Chris twirled the feather between his fingers. It was like a lone dancer, sweeping along some quiet melody as an unrelenting and loyal spotlight enveloped her. Captive, he watched her solo, though one could argue she had back-up dancers in the speckled dust, floating silently around her. Though her movements were so carefully minimalistic, her dress was airy, soft, fluid, downy, locked into no routine but the whims of the air that held her. Her white skirt was indeed wayward, but the bodice was more stiff, striped and brown, conforming to the quill it clasped. Chris couldn't even wonder how long she had sat backstage, deposited there from the heavens by the body of her full bird, as so transfixed was he on her movements.

When Martin and Aviva entered, he did not look up; he only continued to turn the feather in the amber light. Only when one of those new audience members spoke was the show's spell interrupted, and the curtains closed.

"What have we got, Chris?" Asked Martin, squatting down next to him.

"Peregrine falcon." Chris replied.

"That's fantastic!" Aviva exclaimed.

"Is it though?" Asked Chris, finally looking up, squinting his eyes as if he were coming out of a dim theatre, and having readjusting to the harsh light of the rest of the venue. "Peregrine falcons are found on every continent except this one. They aren't cold weather birds."

"We're just going to fly somewhere to get help," Martin pointed out, "we're not living here. And with peregrine powers, it'll be super quick!"

Chris frowned. "A peregrine falcon can only reach those speeds when it flies high up into the sky and takes a dive. The air here is two cold and thin to do that! We'd just be gliding at regular falcon speed, maybe even slower, if we have to deal with headwinds."

"I know, I know." Said Martin.

"Jimmy, where's the nearest outpost?" Aviva asked.

"Oh, well, uh," said Jimmy, "really there's two options."

"They're both close?"

"Well, that's the thing." Said Jimmy. "There's one that's much closer than the other, but it's only occupied sometimes, and right now is its off season. The other one is active year round, but it's about three times as far away."

"How far, exactly?" She asked.

"Hold on, give me a sec." Jimmy sprinted off. The team waited for a few minutes in silence, before he returned with a map book. He flipped through it for a bit, then held it open on the page he'd chosen against the wall, with everyone but Chris crowding around him from behind, and Aviva shining a flashlight on it over his shoulder.

"Let's see, we're about here..." he said, pointing on the map, "so the closer one is about 100 miles southwest of us, the other maybe 350 to the west." He showed where those were too.

"Woof." Said Martin. "Even at top speed either one would take at least an hour."

"That's what I'm saying!" Chris said, though his sudden, agitated interjection was swiftly followed with a heaved yelp.

Martin returned to his brother's side. Chris was right, of course, the plan was super risky. But Chris was also injured, and as shown more and more clearly, desperately so. If they waited, prodded, dallied around for a perfect solution, who knows how worse things could get? A fractured rib is not a static injury, at least, as far as Martin could tell, this one wouldn't be: from what he had learned during his brief time thinking he'd be a veterinarian, and from how the bone felt to him when he first inspected it - there was just something about the direction the fracture was going, the way it moved when he had touched it, that made him worry that it was destined to worsen, and cause significant internal damage if left untended to, and... well, Martin didn't want to think about what could come next.

"I don't know if we have another choice." Said Martin.

Chris said nothing, as he attempted to regain his breath.

"So then, which outpost do we go to?" Aviva asked.

"Well the closer won't do us much good if it's empty." Martin said.

"Not necessarily." Jimmy replied. "It's going to have a line of communication with the other facility, we can radio in for help."

"And if we go with the closer one, we can get that message across sooner!" Said Koki. "That's the obvious move right there."

"What country runs it?" Aviva asked.

"The year-round one? It's Russian." Said Jimmy.

"Yikes." She said. "That could make for a serious communication problem."

"Like...maybe?" said Jimmy, "'SOS' is a pretty universal message. There's no language barrier for coordinates, either, and that's all they'd need. If not, I'll bet someone there has to know English."

"Okay, then, we're all in agreement?" said Aviva. The team nodded. "Who's going to go?"

"I will, obviously." Said Martin.

"Okay, who else?" She asked, and turned to Koki. "It's gonna be you or me."

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. He was not alright with the thought of flying out into the cold, but he also hated feeling so useless.

