CAT Chapter 15: Fly Towards The Infernal Lava

In the visible distance lay a deep crimson planet. A thin, yellowish atmospheric layer shrouded it, flowing gently like the outer flames of a fire.

Colors indeed evoke feelings. If Earth’s blue conjures up thoughts of gentleness and serenity, then this red planet would bring to mind ferocity and intensity.

A steady voice broadcasted over the ship’s intercom, calmly providing an overview of the planet, much like how Earth’s flights announced ground temperatures and wind speeds before landing.

“Target planet average pressure: 35.2 millibars. Average wind speed: 5.6 meters per second. Magnetic field strength: 80% of Earth’s magnetic field. Soil composition…”

Lucia’s voice occasionally interjected.

“Commencing deceleration.”

“Generating a three-dimensional terrain map.”

“Searching for the optimal hovering point.”

Through recent tests, Lucia’s capabilities had gained widespread recognition. She had fully replaced the semi-automated navigation system, taking over all operations of the Voyager.

“What element gives TKM-IV its red hue?”

Lin Yi propped his head against the window, reflecting on the chemical knowledge force-fed to him in recent days. “…Iron?”

Lin Si continued, “Which compound?”

Lin Yi furrowed his brow in frustration. His elbow slowly slid off the armrest, and he was about to topple over.

“Sit properly,” Lin Si said calmly.

Resigned, Lin Yi straightened up. Unable to deduce an answer, he blurted out the only compound he knew. “Iron oxide?”

Lin Si’s lips curved faintly. “Explain why.”

Pouting, Lin Yi climbed onto Lin Si’s lap, his slender, shapely legs flailing slightly. He wrapped his arms around Lins’ neck and muttered softly, “I don’t know…”

The small creature’s struggle might have felt like an assault to others, but against Lin Si, it was as harmless as a clawless kitten. Pressing Lin Yi down gently, Lin Si explained, “The red color is from hematite, which is primarily composed of iron oxide. While this planet’s soil is indeed rich in iron—25% to be precise—the formation of iron oxide also requires an oxidizer.”

He looked at Lin Yi. “Understand so far?”

Lin Yi nodded.

Lin Si continued, “Theoretically, there are two possibilities for TKM-IV’s abundant iron oxide. One, anaerobic organisms and two, ultraviolet radiation from the star breaks down water, allowing the hydrogen to escape due to low gravity, leaving behind oxygen. The first scenario suggests the planet harbors life and water, while the second indicates only water, with unstable stellar activity.”

“Which is better?” Lin Yi asked, gazing at the red planet just outside the window.

“The second,” Lin Si replied. “Mathematical and physical laws are universal across the cosmos,and chemistry is universal under specific conditions, which means we can predict any form of stellar activity. However, life structures are too complex. If this planet harbors life, it would inevitably bring infectious diseases. During the Age of Exploration, European colonizers brought viruses and bacteria that wiped out 70% of the Indigenous population in the Americas. That was just an ocean away. We’re separated from TKM-IV by a million light-years.”

Lin Si was usually reserved, but when explaining concepts, he spoke clearly and in detail, making his thoughts easy to follow.

Ling Yi leaned against Lin Si’s chest, staring blankly at the view outside.

Ahead lay the crimson planet. Behind them stretched the vast, dark, and cold starry sea. Among the billions of stars, few could harbor life, and those that did represented another layer of danger.

He was too young to fully articulate his feelings, but he understood how small the Voyager and its passengers were in the grand scale of the universe, and how any mishap could destroy them.

Lin Si observed Ling Yi and thought: A child his age, had he been born on peaceful Earth, should have been growing up carefree, surrounded by love, forming youthful friendships and romances. But fate hadn’t placed him in that time. Everyone wished they’d been born two centuries earlier, to live in the fairy-tale-like 20th, 21st, or 22nd century.

