WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17th. 8:12 a.m.

  After turning off the engine of the blue compact, Adam sat for a few seconds in the car, watching the Orbit II Tower across the street. It was hard to miss or confuse it with any nearby buildings; it was the only one standing on the block, with the rest of the space taken up by its walled-off parking lot.

  Wouldn’t it be beautiful if a meteor crashed down right then and demolished it completely?

  Yeah, of course. But he wasn’t that lucky.

  He sighed, a mix of anger, helplessness, and deep anxiety weighing on him, then opened the door. Dressed in a blue tracksuit with a white stripe—the most comfortable outfit he could find for navigating the thick jungle—he stepped out to face his destiny. In his hand, a small bag with the change of clothes Halstein had recommended they bring.

  The sun had just begun to cast its first rays of light, and the shadows hadn’t yet been fully swept away. The crisp air of the recently departed night moved freely through the city, and a cold caress tickled Adam’s stomach. Was it just nerves, or last night’s dinner working its way through his system?

  He just hoped nothing unfortunate would happen during the trip to Black Plateau. He couldn’t bear the humiliation of having to stop at a gas station and dash to the restroom.

  Patting his stomach, he prayed everything would go smoothly. Delaying the trip wasn’t an option—he had a job to do, and the sooner he got it done, the better.

  “Good morning,” said the parking meter robot. “Would you kindly inform this unit how long you plan to be away?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam replied.

  “Apologies. That is a response I cannot compute,” the robot said.

  “You can ask Rune Halstein,” Adam shot back. “And you can bill him too.”

  “Apologies. That is another response I cannot compute.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back in six or seven hours.”

  “Thank you. Seven hours of parking will be deducted from your bank account. Remember that after that number of hours, you must return for…”

  Adam left the robot talking to itself and walked away.

  Vicky stepped out of the car, also dressed in a tracksuit—hers black and gold. She zipped up her jacket to shield herself from the wind and brushed her bangs out of her face. This time, she wasn’t wearing her signature hoop earrings; she’d thought it best to leave them in her bag, knowing she’d have to wear a protective suit. She glanced at Adam and saw the same expectant expression she imagined she had, one that seemed to ask, ‘So? Are you ready?’ Without a word, they both nodded and crossed the street.

  They were still a little embarrassed about the kiss they’d shared yesterday afternoon.

  Since their return from the desert, their shared moments had been filled with awkward silences and silly comments meant only to fill the void.

  “Do you think we’re dressed appropriately?” Adam asked. “I mean, aren’t we a bit underdressed?”

  Without looking at him, Vicky quickened her pace to leave him behind. “The whole talking nonsense to avoid feeling awkward thing? That ended last night,” she said.

  He raised his hands in surrender. That morning, emotions were certainly running high.

  Two sleek, black off-road vehicles with tinted windows were parked one behind the other by the building, their silent engines idling and parking lights glowing. They bore no insignias—not even a manufacturer’s logo on the hoods or rear panels. Adam didn’t need to see any to know they were Black 20.18 models, an obvious name for a line produced by Marmolin, another client of Homam Enterprises.

  “Well, at least they went with the Black model—Gray would’ve been a little too on the nose,” he said.

  A man in gray leaned against the hood of the first vehicle, his legs crossed. As he saw them approach, he finished smoking his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the pavement.

  Adam noted the agent’s dark sunglasses. The sun wasn’t even bright enough to bother anyone’s eyes yet—were the glasses really necessary?

  “I didn’t know we were traveling in a convoy,” he said.

  “The Division Chief will be here shortly,” the man in gray announced. He took their bag with the change of clothes, placed it in the trunk of the vehicle, and got behind the wheel. “Get in.”

  “We’ll wait for Halstein out here,” Vicky replied.

  Adam stayed with her, though it might have been wiser to get in. Staying outside meant being exposed to the prying eyes of whoever was in the second vehicle—the loathsome Dr. Gabor, perhaps?

  He tried to peer through the car’s darkly tinted windows, but when his attempt failed, he gave up and turned his back to it. If he couldn’t see their faces, he wouldn’t let them see his either.

  Rune Halstein emerged through the building’s front doors.

  “Speaking of ridiculous outfits…” Adam muttered.

  The burly division chief was dressed in a black silk suit, the jacket buttoned up over a crisp white shirt and red tie. He looked so polished that Vicky thought he was about to give a conference, not trek into a jungle.

  “Nice and brisk, isn’t it?” Halstein said, rubbing his hands together. He seemed almost cheerful, as if this trip were some kind of camping excursion. “Are you ready?”

