Dick Future's image faded from the screen, leaving my attic once again in soft twilight and the whisper of cosmic jazz. But the atmosphere was no longer the same. The placid predictability of my afternoon had been violently shaken by the prospect of a real adventure—not the kind I write about, but the kind you experience with your body and real risk. 73P. The mere mention of it conjured up images of inhospitable landscapes, relentless cold, and the kind of desperate people who gravitate toward places where valuable resources are fiercely contested. It wasn't exactly my natural environment.
I rose from the armchair, leaving the forgotten proofs behind, and headed to the window. The network of lights beneath the dome now seemed less a reassuring sight and more a reminder of the complexity of the solar system, of the arteries through which goods and people traveled, connecting worlds as disparate as my luxurious penthouse and the icy bases of a distant moon. I've always been fascinated by the paradox of our age: astonishing technology that allows us to travel between planets and moons, coexisting with motivations as primitive as greed and the fight over basic resources. Water, something so fundamental, stirring up intrigue billions of miles away.
I poured another drink, a bit stronger this time. Dick's offer was tempting, yes. The money was a good motivator, and the promise of material for future novels, an undeniable professional incentive. But honestly, what appealed to me most was the break from the monotony. My life had become a routine of writing, predictable social events, and the company of my own sophistication. I had begun to feel like I was becoming just another character in my own books, but one of those secondary characters who stay behind in the city while the heroes depart for the unknown. Perhaps it was time to be the hero, even if only in my own story.
My communicator buzzed again. This time it was Dick again, with the promised details. His face reappeared on the screen, the urgency still present but with a tinge of professionalism.
"Jaxson, I've sent you the trip details, access codes, and preliminary information about your contact. The ride leaves in 48 hours. Enough time for you to get everything ready without raising suspicion."
"So soon? It seems this is more urgent than you let on."
"In these matters, Jaxson, slowness is a luxury we can't always afford. The sooner you're in 73P, the sooner you can start observing. And frankly, the situation there doesn't seem to be improving with time." He paused, his gaze steady on me. "I need to trust you completely on this, Jaxson. There are a lot of nervous people with vested interests. People who wouldn't hesitate to... eliminate anyone poking around where they shouldn't."
"I know how to be discreet, Dick," I replied with more confidence than I felt. "I've been observing and plotting on paper for years. I just need to know exactly what you expect from me once I'm there. 'Observing' is a very broad term."
"I want you to use your eyes and ears. Move around the bases, talk to people—workers, supervisors, and scientists. Look for patterns, inconsistencies. Who benefits from the chaos? Who seems too scared or too confident? Pay attention to details others might miss. The technology involved in extracting and transporting the water, the safety measures, the new arrivals—everything could be relevant."
"And my contact? This scientist?"
"Dr. Lena Hanson. She's an expert in geoengineering and has been working at the ice extraction facility. I've received information that she might have a... less official perspective on what's going on. She's cautious, so approach her gently. You're supposed to be a writer looking for material for a novel about life on the front lines of space colonization. That's your official alibi."
"An alibi that, as you rightly pointed out, isn't far from the truth. And the payment? I assume you have the contracts ready."
Dick allowed another of his quick smiles. "Of course. A sizable initial sum deposited into a secure account as soon as you confirm your arrival at 73P, and the remainder upon your return with information we deem valuable. The technical details are encrypted in the files I sent you."
We talked a bit more about the logistics of the trip, the type of identification he would need, and some basic precautions. Dick was efficient and professional when the situation called for it. Despite his shady connections, I had always valued his ability to keep his word in business.
Once the call ended, I sat silently for a moment, processing the information. In 48 hours, I would be leaving the comfort of my home and heading into a world of ice and potential danger. The idea was both exciting and a little intimidating. I'd never considered myself a man of action in the physical sense of the term. My arena was that of ideas and words. But perhaps that was precisely the advantage Dick was looking for: to see the situation from a different perspective, less tainted by the brutal pragmatism of those involved.
I headed to my closet. I would need clothing suitable for an extreme climate, basic survival gear, and perhaps some... attire that would allow me to blend in or stand out as needed. As I packed, my mind was already beginning to work, not on the plot of a novel, but on the reality of a mission. Who was Dr. Hanson really? What secrets did 73P hold beneath its icy surface? And what kind of "monsters," beyond the beasts of my fictional stories, would I encounter in this remote corner of the solar system?
The first part of this unexpected adventure—accepting the challenge and preparing for the unknown—was underway. The scent of danger now mingled with the seeping aroma of my attic, a strange but stimulating combination. The next step was the journey. And after that, 73P awaited me.
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