The coffee shop three blocks from OrionX headquarters had become Valeria Cortez's unofficial newsroom, a neutral space where she could spread out notebooks, record interviews, and piece together the complex story that was emerging from her investigation into the Saturn mission. At 2:30 PM on a Thursday, she sat at her usual corner table, reviewing transcripts and trying to identify the threads that would weave together into the kind of narrative that could define a career.
Her investigation had started as a straightforward profile of Dr. Eli Drake, the reluctant genius behind America's most ambitious space mission. But three weeks of research had revealed layers of complexity that suggested a much more significant story: corporate sabotage, federal security investigations, hidden medical conditions, and personal relationships that intersected with national security interests in ways that her editors would find irresistible.
The problem was verification. Valeria had sources who hinted at problems within OrionX, but none of them were willing to go on record with specific accusations. She had documents that suggested security breaches, but nothing concrete enough to support the kind of explosive reporting that could win awards or destroy careers.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number. Valeria hesitated, then answered with the professional caution of someone who dealt with sources who preferred anonymity.
"This is Valeria."
"Ms. Cortez?" The voice was male, nervous, and carefully modulated in a way that suggested the caller was trying to disguise his natural speaking patterns. "I have information about the OrionX mission that you should know about."
"What kind of information?"
"The kind that could save lives. Or end careers, depending on how you choose to use it." The caller paused, and Valeria could hear background noise that sounded like traffic. "Can we meet? Somewhere private?"
Valeria's pulse quickened. Anonymous sources were either goldmines or time-wasters, and she'd learned to quickly distinguish between the two. This caller sounded nervous enough to be legitimate, informed enough to be valuable.
"What's your name?"
"Call me Mercury. And before you ask—no, that's not my real name, but it's what you can call me if you want this information."
"Mercury" was obviously a reference to the messenger god, which suggested someone with a sense of either drama or mythology. Possibly both.
"Where do you want to meet?" Valeria asked.
"Griffith Observatory. Tonight at eight PM. Park at the lower lot and walk up the east trail. Come alone, and bring a recorder."
The line went dead before Valeria could ask follow-up questions. She stared at her phone, trying to decide whether she'd just been contacted by a legitimate source or by someone with too much time and too vivid an imagination.
But the specificity of the meeting location and the caller's apparent knowledge of her work suggested someone who had real information to share. Griffith Observatory was public enough to be safe, isolated enough for private conversation, and dramatic enough to appeal to someone who chose "Mercury" as a code name.
Valeria spent the rest of the afternoon researching everything she could find about OrionX's security protocols, personnel reviews, and recent changes in mission leadership. By the time she left for the observatory, she'd compiled a list of questions that would test whether her source actually had inside knowledge or was simply an elaborate hoax.
The drive to Griffith Observatory took forty-five minutes through Los Angeles traffic that moved with the sluggish persistence of a bureaucratic approval process. Valeria arrived early, parking in the lower lot as instructed and taking the east trail up the hillside while the sun set behind the city skyline.
At exactly 8:00 PM, a figure emerged from the shadows near the observatory's eastern entrance. Male, average height, wearing dark clothes and a baseball cap that obscured his facial features. He approached with the careful gait of someone who had rehearsed this meeting multiple times.
"Ms. Cortez?"
"That's me. Mercury, I presume?"
The man nodded, gesturing toward a bench that offered privacy and a view of the city lights beginning to twinkle in the gathering darkness. "Thank you for coming."
As they sat down, Valeria got her first clear look at her source. Mid-thirties, pale complexion, the kind of intense eyes that suggested either genuine expertise or carefully constructed delusion. Something about his appearance felt familiar, though she couldn't place where she might have seen him before.
"You said you had information about the OrionX mission," Valeria began, activating the voice recorder on her phone. "What kind of information?"
"The kind that could prevent a repeat of the Meridian disaster," Mercury replied. "Are you familiar with what happened to the Meridian mission six years ago?"
Valeria nodded. The Meridian disaster was OrionX's defining tragedy—a deep space mission that had ended in catastrophic equipment failure, killing three astronauts and nearly bankrupting the company. It was public record, extensively investigated, and thoroughly documented.
"I'm familiar with the official reports," she said carefully.
"The official reports are incomplete." Mercury's voice carried absolute conviction. "The Meridian mission had a fourth crew member who survived the disaster. Someone who wasn't supposed to be on the mission manifest. Someone who was evacuated before the navigation failure triggered the self-destruct sequence."
The claim hit Valeria like a revelation. If Mercury was telling the truth, it meant that OrionX had covered up survivor testimony for six years, possibly to avoid legal liability or insurance complications.
"Do you have evidence to support that claim?"
Mercury reached into his jacket and produced a tablet, its screen showing what appeared to be mission logs and crew manifests. "Navigation data from the Meridian mission, archived in OrionX's secure servers. And navigation data from the current Saturn probe, showing that they're using modified versions of the same algorithms that failed six years ago."
Valeria studied the data, though much of it was too technical for her to evaluate independently. But the similarities between the two sets of code were striking enough to be convincing to someone without a background in aerospace engineering.
"Why are you bringing this to me?" she asked.
"Because the official channels are controlled by people who covered up the Meridian disaster in the first place." Mercury's voice took on a desperate edge. "I've tried approaching the current engineering team, but they're too focused on mission success to listen to warnings about the technology they're using."
"And you think media coverage will force them to address the problem?"
"I think public pressure is the only thing that will prevent them from making the same mistake twice."
Valeria made notes while Mercury continued his explanation, describing technical details about navigation systems, corporate cover-ups, and the intersection of private space exploration with federal oversight. His knowledge was extensive and specific, suggesting someone with direct experience in aerospace engineering.
"What's your connection to OrionX?" she asked.
Mercury hesitated, clearly weighing how much personal information to reveal. "Let's just say I have reasons to want this mission to succeed safely."
"Are you currently employed by the company?"
"That's not important. What's important is that you have enough information to ask the right questions of the right people." Mercury stood, preparing to leave. "The Saturn probe launches in thirty days. If the navigation systems fail the way they did on the Meridian, it won't just be billions of dollars lost. It could be human lives."
As Mercury disappeared back into the shadows around the observatory, Valeria remained on the bench, reviewing her notes and trying to process the magnitude of what she'd been told. If her source was credible, she was sitting on a story that could expose corporate negligence, prevent a potential disaster, and establish her reputation as an investigative journalist.
If her source was delusional or manipulative, she was about to destroy her credibility by reporting unsubstantiated conspiracy theories about one of America's most prominent space exploration companies.
Either way, she had thirty days to verify the information and decide whether to publish a story that could change the course of human space exploration—or end her career in spectacular fashion.