Chapter Text
Chapter 1
that day will dissolve the world in ashes
“You wanna watch the launch with me?” Jody asked.
A pang of adrenaline shot through Colt’s blood, and he didn’t know why. Maybe he’d broken his adrenal glands or something over the years, but it took a lot to make his body react like he was standing on a rooftop. The accompanying twist of his lungs reverberated the rush back through him with the echo of a tolling bell.
“Ah, yeah. Go ahead and turn it on. I’ll just—” Colt said, gesturing to the kitchen. They had an open concept, which was nice, but it gave him a perfect view of the television screen over the bar.
“Suit yourself. I’ve got some Wordle to play anyway.” She clicked on the station covering the launch. Her gaze immediately returned to her phone, tapping out another guess. Close was her first try. Nada.
Colt turned on his heel and yanked the leftover Italian out from the fridge, accidentally snapping the little tab keeping the lid from popping open. It flung sauce-ladden condensation gathered at the top of the takeout box onto his shirt. He grumbled, adding it to the list of everything that had gone pear-shaped that day. Nothing felt right.
The world was just slightly off-kilter with no explanation. It was as if the sky was blue like it always was, but he sort of thought it was supposed to be bluer.
Living in Los Angeles, he could excuse the layers of pollution that hung out like a bunch of unruly teenagers loitering outside a smoke shop. Not really welcome, vaguely complained about, and ultimately standing there as a result of the society that made them. Colt couldn’t shake off the malaise settling over him, just like he couldn’t blow away the city smog, and he couldn’t fix the lives of a bunch of kids failed by the adults who were supposed to watch out for them.
Logically, he knew the most likely cause of this sudden uneasiness. Their dimming sun was the biggest, brightest elephant in the sky. Ryland was off-grid doing something about it. They differed that way. Ryland did stuff. And whatever Ryland set himself to doing, he’d succeed at it.
But Colt never built up the same anxiety as everyone else about the world’s impending doom. Ryland was the smartest person in the world as far as he was concerned. It was a childish sentiment he’d formed when they were younger, though it took Colt a while to realize he’d never quite grown out of it.
The sun was dimming, and Ryland would fix it. It was just one of those fundamental truths, like the sky being blue.
When he glanced out the window toward the sunset, it looked all orange and pretty like it was supposed to. If Colt could argue with his eyes over how vibrant that color looked as opposed to how muted it felt, he’d have started a bar fight with his optical nerves by now.
Ignoring the growing sensation of dread was only making it worse. And yet, he would continue ignoring it. Being prone to melancholy wasn’t new, and he’d be liable to lie on his bedroom floor with his Chappel Roan CD if he kept this up.
In the absence of proper tongs, Colt opted for awkwardly twirling forkfuls of cold pasta to transfer to a bowl. A slow, methodical process. He wasn’t hungry, and he knew Jody wasn’t either.
“Want any?” Colt called out to her anyway.
“Nah, grazed from the craft table between takes earlier.” Jody curled her legs up under herself and nestled into the right corner of the couch.
It was her spot. The same one she took every night when their schedules aligned to give them the evening together. Even that itched his insides. The normal things didn’t feel normal.
Colt started the microwave, unsure why he was grateful the low hum was just loud enough to cover the sound of the NASA commentators so that their voices faded to indistinguishable white noise. The screen flashed red numbers of a t-minus countdown. Five minutes.
“Five-letter word?” Jody called out to him. Normal. She played puzzles all the time.
“Wrong,” Colt blurted out. His tone made her glance up, brows raised. He cleared his throat.
T-minus 4:47
“Oh shit, nice. Got the first two letters,” Jody answered. She muttered to herself, though Colt was sure he’d heard the fuck is that supposed to be under her breath. It drew a soft huff of amusement out of Colt before he was struck with the sensation that he should not be laughing.
The seed of anxiety curled roots around his ribs. He couldn’t breathe right. Air kept catching in his throat.
T-minus 4:35
Colt swallowed. Forced air into his lungs. There was nothing to be freaking out about. He hadn’t gotten a full-blown panic attack since they were little. Breathe. Couple more just like that. The soothing voice in his head was familiar, calming.
