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“Can I have a moment with him?”
Stratt’s voice cuts through the soft hum from the medical equipment in the small room, interrupting the periodic beeping from the heart monitor hooked up to Dr. Grace’s chest. Carl looks up from his chair pulled close to the bedside of the comatose man. As his eyes lock on hers, he sits up straight and takes a deep breath in before returning his gaze to Grace.
“You don’t need to ask,” Carl states plainly as he rises to his feet, giving Grace a pat on the shoulder before leaving his bedside.
Stratt swallows. “I know.”
Carl walks toward the door, but stops just short of it. He looks at Stratt, their eyes meeting once more. While no tears stain his cheeks, his eyes shimmer in the sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs above. His eyebrows pinch together as he clenches his jaw, but he says nothing.
Stratt gives him a weak smile and nods.
He takes in another deep breath and nods, letting the moment linger before he departs, walking down the hallway and away from the medical room. Stratt watches him for a moment before turning her head back inside the room. Her gaze lands on Dr. Grace, dead to the world in more ways than one.
Stratt’s feet are moving before she’s aware of it, walking toward Carl’s vacated seat. Her eyes never once leave Grace’s face as she sinks into the chair. Like a sentinel, she watches over Grace, unmoving in her self-assigned post.
The soft hissing sound of the ventilator accompanies the rise and fall of his chest, and the heart monitor continues to beep in a steady, electronic pulse. Other than that, it is quiet.
She finds herself already missing his voice.
“Permission to come aboard, captain.”
“You’re already aboard.”
“...Did you get your free hat?”
“Yeah, I kinda bought them.”
“Oh… You don’t sing, huh?”
“Yeah, I do. I actually sang in an Eastern German youth choir.”
“You’re very mysterious.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I always wanted to be… mysterious… Talk too much. That’s my problem.”
Her lips dare to draw a corner of her mouth upward.
Grace was always trying to connect with others, herself and the rest of the Project Hail Mary team included. Yet he was always hesitant and unsure of himself, never quite fitting in. Perhaps he doubted himself; doubted both his ability to form meaningful relationships with his peers as well as the scientific skills and knowledge he possessed. Stratt knew that when he published his controversial—yet arguably brilliant—theory about the origins of life, it drew such immense criticism and ostracization that he retreated from academia altogether and became a middle school teacher.
Of course, one could argue that the way he went about publishing his ideas lacked tact and grace—oh, he would have loved that play on words—but that was neither here nor there.
He cared about them, though. All of them. She would be a fool to try and deny otherwise. He wouldn't have worked so hard on the project if he didn’t. But he was still anxious, and at the end of the day, as much as he craved friendship and connection with his peers, he would prioritize his own safety and comfort.
Stratt knew this. It’s why she had no other choice but to sedate him into an induced coma. Grace had prioritized his comfort when his controversial paper came under fire, so she had no reason to doubt it would happen again when she “asked” him to be the Mission Scientist after DuBois and Shapiro were tragically killed in the explosion.
Grace’s chest continues to rise and fall, oblivious to everything around him.
She knows she’s doing what is best for humanity. What is best for the survival of all life on earth.
And yet, as she sits beside the bed, listening to the rhythmic beating on the heart monitor and the whooshing sound of the ventilator, there is a small part of her that wonders if this will all be worth it in the end.
“Must be hard, having to ask everybody to… you know.”
“Actually it isn’t.”
Stratt takes a deep breath in as her eyelids blink rapidly, her vision becoming blurry. That had been the truth, at the time: it wasn’t hard to ask.
Yáo and Olesya understood that the Hail Mary was a one way trip, that death waited for them in the cold abyss of space. They had families that would miss them just as much as they would. But if they didn’t make this sacrifice, their loved ones would die along with all life on earth. So they agreed to her request, willingly.
It wasn’t hard until DuBois and Shapiro died, leaving her with only one option.
Dr. Ryland Grace was her only solution. She had no choice.
