Trading a Small Boat for a Big Ship

The submersible from Shelter 70 possessed strong stealth capabilities, yet it was not entirely invisible after all. Just as Muda had anticipated, once the Southern Archipelago Federation Navy destroyer arrived, it swiftly locked onto the submerged craft and hauled it up from beneath the waves. Yet what Muda had not expected was that there was not a single person inside. Every sign indicated that the two pilots had abandoned the submersible after its propulsion system failed. By all logic, they could not have gone far. The Federation destroyer immediately deployed a combat diver unit into the deep sea to conduct a search. To everyone's bewilderment, however, an entire hour of combing the waters yielded nothing at all. It was as if the two pilots had dissolved into the seawater, vanishing completely from the area... "There are a few things I need to clear up with you." On the destroyer's deck, an officer walked up to Muda, pulled out a voice recorder, and switched it on right before his eyes. He tapped a forefinger on the table set between them. "Routine business. Please cooperate." "Understood. Ask away." Muda nodded, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The officer also drew out a chair and sat across from him. At the same time, he pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket, flipped it open, glanced at a page, and began. "First, I want to know: this sector isn't your patrol zone. Why were you out here?" Having already prepared his story, Muda replied calmly without the slightest hesitation. "I was on duty at the time. While sweeping my patrol sector, I picked up an abnormal sonar contact and tracked it into this area. The fellows on duty in the adjacent waters can corroborate that—I requested clearance from them and reported the situation before crossing over." "We looked into that, and it checks out with what you've said... Still, there are a few suspicious points." The officer fixed him with a sharp, scanning gaze and continued meticulously. "When we pulled the comm logs, we noticed that an allied vessel on duty nearby offered you reinforcements over the radio. Why did you refuse?" Muda gave away nothing under that probing glare. He merely shrugged with casual nonchalance, speaking as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Does that even need asking? We weren't sure what it was. What if it was just a piece of trash carried in by the ocean current? If it were you, would you call for backup before figuring out the situation?" That explanation was hard to dispute. No one wanted to become the laughingstock of their comrades over a piece of floating trash. Finding no fault with the answer, the officer nodded and continued. "So you dropped two one-hundred-kilogram depth charges just to verify it?" "That's right." "How lavish... Why didn't you report the situation to nearby friendly ships before opening fire?" Muda sighed and said with forced patience, "The enemy was right under our noses. If it were you, would you shoot first or file a report first? Could you please stop asking such absurd questions? If you suspect me of something, just come out and say what it is." "No, no, no, I didn't mean that, Lieutenant Muda. We don't suspect you. As you know, this is just routine procedure." The officer waved his hands placatingly, smiling to lighten the mood. "Then one final question... So at that time, you had already confirmed that the submersible belonged to Shelter 70?" Muda stared at him intently, his expression deadpan and serious. "I didn't need to confirm it. At that hour, in that place, it appeared in our patrol zone without authorization and refused our communication requests. So we dropped charges until it came to a complete halt... Fortunately, luck was on our side, and it only took two bombs to dead-stick them. A pity your people arrived a step too late and let the crew get away." The officer opposite him nodded, then suddenly remarked, "Do you know why they stopped?" "Don't know, don't care." Muda looked at him impassively, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone. "Besides, didn't you say that was the last question?" "Of course... I've finished the official questions. That last one was just personal curiosity." The officer put away the voice recorder and the notebook, rose from the table with a smile, and extended his right hand. "Thank you for your cooperation." Muda stood up as well, shook the offered hand briefly, and released it. "You're welcome. Did my answers pass?" "Pass? You misunderstand, Mr. Muda. We weren't suspecting you of anything. As I said at the start, this is just routine..." Slipping the recorder into his pocket, the officer tapped his notebook and smiled faintly. "If anything new turns up, I'll be in touch." Muda gave a nod. "Remember to bring my medal next time." The officer laughed aloud and clapped him on the shoulder. "Naturally! And congratulations—this is worth at least a Second-Class Merit!" With that, the officer turned and departed. Watching the man's retreating back, Muda clicked his tongue with a hint of regret. *Only a Second-Class.