Chapter Fifty-Three: The Deadly Fighter Jet

Li Daoran rushed toward the mecha hangar, which at this moment stood with its shell fully open, exposing the entirety of its interior. The hangar consisted of twenty-seven levels; the lower floors served as storage, while from the eighth floor upwards, each level featured around twenty launch corridors for the fighters. Above the twentieth floor was the docking area for small starships, as international treaties prohibited medium and giant starships from approaching near-Earth orbit.

“A847, don’t waste time looking around—we’re running out of time. On the left, eighth floor, hangar A, fighter number forty-seven. Hurry up!” Chen Ming’s urging voice echoed.

Though Li Daoran was still awestruck by the hangar’s design and the sleek, high-tech fighters, the critical information had already registered in the corner of his vision. Swallowing down his astonishment, he sprinted forward, squeezed into an elevator spacious enough for a single fighter, and rode it to the eighth floor. The crowd surged out, some heading back up in the elevator, while Li Daoran joined the flow searching for fighter number forty-seven.

“Hey, over here, Li Daoran!” Xu Xingxing’s sharp eyes spotted him in the throng, waving and calling out loudly.

Li Daoran followed her voice, seeing her standing atop the ladder beside a blue-coated fighter, waving energetically.

Together, they climbed into the fighter. They were the last to board, the cramped interior barely accommodating thirty people. This was no passenger craft, but a combat fighter designed for a starship, its purpose hardly focused on carrying passengers. Thus, only the twenty-seven members of Li Daoran’s tenth class and their instructor, Xiong Shan, filled the vessel.

Conditions were far from comfortable. Mimicking the others, Li Daoran strapped himself onto a rack resembling a sleeping bag; his head, hands, arms, and legs were automatically locked into place.

He glanced sideways at Xu Xingxing—not even turning his head was easy, his neck squeezed as if bound by something.

Suddenly, a powerful sensation of weightlessness swept over him—his head spun, his feet felt light. Now he understood why they had to be wrapped in so tightly; this vertigo, at an instant, must have reached a thousand kilometers per hour, he thought. It was nothing like any ordinary aircraft.

The acceleration intensified, relentless for a full minute before finally stabilizing.

Li Daoran gasped for breath. He soon realized that, aside from Xiong Shan, many were faring even worse. Xu Xingxing vomited—yes, while fully restrained, she threw up all over herself. Others fared even worse, foaming at the mouth, some fainting outright, fortunate not to have died. The cabin was filled with all manner of strange, indescribable smells.

Xiong Shan released his restraints, slapped the faces of those who had fainted, rolled back their eyelids, and produced a box of pills, feeding them one by one. Soon, several revived, spitting out blood. Xiong Shan sighed in relief—at least no one had died.

He did not speak; it would be pointless, as no one could hear him. Their speed was far beyond the sound barrier; to hear anything in space, one would have to be on a small starship. The fighter’s cabin simply did not allow for it.

Everything unfolded like a silent drama: Xiong Shan fed the medicine, even showing a hint of admiration to Xu Xingxing. When he reached Li Daoran, his eyes betrayed surprise. He gave Li Daoran a thumbs-up and moved on to check the next person.

After all were checked, he restrained himself again and closed his eyes.

Li Daoran glanced obliquely at Xu Xingxing.

“Are you alright?” He opened his mouth, but no sound came.

Xu Xingxing, pale-faced, seemed to notice Li Daoran speaking to her; she opened her mouth and replied.

“He said, what did you say? How are you fine?” Chen Ming translated just in time.

“You can hear me?” Li Daoran whispered.

“Not the others, but I can hear you. We read lips—an interesting phenomenon, worthy of a research project,” Chen Ming answered.

“What do you mean?” Li Daoran asked, a little panicked, eager for distraction.

“Not hearing is normal. You’re now traveling at over ten times the speed of sound, and you’re likely already in space, so silence is expected.

However, your cabin has oxygen and is sealed off from space, with no weightlessness. That means it’s an independent, closed environment. So, not hearing sound isn’t scientifically consistent—there are odd contradictions and mysteries that must have some explanation. We on Aquamarine Star lack the means to experiment, but what you see and experience is a great revelation for us.

Finally, hearing your voice gives us new insight regarding you. It confirms that everything we perceive is due to your body. Since your body can hear your own voice, we can hear it too,” Chen Ming rattled off a lengthy response.

“It sounds long and logical, but doesn’t seem very useful,” Li Daoran concluded after some thought.

Xu Xingxing, seeing Li Daoran’s mouth move constantly, thought he was speaking to her, but unable to hear, she grew anxious, repeatedly trying to explain herself. Li Daoran, however, ignored her and continued his conversation with Chen Ming.

Suddenly, the familiar sensation returned—a fierce weightlessness that made everyone hold their breath.

The fighter was decelerating; the starship had arrived.

All safety restraints released, and the cabin door opened. Only Li Daoran and Xiong Shan were able to stand upright; not even Xu Xingxing managed, leaning against the wall to avoid collapsing onto the floor.

Xiong Shan furrowed his brow and sighed. He still thought it was too rushed—he couldn’t understand why these untrained recruits were sent here before they’d grown, wasn’t this just sending them to die?

He simply couldn’t comprehend the order, but since it had been issued, they could only obey.

But what could these recruits accomplish? They’d never handled mechas, their physical fitness only slightly above average, their skills inferior to veteran soldiers. Even riding in a fighter led to non-combat casualties—how could he trust these children on the battlefield?

Deep in thought, Xiong Shan stayed silent, while Li Daoran, under Chen Ming’s guidance, helped his classmates recover.

Xu Xingxing, feeling somewhat better, joined in assisting Li Daoran. With their help, all the classmates improved; some had collapsed onto their own vomit, others had it stuck in their throats. Li Daoran and Xu Xingxing ignored the stench—though Xu Xingxing herself smelled quite unpleasant—and carried the unconscious outside the cabin, laying them down properly.

Xiong Shan’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed; there was still hope. If a talented leader emerged, perhaps they would bring miracles to their nation.