Chapter 9: The Pressure of Ice and the Gazes in the Shadow

The encounter in the cafeteria, brief and laden with subtext, left an uneasy resonance inside me. Dr. Hanson, oppressed and watched. The man with her, a figure of veiled authority and open hostility. And at the center of it all, the "anomalous ice," whose importance and danger increased with every clue I gathered. Dick had sent me to observe, but the situation was rapidly escalating into something that required more than a simple curious glance. I felt like I'd stumbled over the edge of an abyss.

I replayed the conversation in my mind, every word, every gesture. Hanson's wariness, his fleeting eye contact. He seemed to be in a cage, a gilded cage perhaps, at the research level, but a cage nonetheless. And the man... His uniform wasn't that of the base's regular security. I remembered seeing those insignia, or similar ones, in reports on "strategic asset protection" operations carried out by certain megacorporations. They were the elite watchdogs, loyal to their employers above any planetary or interplanetary law. Being associated with one of them meant Hanson was vital, and whoever sent him didn't want him talking to anyone.

The feeling of being watched, which had once been a mild annoyance, now felt like a constant pressure. In the hallways, in the cafeteria, even near my own cubicle. It wasn't always the same faces, which suggested it wasn't just a guard assigned to watch out for "the weird writer." It was more systematic. Different people, perhaps from different shifts or even different factions, keeping an eye on my movements. Or maybe it was just justified paranoia due to the hostile environment. I preferred to assume the former.

I needed a way to contact Dr. Hanson without raising the alarms of her guards. A direct approach was out of the question. A message through official channels would be intercepted. I considered the technology available on base. Were there any less monitored internal networks? A messaging system the staff used to communicate informally? My visitor datapad had limited access, but perhaps I could find a less secure terminal.

I decided to explore the recreation areas and workshops. Often, security in these places is a bit more relaxed, and technical staff might have access to internal networks for their own entertainment or communication with the outside world. I spent the day in a discreet search, feigning interest in the outdated exercise machines or scale models of spacecraft displayed in dusty glass cases, while visually scanning the terminals and observing the staff's behavior.

During my search, I noticed the burly man from the ship reappear. This time, he was sitting alone in a corner of the recreation area, staring at the screen of a public data terminal. He didn't seem to be using it, just observing it. His presence was like a lingering shadow. Was he here for the same reason I was, or was he part of the surveillance network? He wasn't emitting any clear signals, which made him all the more disconcerting.

As I headed back to my cubicle as the base's "night shift" fell (an arbitrary time distinction in this place with no natural day-night cycle), the floor vibrated beneath my feet. It wasn't a violent tremor, but a deep jolt, like a muffled blow to the bowels of the moon. The lights flickered for a moment, and a few gasps of surprise and nervousness were heard in the hallways.

Immediately afterward, an alarm sounded. Not a full-blown emergency alarm, but a specific, low-intensity signal that seemed to be coming from deeper within the base, likely related to the extraction. Simultaneously, I saw several security guards, including some of those who had been watching me, quickly heading in the direction of the alarm's sound. The tension in the air became almost palpable.

This was an "incident." A real one, and it was happening right now. My instinct told me not to go any closer, that a curious writer would be a nuisance, or worse, an inconvenient witness. But my other instinct, the one Dick had mentioned, screamed that this was my chance. As the guards scrambled, the veil of surveillance over other areas might lessen. And maybe, just maybe, this was related to the "anomalous ice."

Ignoring caution, I joined the stream of base personnel who, driven by curiosity or a need to know what was happening, were heading toward the alarm zones. I kept a low profile, blending into the crowd, my datapad in hand as if I were documenting the reaction to the incident for my novel. The air was filled with a pungent smell I didn't recognize, something chemical and strangely sweet. As we advanced, the temperature in the corridors seemed to drop noticeably, despite the air conditioning. The chill of 73P, the cold outside, seemed to be making its way into the base in an unnatural way.

The alarm ceased as abruptly as it had begun, but the murmur of concerned voices continued. We reached a section of the corridor that had been cordoned off by additional guards. No passage was permitted. I could see through the makeshift barrier: there was unusual ice spreading across the walls and ceiling, strange crystalline formations, a pale iridescent blue I'd never seen before. And nearby, maintenance and security personnel were examining a damaged control panel, their expressions gravely concerned.

I heard snatches of conversation between the guards and the technical staff. They talked about "rapid freezing," "containment failure," and, again, "anomalous ice." Someone mentioned quietly, "It's worse this time."

My gaze scanned the scene, absorbing every detail. The anomalous ice wasn't just a technical challenge; it was active, unpredictable, and dangerous. The "incidents" weren't minor glitches; they were manifestations that something was fundamentally wrong with the extraction or containment of this material. And the secrecy surrounding it was no longer a matter of business or reputation; it was a matter of security.

As I watched, I felt the gaze again. I turned discreetly and saw the burly man from the ship, watching me from across the cordoned-off corridor. Our eyes met for a second. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about it, a quiet intensity, that made me realize he, too, was following this lead. Was he an unexpected ally, a rival, or simply another pawn in this icy game? I didn't know. But in that instant, beneath the artificial light of 73P's base and within sight of the anomalous and dangerous ice, I felt that our fate in this remote place was intertwined in ways I didn't yet understand. The intrigue was no longer something I observed from a distance; it was enveloping me in its cold, dangerous embrace. And Dr. Hanson, I sensed, was at the center of it all.

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