???: breathing Take a deep breath, and relax.
???: This is my debut. I can't fail, not now. I have to do this for Mr. and Mrs. Kozlov and everyone in the circus. I must make them proud.
???: Mrs. Kozlov told me that I must guide the air through my body until it finds its balance.
???: Left, right. Good. Now, wave to the audience and say hello.
???: Oh, no!
???: I can do this. I'm almost there.
Steady yourself. Find your footing on a strand-thin wire.
Is it even there?
???: I can have this handled. First, I need to ...
???: I ...
???: There's no absolute direction up there. Up or down depends on the reference you choose.
???: I think she has the right to know what the "Storm" really is.
???: We will still need to cross the year 1999.
???: Alia. Come home.
???: Kiperina.
???: Vitals are stable. Biometrics returning to normal.
The Laplace researcher still hasn't shaken off the weariness of her journey. The medic examines her closely, weighing her emotions as she explains the current situation.
Medical Staff Member: I'd heard you'd already left. Never thought you'd be back so quickly.
Medical Staff Member: It's obvious you care about them. So, I'm sure you know what to do when they wake up, Ms. Pointer.
Pointer gives a nod, her eyes fixed, scanning the blinking screens beside the bed.
Medical Staff Member: She hasn't suffered any serious trauma. All that Ms. Kiperina here needs is rest.
Medical Staff Member: But considering her condition, I recommend she stays here a few days longer for observation.
Pointer doesn't respond. After a long silence, she speaks.
Pointer: Thank you. What's the status of the others?
Medical Staff Member: Ms. Hissabeth is fine. She was awake earlier, for a few minutes anyway.
Medical Staff Member: She signed a donor card. Managed to get all her other siblings to sign it too. Not sure what we'd even do with them.
Medical Staff Member: That gentleman and that little salamander guy did the same thing when they woke up.
Medical Staff Member: Anyway, it's no cause for concern. I've seen my share of lunatics just like them. The real problem is determining treatment. There are so many details to pay attention to when dealing with these special patients: the dosage, their drug resistance ... And I'm not a vet, you know. I had to seek out some professional consultation.
Medical Staff Member: No offense, but I'm glad you weren't part of this ... attempt; otherwise, I might have had to face all of this by myself.
Pointer faces away from the bed and looks the staff member straight in the eye.
Pointer: I may not have approved of their taking on this project, but I'm still on the team.
Pointer: sigh If only the Foundation could devise regulations sufficient to control our staff's recklessness with their own lives.
Medical Staff Member: Hmm. Maybe they should consider controlling access to Picrasma Candy?
Pointer: Ugh, forget that. Even I can't help exceeding the recommended dosage sometimes.
Medical Staff Member: I'll be reporting to the headquarters of the Rehab Center next month. I'll let you know their average dosage by then.
Medical Staff Member: Anyway, I need to write up a visitors' schedule. We have to make sure our patients get enough rest.
The second visitor proves just how necessary a proper schedule can be.
???: How's she doing? I just left the other ward and thought I might drop by.
The new voice is polite and warm but still startles them.
Pointer: Hello, Ms. Windsong.
Medical Staff Member: Her vitals have stabilized. We're monitoring her recovery, but the initial results are positive.
Medical Staff Member: We can't say precisely when she'll wake up, but it shouldn't take more than a week.
Windsong: Good to hear. I'll be by to visit them from time to time, following the schedule, of course. Let me know if it's too much trouble.
Medical Staff Member: You're welcome to drop by here anytime. The isolation room is soundproof, but do keep it down when you visit the other wards.
Windsong: Of course. I'm just worried about them, you know. Besides, Vila and Avgust have drowned me in letters asking about the project.
Windsong: More importantly, there's a bond between a teacher and her student.
Medical Staff Member: I understand. I'll check in on the others. If you need any help, press that button to call me.
Medical Staff Member: By the way, Ms. Pointer, Godspeed to you and your team!