* Then again— Military merits hardly mattered anymore. His only wish was that history would not nail him to a pillar of shame. Since he could not be sure who the mole was, or how high the infiltration had reached within the Federation authorities, he had ultimately chosen to conceal part of the truth and hold back several critical details. Including the radio exchanges with the submersible. Including the spherical probe currently slung in a fishing net beneath the bottom of his speedboat. He did not know if he had made the right choice. He could only hope his future self would not come to regret today's decision... At that same moment, on the destroyer's flight deck, a pitch-black helicopter touched down gently on the spacious landing pad. Flanked by two bodyguards clad in exoskeletons, Zhalas—Chief of Staff to the President and Chief of Staff of the Navy—stepped down from the helicopter. With a grave expression, he walked toward the destroyer's captain, who was hurrying forward to greet him. "Mr. Zhalas? What wind blew you all the way out here?" Spotting the president's closest confidant, the captain extended his right hand from well down the deck, approaching with a broad smile. "What other wind could it be? After an incident of this scale, why wasn't I informed immediately!" Seeing Zhalas's displeased scowl, the captain awkwardly withdrew his hand and tried to explain. "It's only a scientific research submersible. Although we found signs of modification on it, the work was rather crude. Nothing of serious concern." In his view, the chief of staff was making a mountain out of a molehill. It was merely a craft from Shelter 70, not an attack submarine. There was no need to panic. Not to mention that the waters where it appeared held no strategic installations—only the wreckage of an ocean current power station. There was even less reason to cause an uproar. Zhalas narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at the captain standing before him. "Just a submersible?" The captain froze for a second, looking back in bewilderment, and nodded. "Of course. The craft has already been retrieved. Our men are preparing to cut it open... Would you like to inspect it on site?" "Lead the way." A flicker of emotion passed through Zhalas's eyes. He nodded, then followed the captain past the helipad toward the destroyer's stern. There, a drum-shaped submersible hung from cables, hoisted up onto the deck. Several sailors in exoskeletons, equipped with cutting torches and various tools, were preparing to dismantle the machine. Noticing the chief of staff's contemplative expression, the captain standing beside him couldn't help asking out of curiosity, "What was a Shelter 70 submersible doing out here?" Zhalas did not look at him, answering offhandedly, "Who knows... Perhaps to cover up criminal evidence, or perhaps to retrieve something left behind." "That's a bit strange," the captain said thoughtfully, eyeing the submersible. "If they intended to destroy evidence... why make such a grand show of wrecking it in the first place? What good does covering it up do now? Nobody would believe them anyway." Logically speaking, it made little sense. Even stranger was the corpse of a giant sea monster they had discovered near the submersible. Its shape was weirder than any mutant species they had ever encountered, resembling an overgrown starfish, yet sprouting more tentacles than an octopus. Based on the scratches across the submersible's hull, they had confirmed that the damage was inflicted by that very beast. By sheer coincidence, the depth charges dropped by the Federation patrol boat had actually saved the submersible pilots' lives. The bomb had missed the submersible itself, striking the pursuing sea monster dead-on. According to the statements from the patrol leader and the two sailors on the speedboat, they had no idea what kind of monstrosity their charges had struck. At present, the Federation Navy could not determine whether the monster had appeared in these waters by chance or had been lingering there due to some artificial influence. If it were the latter, the implications were deeply intriguing. It was common knowledge that because several damaged generators were still operating, mutants rarely prowled the ruins of the ocean current power station. To compel a mutant to remain in