#crossover fic

Paul breathed as he continued to watch the ship. Why wasn't it doing anything? Clearly, it was interested in him. It came over after all. Probably saw the Hail Mary enter orbit.

A thought drifted into Paul's head: An unknown object, constructed rather than natural, is propelled into the star's orbit and stops. A tiny piece could maybe be seen moving, but otherwise nothing. If Paul had saw such a thing and it was much smaller than his ship, he'd assume it was a probe.

The other ship was waiting for a sign of life.

Slowly, Paul inched his way back into the pilot's seat. His eyes remained on the window as he clipped the restraints back on. Fingers curling comfortably around the control stick, Paul took a deep breath and pressed the throttle.

One. Two. Three.

The other ship was quick to copy. "Ok, ok, ok, ok," Paul tried to soothe himself. They were now both on the same page. Now it was his turn to wait.

Just as it was quick to copy, the other ship was quick to respond. Something began shifting along the hull, but before Paul could do anything- "Blip-B detected," the computer stated. A dot had appeared on the radar, visible from the window once Paul looked back out. The cylinder that had been thrown by a five armed robot turned end over end on its way towards him.

Panic gripped Paul tight. "Computer," he wheezed past his swelling fear, "How long until the Blip-B arrives?" "Twenty-five minutes."

Rather slow for a possible bomb. Just the right speed for a message. "If I did decide to catch it, how would I do it?" Paul asked, desperately hoping for something better than what he was thinking. "Would you like to go for a space walk, Mr Matthews?" He didn't. He really, really didn't want to. But what other choice did he have?

Oddly enough, even with the complication of zero gravity, it didn't take Paul that long to climb into an EVA suit. Muscle memory kicked in as soon as the undersuit was on. Unfortunately, this meant that he was standing in the airlock sooner than he would have liked. Turns out the only thing worse than knowing only metal and glass is holding you back from being sucked out into space, was standing in front of a door leading to that same yawning void and needing to open it.

Paul checked his tether for the third time and opened the airlock.

He looked away as soon as he could, attaching to the first tether point. Almost the entirety of Paul's focus was on the Hail Mary's hull, with fleeting glances towards the cylinder to check its progress. By the time he made it to the estimated impact site, the cylinder was still outside of reach.

Anxiety beat in his chest like a drum, but Paul flipped around to face the Blip-A regardless. It took extreme effort to not look down. Or in any other direction than at the cylinder. Minutes ticked by as it grew closer and closer, until finally, Paul could catch it.

Holding it tightly, he climbed his way back rapidly, only turning back once in the airlock. The hull robot had tracked his progress and was now sitting directly opposite him. Paul couldn't see any cameras, but he could feel whoever was at the controls staring. He stared back, slowly raised his arm, and waved.

The robot was still for a moment. Then an arm jutted out, and it waved back. Withdrawing into the airlock, Paul pulled the door closed, never breaking eye contact. As soon as the door shut, the robot sped off out of sight.

Five minutes later, Paul floated in the lab, looking out at a sea of complex devices. And it all finally hit.

He was really doing it. He was really, actively making first contact with an alien race. And he had absolutely no idea how to use any of the equipment he was looking at. Could any of it even work in zero gravity?

So, Paul tried something new. He closed his eyes, and he thought really, really hard: "How do I use the lab in zero gravity?"

---

True to Stratt's word, Paul had woken up the next morning with a duffle bag at his feet and a sticky note on his forehead. One meeting and a couple days waiting for blood test results later, he was offically handed the role of "General Assistant." What did this mean? Basically, anything Stratt thought it should mean.

Lab assistant, coffee boy, note taker, anytime she thought Paul's hands could be useful to someone, she'd send him over there. And most prominently on that list was "test dummy."

Paul sat in the training simulator waiting for the next phase. They had apparently updated the layout and wanted to make sure that nothing was going to short circuit randomly. "Ok," the instructor spoke over the radio, "Now, pull the centrifuge lever." "Alright," Paul flipped the two switches holding it in place and pulled it down. "I'm not seeing any surges or irregularities, think that's it for today."

