Part 4: "A Cooperation"

29 hours after Andrea's team went missing.
Their rest has ended an hour early; the sergeant stands over a freshly drawn map with a look of genuine relief.
Sergeant White Gloves: We can widen the search range by at least 30 percent. At this rate, we might actually make it in under 36 hours.
Moldir: Assuming my numbers hold up.
Sergeant White Gloves: Everyone here trusts your judgment, Lieutenant.
Moldir: Yet, I have the sense you have more questions.
Sergeant White Gloves: Yes.
Sergeant White Gloves: Who are you counting on to be the fourth rescue team? Ptolemy's infantry won't arrive this fast, and Danilov's still grounded.
Moldir: Correct.
Sergeant White Gloves: Oh ... don't tell me we're working with ...
He mouths the word without saying it aloud.
Moldir: That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Sergeant.
Moldir: Whether or not we should, in this extreme case, accept help from ... an arcane animal.
Sergeant White Gloves: An arcane animal?
The sergeant chews on the strange phrase like frozen rations.
Sergeant White Gloves: Like a dog?
Moldir: A squirrel, actually ... plus three Adélie penguins.
Sergeant White Gloves: ... A squirrel?
His brow draws together.
Sergeant White Gloves: So, some mysterious, as yet unverified creature just shows up in camp, and you want to work with it?
Moldir: I wouldn't call him entirely unverified.
Moldir: I believe I've heard of him ... and I believe you have too, Sergeant.
Sergeant White Gloves: I think I would remember an "arcane squirrel" ...
Moldir: One of last year's "Lunch Hour Legends." I remember seeing you there. Then again, maybe you just didn't catch that part.
A flicker of recognition crosses the sergeant's face.
Sergeant White Gloves: It's been a while since we've had one of those ... since—
His train of thought stops short. Moldir's face remains still and cold.
Sergeant White Gloves: Yes ... I think I remember now. But can we trust it? This squirrel?
Moldir: I don't know.
Moldir: But time's running out ... I can't afford to turn down a chance to save them.
Her voice softens, emotion breaking like ice under her cold exterior.
But she doesn't let the cracks spread.
Moldir: There's a more crucial detail I need to share with you. I will inform the others later.
Moldir: If this squirrel—and the intel he's provided—can be trusted, we will need to prepare for something extra.
Sergeant White Gloves: Like what?
She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes narrow, weighing each word like she's walking a tightrope.
Moldir: Potential psychological disturbances, delirium, and ...
She looks down at a dark, handprint-like mark on the map. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
The mood inside the tent grows dark.
Sergeant White Gloves: A lunchtime anecdote isn't enough to convince me. I don't support involving unknown people—or animals—in our operations, Lieutenant.
Moldir: I believe him to be a creature of noble character, Sergeant.
He shoots her a look of open disbelief.
Sergeant White Gloves: Noble character? I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's a squirrel.
Moldir: A squirrel that traveled over 8,000 kilometers to the South Pole to rescue three ordinary penguins.
Sergeant White Gloves: So what? Would you put David on the same level of value as a zoo animal? We can't put him at risk based on the confidence of penguins. 8,000 kilometers may be a lot, but I'd wager anything our people would do the same for David.
The lieutenant gives no reply, only pressing her lips into a thin, tight line.
Buddy Fairchild has no idea that a serious conversation is unfolding involving him.
He sprawls comfortably in his cozy pile of penguins, nuzzling into their soft feathers and fur, just like the good old days.
Buddy Fairchild: Ya know what, pals? I can't abide just waitin' here, sittin' around on my bee-hind.
Buddy Fairchild: It's just like the folks back at the Foundation, always makin' me wait—aw, heck ... they were just plumb ignorin' me, hopin' I'd wise up and get gone!
Buddy Fairchild: But I gotta feelin' this lieutenant's different. Lil icy on the outside, sure, but she helped us.
Penguins: Wawk Wawk?
Buddy Fairchild: Maybe I did get a little excited back there. But that don't mean we shouldn't be careful.
Buddy Fairchild: I won't put y'all at risk, ya hear? If she so much as thinks of askin' us for anythin' we ain't willin' to give, then we're outta here 'fore ya can say lickety-split.
Penguins: Wawk wawk wawk!
Buddy Fairchild: You said it, Fluffy Duke; runnin' away's what we do best!
The squirrel's ears twitch. Alerted to the sound of military boots crunching on snow.
Moldir: I hope you slept well last night, my friends.
Buddy Fairchild: That we did! Thanks again for the hospitality, Lieutenant.
Moldir: I can't offer you anything official. So I'm only asking this as a personal favor.
Buddy Fairchild: A favor?
Moldir: We're searching for a missing team. They've been out of contact for more than a day now, and we could really use your help, Mr. Fairchild.
Buddy Fairchild: Mister? Well ain't that fancy ... Alright, Mr. Fairchild it is.
The squirrel straightens up and circles the table's map on his tiny paws.
Buddy Fairchild: Lost in Antarctica, huh? That's one heck of a problem ya got on yer hands. Reckon you need someone who knows their way around the place.
Buddy Fairchild: Whaddya think, pals? The lieutenant and her friends could use a paw, and we do owe her one.
Penguins: Wawk wawk.
Buddy Fairchild: Glad to hear it! Lieutenant, you can count on us.
Moldir: I appreciate it.
Moldir: There may be danger, but I'll do everything I can to keep you and your friends safe. And I promise I'll push for formal recognition on your behalf.
The squirrel thumps his tail on the table, clearly impatient.
Buddy Fairchild: We'll get to that later. The important thing's that yer folks're in trouble, and we best get movin' to save 'em.