that area, only one possibility existed... A psychic interference device. Only such a device could achieve that. Yet to confirm it, they would need to salvage and dissect the mutant's carcass. Zhalas cast a faint glance at the captain, then turned his gaze back to the battered submersible. "You'd have to ask Shelter 70. Perhaps they thought they could win, only to realize halfway through that they had overestimated themselves, and now they want to clear their name by finding a convenient scapegoat. I don't care what motives our enemies had for attacking us; I only care about sending them to hell. And you, Captain, need only do your duty." The captain stared blankly at the chief of staff. Though he did not understand why the chief of staff had suddenly adopted such a stern tone, instinct told him that this official had no interest in pursuing the topic. He tactfully dropped the subject. "Very well. I just thought it was odd... Please pay it no mind." Zhalas gave the captain a meaningful look, said nothing more, and turned back toward the helicopter, leaving the officer thoroughly baffled. The two exoskeleton-clad bodyguards sat opposite him, not uttering a word. "Back to North Island." Tossing the instruction to the pilot, Zhalas leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes as though resting. No one knew that the moment his eyelids shut, his consciousness detached from his physical vessel and slipped into a milky-white expanse. An elderly man draped in a gray robe stood in the center of that spotless, pristine white realm. Holy light bathed his shoulders, and a gentle force blurred the contours of his facial features, granting him both an aloof, unapproachable majesty and an all-encompassing warmth. Facing this figure who never showed his true face, Zhalas bowed his head slightly, offering a display of hollow, counterfeit devotion. He was no ignorant wasteland scavenger; he had no belief in spiritual mumbo jumbo. Strictly speaking, he trusted no one and had only ever believed in himself. Yet he had to admit that the Torch possessed some truly remarkable things. Take this "Temple," for instance. Merely by closing his eyes, he could communicate with his allies in Haiya Province anytime, anywhere, obtaining vital intelligence and other support from them. More importantly, unlike the previous "Sanctuary," which only the deceased could enter, the Temple—as the Second Sanctuary—allowed one to attain eternity without discarding the mortal flesh. That meant that if he could obtain a Temple of his own, he could achieve divine immortality while remaining human! Before the authority of gods, the petty power of mortals paled into utter insignificance. More than anyone, he craved that authority, yearning to secure eternal power through an eternal existence. It was precisely for this reason that a man who had never held any faith had become the Church of the Torch's most devout follower in the Southern Sea, loyally and steadfastly supporting all of the church's grand designs in these waters. "Honored Forerunner... I have confirmed that it was merely a submersible from Shelter 70. Our vessels have intercepted it. You may rest easy." Having delivered his report, he fell silent, waiting quietly for the bishop to speak. Looking quietly at the man before him, who was barely a few years younger than himself, Arzu pondered for a long moment before speaking slowly. "The guardian is dead." Already informed by his subordinates, Zhalas replied respectfully, "You need not worry. We will dispose of its remains; no one will discover the secrets it carried." Arzu nodded slowly, then added, "Shelter 70 is beneath notice, but you must be wary of the Alliance. Those people are not easily dealt with. I have seen a fellow Forerunner fall at their hands... Unlike me, who clings to flesh and blood, that was a true Forerunner." An incorporeal Forerunner was fickle, yet he had to acknowledge that those who melted into the intangible were virtually impossible to destroy by physical means. He did not believe the Alliance had the power to shake his ideals; he was not a man of wavering convictions. Yet he had to admit those people were exceptionally troublesome, far harder to handle than even the Enterprise or the Academy. Unlike Arzu, who harbored deep wariness, Zhalas merely smiled faintly, unbothered. "Rest assured. I have been keeping a close watch on them. Those people chose to camp at the Baiyue Strait. Whatever schemes they harbor, their fate is all but sealed." "Let us hope so. A battle between us and them is inevitable sooner or later, but the later it comes, the better." Pausing, the gray-robed Arzu continued, "I need your men to keep searching for the pilots from that submersible... Regardless