Chapter 997: Return

Chapter 997: The Return

This would be an expedition spanning two hundred years of time, and their adversaries were souls as dead as themselves.

Time frozen at this moment, they were destined never to see the outcome of this expedition, nor would anyone remember the choice they made in their final second of lingering.

Yet even so, this expedition was not without meaning.

As Dr. Wu said, they could not change what had already happened.

But they could still decide what the descendants who lifted the coffin lid would see and discover in this dark, cold box.

That would determine what kind of future they themselves would face.

That was the meaning.

Facing their fated death, they made a choice utterly different from that of the Gemini—

And what they chose to leave behind was hope.

As for the future after that.

Someone else would see it for them.

…

Zhao Tianhe was a professional officer, with neither the gift of speech nor the eloquence to persuade.

He had thought he would need some time to convince his comrades to accept the truth and face death, but it turned out he had underestimated them.

When they learned they were already dead or close to death, their reactions were extraordinarily calm, even less agitated than when they had first heard that the Gemini had been sunk by their own side.

“So that’s how it is after all.”

“Haha… I never thought I’d already be dead.”

“But I didn’t expect the Gemini had already fired on us before we opened fire.”

“How to put it… maybe this is karma, haha.”

“There’s no such thing as karma coming first… but I do feel no guilt now, only relief that we really did go down together.”

In the lower deck bar, countless people had gathered for their last drink.

According to Dr. Wu, no matter how much they drank, even if they drank themselves to death here, when the timeline reset, everything would return to normal, leaving only the final memory.

“I still can’t accept it…”

Xiao Yong, arms crossed, stood at the bar’s entrance, shaking his head in disbelief at the people clinking glasses. A colleague hooked an arm around his shoulder, patting his arm with a laugh.

“Lighten up, buddy. You don’t want to take regrets down there, do you?”

Xiao Yong stared at him uncomprehendingly, even more baffled by the ease on his face.

“I have no regrets about my own death… but why don’t we upload our consciousness?”

The colleague shrugged.

“It’s too late. Didn’t you hear what the Fifth Division said? Those who didn’t hear the explosion are already dead—like you and me.”

Xiao Yong’s face still showed disbelief as he tried to argue.

“Aren’t there still 227 people left? That should be enough.”

Just then, a drunken Wu Xinghuan staggered over from the bar.

A bottle of whiskey dangled from his hand, his swaying gait just as before.

But unlike last time, he was no longer dejected or despondent.

He had discovered a new physics.

And witnessed its existence with his own eyes.

In that regard, he might even be luckier than the esteemed “Professor.”

He had no regrets left.

“Maybe so. We don’t even have to do it ourselves. Didn’t that kid say that the ‘Celestials’ two hundred years from now have already made copies of us using some technology… Even your good brother Luo Yi is on this starship hunting our kid—including you, and you, and even useless me.”

At that, Wu Xinghuan grinned, took a swig of the spicy-sweet liquor.

“So here’s the question… Do we really want to become another bunch of Celestials?”

“Or, since they’re already doing a fine job, do you honestly think you can do better? As a two-hundred-year-old relic?”

Xiao Yong stared at the grinning man, stunned, then lowered his head in deep thought. Suddenly he burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! Interesting!”

Though the thought of a universe filled with those little brats zipping around in spaceships, stuffing all kinds of crazy cybernetic implants into themselves, was still hard to swallow, from another angle it wasn’t such a bad thing.

The children of the future were braver and more adventurous than them, more confident and enterprising, with the ability to stand on their own.

What they needed three thousand people and ten departments to handle, the future kids could manage with just two.

Thinking that way, they really didn’t have to cling on.

As before, Xiao Yong snatched the bottle from Wu Xinghuan, ignoring the latter’s protests, and took a gulp.

But this time, he wiped his mouth with relish and stuffed the empty bottle back into Dr. Wu’s chest.

“Come on! Let’s drink our fill!”

He grinned, hooking an arm around the scholarly man’s shoulder, and gave his arm a firm slap.

“Drink till we drop!”

There was plenty of stock left in the bar.

If they wanted, they could drink here for a whole year, until they were satisfied and sober, before leaving.

But they didn’t do that.

The child from the future—the child of all of them—was lying on a treatment bed.

While they were indulging in drink, that child might be enduring the torment of darkness and helplessness.

The medical bay.

Standing beside the intensive care unit, Lin Youyou stared intently at the girl from two hundred years in the future lying on the bed.

Though she wanted to talk to her, it seemed she wouldn’t wake up.

“Will we… be like her?” a young nurse whispered beside her.

At the thought of imminent death, her pretty face bore a trace of regret and unease.

Lin Youyou said nothing. The medical director beside her nodded, his expression complicated.

“Probably… but luckily, it happens in an instant. If you don’t hear the explosion, you might not even feel any pain before it’s over.”

“Then I’m relieved…” the beauty-loving young girl suddenly smiled, joking, “At least I won’t see myself disfigured.”

