Chapter 81

That experiment happened in the fall of 2110.

Although the Earth under the snowfield cover had long lost distinct seasons, people still followed the old calendar, hoping for the revival of all things during the awakening thunder, waiting for the scorching summer days, longing to see the golden leaves of late frost. As for winter, if spring would come, the nights of the winter solstice would not be so dark and endless.

That year, Horne was 30 years old, but his memories of it were very blurry. Amid nightmare-like pain, he seemed to hear Hels’s calls—so urgent, so grief-stricken. He couldn’t hold on and could only follow the black hole of his memories, diving headfirst into it again.

One week before the Aliens launched their invasion, Ben Yian was on duty at the Main Control Tower. Night shifts ended with him rushing straight to the laboratory, while Horne day and night devised plans in the Command Room—even working together with Bai Yin this time.

Three days before the invasion, early one morning, Woody took a call in the Command Room mentioning the experiment. Horne suddenly remembered the date Ganal had brought up a couple of days earlier—it was today.

The City Defense District had long been deployed. After handling the matters at hand, he hurried away too.

“My Hero Colonel.” Bai Yin always addressed Horne this way. Over the past ten years, it had evolved from “Hero Major” to “Hero Colonel.”

Horne had little private contact with this Air Force Zone colonel after growing up, so he never reacted to the teasing nickname. They only connected on Military District matters.

That day, Bai Yin blocked him outside the Command Room and asked in a low voice, “Are you going to the research institute?”

Horne remained outwardly impassive. “None of your business.”

Bai Yin immediately confirmed his guess. He said, “I’ve heard some news that’s not good for you. Someone hopes you won’t go.”

Horne paused for a moment. “Where did your news come from?”

Bai Yin toyed with his leather gloves, lowering his gaze. “You don’t need to worry about that. Wars aren’t always won on the frontal battlefield—they depend on intelligence and the hearts of the people.”

“So you’re blocking me to show off your intel?”

“No, I’m here to warn you: don’t go to the research institute.” Bai Yin glanced toward the Command Room, his eyes deep. “I’m curious. My father thinks so highly of you—will you jump off the chessboard yourself, or sacrifice yourself to win a game with no victor?”

Horne looked at him steadily, his tone icy. “I’m not a chess piece.”

Bai Yin nodded noncommittally. “But those who think they’re not might be the most important piece on the board.”

Horne didn’t respond further and turned to leave.

Bai Yin sighed behind him. “Alright, Hero Colonel. I’ll be watching you from the sky. After all, the view from above the chessboard is clearer than being in it.”

The research institute looked like it had standard security outside. They saw Horne but didn’t stop him.

Horne entered the research institute lobby and found Ganal guarding there, along with many familiar officials behind him. Ganal frowned upon seeing him and reminded in a low voice, “Colonel, this isn’t a place for you.”

Horne pointed at the laboratory door, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. He asked directly, “Have you really figured out that this is anti-humanity and anti-ethics?”

The lobby with over a dozen people fell silent. No one responded to Horne. They just stared at him blankly, those eyes like gazes from the abyss.

Ganal remained calm from start to finish. “Looks like I didn’t make it clear on the Terminal. Let me repeat: Colonel, I know you have your own ideas and views—even some reasons you think are reasonable and noble. But we consider far more than you do. You can’t even realize the gaps in your thinking. You think you’re on the moral high ground, but the world you see is just the walls before you and the snowfield beyond. We see the possibilities for humanity to continue for centuries, millennia. Who is truly anti-humanity? Do you really know?”

Horne had strongly expressed his stance early on, but he wouldn’t yield an inch to Ganal or these people.

“Are you sure evolution’s endpoint is still human? Once you cross that line with your own will, prepare to face a future even you won’t recognize!” Horne’s voice grew harsh, the ending trailing off through the lobby.

He didn’t know the sample’s specific details—only that the person was fully voluntary. But regardless, setting this precedent and bringing it into the open meant humanity’s path would never turn back.

The laboratory door opened, and a researcher came out. He nodded to Ganal, who replied “Got it,” then turned back to coldly regard Horne. “When a species faces extinction, survival itself is the highest ethic. You think it’s cruel because you won’t face reality’s cruelty.

“Human society was never built just on noble moral ideals—it’s generations of sacrifice. You see the sacrifice of this experiment right in front of you, but not the stable lives of millions in the future free from Alien threats. Sacrificing some individuals’ rights for the whole species’ survival—that’s true humanitarianism. Understand?”

“No!” Horne badly wanted to slap down the data copied from the gray building, but Ben Yian hadn’t sent it to him, and he couldn’t reveal his source. This wasn’t his solo action.

He could only say coldly, “Your so-called sacrificing the few for the many is just because of your position now—privileged class, safe, authoritative. You won’t be sacrificed. If you can’t tell those sacrificed that their lives matter as much as yours, you have no right to decide who gets sacrificed. Don’t they have the right to informed consent? The right to choose their own fate? The inalienable rights to freedom and interests?”

