Chapter Text
Ryland
Ryland would consider himself smart. Very smart. He got his PHD in molecular biology, could understand advanced physics, and was the first one on Earth to figure out how to breed a microscopic alien cell.
He believed that given enough time and equipment, he could figure out anything.
Well, almost anything.
Except the switch happens faster than he can possibly think. One moment he is eating a lukewarm burrito on the Hail Mary, the next he is blinded by lights, sounds assaulting him from all angles. Before his eyes can adjust, something hits him in his chest followed by something else pulling him back off his feet, his back colliding with a hard surface before landing face down on the ground.
His head pounds, a ringing in his ears.
Finally the world comes back into focus.
"Cut! Back to ones!" Someone yells from Ryland's left. After a moment of laying on the ground someone crouches down beside him.
"You all good, Colt? Didn't expect you of all people to make a rookie mistake like that." It's a male voice, deep.
Ryland goes to adjust his glasses before realizing they're no longer on his face. Did they go flying off somewhere?
"I'm not Co-" Finally Ryland's brain catches up.
Voices.
Why are there voices in the middle of space? Isn't he supposed to be almost 11 light years from Earth?
Ryland looks to the guy now helping him up. A dark skinned man, his hair black and short. He looks at Ryland, now more worried than before.
God his head hurts.
"Who- What's happening?" Ryland looks around him now, he feels dazed. There are so. Many. people.
Actual humans running from place to place. Some pushing lights, others carrying clipboards- what is going on?
This looks like a movie set, but why would he be on a movie set right now? Did Mary hit a stray asteroid killing him?
No. He'd done a thorough search of the ship's systems. There is a warning system that would have gone off, and as it stands Ryland is in way too much pain for this to be a dream.
"Did you hit your head?" The man asks, motioning someone else over as he starts tugging Ryland towards a chair. "That should have been an easy one for you, I've seen you get thrown hundreds of times."
Ryland plops in the offered chair, one hand coming up to hold his pounding head.
The man's voice sounds a little more panicked now. “You're crying. Shit, that's never a good sign” This headache isn't from hitting… whatever it is he hit. Looks like a giant fake rock. He knows that at least.
But who cares about that, right now there had to be at least 50 HUMANS that Ryland could see. Live, breathing humans.
The tears were inevitable. His mind had been reeling from the shock of the sudden environment change, of course he wouldn't have realized he was crying until it was mentioned.
Ryland doesn't wipe his face, his hand coming up to clasp his mouth as he tries to stop his quivering.
“Sorry,” he says to the now extremely concerned looking man “sorry, I just need a moment.”
A lady comes jogging to the right of the chair, one hand landing on Ryland's shoulder softly, kind eyes looking down at him with worry, studying his wet face.
"Hey, what happened? What's wrong?" She asks, looking between Ryland and the man.
"I think he hit his head. I'm going to get the medic, stay with him for a moment."
"Yeah, go. I've got him." She says, now crouching down in front of Ryland, her hands sliding to his knees as the man runs off. "Colt, hey…" Her voice is softer as she speaks to him.
Her hand comes up to his face.
Ryland instinctively moves his head away.
He knows she is probably going to check his head for an injury he knows isn't there, but there is something more intimate in her touch that Ryland feels slightly uncomfortable coming from someone he doesn't know. That and…
"Why do you keep calling me Colt?" Ryland asks.
The headache is starting to subside now, but everything else in his body aches.
She looks a lot more concerned now. Ryland notes the way her eyes widen in shock before smoothing back over, as if to cover her panic.
"Because that's your name." She replies. "Colt, do you know what year it is? What day?"
Ryland has lost count of what day it is weeks ago. In space there isn't really anything he can accurately consider a "day" so he thought it better to just base the movement of time on his own circadian rhythm. Or whatever the ship says the day is when he decides to check.
The year is far more complicated. He'd been in a coma for the better part of four years. At least on the ship. The ship that had been traveling approximately 92% the speed of light. So if he does the math, taking time dilation into account, that's…
Ryland wishes he had a whiteboard to write down his calculations.
“Okay, okay. Listen Colt. Where are you right now? What's the last thing you remember?" The woman leans in slightly as she deems Ryland’s silence to be going on too long, probably checking to see what Ryland’s pupils looked like.
Ryland knew the basics of first aid, probably knew more than just the basics actually.
"I don't- I'm not concussed." He says it more to himself than to her, running through the checklist in his head. "No nausea. Only a slight headache, but that's- I don’t believe that’s from the fall." He pauses, something catching in his brain. "My pupils… You can check mine, if you want. For reactiveness. You're probably not going to find anything though, but if it makes you feel better."
