Reverse: 1999 story · Event stories
Silver Knot
8 scenes, 971 lines
1. Queries in the Hall
103 lines
1, 2, 3, and 4. Good. They're all here.
Windsong sets aside the notes in her hand. It's still too early for anyone to have arrived at the lecture hall.
So cold in here. And there's a different shade of gray to this place compared to Rayashki. Even the "lines" in this room seem sharp enough to slice off the tips of my fingers if I dared touch them.
*sigh*
She holds her wrist with her other hand in an attempt to steady its uncontrollable trembling. This always happens when she's nervous.
Now breathe, Windsong.
She draws in a long breath, feeling the crisp air fill her lungs.
...
It brings back a vivid memory of Rayashki.
Are you leaving already, Comrade Windsong?
I'm afraid so. Lots to do and so little time to do it. If everything goes smoothly there, I might be able to return before the kids come back from the Foundation.
Off for a publicity tour for Rayashki, eh? Make sure you tell them about all the wonderful things we have here!
Yes! They must come and try our Ukha and the potato stew, too!
Speaking of which, have you prepared anything for the road, Comrade Windsong?
These words are like a signal. Suddenly, a plethora of packages are thrust into her arms from all directions.
Oh!
Before long, her arms are filled with cheeses of all shapes and sizes.
Thank you, thank you all. This is a generous amount of cheese for one trip.
Hah, I see what you're getting at. Of course, we can't have you eating nothing but cheese the whole time!
More packages are shoved into her arms.
Beetroot, a large ham, a portable gas stove, and a lonely wool sock.
Take care, Comrade Windsong!
Safe journey, Comrade Windsong!
The steamship horn sounds, echoing across the bay to the mountains in the distance. They stand tall and gray, the silent guardians of the town and its people.
In the lingering echo of the horn, the ship departs from the dock. Windsong looks back at the shore; the people of Rayashki are still there, waving to her. She manages a wave in return.
The wind becomes more biting, and the snow stings her face. She waves until the town and its people fade from sight and heads to the cabin with her luggage.
She remembers traversing lands covered in snow and lush vegetation, passing the towering mountains and the open bay. She changed from ship to train, from train to car, and despite her best efforts to keep the cheese wrappers intact, they started to fall apart.
Just like her memories of Rayashki.
Her heart sinks at the thought of that little town. The entire place gone, and these cheeses some of the last things left to prove it ever existed. She takes out one of the packages, takes a small bite, and carefully wraps it back up.
She runs her fingers over the wrinkled wax paper.
...!
She rubs her face and straightens up.
Come on. Not now. You've got a speech to give.
Let's see. I'll start with a brief introduction of myself, then move on to the history of the study of ley lines, followed by ... Hmm.
They may have some questions on environmental analysis for me. Or, perhaps, they'll ask about the geological conditions in Rayashki.
Better to keep the geologic map handy. Here it is.
What else will they want to know? The nature of ley energy—that could be one.
She hears some indistinct chatter coming from the end of the hallway.
Hm?
She stares at the door. The muffled arguments quickly become clearer, and soon two researchers in Laplace uniforms step inside.
Look, I don't want to be mean, but I brought this to you a long time ago. You were very—
...
The argument comes to a sudden halt as they lay eyes on her.
Welcome, comrades. Are you both here for the lecture? Please take a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.
She gestures toward the chairs, but one of them walks straight up to her.
Are you giving the lecture today? Are you the ley hunter?
What gave it away? You can call me Windsong.
A ley hunter in real life!
He leans toward her, as if inspecting a specimen in a glass case. Before Windsong can react, he speaks again.
May I ask you a few questions?
Why are you still studying ley lines?
She opens her notebook, but it provides her with no answer.
That can't possibly be your major project, can it? So what is it, then? Geology? Environmental planning?
No, I ...
Her only study has been, and will always be, that of ley lines.
Only the study of ley lines?
Yes.
She's relieved that she can finally give a positive response.
But the two researchers exchange a bewildered look.
But, Ms. Windsong, I don't think there's much research or many studies concerning ley lines these days—well, there aren't any, if we're honest. Who's funding it? Are there any ongoing projects or publications?
I haven't seen any studies that included ley lines in their research. Is the study of ley lines considered a scientific discipline or more of an arcane one? Which journals or publishers do you usually send your papers to?
And what made you stick with it?
Windsong responds with a bitter smile.
Well, it's a long story.
She hears more footsteps coming down the hallway.
...
Mm?
One after another, researchers file into the lecture hall.
Windsong feels the curious eyes of some as they pass by.
...
Most, however, take their seats quietly.
Why don't you go join the others? We'll be starting any minute.
The researcher nods and steps back from the podium. He finds a seat at the front, placing his notebook on the table before him. Windsong meets his eager eyes.
Would you share with us how you got into this field of study?
His friend also takes a seat in the first row.
The murmurs lower as more and more are seated. Windsong takes a bracing breath and rings the bell on the podium.
The lights dim. All eyes are focused on her.
Buzzz ...
Ahem. Sorry.
Welcome, comrades, fellow researchers. It is an honor to be here to share some ideas in the study of ley lines with you.
The crowd responds with sparse clapping.
My name is Windsong. I'm a ley hunter. Our topic today is ...
"Ley Lines in Environmental Analysis: A Geological Survey of Rayashki."
She taps the keyboard, and the topic emerges on the projector screen.
Some of you may have heard of the study of ley lines, while for others it may be a novelty. Although not a new discovery, ley lines are unfortunately given little attention in today's academia.
Its study emerged in the early 20th century and, for the next 50 years, played an auxiliary role in other disciplines—geography, biology, even applied physics. It helped many researchers in various fields, but its value in and of itself was underrated.
It was a desperate time. That was until Comrade Tristan Lisov came along.
He is the genius that every discipline dreams of having. In no more than ten years, he brought the study to its peak.
"The 21st century belongs to the study of ley lines," he said.
Just like many other ley hunters, I was deeply encouraged by his words.
Like a fire smoldering under the ashes, they got us through those hopeless times.
She scans the faces lit by the projection screen, hoping to see their reactions.
She notices the first researcher's face. His eyes are fixed on her as he tries to understand where the story is going.
Would you share with us how you got into this field of study?
...
Before we get into more detail, I have a question for you all.
When it comes to a school of thought, who do you need more—those that get the work done or the ones that make it popular?
Don't worry. Take some time to think about it, and I'll come back to it at the end.
As I said earlier, I was enthralled by Lisov's enthusiasm and ambition and became a ley hunter. It was a remarkable time; under his guidance, we all had unwavering faith in this discipline.
2. Top of the Ivory Tower
99 linesA simple world is an ignorant one.
You may have grown accustomed to its ignorance, so much so that you don't see it anymore, like how your brain filters the nose from your sight.
Stretch your arms and legs. Roll your neck. Feel your blood flowing and your heart beating, and follow the passion within.
At first, all you have are your primitive instincts. Your senses are overwhelmed by the vastness of the world. There's so much information to be absorbed. It's scary, but also intriguing. Ripples collide and rebound, overlap, and intertwine.
You can't ignore them anymore. You must find a way to communicate with them.
But to where do they flow?
*vomit*
She opens her eyes to find herself kneeling on the marble floor. She hears people's voices and knows that she has come back to reality.
