Chapter 125: Stop Arguing, You Two

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Five months later, the Federation Military Committee convened its highest council. This marked the second time in six months that the Federation’s military commissioners had gathered exclusively for Lu Yao. Unlike the previous meetings in cramped, antiquated secure briefing rooms, this time they met in the core council chamber of the military headquarters.

Alongside dozens of commissioners, the council included a number of scientific researchers who had helped draft the technical explanations for the proposed plans. Most participated via three-dimensional holograms. Five months after the void-structure experiments began, Lu Yao had not only set up experimental platforms near the Temporal Stream, but had also deployed teams across the galaxy to build testing sites. They had even applied the technique to a small-scale void.

A special participant was also present: the current Federation Fleet Supreme Commander, Zhou Yunchen. He sat at the center, beside Marshal Chen Qiu, his gaze fixed on a single figure in the crowd.

“So, Director Lu, you believe that void-structure strike technology can successfully close the Aelion Void, halting the continuous beast tide?” Chen Qiu, seated at the head of the table, lowered the technical plan in his hands and regarded Lu Yao with careful scrutiny.

Lu Yao’s hologram shimmered semi-transparently above the table. The void experiment zone was far from New Blue Star; signal transmission was imperfect, and his voice carried slight distortion. “Correct. Based on calculations from the 398-member experimental team, we are confident that the void strike technology—implemented via gravity decomposition—can close a void. The model before you demonstrates a void we successfully closed in the experiment.”

Chen Qiu studied the image. In the model, the universe appeared black, with a small white point spinning in space. A brilliant flash followed, and the white point disintegrated rapidly, dissolving to ash in accelerated playback.

He glanced down at the plan again, frowning. “But this is a very small void. You spent three months and enormous energy to close it. The Aelion Void is enormous.”

“Yes,” Lu Yao said, lifting his chin to meet Chen Qiu’s gaze, “according to the summary in the plan, we will need at least twelve years to close the Aelion Void.”

“Director Lu, that’s far too long,” Chen Qiu’s deep, aged voice carried a hint of emotion. “Your plan requires over 1.2 million units of new energy—that’s the three-year supply for all fleets. Even if we pre-allocate energy, it will be difficult for the military to ensure the fleet survives twelve years of shortages. Supreme Commander Zhou, you are familiar with front-line conditions—what do you think?”

Zhou Yunchen’s gaze shifted to Lu Yao. His tightly pressed lips slowly parted. “It depends on how we define ‘survive,’ and how we anticipate the future development of the beast tide. If the beasts continue to grow exponentially, in three years the Federation may lose more than 60% of its starships and personnel.”

Lu Yao’s eyes met Zhou Yunchen’s, expression calm and unreadable, as if he had anticipated Zhou Yunchen’s honest reply. “The maximum duration of the beast tide is thirty years. Using your calculations, Supreme Commander, thirty years from now the Federation would lose over 37.987% of its territory and at least 48% of its population.”

“Perhaps we should prioritize constructing containment walls, to buy enough preparation time for the void strike,” a committee member on Chen Qiu’s other side suggested.

With the war against the beasts raging and victories and losses alternating at the fleet level, human faith in fleet tactics had waned. Many turned to the “containment wall” theory, and representatives of this faction had risen in status, now seated beside the highest marshal.

“How much time and resources would you devote to building walls?” Lu Yao asked. “There’s no need to waste effort.”

“Enough—whether to build walls or not is not on today’s agenda. Stop arguing,” Chen Qiu intervened, turning to Zhou Yunchen. “Supreme Commander, if the Federation decides to implement the void-strike plan, are you willing to assume the associated risks? To act as a shield, supporting Director Lu with protection and resources?”

Chen Qiu’s phrasing stirred a subtle current in Zhou Yunchen’s deep eyes. By mentioning Lu Yao, he made the public decision intensely personal. Zhou Yunchen could make decisions for himself, but could not allow personal feelings to dictate actions that might cost 60% of the fleet its life.

Yet Chen Qiu was never impulsive. As Lu Yao had said, if the beast tide lasted more than ten years, the Federation would face unimaginable trauma. Lu Yao’s plan was a necessary, decisive measure. When Zhou Yunchen’s gaze met Lu Yao’s, his eyelashes trembled. He lowered his eyes and said, “I am willing, Marshal Chen. But first, I request a secure briefing.”

“Very well, everyone is present,” Chen Qiu said, eyebrows flicking. “Who do you want in attendance?”

“All committee members, plus Director Lu, who will be the main officer responsible for the void-strike plan. His input is essential,” Zhou Yunchen replied. “I wish to begin the secure briefing immediately. Once the details are resolved, the council can make its final decision.”

Chen Qiu nodded, noticing Zhou Yunchen’s unusual avoidance of Lu Yao’s gaze. He turned to Lu Yao: “Director Lu, what’s your opinion?”

“I agree to attend,” Lu Yao said.

“Good. Prepare the secure briefing room immediately.” Chen Qiu’s words closed the matter. The council exchanged glances, trying to read Zhou Yunchen and Lu Yao’s expressions—they could not. Lu Yao’s expression was just as unreadable. Half an hour later, the secure briefing room was ready.

This time, Lu Yao moved from the end of the long table to the right of Chen Qiu, practically taking the seat of Zhou Yunchen in the council. Zhou Yunchen remained at the far end, sitting upright. The narrow room’s dim lighting cast shadows across his brow, making his eyes nearly impossible to read.