“Death…” the attending doctor sighed, pressing a finger to his brow. “The Tenth Division and the others have work to do… Isn’t there anything we can do?”

They exchanged glances. Lin Youyou, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.

“There should be…”

Seeing everyone looking at her, Lin Youyou closed her eyes and pondered for a moment, then continued speaking.

"Is there any way to extend the shelf life of the hemostatic gel to 200 years?"

The doctors exchanged glances, and finally, a slightly older doctor raised his hand.

"I've heard that freezing can work... but thawing requires extreme caution to prevent crystal precipitation."

This was quite an obscure piece of knowledge.

After all, most stockpiles are disposed of and replaced long before their shelf life is halfway through.

He only knew this because he had happened to study a related topic during his doctoral research.

Lin Youyou's eyes lit up, and a smile spread across her face.

"Freezing preservation, is it? Are there more specific methods for thawing?"

The slightly older doctor spoke cautiously.

"I can teach you the procedure—it shouldn't be too difficult for you—but the problem is, even if you remember it, what's the point?"

"How could that be? As long as there's a way, it's fine. I'll record the operation steps... before I take my last breath."

As she spoke, Lin Youyou looked at the girl lying unconscious on the treatment bed.

She reached out tenderly and gently stroked the few remaining strands of hair on her forehead.

It must have been a beautiful face.

Even though the smooth skin was now rotting, she could still see through the pure soul buried beneath the radioactive dust.

"...You will survive."

"Your partner is a brave child... and his courage is no less than any of ours."

"I believe he will surely cure you, using the methods I leave behind."

...

The final banquet lasted three days, and the subsequent rehearsals continued for nearly half a month.

In this nonexistent time, everyone understood what they had to do.

Whether they were the dead.

Or the living.

Finally, the moment of parting arrived, and all the crew members tacitly returned to their respective positions.

Those were the positions they held when entering the hyperspace lane, and also the positions they were in when the neutron bomb exploded.

Except for the warriors of the three space combat teams.

Before returning to their positions, they still had one last thing to do.

That was to go back to the scene of the accident, place the hibernation pod—which did not exist in this time and space—back into the landing craft, and re-cover the overturned "box."

Two soldiers in powered armor carried the coffin-like hibernation pod through the quarantine zone.

Looking at the ship lying in the gymnasium, Xiao Yong grinned and said,

"Strange, isn't it..."

Luo Yi asked,

"What's strange?"

Xiao Yong replied with a smile,

"All of us here are already dead, yet we can still carry out missions with the 'living.'"

"By 'living,' do you mean me, or that child 200 years from now?"

"Both, I suppose."

Watching the teammates ahead, Luo Yi thought for a moment and gave an ambiguous answer.

"This is indeed a bizarre experience, but since it has happened, I think there must be a reason for it."

He was not a physicist, so it was hard for him to offer a reasonable explanation from a physical standpoint.

If he had to say why,

Perhaps it was because they all believed.

When faced with despair, they had all, without exception, planted seeds called hope.

That in itself was not something difficult to explain.

The two carried the hibernation pod into the room and placed it back into the twisted, deformed landing craft.

Then, they closed the hatch, left the room, and removed the quarantine zone outside... as if they had never been there.

After returning their equipment in the duty room, Xiao Yong took a deep breath, exchanged a military salute with Sergeant Luo Yi, and then strode out the door.

The moment he returned to his room and closed the door, everything would revert to its original starting point.

The stagnant time would continue to move forward.

Their bodies would decay in the radioactive dust, while their souls would journey to the battlefield 200 years later.

That would be a duel between ghosts and ghosts.

Waged through the hands of the living.

No matter the final outcome, they would not let their child face the ghost from the old era alone.

They would fight side by side.

On the bridge of the Orion-class missile cruiser, Zhao Tianhe, standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, adjusted his officer's cap and then fixed his gaze on the deep starry river ahead.

"I suddenly realized... the stars out there seem to have stopped moving long ago."

Although the stars seen in space do not flicker as frequently as those within the atmosphere, they are not entirely motionless; they alternate between red and blue light.

Especially when their relative distances change.

Gazing at the same brilliant star river, Wu Mengke smiled softly.

"I actually noticed this before, but only later understood—it's not that they have stopped, but that we have halted..."

Zhao Tianhe chuckled, squinting his eyes.

"It seems there are still many things hidden in this universe that we don't know..."

In the haze, his eyes seemed to see that frozen star river flicker once more.

And this time, it was different.

It was a radiance he had never seen before.

"It seems time is almost up."

"Colonel."

Hearing a voice beside him, he turned his head slightly, shifting his gaze away from the twinkling stars.

There stood his old friend of many years, his right hand raised to the brim of his cap.

Her expression possessed a solemnity and reverence never seen before.

“Thank you…”

“It has been an honor to serve alongside you.”

Beholding Wu Mengke’s grave countenance, and the individuals standing in solidarity with her, a gratified smile bloomed on Zhao Tianhe’s face as he raised his hand to return a military salute.

“The honor is entirely mine. Working beside all of you has been the greatest privilege of my life.”