Don't move! Stay where you are!
*vomiting continues* Wh-what?
No! What have you done?!
Nothing!
Nothing?! The experiment's ruined thanks to you! And what did I say about the electron ground-state line? Why don't you just go to the admissions office and re-enroll as a novice? Perhaps if you do your studies again, you'll actually learn a thing or two!
"Bang!"
Mm?
Although muffled, his roaring continues on the other side of the door.
Go! We're running this again!
She stares at the door.
He really does have a booming voice. I can still hear him as clear as day.
*breathing uncomfortably*
She's still not used to the side effects of tracing ley lines.
Haha, don't take it to heart, comrade Ekaterina. It's not personal. He's always been the loudest one in the room.
Ah, Professor.
Professor Ivanov walks over and gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder.
Are you okay?
A janitor quickly arrives to clean up the mess on the floor. This is clearly not the first time this has happened.
Windsong shakes her head, trying to clear her mind.
Sorry, Professor. I was a bit lost in there.
Don't worry, it wasn't easy for any of us on our first try. A good experience, though, wouldn't you agree?
Yes. I, I saw lines, each in different shapes and colors. Some were straight—in rigid patterns—while others looked like a jumble of fibers. Were those the ley lines?
She extends a tentative finger into the air, tracing what she just saw.
Don't run before you can walk, Comrade Ekaterina. Remember, there could be serious consequences if we tamper with ley lines without knowing their sources.
Yes, Professor Ivanov.
She withdraws her hand, but she can still feel the energy of the lines swirling around her.
Once you know every ley line by heart, you'll be able to play them like a heptachord. Do you remember what I said in class?
Yes. We can briefly transform one thing into another by changing the attributes of their ley lines, but the object's nature remains unchanged. The study of ley lines is the discipline of observation, and the ley hunters' job is to observe, not to create, intervene, or impose our will on nature.
Exactly. Never intervene. But we might find the way out for others. By revealing the hidden clues in nature, we can lead them to the right path.
Lead them to the right path.
She repeats his words under her breath.
How many days and nights has she spent studying to become a ley hunter at this institute? All her efforts are finally paying off.
I told you before! This is our last sample! The last one!
Ah. Could you give me a hand, sir? My fingers seem to be stuck.
The lab report! The lab report!! The lab report!!! What are those ears on the sides of your head for, decoration?!
Yes, the white board. Bring it to Room 302A.
...
Still feeling strange, huh? Everyone in this place is caught up with their own hectic schedules. You'll find your place in this institution once you've decided on your research topic.
And when will that be, Professor?
Haha.
He shakes his head, still smiling.
Take it easy; there's no need to rush. Besides, it seems your colleagues are still struggling to catch up with you, Comrade Ekaterina.
He gestures behind her.
A number of junior researchers are sprawled out in the hallway, lying or leaning in recovery from what they just experienced.
At one end of the hallway, two medical staff quietly wheel one of them out on a stretcher.
Are there any projects you find particularly interesting? The one on the Kolaria Superdeep Borehole? Or maybe the Sverdlovsk rescue group?
Those two are quite prominent. They're making good progress, and the higher-ups are fairly supportive of them. I think they'd suit you well.
Has it ever occurred to you that we have safety regulations to follow here?!
Ah. Old Nik's project. Do you know what he's working on?
Not really. But the pile of papers on his desk is impressive. Looks like the old guy's trying to build his own tower of Babel.
Don't you want to join one of the more high-profile projects?
Windsong looks over at the researchers sitting in the opposite corner, each fully absorbed in their work.
It's the most comfortable corner in the building, and the people sitting there are the true elites of the establishment.
That one looks more fun.
Alright.
There'll be a staff restructuring in six months. If you end up regretting your decision, there's still a chance we could put you in a different group. Not many people can put up with Old Nik, you know.
Why?
Group meeting, Room 105, 8 p.m.!
Haha, well ...
Who "ley-lined" my coffee into this thing?!
No one wants to admit to such a basic mistake. The room falls into a deadly silence.
Come on! Which one of you rookies just messed with the ley lines in the room?!
Hmm?
She tucks her hands behind her back.
Perfect timing, Old Nik! Meet Comrade Ekaterina. She's going to fill the vacancy in your group.
Hmph.
His sharp gaze locks onto her. Windsong feels as though nothing can escape his sight.
Urh. That wasn't me. I mean the coffee, I think.
Hmph.
Windsong senses a smirk lurking behind his beard.
Follow me, rookie.
He turns on his heels and starts marching away.
Windsong hastens to follow him, but Professor Ivanov calls out to her.
Comrade Ekaterina?
Yes, Professor?
She turns back to face him.
The professor stands beneath a huge portrait on the wall. It is the portrait of the founding father of their discipline, Tristan Lisov.
In the portrait, Lisov casts a calm and confident gaze to the left, like he can already see the promise of the future.
The motto is placed right beneath his portrait.
It's the first thing anyone sees when they enter the building.
Welcome to the new world. Our new world.
Snapping back to the moment, Windsong's eyes turn to her professor again.
Our new world. Finally, I can make a difference. Broaden our understanding of ley lines. Lead us into a new future.
She gives a solemn nod.
She swiftly turns around and rushes to catch up with Old Nik.
3. Parasites
106 linesThe time is ... 8:29. Ekaterina. Clocked in.
Windsong tosses the pen aside. It dangles from the string attaching it to the sign-in board.
Has it only been three months? It feels like twice as long.
*yawn* We're moving onto stage 3 today.
She yawns deeply.
...
*yawning*
She has no time to rest, but the drowsiness is only getting stronger.
Ah! Ah! My jaw! Oh. I thought I dislocated it for a second.
...
Ahem!
He pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation.
Comrade Ekaterina! Over here!
Yes!
Old Nikola aligns the papers on the desk and sets them aside.
I've read your paper. Not too bad for a first draft. I've made a few notes that might be helpful to you.
When did you leave the lab last night?
A little after 2 a.m., Comrade Nikola. I made sure to clock out before I left.
Then, when can I see that lab report?
Before the end of today.
Today? I don't think so. Your schedule's packed.
Is it? What am I going to do?
Pack your things.
...?
Why, Old Nik? I thought you liked my paper! You can't just flip the switch and start hating me because I yawned a few times—or can you?
What did you just call me?
Ahem. Sorry, sir.
Why do you think there's no one in the lab at this hour?
The researchers are all crowded in front of the notice board. The project bid results have been released.
I completely forgot!
Go take a look. You did well on that proposal. They'd be smart to have you on their list. And if they don't, you still have your spot on the Arctic expedition team.
Have a look at mine for me, too. If you're not too busy celebrating any good news, that is.
Sure thing.
The board is layered with papers detailing old announcements. The latest one is pinned on top, listing the projects that have been granted national funding.
Please, I have to get through. Sorry.
She can't see past the crowd in any direction.
Is that you, Comrade Ekaterina? Want a sip? It's vodka. You must've been put through a lot working with Old Nik.
I'm okay. Ouch! That's my foot!
Sorry, comrade.
The crowd pushes her around. She holds onto Yelena's sleeve to keep herself from falling.
We're packed tighter than a can of sardines here. We shouldn't have come so early. Alright, let me see. Where's our Ekaterina's hamster project?
