Friendship in the Far South

Legrane tried to focus this outpouring of wild scientific speculation. "Norex, you and your team can ponder over the science later, but right now I want to know how this will affect our expedition."

Norex glanced around at her team, and they all looked rather uncertain. Jiwu, the weather worker Harkwin had towed back, was the one who spoke up in a worried voice. "If Bluefall is anything to go by, then expect this storm to be fast. Faster than anything we've seen before. Maybe even accelerating in speed. The cold will come and it will come so quickly."

"That seems probable," Norex agreed. "Perhaps we should focus on more local problems for now." The senior scientist turned to one of her subordinates. "Gane, I want you to go around the ops room and find the leaders of... ahh... engineering team, building team, and maybe the greenhouse team too. If the team leaders aren't in the ops room, just have the second-in-command or whoever is on duty come over here. They'll want to know we have less time than expected."

Legrane didn't appear to want to wait for the rest of the section leaders. "How long until that storm hits us? How much faster is it compared to yesterday's predictions?" he asked.

"The storm seems chaotic, so it's hard to say. It could slow down drastically enough that the prediction of tomorrow midday turns out to be correct. But... it could also speed up. That storm could reach us here in Central Camp by tonight, if these speeds are to be believed."

Legrane was quiet for a moment. "Tonight? You're sure?!"

"That's my guess. Would anyone else like to offer their own predictions?" Norex asked her team, and this was the cue for the rest of the weather workers to break out into discussion again.

"Confidence intervals are actually—"

"But again, the energy must be coming from somewhere. Simple conservation of energy! Our past records from the three previous storms has indicated a steady speed loss is always the case when landfall—"

"But turbulent motion is so chaotic! The storm might just spin itself to pieces and dissipate. My informed opinion would be that we cannot assume—"

Lying down on the floor, Jiwu put her head on her paws and closed her eyes. "The storm is coming. We're all going to freeze..." she muttered.

One of the other weather workers nudged Jiwu's side. "Don't be so dramatic. You're just tired out from flying all the way back from Bluefall. Go take a rest and you'll feel better."

The other assembled dragons from various other teams across the operations room also added to the chatter, usually wondering about how this storm would affect their own area of expertise. Harkwin could hear various conversations—a pair of builders was speculating about whether the storm might have stronger winds that could blow loose insulation panels, then there was a trio of other dragons who seemed to be from a mix of teams wondering about how the greenhouses would hold up if the storm lasted too long and the plants had to rely on artificial lighting instead of sunlight. There was so much noise and so much concern over the storm from all the different aspects of the expedition.

Legrane ignored them all. He walked right up to the control pedestal for the weather workers' sand pit, and he jabbed one button. A loud discordant buzz echoed through the operations room and the across the entirety of Central Camp as Legrane activated the camp's public address system. His voice sounded out from echoing boxes in every building, muffled and tinny but still audible. "Section leaders and all scouts report to the operations room immediately. All section leaders, and all scouts, to the operations room. Now!"

Releasing the button, Legrane pointed right at the weather worker section leader. "Norex, brief the other team leads when they arrive. I need to warn the outposts."

"Got it. I'll tell them about the storm."

Turning away, Legrane beckoned for Harkwin to follow after him, and the two scouts walked briskly back towards their own section of the operations room. "This is bad. We must act immediately," Legrane muttered. "This morning I should have just ordered an immediate recall from all vulnerable outposts, but the science teams insisted that they wanted to keep working till the last moment. Now this storm is too fast for us to handle. What a mistake."

Harkwin struggled to find a response. "But the storm... When I was flying today, I could still fly faster than the storm. I think any dragon can outfly the storm, even if they weren't scouts and didn't have air affinity."

"It is not that simple. Many outpost teams can't just fly directly away from the storm's direction of travel—they need to fly towards an insulated outpost or back here to Central, and that might not be possible in the time remaining. Or worse yet, some outposts might not even see the storm coming until it's already too late. We must warn them."

