking out the suds from the dishcloth he was holding. 

“Stratt. Eva Stratt.” 

“Hmm. She used to work for the ESA, right?” 

“How did you know –”

“Ex-C.I.A, Ry. We know everything.” 

“Concerning.” Ryland said, pulling the plug and watching the dirty water swirl down the drain. 

“What I’m more concerned with, is the fact that you seem to be working for some black-ops science project.” Courtland said, all of the evening’s earlier levity gone now. 

“Is argon poisonous?” Colt asked. “Has this woman got you in, like, an explosive room or something?” 

“Um. Well, it’s not explosive, it’s inert.” Ryland hedged around the question, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

“There’s a but.” Colt said flatly. 

“Yeah, it’s not great to breathe in.” Ryland mumbled. “If something happened to the suit they have me wear, it’d be … uh, not good.” 

Courtland and Colt shared a look, each equally filled with anxiety and anger. “So, what? They bundle you into a van every day and have you work on the Petrova Problem?” Colt asked eventually. 

“Um …” Ryland fidgeted, looking around as if he could make more dirty pots appear through silent will alone. “I’ve actually not been home since Tuesday.” 

Court’s steely gaze was all the response Ry got. Colt waited as patiently as he could, desperate to get all the answers now and then immediately start working on a solution. This whole situation was insane, and the hush-hush nature of it put Colt’s teeth on edge to say the least. 

“I’ve been staying at the lab they provided for me.” Ryland reached up and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up every which way. “They let me come home this morning because – well …” He gestured to Court. “Ex-C.I.A. I didn’t want to cause a fuss, and they certainly don’t want a fuss to be caused. Also, sorry Court, but they seem to know all about your, uh, past.” 

“Who’s ‘they’?” Courtland asked, at the same time Colt said, “They ‘let you’ come back?” 

Ryland seemed distinctly nervous now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He muttered, mostly to himself. 

“No, the problem is, Ry, that you didn’t say anything sooner.” Court said, an edge to his tone. “Someone like Stratt ambushes you at work and tells you to get in the back of a car taking you god knows where, you pick up the damn phone!” 

Court’s voice had risen at the end, worry morphing itself into frustration the way it always did with him. Colt put a placating hand on Court’s shoulder, pulling him slightly back and out of Ryland’s space. This could end in either of two ways: Ry would shut down entirely and they wouldn’t get anything else from him, or they could try and reign in their own emotions and get to the bottom of this mess. 

“Do you know how long this project is going to be?” Colt asked softly. He threw a quick glance in Jody and Claire’s direction, but thankfully the pair were still in deep conversation. Just before Colt turned his attention back to his brothers, however, he caught Jody’s eye. There was a question in them that Colt knew meant she had overheard something – probably when Court had raised his voice. Gratitude rushed through him: Jody had clearly kept Claire’s focus on her, and not what was happening in the kitchen.

“No. I think I’ve maybe got a few more days left?” Ryland said, his shoulders dropping fractionally. “There’s a few more experiments I’ve got to run, and I’ve got a box to build.” 

“What?” Court’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Carl and I need to – look, it doesn’t matter, I’m going back tomorrow and that should be nearly the end of it, okay?” Ryland smiled suddenly. “Also, I’d like to circle back around to the fact that I said ‘aliens’ and neither of you so much as blinked.”

“Astrophage.” Colt said, the full name finally coming to him. 

Ryland’s jaw dropped. “Wha – how did you know that?” 

“Dude, it’s been all over the news.” 

“House arrest in a lab – lab arrest? – since Tuesday.” Ryland reminded him, a little absently. “She went with the name. Huh.”

Courtland’s limit had apparently been reached with the revelation that his little brother was responsible for naming the apocalypse-impending alien life-form. “Phone.” He held out his hand. 

“What?” 

“Give me your phone.” Court’s tone brooked no argument, and Ryland was halfway through pulling it out of his pocket before he paused. 

“Why?” 

“I’m calling Eva Stratt. I assume you have her number?” Court beckoned with his open palm. 

“What part of ‘I can’t tell you much’ did you not quite get?” Ry asked, holding his phone now protectively to his chest. “If you call her, she’ll … Well, I’m not quite sure what she’ll do, and to be honest I’d rather not find out.” 

Colt stepped between Ryland and Court when it seemed like Court would lunge for Ry’s phone and take it from him by force. “Hey, calm down.” 

“I am calm.” Court said flatly. He apparently was unaware that he was repeatedly flexing and unflexing the fingers of his left hand into a fist. 

Colt looked Ryland square in the eyes. “A few more days?” 

“Yes. Probably.” 

“And then you’re done?” Colt used his don’t give me any bullshit tone. “Out, and back to being a regular nerd?” 

“Well you don’t have to phrase it like that …” 

“Ry.” 

“Yes, yes, then I’m done.” Ryland held up his hands like he was surrendering. Colt noted that his phone was still held in a tight grip, however. 

Colt gave Court an appraising look. 

“I don’t like it.” Courtland said finally. His posture, before taut as a wire, relaxed a little. 

“No, neither do I,” Colt jumped in. “But, this is what he does best, and we should trust him.” There was quite a large part of Colt that wanted nothing more than to grab Ry’s phone, call Stratt and hurl abuse down the line at her. And then barricade all the doors and windows so whoever she decided to send – Ryland clearly intimating that the woman had some serious authority behind her – couldn’t get their hands on his brother. 

But Ry was clever, and Colt also didn’t fancy freezing or starving to death in the next few decades. If anyone could begin to figure out the Petrova Problem, it was Ryland. He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t need to. He met Ryland’s gaze and said it all silently. Warm gratitude washed over his twin’s face. 

Maybe Claire was right. Perhaps there was something in this ‘twin thing’. 

***

Ryland [10:33]: Ok, so you know when I said a few more days 

Colt [10:35]: yeah? 

Courtland [10:35]: What’s happened? 

Ryland [10:40]: I might have discovered how Astrophage breed sort of accidentally by putting a box in a box and making one of those boxes the same spectral wavelength as Venus

Courtland [10:42]: Going to need more context, buddy.

Colt [10:42]: seconded

Ryland [10:47]: Carl and I made a baby Astrophage and I called Stratt and some guys came to collect me 

Colt [10:50]: weird wording aside, explain??? 

Courtland [10:51]: Ry, why is your tracker app telling me you’re in Hawaii?

