The secret tunnel led us to a small room with a heavy, rusty metal door. Kael used a hand tool to gently pry it open, and it opened with a screech that seemed to echo throughout the basement of 73P. We entered the room, and Kael closed the door behind us, securing it as best he could. We were at the forgotten observation post.
The room was a metal and glass capsule, embedded in the lunar rock. A large, armored viewing window, covered in dust and grime, offered a partial view of the vast underground caverns where the heavy machinery for extracting and processing the Chimeric Compound operated. From here, we could see enormous cryogenic drills, automated conveyors moving blocks of iridescent ice, and the complex network of pipes through which, we now knew, a lethal material flowed. The room was filled with outdated monitoring equipment, dusty screens, and disconnected terminals. The air was cold and smelled faintly of ozone and old metal, distinct from the stale air in the tunnels below. It was an observation site—ironically, a perfect place for us to be observed if anyone remembered their existence.
We allowed ourselves a moment to catch our breath, listening to the distant hum of the machinery and the relative silence of our shelter. The search sirens seemed more distant now, or perhaps we were simply too deep in the base to hear them clearly. But we knew the hunt continued. We didn't have much time.
We took the memory chip out of the briefcase. The small sample of the Chimeric Compound, in its sealed container, seemed to glow faintly in the dimness of the room. It was the proof, the heart of the truth they wanted to hide.
"We have the data," Kael said, her voice calm but with an underlying urgency. "We know what it is. We know what it does. And we know Hanson tried to warn you."
"And now we know that Dax and his sponsors are willing to do anything to keep it secret," I added, thinking of Commander Dax's coldness and the veiled threat of "disappearances."
We sat on a pair of dusty metal chairs, the briefcase open between us. The immensity and danger of the Aqua-Sol operation stretched out before us through the viewport. Giant machines extracting a material that could corrode life itself, all for profit.
"We have two objectives," Kael continued, his gaze fixed on the technical drawings we'd taken from the briefcase. "First, get this information out of 73P. Second, get Hanson out of here."
"The second seems more difficult than the first," I commented. "It's under constant surveillance at the research level, on the opposite side of the base, with elite corporate guards protecting access."
"I know," Kael nodded. "But we can't leave her behind. If the information gets out and she's here, she'll be the first to pay the price. Besides, her knowledge of the Chimeric Compound is invaluable. She could be key to finding a way to neutralize it if it gets out of control."
Hanson's rescue. The idea was almost suicidal. But Kael was right. We couldn't abandon her. And if we managed to get her out, our story—the truth—would have undeniable credibility.
We began reviewing the briefcase's plans and diagrams, looking for a route. The official plans of the base were incomplete or false in certain areas, such as the tunnel we'd used to get here. But there were other documents in the briefcase, perhaps copies of early construction plans or systems diagrams not intended for general circulation. Kael, with his knowledge of the base's innards, and I, with my ability to notice details and patterns (a useful skill for a mystery writer), complemented each other surprisingly well.
We identified possible access routes to the research level, some through less obvious service tunnels, others through maintenance sections that appeared to have fewer security cameras. But each path had its own risks. Unexpected checkpoints, areas with Chimeric Compound leaks (indicated on some diagrams by warning symbols), or sections that required access codes we didn't have.
As we examined the plans, the view from the viewport offered us a new perspective. Operations on the extraction level seemed to be in full swing, despite the incident the night before and the search of the base. Machines were moving, lights were flashing. It was normalcy on the surface, but we knew the latent danger lurked beneath it.
Kael pointed to a diagram on one of the datapads. "Here. A low-priority material transfer conduit. Not supposed to be in regular use, but it connects the extraction level to a secondary processing area near the research level. Could be a route."
"A material transfer conduit?" I asked, the idea not exactly sounding comfortable. "Chimeric Compound?"
"Probably not the primary material," Kael replied. "More like samples or byproducts. But the risk of exposure exists. And the security might be lower, precisely because it's considered low priority and not in official use."
The route was dangerous, but the alternatives were few. It was a path through the very core of the problem we were trying to expose, using a route that, hopefully, the secret keepers would have overlooked in their rush to seal off the main routes.
As night wore on on 73P (or whatever counted as night in this sunless place), our plan began to take shape, a patchwork of dangerous routes, tight timings, and the hope for surprise. We decided we would try to access the research level through that material transfer conduit, looking for a time when surveillance was minimal. Once inside, we would need to find Hanson and get her out, then figure out a way to get to a secure transmission point—perhaps the auxiliary mast again if it was still operational and not closely guarded, or some other option Kael's knowledge could provide.
It was a desperate plan, with multiple points of failure and a constant risk of being detected, captured, or, worse, exposed to the Chimeric Compound. But sitting in that forgotten observation post, with the machinery whirring below and the icy vastness of 73P outside, it felt like our only way forward. The weight of the truth was immense, but the responsibility to act on it was even greater. I looked at Kael. His determination was evident. And for the first time since arriving on this moon, I felt I wasn't alone in my fight against the shadows that controlled this place. The plan was ready. Now came the hardest part: putting it into action. And dawn—even if it was only the artificial dawn of the base—felt dangerously close.
.
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