The journey of exploration was both solitary and perilous. Every day, the people aboard the ship lived with an uneasy apprehension about the future. Even though the crew was strictly regulated, a position for a psychologist was still allocated. Raising a child to grow up normally required even greater effort—not only to make him understand the harshness of reality but also to instill hope for the future.

Breaking the silence, Ling Yi finally murmured, “Lin Si, aren’t you afraid?”

“Everyone is afraid,” Lin Si admitted. “But civilization must continue. Someday, we hope to recreate the flourishing beauty of our homeland on another planet.” Taking Ling Yi’s hand, he added, “We all love our mother planet. That’s why, despite our fears, we remain full of hope.”

From the adjacent room, the faint strains of music filtered through: the second movement of Dvořák’s New World Symphony. This piece had once been adapted into a song titled Goin’ Home.¹

The chords were mournful and wistful, yet imbued with a gentle strength that resonated deeply.

Ling Yi, unsure if he fully understood, simply nestled closer into Lin Si’s embrace.

They had no idea when Bethy arrived or how long she’d been listening. Now, her high heels clicked as she approached, a smile playing on her lips. “What a heartfelt confession. I always say people don’t truly understand Lin—he may appear very aloof, but deep down, he’s a gentle person.”

She stirred the coffee in her cup, took a seat across from Lin Si, and shrugged. “But I’m not a fan. He always tries to cultivate lilies on asphalt roads¹, and I just can’t agree with that.”

“Bethy is a pessimist,” Lin Si commented. “She believes that within our lifetimes, we won’t see civilization thrive again. To her, living in the moment is the only thing that matters.”

“And what do you strive for?” Ling Yi tilted his head and asked Bethy.

“To finish my work, and then…” Bethy brushed her wavy blonde hair back over her shoulder, blinking her captivating green eyes. “To fulfill my desires, both culinary and sensual, to the greatest extent possible.”

“Bethy,” Lin Si’s tone carried a trace of disapproval, “you’ll lead the child astray.”

“Relax,” Bethy laughed. “There’s a little angel living inside LingLing. No matter what, he won’t be corrupted.”

After a bit of casual banter, Bethy got to the main point. “Lin, the 200 members of ‘Limitless’ are on the verge of developing psychological issues from being cooped up on the ship. They’ve been frantically submitting applications, and finally, we’ve received approval for a scouting mission to TKM-IV aboard the advanced vessel. Are you planning to take the little angel with you?”

Lin Si turned to Ling Yi. “Do you want to go?”

Ling Yi, deeply curious about land, nodded excitedly.

Bethy nodded back. “Alright, I’ll go fill out the paperwork now.”

The Frenchwoman departed with a graceful sway in her elegant frame, her steps poised and measured. It was as if she weren’t walking down the metallic silver corridors of a spacecraft but rather strolling through the tree-lined avenues of Fontainebleau.

Ling Yi, however, hadn’t yet learned to appreciate this kind of beauty. His thoughts were still on her earlier comments about Lin Si. He also believed that Lin Si was a good person—yet, in everyday life, he remained distant and reserved. That cryptic notebook about Lin Si’s past left him uneasy. And yet, Lin Si claimed to be one of those brimming with hope. It was a contradiction, like an unsolvable puzzle.

Ling Yi asked, “Do you love Earth a lot?”

Lin Si, “Mm.”

Ling Yi had no memories of Earth and, therefore, no emotional attachment. To make sense of the strong feelings people on the ship had for the planet, he compared them to his feelings for Lin Si.

If one day he had to leave Lin Si, he would surely feel completely adrift.

He nuzzled affectionately against Lin Si’s neck, his voice unusually earnest. “I love Lin Si very much too.”

Lin Si’s arm wrapped around Ling Yi’s waist, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of their clothes. Rising and falling with his breathing, it carried a peculiar sensation—a reminder that he was holding something small and vulnerable, entirely dependent on him, and growing day by day. It was like touching the essence of life itself.