Ryland [10:53]: Got on a plane, getting on another plane in a second. Lied and said I needed the bathroom so I could let you both know

Colt [10:54]: what kind of plane is it 

Courtland [10:54]: Unhelpful, Colt. 

Courtland [10:55]: Ryland, find out where you’re going now and let us know ASAP.

Ryland [10:56]: @Colt, I think it’s a fighter jet? 

Ryland [10:58]: They won’t tell me where I’m going 

Ryland [10:58]: I have to go

Courtland [11:01]: Ry? 

Colt [11:01]: Ry? You there? 

Ryland [19:21]: So I think I live on a boat now

***

Communications out of Stratt’s Vat were very nearly entirely limited. Only a select few had specifically been given clearance to reach out to the wider world beyond the Chinese aircraft carrier. 

It was mostly given to those with young children, or elderly relatives. People who were in danger of forgetting faces, or of leaving this world without having heard a loved one’s voice in too long. But for all intents and purposes, Stratt’s Vat was a dark zone, and the scientists, engineers, governmental personnel and everyone in between had to make do with creating a strange new family within the metal walls. 

Which was why there was some dark mutterings about Ryland getting ‘special preference’ about having a secure video call app downloaded to his personal laptop. 

Ryland really didn’t see what the big deal was. He wasn’t any more special than the herd of scientists Stratt had brought in to work on, and with, the Astrophage. He had simply asked if he would be allowed to contact his brothers on a weekly basis, and Stratt, not looking up from whatever spreadsheet she was working on now, had nodded, asked for his laptop and dismissed him with a wave of her hand. 

The laptop had been returned to him a day later, a new icon in the taskbar waiting for him. A Post-It note had been stuck to the screen, reading ‘Next Friday. Seven o’clock. Brothers have been informed.’ 

How Court and Colt had been informed, Ryland didn’t know. He didn’t bother trying to find out either – Eva had her ways and motives, and often they were best left unquestioned.

The first video call had made Ryland oddly nervous. Logically, he knew it was because he had essentially upped and vanished from his mostly normal life without any warning, leaving behind his only family just as they had finally begun rebuilding something together.

He had fidgeted in his desk chair, watching the slightly grainy image of himself bob side to side, ruffle his unruly hair, take off his glasses and then perch them back on – only to pull them off again and leave them dangling under his chin. With a small blip, another window appeared on the screen, black for a moment whilst the spotty wifi fought to connect the two devices. 

And then Colt appeared in the window, and Ryland forgot all his previous anxiety. He felt something seal up inside his chest at the mere sight of his twin. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been missing Colt until he saw his face again. 

“Ry!” Colt leaned in, the feed stuttering a bit before settling. 

Ryland chuckled; he could only see a quarter of Colt’s face now. “Lean back a bit, man, I can’t see you properly.” 

“I’m seeing if you’ve still got all your limbs.” Colt said seriously. “Making sure the government hasn’t got grabby with you.” 

“Usually it’s me worrying about your limbs,” Ryland said, smiling so wide his cheeks ached. He rolled backward on his desk chair, held out his arms and spun slowly around. “All good here.” 

Another blip. Another window. Courtland appeared, and Ryland burst out laughing. His eldest brother was just as close to his camera as Colt was. 

The weeks passed, and Ryland now looked forward to Friday as much as any other nine to five office worker. Not for a weekend and late nights in bars, Stratt had them pulling a full week of work with rest days few and far between, but for the hour’s call he got with his brothers. Ryland had lost count of how many NDAs Stratt had had him sign, but news had its way of leaking out from the Vat, and usually Courtland or Colt would ask him about something that was supposed to be top secret. 

Project Hail Mary was everything anyone was talking about beyond the aircraft carrier. It had finally gone public after the open call for astronauts, engineers and scientists had been made. Anyone with any sort of training in one of those specific fields could submit themselves to a coma-resistant gene blood test, and upon the results they would be added to one of two lists. Viable, or not. 

“So, they want to make sure the astronauts don’t kill each other, is that the idea?” Colt asked, leaning back idly in his chair, his feet up on his desk. 

“Yeah. Preliminary testing of long exposure to confinement with a small group had … not great results.” Ryland said, tossing an unopened packet of Skittles between his hands. “So, Stratt decided that sending them up comatose would be the best option. Wake them when they get to Tau Ceti.” 

Courtland came back into his window, carrying a mug of something steaming. “How long is the trip again?” 

“Do you want Earth’s point of view, or the astronauts’?” Ryland asked, finally giving into temptation and opening the Skittles. 

“Both.” Court said. 

“About thirteen years for Earth, about four for the astronauts.” 

“Physics is insane, man.” Colt tilted further back on his chair. “How does that even work?” 

“It’s time dilation. Basically, it’s –” 

Colt slammed forward, swinging his legs from off the desk. “No, nope, forget I asked.”

Courtland smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “And they have a way of taking care of the people that go up?” 

“Uh, yeah. Dr. Lamai’s done wonders with an automated care system. It looks a bit weird, like this robot arm thing, but all the tests she’s run on it so far have had really good results.” 

“And I heard the astronauts have arrived?” Courtland added, continually up to date with any news pertaining to the Project. 

“Yeah, we have our three primaries, and their secondary crew. They came aboard yesterday.” That had been an odd day for Ryland in several ways. The first was meeting three people who were so ready and willing to give everything up for the sake of humanity on a mission that had an infinitesimal chance of working. The second was that he would be training DuBois and Shapiro on Astrophage. The Dr. Annie Shapiro, in his classroom. He couldn’t wait to get started. 

The third was what DuBois had told him on the flight deck, shortly after he had arrived. Ryland had been grappling all day with himself about whether to tell Court and Colt about it. In the end, he had decided against it. The astronauts and their back-ups had been chosen. His positive resistance gene result was unimportant now. 

“Well, it’s a good thing they didn’t pick me, I’d have been shit on a spaceship.” Colt said nonchalantly. 

Ryland choked on a Skittle. “What?” 

“Oh yeah, I went and got the test done. Put myself down as a sort-of engineer.” Colt shrugged. “Rigs, wires, all that stunt stuff kind of translates into some ad-hoc mechanical stuff. And I’ve picked up a lot from Dan and the team over the years.” 

Courtland had gone very still in his little window. 

Ryland stared at his twin. Of course Colt would think stunt-work equated to space travel engineering. And, he thought with a little pang of guilt, of course Colt would have been brave enough to potentially step up for the Project. 

