1987, Mirny
29 hours before the "Storm"
Plesetsk, Mirny—whatever the name, the towns surrounding the Cosmodrome look more or less the same.
They were built to support the nearby research facilities and fall silent along with them. A single snowflake goes unnoticed in the vast white, melting into hot breath.
Pointer: Allow me. These should be the last boxes.
Soldier: Leave them, miss. Just tell us which ones should be moved, and we'll take care of them. We all got our own jobs to do.
The young soldier bends down ahead of Pointer, loading the boxes into the truck one by one with practiced speed.
Pointer checks the list in her hands and gives a nod—correct quantity. The second-to-last batch of supplies is now loaded.
Pointer: Will you leave with the others tomorrow, or are you staying on until the final evacuation?
Soldier: Our orders are to evacuate to Zeno's nearest base tomorrow.
Soldier: How about you? We were responsible for escorting the last staff members from the Plesetsk Cosmodrome. That place should be empty now, shouldn't it?
Soldier: An evacuation like this has to be for something big. I'm sure you know better than I do.
Soldier: If you can, miss, find somewhere safe, ASAP.
Pointer: I'm leaving Mirny tonight, just as soon as I help finish with the evacuation.
Pointer: There are fewer troops around now. Have there been any further orders?
Soldier: Some were sent to clear the roads. There's been more critters blocking the way lately.
Soldier: I guess the others were assigned to an urgent support mission. So it's just the rookies like me left.
Pointer: Evacuations can be dangerous. A job like this shouldn't be left to new recruits.
Soldier: You think so? Honestly, I was hoping for a little challenge. But we're soldiers, we follow orders.
The engine roars to life, sending up a small flurry of snow from its undercarriage.
Soldier: Do you need a lift?
Pointer: Thanks, but I'm going back to check on the evacuation. Be safe.
The truck disappears down the slush-covered road carved through the snow. Pointer heads in the opposite direction, further into the town.
Han Zhang: So, this is our "humanitarian vacation" here? An open mining pit?
Hissabeth: You've got it.
Hissabeth: It's nearby and easy to reach. I can't see a reason why we shouldn't come check it out. The only problem is I got the timing a little off.
Hissabeth: But just you wait, it won't be long now before the aurora shows up.
She tosses a pebble toward the pit. It vanishes into the dark.
Hissabeth: We've recruited a great team from Laplace and the Foundation and worked out the kinks of our teleport disk. If we can just manage to collect some useful data ...
Hissabeth: Our future could be brighter than any aurora.
Name Day: I hate to be negative at a time like this, but this is still a big gamble.
Hissabeth: But we won big today. Didn't you join us to bring about a better future? Just think, our achievements on this project could pave the way to a promotion or at least a transfer.
Name Day: Don't try to butter me up with promotion talk. Anyway, it's bad luck to talk like that right before a mission. Worse than bad luck—it's cliche.
Name Day: Strangers coming together to do great deeds, risking mortal peril for the good of humanity. Now, just before the climax, we'll start talking about our motivations and backstories.
Name Day: All to give the story a twist: when someone bites it in the last act, and then the whole gang is haunted by their last moments of peace together.
Han Zhang: Oh, there's a theory about that! What is it called again? Right, quantum entanglement.
Han Zhang: Where I'm from, there's a book called Yijing that has a similar idea, that the things we do are mirrored in faraway places.
After turning several near-identical corners, Pointer reaches her destination.
A small group of people has gathered by the roadside. The moment they spot her, their wind-chapped faces break into smiles.
Pointer: How are things proceeding? I'm here to perform a final check on the evacuation.
Resident: It's going well. We're all ready to leave.
Resident: It's just these flowers. We thought about planting them somewhere, just so we don't need to carry them, but with the soil frozen over ...
Pointer: Flowers?
Resident: Yes, you know, from the seeds you gave us. My daughter planted them just for fun, but they really thrived!
A little girl bundled in thick winter clothes hoists up her box of treasures to Pointer—several tall potted sunflowers.
Child: Mommy said it's really really difficult.
Child: It's a miracle! Miss, but you and I did it together!
Pointer: Yes, I suppose it indeed appears miraculous. But how are you going to take them with you? I think it will be a bit too heavy to carry on the road.
Resident: We've given away the rest to some of our neighbors. But these are the ones that bloomed the best. It hurts to think we'd just leave them here to die.
Resident: It's so cold now, and it's getting hard to find food. We know we have to evacuate soon, but no one has told us where we're going, or what's next.
Resident: Despite all the hardship, these seeds you gave us somehow managed to bloom under my daughter's care. Look, they're absolutely radiant!
Resident: If even these little flowers are ready to fight to survive, how can we give up?
The townspeople around her chime in, and the girl beams even brighter, holding the box tight in her arms.
Pointer: That's true.
She wants to tell them to save their space and energy for more important supplies.
The seeds were a gift from Windsong, likely altered through an arcane skill, perhaps already adapted to grow in permafrost.
But at this moment, it doesn't seem right to judge these flowers that hold meaning for others.
Pointer: Thank you. I'm not aware of the local species of flowers here, but I'm certain all the same that these are the most beautiful flowers in Mirny.