Gerbils, Comrade Yelena. They're gerbils, not hamsters.
Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Gerbils, gerbils ... I don't see any gerbils here. Oh, there's your name. You're going to Taryga?!
More people push in, squeezing them out of the crowd. Windsong notices that most of the people who are already leaving have satisfied smiles on their faces. Clearly, they are content with the outcome.
You can't be serious, Comrade Ekaterina. Maybe you got the destination wrong after staying up late all week?
All the effort you put into that bid document just to be assigned to Taryga, the place where even vultures struggle to survive!
Yes, Comrade Yelena. I've read some interesting accounts about that place. It's calling out for exploration.
So you'll ride a goat across the mountains to become a shaman queen in the wilderness? Oh, my Ekaterina.
Yelena dramatically buries her face in her hands, unable to fathom the hardship.
Don't worry about me. Were you selected too?
Yes, I'm going to Frankfurt.
Ah, it's Alexei and the boys. Seems like they won the bid, too.
Alexei? I thought he was working for—
Oh, Ekaterina, you really should come to the pub with us more often! You've missed out on everything!
He left the Kolaria Superdeep Borehole Project a while ago. Now he's his own boss, running a project with his own people.
What's it called? Something like "A Ley-Line Perspective on Quantum Field Theory and Its Application in Energy Conversion and Transmission" ... Oof, quite the mouthful.
Quantum field theory? But we don't have an optical lab here. Where are they going to do the experiments?
Who knows. I'm sure Alexei will find a way—you know, with help from his family.
His old man wouldn't bat an eye at the bill required to build a new lab.
You wait and see. With his articles getting published one after another, there's no doubt that he'll be made director of some department soon.
And there's no other discipline that gets as much love from the journal editors as ours does.
People put a lot of faith in ley lines, you see.
But ...
But people like Old Nik can't stand when academics cut corners, so you never would've heard any of this from him.
I see your point, Comrade Yelena.
I know what you're trying to say—that passion from the populace can sometimes be a threat to scientific rigor. But it also gives us an edge, don't you think?
Do you remember that village we visited? The chief must be a Varangian. Stubborn guy.
But even he granted us permission to explore near their village when we said we were ley hunters.
Yes, but that was because he wanted us to see if there were gold mines or oil beneath their village.
Yes, my dear Ekaterina, and we'd probably still be enjoying the saunas in their banya if you hadn't broken the truth to him so quickly!
But let's not argue over the past. In the end, we successfully completed the task and gathered enough materials for the report, didn't we?
It's true the chief didn't get the news he wanted, but at least we secured our spots in the institute. And it was all thanks to that report.
She recalls the chief's furious expression and piercing gaze. He had looked at them as if they were a pair of frauds. The memory sends shivers down her spine.
Well, what are you going to do in Frankfurt, then?
There's a new project on hydrothermal mineral deposits. And I've had enough of the cold up here in the north. It's time to go somewhere warmer for a change.
Sounds good. I heard they have some nice hot springs there. Maybe you can give them a try.
Yelena gives a joyful smile.
You always give the best advice, Ekaterina. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for any gifts. Maybe I can bring you something back.
Sausages or some apple wine would be perfect. How about you? Would you like a bear cub from the north?
Hahaha, you can spare me that one! Take care. We won't be seeing each other much for a while.
They lightly touch cheeks, and Windsong watches Yelena stride away.
She realizes that the hallway has become quiet again.
Having checked their results, the crowd has long gone.
But Windsong has one more thing to check.
She doesn't see Old Nik's name on the first page, so she flips to the next, and then the next, until she finally finds his project on the last sheet. Then she notices the yellowing papers beneath.
"Sustainable Agriculture in Developing Countries: A Ley Line Analysis," "A Ley Line Perspective on Efficiency in Heavy Industry and Optimization" ...
"Prospect and Development," "Theory and Applications" ...
...
This is the work of every ley hunter in this institution.
She runs her fingers along the pages, finally coming to a stop on the oldest one.
Here lies the history of ley lines.
She mutters to herself.
So many people have tried so many things—and all at the same time—simultaneously exploring the possibilities of applying ley lines to all kinds of disciplines.
But, why? Most of these attempts seem to have only scratched the surface.
She goes through them all again.
Many of them were given up when the researchers encountered the first few obstacles. It's like they never even intended to dig deeper into the subject.
Two ... Maybe three? There are no more than three topics within the same area of research.
Maybe they'll come back to them when they have more data. It's still a young subject, after all.
But ...
So much talent and brainpower has been diverted to all these different areas.
If we'd just worked together more, we'd probably have a wealth of knowledge by now.
No wonder Old Nik doesn't like it here.
4. Tortoise and the Hare
172 linesThe cold weather in Taryga clears all other thoughts from Windsong's mind, and the happenings of the research institute seem distant amid the snowy mountains.
It's already the end of her second month here.
Today marks the 32nd day of our exploration. A new mine has been found at the pass of the mountain known by the locals as "Bear Mountain."
Urgh. I can't stop shivering. No heating, no hot water. Taryga is cruel. I better ask the gatekeeper to bring me more firewood.
She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Aside from that ...
She dips her pen in the ink bottle.
We also found a group of critters, which the locals refer to as "shamama," during our mining.
After thoroughly examining their feathers and excrement and observing their habits and behaviors over a period of time, I believe these shamamas are a variant of the long-extinct critters, the "domovoy."
With much effort, we have successfully relocated them to a new reservation.
Thank you, Sofia. I wouldn't have been able to identify the shamamas without your help.
She's writing to Sofia, a researcher who previously shared information about critters local to Taryga with her.
Their correspondence is piled high on the table.
Boy, that's already quite a stack. How many letters have we written?
She pulls the letters closer to her and counts them one by one.
Oh, there aren't a huge number; it's just that each of them is quite chunky.
I totally get it, Sofia. Living in a place where the mailman only comes once a fortnight and cramming as much info into each letter as possible.
We've never quite managed to squeeze our theories into just one page, have we?
Today's letter, however, is concise.
I've received news that my paper has been successfully published. Can't wait to catch up with you in Yakutsk.
Upon writing the last word, she sets the letter aside to let the ink dry.
Yakutsk. Some say it's even colder than here. Oof. But Sofia and those ovinniks are there. Definitely worth a visit.
Ovinnik? Is that the name?
Straightening up in her chair, she picks up one of the letters to check.
Hah. Funny that I've never noticed this.
"Dear Comrade Ekaterina," comma, "regarding the critters you found" ... "Dear Comrade," comma, "in response to the previous questions on ley lines" ...
Not exactly the "so glad to hear from you," "take care and stay warm," "yours faithfully" type, are you, Sofia? Always straight to the point.
If you wore a pair of thick glasses, you'd be a real "Professor Stoneface."
Amused by the thought, she folds the letter and puts it in a new envelope.
Leave it at the door, please! And could I also get some more firewood?
I have a letter for you, Comrade Ekaterina!
The Ley Line Institute.
The old notice board, the smell of ink, and the conversation about sausages and apple wine suddenly come back to her.
Could this have anything to do with her?
The letter gives no direct answer.
Do you have anything to mail? If not, I'll leave you to your business.
Yelena and Alexei stand in the office, muttering to each other with grave expressions on their faces.