And then, with a strange swooping sensation in his gut, Ryland remembered how genetics worked. They were identical twins, obviously Colt would also have the coma-resistance gene. He’d been so caught up in the existentialism of the past few days the realisation had entirely slipped his mind. No point in trying to keep it a secret, then. 

“Yeah, I have it too. The resistance gene, I mean.” Ryland said with a sigh. He sat back in his chair, and watched with mild interest as Court’s expression ran through a gambit of emotions. “Stratt had me do it. Didn’t tell me the results though, I found out from DuBois weirdly. Not sure why she didn’t tell me – or even why I had to have it done. Something about setting an example, maybe.” 

Even though Courtland and Colt weren’t in the same room, Ryland noted the look the pair exchanged at his words. “What –” He started. 

“I went and got tested too.” Court cut him off. 

“Let me guess.” Colt said, deadpan. 

“But you’re not an astronaut or … there’s no guns in space.” Ryland said.

Court rolled his eyes at Ryland’s words, whilst Colt snorted. “He’s got you there, Court.” 

“Yes, there are no guns in space.” Courtland said sarcastically. “However, my extensive resume means I’ve got all the qualities required to be, well, the commander of a mission like this one.” 

Ryland was brought up short at that. Mentally, he compared Commander Yáo to his brother. Stoic, strong, most likely cool in a crisis, able to problem solve under pressure. It checked out. 

The implications of what his brothers had just disclosed hit him like an Astrophage IR blast. They had both been ready and willing to die. They had signed up, happy to step up and leave the Earth, never to come back. Another thought, more childish than the others. They had been ready to leave me behind. 

Some of what he was thinking must have made it to his face. 

“Ry?” Colt said, worrying colouring his words. 

“You … you wouldn’t have come back.” Ryland’s voice came out much quieter than he intended. “You would have left everyone behind. Me. You would have left me here.” He didn’t need to say that even though he had the gene, he wouldn’t have stepped up. The thought of going to space, eleven light years away and never coming back made him feel like the walls were closing in on him. Terror, deep seated and primal, lodged itself in between his ribs at the merest thought of it. 

“Ryland …” Court said gently. 

“We didn’t get chosen,” Colt started desperately. “Neither of us talked about it to one another, I swear, and maybe we should have told you, no, we definitely should have told you.” Colt looked earnestly through the screen at him. “Ry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – we didn’t mean …” 

“Hey.” Court’s voice was firm, cutting through Colt’s ramble. 

Ryland was aware distantly there were tears tracking down his cheeks. He pulled his glasses off to scrub with his sleeves at them. 

“We aren’t going. We weren’t chosen; Ry, you’ve met the people they selected. Use that big brain of yours – we’re safe, we aren’t together, but we’re all still on this planet, okay?” 

“It’s – it’s just the thought,” Ryland said, voice cracking a little. 

“I know, and like Colt said, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it all the way through.” Court smiled a little. “If it makes you feel any better, Claire was pissed when she found out.” 

“Oh, man, yeah you should have heard Jody.” Colt jumped in, seemingly eager to change the topic. 

Ryland huffed the barest hint of a laugh. “I’d’ve liked to have seen that.” 

“Terrifying.” Colt mock shuddered, then sobered. “She did say she understood though, after she had calmed down.” 

I didn’t. I still don’t. Ryland thought, hating himself a little. Instead, he nodded and kept his mouth shut. 

A silence filled the air between the three of them. Colt broke it. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” Ryland nodded, searched for his glasses, and remembered he’d left them hanging from his ears. “Yes, sorry. It’s just … I’m okay.” ‘Separation anxiety’ didn’t even begin to cover it. It went way back to when the three of them had all been Gentrys, alone in a world that only seemed to know how to be cruel, instead of kind. 

“We’re staying right here with you.” Courtland said. The same words he’d said on the worst nights, huddled together in one bed and trying to keep the monster beyond the door at bay. 

“Besides, we would have been fucking terrible as a crew.” Colt said, leaning back in his chair again. 

“The coma would have been very necessary.” Ryland said, beginning to smile once more. 

***

“Cut!” 

“Damn.” Colt muttered, picking himself up from the floor. He dusted off his costume, nose wrinkling at the gel he had been liberally coated in so he could be set on fire. For the fifth time that day. He was getting flashbacks to the first day shooting Metalstorm. The only thing missing was Jody berating him via megaphone. 

“Can I take five?” He called, giving the camera crew his customary thumbs up to show he wasn’t hurt or in pain, just simply needing a little break. 

“Take five, everyone!” Everyone in the vicinity relaxed slightly at Jody’s instruction, people breaking off from their equipment to search out the snack table. 

Colt simply sat down on the floor where he had been on fire a moment ago. He hung his head, hand coming up to unconsciously rub at his chest. He took in a few deep breaths, hoping it would soothe the strange tightness he had had lingering there the past few days. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Jody came over and sat down beside him. Colt could feel her worried eyes trained on him. 

“All good.” He muttered, breathing in deeply through his nose and then turning to face her. He tried for a smile, but could tell it had fallen flat when he saw Jody’s worry deepen. 

“Is it your back?” She said quietly, hand coming to hover over where one of the nastier scars were. He appreciated that she didn’t touch it. 

“No,” he said truthfully. 

When he didn’t expand, Jody shuffled in a little closer and knocked her shoulder against his. “Talk to me then, darling. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

Colt opened his mouth to explain, and then abruptly closed it again. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to tell her, no. It was because he suddenly found he didn’t have the words to do so. “I’m not sure how to explain.” 

“Start at the beginning,” Jody suggested. “Is it to do with the film?” 

“No, no, not at all.” Colt thought back, and then pinpointed where his discomfort had begun. “Ry never logged onto the call on Friday.” Saying it suddenly gave it so much more weight and the feeling in his chest surged into breathlessness. 

“Okay …” Jody said. “Well, he was probably busy, right? It’s not long now until they launch.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Colt fought back another wave of anxiety. 

Jody’s hand now did settle on his back, moving in soothing circles between his shoulder blades. “Don’t read into it too much, darling. He said, didn’t he, that the closer they got to launch, the busier he’d be, remember?” 

Colt did remember that, but it was serving him no comfort as of this moment. “I don’t know, Jodes, it just feels like …” He sighed, collapsing forward a little and burying his face in his hands. “This is going to sound insane.” He muttered. 

