No news from tranquil Sami. Čappat's intercity net is rarely updated, limited mostly to tourism inquiries from Columbian visitors. At the office Volvort Kochinski opened in this small town, two on-duty researchers are chatting about news that a newly-opened tourism route had caused the disappearance of several tour groups.
Outside the window, a passing local stops to look inside.
'Excuse me, are you looking for someone?' The researcher walks outside and greets her in broken Sami.
She shakes her head and responds in Columbian: 'There's nothing I want to see here,' before turning and walking away.
Two years later, the office left Čappat amidst a wave of departures. The work of sifting through data is coming to an end. The researcher breathes a sigh of a relief and lifts his head emotionally to look at the scenery of the desolate town street.
The window spanning from floor to ceiling reflects his own uniform-clad figure. The figure looks back at him, but he sees another pair of eyes through the reflection.
They are the lightly-colored eyes of a Sami woman.