Pointer sits at her desk, going about her work as usual.
Hissabeth: Hello.
Pointer: Come in.
Hissabeth surveys the room, an unreadable flicker of dissatisfaction in her gaze, leaving Pointer a bit puzzled.
Hissabeth: You haven't started, have you?
Pointer: What?
Hissabeth: D'accord. Fine, once I finish things up on my end, we'll help you pack too.
Hissabeth: But for now, come take a look at this.
Pointer: What ...
Pointer: You've made a lot of revisions.
Hissabeth: Even though you never wrote back to discuss, I filled in the gaps, including the materials I showed you earlier.
Pointer: This low-temp materials testing angle … Was this inspired by Prismagreen? This has the potential to dramatically improve our project's outcomes.
Hissabeth: Looks good, right? The Laplace review panel thinks so too.
Pointer: Thank you, Researcher Hissabeth.
Pointer: Don't worry. I'll make sure to list you as a corresponding author when we submit.
Getting the proposal updated was a pleasant surprise. Pointer smiles contentedly as she imagines yet another well-received paper.
Yet somehow her colleague doesn't seem pleased.
Hissabeth: The corresponding author?!
Hissabeth: Why?!
Several small snakes peek out from her hair. Pointer has seen it before, a sign of great emotional disturbance.
Pointer: Well, it's going to be my project, after all? Since you're about to transfer to Laplace HQ and join another team?
Hissabeth: Another team? There is no other team. This is my project. Our project. The one I'm about to start working on!
Her serpentine siblings flick their tongues, eager to join in before Hissabeth at least realizes the crucial piece of missing context.
Hissabeth: You don't know? Incroyable! I thought they already informed you!
Pointer: I haven't received any information at all. So, go ahead, I guess.
The siblings all seem to collectively relax, falling down limply as Hissabeth smiles.
Hissabeth: After I completed our proposal, I submitted it to HQ as a brand-new project.
Hissabeth: It passed the review! What is it that you think I'm packing?
Pointer: Our proposal?
Hissabeth: Correct. You're listed as my co-applicant.
Pointer's eyes shift as she takes in, piece by piece, the information that Hissabeth is relaying.
Hissabeth: We even got a collaboration invite from Prismagreen's team—secured additional funding for joint development. It all came in within our main budget.
Pointer: So you're packing because …
Hissabeth: I requested an office at HQ. We'll need to work there for a while, to get the joint budget.
Hissabeth: They've got all the equipment there that we could ever need but could never get all the way up here.
Pointer: You make an excellent argument.
Pointer: Aside from the part where I somehow knew none of this.
Hissabeth: Chill, Pointer. Knowing now is good enough.
Hissabeth waves her off breezily. Pointer doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't blink. After ten seconds of sustained eye contact, Hissabeth adjusts her tone.
Hissabeth: Alright, alright, I admit it was a little irresponsible. I just thought the HQ notice would reach you before I did.
Pointer: I believe they likely assumed you already told me. You know, because it would be crazy not to.
Hissabeth: Ah, but then there'd be no surprise! Maybe the paper notice is still on its way? Or worse—stuck in some admin's typewriter.
They usually bonded over shared complaints about Laplace bureaucracy. It's a good topic to eliminate awkward atmospheres.
Hissabeth: Anyway, co-first author is my bottom line. So, you're coming, right?
Hissabeth: I even applied for your budget, your stipend, your office, and your lab. If you say no now …
Pointer: Well then. What else can I say? I'm in.
No more discussion is needed. They shift immediately into planning the relocation—smooth and efficient as always.
Their celebration dinner is smaller than intended, but no less high-spirited.
Hissabeth: Name Day's off on a mission, Windsong hasn't returned, Han Zhang left a note saying he's off doing side work, and Voyager's reassignment to the HQ team just got extended again.
Hissabeth: Glad you're still here, Alia. Otherwise it'd just be us two eating by ourselves.
Snake V: That'd be us nine and Pointer, wouldn't it?
Kiperina: It's an honor, ma'am.
The girl lifts her glass of juice with great sincerity and clinks glasses with each of them.
Hissabeth: We first met here too, didn't we? I think we even ordered the same dishes.
Snake I: That's what happens when so much has happened. Time feels fast and slow all at once!
Kiperina: So then, this will be the last time we eat together here?
She glances around the still oddly familiar restaurant; despite her tone, she knows it isn't a question.
Pointer: If our research ever makes it to the flight launch phase, we'll be back.
Hissabeth: Laplace works with a lot of launch centers. But Prismagreen really likes it here. She says the snowfields and auroras feel poetic.
Hissabeth: Considering how closely our teams are collaborating, she might find an excuse to drag us back here.
Pointer: I have no objections.
Hissabeth: Same here.
Hissabeth: Oh! Almost forgot—I should be offering Alia some emotional support now. Let me think.
She grows serious, making an exaggerated effort to engage the unused synapses of her shared mind as the snakes whisper their suggestions.
Pointer: Emotional support? Is this part of some new research project?
Hissabeth: Prismagreen said I'm terrible at giving emotional support to my colleagues, but I like to think I'm doing a decent job.
Hissabeth: Right, Alia?
Kiperina smiles as best as she can. She hates to let others down. So, she gives a stellar performance.
Kiperina: Thank you, Miss Hissabeth. Really, I'm fine. I don't need any special comfort or encouragement.
Hissabeth: Mais non, but I need more success cases. You know what they say. Only samples over thirty are statistically significant.
Pointer: I don't know what happened last time, and I don't want to, but I suggest you stop now.
Pointer: Maybe Prismagreen was right, but you don't need to improve this part. Just accept it as a ... personal trait. There's no need to torture Alia over it.
Hissabeth looks unconvinced. Yet to head off the inevitable argument, Pointer raises her glass, shifting the mood back to a well-timed toast.
Pointer: Let's raise a glass.
Pointer: To celebrate our project approval, and to our next reunion.
Kiperina: To the end of the "Storm."
Hissabeth: And to the stars.