of whether they found anything, ensure they remain in the sea." Zhalas bowed his head once more and whispered his promise. "As you command." ... While the Federation Navy expanded its search radius to conduct a ten-nautical-mile dragnet, roughly a hundred nautical miles away from the ruins of the ocean current power station, in an unmonitored expanse of open water, a nuclear submarine nearly two hundred meters long was cruising quietly beneath the waves. Unlike twenty-first-century nuclear submarines that ran on steam turbines and old-fashioned reactors, the nuclear submarine Dolphin utilized second-generation controlled fusion technology, drawing on helium-3 and deuterium harvested from the ocean to fuel its cruising propulsion. Although by the close of the Era of Prosperity, second-generation fusion had been largely superseded by pure helium-3 systems with simpler energy architectures, two centuries later, this technology remained remarkably advanced—far superior to the synthetic-oil propulsion systems prevalent throughout the Southern Archipelago Federation's fleet. At this moment, neither Zhalas nor the hundred-plus sailors aboard the destroyer had any idea that their quarry had long since slipped away. And slipped away right under their very noses... Inside the decompression airlock of the submarine Dolphin. The pooling seawater gradually drained away. Immediately after, atomized cleansing agents sprayed from the walls on either side, followed by high-pressure air nozzles that blasted away every speck of algae and grime clinging to the deep-sea diving suits of the two visitors. Watching the indicator light overhead turn green, Sisi traded glances with Tail beside her. One after the other, they stepped through the opening hatch. The hatch opened onto a narrow corridor-like chamber under ten square meters. Through a long observation window on the left, an unexpectedly cavernous interior came into view. Suspended ladders and catwalks lined both sides of that vast space, while elongated cargo containers were stacked neatly in the center. From the vaulted ceiling hung cables and hooks linked to overhead rails. Several workers clad in coveralls were walking along the elevated walkways. A look of surprise crossed Sisi's face. She had never seen such a peculiar submarine. It completely shattered her preconceptions of submarines as cramped, claustrophobic vessels. Nearby, two men wearing exoskeletons stood on either side of the doorway at the end of the room, holding assault rifles of the same model used by the Federation Navy. However, the bulky upper-arm structures of their exoskeletons did not look like military issue; they bore more resemblance to the models worn by cargo loaders at the Ring Island port. Nor did the two men carry the demeanor of professional soldiers—they looked more like hired security guards. Between them stood a man in a blue jacket, possessing an air of dignity in both face and posture. Watching the two divers approach, the man gave a brief introduction and offered his right hand. "Welcome aboard the Dolphin. My name is Chen Jianhong, captain of this submarine." Tucking her removed helmet under her arm, Sisi gave her tousled hair a gentle shake, took the proffered hand, and shook it. "Sisi. Beside me is Tail. We're both residents of Shelter 404." "Oh! You can call me Ah Wei!" Having also taken off her helmet, Tail looked around in fascination, exclaiming in surprise, "Giao! I thought you guys didn't have any weapons... Who knew you had such an impressive monster!" Seeing the two distinct personalities before him, Captain Chen Jianhong was visibly taken aback, though only for an instant. "Are you referring to... this submarine? This isn't a weapon. It's just an ordinary cargo submarine." "A cargo submarine?!" Having never heard of such an odd concept, Tail's eyes widened in astonishment. "Wait, what... Why use a submarine to haul cargo? Isn't that a massive pain?" Chen Jianhong shrugged. "I used to think so too. Although this thing was originally built to facilitate logistics between undersea and surface settlements, building a vertical elevator would obviously have been far less trouble than hauling goods with a submarine. But now, I can only thank the original designers for their foresight. Otherwise, we and the five hundred-plus residents of Coral City aboard this vessel would already be dead on the ocean floor... That said, before questioning us, shouldn't you explain yourselves first?" Tail looked at him, puzzled. "Explain what?" "Huang Guangwei," the captain said, his gaze fixed on her before shifting to Sisi, his tone turning cold. "That was the name registered on the submersible's biometric logs. Yet you two were the ones aboard. I