Removal Worker: Watch out! Make way, please!
Windsong: What ...
Windsong stands frozen in the entryway. She cannot fathom what she's seeing.
With solemn looks on their faces, the police officers before her are carrying equipment out of the building and loading them, one after another, onto their truck.
Windsong: What's going on?
Windsong: Comrade Yelena? Comrade Alexei? What's happening here?
Windsong: Why are the police confiscating our equipment? And why does everyone look so sullen?
Yelena: You're back, Ekaterina. How are your little critters?
Looking weary, Yelena forces a smile.
Windsong: Couldn't be better! The paper's finished, and I've sent it off to the editors. Where is everyone?
Yelena and Alexei exchange a glance.
Yelena: Haven't you heard?
Yelena: The study of ley lines is no more.
Windsong: No more?
Alexei silently hands her a journal. National Nature Studies—Windsong submitted a paper to them not long ago.
Windsong: What am I looking for exactly? What happened to this page?!
As she flips through the journal, she finds two pages stuck together by red paint.
All she can make out are the features of a familiar face on the unglued edge of the page.
Windsong: Tristan Lisov?
Alexei: Sorry, give me a minute. There should be a copy or two that they missed.
Yelena: Corruption, bullying, fraud ... He's guilty of all of them.
Yelena shrugs helplessly.
Windsong takes the other copy from Alexei.
Windsong: "In an abuse of his authority, Lisov manipulated open bidding, misappropriated funds from research projects, and gained millions of rubles in personal profit ..."
Windsong: "His reputation was built on intimidation and coercion rather than academic merit ..."
Windsong: "Through manipulating experiments and tampering with the results, he secured various awards for himself ..."
Windsong: He ...
Windsong: But why would this affect the entire institute?
Alexei: When this story came out, every project related to ley lines was put on hold and subjected to investigation. The institute's currently in a state of suspension.
Yelena: Have you heard from the editors? No publisher will accept any journal articles on ley lines now.
Yelena: All the editors and reviewers who ever published a paper on ley lines are also under investigation. We'll probably hear more about them in the coming days.
Yelena: Criticisms are all over the news. People are arguing against and even condemning the study of ley lines.
Windsong: What about the Ocean Project?
Alexei: The Bureau of Geology's taken it over.
Windsong: What about Professor Ivanov? And his research?
Alexei: He's also been taken away for investigation. There was a joint complaint against him from some researchers here. I'm sure his investors weren't too happy about it.
Alexei: Yelena and I are leaving too. There's no point in wasting more time here. Ekaterina, I suggest you do the same and find something better to do.
Alexei: You see those old fogeys over there?
He points to the corner of the room. A few researchers are in quiet discussion, each with a serious look on their face.
Alexei: They're staying. I guess they just can't accept the reality of the situation. You don't want to end up like them, do you?
A phone rings. One of the researchers in the corner rushes over and picks it up, but disappointment quickly falls upon his face.
Senior Ley Hunter I: Ekaterina? Is Ekaterina back?
Windsong strides over to him, a mix of excitement and confusion swelling in her chest. She hears a gentle voice coming from the other end of the call.
???: Hello, is this Comrade Ekaterina?
Windsong: Yes. Who's this?
???: Comrade Ekaterina, this is a call from National Nature Studies. Thank you for submitting your work to us.
???: But we regret to inform you that your paper didn't meet our requirements for publication.
Windsong looks at Yelena and Alexei, who seem to already know what the call is about. They both shrug.
Windsong: Why's that? I wasn't aware there were any new requirements.
???: Firstly, we were unable to verify the accuracy of the data.
???: Secondly, we are currently discussing whether we will continue to publish essays related to the study of ley lines. In the meantime, you may approach other publishers for consideration.
???: You'll hear more from us once the decision is finalized. We wish you all the best. Goodbye.
Before she can answer, the lady hangs up.
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
Windsong slowly drops the receiver away from her ear, but she doesn't put it down. She is too lost in thought.
Windsong: Unable to verify the data? Considering other publishers?
Windsong: ...
