Return

This would be an expedition spanning two centuries of time and space, where the enemy was ghosts who had perished just like them. With their time frozen in this very instant, they were destined never to witness the expedition's outcome, and perhaps no one would even remember the choice they made in their final moments. Even so, this expedition was far from meaningless. Just as Dr. Wu had said, they could not change what had already transpired. Yet they could still decide what the descendants who pried open this coffin would see, what they would discover inside this dark, freezing box. And that would determine what kind of future those descendants would forge for themselves. That was the meaning. Facing a predetermined demise, they made a choice entirely different from that of the Gemini— What they chose to leave behind was hope. As for the future that came after... Someone would see it on their behalf. ... Zhao Tianhe was a career military officer, gifted neither with the eloquence for speeches nor the charisma to persuade men. He had assumed it would take some time to convince his comrades to accept reality and face death, but facts proved he had underestimated them. When told they were already dead or not far from it, their reaction was unusually calm—even less agitated than when they had learned their ship had preemptively sunk the Gemini. "So that's how it is after all that." "Haha... to think I'm already dead." "Who would've thought that before we even fired, the Gemini had already launched at us." "What can I say? Guess you could call it karma, haha." "Since when does karma strike first?... Still, I don't feel guilty anymore. I'm just glad we really took each other down." In the lower-deck bar, countless crew members had gathered for one last drink. According to Dr. Wu, no matter how much they drank, even if they drank themselves to death here, everything would reset to its original state the moment spacetime reset, leaving behind only their final memories. "I still can't accept this..." Folding his arms, Xiao Yong stood by the entrance of the bar, shaking his head uncomprehendingly as he watched the people clinking glasses. A colleague beside him hooked an arm over his shoulder, grinning as he patted his arm. "Lighten up, pal. Do you really want to drag your regrets down to the grave with you?" Xiao Yong stared at him, utterly bewildered, even more so by the easygoing acceptance on the man's face. "I don't have regrets about dying... but I want to know why we aren't uploading our consciousnesses?" The colleague shrugged. "It's already too late. Didn't you hear Division Five? Those who didn't hear the explosion are already dead—like you and me." The expression on Xiao Yong's face remained one of obstinate resistance as he argued, "Aren't there still 227 people left? Isn't that enough?" Right then, an intoxicated Wu Xinghuan swayed over from the bar counter. He held a bottle of whiskey in his hand, wobbling on his feet just as before. Yet unlike last time, he was no longer despondent or depressed. He had discovered new physics. And he had witnessed its existence with his own eyes. In that regard, he might very well be luckier than the esteemed "Professor." He had no regrets left. "Maybe. But we don't even need to do that ourselves. Didn't that kid say so? Two hundred years from now, the 'Celestials' have already used some technology to create duplicates of us—including you, and you guys... even useless old me. In fact, your good buddy 'Luo Yi' is right on this starship hunting down our children." Here, Wu Xinghuan grinned, taking a swig of the liquor, fiery yet sweet. "So that brings us to the question... Do we really want to become another batch of Celestials?" "Or rather, when they're already doing so well, are you really confident you can do better in their place? As an antique from two hundred years ago?" Staring at the smirking man, Xiao Yong froze, bowing his head in deep thought for a long while before suddenly bursting into hearty laughter. "Hahahaha! Fair point!" Granted, the thought of the future universe being crawling with brats zooming around in spaceships, slapping all kinds of bizarre cybernetics onto their bodies, was still hard to swallow, but looking at it from another angle, maybe that wasn't a bad thing. The kids of the future possessed more courage and adventurous spirit than them; they were more confident, more driven, and capable of holding their own. A challenge that required three thousand people and ten departments for them to face, the kids of the future handled with just two. Thinking about it that way, there really was no reason for them to linger. Just like before, Xiao Yong snatched the bottle from Wu Xinghuan's grasp, ignoring the other man's protest to take a deep gulp. The difference was, this time he wiped his mouth with satisfying relish and shoved the empty bottle back against Dr. Wu's chest. "Come on! Let's drink our fill!" Laughing, he slung an arm around the refined scholar's shoulder and gave his arm a hearty slap. "Drink until we drop!" The bar still held ample supplies. If they wished, they could stay here drinking for a whole year, leaving only when they had had their fill and sobered up. Yet they did not do so. That child from the future... the child of every single one of them was lying on the treatment bed. While they indulged in drinks, that child might be enduring the torment of darkness and helplessness. In the infirmary. Standing beside the intensive care unit, Lin Youyou gazed intently at the girl from two hundred years in the future lying on the bed. Though she desperately wanted to chat with her, it seemed the girl would not be waking up anytime soon. "Will we... end up like her?" a young nurse beside her whispered softly. The thought of dying soon brought a hint of regret and trepidation to that pretty face. Lin Youyou said nothing. The medical director beside them nodded, a conflicted expression on his face. "Most