CAT Chapter 17: Fly Towards The Infernal Lava

Lin Si stared at the numbers and curves dancing on the screen.

In extreme environments like this, normal human physiological data would typically diminish to conserve energy as much as possible.

But not Ling Yi. His indicators fluctuated—some rising, some falling—before eventually stabilizing after a long while.

To the untrained eye, this might look like a chaotic malfunction of the body’s systems.

But Lin Si saw something entirely different. Ling Yi’s body was exploring, attempting to actively adapt to the environment. Certain Earth animals exhibit similar physiological capabilities—like felines, which optimize bodily functions with minimal energy expenditure.

The colonel had said something similar before. He’d noticed that exercise didn’t have the usual visible effects on Ling Yi.

A normal person would see changes in muscle strength and physique after a period of gym training. But Ling Yi? After two weeks of intensive workouts, his muscles remained lean and beautifully sculpted, with no visible change. Anyone unfamiliar with him would easily mistake him for a harmless young boy.

Lin Si compared this data with Ling Yi’s recent training records. He came to a conclusion. While Ling Yi’s muscle strength and neural reflexes were indeed exceptional, his body’s mutation wasn’t about enhancement. It was about optimization.

Subtle changes in the organization and structure of his tissues had directly improved his energy efficiency.

Consider thermonuclear weapons. Their energy conversion efficiency is 0.7%. With more advanced technology, increasing this by just 1% would result in an exponential increase in destructive power.

The same principle applied to the human body. With identical energy input, an enhanced human might achieve twice the output of an ordinary person. But Ling Yi? He could amplify it tenfold—or even more.

Lin Si shook off his thoughts and turned his focus to analyzing the more detailed planetary surface data sent by the landing team.

The planet was a typical desert world—canyons and craters scattered across its rocky surface, thin and scorching air, and constant sandstorms.

It resembled Mars, except this planet had slightly more gravity and a weak magnetic field. Even so, it wasn’t hospitable for human life.

The dry, iron-rich soil was unsuitable for agriculture. Onboard the ship, food came primarily from nutrient concentrates—produced by refining genetically modified crops grown in Zone 2. Supplies were scarce. If a base were to be established, and with the population boom expected from thawing cryogenic stasis pods, food shortages would soon become a critical issue.

And then there was the instability of the host star’s activity… “Internal and external crises” was hardly an exaggeration.

Lin Si reviewed the data, waiting for the team to finish collecting samples and deploying monitoring equipment on the planet’s surface.

Several hours later, the airlock hissed open, and Ling Yi came bounding in.

The sandstorm outside had kicked up a storm of dust, and Lin Si nearly choked on the particles swirling in with the returning team.

The little one hadn’t worn any protective gear. Naturally, he was covered in dust, his face gray and grimy, but his eyes were sparkling, and he looked full of energy.

“He’s not human,” the colonel grumbled as he removed his gear. “If all of us were freaks like Ling Yi, we could survive on any planet.”

Lin Si responded with a nonchalant hum, grabbing Ling Yi and dragging him to the shower for a thorough scrub-down.

When they emerged, the freshly cleaned boy had wet black hair dripping over his shoulders. Tilting his face up obediently, he let Lin Si apply a few drops of glycerin to his cheeks before rubbing it in gently.

—A face so delicate and smooth couldn’t be left unprotected after enduring the sandstorm.

Meanwhile, other ships reported their teams’ safe return. Apart from Ship 6, which encountered a major storm that disrupted its mission, the tasks had been completed successfully.

The shuttle departed from the planet’s surface and rejoined the main ship.

Lin Si had to report to Madam Chen, so he and Ling Yi parted ways.

Ling Yi walked through the Zone 3 corridors with the colonel, his mind replaying the conversation between Lin Si and the colonel earlier. Although he couldn’t get anything out of Lin Si directly, maybe he could try others who knew him.

The colonel had just unwittingly revealed that he was familiar with Lin Si’s time on Earth.

“Colonel, did you know Lin Si back on Earth?” Ling Yi asked.