Walking up to the scout section's sand pit, Legrane jabbed at a large button on the control pedestal. The sand pit flickered to life, once again showing that familiar topographical map with the overlay of all the different outposts. "If the storm is going to arrive here in Central by the end of today, then that means the speed is about double what we expected. It would be... here." Legrane updated the projected map, and storm advanced forward in position, sweeping across the sand pit in a mass of shifting grey.

Harkwin nodded. "That matches what I saw in flight. The storm was huge and it was much closer than it should have been. It was... it was dreadfully immense."

"So we have half the time as before," Legrane concluded. With quick, precise motions, he jabbed at buttons and marked different outposts. "Outposts 1, 3, 5, 6, and 11 are safe—that's the four weather stations and the needlemir dig site. We need to warn the rest of the outposts."

Right at that moment, a trio of other scouts came down the stairs and entered the operations room. Of the three, only one of them was still wearing their flight harness—the other two had taken off their gear, presumably assuming they'd been done for the day. Legrane called them over quickly. "Zhalin! Drend, Kamatsilin!"

"Boss, was that you on the echo?" asked Zhalin, one of the scouts who'd just arrived. She sat down beside Harkwin and gave him a quick nod of her head, acknowledging his presence too. Harkwin made a short bow of his head in return, but he could hardly sit still—danger was bearing down on them. "What's going on?" Zhalin asked.

"Urgent developments—we just got new weather data from Bluefall." Legrane gestured at the topographical map, projected inside the sand pit. "The storm's coming faster than expected. I'm ordering an immediate recall of all non-insulated outposts. Same outpost assignments as this morning. Fly out now."

This sudden order took the newly-arrived scouts by surprise. "What? Now?! But we only just got back from flight an hour ago," said Drend, another one of the scouts.

Legrane was sympathetic but firm. "I know. Go to the lounge room to get food and water if you need it, but there's no time to rest. The storm is coming. Get to those outposts and warn them." He nodded towards the two scouts who weren't wearing their flight harnesses. "Put your gear back on. I need you all in the air—lives are counting on it."

To their credit, the scouts shared a few worried looks but didn't argue. Harkwin had been expecting his colleagues to have more questions about the specifics of this weather development since the other scouts hadn't seen the storm themselves, but then again they were used to taking flight assignments from Legrane without questioning their orders. "What's the message?" asked Zhalin.

Legrane shook his head. "No time for message scrolls. Verbally relay the information. Tell those outposts that the storm is coming ahead of schedule. They must drop everything now and fly. Drag them in a tow if you can, but at least get them all in the air, flying to a safe outpost or back here to Central. Respectively, I believe your assignments this morning were Outposts 2, 7 and 8, and 13? And 20 and 3 for you, Harkwin? Though you don't need to do 3, just 20." Legrane gestured to his four subordinates and waited for them to confirm their previous journeys, then he marked the outposts on the map. "Same route as before, as quick as you can do safely. Fly fast and fly well."

"Understood. We'll get it done, boss." Without any further questioning, Zhalin and the other two scouts stood up and headed out of the operations room.

"These storms just keep getting worse..."

Harkwin could feel both of his hearts pounding in his chest, and he had to consciously stop the tip of his tail from flicking about in anxiety. There was danger coming, and people had to be warned. He leapt to his feet and headed for the exit, but Legrane stopped him before he took more than a couple of steps. "Harkwin, wait."

"Drak?" Pausing mid-step, Harkwin turned back around.

Legrane was staring closely at the map, and his eyes darted across the distances and flight timings. "Hold. I am revising my last order. There might not be enough time for every outpost. Outpost 20 is too far away, and already too close to the storm front. I am not sure you could make it there before the storm."

"I..." Harkwin wasn't sure what to say for a moment. "I'm fast, I can make it in time," he decided.

"Can you?" Legrane adjusted the light field projector and the sand pit repeatedly ran through the next few hours, displaying the storm moving at various speeds. "You are fast, I give you that. You are one of the fastest scouts this expedition has, but this storm is fast too."

Harkwin didn't understand what Legrane was suggesting. "But what's the alternative? If I don't warn that outpost, who will?"

