The conversation with Kael left a trail of ice in my veins that had little to do with the outside temperature. Chimeric Compound. Unstable. Dangerous. And an active conspiracy to hide the truth. My mind, accustomed to inventing dangers in the safety of my study, was now faced with a very real one, lurking in the depths of this icy moon. But Kael's revelation, and his unexpected willingness to share information, also lit a spark. I wasn't alone in this. And he seemed to have resources or knowledge that I lacked.
I pondered our words as I walked back to my cubicle, the feeling of surveillance still present, though perhaps less oppressive now that I knew at least one of the observers might not be a direct threat. Kael was seeking justice, I was seeking a story... and the truth. Our paths had crossed for different reasons, but converged in the need to expose what Aqua-Sol was hiding.
We decided (in that silent, nonverbal communication that occurs between people in compromising situations) that the most prudent thing for the moment was not to be seen together. A writer and a... well, I didn't know exactly what Kael was yet, but he clearly wasn't regular base personnel. An open alliance would make us bigger targets. But the information Kael had, combined with my relative freedom of movement in the common areas, could be an advantage.
Our shared priority was to reach Dr. Hanson. Kael was convinced she held the key to fully understanding the Chimeric Compound and the magnitude of the risk. But we knew she was under surveillance, possibly confined to the research level. We needed a plan to bypass security, or find a way to communicate with her without raising immediate suspicion.
I recalled the conversation with the young scientist in the library about the "deleted" files. If I couldn't access Hanson, perhaps I could try to find a copy of the information Aqua-Sol was suppressing. Kael, for his part, suggested that he would try to use his "resources" to obtain information about the security of the research level and Hanson's movements. We agreed (again, implicitly, with a glance or a subtle gesture if we crossed paths) to look for an opportunity to share what we found.
My task focused on trying to access data terminals with security levels slightly higher than those for visitors, or searching for personnel who might have access to technical records of the incidents or the composition of the anomalous ice. Under my cover as a writer, I tried asking the technical support desk about the "stability of the data systems" after the previous night's incident, hoping that a conversation about "glitches" would give me access to information about what types of failures were occurring and where.
The support technician, a bored-looking young man, had been complaining vaguely about "random problems with the file subsystems" for some time, but offered no concrete details. It was clear that the "silent protocol" was working.
However, while waiting for my turn in tech support, I noticed a schematic map of the base on a wall, usually ignored by everyone. It wasn't a detailed map, but it showed the main sections and service ducts. My gaze fell on the lines representing the ventilation and maintenance systems. They were secondary, less-traveled arteries connecting different parts of the base. Some seemed to run close to the research level. An alternative access.
I spent the rest of the day discreetly studying the map and observing the access points to the service ducts. Most were sealed, but some seemed to have access panels with standard electronic locks. An adventure writer like myself knew that ventilation ducts were a convenient literary cliché for infiltration, but in reality, they were usually narrow, dirty, and dangerous. Nevertheless, the idea of a hidden path in the metal maze of the base felt strangely appealing.
Later that night, as the base settled into relative calm, I received an encrypted communication on the device Dick had given me. It was a short message, with no identified sender, but I knew it was from Kael. It contained a low-level access code and a coordinate: a service panel in a secondary corridor near the storage area. The full message read: "Access. Watch for air. See you inside."
Kael's message confirmed that he was not only willing to help, but that he had the ability to do so. He had access to information about the base, perhaps blueprints or codes. The "air advisory" suggested that the service ducts might not be a pleasant walk, likely with gas leaks or uncontrolled extreme temperatures. But the opportunity was there. An alternative entry point to get closer to the investigative level, or perhaps, find a way to leave a message or a device near Dr. Hanson.
Equipped with my datapad, a small multi-tool, and a flashlight, I headed toward the coordinate Kael had given me. The secondary corridor was dimly lit and deserted at that hour. I located the service panel. I used the code Kael had given me. The electronic lock clicked softly, and the panel opened with a hiss of compressed air. Behind it, the darkness of a maintenance duct was visible, tangled with cables and pipes. The air escaping from the duct was noticeably cooler than that in the corridor and carried a metallic, chemical odor—different from the acrid scent of the incident the night before, but equally unpleasant.
I took a deep breath. The security, the warnings, the danger... it was all there. But so was the possibility of discovering the truth, of finding Dr. Hanson, and of unraveling the intrigue of the Chimeric Compound. I left the lit corridor behind and entered the icy darkness of the conduit. The subterranean labyrinth of 73P awaited me, and with each step, I felt I was getting closer not only to the level of investigation, but to the frozen heart of the mystery surrounding this distant moon. The play of shadows grew more dangerous with every moment.
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