"Yeah, well, the thing is," Martin began, rising to his feet, "Aviva, you and Koki have the best chance of fixing the vehicles, maybe even getting some of the Tortuga's functions back online, just in case this plan doesn't work." Martin didn't want to add why that may be, as to not coat the case he was making with the possibility of him dying. "And we're not making Jimmy do this, or Chris, obviously. So, it's me."

Everyone was silent.

"Martin... just you?" Aviva asked.

"Yeah, pretty much." Said Martin.

"No." Said Chris, tensing up tremendously, both from the thought of the plan, and the pain, which was slowly but surely extending into a wider area across his torso. "No, no, no, I don't like that. You can't be out there by yourself! What if you run into the bad guys? They brought down this ship, who knows how."

"They tore off a leg." Aviva said quietly. "With this, probably." She reached into her backpack and pulled out the water bottle with the strange black liquid in it. Everyone gawked at it with confusion and fear.

"See? Now, that just proves my point!" Chris continued from the floor. "If they can do that, what do you think they could do with you? Let's not forget, too, this is Antarctica, if the villains don't get you, the cold certainly will!"

"And what do you think adding an extra person to the party will do for that, other than just giving you guys less options if something does go wrong?" Martin snapped back. "You really think having someone else there gives me better odds against people who brought down the Tortuga? You think an extra person makes me less likely to freeze to death?"

Martin stopped realizing that Chris had stopped listening, and was just gasping in pain. He knelt back down and grabbed Chris' hands, apologizing and asking if he was okay under his breath. Chris shot him a frightened, near glazed expression, but nodded weakly. Martin got a knot in his stomach, hoping that he hadn't aggravated the injury by getting Chris worked up.

Aviva came up from behind and put her hand on his back. "Martin, we can't afford to lose you over that assuption. You're not going alone, that's the end of it." He could feel her hand tense. "I thought you knew better than that by now."

Martin got flashes. Rain. Wires. An airfield, a basement. A smartphone, sliding across a bar to him. Aviva was right, but Martin couldn't help thinking...

Was it the right thing to do?

"Look." Koki chimed in. "We are in no condition to make a decision this big. It's late, we've all been through a lot. Let's just wrap it up for now and decide in the morning with fresh minds."

"We're gonna wait?" Martin asked.

"Do you want to fly through Antarctica at night?" She asked back. Martin said nothing, even though, down here, the hours of night actually have no effect on the visibility or temperature of things. Actually, there were a lot of good points he could be making, and a lot of things he was certainly convinced of, but he held his tongue, thinking it best not to perpetuate the argument.

"Well then," Aviva said, with a slightly cynical smile, "let's get ready for bed."

.

.

.

Jimmy searched the ship for food, and the crew sparingly ate from what was found without glass in it, and set the leftovers in the main chamber, as the cold, intruding air excellently replaced the refrigerators that had been destroyed. Everyone gathered every blanket, tarp, and sleeping bag they could, beat the glass out of them (though into the Tortuga, and not out into the snow, on the off chance than penguins might wander the area and be endangered by the shards) and piled them all together in a corner where the crew would try to sleep, hoping their combined body heat and collection of covers would be enough to sustain them through the freezing night. Aviva even had the good fortune of finding a working heated blanket, which was given to Chris, as he had to sleep on the edge of the pile, to make sure that everything's weight would not exacerbate his affliction.

The night was miserable. Everyone was cold, uncomfortable, and anxious. They tossed and turned, each time creating an upheaval that disturbed anyone else next to them. Often one would be very close to drifting off, only to be shot back awake by a worried thought or harsh shiver rocketing through them. It was further difficult to try and be at ease when the sounds that dominated were the ominous, deep groaning of the collapsed Tortuga, and Chris' labored, raspy breathing. Martin couldn't even bring himself to do so much as to shut his eyes, out of fear that something terrible might happen while he was asleep.

They of course had decided to keep vigil in turns. One would rise, and sit outside the shattered sunroof, atop the fallen ship, where they would remain for two hours, before lowering themselves, waking their successor, and taking their turn in the center of the pile, to banish the effects of the harsh cold they just endured. It was an unpleasant undertaking, for many reasons.