“Wring?” Jody wondered aloud, more to the empty space than anything else.
“Wreck?” Colt asked. His gaze was stuck to the screen, to the numbers. To the condensation steaming off white metal like a dissipating fog. The ship stood upright, tall and imposing. Their last hope, according to many.
T-minus 4:09
“Already tried using an e,” Jody reminded. Tongue stuck into her cheek, she looked just as adorable as she always did. If it were a normal night, he’d lean over and poke her there, the red countdown somewhere worlds away. But her frown was too deep, brows too focused.
Colt’s lips thinned. The bar held him upright, fingers curling tight into the shitty vinyl wrap that covered shittier wood countertops. The NASA feed hadn’t changed, just a straight shot of the rocket preparing to launch their final attempt at saving humanity up into space.
The microwave dinged. Colt startled, back going straight.
“You good? You seem a little jumpy.” Jody tilted her head to the television. “We can turn it off, if you want. I can’t believe your brother worked on that project.”
“Basically led the science part, yeah,” Colt answered. He swallowed, shaking his head while he turned to pull the warmed food from the microwave. “And I’m not jumpy. Or—no, scratch that. I’m actually known for doing jumps. On purpose, even. Falling is my whole thing.”
He could hear her rolling her eyes, but he was glad the banter came so easily. His voice sounded normal, too, and hadn’t shaken.
Colt’s gaze caught on the evaporating plumes of steam painting the sky. He had the distant thought that he should get his food from the microwave and go sit next to Jody to enjoy the sight of what humanity could achieve if they worked together. He wanted to feel nothing but wonder and pride for the part Ryland played in saving the world.
T-minus 3:23
Wordlessly, Jody pointed the remote at the screen and turned up the volume. Glancing back down at her phone, she made a thoughtful humming sound and tapped out a nonsense word starting with wr before deleting it again.
“We are good for purge sequence four,” the NASA commenter said. As impartial as he wanted to be, the excitement in his voice was evident. “All is looking good, we’re moving through the milestones of our launch sequence. At T-minus three minutes, we’ll be starting up the thrust vector control actuator test.”
It was quiet for a moment while radio chatter between ground control signalled to one another. Then the same man continued, translating NASA-speak back into normal human lingo. “This is a gimbaling of the engines, which is effectively swiveling the rocket’s engine back and forth to assure the rocket flies straight when it’s in the air.”
T-minus 2:56
Another mumble over the radio. “We've just got that’s confirmation that they’re now performing that final engine test. Those who’ve watched launches before will probably feel the difference in the launch sequence checks. Ground control is traditionally in more contact with the astronaut team in the cockpit.”
“It’s quiet,” another NASA commenter added in suddenly, and then seemed to catch herself on her somber tone. “The way we’re running our launch sequence here is similar to how we run the sequences for unmanned ships.”
“Right," the first voice replied. "The three crew members have actually begun their own journeys here on Earth, put into induced medical comas several days prior to being boarded. The payload carrying the astronauts will launch from here in Cape Canaveral up to the Hail Mary, which is currently orbiting the earth at 7.6 kilometers per second. The Magdalene will match it almost exactly during the final docking stage so that the relative speed will be reduced to just a few inches per seco—”
“Wrest?” Jody asked over the television. “I think that’s a word?”
“Yeah,” Colt said. His lips moved and he felt distant from his body, like he was observing himself speaking. He sounded normal. “Means to rip something out of someone else’s hands.”
A long moment passed where neither Jody nor the television spoke. It left Colt staring at the ticking countdown in a trance, nothing but the sound of radio static in-between the calls from each sector reporting in with another go for launch.
T-minus 1:59
A new voice crackled in over the radio to report in. “IAPS is go for upper stage internal power.”
The commentator chimed in shortly after. “That is confirmation that the IAPS is now switched to internal battery power.”