Sitting back in the chair as the simulator powered down, one question popped into Paul's head: "Why would the lab's centrifuges be rigged up to the cockpit?" "Oh, they aren't," the instructor replied conversationally, "Well... I guess they kinda are. Apparently, it's cheaper, easier, and more time efficient to convert the Hail Mary into a giant centrifuge, then to design and test zero-g versions of the lab equipment."

That... seemed to make sense. Either way, it wasn't his problem.

---

The switch in hindsight was obvious. Namely because it was the only thing shaped like it on the entire control panel. Pulling it had an instant effect. The Hail Mary unfurled just as designed, and began to spin.

Within moments, the familiar and very much missed pull of gravity kicked in. "Lab operational," the computer declared once Paul's feet were firmly on the ground. One problem solved, now for the rest.

Rummaging throught the drawers yielded a pair of tongs, goggles, gloves, and some sort of scanner that could identify elements. Goggles and gloves on, Paul aimed the scanner at the cylinder. "Xenon?" He read off the screen in confusion. Now, he was no scientist, but he was pretty sure that xenon's whole thing was that it didn't react with stuff. And yet, no matter what angle Paul redid the test, xenon. Everytime. "Right then. Ok. Metal's made of xenon. Sure."

Given the visible seam wrapping around both ends, whatever the Blip-A's occupants wanted him to see was inside. Shaking it gave no hint of its contents. In fact, knocking on it gave nothing but a dull thud.

Paul transferred the cylinder to the fume hood, closed the lid, and slipped his hands into the gloves. Better safe than sorry.

"Lefty loosey, righty tighty," he muttered softly to himself as he picked it up. The thing refused to budge. Paul heaved, huffing and puffing, until condensation trickled down the inside of his goggles. Not a millimeter of progress.

Tearing the goggles off his face, Paul felt along the surface of the cylinder, searching for a button or catch, or something like that. The ridged surface remained consistent. Paul pulled his arms out with a sigh.

What on Earth was he meant to open it?

...He wasn't on Earth. "Lefty loosey, righty tighty" is how twist tops are handled on Earth. But, why would aliens do the same?

Returning to the fume hood, Paul first tried pressing the ends in. Then turned one end to the right. It popped open near instantly. Inside was a sculpture made of the same metal, two orbs connected to each other. The other side held another sculpture made of thin rods, one that suddenly spiked out as soon as the ends left the container.

Paul yelped and jumped back into the lab table. There wasn't any sign of damage, not even a scratch. Rubbing his hip, Paul peered back into the fume hood.

The second sculpture's base had become a dome, displaying each rod prominently. All of the rods were identical except for two: the one in the centre and another to the side. Those ones were topped with a clear gem or diamond.

Opening the hood, Paul picked up both and carried them to the lab table. A quick scan showed they were both made of the same xenon metal. Even the "gems".

"Ok, ok, what are you trying to tell me?" Paul whispered. Both sculptures sat there. He picked up the first one and began turning it around in his hands. There was just something so familiar about the shape. It hovered just outside of his awareness, taunting him with each rotation.

Then the curved line curled up and over. Into something Paul had seen an hour prior.

It was a petrova line linking a star and a planet. And upon closer inspection, the wire model had a tiny one, the same thickness as a human hair, on the off-centre gem tipped rod.

One by one, the pieces clicked together in Paul's head. The aliens also had a petrova line. The clear tips were stars, two specific stars. It was a map, a statement, and a question all rolled into one: "This is our star. This is Tau Ceti, where we are. Where is your star?"

To answer that, Paul first needed to work out where Sol was on the star map. Thankfully, the screens in the lab had so, so many star maps preloaded. It only took about five minutes to get the two maps to line up. 40 Eridani is where the Blip-A was from, and Sol was all the way on the other side of Tau Ceti.

