No Refunds on Space Weather
“Good evening, good morning, and good luck to anybody currently traveling through Outer Route 07.”
Rex turns toward a monitor displaying a weather map almost completely covered in warning symbols.
“Frostline Junction has issued what officials are calling a minor atmospheric inconvenience.”
The screen cuts to Drift Quill.
Snow is moving sideways.
Her hair is moving in at least three directions.
A satellite dish behind her snaps off its mount and disappears into the whiteout.
Drift watches it go.
DRIFT QUILL:
“Rex, I would like the record to show that nothing about this is minor.”
REX:
“Visibility?”
Drift looks into the storm.
DRIFT:
“I can currently see my microphone.”
Pause.
“Mostly.”
[HEADER IMAGE]
Caption:
MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN SPACE… // Drift Quill reports live from Frostline Junction.
The Forecast Said “Light Flurries”
Frostline Junction sits between two heavily traveled shipping lanes on the edge of the Outer Routes.
It exists for three reasons:
Fuel.
Repairs.
And convincing exhausted pilots that they can make it just one more sector.
Its weather office predicted light flurries beginning around sunset.
At 11:07 local time, the temperature dropped forty degrees in six minutes.
At 11:09, every external docking sensor froze.
At 11:12, the sky turned white.
And at 11:14, a courier known only by her route designation — 07 — made what witnesses later described as:
“a technically successful landing.”
Her ship came down sideways.
It bounced once.
Possibly twice.
Nobody is completely certain because visibility was approximately twelve feet.
“I Was Told It Would Be Fine.”
Drift found Courier 07 sitting on a cargo module while a small cream-and-purple robot hovered beside her wearing the digital expression of someone reconsidering every career decision it had ever made.
Ice covered both of them.
DRIFT:
“When did you realize the forecast might be inaccurate?”
07 stared into the distance.
COURIER 07:
“When the landing pad disappeared.”
Her robot emitted an angry electronic chirp.
07:
“He says earlier.”
Another chirp.
07:
“Much earlier.”
Drift checked her homemade storm gauge.
The needle had moved past:
BAD
past:
VERY BAD
and was currently resting on a section somebody had handwritten:
WHY ARE YOU STILL OUTSIDE?
Drift nodded.
“Scientifically significant.”
07 did not appear convinced.
Frostline Junction Has a Policy
The weather station recommended that all remaining pilots shelter indoors.
Unfortunately, approximately forty stranded travelers had already discovered another important fact about Frostline Junction:
The terminal only has twenty-six chairs.
The rest of the building consists mostly of cargo storage, vending machines, and a gift shop selling shirts that say:
I SURVIVED FROSTLINE
This reportedly happens often enough to justify inventory.
Drift spoke with station manager Bello Karr, a six-eyed alien wearing a parka over another parka.
DRIFT:
“Several travelers are asking whether the station compensates pilots for weather delays.”
Bello pointed toward an enormous hand-painted sign.
It read:
NO REFUNDS ON SPACE WEATHER.
BELLO:
“Very clear policy.”
DRIFT:
“The letters are frozen.”
BELLO:
“Still legally visible.”
Then the Storm Started Going Up
At 12:03, Drift noticed something unusual.
The snow was no longer falling.
It was rising.
Entire sheets of frozen powder began lifting from the ground toward a massive atmospheric vortex above Frostline Junction.
Cargo containers rattled.
Landing lights flickered.
Courier 07 looked upward.
Her robot looked upward.
Drift looked directly into the camera.
DRIFT:
“Oh, that’s new.”
REX, FROM STUDIO:
“Good new?”
DRIFT:
“No.”
A rotating pressure pocket had formed above the junction, pulling supercooled air upward while dragging loose debris with it.
One baggage cart.
Four traffic cones.
A vending-machine door.
And somebody’s left boot disappeared into the sky.
Drift attempted to explain the phenomenon while clinging to an antenna mast.
DRIFT:
“This appears to be a localized reverse-pressure ice vortex!”
A cargo crate flew past.
DRIFT:
“Which is meteorological language for—”
Another crate flew past.
DRIFT:
“—go inside.”
For once, everyone listened.
Seven Minutes Later…
The vortex collapsed.
The wind stopped.
The clouds split.
And Frostline Junction emerged beneath one of the clearest skies anyone had seen all cycle.
The station was covered in ice.
Three ships had moved several meters without permission.
The missing baggage cart was discovered on a roof.
Nobody found the boot.
Courier 07 remained seated on her cargo module.
Her robot hovered beside her.
DRIFT:
“Any plans to continue the route?”
07 looked at the sky.
Then at her ship.
Then at Drift.
07:
“I’m waiting for a better forecast.”
Drift smiled.
DRIFT:
“Tomorrow should be beautiful.”
The robot immediately displayed:
NO.
Back to the Weather Desk
REX:
“So what should travelers expect tomorrow?”
Drift checks three instruments.
One spins.
One whistles.
One emits a tiny puff of smoke.
DRIFT:
“Clear skies.”
Nimbus, her grumpy personal rain cloud, floats into frame and begins snowing.
Drift looks at it.
DRIFT:
“Mostly.”
REX:
“And refunds?”
Drift points toward the frozen sign behind her.
DRIFT:
“You already know the answer.”
OFFICIAL FROSTLINE FORECAST
Storm: Passed
Runway: Technically visible
Ships: Mostly where pilots left them
Temperature: Offensive
Travel conditions: Questionable
Refunds: Absolutely not
Frostline Junction reopened approximately twenty minutes later.
The gift shop immediately changed its bestselling shirt.
It now reads:
I SURVIVED FROSTLINE TWICE.
Apparently they are expecting repeat customers.