The other, lighter voice cleared her throat for a short layman’s explanation between checks. “The Internal Astrophage Propulsion System is the second stage launch system. When the Magdalene docks to the Hail Mary, the IAPS will initiate a secondary launch sequence to kickstart the conversion of astrophage fuel into immense amounts of energy, eventually reaching the near-lightyear speeds necessary to begin the long thirteen-year journey to the Tau Ceti system.”
T-minus 1:32
“GLS is go for—”
Colt’s head went fuzzy. Words started losing their meaning and that disconnected sensation started rising up further and further. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He is reminded of the fog that shrouds a bay, ships and water and prisons vanished from visible light. Red, red arches that reach past the grey up towards the sun.
T-minus 1:25
“That’s the Ground Launch Sequencer reporting another green light in its systems checks—”
“Still not right,” Jody murmured, but her voice was far away. Wrong, wrong, wrong. “One try left.”
T-minus 1:16
“—and then the core stage will switch to internal power. We’ll be starting the final countdown shortly, here.”
“I didn’t realize how close the launch was,” Jody added, looking up from her phone. She was tense, just like every other person on the planet. Her shoulders were too taut, words too casual.
Colt still didn’t understand. He was equally certain that he did.
“Wrath,” Colt said, and the word was ripped from his lungs, heart caught in the trawler along with it.
“Oh, duh,” Jody’s voice answered. She swallowed hard and averted her eyes from the tv, jumping at the excuse to look away from the screen. Manicured fingernails tapped against the keyboard. Plain boxes filled with w-r-a-t-h flipped to another green-light-go-for-launch.
T-minus 1:00
It clicked, suddenly. He didn’t know how he knew. Wrath becomes Wrong becomes Ryland. It had always been Ryland.
A crackle came over the radio frequency. Her voice was solemn. “We are go for launch.”
The male NASA narrator swallowed hard. “T-minus 56 seconds. Our three brave astronauts onboard carry with them the hope for humanity. Mankind’s first steps to the moon have all led to our greatest leap. The Hail Mary. Our farthest, most imploring pass to the stars.”
“No.” Colt’s argument is so small in the face of red numbers that flickered down, down, down.
And then she looked up at him. “Wh—Colt?”
A kind, hushed voice spoke over the countdown from the television. “It is that which humans are so capable of, that we might ask the unknown for help. We have always done this, since we could paint on the walls of caves.”
Colt had somehow walked around the bar to stand beside the couch. His throat swelled like he swallowed melted wax. His eyes burned like he’d stared too long at the sun. “No.”
The speakers continued to carry sound into the room. “Humans hope. It’s the most natural thing in the world to look up. There is a chance, however infinitesimal, that something out there is merciful. If that’s hope itself—if we have to answer our own prayers?”
“Colt.” Jody was closer now, hands wrapping around his biceps. “Hey, you’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?”
“It’s—” Colt shook his head, unable to articulate what exactly was wrong, why he knew.
Another voice joins, laughably gentle for all the despair it delivered Colt. “It only proves how remarkable humans really are, if our final act is to grant mercy unto ourselves.”
It is on an impersonal scroll at the bottom of the screen that Colt’s world is dimmed to stare down a future of an endless night. There is no picture. Nothing more than names.
Astronauts Yáo Li-Jie, Olesya Ilyukhina, and Ryland Grace to be first humans to travel outside our solar system on historic launch to Tau Ceti
The sound that struggled out from his chest was the last, desperate cry of a hunted animal. His world was reduced to the burning fire of red that marked every last moment he shared with his twin on earth. Colt was on his knees, fingers clutching Jody’s shirt, but his gaze was trapped in a forward stare.
T-minus :30
“We are here. We are proof of ourselves. May the stars be our witness.”
Colt gasped, and then he gasped again. Over and over, he gasped and couldn’t breathe, like he was too high up where there wasn’t enough oxygen. Jody’s voice faded to into a faraway static, even when she shook him and he saw her scrabble for her phone to make a call.
T-minus :22
He grabbed for Jody’s wrist, pulling her hand into his chest tightly. There was no way to explain, no way to implore her to look at the screen. Not until the countdown was already nearing its event horizon.
Colt mouthed his brother’s name.
