Most of the time, storms are never much bigger than a local squall, thanks to the orbital mirror arrays. In addition to keeping global temperatures livable, they subtly redistribute heat to subvert the formation of anything that would be truly devastating. Their patient and watchful oversight keeps things moderate, friendly.

Most of the time.

Life is about balance though, and balance is about change. And that means that, sometimes, things should be allowed to take their course. With no continents to slow down winds and the furnace of F-class star Aolus driving weather patterns, an uncontrolled storm on Halcyon can become monstrous.

[cont]

So here you are.

It's almost midnight. Your footpaws are firmly planted on the little windboard, and you keep a tight grasp on the sail. Down here, almost 50° south, the water is cooler than you're used to -- not enough to need a full wetsuit, but enough that you stay wrapped in warm neoprene shorts and a vest. The luminescent plankton is dimmer, a little, but the night is still lit by blue and green sparks cast by the spray of waves.

The ocean rolls under your feet. 20-meter swells and 80km/h winds are terrifying. The adaptive materials of your board help keep things manageable but you still need to do real work to stay upright, stay in control.

You scream as you fly down the face of each swell, almost in freefall.

A bright orange beacon flashes on your chest. In the darkness, faintly, you can see other beacons -- maybe a kilometer away, maybe more. Though the Mindlink is fuzzy at that distance and under these conditions, you aren't alone here tonight. Your friends are here, far from crowding you but close enough to lend a paw if you get into trouble.

You can't remember the last time you've felt this kind of exhilaration.