  Vicky took his chipper attitude as provocation. Guys like Halstein loved to rub their good fortune in everyone else’s faces. She ignored his greeting, climbed into the back seat of the off-road car, and motioned for Adam to follow.

  Adam not only shook Halstein’s firm hand but squeezed it as tightly as he could. He forced himself to meet the Division Chief’s gaze and hold it without wavering. He also forced himself not to hurl any insults before getting into the car.

  Halstein took the front passenger seat, and the journey to Black Plateau began.

  The two black vehicles left Proxima City via the busy highway, heading southwest—the opposite direction Adam and Vicky had taken to train in the desert.

  Adam leaned back and looked at the second off-road car following close behind. How many men in gray were crammed in there? Was Gabor with them?

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  “I appreciate what you’re doing,” Halstein said.

  “The pleasure is ours, don’t worry,” Vicky replied curtly.

  They spent most of the trip in silence, the tension growing thicker and thicker until it was unbearable.

  Adam was about to ask something about Kappa radiation or anything at all—just hearing someone talk might help ease his anxiety. But he caught Rune Halstein’s glance in the rearview mirror and pressed his lips together.

  “Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,” Juzo’s voice warned in his mind.

  The nearly three-hour journey brought noticeable changes: fewer vehicles on the road and a radical transformation in the landscape.

  Vegetation began to appear almost like magic along the roadside, replacing the barren desert plains. At first, there were patches of dry grass scattered over the cracked earth. Then, the yellowish carpet gradually turned into green undergrowth until, mile by mile, it became a wild and lush terrain.

  Meanwhile, the unsettling tickle in Adam’s stomach had finally disappeared. His anger had subsided, and the nerves weren’t as cruel as before. He still felt uneasy, sure, but it was more about wanting to get the job done and head back to the big city than fearing what might await them in the small town ahead.

  The clock read 11:10 a.m. when the two black cars veered off the main highway and took a side road.

  The vehicles rumbled down a dirt road, kicking up plumes of dust for three or four miles until they reached a small town that time had left behind.

  Until that day, Adam had only heard of Black Plateau a couple of times in his life, and now, standing there, he understood why.

  The town spanned no more than two blocks. Its homes were humble structures surrounded by dirt and gravel streets, with a rickety electrical grid held up by wooden poles. There were no flying drones, no parking meter robots, and certainly no Cyclops droids. Just a handful of decades-old cars and motorbikes hinted at a simpler, bygone era.

  Some locals, drawn by the low hum of the engines, peeked out to watch the black cars as if they were witnessing a rare spectacle. Others, seated on their porches beneath the shade of sagging thatched awnings, barely glanced their way. A group of children playing soccer paused to wave cheerfully at the passing vehicles.

  Adam noticed their stares and felt like an alien.

  Leaving the town behind, the two Black 20.18 approached a towering wall of wilderness. One after the other, the vehicles entered a narrow path lined with tall palm trees, pink trumpet trees, laurels, and araucarias. They drove nearly half a mile into the forest before emerging into a clearing hidden within the dense greenery.

  “This is our base of operations,” Halstein announced.

  To Vicky, the term ‘base of operations’ sounded exaggerated. She was used to the Markabian Army’s elaborate setups for even the simplest missions. This camp, though well-organized, was far from impressive.

  Four large canvas tents—once white but now stained by dirt and constant humidity—stood in a row. Nearby were three unmarked dark vans parked beside portable chemical toilets. An excavator and a backhoe, likely responsible for carving out the path they’d just traveled, loomed nearby. Two Cyclops androids in brown work jumpsuits stood motionless beside the heavy machinery, waiting for orders.

  Vicky counted about six people scattered across the site. They wore practical jungle exploration gear—shirts, shorts, caps, and boots suited for marshy terrain—and busied themselves collecting soil samples. These were placed in drones that then carried the containers to the tents, where others retrieved them for further analysis.

  Meanwhile, several men in gray suits stood guard at different points around the clearing, though the scene was so quiet it made their presence seem unnecessary.

  “I don’t see this Ita-Hu thing anywhere,” Adam commented.

  “We set up camp at a safe distance,” Halstein replied. “Kappa radiation might not be more harmful than UV rays, but when you go to the beach, you wear sunscreen—especially if you plan to stay out long, right?”

  The driver killed the engine, and Halstein stepped out of the vehicle.