“I knew of him, but he wouldn’t have known me. Dr. Lin was a big deal even back then.”

The colonel was chatty, and Ling Yi didn’t have to probe further—he spilled everything he knew.

“Dr. Lin was researching the Berlin Virus back then. Everyone knew about him—his lab was said to have the best chance of finding a cure,” the colonel said as they walked. “He gave an interview once, where he said, ‘Please don’t give up. Keep holding on.’ I still remember it to this day. That video saved countless people on the brink of suicide. It played on loop in almost every city. You might find it in the archives if you look.”

Ling Yi latched onto a key term. “The Berlin Virus?”

“Half of the people who died on Earth succumbed to war. The other half, to the Berlin Virus.” The usually cheerful colonel’s expression darkened, haunted by deep-seated fear. “It’s a good thing you don’t remember. Back then, if you caught the virus, you wouldn’t last three days—and the way you died was horrifying. Your organs and flesh would turn to blood within three days and leak out of your body’s openings.”

The colonel’s face contorted with disgust. “That’s one of the better ways to die. Others lost all semblance of human shape—their skin would disintegrate. It was so contagious that no one dared go outside. Even staying home with sealed windows wasn’t safe. Once one person got it, their entire family was doomed. Seeing those pictures… you’d think, ‘I’d rather die than go through that.’”

Ling Yi listened to the colonel’s description, the imagery giving him an unsettling chill down his spine.

“And then?” he asked.

“Then I don’t know. I received orders to head to the base and prepare for boarding. Back then, we didn’t have the Lindis Field for protection. Entering subspace required everyone to go into hibernation. I was cryogenically frozen along with many others, and when I woke up, I had already become one of the doctor’s test subjects,” the colonel sighed. “I heard the virus mutated four times after that. Our medical advancements were completely powerless against it.”

He concluded, “After the all-out nuclear war, only the mega-cities still had human inhabitants. Then the virus broke out, mutating four more times. By that point, survival on Earth was impossible. We’re the only ones left—survival is everything. No matter how harsh this godforsaken planet is, it doesn’t matter. The universe is too dangerous. If anything happens to the Voyager, humanity is finished.”

Ling Yi’s steps faltered.

The notebook’s owner had been infected with the virus. Later, he or she said “goodbye” to this world.

The colonel didn’t know, but Ling Yi did. The ship had the virus—or at least, it had existed here before.

His sharp intuition suddenly flared, his heart racing as if, somewhere within the vast, dark recesses of the ship, a malevolent gaze was silently watching.

Meanwhile, in Zone 1.

Madam Chen was examining data transmitted by satellites.

“It’s a daunting task,” she said with a smile.

“Have you decided to settle here?” Lin Si asked.

“I have.” Madam Chen opened a program on the super AI system—a highly complex open-ended mathematical model.

“Take a look at the new developments in Zone 1.” She manipulated the system, pulling data gathered by satellites and surface instruments into the program.

“In the abstract sense, all disciplines are mathematics. On a rational basis, all decisions boil down to statistics.” Quoting the famous saying, she pressed the confirm button, and a progress bar began to advance.

“This is an analysis system. It integrates our current technological capabilities, future scientific development rates, population, and resource quantities… feeding hundreds of variables into the model to analyze survival probabilities,” she explained. “If resources are insufficient, we can control the number of people thawed. If the environment is hostile, we can combat it with science. It’s like solving a mathematical problem—there’s always an optimal solution waiting to be found.”

Lins frowned slightly. “Why not consider Limitless?”

Madam Chen shook her head. “It’s already a miracle that the marshal approved your plan for two phases, Lin. You know the Berlin Virus better than anyone—don’t you understand the nightmare that caused? The marshal has never trusted you. Your theories, which dissect the DNA chain, are too dangerous. He’s afraid you might create a second Berlin nightmare.

Over these five years since you were thawed, the ship has experienced numerous suspicious incidents, likely acts of sabotage aimed at hindering the Voyager. That’s an undeniable fact. Unless you can completely dispel his doubts, no matter how much Limitless might contribute to humanity’s survival, it will remain indefinitely rejected.”