“Try me.” Jody challenged. 

“I just feel … scared, but it’s like – it’s like the scared isn’t mine?” Colt said, peering out from behind his hands. “It’s like, uh … being in character, right? Acting afraid, getting so into it that when you call cut, the fear takes a second to go away. Distant, but not yours.” 

Jody was nodding, although the little furrow in her brow told Colt she didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t even sure if he understood. 

Say it, Colt. The voice sounded like Courtland’s. 

“I think something’s happened.” There seemed to be less and less oxygen in the room. Where had it all gone? “I think something’s happened to Ry.”

Jody blinked, taken aback. “Colt, darling, how much sleep have you been getting?” 

“I’m serious, Jody.” It came out harsher than he intended, and immediately felt guilty. “Sorry, sorry. But … I can feel it. I don't know how or why, but I just – I just can.”

He would never fathom out the depth of kindness and patience Jody possessed. Especially when it came to him. She took a moment – either to compose herself or take in what Colt was saying – and then nodded decisively. 

“Alright, then. Let’s find out.” She stood and offered her hand down to him. 

He took it, locking his knees a little as he stood. He was still the cool stunt guy, he didn’t want that reputation ruined with rumours of trembling legs. “How?” 

Jody’s depth of kindness and patience vanished. She looked at him like he was an idiot. “Colt. Who is your brother?” 

“Uh … a scientist who doesn’t know how to look after himself?” 

“No, the other one.” Jody seemed to be waiting for the penny to drop. 

“An ex-C.I.A operat– oh.” The penny dropped. 

“Get him on the phone, and let’s see if he still has strings he can pull.” Jody grabbed Colt’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the trailers. “We’re going to break early for lunch, people!” She called over her shoulder to the scattered crew and cast. 

***

“Do you know how much trouble I am going to be in if they catch me talking to you?” Miranda hissed down the phone. 

Court resisted the urge to snap something rude, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know and I’m sorry, but I really wouldn’t call unless it was important. Can you help, or not?” 

“Is she helping?” Colt’s voice issued from his normal phone, sitting on the coffee table. He’d put it on speaker when he’d gone to retrieve his spy phone, as Ryland had once jokingly called it, to dial up Miranda. 

“I don’t know yet, wait.” Courtland did snap this time. His cortisol levels would be through the roof, he just knew it. Colt had called out of the blue, thinly veiled anxiety in his voice, and rambled something about Ry and ‘a bad feeling’. Jody had had to take over the call, asking politely if Court would pull on some of his old contacts and friends (he didn’t really have any of the latter) from his days in the Sierra Program to find out what was happening at the Project Hail Mary launch site. 

“These files are redacted and encrypted to hell and back, Six.” Miranda said, the distant sound of typing filtered down the line. 

“Can you get into them?” Court asked, pushing a hand back through his hair. Thank god for Miranda. 

“I can try.” The line went quiet, the typing sound growing more intense. 

“She’s trying to get into the files,” Court said, turning to speak into the other phone. “We might have something in a moment.” 

“Tell her thank you, Court.” Jody said. “Colt, love, can you stop pacing, you’re going to wear holes in the floor.” 

“Oh, shit.” Miranda’s voice cut through the air. 

Court found himself on his feet, unsure as to why, but his body had reacted before his brain. “What?”

“What’s happening?” Colt’s voice sounded distant. “Court, what did she find?” 

“There – there was an explosion.” Miranda sounded like her focus was entirely on whatever information was in front of her. “At the launch site. The science wing.” 

The ground fell out from beneath Court’s feet, whilst someone simultaneously had just gripped his neck, cutting off the air and silencing him entirely. 

“Oh god.” Jody sounded a million miles away. There was nothing from Colt. 

“Six? Are you still there?” 

Training took over, and Court pulled himself with sizable effort back to the present. “Yes,” he said gruffly. 

“I have a list of casualties … do you need names?” Miranda had known Court had a family, but the details beyond that were classified. She had asked once or twice on occasion, but after receiving nothing but monosyllabic answers, she had quickly stopped. 

“Yes.”

“Uh, Dr. Martin DuBois, Dr. Annie Shapiro are at the top. Wait, aren’t they the astronauts going up in a couple of days?”

The science team. Primary, and secondary. Both dead. The floor had come back to catch Courtland from his free fall, but now he felt like he was being pressed down into it. Gravity was doing something strange, he was sure of it. 

“Who else is on the list?” He said, his own voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. 

Miranda rattled off more names, and with each one, Court convinced himself that Ryland’s would be next. It never came. 

“That’s it.” 

He sat down hard on the couch. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive.” 

Court dropped the phone and closed his eyes. The hammering of his heart had yet to abate, and he worked hard to get it under control. Then he remembered the other phone. 

“Colt. Colt, did you hear all of that?” He scrambled to scoop it up off the coffee table. 

“Y-yeah.” Colt’s voice was thick. “He’s not …”

“No.” Courtland said forcefully. “He’s not there.” He’s not there, he repeated over and over in his mind. He was infinitely glad that Claire was still at school. She didn’t need to see him like this. 

“But … why hasn’t that made the news?” Jody’s voice floated out to him. “Who are they sending instead?” 

Instinct was something Court had been taught to use to his advantage. To give him the upper hand in a fight, to keep him alive in situations that could so very easily end in bleeding out on a grimy floor somewhere. His childhood, time in prison, the Sierra Program, they had all honed his instinct so it was sharp enough to split hairs. It wasn’t to be ignored, nor taken lightly. 

Courtland’s instinct screamed at him then. He fought off the physical wave of nausea and vertigo. “Miranda.” 

“Here.” 

“Does it say anything about who they’re sending up instead?” He barely recognised the voice that he spoke with. It was Sierra Six’s voice, flat and calculating. 

“Uh, yes, yes it does. ‘The tertiary scientist has been sedated prior to launch for his own mental and physical safety. Launch will go ahead as planned.’ That’s all it says.”

He was vaguely aware of questions being fired at him from Colt and Jody’s line. Miranda was saying something else, and then her line clicked over to dead air. 

The tertiary scientist. There wasn’t one. Or, at least, not one that had been made public. But of course someone like Eva Stratt had made plans within plans, endless concentric circles of schemes to make sure that Project Hail Mary would leave the atmosphere as scheduled. Despite the loss of DuBois and Shapiro, the crew would still total three. 