Chen Qiu swept his gaze across the room. “Supreme Commander, now that everyone is here, what would you like to present?”

“First, I maintain my original opinion—twelve years is too long.” His words drew rustling clothing and shifting bodies in the previously silent room.

“Second, I want to ask Director Lu: what form will the void-strike device take? Will we need a massive planetary-scale weapons base, or can it be deployed aboard starships and charged in a single operation?”

Lu Yao looked at Zhou Yunchen calmly. “Our preliminary plan uses large unmanned starships to carry the strike device. Each charge is executed in one operation, targeting voids from a calculated distance. The attack will take eight years, and complete closure of the void requires twelve.”

Chen Qiu asked, “So we’ll need to protect the unmanned starship for twelve years?”

“In a sense. But once activated, the starship emits immense energy. The beasts will hardly approach. Coordinating with space-based anti-missile systems will suffice to prevent long-range attacks from the Aelion civilization.” He raised his eyes to Zhou Yunchen. “Supreme Commander, your thoughts?”

“Twelve years from now is too long,” Zhou Yunchen said. “If we had begun the plan twelve years ago, we might have saved everything.”

Lu Yao’s eyes tightened. A faint premonition froze him. Chen Qiu murmured, “Unfortunately, we did not foresee this day twelve years ago.”

Zhou Yunchen replied, “It may not be too late.”

Whish—

Lu Yao knocked over his water cup. Ice water splashed across the table and dripped down its edge. All eyes instinctively turned toward the source of the sound. “You continue. I’ll handle this myself.”

The secure briefing room lacked automated cleaning systems. Lu Yao rose and grabbed a cloth from the nearby counter to wipe up the water, then refilled his cup. With his back to everyone, he held his breath for a moment and closed his eyes tightly.

Zhou Yunchen continued, “When Director Lu reported the gravity decomposition experiments, he had set up a test platform in a marginal star region. The documents refer to a peculiar physical state there as the ‘Temporal Stream.’”

“Yes,” Chen Qiu said. “Director Lu once mentioned that this state might allow temporal traversal. We tried sending experimental objects through it—they were all shredded. The so-called time travel is only theoretically feasible on paper.”

“I’ve been inside it.”

“What did you say?” Chen Qiu seemed to be jolted awake by the words. Lu Yao set his refilled water cup down with a muted thud on the counter. When he had first reported the Temporal Stream, he had omitted Zhou Yunchen’s prior experience to avoid complications and scrutiny. But now…

“I’ve been inside,” Zhou Yunchen repeated, each word measured. “There are many Temporal Streams in the universe. I’ve entered more than once. Ten years ago, one sent me forward over a decade. After drifting in the universe for fifteen years, I returned to the original timeline through another Temporal Stream. That’s why I wonder—could we send the void-strike device back twelve years to deploy it?”

Chen Qiu barely had time to process the shock—or to question why Zhou Yunchen had never reported such a critical event—before the proposal drew his attention. “Director Lu, is this feasible?”

Lu Yao turned, standing at the counter. “It does sound extremely tempting and is logically plausible. But the issue is, Temporal Streams are uncontrollable. We cannot ensure that an operative sent through will accurately arrive twelve years ago, nor that they could locate another stream to return. Not everyone would be as lucky as Supreme Commander Zhou.”

“Then we control it,” Zhou Yunchen looked directly at Lu Yao. His eyes, usually hidden in shadow, now glinted with resolute determination in the overhead light. “Director Lu can control the gravity decomposition technology that shares origins with the Temporal Stream and manipulate voids. Surely, you could also regulate the Temporal Stream’s operation. We only need to send the weapon back.”

Lu Yao retorted, “Even if we go back twelve years, we cannot guarantee the unmanned starship’s AI or navigation systems will function correctly. A human would have to guide it, and we’d need a method to bring that person back. At present… nothing else can survive the Temporal Stream. Anything else would be shredded.”

“Then let me go.”

“Zhou Yunchen, do you think this is something you, as the Federation Commander, should do?” Lu Yao’s gaze locked onto him. Veins stood out on his hands; the cup in his grip seemed ready to crush under his fingers.

The other council members around the long table shifted uneasily. After all, the frontlines were in crisis, and occasional victories were owed largely to Zhou Yunchen’s strategic command. If he left… whether the Federation fleet could survive three years became an unanswerable question.

“From a purely rational perspective, no,” Zhou Yunchen said. “But the fact is, right now, I am the only one who can accomplish this mission.”

“The past cannot be changed. If the void-strike device had existed twelve years ago and succeeded, the beast tide would never have invaded the Federation,” Lu Yao said.

Zhou Yunchen responded, “Or maybe, tomorrow, the void could be closed, and the beast tide would recede. But if we do nothing, that day will never come.”

“You’re gambling with everything,” Lu Yao said.

“Enough,” Chen Qiu interrupted, pressing his palms to the table. “Stop arguing. More important than who goes is whether this proposal is technically achievable. Director Lu, can you arrange relevant tests and experiments quickly? If feasible, the void-strike plan can be officially scheduled.”

Lu Yao glanced at Chen Qiu, then at Zhou Yunchen. Finally, he said, “It’s possible.”

 

 

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