The NASA spokesperson only went on, heedless to Colt’s soul in freefall. “We will always find hope in the stars because we remember where we came from. May our brave astronauts voyage safely. Travel well, and carry us far. And know that when we look up to the stars, we will forever be looking up at you too. Yáo Li-Jie. Olesya Ilyukhina. Ryland Grace.”
“T-minus ten,” the female voice said, her voice soft. It was filled with hope, spoken so much like a prayer.
“Oh. Oh my god.” Jody went still, lips parted when her head snapped to the television.
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
Colt was on his feet.
Seven. The front door’s chain was latched, but he ripped the lock from the wood when he yanked it open.
Six. He ran into the street. The sunlight seared against his face.
Five. Colt wished he could catch the sun, fly up to grab hold of his brother before he was taken by the light of another sun entirely.
Four. He’d never hated the warmth of the sun more.
Three. Falling was all he knew how to do. He caught himself on his hands when his knees gave out. The things he wanted to keep most melted away between his fingers, same as they always had.
Two. Colt could reach and reach, and he would never come close. He would always close his fists around the emptiness of a grey sky.
Colt looked up. The sun boiled him, blinded him. Their star was not merciful, too close and too angry to answer prayers.
“Six,” Fitzroy’s voice did not greet him so much as it sounded like a bell tolling.
Six’s heart was gripped tight in the hands of whatever god doled out his punishment today as he turned the corner of an alley. He’d only ever heard Fitz’s tone turn that apologetic once or twice in his life.
“Who?” Six asked. He heard the rumbling of a rock beginning its descent down the mountain again.
The pause before Fitz spoke again was enough. Six closed his eyes. “Which one.”
Don’t be both. Don’t be something he could’ve prevented. Don’t be something connected to Sierra. Don’t be—
“The younger twin. Ryland,” Fitzroy said.
Courtland staggered like he’d been physically struck, taking a step to the side before he caught himself. His back hit the concrete wall hard, phone pressed into his cheek hard enough to hurt. Covering his eyes, he sagged heavily into the brick. It dug into his skin. He couldn’t feel a thing.
“How?” he breathed.
He’d been prepared for Colt. It wouldn’t have been better, no less painful, but at least Court would have contemplated the loss before. The man danced on the edge of danger for the thrill of it. Colt had more than a few close calls. Ryland? Ryland was the safe one, the one who ducked out from social events the moment he could find an exit, the one who found more solace in his laboratory instruments than other humans.
There was a long, deep sigh. “Honestly, I just wanted you to hear it from me before you did from anywhere else. Turn on just about any station, kid.”
Court let out a sharp exhale. His body went numb, and that wasn’t a familiar feeling. Adrenaline was so familiar, it was almost a companion. Bad shit going wrong was a close competitor, constant and frequent. Thoughts still moved at their normal speed, but the rest of him felt as though it’d switched off.
When he walked stiffly into a diner down the street, he looked up at their television. He knew the Magdalene’s launch up to the Hail Mary was today, and the replays were about all that was on.
The phone pressed mercilessly against his jaw. Court ground his teeth together.
“Accident?” he managed to ask. Distantly, he remembered the news of an explosion a few days ago, but he’d been knee-deep on a mission trying not to get shot. Court’s attention had been limited in terms of current events that had nothing to do with him surviving to the next morning. He might’ve walked past the news of his brother dying without a second glance.
Stomach churning, Court stood in a daze watching the footage of the rocket ignite, billowing flames pushing it into the atmosphere. It wasn’t often it took Court a longer moment to parse information, but he wasn’t understanding. He was missing something stupidly, laughably obvious. Fitzroy was just waiting for the pin to drop.
Fitzroy was quiet, and kept quiet. Even knowing Ryland was dead, Court’s heart sank further. “Say it.”
“He left the Earth’s atmosphere an hour ago. I’m sorry,” Fitzroy’s low voice soothed where his words destroyed.
“Ryland—” Court started, and then froze when he realized he was trapped in a cycle, unable to stop himself from watching the same launch footage for the third time. “He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“You and I both knew your brother was on the project,” Fitzroy murmured. Remorse hung heavy in his voice.