Senior Ley Hunter I: Academic circles no longer acknowledge the study of ley lines, and ley hunters are no longer considered to be scientists, only arcanists.
Senior Ley Hunter I: They said that it's extremely shallow, even as an arcane subject.
Senior Ley Hunter I: They said it amounts to nothing more than some colorful lines and fails to offer a substantial interpretation of any phenomena.
Senior Ley Hunter I: But who would claim their subject to be the only answer to all the mysteries of the world?
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
The ley hunter walks back to his corner. Yelena comes over and gives Windsong a gentle pat on the shoulder.
She takes the receiver out of her hand and gently returns it to the phone. Windsong just stands there, a blank expression on her face.
Windsong: Why ... How did we end up like this?
Windsong: Many things had to be fixed at that time, and even more needed to be closed. I had to stay at the institute for a while.
Windsong: Some colleagues were held by the authorities for academic misconduct and subjected to punishment and re-education.
Windsong: Some left because there were no longer enough funds to support their day-to-day lives.
Windsong: That included Yelena and Alexei. Yelena found a new job as a typist, while Alexei returned to his hometown and worked in his father's factory.
Windsong: They both expressed regret at having ever studied ley lines.
Windsong: Outside the institute, ley hunters are seen as cult members or, even worse, frauds.
Windsong: ...
Windsong: They really can't wait, can they? To load us into a cannon and blast us into obscurity.
Without any prior notice, on an otherwise ordinary Monday, the property lease of the institute expired.
It wasn't until Windsong passed the blockade and walked to the door of the institute that she saw the eviction notice.
Windsong: Hm. Looks like the director's wallet is finally as empty as mine.
In the past few weeks, she has lived a life much like everyone else at the institute: waiting for letters, writing replies, anticipating calls, and submitting evidence to validate her research.
But today is a little different.
Windsong: Please, hold on a second!
???: Yes? Is there anything else you need?
Windsong: We're planning to move. Please write me back at the new address. I'll make sure to include it in the letter.
???: I will. Have a good day.
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
Windsong puts the phone down.
For a moment, she wonders if she had even just conversed with a real person—the words spoken were calm and polite, but also cruel and cold.
Old Nikola: Is there anything else you need to pack, Ekaterina?
Windsong: Not really, director.
Old Nikola: Give me a break. You know I didn't become the director by choice. I'd rather sit behind bars than deal with administrative work.
Windsong: But you do deserve the title, sir.
Old Nikola: Hmph. It's more of a burden than anything. Ivanov, you old fool.
Old Nikola: Maybe I should just hand in my resignation and let you take the reins. You'll be the youngest ever director of the Ley Line Institute! A promising young woman!
Windsong: Whoa, no. Let's not get too crazy!
She waves her hands in protest.
A few people come down the stairs and pass by them. They all wear a gloomy expression.
Old Nikola: Come. Hop on my bike. I'll give you a lift to the new office. It's quite a walk from here.
They walk to the exit together. The notice board catches Windsong's eye as they pass it.
Windsong: Give me a second.
She approaches the notice board and reaches out a hand.
Old Nikola: Why? You want to take it with you?
Windsong: Yes.
Old Nikola: We haven't gotten new bulletins here for a very long time. Look at these. They seem a lot more sensational than I remember. It's almost comical.
Windsong gently runs her fingers across the board. The paint is starting to peel, exposing the moldy black wood beneath it.
Windsong: I never noticed how worn this thing was.
Old Nikola: Isn't it funny how things seem to decay faster when they're left unnoticed?
Old Nikola: I read about it in a book of Chinese philosophy—this little trick that time plays on us.
Windsong grabs both edges of the bulletin board and looks at Old Nikola.
Old Nikola: Don't look at me. My back is even more fragile than my ego.
Windsong: Are you really going to just leave it here? Look, your old project's still on it.
She points at the old announcements. Everything still feels so vivid in their minds, as if it happened just yesterday.
But to Old Nikola, they are now a painful memory.
Old Nikola: Hmph. It may have been a project to you or me, but to Lisov, it was just another way to line his pockets.
Nevertheless, he bends down and lifts the other end of it.