Ganal chuckled. “Rights? They don’t have the power to consider rights. Understand, Colonel? We’re planning humanity’s permanent future with all we have, while you only think we’re blocking you for selfish desires, power, benefits. You can’t imagine more possibilities—that’s the narrowness of your mind, imposing your pettiness on us.”

“As for rights…” Ganal snorted a laugh. “Without our standard explanations, they couldn’t even define those two words independently. Do you think the people down below know what inalienable rights they have? Even if stripped, would they dare demand them back? If I provide an explanation, they’ll gradually, spontaneously, unitedly agree with and defend my decisions—abandoning their rights and seeing it as for the greater good. Understand?”

Ganal wanted to say more, but someone beside him spoke up—a man Horne didn’t recognize, dressed in research institute clothes, white hair streaked, perhaps a senior researcher here. “Hello, Colonel. The fusion’s possibility and safety are both very high. No need to worry.”

Horne nearly laughed in anger. “Is that what I asked about—safety?”

The researcher continued, “When researching the smallpox vaccine, ethics were violated too. Barnard’s first human heart transplant faced severe ethical controversy, but you know it succeeded.”

“Right, succeeded. The patient lived over ten more days, then died.” Horne stared at him, pressing step by step. “If you’re using history as basis, how do you explain the Mengele experiments? Lysenkoism? Stalin’s purges? The Adolf Eichmann trial?”

The researcher suddenly fell silent, his face paling.

Horne didn’t want to argue these points; he didn’t even know if he could shake them even slightly.

Ganal was about to speak when the laboratory door was pushed open again. The researcher who’d just come out hurried back. “Leader, the sample’s almost gone. That single Particle strand can’t sustain her lifespan—we must inject full Particles immediately.”

He asked solemnly, “Are we proceeding?”

The researcher beside him regained composure, relaxing. “Everything’s under control.”

A data monitor seated in the lobby chairs stared at his screen, then turned. “Based on prior experience, this fusion’s success rate is 99%.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to the data screen. Then, an official who’d been silently in the back spoke cautiously. “Even with AI checks, I feel the risk might be over 1%. Should we delay? And now…”

The researcher by Ganal curled his lip. “My judgment won’t be wrong.”

“Go ahead.” Ganal said. He turned, looking up at the small camera in the upper corner of the institute, saying in a voice no one else heard, “History will record this.”

“This kind of thing should be done by doctors!” Horne shouted sharply. His yell stunned the researcher at the door, who froze.

The Terminal comms connected, and an ambulance quickly arrived at the institute.

But the institute was filled with tension like gunpowder smoke. The ambulance crew got off but didn’t dare move, didn’t dare defy Ganal.

Ganal’s face grew darker, his icy aura intensifying. He spoke heavily. “Colonel, you’re always like a child—pontificating on views and developments you don’t understand, using your thin experience and limited environment to judge others’ foresight.

“Kids love this: something they don’t get feels strange, against their norms. They can’t tolerate it, can’t think from more angles or frameworks—just illogical criticism and venting, pretending it’s valid doubt. Heh, for someone like you, it probably is ‘valid,’ and you truly believe it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.

“But the world isn’t your little patch of land. Often, you don’t understand not because others are wrong, but because you’re too shallow. What you think doesn’t matter to the world.”

“Ganal, if you treat dialectics as a tool of power, you can’t prove your judgment is right!”

Just as Horne finished, the researcher shouted anxiously, “Sample’s vital signs are weakening!”

Horne’s expression changed. He faced the anxious medical staff waiting nearby—who each hesitated to act—and yelled tightly, “Get that person to the hospital!”

From start to finish, no medical staff dared move.

“You—you’re all crazy? Save her!” Horne said incredulously.

Ganal’s voice dragged incongruously, still answering Horne’s prior question. “I can’t prove I’m right, but I can prove you’re wrong.”

Officials, researchers, medical staff—all frantic beyond measure, yet no one acted. They wanted the experiment, Horne blocked for hospital transfer, and none dared defy orders. Tension hung like drawn swords, but Ganal on the side remained calm, as if waiting for something.

Horne didn’t know what he was waiting for—that serene, composed expression.

Without timely Particle injection or medical transfer, minutes later, the sample was declared dead.

Chaos erupted. Machine alarms blared, people shuttled back and forth anxiously with chaotic steps. The air carried a scorching, near-breaking burnt smell—clearly burnt, but bitter on Horne’s tongue.

He hadn’t meant to delay and cause the death, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so suddenly.

The sample lay on the bed under a gray sheet, a face pale without blood, grayish lips parted, hands clutching the sheet, knuckles blue-white revealing her final agony and struggle.

They wheeled her out. Horne glanced inadvertently and froze like falling into an ice cave.

It turned out Ganal had been waiting for Ben Yian.