likely, yes... Fortunately, it happens in an instant. If you don't hear the blast, it ends before you even feel any pain." "Then I can rest easy..." The beauty-conscious young nurse managed a sudden smile and quipped playfully, "At least I won't have to see my face disfigured." "Death, huh..." The duty doctor nearby sighed, pressing his index finger to the bridge of his brow. "Speaking of which, Division Ten and the others all have work to do... Is there really nothing we can do?" The group exchanged glances. Lin Youyou, who had remained silent all this time, suddenly spoke up. "I think there might be..." Seeing everyone turn to look at her, Lin Youyou closed her eyes in thought for a moment before continuing, "Is there any way to extend the shelf life of hemostatic gel to two hundred years?" The doctors looked at one another until finally, an older physician raised his hand. "I've heard cryopreservation can work... but thawing it requires extreme care to prevent crystallization and precipitation." This was rather obscure knowledge. After all, the vast majority of medical inventory was disposed of and replaced with fresh stock before even half its shelf life expired. He only knew this because he happened to have researched the topic during his doctoral studies. Lin Youyou's eyes brightened, and a smile broke across her face. "Cryopreservation, is it? Are there specific procedures for thawing it?" The older doctor said cautiously, "I can teach you the procedure; it shouldn't be difficult for you. But the problem is, even if you memorize it, does it really matter?" "Of course it does. As long as there's a way. I will record the operational steps... before I take my last breath." As she spoke, Lin Youyou looked toward the unconscious girl on the treatment bed. With maternal tenderness, she reached out and gently brushed the few remaining strands of hair on her forehead. It must have been a lovely face. Even though the smooth skin had suffered necrosis, she could still perceive the pure soul buried beneath the fallout. "...You will live." "Your companion is a brave kid... and his courage matches any of ours." "I believe he will cure you—using the method I leave behind." ... The final feast lasted three days, and the rehearsals that followed went on for nearly half a month. During this stretch of nonexistent time, everyone became clear on what they needed to do. Both those who had died. And those who were still alive. Finally, the moment of departure arrived. With unspoken harmony, every crew member returned to their respective posts. Those were the posts they occupied upon entering the hyperspace lane, and also where they stood when the neutron warhead detonated. Except for the soldiers of Division Three's space combat team. Before returning to their stations, they had one final task to complete. They had to return to the accident site, place the hibernation pod that did not belong to this spacetime back into the lander, and reseal the overturned "box." Two soldiers clad in power armor carried the coffin-like hibernation pod across the cordon. Looking at the spacecraft lying inside the gymnasium, Xiao Yong grinned. "Come to think of it, this really is bizarre..." Luo Yi asked, "What is?" Xiao Yong replied with a chuckle, "All of us are already dead, yet here we are on a mission with the 'living.'" "By 'living,' do you mean me, or that kid from two hundred years in the future?" "Both, I suppose." Watching his comrade walking ahead, Luo Yi thought it over and gave an ambiguous reply. "It really is a bizarre experience, but I suppose since it happened, there must be a reason for it." He was no physicist; explaining it through the lens of physics was beyond him. If he had to name a reason... Perhaps it was simply because they all believed. When staring down the abyss of despair, they had all coincidentally sown the seeds called hope. That in itself wasn't difficult to explain. The two carried the hibernation pod into the compartment and placed it back into the mangled, warped lander. Then, they closed the hatch, vacated the room, and removed the cordon outside... as though they had never set foot there. Turning in their gear at the duty room, Xiao Yong took a deep breath. He and Sergeant Luo Yi exchanged salutes, after which he strode boldly out the door. From the moment he returned to his quarters and shut the door, everything would reset to the very beginning. Frozen time would resume its forward march. Their physical bodies would decay amid radioactive fallout, while their souls would march onto the battlefield two centuries later. It would be a duel between ghosts and ghosts. Waged through the hands of the living. No matter the final outcome, they would not leave their children to face the ghosts of the old era alone. They would fight side by side. On the bridge of the missile cruiser Orion, Zhao Tianhe stood before the floor-to-ceiling viewport, adjusting his officer's cap before turning his gaze toward the profound star river ahead. "I just realized... the stars out there seem to have stopped a long time ago." Although the stars visible in deep space did not flicker rapidly like they did within an atmosphere, they were not completely motionless either; they would shift between red and blue hues, especially when relative distances changed. Gazing at the same splendid galaxy, Wu Mengke smiled gently. "Actually, I noticed it earlier. Only later did I realize—they didn't stop. We did..." Zhao Tianhe smiled, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It seems this universe still holds many things we don't understand..." Faintly, his eyes seemed to catch the frozen starfield flickering once more. And unlike before... It was a brilliant radiance he had never seen. "Looks like our time is almost up." "Colonel." Hearing the voice beside him, he turned his head slightly, tearing his gaze away from the shining stars. His longtime friend and colleague of many years was raising her right hand to the brim of