Holding his own, Paul took in the various patches. From the golden wings above his name to the mission patch ringed by the flags from every country on Earth. His next breath shuddered slightly as it left his lungs. Then he got dressed.

Dressing them both was difficult, his skin rejecting the sensation of cold, dry skin. But using the robot to do it felt outright wrong. So Paul grit his teeth, and got to work.

Carefully wrapping them in the bed sheets, Paul carried them up. Until they all sat outside the airlock. Flipping through the pictures in his hands, Paul cleared his throat. "Ilyukhina, first off, I am sorry about the vodka. And everything else... um," Paul shuffled her photos, "You seemed a very adventurous person, considering you apparently broke into the Kremlin." Paul turned the aforementioned image towards her with a frail smile that quickly crumbled under the weight of the stillness. "Ahh..."

Paul was lost for words. "Dr Dubois," he tried to power through, "You were... very loved. You both were. And... I'm not doing this right. I don't know how to do this. I've never... You both deserve better than this. But, I promise I'll do my best to- I'll do my best."

Eyes misty and breaths shaky, Paul gently tucked their photos into their clasped hands. And in the crook of Ilyukhina's arm, he placed the teddy bear he'd found in her box. Then he picked her up, shroud and all, and carried her into the airlock. Dr Dubois soon followed her.

With the airlock resealed, Paul made his way down to the lab window, watching as the bodies of his late crewmates faded into the endless starfield. And then, he was truely alone.

---

The next day, Paul sat in the screen room in silence. Around him was the moonlit trees of the Witchwood. He'd found it on day two, alongside a sound/videoscape of downtown Hatchetfield. Just the brief glimpse he got sent Paul spiraling straight to one of the vodka bags.

But Witchwood felt safe. Close to home, but without the intensity.

Leaves rustled underneath the constant chirping of crickets, broken by the occasional bird call or twig snapping under an unseen foot. Paul's feet laid carefully on the lower screens, appearing to be resting on the firm earth shown. His eyes slid closed. The sounds wrapped around him. He could almost feel the wind in his hair, the slight chill nipping at his exposed skin, the various scents of the forest. After a minute, Paul opened his eyes.

The screens were gone.

All around him, the trees towered over him. A gust of wind blew past, making Paul shiver and hold his jumpsuit further closed. The full moon overhead cast a spotlight down on him.

What was going on? Was he starting to lose it? It felt real, but that didn't make any sence. A white light shone from Paul's right with enough suddeness to startle him into turning.

Something stood there. Glowing bright enough to hide any possible features from view. Only the rounded spiderlike body could be seen past that bright light. It shuffled on its uneven limbs. Music unlike any Paul had ever heard before began from somewhere, errie yet calming.

An alarm sounded.

He was back in the screen room, a message displayed in red on every screen: "Engine cut off imminent." Scrambling up the ladder into the cockpit, Paul stumbled to a chair. "Pilot detected," the computer chimed automatically, "Engine cut off in ten, nine, eight-" "Ok, ok, ok," Paul muttered, ignoring the countdown in favor of clicking the chair restraints into place. "-three, two, one."

The faint hum stopped. For a second, everything was still. Then came the feeling of falling. Paul knew he wasn't falling. He could feel himself floating up into the straps holding him to the chair. But his body was unconvinced.

"You are now orbiting Tau Ceti," the computer stated. Paul groaned wordlessly, clutching his rebelling stomach. "Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, you'll regret it if you puke," his brain chanted desperately. "Petrovascope operational."

Paul turned to the device sitting to his right, waiting to be used. And, once his stomach relaxed, released the restraints. It took a fair bit of bobbing and awkward positioning, but Paul managed to lay down under the petrovascope.

Tau Ceti was a penny sized spot of light on the screen. Paul found a button near the base of the hand holds, clicking it switched the view from normal to infrared. The vibrant red line glowed like hot coals. Tau Ceti was infected, it just wasn't dimming. Slowly, Paul began to turn the petrovascope, following the line as it arced towards a planet. Only to stop suddenly.