What on earth is going on, Comrade Yelena?!
They immediately turn toward the sound.
Oh, it's you, Ekaterina! Don't worry, I have everything under control. It won't cause you any trouble.
Why? Why was I on your bid document? We aren't even in the same group!
I was trying to secure more funding, so I listed you as a co-author of the report. I should have talked to you first. But none of us would be in trouble if he hadn't filed the complaint to get back at me!
Who?
Some hotel owner in Frankfurt. He asked us to check if there were any gold mines beneath his hot spring.
And did you promise him anything?
I ... Oh, Ekaterina ... I ... I didn't really promise him anything.
...
She stares at Yelena in both disappointment and anger.
Don't give me that look. Please, Ekaterina. I said I'd handle it carefully and make sure your reputation remains intact.
Look, I made a mistake. I'll make it up to you. Take a look at this.
It's different this time—there's really something worth studying!
Comrade Tristan Lisov's just pointed us in a new direction—the ocean has limitless possibilities lying within it. Professor Vladmir Ivanov's also on board, and he hopes you can join us, too.
But what's there to investigate? Oil and gas? Mapping continental shelves? They hardly make a strong research topic, and you certainly don't need so many ley hunters to research them.
But don't you want to meet Comrade Lisov in person?
You don't get to meet the experts from the Academy of Sciences every day! Make a good impression, and it might help with your future funding. You never know.
He's right, Ekaterina. Let's go together, shall we? I owe you one after all this.
The ocean? I don't ...
It's all about seizing the right opportunity, and trust me, Ekaterina, this is it!
No, Yelena, listen.
Yelena continues to speak, but Windsong only finds her voice increasingly unbearable.
Yelena!
She throws the letter to Yelena's feet.
Could you just take one moment and think this through? Is this really the right thing to do?
Yelena exchanges a helpless look with Alexei.
What do you want to do, then?
Windsong opens her mouth; all of a sudden, she hesitates.
I just want to focus on my project.
No novel ideas and directions; no fawning over well-connected people.
She looks straight into their eyes. They are wide with surprise.
Good luck finding someone who shares your vision.
...
Do you really mean that, Comrade Ekaterina?
Old Nik doesn't know any better.
The silence among them becomes stifling.
You can't stay in your little bubble forever. There's a lot happening out there, and you can't escape from it by wandering in the wilderness.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to publish a paper these days?
You've got to earn Professor Ivanov's trust—to win him over. Then he'll bring up your name to Dean Lisov, or maybe even introduce you to him in person.
Getting there requires talent, wealth, and social skills. Otherwise, who knows how long your paper will sit at the bottom of their drawer?
Well, maybe not that long. Someone else will probably beat you to publishing your idea.
Old Nik never warned me about any of this.
That's why Old Nik is always Old Nik, not Professor Nikola or Director Nikola.
He's never been credited as the first author of a paper.
No. This is a sheer violation of academic integrity.
Academic integrity? What's the point of valuing integrity if the subject barely exists anymore?
We've found no new theories, theorems, or laws. We've just been verifying the existing ones, telling the world what it already knows.
No one knows this subject better than we do. And we all know there's nothing sophisticated about it.
At best, it's just a tool serving other subjects. You must understand that better than any of us!
...
With just a slight turn of her head, Windsong can see the notice board beside them.
She remembers those projects—the history written on the fragile yellowed papers.
No. I've made up my mind. I don't want to be a part of this.
And please don't add my name to any more of your lists, Comrade Yelena.
Wait, Ekaterina. You can't just leave.
What is it?
If you insist on not participating, you have to tell the professor yourself.
"Knock-knock."
Come in.
Sir, is it a good time?
I was expecting you, Ekaterina! Your paper on Taryga was truly impressive—a valuable case study indeed!
Putting the journal aside, Professor Ivanov greets her with a warm smile.
Comrade Tristan Lisov has also read your paper. He told me he's looking forward to seeing more of your work on the upcoming project.
That is why you're here, is it not?
He gestures to the chair across the table, then pours some tea into the cup in front of it.
Yes, sir. I appreciate your and Comrade Lisov's recognition of my work, but ...
I won't be joining you in this new project.
Why? It's a good opportunity.
He pauses, still holding the teapot in his hands.
I understand that, but I've decided on my next topic.
She hands him a crumpled envelope. The professor pulls out a thick stack of papers from it.
What is this?
He takes the glasses from his pocket, puts them on, and peers at the letter.
His eyebrows knit together as he reads, his eyes scanning from left to right. After a moment, he puts the letter down.
"Ovinnik"?
Yes, sir.
He takes on a somber countenance.
Comrade Ekaterina, I trust you to be a person of reason. There's simply no other project more promising than the Ocean Project.
It's led by the founding father of our subject. Anyone who writes a paper under him will undoubtedly take a significant step up the academic ladder.
Yes, I have no doubt about that.
Then why would you give up such a valuable opportunity and choose to work in the north with some nobody instead?
Yes, an interdisciplinary study on critter ecology. That could be interesting, but ...
What will that project give you?
You're on the upswing of your career thanks to your paper on Taryga. It's the perfect time to build connections in academia.
But what you have here doesn't look optimistic to me. You're a smart girl, Ekaterina. Act like one.
Connections? Is that what this project is for? Do you genuinely believe it's good for my career, or are you just trying to keep everyone in line?
For a moment, the professor seems puzzled.
Comrade Ekaterina, if you really want to advance in this field ...
... you'll find yourself at a disadvantage if you haven't participated in any projects primarily focused on ley lines.
You know as well as I do that there hasn't been a ley line project as significant as this one since 1982.
If this project succeeds, the credibility of the study of ley lines will skyrocket, as will the recognition of the researchers who have contributed to it.
With all due respect, sir, all I see is a group of people who share the same passion for meeting Comrade Lisov. Credibility doesn't seem to interest them all that much.
I don't see any diligence here, just a thirst for fame.
Your valuations are all wrong, Professor.
The professor simply shrugs at her sharp comments.
To tell the truth, I felt the same way when I was a young researcher myself, Comrade Ekaterina.
I still remember my first meeting with Comrade Lisov. My mentor gave me a fancy foreign magazine to bring along as a gift. I was terrified. It wasn't easy to get one of those back then, and I could tell it was expensive.
But Comrade Lisov was very kind to me. We talked like old friends. He appreciated the magazine and introduced me to many other researchers in the following years.
It's a much faster way to find your footing in this circle than publishing papers year after year.
You have to understand that if he agrees to endorse your research and introduce you to his connections, you'll effectively have his reputation added to yours.
People will hold you in higher regard because of it.
You'll be able to research whatever topic you like, and people will come to you for collaboration instead of you groveling to them for a job. Don't overthink it.
It's simply a social obligation. No different from greeting your neighbors when you move to a new community.
Don't let emotions blind you, Comrade Ekaterina. Trust me now, and you'll see its rationale in the years to come.
It's wisest to leave this project of yours be.
He folds up the letter, puts it back into the envelope, and goes to toss it in the paper bin.
No.
She snatches the envelope from his hand.
Sorry, sir. It's not just an invitation letter. My experiment data's in there, too.
Will you join us, then?
...
The look on her face answers his question.
*sigh* You still don't understand.