Legrane's expression was completely flat. "No one. I cannot order one of my scouts to fly into the approaching storm, knowing the danger of this particular flight to Outpost 20. There is too little time. We have to hope that the outpost team has already decided to begin their evacuation ahead of schedule."

Harkwin shook his head in disbelief. "The team there is... I was just there this morning. There was only one dragon. Her name was Nacen, and she's a hydrologist investigating the hot springs—"

"So there was only one dragon at Outpost 20? That does change the calculation. It is risking one life to try and save another. One for one." Legrane's expression looked so coldly calculating that Harkwin could hardly believe it. "It is possible that Outpost 20 has already seen the storm coming and decided to evacuate ahead of schedule, just like Outpost 3 locked down ahead of schedule and sent one of their weather workers to come warn us."

Harkwin thought back to Outpost 20—with its position in the highlands, the mountains would obscure any view of the storm until it was right on top of the outpost. From the ground, possibly inside a tent, Nacen wouldn't see the danger coming. Even worse, the mountain passes and valleys were prone to amplifying winds, which would make it even harder to try and outrun the weather if the outpost wasn't evacuated long before the storm arrived.

"We can't assume that! Someone has to go! I can do this. I'm fast enough," Harkwin insisted. At this point, he couldn't stop his tail from twitching. The tip of the appendage flicked about, tapping nervously against the ground.

"No. That is too dangerous." Legrane shook his head. "This is a race against the storm, and there is too much uncertainty. If it slows down then you might make it to Outpost 20 just fine, but if it speeds up even the slightest then you end up lost in the cold. The risk is unacceptable."

Harkwin didn't like this line of reasoning. There was a risk, definitely, but this was the only way to avoid someone being lost to the storm. "I'm fast enough! I'm the fastest scout. If I don't go then the outpost will freeze over, but if I go then no one will die."

Legrane's expression was steely cold. "I am not debating this with you, Harkwin. This is not a discussion. This is flight assignments, and I will not assign you to a destination at such great risk from the storm. You know the risks."

As Harkwin held eye contact with Legrane, it felt like the world was spinning. For a moment he felt lightheaded and unsteady on his feet, but he started pacing around and regained his balance. "I understand, but I accept the risk. I'll do it anyway. I have to."

"Harkwin!" The scout leader's voice was firm, and Harkwin froze in his tracks. For a long moment Legrane just stared, then he spoke in a quieter tone. "If anyone is to risk themselves in a storm, it should be me. I will go in your place and fly to Outpost 20 myself."

This suggestion was utterly baffling to Harkwin. "What?! Why? No, that's just even more likely to fail! You said it yourself—I'm the fastest scout, so I have to warn that outpost. This isn't about... making some desperate effort just for the sake of it. I'm going to that outpost and I will be back."

Legrane sighed softly. "If you really must choose to go, then I will not stop you. I could, but I will not. There is a possibility that the storm is slow enough and you are fast enough." Legrane shifted his gaze, and Harkwin saw that most of the other scouts had just entered the operations room and were walking over towards them. "Go then, Harkwin. Fly to Outpost 20 and bring them back here safely. Bring yourself back safely."

"I'm fast enough," Harkwin said, and he believed it too. Looking over the map, he silently ran through the distance values, predicted wind speeds, and the new estimate for the storm's arrival timings. He could make it. Maybe.

Legrane nodded, but for just a second Harkwin thought he saw sorrow on the scout leader's expression. "You have already been in the air all day. Get some food and water before you go—just take one minute to regain some energy, then go. Fly safe and fly well."

"Fly well," Harkwin echoed, and then he ran out of the operations room, not even bothering to pause and speak with the other scouts as he ran past them.

---

Unlike many dragons, Harkwin liked to run. It was common for dragons to enjoy flying, but most seemed to believe running was a slower, more tiring version of locomotion that was inferior to both flying and walking. Harkwin was different in that he liked sprinting both on foot and on the wing. As a young hatchling he had always enjoyed scampering about as fast as he could just for the fun of it, and neither learning how to fly nor properly growing up had hampered his enjoyment for grounded speed. There was something inherently satisfying about pushing his body to its limits, having the world go by in a blur as he dashed from one place to another at high speed. His claws dug into the insulating floor carpet as he sprinted, and he half-unfurled his wings for balance.