  Adam and Vicky followed him, but as soon as they stepped out of the car, the tropical climate hit them with full force, accompanied by a barrage of wild sounds—from bird calls to the screeches of monkeys and other animals.

  The humidity, though… Damn. It was almost as tangible as the epiphytes clinging to the trees.

  The second off-road car parked beside them, but none of its passengers got out.

  Smart move, guys, Vicky thought. Enjoy the AC while you can.

  She and Adam pulled off their tracksuit jackets, leaving just their sports tees underneath—his white with a blue stripe, hers gold with a black stripe. They hadn’t been in that untamed world for more than a minute, and they were already starting to sweat.

  And then there was Halstein. Cool and unaffected, he stood there like the humidity didn’t even exist.

  Still dressed in his immaculate suit, with the jacket buttoned and his tie perfectly in place, the Division Chief endured the sweltering heat without a single bead of sweat on his face. How did he manage to look flawless in both an air-conditioned office and the middle of a tropical jungle with heat straight out of hell?

  From the main tent emerged a man who came to greet them with a peculiar, almost comedic lightness to his stride. He was a lanky, pale-skinned figure with bulging blue eyes, enduring the oppressive climate out of sheer dedication to his work.

  He was drenched in sweat and reeked like he hadn’t seen a shower in days. His sunburnt cheeks, hollow and red, were adorned with a patchy, whitish beard. Sweat stains radiated from his armpits across his shirt, forming dark rings that reached his scrawny chest. He clutched a notebook under one arm—a notebook Adam wouldn’t have touched for all the money in the world—and twirled a pen between his long, bony fingers.

  “That walking toothpick must be Gabor,” Adam muttered to Vicky.

  “Division Chief, what a pleasure to see you!” the man greeted Halstein with a firm handshake, then turned toward them.

  Adam dismissed his earlier assumption; this guy’s voice wasn’t nasally or forced.

  “I’m Dr. David Anderson from the geobiology department at the Satellite Agency,” the man introduced himself, then addressed Adam with a hint of nervousness. “So, you’re the volunteer helping us with the Ita-Hu.”

  Adam forced a polite smile. “Volunteer?” he said, resisting the urge to add, ‘My ass.’

  Vicky stepped forward. “Dr. Anderson, could you please give us our protective suits and tell us where the rock is so we can get this over with?”

  The scientist looked at her, puzzled. “We only have two suits,” he said. “And they’re reserved for Mr. White and me.” He let out a nervous laugh, glancing at Halstein as though hoping for clarification.

  Halstein remained silent.

  Anderson cleared his throat. “I am the lead scientist on this operation,” he said. “I need to accompany Mr. White to collect the sample. I hope you understand.”

  Adam watched them, his anxiety knotting his stomach again. He didn’t like the idea of going alone, regardless of what he was supposed to do.

  Vicky put her hands on her hips. With all this advanced tech and funding, they only had two protective suits? It sounded more like an excuse to leave her out of the operation, forcing Adam to go with Anderson. The Satellite Agency had a reputation as a serious institution—at least until now. While it was unlikely they had a sinister plan against Adam, still…

  “I’m going with you to collect the sample, suit or no suit,” she declared.

  Anderson shook his head, trying to remain as respectful as possible. Once again, he looked to Halstein, who stayed mute. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said then, carefully. “You must consider the contaminants in the Ita-Hu.”

  Adam raised a hand. “Halstein told us the Kappa radiation isn’t harmful.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Anderson rushed to clarify. “The suits aren’t for radiation—they’re for anything that might be inside the Ita-Hu. The rock’s exterior is harmless, but its interior could contain contaminants. We need to take precautions when Mr. White drills into it.”

  Vicky crossed her arms, refusing to back down. “Fine. In that case, Mr. White and I will collect the sample. You and your team can stay here. How hard can it be to chip off a piece of rock and stick it in a container?”

  Ignoring Anderson, Adam turned to Halstein. “I thought I made myself clear. My partner here is part of this operation. I’m not going anywhere without her.”

  For the third time, a sweaty David Anderson looked at the cool and composed Rune Halstein, practically begging him to overrule them.

  “Dr. Anderson,” Halstein finally said, “Miss Viveka will accompany Mr. White as his escort.”

  Both Adam and Vicky seemed satisfied.

  Anderson wiped the sweat from his sharp nose with a dusty hand and nodded, the motion resembling a woodpecker’s pecking. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, the oppressive heat and lack of sleep were wearing him down.

  “Fine, fine,” he said with a resigned sigh, then gestured toward his tent. “Follow me.”