The communications mast platform, bathed in the harsh lights of the armored vehicles, became the scene of our surrender. There was no futile struggle; the numerical and armament superiority was overwhelming. They handcuffed us lightly but firmly, the cold metal bracelets feeling like shackles on my wrists. Kael offered no resistance, his face an impassive mask. My own attempt at composure was, I suspect, less successful.
We were led from the platform back into the base. The icy wind was left behind, but the chill of the situation stayed with us. We descended metal stairs, traversed corridors I didn't remember seeing before, sections that seemed more protected and less crowded than the common areas. The atmosphere became denser, the hum of the machinery more powerful, as if we were entering the very bowels of the artificial moon.
Our destination was a section of the base that seemed specifically designed for containment or interrogation. We were separated upon entering. A pair of guards led me to a small, desolate room. The walls were polished metal, windowless, with a single heavy door and a bright, shadowless light overhead. There was a metal table in the center and a couple of uncomfortable chairs. They sat me down on one of them, undoing my handcuffs only to secure me to the chair with more discreet restraint straps.
They left me alone for a moment. The silence in the room was almost total, a deafening emptiness after the noise of the base and the echo of the pursuit. I used those moments to catch my breath and try to assess my situation. It was clear they had us well under control. Specialized corporate security wasn't the kind of force that took prisoners and then let them escape. They knew we had the briefcase, they knew about the attempted transmission. The big question was whether the transmission had really been fully intercepted. Dick had assured me that the emergency device was high security, but could it bypass the systems on a base like this? That small hope was all I could cling to.
The door opened with a soft hiss, and the platform's security leader entered, accompanied by another man in a similar uniform but with a higher-ranking insignia. This new individual had graying hair and a look of implacable weariness, as if he'd been dealing with dirty secrets for decades. The leader remained in the background, while the more senior man sat across the table from me.
"Mr. Cole," the older man said, his voice calm and devoid of any emotional inflection. "My name is Commander Dax. I'm the head of security for Aqua-Sol operations on 73P. We had a minor mishap tonight."
"If you mean I was caught for attempting to expose mortal danger, yes, we had a mishap," I replied, deciding that bravado was my best (and only) defense at the moment.
Dax looked at me with eyes that seemed to have seen too much unpleasantness. "You're a writer, Mr. Cole. Why would a writer get involved in data theft and subversive activities at a corporate facility?"
"Reality sometimes surpasses fiction, Commander," I said. "I found a story that reeked of danger and a cover-up. A story about unstable material and people willing to risk lives for money."
"The Chimeric Compound is a strategic asset, not a danger," Dax replied firmly, though without raising his voice. "Its properties are being studied and monitored. The incidents are technical challenges that are being overcome."
"The reports in the briefcase said otherwise," I challenged him. "It talked about instability, accelerated corrosion, risk of cascading... and Dr. Hanson's warnings."
A flicker of something—interest? Irritation?—crossed Dax's eyes. "Dr. Hanson is a brilliant scientist, but with certain... apprehensions. Her data was peer-reviewed. There's no imminent risk."
"So why all the secrecy? Why purge files? Why silence Dr. Hanson? Why all that specialized security combing the base for a briefcase?" I pressed, seizing the moment.
Dax rested his elbows on the table, leaning slightly toward me. "The secrecy is to protect proprietary information, Mr. Cole. Information whose value is immense. And specialized security... well, the outer solar system is a competitive place. There are those who would try to steal that information. You, for example."
"I'm not a thief. I'm a journalist. A witness. And I had proof that Aqua-Sol is hiding a danger that could cost many lives," I said, feeling a growing indignation.
Dax sighed, a tired sound. "Look, Mr. Cole. We understand your... zeal. Perhaps even your motivations. But you've meddled in matters that don't concern you. Matters with far greater implications than an adventure writer can fathom." He paused, his gaze growing more intense. "We've intercepted your transmission, Mr. Cole. The data didn't leave 73P. No one on the outside saw anything."
His words were a shock. Had they really intercepted the transmission? Or was he lying to break my morale? I had no way of knowing for sure. But the possibility that it had all been for nothing... was a devastating prospect.
"So, here we are," Dax continued. "You, your friend the...lurker" (a slight pause, as if Kael were a minor but persistent annoyance), "and us. With the briefcase recovered and the transmission jammed." Dax leaned back in his chair, studying me. "Now, why don't you tell us who sent you? Who else knows about this? We could be reasonable, Mr. Cole. We could work out a deal. After all, you're just looking for a story, aren't you? We can provide one. An authorized version. Forget the Chimeric Compound, forget Dr. Hanson—and forget what you've seen and heard here."
His offer was tempting in its corrupt pragmatism. The chance to get out of this alive, even at the price of my conscience and the truth. But the image of the anomalous ice, the risk projections, Hanson's warnings... and Kael's face, seeking justice. I couldn't simply erase that.
"There's no agreement, Commander," I said, my voice clear and even. "The truth isn't negotiable. And that story... it's not something that can be 'authorized' without lying."
Dax looked at me for a long moment, a silent assessment. Finally, a hint of something cold and dangerous appeared in his tired eyes. "That's a shame. He seemed like an intelligent man, Mr. Cole. A writer with wasted talent. But if you'd rather be a martyr than a contributor, we won't be the ones to stop him. 73P is a very isolated place. 'Disappearances' here are... common."
The threat was explicit. They weren't going to let me go. Not if they believed I was a risk to their secrets. The chill in the room seemed to intensify. I was trapped in the steel bowels of the base, facing men who represented the ruthless power of those who valued resources over lives. The truth I had sought now held me prisoner. And the fate of that truth, and my own, hung by a very thin thread in the icy darkness of 73P. The climax played out not in a burst of action, but in the cold, calculated play of power and secrecy in an interrogation room. And the question now wasn't whether the transmission had gotten through, but whether we—Kael and I—could survive to tell the tale.
.
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