Court stared, swallowing hard. Fitz was right. They had known. Ryland had been pulled onto an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean. He was protected out there because he’d made himself indispensable. He was their astrophage scientist. He was their foremost, lead scientist. No one knew astrophage like Ryland did. They needed him on earth. They needed him—
The air was punched out of his lungs. He opened his mouth, but his eyes were stuck, unable to shift away from the launch footage. The blood drained from his face watching the Magdalene’s trail of fire and carnage against a hazy greyscale sky. Ryland was on that thing. He was seeing his brother depart earth for the last time. He’d been standing there watching Ryland leave to die and hadn’t known it.
“He’s not that kind of person.” Court’s voice was more certain than he felt. Because Six didn’t know anything about his brothers anymore. He couldn’t claim to know what kind of people they were, not really, not when they would have changed over the years.
“I know,” Fitzroy said. The man kept tabs on Court’s brothers for years. Knew their schedules and accomplishments and favorite coffee shops and bars to haunt. Not for the first time, a roiling weight tumbled like rocks in his stomach. They piled up in his chest cavity, between his ribs, and into his lungs. Fitzroy probably knew his brothers more than he did, now.
God, Colt. Courtland loved them, protected them, but Ryland and Colt had a bond only they understood. It was one of the few precious, special things they could keep for themselves when their lives descended into chaos. Court had wanted to protect that, too, when he left them. No matter what happened to Court, the twins would have each other. Now Colt was alone, left to believe that whatever remained of his family was dead and gone.
“Why is he on that ship?” Court grit out. He phrased it as a question, but a demand it was nonetheless. He could imagine Fitzroy at his desk, fingers rubbing against his forehead, resigned to tell him the truth.
Court stared at the grainy image of a rocket on a tiny, hanging television from the late 2000’s. It played the footage from the beginning. The Magdalene launched. There it went, again. And again. And again. And Courtland couldn’t help but to watch it every time as if he had the power to change it the next time the rocket was reset back to the start.
Each rerun was another slam of a gavel. Another judgment, another sentence that must be served.
For a moment, Court could close his eyes and picture the rocket back on the ground, unmoving. This was where he gripped his sanity tight, the few seconds he could use however he wanted before he had to push forward. For a few, scant moments, the rocket was still there on that launchpad. That, Court could process. That was where Ryland was, and that was where he would be when the rocket counted down. Ryland would not, inexplicably, already be gone.
Fitzroy sounded frustrated when he continued. A subtle intonation, but Court knew him well enough to hear it. “Our program isn’t the only one with top secret clearance. The Petrova Taskforce has funding, resources, and just about every government in the world contributing to their security. This one was untouchable.”
“Made himself important at work,” Court found himself answering. His lips felt cold, his tongue numb.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t know what that’s like.” The familiar, gentler tone was welcome in a way, but it hurt. He went silent again. Court hated it. “I’m sorry.”
Court grimaced. The air conditioning in the diner was uncomfortably cold, evaporating the beads of sweat at his temples. Cold grounded him to his body too much. “You did what you could.” Even to his own ears, his tone was too flat.
Six,” he muttered quietly. “Take some time. I don’t need you turning up dead because your head is clouded.”
“Nothing good will come of emptying my schedule.” Court leaned further against the wall of the diner. The hostess was gauging the intent of his loitering at the front entrance. He ignored her. In his peripheral, Court could see her deciding she wasn’t paid enough to ask him to sit or leave and left with a handful of menus.
"Six," Fitzroy repeated.
He hung up without waiting to hear more, full weight slumping heavily into the open bench reserved for patrons awaiting a table.
Court looked up. The rocket was back on the pad. Up it went, and then it started over.
The clip was forty-six seconds in total, and every one was an eternity. The news segment went on. The video let Ryland reach the highest point of the Earth's atmosphere, only to revert to the beginning as if it were blissfully ignorant of its own inevitable conclusion.
The cycle never stopped, and Courtland didn’t think it ever would.
—
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Eye movement detected.