There was a break in the line. A large gap, astrophage visible on both sides. Then a flash of light, highlighting a strange shape within. "What?" Paul asked softly. He clicked the view back to normal. A spot of bronze was visible, the same shape. Although, it looked... bigger? "Blip-A detected."

It took a second for the declaration to sink in. Paul pulled himself out and looked up at the screens. There was indeed a blip on the radar, a very large blip. One several times bigger than the Hail Mary.

Patterns of light and shadow rippled over the cockpit. Then, just like that, Paul realised what is making it.

The breath caught in his chest. His head turned almost by itself to the window on his left. Bronze filled the glass. Trembling arms pulled him closer until he was right up against the window.

It really was another ship. All flat panels and thin rods. The other ship slowed until it parked right next to him. Deliberately.

The bunks had been tucked away when he arrived. Hovering at eye level, the robot arm held a bag of water and the electric razor. As soon as Paul stood on the padded floor, the arm offered the water. He accepted it.

Thankfully, the arm let him take the razor and shave himself. His hair ended up rough but it was close to the haircut he remembered. It helped. Not much, but somewhat.

Not daring to look at the other bunks, Paul climbed to the soft boxes and pulled some free. Specifically the boxes marked with names. Paul opened his own one first. A high school hoodie, a red and white jumper, and some other general clothes filled the box. At the bottom, was a single photograph.

Himself, wearing a suit and looking up at the camera. Standing in some hanger of sorts, clearly startled.

None of his personal effects brought up anymore memories. Not even the photo. So, reluctantly, Paul went to the other boxes. Dr Dubois's held a whole album of photos as did Ilyukhina's. Flipping through them drew up flickers of them alive, laughing at a joke or doing some minor experiments.

The silence seemed to grow thicker with each fragment that returned.

Why was he there? Why were any of them there? Why was he the only one to wake up? How the hell do you plan a funeral for someone you can barely recall knowing?

That last question in particular haunted Paul for the following week. Days were hard to keep track of, only the meal tubes actually gave him any actual indication. Between those, he mostly just wandered the ship, reading the few information folders he could find. With nothing but the soft hum of machinery for company.

Piece by piece, Paul recovered some facts about himself. Nothing big, just little things. He had lived in a small island town called Hatchetfield all his life, the office he'd remembered belonged to CCRP's technical department, everyday he walked five blocks and endured truely horrific coffee just to see one of the baristas, and he didn't like musicals. That last fact returned thanks to Ilyukhina's Cats t-shirt.

It was on day nine that things finally changed. Paul's meal tubes were mainly solid at this point, a fact that was surprisingly uplifting. His now daily lap around the ship had more energy than previously. And with that energy, he noticed the plates.

Arranged tastefully along a wall Paul must have walked past at least ten times, the gold plates stood proudly. Engraved on their surface were star charts and various depictions of humanity and its creations. One in particular drew Paul's eye.

He'd seen it before.

---

At the end of the day, Paul had left CCRP as he normally did. "See you tomorrow, Bill," Paul waved to him as Bill unlocked his car. Nothing out of the blue occurred during the walk back home. Yet Paul felt... off.

He ignored it. But the feeling grew the closer he got. And, as he climbed the staircase to his door, he discovered why.

There were two men by his front door. Bulky, in fitted black suits, standing near perfectly still. Their heads turned to him. And Paul sensed another man move into the stairwell behind him. "Paul Matthews?" One of the man asked smoothly. "I- Yes?" Paul stammered slightly. "You need to come with us. Please don't make this difficult." Unable to trust his voice, Paul nodded.

The men escourted him back downstairs and into a black van. It drove off before the men finished fastening their seatbelts. They didn't drive for too long and, mercifully, the door opened to Hatchetfield Airport rather than Clivesdale.