The sea breeze may be refreshing, Professor Ivanov, but only the northern mountain wind can cool this hothead.
He sighs, looking down at his empty hands. He places them on the desk in resignation.
You have ambition. That's good.
If I had a goal as clear as yours in my 20s, I wouldn't have listened to a word anyone said either.
And now I'm much too old to pursue any ambitions.
Off you go, Ekaterina. You are still young and free.
He gestures toward the door.
Thank you, Professor.
Too disappointed to say anything else, he just nods in response.
5. The Researcher in Snow
115 linesIt's an ordinary morning in Lesnaya Forest, located in the coldest part of Yakutsk.
A branch from a nearby tree breaks under the weight of the snow, sending a cascade of glistening flakes to the ground.
A snowy owl turns its head, its large round eyes fixed on the figures in the snow.
Sofia!
Shh!
You've found them.
The number of ovinniks in the area has reached the minimum viable population size you calculated.
That was just a rough calculation. We didn't have enough data about them, so I used the data of a similar species. We'll need more information to run a more accurate calculation.
It's already October. It's minus 30 degrees right now.
*sigh*
Sofia blinks, her eyelashes coated with white frost.
Even if you can make a fire through arcane skills to keep us warm, all the roads are still blocked.
As she speaks, her eyes are fixed on the ovinniks playing in the snow.
I think they'll survive until May.
How long have we been here?
Three months.
And in that time we've located their nests, investigated the surroundings, and had a model established. Thanks to your help, the project is progressing much faster than expected.
Startled by the sound, numerous birds take flight, and the ovinniks scramble back to their cave.
Who's sawing wood in this weather?
The local sawmill, of course.
Umm. Oh!
Having suddenly thought of a new idea, Windsong starts scribbling on her map.
The forest falls into silence again.
But the silence comes too suddenly; they are immediately alert.
Not far from them, behind a pile of snow-covered branches, the head of a white wolf emerges.
Sofia, look.
Stay low.
The white wolf leaps over the wood pile. It is clearly starving. Each rib is visible beneath its fur.
*growl*
It sniffs at the cave's opening, its tail gently brushing the ground.
It's looking for food.
It won't fit through the burrow's entrance.
They watch the white wolf in the distance, neither one daring to move.
The wolf continues to pace around the cave. It has caught the scent of the ovinniks within.
At its command, more wolves emerge through the snow.
They gather before the cave, and the white wolf starts digging.
The other wolves patrol the area, apparently looking for any other entrances to the burrow.
Don't.
She pushes Windsong back down.
The white wolf has already made a hole the size of its upper body.
No.
Once again, she places her hand on Windsong's shoulder.
The wolves will get them!
A sudden commotion interrupts their hushed argument, an ovinnik dashes out of the burrow and springs onto the white wolf.
*roar*
The white wolf howls in rage. It dives to avoid the hit and bites the ovinnik on the shoulder. The two roll over in the snow.
More wolves circle around, pushing and nipping at the ovinnik. Soon enough, it is dripping with blood.
We can't just stay back and watch this happen!
Before Sofia can react, Windsong jumps up and charges toward the wolf pack.
Природа это числа и черты.
You're not helping, you know.
Sofia has also rushed over.
She walks straight past Windsong, kneels before the wounded ovinnik, and checks on its injuries.
I didn't harm any of the wolves.
The worried look on Sofia's face makes her a little uneasy.
We should head back. We really shouldn't leave any human scent here.
Coo-coo?
...?
They follow the gentle cooing to the burrow. A fluffy head pops out from the hole dug by the white wolf.
Is that a cub?
Coo?
Enraptured, Windsong turns to Sofia, only to find tears in her eyes.
Stop here.
She catches Windsong's coat, stopping her from moving any further.
We can't go any closer. We mustn't cross the line.
Frightened by her gaze, the cub quickly dives back into the burrow and vanishes from their sight.
Shall we go?
Mm-hm.
She nods, casting one last glance at the burrow.
Let's go home.
The cabin is warm and quiet. Only the crackling of the fire and the sound of Windsong's scribbling fill the air.
There is also the occasional sound of Sofia flipping through papers.
Sofia, do we have any bear grease left? My fingers are horribly itchy.
Still caught up in the excitement of learning about the cub, she draws a tiny ovinnik on the map right next to where they found it.
Sofia puts down the papers and fetches her a jar of white salve.
Don't you arcanists have some kind of magic ointment? You know, ones that heal frostbite and such within seconds?
Hm, probably, but I don't know much about them, to be honest. Sometimes, human medicines are more effective.
Can't ley lines make frostbite disappear?
No. They can't change a fact.
Then you really shouldn't have taken your gloves off out there.
She takes some grease from the jar and starts slathering it on the back of Windsong's frostbitten hands.
Haha. Still trying to master the art of sketching with my gloves on. And let's face it, if we hadn't written down all the information on the spot, we'd still be clueless about their migration patterns.
She pushes a sketch over to Sofia.
Here. This is the latest illustration depicting the ley energy of this group of ovinniks.
She takes out another piece of paper.
And this is the graph we drew three months ago.
As you can see, the population's significantly increased, and some of them have started breeding.
We've made pretty significant progress in maintaining this sanctuary, but there's still a lot to be done.
She points at the map but quickly pulls back her finger, realizing there is still grease on it.
The spot over there—yes, that's the lumberyard. It used to be part of the conservation area, but apparently not anymore.
How long has the sawmill been there?
Sofia puts the newspaper down on the table.
Umm. This newspaper's from last week. Where's the latest one?
You can't be serious, Comrade Ekaterina. The ranger only goes to town once a week for supplies. All the newspapers we have are a week old.
We've been here for months. Did you seriously not notice all this time?
She looks at Windsong with a hint of confusion.
You do seem to care very little about the outside world. You've barely mentioned it since we entered the forest.
Ahem. I was totally caught up with those ovinniks, so—
They seem to be all you ever want to focus on.
Throughout this conversation, Windsong has been absent-mindedly drawing on the paper.
It's already October, Sofia. How much longer do you plan to stay here?
My work here isn't done yet. With the rate of human expansion in the area, it won't be long before they encroach on ovinnik territory. If I leave now, I'm worried the ovinniks here will be left vulnerable.
I'm planning to set up a new conservation area in the spring—in a place where they and humans won't get in each other's way.
Then I'll have to make sure they settle in well. So, that'll be about a year from now.
What about you, Ekaterina?
Windsong rests her chin in her palm, falling silent.
Hm. I'll have to go back to the institute once my paper's done.
If it gets published, people will learn about the critters here, and maybe some will come lend a hand.
Just like they did in Taryga.
That would be just the help I need.
She walks to the window and looks at the snow outside.
The ranger told us we had to leave in two days. They're closing off the area for the winter.
Three months. I doubt much has changed back home.
Following Sofia's gaze, Windsong peers out the window and scans the distant mountains.
I wonder if it's already started snowing at the institute.
6. After the Bubble Bursts
172 lines
Watch out! Make way, please!
What ...
Windsong stands frozen in the entryway. She cannot fathom what she's seeing.
With solemn looks on their faces, the police officers before her are carrying equipment out of the building and loading them, one after another, onto their truck.
What's going on?
Comrade Yelena? Comrade Alexei? What's happening here?
