Outside, darkness had fallen and snow was falling. Lübeck recalled his days as an engineer when he and several others had been summoned by the project manager. Being young and still in training, they had no better options.
Braving the northwest wind in thin coats and shoes, they trudged through slushy rain-snow mix to a semi-open space. Male and female classmates gathered in the colonnade, dim yellow courtyard lights illuminating the small area. Snowflakes drifted from the eaves, occasionally landing on eyelashes. The entire world transformed into a swirling, flickering halo of dim light, breaking down into dazzling hues of blue, green, orange, and yellow. These colors danced between the pitch-black cavern and the floor of black crystal and gilded bronze.
Lübeck disliked the project manager's boasting and the idle crowd, so he didn't follow the main flow of people. Instead, he chose a more pragmatic colleague and headed to the building's top floor. Yet for some reason, he found himself climbing onto the boom of the crane perched atop the structure. Now he was suspended outside the high-rise roof.
Lübeck thought, in this bitter wind at such a height, dressed so lightly, I'll freeze solid in no time. I have to get down quickly. He looked down—a direct descent would be fast, but it would mean hitting the ground. Though the scene felt like a dream, he couldn't just jump.
So Lü Beck wrapped one arm around the icy metal boom truss and used his other hand, nearly frozen stiff, to maneuver the crane arm back up. He returned to the roof level, climbed down the crane to the rooftop, and then made his way back down floor by floor to the ground.
After this ordeal, Lübeck resolved to leave. Wading through slushy snow, he soon hit a dead end. Climbing over another wall, he emerged on the brick-walled side—apparently the seawall beneath an elevated bridge. Black waves roared against the shore, and the platform he stood on offered a perfect vantage point for watching the tide.
He turned to find an eight- or nine-year-old girl standing beside him on the concrete platform, holding a water gun that had accidentally slipped into the sea. Lübeck thought, This is hopeless. Judging by the tide's momentum, it seemed rather dangerous. Just as he was about to call out to the girl to leave with him, he suddenly realized she was his daughter. Without a word, he took her hand and hurried inland along the highway.
Once they were away from the shoreline and temporarily safe, Lü Beck turned back and was startled to see the girl had transformed into a three- or four-year-old. She said she needed to pee.
Lü Beck looked around but saw no restroom. He asked if she could hold it a little longer, but she said no. With no other choice, he led her to the roadside grass.
But as soon as she squatted down, her bottom touched the dirt, soiling her clothes. Her tiny body seemed utterly weak and limp. Lü Beck had no choice but to crouch there, lift her up, and hold her legs apart to let her go.
When Lübeck suddenly opened his eyes, the sky was just beginning to lighten. It had indeed been a dream. Looking beside him, he saw Brittany sleeping—not the little girl, nor his own daughter. Lübeck found it strange that he had dreamed such a thing.
After months of crew integration and equipment familiarization, the day of departure was approaching. This wasn't Lübeck's first time commanding an orbital space carrier, but this mission wouldn't be in Earth orbit. This time, he wouldn't need to take regular leave to visit his Ruth on the surface. This time, he had a companion who could follow him—though he didn't know how far they could go together.
Mars's faint, crimson morning light illuminated the shipyard. Over the past few days, the ship's authorized personnel had been boarding the San Jacinto in batches through airlock passages. Some friends and family were bidding farewell at the passage entrances, while below deck, cargo was being loaded through connecting passages linking to the hull. The natural light in the lower passages was insufficient, lending them a somewhat gloomy and desolate feel.
Since completing its test run, the ship's nuclear reactor had maintained low-power operation, supplying energy for onboard facilities and crew life support. Preparations for departure were nearly complete, awaiting only the final arrivals of personnel and supplies. With some free time, Lübeck took Brittany for a stroll after lunch through the lower deck's self-sustaining biosphere. Beyond ornamental plants, this area cultivated crops and livestock for the crew. Space constraints meant people walked along transparent, suspended walkways, looking down upon the fields and crops. Yet Brittany cherished most the bamboo grove at the biosphere's entrance. For some reason, whenever the bamboo stalks swayed and leaves rustled, her swaying gait—the rhythm of her hips, shoulders, and elbows, the flickering grace in her eyes—seemed to absorb the grove's very spirit. But Lübeck knew the bamboo's purpose: in emergencies, it served as excellent support for damage control. Perhaps Lübeck was more pessimistic, or perhaps it was simply the practicality inherent in men.
“We set sail tonight—our first voyage into the depths of space. How does it feel?” Lübeck asked, casually chatting as he walked, holding Brittany's hand.
“With you here, what is there to fear?” Brittany replied, gazing at Lübeck with eyes brimming with uncontrollable excitement.
“Ha! I'm not omnipotent. Anything can happen in the cosmos.” Amidst their casual exchange, Lübeck seemed eager to hear Brittany express unwavering commitment to follow him, no matter the hardships ahead. She was younger than him, like a little sister, not like Ruth—that woman who had cared for him like an older sister. Yet Lübeck still fantasized about glimpsing traces of Ruth in Brittany.
But she didn't dwell on it. Perhaps Lübeck shouldn't have harbored such expectations for this young girl. Brittany had only just begun her own journey through life. She shared none of Lübeck's past experiences and wasn't mature enough to envision a future with him. She was merely a traveler of fate, responding casually,
"I doubt I'd be that unlucky, " she said, smiling as she looked at Lübeck.
It was her consistent simplicity and directness, radiating youthful vitality, that infected Lübeck with so much emotion that he didn't feel quite so decrepit.
"Yeah, " Lübecke said, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her close.
He gazed at Brittany beside him. Though she lacked the elaborate finery of youth, her military uniform still flattered her vibrant figure.
Returning to the bridge under the night sky, Lübecke looked out at the brightly lit drydock and gave the order to set sail.
The San Jacinto carried twelve interceptor fighters on each side, capable of launching and retrieving directly from the hull. Yet it retained a full-length flight deck to maintain some aircraft recovery capability during emergencies.
As the anti-gravity engines mounted throughout the hull increased their load, the air and structures surrounding the drydock hummed with the energy's low, resonant hum.
Her twelve plasma engines, responding to the rising load, emitted blue-to-white flames from their nozzles that stretched longer and longer, screeching as they impacted the drydock floor, creating a faint pink halo.
Amidst the night's darkness and the glow of lights, the San Jacinto rose steadily under the thrust of its ion engines, leaving the dock and embarking on her maiden voyage.
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