There was a fighter jet sitting on the tarmac. Between the men marching him straight at it and the flight vest handed to him, it was clear what they wanted Paul to do. The flight was... rough, to put it mildly. Touchdown came as a relief. It didn't last long.

Next, they put him in a helicopter. Then another fighter jet. And then, he had finally arrived at a military aircraft carrier.

A second pair of silent men guided a wobbly Paul down metal corridors and into a conference room. A long table was the only true piece of furniture. Chairs sat on either side, and a projector near the front.

One chair was already pulled out, a notepad and pencil set pointedly on the table. Paul sat down. And the men waited by the door.

Less than one minute later, the door opened again.

A woman stepped through. The very definition of calm, clothes loose and comfortable. But Paul wouldn't dare call her laidback. She stood with the same posture as the parade of military Paul had just been subjected to, eyes regarding him almost casually. This was a woman completely at ease in a military base, enough to wear clothes for comfort instead of appearence. Someone who belonged there.

Paul's heart thundered against his breastbone. "Hello, Mr Matthews," she said. "Hello..." "I am Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova Taskforce. Are you aware of why you've been brought here?"

Paul scoured his brain with a fine tooth comb for anything that could have led to this. And it sank in. "...The email?" He offered hesitantly. "You are correct. At approximately three-thirty, a hacker managed to breach our network and acquired a top secret document. And sent it to you."

Paul's heart dropped like, well, how his body likely will be into the sea real soon.

"We are aware that you have had no correspondence with the individual before this incident. And rest assured, whoever 'ten0i-KAx3s' truely is, they shall be dealt with separately from you. However, this still leaves us with a problem. You opened the document, Mr Matthews." "I didn't see much," Paul pleaded frantically, "Just the title and something about astrophage, and the Beatles, but nothing else!" Stratt looked at him for a moment. Then she hummed and reached into her pocket.

"Oh god," Paul thought, "This is it. I'm about to get two in the head and one in the heart." "Isn't it one in the head, two in the heart?" His brain questioned. "Not helping!" Paul mentally snapped back.

Stratt's hand withdrew. Holding a remote. The lights dimmed, she clicked a button, and the slideshow appeared on the wall behind her. "In that case, let's go through it now. Do be aware I won't being doing this twice." She waited patiently for Paul's breathing to slow and for his trembling fingers to steady and pick up the pencil before clicking to the first page.

The next few minutes were the strangest Paul had ever experienced. Taking notes about a secret government project to make more of the sun eating bacteria to use as fuel for humanity's first interstellar spaceship to study the only star seemingly not infected by the same bacteria was utterly surreal. But, as unbelieveable as it should have been, Paul knew that this all was very real.

The sun really was dying. And this might be the only chance to stop it.

One tiny detail stuck out to him. "So, what happens to the astronauts?" Paul asked "They'll send their findings back on probes," Stratt tapped at the Beatle diagram, "There won't be enough fuel for a round trip, so they will be given solutions for after." "...You mean, dying?" "Yes," Stratt confirmed, just as firmly as before but notably quieter. Paul nodded and absorbed this silently. "We've narrowed down the crew down to the minimum number required: a pilot, an engineer, and a scientist," Stratt elaborated. "Ok." Paul breathed in deep, staring at his notes.

"So," he cleared his throat and tried to muffle the swirling in his mind, "What happens now?" "Now you are a part of the Project. The exact details of your position will be discussed later," Stratt stated as she turned the projector off, "When you're ready, these men will take you to the canteen and guide you to a bunk. Your belongings will be with you when you wake up. Good night, Mr Matthews." And she left.

---

Oh. He'd known.

The page of bullet points lingered on his eyelids, overlaying the depiction of the Hail Mary in front of him. Paul breathed in and out carefully. Of cource, he'd known. Why else would he be there?

Swallowing, Paul turned to look down the walkway leading to the dormitory. He couldn't put it off any longer.