“Quick, see if you can find your family. We can get aboard the transport ship, but we can’t check what’s inside.”
The lobby manager led Chen Kuan, using their logistics staff ID cards to swipe through security and board the transport vessel.
The ship docked at Vitaria Station was called the Jingyuan. It was a Class-3 transport vessel with a cargo capacity of over a hundred million tons. It loomed like a silent steel behemoth, occupying one of the three berths.
Built on a pragmatic philosophy of space design, its overall shape was a massive cylinder, stretching several kilometers long, like a train car pulled to an infinite length. The hull was crisscrossed with reinforced steel beams and heat-dissipation grilles, resembling the ribs of some giant beast. The thick composite armor plating was covered in pitted dents from micrometeorite impacts.
Chen Kuan followed closely behind the lobby manager, every muscle in his body tensed.
The air carried a peculiar mix of smells: the faint sweetness of ozone, the heavy scent of lubricating oil, the crispness of recycled air, and a subtle hint of metal mixed with the faint, lived-in odor of human presence.
There were no windows around them. Instead, metal panels were everywhere, along with exposed pipelines and strips of soft white lighting. The steel floor beneath their feet hummed faintly—the life-support systems buried underneath, running steadily.
The lobby manager lowered his voice. “We only have one hour. The Jingyuan is almost done with its long-haul preparations.”
He glanced back at Chen Kuan.
The soft white light fell across Chen Kuan’s face, making him look especially pale.
Feeling a twinge of sympathy, the manager joked, “If all else fails, we can stow away on the Jingyuan and go to the First Star Ring. I’ve never been there myself—they say the stardust levels are extremely low, like some kind of paradise.”
Chen Kuan forced a stiff smile. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Ugh, the Jingyuan used to be a cargo ship for Starlight Life, then it got requisitioned by the Federation. No idea why it’s ended up in the hands of the Yanidam Cult now. But don’t worry—your family is most likely in the main cargo hold.”
The two picked a semi-worn electric cart in the docking area. With the transport vehicle, they quickly reached the main cargo bay. This was the largest and most vital part of the ship, taking up over eighty percent of its total volume.
They passed through a massive internal pressure door, and the view opened up dramatically before them.
It was a breathtaking steel canyon.
The cargo bay was tall enough to accommodate containers dozens of meters high, secured to high-level shelving with powerful electromagnetic clamps and nano-locks. They stretched out in neat rows, vanishing into the distance. The aisles between the racks were just wide enough for small engineering hover-vehicles to glide through.
To save energy and preserve the goods, the temperature here was lower, and the artificial gravity was at its weakest; crew members had to rely on magnetic boots to move around.
The lobby manager and Chen Kuan changed into magnetic boots and stepped inside.
Chen Kuan was utterly baffled. He asked again, just to be sure: “Is your information accurate? Are you certain it’s the Jingyuan? Why do I only see cargo and not a single person?”
The main cargo hold was eerily silent.
In the vast space, all they could hear was the metallic expansion and contraction from temperature changes—creaking and groaning—and the whisper of the circulation system. It felt extraordinarily empty and desolate.
The lobby manager frowned. His sources were definitely reliable.
So what was wrong? Where were the people?
An idea struck him. He opened the container to his left.
The iron door grated loudly, jarringly sharp in the silence.
When the door was cracked open just a sliver, the lobby manager’s pupils contracted sharply. His tongue seemed frozen; he couldn’t utter a single word.
“What’s wrong? What are they transporting?” Chen Kuan stepped around the manager and peered in.
The scene inside the container left him stunned and speechless. “Are these… are they real people or robots?”
Inside, row upon row of people stood neatly in orderly formation.
They were men and women, old and young—even children among them. Some were dressed in suits, others wore only a pair of shorts.
Everyone wore magnetic boots, their eyes tightly shut. Even when they heard the container being opened and the two men speaking, they showed no reaction whatsoever.
That identical, nearly-dead appearance of living humans sent chills down both their spines.
The lobby manager, usually well-composed, now had cold sweat beading on his forehead. Damp strands of hair clung to his skin. His fingers were clenched into tight fists, knuckles white from the strain.
His teeth ground together audibly. It was a long moment before he managed to squeeze out two words: “They’re alive.”
Chen Kuan’s eyes widened in shock. Alive?
How could living people end up like this?! And where were his own family members?
Chen Kuan went mad!
One after another, he threw open container doors, searching for his family.
But there were far too many containers—an hour was nowhere near enough.
His jaw set tight. “You go back first. I can handle this on my own.”
The lobby manager had image files of Chen Kuan’s family. He didn’t pause for even a second and, for once, actually swore: “What nonsense are you talking? You can’t handle a damn thing. Fine. Fate’s decided—I’m taking a trip to the First Star Ring.”
Chen Kuan’s throat felt stuffed with cotton, aching and swollen.
His voice hoarse, he said, “After we get off this ship, I’m joining the Star Sprout Party too.”
“Yeah.”
One hour was indeed far from enough.
By the time the Jingyuan had set sail and was almost out of the Fifth Star Ring, Chen Kuan finally found his family in Container F-10065.
They were treated a bit better—dedicated robots fed them nutrient solutions.
“Little sister! Mom! Dad!” Chen Kuan hugged each of them, calling loudly into their ears, but there was no response at all.
The lobby manager patted his shoulder and comforted him, “At least we found them. When we get where we’re going, we’ll figure out a way to get them out. There’s a Life Safety Center on Kyushu Star with top-notch medical care—I’ll take you there when the time comes.”
The two hid inside the container with the Chen family.
The manager handed a few tubes of nutrient fluid to Chen Kuan.
Chen Kuan was surprised. “Super-concentrated nutrition? Where’d you get these? Those aren’t easy to come by.”
The manager’s lips curved with a hint of pride and swagger. “Special-issue from the Star Sprout Party. Made by our top pharmacist, Lin Jingqiu. Quality you can trust.”
“Not bad!” Chen Kuan accepted them without hesitation.
After all, they’d be comrades soon enough—no need to stand on ceremony.
The two huddled in a corner, not asking about what lay ahead, talking instead about the Star Sprout Party and Lin Xiaobe. In such a bizarre situation, only conversations about Lin Xiaobe could soothe their anxious hearts.
During the journey, the main hatch of the Jingyuan never opened again.
Interstellar travel was just that tedious and long.
For a stretch of time, both their personal AIs malfunctioned—timing went haywire, systems went chaotic.
The lobby manager, being more knowledgeable, reassured him, “We’ve probably entered a dark zone.”
After that, they completely lost track of time.
When the hatch finally opened again, the two exchanged a glance, understanding that they had arrived at the First Star Ring!
Mechanical arms began lifting containers out one by one.
Above the container was an exhaust fan.
Golden sunlight streamed through the fan’s grille and into the container. Chen Kuan and the manager knew—they’d made it.
Chen Kuan climbed onto the shoulders of a tall man and peered out through the exhaust fan.
He took one look, and didn’t say a word.
This was the First Star Ring?!
