Ulrich is ushered into a laboratory packed with computers.
The thick smell of alcohol and an explosion of cheers fill the air.
Branch Receptionist: Let's raise a toast!
Branch Receptionist: A big welcome to our distinguished researcher from headquarters—Ulrich!
Ulrich: Is this really the ... banquet hall?
The floor and workbenches are laden with smoked fish, slices of red sausage, and unmarked bottles of vodka, all sourced from nearby towns.
Branch Receptionist: That's right. It's a reasonable use of public facilities, don't you think?
Ulrich: Hardly! What kind of place is this for a party? Any spilled alcohol could corrode and short-circuit the equipment.
Branch Receptionist: Yes, but geometrically speaking, it's the central point of the facility. It's the closest place to everyone's rooms.
He extends a finger and traces dazzling geometric patterns in the air.
Branch Receptionist: We've hosted a number of parties in this facility. Both experience and theory confirm that this lab is the most popular location.
The eccentric logic of Laplace's scientists extends even to this remote branch near the Arctic Circle.
Ulrich: I don't think this is a math problem. It's a systemic issue.
Ulrich: Dining in the lab should be strictly prohibited. The equipment we have left is already dwindling; we can't afford to lose any more.
Branch Researcher I: Don't be such a buzzkill, Ulrich. This is your welcome party!
Branch Researcher II: That's right! We always welcome the newcomers!
Branch Receptionist: I'm Dmitry, that's Alexander, and over there is Elena ... Oh, and there's Ivan, too, but he hasn't shown up yet.
Dmitry: No use waiting for him. Let's have a drink!
He holds out a glass of vodka spiked with chili peppers.
Dmitry: Come on, friend!
Ulrich shuts off his olfactory function.
Ulrich: No, I refuse to drink alcohol. Don't you have anything non-alcoholic?
This question is met with a burst of laughter akin to the howling winds of Siberia.
Dmitry gives Ulrich an overly enthusiastic pat on the tank.
Dmitry: Only vodka can help people forget their troubles, my friend. Give it a try. It might work for you, too.
Dmitry raises his glass, leading the group in another round, but Ulrich still doesn't touch the glass in front of him.
Ulrich: I never asked for a welcome party. Were these supplies purchased with the LSCC's budget?
Dmitry answers his question without hesitation.
Dmitry: "To Branch Leader Ludwig: In order to host Team Leader Ulrich, alcohol and food have been purchased as follows. Please approve for reimbursement."
Dmitry: That's it.
Ulrich: It all reeks of corruption!
Ulrich: The LSCC's funds should go toward researching the "Storm," not unnecessary indulgences.
The party comes to an abrupt halt.
Dmitry: What? This isn't unnecessary at all.
Dmitry: That better just be a bad joke.
Ulrich: I'm not joking.
Branch Researcher I: Oh, dear! You're serious?
Branch Researcher II: Here is the case. We just wanted to lighten your mood, Ulrich.
Branch Researcher I: What a buzzkill.
Ulrich: But I can't—
A wave of shushing drowns out Ulrich's protests.
Even the densest person could feel the shift in this room's mood.
Ulrich: I've had enough. Enjoy your vodka and smoked fish. I refuse to participate in such a misuse of funds.
Ulrich turns toward the door. The researchers quickly clear a path.
Their eyes following him as he swiftly exits the room.
Ulrich feels as though he's just knocked over a beaker full of liquid and spilled dangerous chemicals all over the floor.
Though harmless to him, the mess leaves him irritated.
Ulrich: ...
Facing the snow-covered plain, he aimlessly watches the various black dots scattered in the distance.
One of them starts to move closer, slowly taking the shape of a person as it approaches.
Ulrich: ...?
A distant voice drifts over, carried by the cold wind.
???: Hey—! Ulrich—? Is that you—?
First, he notices a long coat; then, a head of silver-white hair, just like the snow.
Ulrich: Windsong!?
Soon, the figure is close enough to engage in conversation.
This is an unexpected meeting for them both.
Windsong: Yes, it's me. What brings you to Plesetsk?
Ulrich: I'm on holiday. Are you?
Windsong: No, I'm working in a nearby mine. I just come back every now and then to restock supplies.
Ulrich: This is a serious oversight. I should've visited you at the mine before I came to the recovery center.
Windsong: Forget about it. There's no need for formalities, Ulrich.
Ulrich: Formalities?
He clearly didn't intend it that way.
Ulrich: What I meant was, if I'd visited you first, you might've warned me about how unpleasant the traditions are here.
Windsong: ...
She gives Ulrich a scrutinizing look, like a scholar studying a rare mineral.
Then, after a moment's thought, she comes to a conclusion.
Windsong: Haha.
Her sudden chuckle leaves Ulrich baffled.
Ulrich: ...? What are you laughing at?
Windsong: I see. They must've put you through hell with that whole welcome party.
Windsong: Did you run out on your own, or did they kick you out?
She shakes her head in resignation.
Windsong: No need to answer. It's the same result either way.
Ulrich: Indeed. Couldn't be worse.
Ulrich: They called it a "banquet," but it felt more like an excuse to drink to me.
Windsong: Culturally speaking, for this lot, "banquets" and "drinking" aren't all that different.
Ulrich isn't swayed by such rhetorical dodging.
Ulrich: But we're Laplace researchers. It's our foremost responsibility to focus on theories, ideas, possibilities, and experimentation—that's where we must focus our time.
Ulrich: But now, their minds are filled with nothing but alcohol.
Windsong: They're just trying to relax. That's what vacations are for.
Ulrich: That's not how I see it.
Ulrich: Before coming to Plesetsk, I read the schedules of some mountain sanatoriums. They included activities like resting, gentle walks, and book discussions.
Ulrich: Not one of them recommended consuming alcohol or high-sodium foods. Endless indulgence and escapism help no one.
Windsong: ...
She remains silent for a moment, long enough for the cold wind to suppress Ulrich's internal irritation.
Windsong: Yes. You're right. Giving up isn't the way to face disaster.
Windsong: But it isn't "endless," as you say. It's not necessarily a bad thing to indulge yourself every once in a while.
Ulrich: ...?
Ulrich can't grasp how removing the word "endless" would significantly improve the implications of "indulgence" and "escapism."
Windsong: I know some of the people vacationing here. Most of them were either top students at prestigious institutions or outstanding professionals in their fields.
Windsong: In the past, they buried themselves in libraries and labs, living disciplined lives in pursuit of academia.
Windsong: But the "Storm" turned them into lost souls, unable to hold onto their beliefs or face the new reality.
Windsong: A complete breakdown of order may be just what they need to vent their fears. Then perhaps they will be ready to stand tall once more.
Ulrich: I'm not convinced. Does this psychological therapy method have a solid theoretical foundation?
Windsong shrugs.
Windsong: I guess it's more of an empirical approach.
Windsong: It doesn't deteriorate the diligence, rationality, and sense of responsibility of researchers. In fact, they usually come back with a vengeance.
Ulrich: But personal experience is unreliable. There's no guarantee this method will produce results.
Windsong lets out a soft, bitter laugh.
Windsong: We won't always get the results we hope for. Yet, proving a theory wrong can be just as important as proving one right.
Her gaze shifts past Ulrich's shoulder to the building behind him.
Windsong: So, are you going back, or are you going to stay out here in the cold?
Ulrich: Go on ahead. I'd prefer to stay here until all this nonsense is finished.