Why are the police confiscating our equipment? And why does everyone look so sullen?
You're back, Ekaterina. How are your little critters?
Looking weary, Yelena forces a smile.
Couldn't be better! The paper's finished, and I've sent it off to the editors. Where is everyone?
Yelena and Alexei exchange a glance.
Haven't you heard?
The study of ley lines is no more.
No more?
Alexei silently hands her a journal. National Nature Studies—Windsong submitted a paper to them not long ago.
What am I looking for exactly? What happened to this page?!
As she flips through the journal, she finds two pages stuck together by red paint.
All she can make out are the features of a familiar face on the unglued edge of the page.
Tristan Lisov?
Sorry, give me a minute. There should be a copy or two that they missed.
Corruption, bullying, fraud ... He's guilty of all of them.
Yelena shrugs helplessly.
Windsong takes the other copy from Alexei.
"In an abuse of his authority, Lisov manipulated open bidding, misappropriated funds from research projects, and gained millions of rubles in personal profit ..."
"His reputation was built on intimidation and coercion rather than academic merit ..."
"Through manipulating experiments and tampering with the results, he secured various awards for himself ..."
He ...
But why would this affect the entire institute?
When this story came out, every project related to ley lines was put on hold and subjected to investigation. The institute's currently in a state of suspension.
Have you heard from the editors? No publisher will accept any journal articles on ley lines now.
All the editors and reviewers who ever published a paper on ley lines are also under investigation. We'll probably hear more about them in the coming days.
Criticisms are all over the news. People are arguing against and even condemning the study of ley lines.
What about the Ocean Project?
The Bureau of Geology's taken it over.
What about Professor Ivanov? And his research?
He's also been taken away for investigation. There was a joint complaint against him from some researchers here. I'm sure his investors weren't too happy about it.
Yelena and I are leaving too. There's no point in wasting more time here. Ekaterina, I suggest you do the same and find something better to do.
You see those old fogeys over there?
He points to the corner of the room. A few researchers are in quiet discussion, each with a serious look on their face.
They're staying. I guess they just can't accept the reality of the situation. You don't want to end up like them, do you?
A phone rings. One of the researchers in the corner rushes over and picks it up, but disappointment quickly falls upon his face.
Ekaterina? Is Ekaterina back?
Windsong strides over to him, a mix of excitement and confusion swelling in her chest. She hears a gentle voice coming from the other end of the call.
Hello, is this Comrade Ekaterina?
Yes. Who's this?
Comrade Ekaterina, this is a call from National Nature Studies. Thank you for submitting your work to us.
But we regret to inform you that your paper didn't meet our requirements for publication.
Windsong looks at Yelena and Alexei, who seem to already know what the call is about. They both shrug.
Why's that? I wasn't aware there were any new requirements.
Firstly, we were unable to verify the accuracy of the data.
Secondly, we are currently discussing whether we will continue to publish essays related to the study of ley lines. In the meantime, you may approach other publishers for consideration.
You'll hear more from us once the decision is finalized. We wish you all the best. Goodbye.
Before she can answer, the lady hangs up.
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
Windsong slowly drops the receiver away from her ear, but she doesn't put it down. She is too lost in thought.
Academic circles no longer acknowledge the study of ley lines, and ley hunters are no longer considered to be scientists, only arcanists.
They said that it's extremely shallow, even as an arcane subject.
They said it amounts to nothing more than some colorful lines and fails to offer a substantial interpretation of any phenomena.
But who would claim their subject to be the only answer to all the mysteries of the world?
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
The ley hunter walks back to his corner. Yelena comes over and gives Windsong a gentle pat on the shoulder.
She takes the receiver out of her hand and gently returns it to the phone. Windsong just stands there, a blank expression on her face.
Why ... How did we end up like this?
Many things had to be fixed at that time, and even more needed to be closed. I had to stay at the institute for a while.
Some colleagues were held by the authorities for academic misconduct and subjected to punishment and re-education.
Some left because there were no longer enough funds to support their day-to-day lives.
That included Yelena and Alexei. Yelena found a new job as a typist, while Alexei returned to his hometown and worked in his father's factory.
They both expressed regret at having ever studied ley lines.
Outside the institute, ley hunters are seen as cult members or, even worse, frauds.
...
They really can't wait, can they? To load us into a cannon and blast us into obscurity.
Without any prior notice, on an otherwise ordinary Monday, the property lease of the institute expired.
It wasn't until Windsong passed the blockade and walked to the door of the institute that she saw the eviction notice.
Hm. Looks like the director's wallet is finally as empty as mine.
In the past few weeks, she has lived a life much like everyone else at the institute: waiting for letters, writing replies, anticipating calls, and submitting evidence to validate her research.
But today is a little different.
Please, hold on a second!
Yes? Is there anything else you need?
We're planning to move. Please write me back at the new address. I'll make sure to include it in the letter.
I will. Have a good day.
"Beep ... Beep ... Beep ..."
Windsong puts the phone down.
For a moment, she wonders if she had even just conversed with a real person—the words spoken were calm and polite, but also cruel and cold.
Is there anything else you need to pack, Ekaterina?
Not really, director.
Give me a break. You know I didn't become the director by choice. I'd rather sit behind bars than deal with administrative work.
But you do deserve the title, sir.
Hmph. It's more of a burden than anything. Ivanov, you old fool.
Maybe I should just hand in my resignation and let you take the reins. You'll be the youngest ever director of the Ley Line Institute! A promising young woman!
Whoa, no. Let's not get too crazy!
She waves her hands in protest.
A few people come down the stairs and pass by them. They all wear a gloomy expression.
Come. Hop on my bike. I'll give you a lift to the new office. It's quite a walk from here.
They walk to the exit together. The notice board catches Windsong's eye as they pass it.
Give me a second.
She approaches the notice board and reaches out a hand.
Why? You want to take it with you?
Yes.
We haven't gotten new bulletins here for a very long time. Look at these. They seem a lot more sensational than I remember. It's almost comical.
Windsong gently runs her fingers across the board. The paint is starting to peel, exposing the moldy black wood beneath it.
I never noticed how worn this thing was.
Isn't it funny how things seem to decay faster when they're left unnoticed?
I read about it in a book of Chinese philosophy—this little trick that time plays on us.
Windsong grabs both edges of the bulletin board and looks at Old Nikola.
Don't look at me. My back is even more fragile than my ego.
Are you really going to just leave it here? Look, your old project's still on it.
She points at the old announcements. Everything still feels so vivid in their minds, as if it happened just yesterday.
But to Old Nikola, they are now a painful memory.
Hmph. It may have been a project to you or me, but to Lisov, it was just another way to line his pockets.
Nevertheless, he bends down and lifts the other end of it.
It isn't easy to carry a big wooden board down the icy street. But, slipping and sliding, they finally make it to the office.
This place doesn't look very new to me.
She looks around the office as she drags the board inside.
The board won't even fit in here. We'll have to move the table to the side to close the door.
"Plop."
Where's that water dripping from?
The shabby office is filled with aging furniture, and there is mold growing along the wall. Clearly, water is dripping from somewhere.
This is the best place we can afford now. It'll feel like home soon enough, Ekaterina.
Windsong leans her head back, trying to figure out where the leak is coming from.
