1987, Plesetsk Cosmodrome
2 months before the "Storm"
There's not much difference in the lab today. Even though the others had tried to tidy up the clutter, any attempts at organization are doomed to fail here.
Hissabeth pushes the last stack of files to the corner of the table, then steps back to survey her work.
Hissabeth: I'm ready. Remember to stay within the safe zone.
Hissabeth: The medical team is helping with the evacuation, so we need to be extra careful this time.
Kiperina: Miss, are you sure I shouldn't be the one doing this? I've mastered my arcane skill. I'll be able to protect myself.
Hissabeth: No, no, no. Look at all the files here. They might give you a paper cut. It's an unacceptable risk for our astronaut. Even the slightest abrasion could explode under the pressure of lift-off.
Hissabeth: No need for concern. We've done the simulations and cross-checked the data thoroughly.
Hissabeth: To aid in the disk's mental preparation, I even read it Madam Lucy's speech and some Laplace essays on the scientification of arcane skills.
Kiperina: But—
Hissabeth: Kiperina.
Hissabeth's tone is formal, far more serious than she is known for in any other situation. Kiperina's back straightens.
Hissabeth: Take the others behind the blast door.
Hissabeth: I'll use my arcane skill to protect the field as much as I can.
Hissabeth: In order to maintain communication, you'll need to stay behind that door, or else the signal will be disrupted. But with my arcane skill, the risk should be minimal.
Kiperina: What if something goes wrong? What will you do?
Hissabeth: I will take care of myself. The only thing I ask is that you pay close attention to what I do.
Hissabeth: Because in the worst-case scenario, if you find yourself out there alone, you'll need to be able to perform this intuitively.
Kiperina: I don't know if I'm ready.
Hissabeth: Maybe, but it's still too early to give up, little astronaut.
She gives her a gentle push on the shoulder, nudging her back.
The automatic door begins to close.
Kiperina: But ...
She doesn't finish her sentence before the doors shut completely.
Hissabeth: Enough talking. We don't have time for any dramatic farewells.
Hissabeth: Wait, whose ID is this? Couldn't be Pointer's. She packs meticulously. Let me guess. Windsong?
She reads the words on the ID, smiling smugly at her confirmation.
Hissabeth: I knew it. How is she gonna get back into the lab?
Before activating the disk, she hangs the unexpected find around her neck.
Hissabeth: I'll just have to surprise her with it later.
In the empty meeting room, Ulrich and Windsong take up space on opposite sides of the door.
No one feels like sitting at the uncomfortable conference table without a good reason.
Ulrich: Where would you place their odds?
Ulrich: Perhaps more importantly, is there any guarantee the data they collect will elucidate meaningful truths behind the "Storm"?
Windsong: You know as well as I do. Laplace hasn't mastered the art of prediction. We don't offer guarantees.
Windsong: Besides, maybe our demon already knows how this all ends, but I'd rather not.
Windsong: Personally, I hate spoilers.
Ulrich: As do I.
Ulrich shrugs, about to continue the conversation by mentioning a neat bit of tech he's recently looked into, when a strange but familiar voice cuts in.
Monitor: Slackers? Slackers!
???: Yes, I've found the room. Thank you.
Ulrich's voice modulator stutters for a moment before finally spitting out the name.
Ulrich: Is that Adler?
Windsong: Mr. Ludwig?
Windsong looks stunned. Ulrich, clearly confused, flashes a giant "!" mark.
The raven perched on the monitor's head tilts its own in curiosity.
"Ludwig": I'm glad to see you're so devoted to our research, and I thank you for your hard work.
"Ludwig": I'm here to deliver the "Storm" Monitor on behalf of Madam Lucy.
"Ludwig": Given our lack of resources and time, we were forced to modify an existing device to perform as our monitor.
"Ludwig": It was originally a robotic assistant, something to set daily schedules and work reminders.
"Ludwig": You already noticed Adler's voice. It's synthetic, of course.
"Ludwig": His colleagues originally developed this machine for him as a "humanitarian gesture." It was trained to mimic his voice—an attempt to keep him social.
"Ludwig": It ultimately proved ineffective in that role, so now it will serve as our monitor.
Ulrich: I understand. Given the circumstances, recycling resources is wise. Though, I struggle to see how a robotic assistant could be a "humanitarian gesture."
"Ludwig": Your appreciation is noted. And I supposed you might. In fact, this vacation Madam Lucy sent you on to Plesetsk is a kind of "humanitarian gesture" on her part. Perhaps she hopes you'll gain a deeper understanding of the term.
Ulrich: ...
The raven, pleased with the silence, offers no further input.
Windsong taps a few times on the monitor and smiles at her new discovery.
Windsong: Mind if I take a closer look? Wow, there are a lot of voice packs programmed into this thing. "How to Temper Steel"—Madam Lucy's voice, I'd bet.