“My deepest gratitude to everyone for years of sincere and faithful cooperation.”

“We shall meet in the cemetery.”

…

Within the silent, soundless cosmos, a brilliant yet unwitnessed light suddenly bloomed.

The very instant the missile cruiser Orion emerged from the hyperspace corridor, a raging plume of neutrons pierced through its seemingly indestructible armor, and the subsequent shockwave of the explosion rippled through the fractured steel, invading every single cabin.

It was exactly as Dr. Wu had foretold.

It transpired in a mere flash, unfolding so swiftly that there was absolutely no time to react; of the three thousand crew members, over twenty-seven hundred perished instantly, leaving only two hundred and twenty-seven souls alive.

Yet even those two hundred and twenty-seven survivors were, without exception, grievously wounded.

High-energy neutron radiation had obliterated the cellular structures of their internal organs and tissues, alongside the macromolecular proteins drifting between cells; fortunately, their cybernetic implants were only disrupted by the electromagnetic pulse, briefly snatching them back from the jaws of death.

Yet the crisis was far from over.

The detonating neutron bomb had not only decimated the crew of the Orion, but had also crippled the vessel itself.

Bereft of rescue, they possessed not the slightest chance of survival or self-preservation.

Death was merely a matter of time!

And simultaneously, the intelligent programming embedded within the landing craft began to execute.

Capitalizing on the chaos gripping the missile cruiser Orion, the landing craft's shipborne AI, following its preset directives, ruthlessly initiated a cyberwarfare assault to seize dominion over the cruiser.

Under normal circumstances, the information security engineers and artificial intelligence specialists of the Tenth Department would never have allowed it to succeed.

But now, the surviving engineers of the entire Tenth Department could be counted on a single hand, leaving them with virtually no chance of victory against a meticulously prepared cyber-invasion.

The intelligent virus originating from the Gemini would inevitably breach the Orion's firewalls, and by the time the survivors aboard the Orion regained their bearings, all would be far too late.

The intelligent program, carrying the collective will of the Gemini's entire crew, would usurp control of the starship, utilizing its servers to achieve a digital reincarnation before proceeding with the implementation of the directive known as the "Final War."

The entire conspiracy could be described as flawlessly seamless.

Indeed, from five light-years away, this bullet had already struck its mark!

Yet, the embers of civilization were not extinguished; instead, they flared with unprecedented brilliance.

In the power room of the lower deck, an engineer collapsed upon the floor dragged himself forward with difficulty, propping his weight on his elbows.

Blood seeped uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, mingling with thick clots upon the alloy flooring, tracing a harrowing streak as his clothes rubbed against the deck.

His legs had completely failed him; only his two cybernetic arms remained functional.

Even so, enduring the searing, agonizing pain that consumed his entire body, he crawled into the power room's control cabin.

The starship's fusion reactor lay just a single wall away from him, and the main power switch was right before his eyes.

Like a vengeful spirit crawling from the abyss, covered in blood, he summoned every ounce of his strength to prop up his upper body, extended his trembling right hand, thrust the blood-stained key into the keyhole, twisted it violently, and flipped open the protective cover of the safety switch.

The individual who authored the safety operations manual for the Aerospace Force starships likely never knew that Article 27, which he had so painstakingly drafted years ago, would unexpectedly save the lives of everyone on Earth today.

According to Article 27, prior to entering a hyperspace corridor, at least two electrical engineers must remain inside the reactor to verify the core's operational status and report to the First Department at all times.

And he was the sole survivor of that station, as well as one of the two hundred and twenty-seven remaining crew members!

The trigger was now firmly in his grasp, and he was about to fire the first shot of this desperate counteroffensive!

“My ship… you want it?”

He bared his teeth in a grin, coughing up a mouthful of blood, and then, marshaling all the strength left in his body, he slammed down the handle of the master switch.

With a faint hum, the previously stable reactor died instantly, and the entire power room was suddenly awash with a cascading sea of flashing red alarms.

Reactor shutdown.

The power facilities of the entire starship immediately switched to emergency circuits, entering an energy-saving mode.

Under energy-saving mode, the shipborne servers handling information services were the very first to be deactivated; soon, only the hardwired intercoms throughout the vessel would remain functional.

The bastards aboard the Gemini would likely never suspect in their wildest dreams that their old friend retained the simple trick of pulling the plug, for no matter how formidable a hacker might be, none could breach a server completely devoid of power.

Having accomplished this, the engineer let out a long breath of relief.

As his tightly wound nerves finally relaxed, the consciousness he had fought so hard to maintain began to blur into darkness.

But it mattered not.

His mission was complete.

The rest would depend on the remaining two hundred and twenty-six brothers, and their comrades-in-arms two centuries from now—

They had made a pact.

As the anti-gravity system lost power, he felt his body drift up from the floor, floating toward a corner of the room alongside a stray tablet and an office chair.

Watching the key drift away from his fingertips, an unyielding smile curled upon his blood-streaked face.

“You want it…”

“Then… come and take it… over my dead body!”