Medical Staff Member: A bunch of lunatics working together to reach space. Pretty damn cool, I'd say.
It's an unexpected and unorthodox compliment. The surprise is written all over Pointer's face.
Windsong: Ditto.
Pointer: Are you being serious? Do you think it's possible we could succeed?
Windsong: Listen to yourself, "we." Weren't you quitting the team?
After a short silence, they decide not to answer either question.
Windsong takes the first step, and Pointer follows her into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind them.
Windsong: Your comment on Hissabeth's project, you said it was "unrealistic." I don't think you really meant that.
Windsong: But, even if you do, why not stay and give them a hand? Their latest ideas for the teleportation disk sound solid to me. This one failure shouldn't be enough to walk away.
Windsong: You've worked with Hissabeth long enough. I'm sure you'd already know if she's pursuing a fool's errand.
Pointer chooses silence again. But this time, Windsong presses her concern.
Windsong: So, what do you really think?
Pointer: My thoughts are unimportant. All attempts to talk them out of it have failed, and what's worse, the more forcefully I attempt to dissuade them, the more determined they become.
Windsong: Alright, so lay it on me: why are they doomed to fail?
Pointer: I see no reason to expend any energy explaining it.
Windsong gestures at the ward behind her.
Windsong: Whatever. I'll just have to make my own judgments on the matter.
Pointer: ...
Pointer: Hissabeth is an excellent researcher, sharp and decisive. On those merits alone, she's earned my trust.
Pointer: My analysis points to a dangerous level of uncertainty in this project. The price of failure, even optimistically, could be much worse than a few days in recovery. There could be more permanent injuries. They could even ...
Her shoulders shrink in, but her voice remains calm.
Pointer: My nature compels me to do whatever I can to reduce the danger to our staff, and I want to keep my friends alive.
Pointer: What does it matter if we make it into space and discover whether the "Storm" affects the whole universe?
Pointer: Say that we determine this phenomenon only affects Earth, then what? We can't leave. We don't have the technology to fly off somewhere else.
Pointer: And if instead we determine the "Storm" is indeed universal, and that it will inevitably swallow up the stars, well, then wouldn't it all be pointless?
Pointer: Either way, my calculations are clear: the answer is not worth our lives.
Windsong: That's how you feel, I get it, so why not tell them?
Pointer: I've been attempting to find the right time to say it.
The ley lines scholar shrugs. She has the answer she came for.
Windsong: Maybe so. Speaking of things to say, I've got some news, and I thought it was better you hear it from me.
Windsong: Laplace has decided to evacuate the spaceport. All staff on-site are to be relocated before the end of the month.
Pointer: Evacuate? Where to? There is critical equipment here that can't be moved in that time frame. Besides, this spaceport was a part of our active partnership with the local government.
She lifts her head, and Windsong doesn't shy away from her gaze.
Pointer: Ah, we're moving to our real branch in Plesetsk, aren't we? The one on the edge of the Arctic Circle that's proven immune to the "Storm."
Pointer: This is our "Storm" Emergency Plan!
Windsong: You've got it.
Windsong: All Laplace employees are to spend a week in the care center after reporting to Plesetsk. The local staff will be put on paid vacation as is usual.
They both know exactly when this "paid vacation" will come to an end.
Windsong: Hissabeth was also waiting for the right time, and I guess this is it.
Windsong: Sign this for her, will you? Don't worry. It's not a donor card.
A sheet of paper is held out to her.
Pointer: You're asking me to sign this so that my teammates can stay here and die in the "Storm"?
Windsong: I'm not asking. I'm only delivering it to you.
Windsong: But they know what they're doing here.
Windsong: That's why I want to help.
Pointer: I need some time. My analysis won't be objective right now.
Windsong: Sure. Just don't keep your teammates waiting. Our time is short.
Pointer: ...
She places the paper neatly into her pocket, then returns to the glass to watch over the sleeping girl in the hospital bed.
A few months ago, none of them could have imagined it would come to this.