Running out of the operations room with all its sand pits for the expedition's various teams, Harkwin was about to sprint all the way up the stairs when he remembered what Legrane had just told him—even as much as he needed to rush, one single moment spent to get some food and water would refresh him and make his flight all the faster for it.

Still in the main basement area of the command post, he instead went down a corridor tunnel and briskly trotted into a small lounge room which was located adjacent. Because the operations room was staffed day and night, this lounge room held snacks and food rations to keep people fed and alert without needing to go all the way to the cookhouse (which was at the other side of the base) for a full meal. There were also simple mats and a few beds for quick naps, though no one else was in the room at the moment.

Harkwin went to the counter and grabbed a pack of purified water. The water packs had been placed inside a small heater enclosure which kept them warmed up to much warmer than even normal room temperature, potentially for use in various hot beverages. But there wasn't time now to make a drink, and Harkwin didn't really like hot drinks. Instead, he channelled his frost affinity and projected it outwards—every dragon on the polar expedition had frost affinity for the innate protection against cold temperatures, but that type of magic also gave the ability of frostbreath.

When Harkwin exhaled, a small stream of frosty cold air washed out from his jaws, instantly cooling down the water pack as he preferred. Without any further hesitation the scout drank thirstily from the pack, gulping down the cool liquid as fast as he could without choking, until it was completely empty.

Reaching down, Harkwin opened up two pouches of his flight harness which were located on his sides just beneath his wings. These pouches were right near his centre of mass, and each contained several similar water packs to the one he'd been drinking from, except these were near empty. In a practiced motion, Harkwin swapped up the depleted water packs for fresh stores of water—as was standard procedure for a scout or any other expedition dragon operating outside for long periods of time, he carried water to make sure he didn't get dehydrated throughout the day. His flight harness had a special pair of hoses which connected to these pouches, so he could directly drink from the water pouches while he was in flight.

Harkwin put the empty water pouches in a designated box filled with other empty water packs. At some point in the day, a cook would come by to take these packs and bring them over to the base's cookhouse to be washed and then refilled with purified water obtained from melted snow.

With thirst now settled, Harkwin went on to tackle hunger. He headed over to the other side of the lounge and grabbed several packaged snacks—sweet candy, dried berries and nuts, and even some salted, preserved meat strips. The berries and nuts had been grown right in the Central Camp's greenhouses, while the preserved meat came from the stores which the expedition had brought over when they'd first arrived.

Even as he chewed on a dried meat strip and swallowed, Harkwin collected his thoughts and calmed himself. His hearts were still beating quickly and his mind was running as quickly as his body had been, randomly pulling up memories and thoughts and concerns.

Going to the lounge room here was a normal routine. After he'd come back from a flight to any outpost on a regular day, Harkwin would come down to the operations room and report his return to Legrane (or Garilasor, who was the scout second-in-command for when Legrane was off duty or out on a flight). But once that was done, Harkwin would often come here to grab a quick snack or get a drink to take back to the dormitory, where he would remove his flight harness and head over to the cookhouse for a proper meal. Now there was no time to rest or even get a complete meal, but at least this part of his routine helped him feel like everything was somewhat normal and manageable. He took just one single minute to quench some of his thirst and his hunger, and then he would go face the harsh realities of living the in inhospitable polar south. Inhaling slowly, Harkwin held the breath for a long moment before exhaling ever so slowly. Just one minute—one minute spent in this lounge, drinking water and eating food—and then he would have to fly as fast as he ever had, racing against an approaching storm to save a friend in danger.

Swallowing his snack, Harkwin left the lounge room and ran up the stairs. Dodging out of the way of various other expedition members, he slammed his shoulder against the doors of the main command post and shoved his way into the cold. His paws left a scant few prints on the snowy ground, and then his wings caught the air and he was away.