Windsong: And then, what else is here? Sweetheart, the superstar? Oh, and Sputnik-1 too.
Windsong: "Warm and Fluffy Company," who could that be?
Monitor: '%#@&*$#!
Ulrich: What a waste of time! Why would a monitor need a critter's voice in space?
Windsong: Maybe they just put it in for fun. It could be useful to relieve a little stress.
Windsong: Oh, perfect timing. Hissabeth has entered the testing grounds.
Hissabeth: Field report. I activated the disk, but it's not working. There must be an error in its incantation.
Hissabeth: Oh, the indicator is red, so then it must still be accumulating arcane energy. It may be calibrating its position within the range I set.
Hissabeth: But what about all this excess energy? I worry it might not just transport me but half the office.
Han Zhang: Any last words? If you explode, I call dibs on your fish.
Hissabeth: Have some patience. It's doing something.
She shakes the disk once or twice, but when she stops, it continues to tremble—
—violently.
The entire office begins to rattle along with it. The fish in the eco-tank dart anxiously.
Hissabeth: Bad news: I don't think any of those fish are gonna survive.
Hissabeth: Wish me a safe journey!
Before the floor starts to ripple, the monitor scoots itself out into the hallway for safety.
Windsong slams her back against the wall to steady herself. Looking up, she sees Ulrich's glass tank vibrating, its contents scattering into tiny particles.
Windsong: I can hear you brainstorming, Ulrich. It's oddly literal.
Ulrich: ...! ..., ...!
The sound of shattering glass immediately has Windsong turn to her colleague, confirming that Ulrich is still secure inside his case.
The noise appears to have come instead from a fish tank falling and—
Hissabeth: Hey, watch out!
Windsong: You know, Hissabeth, there's gentler ways to make an entrance.
Hissabeth: I—can't—hear—you!
The voices around her, whether in her headset or her ears, are garbled, twisted by the movement of space.
Midair, Hissabeth adjusts her posture and lands squarely on the meeting table.
Aside from the poor fish that were flung from their stone tank, it isn't the worst entrance.
The fish flopping on the floor begin to slow, except the one that has landed fortuitously in Ulrich's tank.
Hissabeth: Poor fish. I attempted to turn my aquarium into a fireproof ceramic to keep it safe, but it looks like it just made it easier to shatter.
Hissabeth: Wait ...
Mention of her arcane skill triggers a panic. She glances down at the object she'd been handing to Windsong.
It's heavier than it should be. This must be Laplace's first ID badge with a ceramic strap.
Hissabeth: Uh-oh, I forgot about this.
Hissabeth: Luckily, it didn't affect the card itself.
She blinks, letting the shimmer of her arcane skill fade.
Windsong: That's a unique design. Thanks. It might make for a nice conversation piece.
Ulrich is busy saving the poor fish swimming atop his head, dropping it back into the tank.
Ulrich: Congratulations, Ms. Hissabeth.
Ulrich: Your results appear more than adequate. Indeed, you have exceeded my expectations.
Hissabeth: Is that stuffy-office talk for a good job? Merci, all the same.
Windsong: Congrats! So, does your success here mean my lovely apprentice has a chance to land back on Mother Earth safely?
Hissabeth: More than a chance now. Though, I'm afraid the adjustments we've made to the process will be impossible to replicate at scale.
"Ludwig": Nonetheless, you've convinced me.
The raven rolls toward them on its mechanical perch.
"Ludwig": Your application for delayed evacuation is approved.
The cheers in Hissabeth's headset reach her before she's finished processing the words.
Hissabeth: But I haven't even submitted it yet?
"Ludwig": Well, you may submit it now.
Han Zhang: So, that's why you're back here with that torn-up application form?
Han Zhang: I gotta tell you, it's impressive you managed to piece it back together.
All eyes fall on the thin sheet of paper, held together with tape and barely legible.
Hissabeth: At least I learned something from it: Don't teleport paper products without a protective sheath.
Kiperina: We seem so close to success.
Kiperina: I will keep training. I need to stay at my best for our launch day.
Voyager taps Kiperina on the shoulder, doing her best to express her opinion.
Kiperina: I know. I won't push myself too hard. Thanks, Voyager.
Name Day: We don't have much time left. Remember to rest too, while you still can.
Name Day: You should take a day off. Consider it a celebration of our successful experiment.
Kiperina: Actually, I believe Ms. Hissabeth already has plans for me. We still have a lot of work to do.
Kiperina holds her stare on the pondering researcher, expectantly seeking her input.
Hissabeth: Plans? Yes, that we do.
Hissabeth: I need to train you to use the monitor. You will have to confirm the final coordinates on the disk and be able to perform the final safety checks before launching.
Hissabeth: Oh, I think it may be necessary to implement a particular procedure that Ludwig mentioned.
Hissabeth: A "humanitarian vacation."