And he knew, he just knew who that third was. 

“Colt.” Courtland felt himself slipping away. The boundaries he had held so firm between himself and Six were disintegrating so quickly, he wondered if they had ever been there at all. 

“I’m coming with you.” Colt’s voice was so full of fear and anger that it nearly snapped Court out of the dark place he was sliding into. Nearly, but not quite. 

“I would say no. But –” 

“It would be pointless.” Colt seemed to be moving about, the line crackling with frenetic energy. He could hear Jody talking rapidly in the background. 

“Jody –” He started, trying to cling to some compassion. 

“Is telling me to hurry up and pack a damn bag.” Colt cut him off. “I’ll be at yours in ten.” 

“I’ll get Miranda back on the phone,” Six said, striding through his apartment and pulling the ever ready and waiting go-bag from the back of his closet. “We’re going to need a plane.” 

“Jody is coming with me,” Colt called, the sound of a zipper being pulled signalling the end of his packing spree. “She said she’ll watch Claire.” 

Six nodded, remembered Colt couldn’t see him, and said, “Thank you.”

“They’re not shooting my little brother into space.” Colt spat. “Court, please tell me you’re bringing a gun.”

“I am, but it’s not for you to use.” 

“Fine, I’ll bring Jean-Claude.” The sound of a car engine roared to life. “See you in a minute.” 

***

Too many hours later, they stood outside the launch site compound. The exact location had been kept from the public; doomsday preppers, Astrophage advocate groups and conspiracy theorists had flourished over the past year. The compound needed to be a black site simply for the safety of the crew and workers. 

Ironic, Colt thought, that the most dangerous thing was actually inside the compound. The smell of smoke was still on the air. 

The jet Miranda had somehow acquired for them had touched down an hour previously, on a landing strip that had certainly seen better days in the middle of an arid, rocky desert. It had been the only part of the flight where Colt had had to sit. The aisle’s carpet would, he was sure, bear his footprints for a while to come. 

Court had sat nearly motionless for the duration. Eyes closed, arms crossed, Colt would have believed that he was asleep, if it hadn’t been for the continual bounce of Court’s leg. His black hold-all had not left his side since boarding. 

Colt knew something was very wrong the second they approached the gate. Heavily armed guards halted them, questioning them in terse Russian. Courtland responded to them with perfect fluency. 

But that wasn’t what had caught Colt’s attention. 

A guard just beyond the gate was staring, slack-jawed, at him. 

The man approached the chainlink fence, his voice cutting through the increasing volume of Court and the external guard’s conversation. 

“Dr. Grace?” The words were thickly accented, but it rippled out into the cold air and left behind silence. “How …” 

The guard Court was arguing with snapped around and spoke sharply to his counterpart, before gesturing to the man behind the fence, dismissing him abruptly. 

“You are not Dr. Grace. This is not possible.” There was steel lining the guard’s voice, although Colt saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. 

“Fetch me Eva Stratt, or take me to her.” Courtland responded coldly, ignoring the guard’s statement. The black hold-all dropped with an ominous thud to the dusty ground. 

“Why isn’t it possible?” Colt asked, noting the way the guards’ eyes never left the bag. 

“Colt.” Court warned, reaching out an arm to bar Colt’s way when he took a step forward. He returned his attention to the guard. “Stratt. Now.” 

A crackle of static burst through the air. The guard’s shoulder radio stuttered to life, garbled words pouring from it. The man listened, pressed the transmission button and spoke in rapid fire Russian. Court’s eyes narrowed. 

“What are they saying?” Colt murmured. He was just about ready to climb the fence and try his luck running. 

“They’re debating whether to let us in, or kill us.” 

“Oh.” 

“Your names.” The guard said shortly, looking between them. “Full names.” 

“Courtland Grace, formerly Gentry.” Court nudged Colt. 

“Colt – uh, Colton Seavers. Also formerly Gentry.” He fidgeted, and then couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Come on, man, I have the same damn face as your science lead, isn’t that all the I.D. you need?” 

Court looked like he might punch him. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Colt.” He said, dangerously calm. “Shut the fuck up.” 

The guard seemed to be locked into a relay of communication, his consternation growing every passing second. Colt hoped it was a good sign. Eventually, he nodded and turned down the volume on his radio. 

“You will go in. I will escort you. The bag stays here.” He toed it with disdain. 

“Agreed.” Courtland stepped forward. “Let’s go.” 

“But –” Colt started. 

Court shot him a look. Colt shut up. 

They were ushered through the gate, their unfriendly companion silent five paces ahead of them. In the distance, Colt saw pale smoke still rising from what must have been the science centre. He hurried on, pressing just a little closer to Court. His brother gently nudged him with his shoulder, and Colt took courage from the brief touch. 

He lost track of their route as they were shown into a large building. White, stark and with the careful, quiet and studious air of a library, it was filled with all manner of personnel from all over the world. Up a flight of stairs, they rounded a corner and came to a door. A body-guard waited outside, hands clasped before him. He caught sight of them, and did a double-take when he looked fully at Colt. 

So, you know Ry, Colt thought bitterly. And whatever has happened, you went along with it. 

“I leave you here.” Their escort said nothing more, turned on his heel, and left. 

“You really look like him.” The body-guard broke the silence. 

“And you are?” Colt snapped. He waited for Court to chastise him, but it never came. 

“Carl.” He made a motion like he might offer Colt his hand, and then clearly thought better of it. He nodded instead to the door. “Stratt’s office.” 

Courtland nodded curtly and stepped forward. 

Carl held up a hand, stopping Court, who sent the body-guard a withering look. Colt wondered how much patience Court had left. 

“She … we did what we had to do. Given the – the circumstances. And I don’t expect she will change her mind.” 

Nevermind Court’s patience, Colt’s own was gone. He stormed forward, shoulder checking Carl and threw the door open. 

Perfectly unruffled, sat behind a sparsely organised desk, was Eva Stratt. 

All of Ryland’s stories had built this woman into a tyrant, a taskmaster with a strange and buried human side that appeared and disappeared seemingly at random. Colt wouldn’t forget the smile of disbelief his brother had sported – the very last time he had spoken to Ry – when he told them about the pre-launch karaoke party. But whatever Colt had been imagining, it hadn’t been this. 

She looked normal. Red hair, sad eyes. Mouth drawn into an unforgiving line. She seemed unassuming, and yet had such an air of authority haloed around her, Colt felt the instinctive need to avert his gaze to the floor. 

