Chapter Text
I’ve only had about five months of fresh air outside of the filthy and congested French prison cell. My ‘fresh air’ is actually rather salty, though. They– who’s they? I don’t know. Every government I pissed off, I presume– moved me to another aircraft carrier shortly after the success of Project Hail Mary, simply because I knew a few people who were able to bargain me out. Now the ship is my home, where I am supposedly ‘involved’ with Project Helios, although the team really doesn’t tell me anything. All I know is that the plan is to breed enough Taumeoba to send to Venus on probes so the astrophage population is managed and our Sun can return to its original luminosity.
However, the only thing I’ve actually ‘helped’ with is managing some of the problems that come with an ice age, such as famine. Since the poles have gotten so cold, many people are crowding around the equator, leaving lots of vacant space in the Northern Hemisphere. I proposed they use that land to make large astrophage-powered greenhouses for crops, and design robots to automatically harvest them.
They thought it was a great idea, and I thought they’d, you know, pull me out of my cell (crappy room on the last level of an aircraft carrier) for once to help execute it, but no. They stole my idea, and some random Russian engineer got all the credit for it.
Everyone here hates me, I’m sure of it. I’m treated like shit, and so long as they don’t need my advice, I’m forced to be locked up in my room with three security officers on the outside.
The whole world hates me, actually. The reason I’m on this aircraft carrier and not the nice one, where most of the leading figures in Project Helios are, is that I was almost assassinated seven times. Seven, while in prison. So, they think I’m safer here. Or maybe they think their team is safer with me here, far, far away from them.
It may not be as nice as my old aircraft carrier, the vat, which they took apart for the sake of a museum, but at least I’m less likely to be shot through my window, I guess.
I am the embodiment of a scapegoat. Environmentalists loathe me, call me the devil, and blame me for the mass extinction, as if I weren’t the one actively trying to prevent human extinction. Yes, many species of penguin, tropical plants, and marine life(and probably other species too) are gone forever, but not all of that is my fault. I was working to fix things, wasn’t I?
At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. Project Hail Mary succeeded; that’s what matters.
About six months ago, the beetles returned to Earth with a solution to the Petrova Problem and Ryland Grace’s farewell. I was allowed to watch the video footage he sent. There were over twenty hours of footage he sent back, and I couldn’t even manage to sit through one. Just seeing his face and hearing his voice made me sick to my stomach with guilt. I haven’t even touched the flash drive since the last time I sat down to watch the footage.
I know the synopsis of what happened, at least. Intelligent aliens are real, astrophage has a predator, xenon is not a gas, etc., etc. Grace’s accomplishments and findings are incredible. I believed in him for a reason, after all. I knew he’d do great.
And now, he’s dead. His life’s been cut short, sacrificed for the sake of humanity. All because I made a terrible decision that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
For the brief period of time in which I was allowed internet access, I would spend my nights reading through different papers people had published about me and my debatable morals. Every article that painted me as an evil person made me want to read another article, in hopes that this one would say something nicer instead, like, for example, ‘Eva Stratt’s efficiency is what saved us all’ or ‘Eva Stratt, making the toughest decisions for the best cause’. Spoiler alert, I never found those appreciative articles.
Since then, I decided I would avoid the internet entirely. My place is in my dull and grey, heavily guarded room, where I will drown in my guilt without the sweet release of death until who-knows-when. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll die early. Fifty-eight sounds like a good year.
I’m sitting in my armchair, which has a rip in the center of the cushion, even though it was brand new six months ago. My gaze is on the window, which reveals the stretch of dark blue ocean littered with thick sheets of ice. A scenery that’s always changing, yet appears to be the same every day.
“Eva Stratt?” A voice calls from behind me as I hear my door click open. It’s a familiar Norwegian voice– Dr. Lokken. The scientist, designer of the centrifugal feature, and the leading figure in Project Helios, is peaking through my door, looking at me with some sort of nervous anticipation.
I haven’t seen her in a while, and was never really all that close with her, so I’m quite surprised she paid a visit. I don’t get many visitors, actually, since I don’t have any friends or family who would be under any obligation to visit me.
Despite popular belief, Eva Stratt did have friends before being sent to prison for life. I just didn’t talk to them much when Project Hail Mary became the sun and I the asteroid circling around it until it eventually consumed me and the life I once had.
Dr. Lokken is older now, much like me. We both share greying hair, though she looks far better than me, probably because she’s also several years younger than I am. Her face looks bright and free of lines, and I grow intrigued by how she must manage her stress.
I’ve spent a lot of time pondering what the original Petrova Team crew is up to now. They all must have very busy lives. I used to feel jealous that they’re all role models for the new generation of amateur scientists, engineers, and doctors, and that they get to actually live their lives, but I’ve recently learned that jealousy is a futile emotion when there is no feasible way to achieve what you envy. I’ve tried, believe me.
I don’t have to ponder about Dr. Lokken, however. I know very well that she is very successful. Well, successful might be an arguable term; she’s pretty much in the same position I was in, twenty-seven years ago, except not to an extreme level. She is not exempt from the law and does not have complete authority, but she certainly has a lot of it.
Considering she stayed involved with everything Project Hail Mary related even after the launch, she was trusted to lead Project Helios, or so I hear. I believe she’s more of a lead engineer and organiser, rather than a person of authority. At least she’s not at risk of being sent to prison for the rest of her life after the Helios probes are sent to Venus.
“That is me,” I murmur eventually, very skeptically, and slowly stand from my armchair. Her lips part to speak, but she hesitates. Just for a second. She seems to look me over, scrutinizing the deep valleys in my cheeks, my forehead, and near my eyes that hold inescapable guilt. She must notice my posture as I stand—the way I am constantly hunched over in shame. She looks back to my eyes, and her own eyes narrow slightly, as if she realizes that the one thing that didn’t change about me is the softness of my eyes. A feature that many people would say contradicts my entire personality, and yet it’s the only feature that has stayed the same, even after so much time.
“It’s Dr. Lokken,” She begins, stepping further into the room. “I’m here to inform you that the Hail Mary returned to Earth four weeks ago.” She pauses, stealing a deep breath. “With Dr. Captain Ryland Grace inside.”
What?