her cap. Her expression was more solemn and dignified than ever before. "Thank you..." "It has been an honor serving with you." Looking at Wu Mengke's solemn expression, and at the crew members standing beside her, a gratified smile appeared on Zhao Tianhe's face. He raised his hand and returned the salute. "The honor is mine. Serving alongside all of you has been the greatest honor of my life." "Thank you all for years of sincere dedication and teamwork." "I'll see you in the cemetery." ... In the silent void of space, a brilliant flash of light bloomed, unseen by anyone. The instant the missile cruiser Orion exited the hyperspace channel, a raging plume of neutrons pierced through the impenetrable armor, and the shockwaves of the explosion rippled through every compartment along the splintering steel. Just as Dr. Wu had said. It happened in a fraction of an instant—so fast that there was no time to react. Out of three thousand crew members, more than 2,700 died on the spot, leaving only 227 survivors. And even those 227 were gravely wounded without exception. High-energy neutron radiation shattered cellular structures across their organs and tissues, tearing through the macroproteins floating between cells. Fortunately, their bionic prosthetics were only affected by the electromagnetic pulse, briefly snatching them back from the jaws of death. Yet the crisis was far from over. The detonating neutron warhead had not only struck down the Orion's crew; it had heavily damaged the Orion itself. Without rescue, they had no possibility of survival or self-rescue whatsoever. Death was merely a matter of time! At the exact same moment, the AI program aboard the lander sprang to life. Taking advantage of the chaos aboard the missile cruiser Orion, the lander's shipboard AI mercilessly launched an electronic warfare assault according to its preprogrammed routine, vying for control of the Orion. Under normal circumstances, Division Ten's information security engineers and artificial intelligence specialists would never have let it succeed. Now, however, the surviving engineers of Division Ten could be counted on one hand. Facing a premeditated electronic intrusion, their chances of victory were practically nonexistent. The smart virus from the Gemini would effortlessly breach the Orion's firewalls, and by the time the survivors aboard the Orion regained their bearings, everything would already be too late. The AI program carrying the will of the entire crew of the missile cruiser Gemini would seize control of the entire starship, using the latter's shipboard servers to achieve a resurrection in another's shell before resuming the plan known as the "Final Battle." The plan could be described as flawless. Even from five light-years away, this bullet had struck its mark! Yet the spark of civilization was not snuffed out here; instead, it blazed with unprecedented radiance. In the lower-deck power room, an engineer slumped on the deck, using his elbows to drag himself forward across the floor with agonizing difficulty. Blood poured uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, mingling into viscous clots across the alloy deck plates, smeared into a horrifying trail by the clothes at his chest. His legs were already paralyzed; the only limbs that could move were his two bionic arms. Even so, he endured the burning agony wracking his entire body, crawling into the control booth of the power room. The starship's fusion reactor was separated from him by just a single wall, and the power switch was right before his eyes. Like a vengeful specter clawing its way out of the abyss, drenched in blood, he summoned every ounce of strength in his body to prop up his torso. He reached out with a trembling right hand, slid the blood-stained key into the keyhole, and twisted hard, flipping open the protective cover over the safety breaker. The person who drafted the Aerospace Force starship operational safety manual probably never imagined that Article 27, penned after painstaking deliberation all those years ago, would unexpectedly save the lives of everyone on Earth today. According to Article 27, before entering a hyperspace lane, at least two electrical engineers had to remain inside the reactor compartment to monitor core operations and report to Division One at all times. And he was the one who had survived—one of the 227 survivors! The trigger was now in his hands, and he would fire the opening shot of this desperate counterattack! "My starship... you want it?" He grinned, coughing up a mouthful of blood, then gathered all his strength and slammed down the lever of the breaker switch. With a low hum, the steadily humming reactor went dark in an instant. Red alarm lights immediately strobed across the entire power room. Reactor shutdown. The starship's power grid instantly switched to auxiliary circuits and entered energy-saving mode. In energy-saving mode, the shipboard servers providing information services were the very first systems to be shut down. Soon, only hardwired intercoms across the entire starship would remain operational. The folks aboard the Gemini probably never dreamed in a million years that their old friend would pull the plug. After all, no hacker, no matter how brilliant, could breach a server stripped of power. Having done this, the engineer let out a long breath. As his taut nerves finally relaxed, the consciousness he had barely managed to keep tethered began to fade into a haze. It didn't matter anymore. His mission was complete. What came next was up to the remaining 226 brothers—and their comrades two centuries in the future. They had made a promise. With the artificial gravity system losing power, he felt his body lift from the deck, floating toward a corner of the room alongside floating datapads and office chairs. Watching the key drift away from his fingertips, an unyielding smile touched his blood-streaked face. "You want it..." "Then... come take it... over my dead body!"