Will this leak be included in our water bill?
I don't think so.
Then that's good enough for me.
She rolls her neck, sits down at the desk, and looks for the telephone.
Just three steps from my seat. Good.
The telephone sitting on the filing cabinet is covered in a thick layer of dust. Windsong doubts if it still works.
Well, can't ask for too much right now.
She wipes the dust off the desk top and turns on the incandescent lamp sitting on it.
Director, could we have a word with you, please?
With a gentle knock on the door, two researchers pop their heads in.
Old Nikola leaves the room, but returns quickly.
They left. Like everyone else.
Yeah. I could hear you from here.
Mm-hm.
The farewells are much calmer than she had anticipated.
She opens her notebook, squinting from the bright lamp light reflected off the pages.
That corner over there is one wet day away from being a mold farm. It won't be long before mushrooms start growing in our lungs!
Could you be a little more professional, Comrade Ekaterina? The fungi will only give you pneumonia, not lung-mushrooms!
Windsong lets out a long sigh.
Do you think there's still hope for us, Comrade Nikola?
His pen stops at this question.
Comrade Nikola?
Are you still working on that Yakutsk paper?
Mm-hm.
It's been going back and forth between me and the editors for a while now. First they questioned my data, so I submitted my original report; then they questioned my methods.
So I sent them all I have. The raw data, the experiment notes, everything. And they still have doubts about it. I had to request a peer review, but everyone who used to study ley lines is gone.
In the end, they just told me they would no longer consider any submissions from the study of ley lines.
She leans back in the creaking chair, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.
I just need one chance—one publisher—to have faith in me. That'll dispel all the fear and suspicion! But none of them are willing to give me a shot.
All this effort ... Will I ever see one of my papers get published again? Will people come back to study ley lines?
You already know the answer, Ekaterina. You just don't want to admit it.
How could I possibly admit such a thing?!
Don't you refuse to give up too, Old Nik? After all, we're the only two left.
What did you just call me?
Ehm, director.
Oh, come on!
They both try to keep a cheerful atmosphere, but, like the mold, their gloom seems to have permeated every corner of the room.
I don't know, Ekaterina. Perhaps they'll accept your paper next time, or the time after that.
Perhaps you'll find yourself the only one left in this room.
Windsong pulls her hands away from her eyes, her vision blurry from all the rubbing.
When she sees the room clearly again, Old Nik is nowhere to be found.
An icy wind slithers into the room. Through the gap beneath the door, she sees a shadow standing on the other side.
"Chk, Chk, Chk ..."
"Sss ..."
I've told you hundreds of times that you need a new lighter, Old Nik.
She sets down her pen and relaxes her shoulders.
This drafty old dump! It's always so d**n cold in here.
He never came back to the office, nor did he call. So I never had the chance to tell him ...
... that I received two letters addressed to him. Both, unsurprisingly, were rejection letters.
I'm not sure I would've had the courage to tell him if he ever had shown up, because if I had, he might never have come back again.
Regardless, he never came back in the first place.
7. The Night Keeper
97 linesI'd lost count of the number of rejection letters I'd received. I had long since run out of money and had been sleeping in the office for some time.
That was my last day at the institute.
It's hard to say what the final straw was. Maybe it was my last coin dropping down through the sewer grate or the ink freezing because I added too much water to it.
Or maybe because there wasn't a publisher left that I hadn't tried to contact.
Regardless, there came a time when I decided that if I got one more rejection letter, I'd leave that place for good.
I waited and waited. You know, silence is its own message.
*sigh*
Windsong leans her elbows on the table. The room still smells of mold and damp.
She gets to her feet—there's really nothing better to do anyway. She paces around the room, and as she passes the notice board, a wave of worry washes over her. What is she going to do with it?
Is Ekaterina here? I have a letter for her!
The mailman's voice rings from outside the door. Windsong's heart sinks.
She doesn't move, reluctant to see the contents of the letter. It is slid through the gap under the door.
She picks it up and opens it, just as she has done hundreds of times before.
"Thank you for submitting ... We regret to inform you ... Best regards."
No need to read the rest.
She examines the ink; it's clear it comes from a high-quality printing machine.
She already has a huge pile of letters of the same quality.
This place is nothing but a ghost town—the shadow of a great era.
A sudden rage boils up in her chest. She smashes the letter onto the board.
So this is it!
She strides back to her table and whips out the rest of the letters.
This is where it dies!
"Bam!" She slams another.
"The 21st century belongs to the study of ley lines!" Come out and say it to my face, you traitor!
"Bam!"
All that boasting about "ley lines and quantum physics" ...
"Hot springs" ...
... and "the great Ocean Project"!
Her rejection letters now cover the entire board, completely hiding the bulletins announcing those once glorious projects.
You should be the one to swallow this bitter pill! These rejection letters should've been yours, not mine!
But it is her name that is written on every letter.
Exhausted, she collapses to the floor.
Not mine ...
Tears well in her eyes and fall on the paper in her hand.
All us researchers—all the people dedicated to the study of ley lines—put so much time and effort into our work. And now we're all forced to either move on or starve to death.
She tightly grips the letters in her fist, along with the two addressed to Old Nikolas.
If we hadn't had people who were willing to attend social events and academic meetings, we never would've gained respect in academia. But now they're all in jail, and our reputation is utterly ruined.
She looks around at the dilapidated office. It's nothing like those once bustling and prosperous days.
We're certainly not the only discipline controlled by bullies and scholars undeserving of their status. So why were we the only discipline to be brought down by this?
Because ...
*bitter smile*
It's too cruel to say it.
Neither the people who bury themselves in research nor the people who popularize it can save it.
She sits on the floor, her palm still throbbing from being slammed against the bulletin board.
Then how am I going to turn the tide?
For a long time, she just sits there, paying no attention to the mold on the floor or the ruptured floor boards.
She hates to just leave. But what else can she do?
She looks up at the notice board that is now towering over her.
Let the study of ley lines end here, in this cold pit, to die with my career.
She stares at it until her eyes are completely dry, unable to shed any more tears.
I can't do this anymore.
As the light in the room dims, she drifts into sleep.
"Ring—"
Hmm?
"Ring—"
She quickly scrambles to her feet.
"Ring—"
She isn't dreaming. It's the telephone ringing.
She wipes her face on her sleeves and picks up the phone.
Hello. Is that Ms. Ekaterina?
It's me. Who's calling? Is that the editor?
She holds the phone tight against her ear, not wanting to miss a single word.
No, this is Sofia.
Sofia?
Her memories of Yakutsk come rushing back.
Yes, it's me. Now that the weather's warming up in Yakutsk, would you like to come back and continue our research?
Research?
She looks around the office. The mold has crept its way to the center of the ceiling.
Have ... Have you heard about what happened here?
She asks the same question that Yelena and Alexei asked her on that fateful day.
A little bit here and there. I've also heard you've had a tough time getting your paper published. I'm in a bit of a jam here—there's too much work for one person. Would you like to come and lend a hand?
But, the study of ley lines has been ...
Whatever happened, does it matter now?
After several moments of painful internal struggle, Windsong speaks again.
Your research might be disregarded if they find out you're working with a ley hunter.
It's still better than stopping altogether. There are critters' lives at stake.
I-I'm not sure about this.