It isn't easy to carry a big wooden board down the icy street. But, slipping and sliding, they finally make it to the office.
Windsong: This place doesn't look very new to me.
She looks around the office as she drags the board inside.
Windsong: The board won't even fit in here. We'll have to move the table to the side to close the door.
"Plop."
Windsong: Where's that water dripping from?
The shabby office is filled with aging furniture, and there is mold growing along the wall. Clearly, water is dripping from somewhere.
Old Nikola: This is the best place we can afford now. It'll feel like home soon enough, Ekaterina.
Windsong leans her head back, trying to figure out where the leak is coming from.
Windsong: Will this leak be included in our water bill?
Old Nikola: I don't think so.
Windsong: Then that's good enough for me.
She rolls her neck, sits down at the desk, and looks for the telephone.
Windsong: Just three steps from my seat. Good.
The telephone sitting on the filing cabinet is covered in a thick layer of dust. Windsong doubts if it still works.
Windsong: Well, can't ask for too much right now.
She wipes the dust off the desk top and turns on the incandescent lamp sitting on it.
Senior Ley Hunter II: Director, could we have a word with you, please?
With a gentle knock on the door, two researchers pop their heads in.
Old Nikola leaves the room, but returns quickly.
Old Nikola: They left. Like everyone else.
Windsong: Yeah. I could hear you from here.
Old Nikola: Mm-hm.
The farewells are much calmer than she had anticipated.
She opens her notebook, squinting from the bright lamp light reflected off the pages.
Windsong: That corner over there is one wet day away from being a mold farm. It won't be long before mushrooms start growing in our lungs!
Old Nikola: Could you be a little more professional, Comrade Ekaterina? The fungi will only give you pneumonia, not lung-mushrooms!
Windsong lets out a long sigh.
Windsong: Do you think there's still hope for us, Comrade Nikola?
His pen stops at this question.
Windsong: Comrade Nikola?
Old Nikola: Are you still working on that Yakutsk paper?
Windsong: Mm-hm.
Windsong: It's been going back and forth between me and the editors for a while now. First they questioned my data, so I submitted my original report; then they questioned my methods.
Windsong: So I sent them all I have. The raw data, the experiment notes, everything. And they still have doubts about it. I had to request a peer review, but everyone who used to study ley lines is gone.
Windsong: In the end, they just told me they would no longer consider any submissions from the study of ley lines.
She leans back in the creaking chair, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.
Windsong: I just need one chance—one publisher—to have faith in me. That'll dispel all the fear and suspicion! But none of them are willing to give me a shot.
Windsong: All this effort ... Will I ever see one of my papers get published again? Will people come back to study ley lines?
Old Nikola: You already know the answer, Ekaterina. You just don't want to admit it.
Windsong: How could I possibly admit such a thing?!
Windsong: Don't you refuse to give up too, Old Nik? After all, we're the only two left.
Old Nikola: What did you just call me?
Windsong: Ehm, director.
Old Nikola: Oh, come on!
They both try to keep a cheerful atmosphere, but, like the mold, their gloom seems to have permeated every corner of the room.
Old Nikola: I don't know, Ekaterina. Perhaps they'll accept your paper next time, or the time after that.
Old Nikola: Perhaps you'll find yourself the only one left in this room.
Windsong pulls her hands away from her eyes, her vision blurry from all the rubbing.
When she sees the room clearly again, Old Nik is nowhere to be found.
An icy wind slithers into the room. Through the gap beneath the door, she sees a shadow standing on the other side.
"Chk, Chk, Chk ..."
"Sss ..."
Windsong: I've told you hundreds of times that you need a new lighter, Old Nik.
She sets down her pen and relaxes her shoulders.
Windsong: This drafty old dump! It's always so d**n cold in here.
Windsong: He never came back to the office, nor did he call. So I never had the chance to tell him ...
Windsong: ... that I received two letters addressed to him. Both, unsurprisingly, were rejection letters.
Windsong: I'm not sure I would've had the courage to tell him if he ever had shown up, because if I had, he might never have come back again.
Windsong: Regardless, he never came back in the first place.