want to know where the original owner of that craft is, and... whether he's still alive?" The atmosphere stiffened instantly. Yet it lasted only a heartbeat. "Of course he's alive, and living quite well. If he weren't, we wouldn't be the ones out here suffering in his place." To prevent Tail from blurting out something reckless, Sisi quickly took over the conversation before her companion could speak. Looking at the captain, she continued, "He's currently in the Alliance, staying with your Shelter Administrator, Sun Yuechi." Upon hearing those words, Chen Jianhong froze once more. Within thirty seconds, disbelief washed across his face. "...In the Alliance? Wait! The Alliance?! Our Administrator is there too? But... how is that possible! Didn't he head for the Great Rift Valley?!" At that moment, he finally understood where that nagging sense of discord had come from when he heard Tail speak earlier. Up until the moment the entrance to Shelter 70 was blockaded by the Southern Archipelago Federation's warships, information regarding Administrator Sun Yuechi's whereabouts and the lockdown of the armory had been the shelter's most guarded secrets, known only to a select few! Yet these outsiders spoke as if they knew all about it! "His original destination was indeed the Great Rift Valley. But when he passed through Dawn City, he changed his mind and transferred his Administrator privileges to us..." Watching the dumbfounded Captain Chen and the equally startled guards beside him, Sisi spent a full half hour patiently explaining the entire story from beginning to end. She recounted how Sun Yuechi had arrived at Dawn City and practically forced his Administrator privileges onto their own Administrator. She also explained how Huang Guangwei had run aground on the northern shore of the Baiyue Strait, and how they had happened to find him and bring him back to Dawn City... After listening to her account, Chen Jianhong pinched the bridge of his nose with a forefinger. A storm of conflicting emotions welled up in his chest, leaving him speechless for a long time. He could not accept it. Their Administrator would rather place his hopes in a total stranger than trust someone he knew. What stung even more was that while they were playing cat-and-mouse with the Federation fleet, staking their lives every day in the deep ocean, that man had already begun a new life in Dawn City?! What kind of sick joke was this! "So... that bastard is living large over at your place right now?" Withdrawing his finger from his brow, his voice shook as he ground out the words. Not wanting to crush the dutiful captain's spirits, Sisi gave a slightly conflicted look, but she nodded honestly. "Yes... That includes Huang Guangwei, the owner of that submersible. Before boarding the airship to Dawn City, he handed the craft over to us to dispose of—" "Those bastards!" A furious curse cut her off mid-sentence. Chen Jianhong clenched his fists, unable to contain his boiling fury, his teeth grinding together. "We're down here enduring the torment of claustrophobia, dodging hunts by the Federation fleet, counting every scrap of rations just to survive! And the culprits responsible for this entire mess are up on dry land enjoying their lives! Doesn't that man feel even a shred of guilt!" What a joke! It was outrageously unfair! Sisi cleared her throat softly. "I think... your Administrator does feel some guilt. That's why he commissioned us to investigate the wreckage of the ocean current power station." Chen Jianhong retorted with bitter resentment, "What's the point of investigating that junk! Aside from the fools on the islands, everyone here knows full well it was the Torch's doing! If he had any spine left, he'd come back to take charge, or at the very least unlock the armory doors!" Looking at the man blinded by rage, Sisi didn't know how to console him and could only wear a helpless expression. Pulling an immediate one-eighty after a catastrophic blunder wasn't necessarily the best remedy; it might just trigger an even deadlier catastrophe. The war against the Church of the Torch required the support of the survivors across the Southern Sea. Watching the survivors tear each other apart served none of the Alliance's interests. What they needed to do right now was slam the brakes on this runaway train, not escalate the war even further. Because of that, she did not reveal to the captain that she currently held the key to the armory in her hands. The time to use it had not yet arrived... Just as Sisi was pondering their next move, Tail, who had been quiet beside her for quite a while, suddenly piped up. "Oh! Well, since your Administrator is already over at our place, why don't you guys just come over too!"