“Look, I know you’re used to taking hits and popping that thumbs up bullshit, but there’s something seriously wrong, Colt.”
“Oh, there’s definitely something wrong, I never said there wasn’t. I just said it wasn’t a concussion.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Ryland could tell she didn’t believe him. That she was just going along with what he’s saying in order to keep him calm. Smart, considering she thinks she’s talking to a concussion victim.
Ryland looks around at the people on the set, milling around, trying and failing not to stare.
“Well, first of all, you’re calling me by my brother’s name.” Ryland starts.
Colt
Colt would consider himself good at his job. Very good. He'd been thrown off buildings, set on fire, dragged behind cars going sixty miles an hour. He knew how to take a hit.
Which was why the kick he'd been expecting felt off. Well, no, it didn't feel like anything.
Because it didn't happen.
One moment he heard the set settle, the director yelling action, and then…Nothing. It was disorientating, the silence.
Nothing but a gentle hum of what Colt thinks is air conditioning? He wasn't sure. Colt's hand comes up to press against his temple. A headache pounding in his ears. Adrenalin courses through him, left over from the expectation that he was about to be kicked into a prop rock.
Why did his arm feel so heavy?
No, fuck that, where the hell was he?
The white interior of this new space was a bit blinding. A table, some sort of equipment Colt only knows from the scifi dramas he'd worked on. Was this a set?
"Hello?" Colt calls out, his voice bouncing slightly. "Anyone there?"
He processes the wrapper in his other hand a moment later. Upon closer inspection, it was a burrito, partially eaten already.
"What the hell?" He murmurs to himself.
His stomach growls softly. He'd been working since sunrise. The director said something about the sun setting up the scene perfectly, but that had been hours ago. It was supposed to be one last shot before lunch.
With a shrug he takes a bite. He grimaces at how bland it tastes, but shrugs it off. Food was food.
He munches on the burrito as he goes to look for anyone else that could explain where in the world he was right now.
The headache was still nagging him, his own body feeling sluggish as he moves about the hallway.
The halls remind him of a space ship set he'd once worked on. The amount of stunts with wires for that movie had been a pain in his ass.
Colt snickers to himself, even if how he got here was confusing, being on a set like this was still really fucking cool. Even he couldn't help but act the part.
"Computer," He says to the empty hall. "Set a course for home!" He jokes, looking into another room. It seems to be the control room.
"Current course maintained, Dr. Grace. Destination: Tau Ceti. Estimated arrival: 4 days 7 hours. Note: insufficient fuel reserves for course correction to Earth." Colt jumps as the robotic female voice rings out. He hadn't expected any response.
But also…
"Dr. Grace?" Colt repeats. "What do you mean Dr. Grace?" His voice raises as his heart starts beating in his ears.
"Dr. Ryland Grace. Molecular biologist. Leading Astrophage specialist on Project Hail Mary." The computer responds.
This had to be some fucked up joke. His brother had been gone for the better part of 5 and a half years. Ran off on some suicide mission to space, leaving Colt behind without so much as a goodbye.
Whoever set this up had a sick sense of humor.
He throws the empty burrito wrapper aside.
"Alright, I get it!" He calls out so anyone nearby could hear. "Jokes on me, but this is too far!"
Silence is the only thing that responds.
"I said I'm done! Wrap it up! I don't know what kind of practical effects you used to get me here, but I'm not going to sit here while you use my brother as the butt of your stupid prank!"
Again, silence. Not even the computer lady responds.
Colt brings his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance trying to calm himself, only to find something already resting there.
He pulls the glasses from his face.
He turns them over in his hand. He hadn't been wearing glasses for the shoot. Why was he wearing glasses?
Actually, now that he was looking down more he could see that his whole outfit was replaced with a black teeshirt and an orange jumpsuit tied around his waist.
He looks around now, really looks around. Items in the distance a little blurry around the edges until he puts the glasses back on. He takes them off then puts them back on again multiple times as if to confirm that his usually perfect 20/20 vision was now shit.
Then he's back out into the hallway.
"A door, there has to be a door here somewhere." He says as he races through.
Except this time something catches his eye.
A window.
His breathing catches as he approaches it.
A void of black, filled with millions of shining stars. Space. This was the definition of what space looked like. Outshining any photo he'd seen before.
He has to sit for a moment to catch his breath. What exactly do you do when you suddenly teleport to space?
Except, did he teleport? Because he can now see his own reflection in the window's glass. And while all his life he and his brother had shared the same face, he knew when he was looking at his brother's features.