The interior of the service shaft greeted us again with its icy embrace and chemical smell, but this time claustrophobia and discomfort took a backseat to urgency. The sound of search sirens and the echo of hurried boots resonated through the metal walls, a constant reminder that we were prey on a chessboard of ice and steel. Kael moved ahead of me with surprising agility, a man familiar with the hidden innards of places like this. I followed as best I could, my labored breathing filling the cramped space.
The labyrinth seemed more complex and hostile than during my solo foray. Kael knew the way, but it was no walk in the park. We squeezed through narrow passages, climbed rusty ladders, and wound our way through tangles of cables and pipes. The air fluctuated; in some sections, the cold was so intense it hurt to breathe, and in others, the chemical smell became almost unbearable, stinging the eyes and throat, a disturbing reminder of the corrosion the Chimeric Compound was causing even in this secondary system.
"This way," Kael's voice was a deep whisper in front of me. He didn't waste time explaining, just moving. His knowledge of the labyrinth was our best chance.
We listened constantly, straining our ears through the hum of the base. The sound of boots came closer, receded, sometimes seeming to be right above or below us. The security guards weren't wasting time; they were methodically combing the base, and it was only a matter of time before they thought to check the service ducts, or activated sensors we hadn't yet detected.
At one point, as we crawled through a particularly low passage, we saw the powerful beam of a security flashlight sweeping through the vents in the corridor below. We froze, pressed against the cold metal, holding our breath. We heard the guards' voices, their footsteps. They were discussing the search perimeter, the description of the briefcase. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity before moving on. When the sound of their footsteps faded, the relief was palpable, if short-lived. The hunt was in full swing.
Kael stopped at a crossroads, waiting for me to catch up. In the dim light of our flashlights (we'd had to turn mine off during the guards' approach, so I turned it back on at low intensity), I saw his face covered in a fine layer of frost and sweat. His eyes, however, were clear and focused.
"They're going to seal the main exits soon," he whispered. "We need to get to the upper levels before they do."
"What kind of upper levels?" I asked, my voice low. The image of the observation domes Kael had mentioned came to mind. A place with access to the outside, but probably with high security.
"Near the domes. There's an access point to an auxiliary communications mast. Old, rarely used. We might have a window of opportunity there for a low-power transmission."
The plan sounded desperate, but it was the only one we had. A disused auxiliary communications mast. Remote enough to not be under constant surveillance, but exposed enough to allow a transmission. And the risk of being detected while trying to access it was immense.
We kept moving, Kael's relentless pace setting the tone. My muscles felt tired, the cold chilling me, the stale air irritating my lungs. Each tunnel seemed the same as the last, a monotony of metal and darkness. But urgency, the knowledge of the information we were carrying, and the relentless pursuit propelled us forward.
We passed through areas where the pipes vibrated more intensely, the chemical smell becoming stronger. These were likely sections closer to the Chimeric Compound processing areas. The danger wasn't just human pursuit; it was also the environment itself, compromised by the material we were trying to expose.
In one particularly narrow stretch, a section of the conduit appeared to be covered in a thicker layer of iridescent, anomalous ice. As I passed through, I felt a penetrating cold penetrate my thermal gear and heard a faint creaking in the nearby metal structure. It was a disturbing reminder of the compound's corrosive properties. This labyrinth was literally poisonous.
Finally, after what seemed like an endless climb, we reached a section where the ducts widened and the sound from the main base became clearer. Artificial light filtered more intensely through the vents. We were close to the upper levels.
Kael stopped and pointed upward. I saw a vertical hatch in the ceiling of the shaft, different from the ones we'd used before. It seemed to lead to a higher level. "Up," he whispered. "Near the domes. With any luck... we'll have a few minutes."
The sound of boots and the guards' voices suddenly echoed from a nearby corridor, louder than we'd heard yet. They were close. Very close. There was no time to hesitate. Kael opened the hatch with a soft click and began to climb. I followed without hesitation, my muscles protesting. The race to reach the transmission point was becoming desperate. We were about to emerge from the maze of ice and metal to a place where visibility was greater, and the risk of detection imminent. The auxiliary communications mast awaited us, a beacon of hope in the freezing darkness. But the path to it was surrounded by the long shadows of our pursuers, and every second counted in this life-or-death race to expose the truth of 73P.
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