This time of year, the sun over Antarctica does not set, so the constant daylight was agitating for the exhausted mind, and now that the clouds had parted, it was as an unavoidable, unrelenting plague. The quiet hours spent alone were near maddening. Every shadow caught out of the corner of an eye was cause for alarm, only to reveal itself upon direct inspection to be no more dangerous than its observer's own paranoia. The roaring of the ocean rang like memories of gunfire in a haunted soldier's mind, as, even without turning to see its source, those drones were a constant, hovering reminder of their past terror and current isolation. The cold was indescribable. Faces burned as if they had been plunged into fire. One can only imagine the torments suffered by those frozen in the lake of treachery, in the deepest pits of Dante's hell, but these poor souls came close to that knowledge. It was a lengthy occupation of silent suffering, with nothing of note to come from it.

Well, there was one thing.

The southern lights were visible, lashing up the cruel bright sky with their arrhythmic green and pink dance. Each member on watch had their own take on the display, which impacted how they felt throughout the rest of the night.

Jimmy was the first to take watch, and saw those lights as a mockery of his situation. Here was this jovial sky, with no worry in the world, who could dance carelessly over his shameful failure. What right had it to be beautiful, lovely, peaceful, remarkable, at such a remarkably horrible time? If it wanted to truly impress him, it could carry their plea to those people far away, and save them the trouble. Instead, it flaunted how above-it-all it really was, how small and pathetic he was, how stuck they all were. He was glad he would not have to take on the powers of the Peregrine; he did not want to rise down to the level of the heavens, in all its pompous indifference. Of course, it may be unfair to direct such harsh accusations at a helpless light-show in the sky, but better to cast judgement at that than someone else, or himself.

Aviva was next to stand guard, and saw it as a sympathetic gesture on the part of the universe, maybe even an apology. In her eyes it waved over the Tortuga like a memorial flag, like all of nature was mourning the tragedy, and offering condolences, hope, even. It was a pleasant thought, and helped her sail over the snares telling her that won't do much good for getting out of this mess.

Martin followed. While he knew what was to come would not be fun, he was glad to get out of the hangar, where all he could do was wait, lying awake, heart frightened and mind burdened. He of course checked in with Chris before he left, just to make sure he was alright, even though he did feel a little guilty for disturbing him. Chris was so weary, and could hardly get a word out, though whether that was from sleepiness or pain Martin couldn't tell.

This has to be done.

He was absolutely blown away by this beauty of nature, her multicolored plumes dancing around him, demanding he be fully in awe of the spectacle. It gave him a different kind of hope, one for moving forward, one to reaffirm that the planet was good, and wonderful, and worth protecting, worth preserving, far more so than any other cause he could think of. It's why they were all here, and why they would all continue, no matter what opposition they might face. It was for her, the planet, her, the oceans, her, the endless sky. It also gave him a last, brief connection to his crew below. They had seen this, too, and, without knowing their thoughts, Martin assumed they all basked in it as much as he.

But Chris wouldn't get to see it. He was held down below by a great wound, a vile harm thrust upon him, that would only linger and grow. What good did basking do?

Martin reached into his pocket.

They'll be so pissed. I don't blame them. But being mad is better than being dead.

Martin had thought about it all night as he waited for his turn. How Chris was in such peril. How Jimmy was in over his head. How the girls were too important. What he needed to do.

There the lone dancer stood and flickered, she seemed so small compared to the landscape around her, but she stood firm as the star, as the tragic artist, as the main event. It was the performance of her life, maybe of her death, out upon the coldest, harshest stage in the known world. The reception, the backlash, could be tremendous. But what may be preserved was unquestionable.

Was it a difficult decision? Absolutely. It was too dangerous, but so was waiting around, and so was leaving the Tortuga unguarded. Every possible option overflowed with potential danger, but there was one thing that his choice had that was different. At least this way, the danger was only his, and not everyone else's.

He had decided. Aviva and Chris were right, but this was, in fact, the right thing to do.

Koki never got the chance to take her turn at the post, or to have the southern lights to herself, as she was never woken or summoned. The rooftop was now completely unoccupied, save for the dancer herself, who alone rested on the roof of a restless ship, watching as, once again, a full bird left her behind, flying off into the wilds of Antarctica.

Martin had left to get help.