And neither did Grace.
“You think you’re gonna pull it off?”
“What, the whole thing?”
“Yeah.”
“God willing.”
“You believe in God?”
“It beats the alternative.”
God knew what fate awaited His beloved son when He sent him down to Earth. He knew that he would be betrayed, arrested by religious leaders, handed over to the Romans, and sent to die upon the cross. But He also definitively knew what would come after His son’s crucifixion. He is all-knowing, possessing knowledge of everything past, present, and future. He knew His son would rise again, live again, and save the world that He so loved.
And yet, as He heard His son crying out for Him on the cross, did He experience a split moment of hesitation—of doubt—that what He was doing was the right?
Did He weep at the choice He had to make?
Stratt feels tears finally spill over her lower eyelids, streaming down her face and gathering just below her chin. Yet she remains silent. She can shed a few tears—nothing more nothing less.
As the director of Project Hail Mary, she must remain resolute. She must remain strong. She must believe that she is doing the right thing. She must believe that, despite the odds, the Project will succeed, that her friend Dr. Ryland Grace will succeed, and humanity whom she loves will live to see another sunrise.
Her blurred gaze leaves his chest and lands on one of his hands lying limp, at his side. An IV protrudes from one of the veins on top, delivering something to his system—probably the drugs inducing his coma, if Stratt had to guess. And as she takes a closer look, she notices that the dirt and dried shredded bits of grass from his failed escape attempt have been cleaned from underneath his fingernails.
Against her better judgement, Stratt reaches out and lightly curls her hand around the top of his. Even with the light touch, she can still feel warmth radiating from him.
She closes her eyes.
Jesus’s sacrifice was voluntary. He did not have to endure the slow, tortuous death upon the cross. Yet the Son of God was immensely brave, and he willingly gave up his life to fulfill His divine mission and save humanity.
But Grace… his sacrifice will not be voluntary.
He will not have a choice.
He will be forced to face death far sooner than he would like.
And his sacrifice is not a guarantee that humanity will be saved.
God possessed the unique privilege of certainty.
Stratt has none.
Despite this, she still chooses to believe.
It certainly beats the alternative.
Eva Stratt takes a deep breath in and raises a free hand to her face, wiping away the few tears she had allowed herself to shed. Then she opens her eyes and looks at her friend.
“You're smart,” she whispers, “You will figure it out.”
She gives his hand a light squeeze before letting go, her fingertips brushing against the back of his hand as she withdraws her own into her lap. Then she rises to her feet and gives Grace a firm nod before making her way toward the door.
She pauses at the threshold for only a moment, as if steeling herself for what she needs to do—for who she needs to be—before stepping outside of Grace’s medical room. Long, purposeful strides carry her down the hallway, her chin tilted upward and gaze fixed on what’s ahead of her.
She does not look back.
Instead, Eva Stratt looks forward, steadfast in her decision as she initiates the final procedures for the launch of the Hail Mary. She accompanies Grace and his medical team to the rocket, where he is carefully transferred and prepped for launch. She bids farewell to Yáo andOlesya, wishing them success on their journey and hoping they accomplish what humanity cannot afford to fail.
Once the rocket is sealed, she departs and soon finds herself in mission control, standing behind the thick glass pane separating her from the rest of the world.
The final countdown echoes throughout the room, yet she barely hears it.
All she can focus on is the Hail Mary.
The timer hits zero.
The engines ignite.
Fire erupts from beneath the vessel, pushing humanity’s last ditch effort for survival toward the stars. The ground surrounding the launch pad trembles, as if the earth itself stirs to witness the ship ascend into the heavens along with the rest of humanity.
Eva Stratt is no god. She cannot offer the certainty of survival.
But she loves humanity, so much so that she condemned one man to the stars.
And in doing so, she gives humanity hope.
Yet she will not know if her faith in Dr. Ryland Grace is justified until the beetles arrive.
If they arrive at all.