“Stratt.” Court said. 

“Mr. Grace. Or do you prefer Gentry?” Stratt gestured to the chairs set out before the desk. 

Colt waited to see if Courtland would sit, and then followed his lead when he did. 

“Or perhaps you come here as a Sierra agent? The contents of your bag would seem to suggest so.” Nothing in Stratt’s tone had changed, but the temperature dropped to icy within the office. 

“I come here as a brother.” Court said. “Where is he?” 

Stratt’s eyes flickered to Colt for the merest second. Then, “Being prepared for launch.” 

“That’s not an answer!” Colt exploded. “Where the fuck is my brother?” He was on his feet again, shouting. The door opened behind him – no doubt Carl checking on his charge. 

“Mr. Seavers, if you cannot be civil, you will be removed.” Stratt said reasonably. She waved a hand and the door closed, Carl seemingly dismissed. “Please, sit.” 

Colt fumed, but felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Courtland, a rare pleading expression on his face. He had been so stoical, so focused, that Colt had almost forgotten that the roil of emotions he was feeling, must be mirrored in Court too. He sat. 

“Please believe me when I say,” Stratt began, “I really did not have a choice. If he had said yes of his own accord, none of us would be in this present situation.” 

Court leaned forward, stone faced. “Explain.” 

“I needed a mission ready scientist. Dr. Grace is that person. But he rejected the position, and I found that one life against billions was a moral sacrifice I was willing to make.” She shifted slightly in her chair. “Willing, yes, but not content with.” 

“You have a decision to make now.” Court said. Colt shivered. His brother had vanished behind a killer’s mask. “You can take us to him of your own accord and explain in full what you did to him, or I use that letter opener there to pin your hand to this desk faster than you can call for Carl.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” Stratt said, standing and smoothing out her jumper. “You may see him.” 

***

The only outwardly obvious sign that Ryland was still alive was the continual beep of the heart monitor he was connected up to. 

Stratt lingered outside the door, offering them both privacy, but also making sure that the exit was barred. The message was clear: they were not leaving here with Ry. 

Colt had stumbled into the room, so pale that Court worried for a moment that he’d hit the floor. He sat in the chair by the bed, gripping the arm rest with trembling hands. Court came to stand behind him, setting his hands on Colt’s shoulders. 

Ryland was mostly hidden behind a mask, and Court shuddered involuntarily when he saw that he’d been intubated. A machine was breathing for his little brother. IVs and wires covered his arms – Court was sure there were more, and felt suddenly violently grateful for the thin blanket that covered the rest of Ry’s body. 

“He doesn’t like sleeping on his back.” Colt said, sounding utterly shellshocked. His eyes had never left Ryland’s still form. 

“I know, kid.” Court murmured, squeezing Colt’s shoulders. Everything about the situation screamed wrong, but what made Court’s eyes prickle and his throat feel tight was how still Ry was. He was not a motionless sleeper, like Colt. Court remembered with a pang a morning from their childhood, where he had gone in to wake the twins for school, and found Ryland upside down in his bed, his blankets tangled about his legs and arms spread wide.

All the righteous fury Courtland had stormed into the compound with had evaporated. On the short drive over to the medical wing of the site, Stratt had handed them a tablet, security footage playing on it. Court had watched, sick to his stomach, as Ryland, in his stupidly bright yellow raincoat, had run for the perimeter fence. Chased and hunted down, his hands reaching for the chainlink, and not making it before he was tackled. 

Court had been glad the recording had had no sound. He could just see Ryland’s face from under the crush of people holding him down, and saw that he had been screaming.

“What are we going to do?” Colt said. He sounded dazed. “Court?” 

“I –” Court started. Nothing came to him. 

Colt turned in his chair, looking up into his brother’s face. Court wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and cry. He wanted to fall apart entirely, but Colt was looking at him in the same way he had done when their father had laid it on too hard, and Court was left trying to reassure the twins that it didn’t hurt that much, honest. 

“I’m … I’m not sure, Colt,” he admitted. “But, we’re not leaving him like this.” Court looked at Ryland and wondered if, on some level, he could sense that they were nearby. “And he’s not leaving us.” 

The idea came to him so quietly that Court was taken aback. He had expected more fanfare, more existential dread to accompany it. But really, there had only ever been one option, one last gambit to play. It had been lurking in the periphery of his mind ever since he boarded that plane. Court questioned vaguely if it made him a bad person, that he had known it would probably always have come to this, and that he had immediately made his peace with it. 

“Court?” Colt’s voice brought him back to the present. He shakily got to his feet, but his gaze was steady. Colt and Ryland might have the ‘twin thing’, but in that moment, Court knew exactly that what had passed through his mind, had passed through Colt’s. 

“I would say no, but …” Court said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, recalling the conversation from earlier.  

“It would be pointless.” Colt finished. 

“Nothing is guaranteed. It will probably be a ‘no’.” Courtland warned. “And, there are other things, other people, to think about as well.” 

“I know.” Colt said simply. “And we’ll get to that if and when we have to. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t ask.” 

“Me neither.”

They both had, after all, put their names down voluntarily. They just didn’t realise then that they might be fighting to move from the non-viable list, to the viable one. 

Court did a very brief mental inventory and found that there was no part of him that was afraid. No part that was kicking and screaming, desperate to escape. There was a deep sadness that Claire might be about to lose him, permanently this time, but he knew that she would have others to look out for her. 

He recalled Ryland’s face on the security feed. The anger came back in a flood. He had been so scared. And Court would do anything to fix that. 

With a nod to Colt, which he returned, Court marched to the door and flung it open. “Stratt.” 

“Yes?” She stowed the tablet she had been typing on under her arm and gave him her undivided attention. “Are you done?” 

“Not even close.” Courtland said with a grim smile. “I’d like to request a meeting. You, me, my brother and the two other astronauts.” 

“Mr. Grace, this is –” 

“Make it happen, or I go looking for my confiscated bag.” Court waited, counting the seconds that ticked by. He watched as Stratt thought through her options, seeming to discard each one as quickly as it occurred to her. 

“Follow me.” She said eventually, the barest hint of defeat in her expression. She turned to a nearby guard and spoke to her in Chinese. The guard nodded, and walked away down the corridor. Court’s Chinese was not as good as his Russian, but he had definitely caught the names Yáo and Ilyukhina in the exchange. 

