CAT Chapter 20: Lost In Space (2)

“Tang Ning. Take a look at this.”

The studio hummed with activity—dozens of engineers bent over workstations, hundreds of holographic screens flickering with schematics and equations.

Tang Ning tore his gaze from his keyboard, accepting the file Zheng Shu had tossed into his feed.

“Is this feasible?”

“Yes.” Tang Ning skimmed the data, cracked his knuckles, and launched into coding a new  program.

The monotonous sound of keyboard typing had been going on for an unknown amount of time. Using a physical keyboard to write programs was Tang Ning’s quirk—he had once said that he liked doing things where he could see immediate results, and this probably explained his obsession with the tactile feeling of physical keyboards.

Compared to the almost silent virtual keyboard, the sound of the physical keyboard was extremely loud, but no one objected—mainly because Tang Ning was the top genius aboard the spacecraft, and also because the other instruments in the studio were making different alert sounds, creating a symphony. Everyone had learned to tune out distractions to keep their thoughts undisturbed.

Lin Si was sitting opposite Zheng Shu.

Zheng Shu was organizing the data. “If this algorithm works, then the exoskeleton prototype could be usable.”

“Last question,” Lin Si, holding a ballpen, made a mark on a blank piece of paper, and said softly, “How do we link it to the central nervous system? By inserting probes or implanting chips?”

“In my opinion, chips are better,” Zheng Shu discussed with him, “If we implant chips into the user’s brain, it can be compatible with any exoskeleton. And if we eventually create large, navigable exoskeletons, they will allow operators to move around inside the cabin. Using probes placed on the exoskeleton would reduce flexibility and isn’t ideal from a hygiene standpoint.”

“Our neural implant technology isn’t fully developed yet,” Lin Si remarked, his eyes fixed on the blueprint of a humanoid machine sprawled across the table.

This machine was the culmination of a two-year collaboration between Lin Si and Zheng Shu: a neural-linked exoskeleton.

Three years prior, when the colonel first reviewed their proposal, he’d likened it to the “mecha” one would read and see in a sci-fi—though in reality, their design was far smaller, lacking the interstellar combat capabilities of its fictional counterparts—Maybe one day, but not yet.

Planetary exploration demanded mobility across treacherous terrain, where wheels and treads faltered. Only a bipedal system, mirroring human locomotion, could adapt seamlessly.

What began as a pragmatic solution evolved into a full-body combat suit: a skeleton of lightweight, high-strength alloy embedded with multifunctional systems. It boasted a compact protective force field, high-energy particle beam weaponry, and a fusion reactor nestled in its chest cavity—a power source robust enough to sustain its voracious energy needs.

Zone 5 engineered the agile limb mechanics and operating system, while Zone 1 contributed the defensive and offensive modules. Lin Si’s role proved pivotal, as Zone 6’s expertise in neural integration bridged the gaps in design.

Unlike traditional interfaces reliant on joysticks or panels, this exoskeleton synced directly with the operator’s central nervous system. Through rigorous training, a soldier could command it as fluidly as their own body. Stripping away complex controls granted unparalleled agility, amplifying a single soldier’s efficacy—a prospect that captivated military brass. The military dubbed it “mecha” or “battle suit,”. Scientists, however, clung to “exoskeleton,” a nod to its arthropod-inspired structure and protective shell

As a result, the Marshal and Dr. Lin, who had never gotten along, had a heated argument.

The Marshal called Dr. Lin a “neurotic obsessive,” while Dr. Lin mocked the Marshal as a “hubristic warmonger.”

In the end, they continued to call each other by their titles.

“My idea is to produce a batch of probe exoskeletons for testing, let the Marshal see the results, and then submit the chip project proposal to him to refine the implant technology,” Lin Si said, then turned to Zheng Shu, “You go apply for it. If I submit the plan, the Marshal will suspect I’m trying to control his people with brain chips.”

Zheng Shu smiled helplessly. “You two should have a good talk.”

Lin Si didn’t respond.

Footsteps approached, and Tang Ning placed a chip on the table in front of Zheng Shu. At the same time, his left hand held a cup filled with warm water, placing it in front of Zheng Shu.

Zheng Shu inserted the chip into the neural interface and pressed his temple. He said to Tang Ning, “Thank you.”

Tang Ning crossed his arms and watched him, not leaving until Zheng Shu had finished drinking.

Zheng Shu made no other movements, simply proceeding to integrate the program Tang Ning had just written into the exoskeleton’s operating system.

The exoskeleton project had reached a critical point, and everyone was working nearly around the clock. While the project wasn’t bound by a strict deadline, it was like solving a math problem—once the key part was reached, even without a time constraint, the solver would inevitably focus all their energy on completing it, never relaxing or taking a break.

Therefore, Zheng Shu had been working non-stop for a long time, neglecting to care for himself.

The head of Zone 5, when not working, was an elegant, courteous man with gentlemanly charm and mature appeal, very popular with single women. A man like him could never be unaware of romantic gestures, but curiously, in front of Tang Ning’s clear attention and care, he gave no response.

After importing the program, he took a brief rest and checked his schedule. “Many components of the exoskeleton are completed. Assembly won’t take long. I plan to go to the surface tomorrow to select test subjects.”

Lin Si said, “I’ll go.”

“Picking up the child?” Zheng Shu smiled.

Lin Si gave a soft “Hmm.”

His day was spent in the hustle of research, and when he returned to his quarters, he found Bethy standing at the door.

She held a slender cigarette in her right hand, leaning slightly against the wall, her head tilted up. Her posture was elegant, yet tinged with a sense of languor.

“I’m here to get your signature,” she said, taking out a paper document. “And to say goodbye.”

Lin Si saw the large words “Cryogenic Application” on the title of the document. He furrowed his brows and opened the door. “Come in.”

“Lin, I feel hopeless,” she said, sitting on the armchair with one hand supporting her head, her scarlet lips sighing as she closed her eyes. “Our base has been built so well, yet I still feel despair, more so than when we were still journeying.”

Lin Si looked at her. “Why?”

She smiled faintly. “I can’t see any hope for prosperity. A group of scientists are certainly working towards a better future, but we don’t even have people. We’re still not a society, just a group. We’ve been here for three years, but we still don’t have a clear government. Everything is decided by the Marshal and Madam Chen, but neither of them are politicians.”

Lin Si remained silent, listening as she continued.

“Sometimes, when I stand by the porthole, I would think we’re still living the same life as when we were travelling, but we’re no longer travelling.” ethy stubbed out her cigarette, hands rising to shield her face as her composure frayed. Her voice wavered, “Maybe you think I’m being strange, or maybe I’m even more pessimistic than before, but that’s how I feel. All my work feels meaningless. I’m in pain and I don’t want to continue living like this. So, I’m going to sleep. I hope when I wake up, I’ll see a new situation. Lin, I’m sorry, but I can’t continue working for you. Do you understand?”

Lin Si was silent for a while, then answered, “I respect your decision.”

Bethy smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

With his signature secured, she wasted no time. Her footsteps faded down the corridor toward Zone 9—the cryo chamber.

The ashes from her cigarette still lay on Lin Si’s desk, and the faint scent of perfume lingered, but it was likely that Lin Si would never see her again in his life.

Those who entered cryo were submerged in viscous fluid, their bodies suspended, minds untethered from time. Preserved. Forgotten. If their vitals held, they might sleep a century.

After a long while, Lin Si got up, preparing for bed.

As per his usual routine, he was going to bed early tonight—after all, he had to pick up the little one tomorrow, and if it was noticed that his mental state was off, it would cause a stir.