Pointer: I hope you can find a way to take them with you.
Watching the golden hue of the sunflowers fade into the distance, Pointer steps back onto the street.
She will check on the vehicle she parked earlier, take one final patrol, and then leave, without looking back.
Yet Mirny is, in fact, just large enough for chance encounters to still occur.
Laplace Staff Member I: Hey, am I seeing things? Pointer?
The glint of a Laplace uniform blends into the snow, and she squints until she recognizes the waving figure.
Pointer: Oh, hey! Weren't you on vacation? Why are you back here with the evacuation team?
Laplace Staff Member I: Well, I had nothing else to do anyway, and we need all the help we can get.
Laplace Staff Member I: Did you hear? There's still a team at Plesetsk. Ludwig even approved a delayed evacuation for them.
Laplace Staff Member I: I guess they're planning to stay to the very last moment. Can you believe that?
Pointer: Ludwig actually approved it? They are going to stay in the Cosmodrome?
The news is nothing like she expected. Her voice rises in shock.
Laplace Staff Member I: Unbelievable, right? That takes a lot of guts. Who would have guessed we had people like that here at Laplace?
Laplace Staff Member I: If you've got time, maybe you should go check on them, see if you can talk some sense into them.
He aims to pat her shoulder. But considering her mechanical components, he lowers his hand halfway.
Laplace Staff Member I: Anyway, I have a street of houses to check one by one for stragglers, so I've got to get back to it.
Laplace Staff Member I: Oh. It's freezing cold out there. Don't forget to check the components. I'll catch up with you when we get back to the branch.
Pointer: ...
She once hoped that Ludwig would shut down this absurd plan—a mission with far greater odds of failure than achieving any meaningful goal.
But she should've known better. Laplace is filled with the most stubborn people imaginable. They would never give up, no matter how many obstacles stand in their way.
The "Storm" is coming. What else is left for her to do?
Pointer looks in the direction of the Cosmodrome, the buildings obscured by a swirling sheet of white.
Han Zhang: Everything is made of atoms. From afar, Mount Taihang is like a grindstone, the Yellow River is like a belt, and all these things are but dust.
Han Zhang: In other words, maybe the reason why we're here is only a complete coincidence.
Hissabeth: Hold it, hold it, let's just get back to the topic at hand. I think I'm allergic to poetry.
Kiperina: Aww, I want to hear the rest. Would you please let him finish?
Hissabeth: No way. I think I'd rather take a chance on that lethal backstory cliche. How about you start us off?
The little snakes tilt their heads in unison. Every eye lands inquisitively on Name Day.
He almost wishes for a petrification spell to hit himself.
Name Day: Um, sure. What do you want to know?
Name Day: Are you curious about why I chose our loose yet ambitious team?
Hissabeth: "Loose yet ambitious," that's a good description.
Hissabeth: You brought it up. Now spit it out, and make it simple.
Name Day: Maybe I shouldn't have oversold it. I just think you have a good plan.
Name Day: What if this works? What if we do this and it changes the world? And I could be a part of that? It's a tempting thought. Don't you think?
Name Day: I just don't want to see another place I hold dear lost to the "Storm."
Hissabeth: So, you mean it was for your hometown?
Name Day: Yeah, I guess you could say that.
Kiperina: Isn't your homeland still here in this era?
More often than not, Kiperina chooses to listen and wait. She seldom inserts herself into conversations.
Kiperina: Have you just accepted the fact that it will disappear ... again?
He shakes his head.
Name Day: My home isn't in this era. Maybe the names are the same, same old familiar buildings, but nothing that matters to me. What's gone is gone.
Name Day: Don't feel bad for me though. Now, I have my own "portable hometown."
He raises a finger and taps the little ornament dangling on his ear.
Hissabeth: Hey, I always figured you kept that around in case you needed some quick cash, you know, like those pirates that had coin earrings.
Name Day: Oh, no. My brother said he would kill me if I gave this away.
Name Day: It's meant to be for "the last living child," a family heirloom of sorts. If I lost it, I think my family would crawl out of their graves and haunt me, if they had graves. Still, if I was in dire need ...
"Family." The word stirs emotions in all those listening.
Kiperina lowers her head, trying to hide her expression.
Voyager: A-Alia, family?
She points to the ground, doing her best to respond with the words she's learned, even if the meaning is slightly off.
Kiperina: No, Voyager, this is not my family. They're in Utrennyaya.
Kiperina: These are my friends.
Voyager: Friends.
She knows this word, but until now she only used it to describe Kiperina.
For Kiperina, it's a word that breaks down barriers and opens doors.
Kiperina: You told me that as long as there are living people to remember what has been, that what we're doing will be worthwhile. I've tried to accept that, but I still can't.
Kiperina: What has been ... It's not just an old building or some candy in a store. It's the place I grew up and the people I love that will be taken away.
Kiperina: It's everything in my life. It is my life.
Kiperina: I know I must accept it, that I can do nothing but accept it, but how can I ever accept it?
Another long silence.
Everyone standing here has a reason to keep going—reasons strong enough to chase the absurd.
In other words, no one here knows the real answer.