“Colt.” He called softly into the room. He waited in the doorway as Colt turned to his twin, reached for Ry’s hand and gripped it gently. 

“Be back soon, okay?” Colt squared his shoulders, and came to join Courtland. “Ready to do something insane?” 

Behind Colt, Ryland lay still and quiet. He couldn’t call it peaceful – he wouldn’t. He took in his little brother’s profile one more time. “Yes.” 

***

The conference room was deadly silent. Stratt sat at the head of the table, Courtland and Colton on one side, Yáo and Ilyukhina on the other. Both the astronauts had been entirely taken aback when faced with what was essentially a clone of Grace, and in any other situation, Stratt might have found it amusing. 

Launch was in two days. Two days, and all her months of hard work, questionable decisions, and hidden personal pain that Project Hail Mary had taken from her, was about to be upended. 

“Stratt,” Yáo began slowly. “I think we are in need of an explanation.” 

“Agreed,” Ilyukhina said, less wary than her crewmate and openly staring between Courtland and Colton. “You must be brothers, yes?” 

Stratt sighed and opened her tablet. “Dr. Grace’s older,” she indicated Courtland, “and twin brother.” She pointed at Colton. 

“Obviously.” Colton muttered.  

“Grace never said he had family.” Ilyukhina said, leaning forward. 

“It is a … complicated situation.” Stratt said, looking at Courtland. She wasn’t sure if the man was aware of it, but his posture and expression would not have been out of place amongst soldiers. When total authority of Project Hail Mary had been given over to her, it meant she had also been granted access to the deepest, darkest parts of governmental archives. Her background check on Grace’s family had come up with many more complexities than she had initially been prepared for. The Sierra Program, now redundant, had kept her up late into the night, reading through Sierra Six’s mission logs. 

Colton’s file had kept her night’s long too: although, it was less about needing to understand a potentially dangerous enemy, and more through sheer disbelief at the amount of nonsense the man managed to get himself into.  

“Why have you called us here?” Yáo asked, suspicion beginning to colour his words. 

Stratt knew how this was going to go. She took a breath, and then took the plunge. “Courtland and Colton requested this meeting because they wish to take yours and Ilyukhina’s positions aboard the Hail Mary.” 

“What?” Yáo said, leaning forward and splaying his hands on the table. “This is out of the question.” 

Ilyukhina frowned. “You want to give up your lives here … and die in space? This is a very strange choice, especially for two non-trained civilians.” 

“I am not a civilian.” Courtland said shortly. He looked to Stratt, and she saw his permission being given. She pulled up his Sierra profile on the tablet and handed it over to the astronauts. They scrolled through, disbelief growing more and more evident on their faces. 

“I am a civilian,” Colton said, blasé, “but I’m a quick learner and used to making batshit choices.” 

“Colt.” Courtland said, light admonishment in his voice. 

“Quick learner you may be,” Yáo said, “but we have trained for years for a mission such as this one. Yes, its parameters are far beyond what we would have expected, but you cannot hope to be mission ready, nor competent enough to think this is a good idea.”

“I am sorry about Grace,” Ilyukhina said gently. “But he is doing this for everyone, including you.” She looked at Stratt. “Did they get a chance to say goodbye?” 

This was the one card the brothers had. She knew they would play it to their full advantage, and she could already hear the creak of the scales tipping. 

“Tell me.” Courtland said. He pinned the astronauts with a cold stare. “What has Stratt told you about my brother’s sudden agreement to join the mission?” 

Yáo and Ilyukhina looked at one another. 

“That … well, that he thought about it, and accepted.” Ilyukhina said. “She gave him three hours.” 

“Three – that’s it?” Colton said incredulously. “You gave him three hours to decide if he wanted to die or not?”

“Ryland did not decide.” Courtland said, standing up and looking between Yáo and Ilyukhina. “Stratt forced him, had him chased through the compound, and then sedated against his will.” 

Yáo stared at Courtland and then looked sharply to Stratt. “Is this true?” 

“She showed us security footage,” Colton said, gesturing to Stratt’s tablet. “Perhaps you’d like to share with the class?” 

She could have refused. She did not have to comply to the will and whims of Ryland Grace’s brothers. But her reserves of strength were all but depleted. More and more recently, she had been almost dreaming of a lengthy court case, a prison sentence. Time where decisions were made for her, where she could finally sit and be a passive piece in a much larger game. Stratt had played her game, and in the closing moves, she was ready to lose. 

The astronauts watched the security footage, their expressions diverging drastically from one another. Ilyukhina’s hand rose to cover her mouth, eyes wide and nearly unblinking. Yáo grew sterner and sterner, his posture rigid and shoulders tense. 

He set the tablet down carefully, folded his hands on the table and turned to Stratt. “I made my position very clear. I will not have an unwilling crewmate aboard my ship.”

“He was your friend, no?” Ilyukhina said softly. “He trusted you.” 

“That was his mistake.” Stratt said. There was no emotion in her tone, because it was simply a fact. She looked at Yáo. “I appreciate your position but in this extreme instance I decided to override your wishes.” 

“They have not changed.” Yáo looked almost pained. “I will not launch alongside Dr. Grace. On this, I am immovable.”

“Commander…” Ilyukhina murmured. She glanced between him and Stratt, and Stratt watched an internal struggle rage within her. 

Courtland took that moment to lay down his final hand. “It seems you might be in need of a willing volunteer, then, to take Commander Yáo’s place, since he seems adamant on his position.” 

Stratt drew herself up, standing now as well. “I have already prepared one member of the Hail Mary’s crew for launch against his will.” She looked at Yáo. “Do not think I would not do it a second time.” 

“Please, this is madness!” Ilyukhina broke in. Stratt felt almost sorry for her. “Launch is in two days, things cannot change this drastically now.” 

“They changed the second the quartermaster handed DuBois the wrong measurement of Astrophage.” Stratt said. 

It seemed that they were at an impasse. Courtland had upped the stakes, and Stratt felt she was mere seconds away from calling in the guards beyond the door and having to do what she did to Grace to Yáo and Ilyukhina too. 

“I will not launch with Dr. Grace.” Yáo said with finality. 

“I won’t let you send my little brother into space to die without me.” Courtland rejoined. The pair’s eyes met, and Stratt sensed a shift in the power balance. 

“And I will not let any of this … this farce impact the scheduled launch with the correct number of crew.” She said. 

