My farewell to the small audience was a reflex, the automatic courtesy of years of introductions. But my attention was completely fixed on the technician crouching by the control console near the service exit. The briefcase at his side seemed to radiate an aura of importance that far surpassed its modest size. It was a focal point of anomaly in the base's routine, and my instinct screamed that it contained something crucial.
I moved with deliberate calm, greeting a few people as they left the conversation, keeping my cover firmly in place. Yet every fiber of my being was tense. I was aware of Kael's gaze on my back from the entrance to the cantina. I didn't know if he would approve of my next move, if he would consider it reckless and require his intervention, or if he would simply watch to see what would happen. The uncertainty about his role was a constant burden, an unpredictable variable in an already volatile situation.
I approached the technician, my mind racing to find a plausible excuse to interrupt his work. As I got closer, I could see he was a young man, his face sweaty despite the cool ambient temperature, and his hands trembling slightly as he manipulated the console controls. He was nervous, and that only strengthened my conviction that what he was doing wasn't a routine task. The briefcase, made of a dark, sturdy material, had no visible identification.
"Excuse me, is everything okay here?" I asked, stopping a few feet away from him. I adopted a tone of mild concern, like a temporary resident noticing a technical problem. "You seem to be having trouble with that console."
The technician jumped, staring at me with wide eyes. It seemed my appearance had frightened him more than the task at hand. "Yeah... yeah, just a minor adjustment. Nothing major." His voice was high-pitched and strained. He tried to cover the console with his body.
"I see. After last night's incident, one gets a little nervous with glitches," I commented, keeping my tone casual as my eyes discreetly strayed to the briefcase beside him. "Does it have to do with that?"
The technician's nervousness spiked. "No... no, not at all. Just... preventative maintenance." He bent down, as if to put something in his briefcase, trying to hide it.
It was now or never. I couldn't let him put that briefcase away without trying to find out what was inside. A bolder lie was necessary. "Since you mention maintenance, perhaps you could help me with something for my novel," I said, abruptly changing the subject and pulling out my datapad. "I'm trying to understand how technical data is managed here. Things like equipment performance logs, information on... processed materials. Is it all centralized, or are there local backups for... 'contingencies'?"
The technician looked at me with a mixture of confusion and panic. My question, seemingly innocent for a writer, struck a chord with the cover-up and potential data manipulation. His eyes involuntarily shifted to the briefcase and then to the service exit.
"I... I'm not sure I understand what you mean," he stammered, his hand brushing the briefcase as if to protect it.
At that moment, before I could decide my next move, a familiar voice echoed behind me.
"Mr. Cole is very interested in the technical details of the base, isn't he?"
I turned. Kael was standing a few feet away, with that same unreadable expression but a new intensity in his gaze. He didn't seem directly threatening to me at the moment, but his presence, and the knowledge that he 'd been watching me, froze the situation. The technician, seeing Kael, went even paler, as if he'd been caught in an act prohibited by a higher authority.
"Kael," I said, acknowledging his presence with a nod. "Also interested in the details of maintenance?" My tone was cautious, not revealing my newfound distrust.
Kael didn't answer my question directly. His eyes moved from the technician to the briefcase and back to me. There was calculation in his gaze. He approached slowly, and the technician instinctively stepped back, tripping over his own tools.
"Looks like you've found something interesting, Cole," Kael said, his voice low, audible only to the three of us. It wasn't a question.
The technician, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, finally gave in to the pressure. With a swift movement, he picked up his briefcase. "I have to go," he muttered, trying to squeeze between Kael and me to reach the service exit.
It was a mistake. Kael reacted with surprising speed for his size. He reached out and grabbed the technician by the shoulder before he could take a step. "Not so fast," he said firmly, without excessive brusqueness, but with undeniable authority.
"The briefcase," I said, turning to Kael, my mind already weighing the implications. "I think it contains information about the anomalous ice. Perhaps those records the young scientist was looking for in the library."
Kael's gaze fell back on the briefcase. The technician was struggling weakly in her grip, shaking his head. "No... it's nothing..." he stammered.
"Relax," Kael told the technician, her tone now strangely calm. Then, without taking her eyes off me, she added, "Looks like Cole's writer's instincts are sharper than I thought."
Before he could respond, or before the technician could make another move, Kael, with unexpected dexterity, snatched the briefcase from the technician's trembling hands. He pondered it for a moment. The technician, freed, seized the opportunity and ran out the service exit, disappearing into the corridor.
I stood there, staring at Kael and the briefcase in his hand. The tension of the situation hadn't lessened, it had only shifted. He had the briefcase. What was he going to do with it? Hand it over? Keep it? Would he finally reveal whose side he was on, if he even had a clear side?
Kael opened the briefcase with a soft click. He didn't show me the contents immediately. He met my gaze again, and this time, there was something different about his gaze, a mixture of caution and a recognition that we were sharing a defining moment.
"It sounds like this is the kind of 'raw material' you were looking for, Cole," he said, his voice low. "But it's not a story to be taken lightly. It contains the truth about what's going on here. And the truth, in a place like 73P, can be more lethal than ice itself." He paused, hefting the briefcase again. "Now the question is... what do we do with it?"
The weight of that question filled the cold air between us. The briefcase. The truth. Kael. My own life in a world of ice and deceit. The game had leveled up dramatically, and the answer to Kael's question would determine my next move, and perhaps, my survival. The icy intrigue was no longer a dive; it was a dangerous current pulling me into the unknown, with a briefcase full of secrets as my only hope.
.
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