You can figure the rest out when you're here, Comrade Ekaterina.
They've got nothing to do with our study, Comrade Ekaterina. You should focus on a more compelling subject.
...!
Sofia's determined tone surprises her.
Sofia, you ...
"You should focus on a more compelling subject."
...
She feels a bitter sorrow in her throat.
She holds the receiver tightly in her hands, as if she's holding her dear friend.
For a moment, a genuine fear grips her. What if all this is just a dream?
Tears well in her eyes again. They drop on the desk top and glisten like the morning frost.
You are right. We ... We should meet in Yakutsk.
Her fingers ache from the clenching, but she is determined not to let go.
Yakutsk. I can't wait to go back.
I have to pull the study of ley lines out of this cold grave.
I won't let it die like this.
Once again, she looks at the notice board.
Her heart feels lighter. Finally, there is a new path before her.
8. Comrade
107 linesThe hall is silent as the researchers listen intently.
Windsong takes a sip of water before speaking.
By now, perhaps you have your answer to my question.
When it comes to a school of thought, who do you need more—those that get the work done or the ones that make it popular?
A shiny metal arm sticks out from the audience.
Yes, the comrade in the back.
The root of the problem in your story seems clear.
The decline of the study of ley lines was caused by those who exploited it for personal gain.
So the people you need more are those who truly care about the subject.
The answer is quickly refuted.
But the study of ley lines always lacked a proper barrier to entry. The composition of researchers was quite diverse and rather loosely defined.
Had there been no one to actively publicize it—those people who worked to build its respectability—hardly anyone would've taken it seriously in the first place.
"Those people"? It was Lisov alone who made the subject famous. I heard he was even invited to teach in some other countries.
More and more people join the discussion. Windsong has to raise a hand to return order to the room.
Thank you, thank you all.
I understand where each of you is coming from, but my answer differs slightly from yours.
Before the session started, a pair of comrades came up to me and asked two questions: "Why are you still working on ley lines?" and, "What made you stay?"
What is the study of ley lines, exactly? Is it a science or an arcane subject?
She types the words "science" and "arcanum" on the screen.
Today, most of it has been buried in the sand.
People can only conjure a vague image of it through stories or records.
So, is it a science? Sadly, there's no doubt it's under the category of arcanum.
To many people, ley lines are not even an objective phenomenon, nor are they consistently verifiable.
Many theories regarding ley lines can't even be cross-examined using scientific methods.
She shakes her head ruefully.
Yet its arcane nature is not a sin or the reason for its decline.
No, it was undermined by the high hopes that people held for it. They wanted it to be the ultimate solution—the answer to all their questions. It was doomed to disappoint them.
It had its heyday—it even flourished. Many believed it to be the path to our next great advancement.
Until the dream was shattered by the cold reality.
It's an arcane subject with a very narrow application. It could never stand on its own two legs as a specialized field of study.
People abandoned it because it didn't offer the solution they sought.
It had drawn too much attention it didn't deserve in academia.
She sees a few nodding heads in the audience.
But I think every researcher, no matter their field, is an explorer, wandering wherever the truth may lie.
We could go in the wrong direction, get lost in the wild, and start all over again.
This is the point we're at with the study of ley lines.
This time, I hope to find a new path for it. It may be rough, muddy, and full of danger, but we must take the first step.
There have been many breakthroughs and advancements in the last few years, and I sincerely congratulate you all on these achievements.
And I always hoped you would think of this path whenever a mountain stood in your way.
Perhaps it could be a detour, leading you to the destination.
This is why I'm still here, as the last ley hunter.
Windsong looks at the first researcher.
Let's go back to my question. When it comes to a school of thought, who do you need more—those that get the work done or the ones that make it popular?
The truth is, I think neither of them are that important.
But Sofia made me realize that the only way to keep the subject alive is to let people see it for what it truly is—to understand it and acknowledge it.
Networking and connection-making won't keep the subject alive, and if we only focus on writing academic papers, we'll soon find ourselves in financial trouble.
For now, they're both unimportant to the study of ley lines.
She pauses, giving the audience a moment to process the information.
No, what it really needs is a genius, one that can extend the path and bring our study to another level, so people can see its true value.
Like Newton to physics, Einstein to relativism, Watson to biology.
Maybe the genius we need is among us in this very room.
This is the other reason why I stay in this field.
I hope that people will learn about ley lines from the reports I've written and the projects I've participated in.
I will keep walking this path.
And I hope to see you all along the way.
That concludes my lecture. Thank you.
She bows to her audience.
"Clap, clap ..."
At first, there are just a few scattered claps. But the applause quickly turns thunderous.
Ms. Windsong, please wait here. Madam Lucy will join you in a moment.
Sure.
The staff member puts down a bottle of water and leaves. Windsong looks around the empty office.
Never thought a lecture could be so tiring.
She pulls over a chair and sits by the window.
At times like these, she finds herself thinking of Rayashki ...
... the people who embraced the study of ley lines from the beginning, and the people who saw her as family.
To think that a "Storm" could take away a world. It's almost too absurd to be true.
There are strange footsteps coming from the hallway. Windsong looks toward the door.
"Knock-knock."
Without waiting for an answer, the door is opened.
Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Windsong.
As soon as she enters the room, Lucy plugs herself into the power socket.
Madam Lucy, thank you so much for inviting me here to give the lecture.
The pleasure is ours. I believe you have many questions to ask, including about the "Storm" in Rayashki.
Yes, ma'am.
Her face turns serious.
What exactly happened to Rayashki and its people?
It was not just Rayashki. The entire world has been wiped out by the "Storm."
To put it simply, the world they lived in has been reversed to a time before its existence.
Would you feel better if I put it this way, Ms. Windsong?
If I made it sound like we still have a chance to undo all this?
It is true that we may have found a way to stop it from happening again.
We have people here using every ounce of their knowledge and every means possible to find a way to end the occurrence of the "Storm."
That is also the purpose of Laplace.
We need your knowledge, Ms. Windsong. We need your help to end the "Storm."
To end the "Storm"?
Her voice carries a bitter amusement.
Your heart rate and body temperature indicate that you are having an emotional reaction. Are you angry, Ms. Windsong?
I missed my only chance to save my friends.
That was not your only chance, Ms. Windsong. I am not asking you to end it yourself. I am only requesting a ley line report on it.
More "Storms" will come, and we need you to help us see them clearly.
We will eventually find a way out of the "Storm."
And when that time comes, we will find the person with the means to end it.
Windsong unclenches her fists.
That is why I am inviting you to join Laplace. We need your expertise to improve our chances of putting an end to these tragedies.
Laplace will fund your project. More people will hear about ley lines, the stories behind them, and also the story of you, Ms. Windsong, the last ley hunter.
We cannot change the past, but we can decide the future.
The future. It is such a beautiful word in humans' eyes, and they attach to it the most wonderful fantasies.
It will not be easy to have the future of the study of ley lines resting on your shoulders.
A light flickers across the slit on her face.
However, you have done an exemplary job so far, Ms. Windsong.
...
Windsong hears the ring of a telephone. An echo in her mind.
She takes a step forward and extends a hand.
I accept your invitation.
She smiles, looking into what she believes to be the robot's eyes.
I look forward to working with you, Comrade Lucy.