Colton leaned back on two legs of his chair. He kicked his feet up onto the desk. 

“Colt, what the hell are –” Courtland started. 

“So here’s how I see it.” Colton rocked a little on his chair. “You two,” he indicated Yáo and Ilyukhina, “have a moral code so strict that Stratt’s little stunt with my brother has you all in a tangle. Correct?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, and plowed on. 

“Court has made it abundantly clear that he is willing and – you’ve seen his resume – able to take on Commander Yáo’s position. Hooray, no moral dilemma keeping you up at night, Commander.” Colton pointed to Ilyukhina. “I’m not even going to pretend that I know even one percent of the stuff you know, but I have yet to hear you choose a side in this, what did you call it, Stratt? A ‘farce’?” 

Ilyukhina shifted a little uncomfortably under Colton’s scrutiny. 

From the corner of her eye, Stratt watched Courtland’s posture relax just a fraction as he watched his brother’s growing confidence.

“Which tells me that you don’t like the idea any more than Commander Yáo does about sending an innocent and unwilling man to space.” Colton raised an eyebrow. “Am I even close?” 

“Perhaps.” Ilyukhina said quietly. 

“Oh dear, Stratt. It looks like you’ve got dissension in the ranks.” Colton swung his chair back down and leaned his elbows on the table, knuckles to his chin. “That doesn’t bode well on a mission to save all of humanity.” 

Stratt opened her mouth to respond, having finally gotten an answer for where the brazen sass that Grace sometimes exhibited had come from. 

Colton didn’t let her start, saying, “And would you look at that!” He pointed to himself with mock incredulity. “Here’s someone who can make that crew a total of three, and who’s willing to go.” 

“If I may,” Courtland said, standing now behind Colton’s chair. “If you were indeed to do to Commander Yáo and Engineer Ilyukhina what you did to Ryland, then I would make it my personal endeavour to tell the world that you sent not one, but three unwilling people to die all because of a single mistake from the quartermaster you personally hired.” 

Stratt heard the cage shut behind her. The Sierra Program might have been buried in the ashes, but she knew that someone like Courtland would find a solitary ember, and breathe it into a raging inferno. A court case, jail time, she could handle. Sierra Six, without all the military and diplomatic backing she currently had and knew would be gone the moment the Hail Mary left the atmosphere, she knew was beyond her capabilities.

“Oh, and,” Colton put in, “if you send us, instead of them, Earth gets to keep two highly trained, professional and intelligent people for whatever might happen next. I’d much rather have these two on Earth whilst you send two jackasses to space.” 

“I’m not sure I agree with the second part,” muttered Courtland, “but yes to the first.” 

Stratt looked to Yáo and Ilyukhina. She looked to Grace’s brothers, and wondered at the depth of their love for him that they would fight this hard for a one way ticket. She sat back down. “Can we discuss this privately?”

“Sure.” Courtland said. “Colt.” 

Colton stood headed for the door. He was halfway through when he turned around and said, “You’ve got three hours.” 

***

His ears still rang with the shouts, pleas and sobs from Claire. They had burrowed into his head, unwilling to leave him alone. Court groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

The phone call had been beyond difficult. If ever he was to have any doubts as to what he was doing, it would be now. He could tell Colt was in the same boat, staring off into nothing, his own phone clutched tightly in his hand. 

Jody and Claire had run through what felt like the entire range of human emotion. And rightly so, Courtland thought bitterly. We’ve just told them we’re leaving the planet to die. 

Stratt, Yáo and Ilyukhina had agreed. They would remain behind. Project Hail Mary was to become a family affair. The most important part of the mission, even from the start, had always been the scientist. Without them on board, the whole thing would fail. Ry was going, yes, and Court hated that they could not find a way out of this particular situation – but at least they were going with him. He was utterly confident in his and Colt’s abilities to muddle along with whatever Ryland needed them to do, whilst he figured out the critical science parts.

It was risky, yes. The chances were they would fail. But Court would go to the ends of the universe itself for his family, and if that made him selfish, that he was willing to put all of humanity on the line for his little brother, then call him selfish. 

There wasn’t enough time left now before launch for Jody and Claire to come out and say goodbye. It was cruel, he knew that. One thing he could be grateful to Stratt for: she had pulled some very quick strings to make, with her express permission, Jody Claire’s legal guardian. Everything Fitz had left her passed from Court’s power of attorney, to Jody’s. 

After the grief and hurt had passed, Court knew they’d take care of one another. And really, Jody was much more capable than he ever could have been at raising Claire properly. Normally. There wouldn’t be any black go-bags in Jody’s house, nor any sleepless nights where Courtland still felt the need to prowl through unlit rooms, peering through the windows to the streets below. 

He had to believe they would be all right. It was one thing he could cling to now amidst the churning sea he had voluntarily hurled himself into. 

The other things he had left; Colt and Ryland. He had held Colt as he cried into Court’s jacket, Jody’s whispered farewells echoing through the room. 

“I told her to be happy.” He said, voice muffled by the fabric. “Not to hold on to me, or – or my memory, I guess.” Colt shuddered slightly, and Court gripped him tighter. “It was the right thing to say, but it hurt, Court.” 

“I know,” Court murmured. “I know.” 

“This is the right thing,” Colt said, disentangling himself a little. “I went for that stupid blood test all those months ago and it was the right thing then as well. But I sort of hate myself right now.” 

“Me too, kiddo.” Court reached over and swiped the remaining tears away from Colt’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb, just like he used to do when Colt was small. He didn’t really know what else to say, and instead looked over to Ryland. 

They were in his room. They had been offered quarters, but there had been nowhere else they’d wanted to be apart from at his side. Where before Court had hoped Ry could sense their presence, he now found himself wanting the inverse. The agony this would cause Ryland was too much to even contemplate. Horrifically, Court was almost glad Ry was unconscious.

He guided Colt over to Ry’s bed, letting him settle at the end of it, whilst Court took the chair. Ever so carefully, as if he was afraid of hurting him, Colt lifted Ryland’s feet up and placed them over his own legs, leaning back against the wall and sighing. 

“Get some sleep,” Courtland said softly. “If you can.” 

Colt nodded and slumped down the wall. Court shifted deeper into the recess of the chair, folded his arms and closed his eyes.  

Just as Court was beginning to drift off, he heard Colt whisper something to Ryland. 

“We’re staying right here with you.” 

See you amongst the stars, kid. He thought.