SAVIOR.

they leave dimitri not without some stalling on grace's behalf, a fondness that is rare from himself exuding at, quite frankly, the scientist's boldness. he has always appreciated the crazies, much like he supposes stratt does — although her selection is likely out of necessity whereas his is born from kinship, admiration.

craziest is right. the guy is looser than a bag of nuts and bolts, running on engine fumes and probably coffee like the rest of us — although with the russians, who knows, maybe something stronger — and he's warmed me to him in record time. probably didn't even try. i make a note to try and catch him later after all the day's ruckus is done, and gratefully take my coffee. or so i think.

beverage is plucked from her carefully crafted triangle of cups, happy to relieve some strain and happier to top up the caffeine dose that keeps this place running. he is watching her over the rim of his drink as he sips, half a dutiful nod coming on the brink of her question, until it ends with a splutter. ryland's hand shoots up in an impressive reflex response to catch the spray, and he is coughing raw retches into his palm like a cat hacking up a hairball.

❛ i think . . . that one's mine . . . ❜ he half says, half gags, points with his free hand to her backup drink cozied in the crook of her arm, already shooting the mismatched one forward as if to get it as far away from him as possible, eyes watering. ❛ jesus. you're really drinking that . . . straight from the bean, huh. ❜

stratt thumbs the mouthpiece of her coffee cup when she's relieved of the load, her eyes briefly drift to the thin wire of plastic and she briefly laments it. she should use reusable cups. it's only appropriate, if they're working hard to extend earth's age they should at least ease up on the plastic consumption.

her eyes drift back briefly to the vaccum sealed room where they had tested the spin drives and wonders if that could be the world's solution to the overpowering waste problem, but it shrinks in comparison to the overarching plot. the over-arching invisible line that curves between the sun to venus. stratt almost presses her lips to the mouthpiece when the man beside her suddenly coils away.

her hand moves quickly, hovers, pats between his shoulder blades as she simultaneously leans away from him and her head dips curiously to make sure his airways are not actually compromised by the coffee. nothing's coming out of his nostrils ( it has before ) so that's a good sign at least. she's not going to lose her lead scientist to coffee, for crying out loud.

❝ oh. ❞ stratt realises the mishap and the cause of his distress, her lips pull over her teeth to keep the amused smile from teetering onto her features as she loosens her arm when he practically goes digging for the coffee she's holding hostage to her side. and she can't help it, the subtle shake of her shoulders as a laugh sits idle in the back of her throat, the amusement jailbreaks to carved features as she retrieves her dark blend from him and looks down at it. she hopes he didn't spit in it.

she produces a napkin from her multitude of deep pockets ( pockets are practical and eva stratt is nothing if not practical ) and starts absently wiping at the coffee lids for any aberrant spray that could have landed there. ❝ it's vietnamese. ❞ she supplies though she doesn't think it's enough defense in the name of her favourite blend. but arches her brows as she takes a long sip and makes sure to stare him down while she does it. what a baby, a corner of one eye gleams coy as crow's feet form there.

there is something childish to the doctor's lounging tilt, stratt's upright stature at odds with grace's almost ninety - degree lean on the table. his forearm only nudges slightly with involuntary offense before settling once again upon now bare surface, his hands clasping over one another's knuckles. he wants to crack them, shake some of the tension out of his shoulders at the very prospect of what she is suggesting.

no, what she is stating. eva stratt has decided what she's going to do, and still i often don't understand my part in this as unwitting consultant and advisor. i know more than most what having a sounding board does for a plan, but even if i disagree she goes ahead. so what is the point of it ?

❛ we're talking an entire continent here. one seventh of the earth as a whole. ❜ he knows that's not exactly what it works out to be, that the land mass works out a lot less, but he grasps at straws because this feels wrong. it is wrong, a hand forced by the ever looming destruction that the sun's waning light will inflict on their planet. he is not deluded as to its impact, but doesn't have the pragmatic practicality that stratt does, the ability to snip the thread regardless of what it leaves behind. instead his head twists each situation on its head, stubbornly insists that there must be another way. maybe this is why she asks him. he's got nothing, feels like a failure for not pulling a rabbit out of a hat. their eyes bore into one another, understanding and its antithesis swirling in tempestuous irises.

❛ i know how much it can create. the experiment here is if the succeeding temperature shift will be enough to tide us over. if it'll be worth it. you think the risk is factored into the reward ? ❜ he nods at her papers with a sharp raise of his brows, doubtless calculations ( some of them his own contributions ) and diagrams and measurements amidst them. lists of the animals that will go extinct, compared to what their lives — their deaths, their demolition — might be worth. he sticks on that word, might. god willing.

a headache threatens intrusion to an already wilting mind, she hasn't slept since the launch. a small pad shows a live tracker of the hail mary's position within their star system. soon, the ship would go beyond the true edge, and soon their live tracking would become a projection of its flight track. any signal would be delayed years, they would find out their prayer has left them to literal heavens years after its arrival to tau ceti. she's a believer, devout even sometimes, to her own vision that she's carved out of certain doom. and as the ice age creeps to dull her carving blade, stratt knows she needs to come up with ways to keep it sharp, keep carving away, chipping at the mountain until it becomes a palpable hope.

but she's read report after report of the initiative ensuring earth's doom. if the mission doesn't succeed, they would briefly succumb to trapped heat that wrecked their ecosystems. they might starve or drown before they freeze. they might get poisoned too by the expulsion of gases trapped inside the earths icy cores as stratt puts in motion plans to sink slabs of ice caps into the ocean. predictions of an unfavourable outcome tip the scales further towards an inevitable end.

even if their hail mary is answered, this endeavor might be the icarian step taken too far to ensure its success and sealing earth's fate with a silent blow, a calculated, measured extinction event. the amount of work that would be demanded is a vow stratt intends to upkeep with whatever time she has left.