“I have applied to the Kamlan Garrison for access to the wreckage of the VX197 model. They need to deliberate on it.”
The human youth sat across from Sarkti and Gera. “Whether for the Zerg or the Empire, this request is highly sensitive in the current climate. We must take relatively cautious measures; please understand the necessity of this process.”
“That’s fine. Let me know when there’s a result.”
The Core Seed took this expected outcome in stride. Had a Zerg requested to visit the hardware facilities of the Data Vault during his reign, he likely would have snapped their head off and hung it from a flagpole to flutter in the wind.
By comparison, the fact that the people of Kamlan had been willing to temporarily provide the model wreckage for long-distance support in the previous battle had already greatly exceeded his expectations.
It seemed Clark’s strategy of throwing money at the problem had been effective.
The long-term, unconditional supply of Star Core energy required for an entire computing system, combined with a massive influx of sponsored living supplies and a history of polite, boundary-respecting interactions during every visit, had led the humans living here to have a relatively high level of acceptance toward the Grey-winged tribe.
Sarkti couldn't help but wonder if the existence of the ultra-wealthy validated certain truths he hadn't yet fully grasped—for instance, how seemingly useless investments might yield unexpected returns in the future.
“The Hard-winged transport ship you discovered last time—is it far from here?” Gera asked. He knew his partner actually cared quite a bit about this matter, but too many trivial chores had bound him, preventing the Core Seed, who was usually so unrestrained on the battlefield, from acting freely.
“Excluding exploration time, a round trip can be completed in two days.” Arthur smiled. “If you want to set out as soon as possible, we can leave tomorrow morning after I’ve arranged the other matters.”
There were far too many "other matters."
For instance, the negotiations with the Kamlan irregular garrison; the site for the trade zone had been tentatively decided, and once the specific responsibilities were finalized, both humans and Zerg would quickly mobilize personnel for construction.
Then there was the task of informing the Imperial staff. As the chief negotiator for the Grey-winged tribe, if the Core Seed wanted to leave the meeting area, it was only right and proper to give Klein a heads-up.
And finally, the young man had to come up with a reasonable excuse to persuade the somewhat overprotective silver-grey Sub-King.
the chaotic, noisy state of affairs throughout the day was exhausting and dizzying.
When the black Zerg finally lay in bed, holding his partner close, Gera squeezed the scaled tail wrapped around his waist.
“I asked Arthur for a set of protective gear,” the male Zerg said, taking Sarkti’s hand. “I know there are certain risks in the contaminated zones. I’ll be careful to protect myself, and if we encounter a situation where we can’t proceed, I’ll withdraw immediately.”
“But I want to be with you as much as possible.”
Perfect. He had anticipated Sarkti’s anticipation, cutting off everything the other had intended to say.
The Core Seed scratched at that little swaying tail-hook.
“My body is somewhat unique; I don't fear any level of contamination. Compared to females, males have a much lower tolerance for sources of pollution.” He slowly stated the facts to his partner without making any demands. “If you’re willing to go together, then let’s agree: if I judge there to be any potential risk beyond our control, I need you to evacuate immediately. Is that alright?”
“Alright.”
Gera found a secure position in his arms and curled into a ball. He still held his partner’s hand; the other’s touch made him happy. “I’ll work hard.”
Thus, the next morning, when Sarkti saw the male Zerg change into a full set of protective gear, he fell silent.
What an ugly outfit.
When Arthur wore this equipment, Sarkti hadn't felt anything. The world was divided into two simple, crude parts by his straight-forward brain:
Partner—Cute.
Everyone else—People.
The male Zerg couldn't resist the novelty, patting himself all over and trying to look down at his own toes.
“This is my first time wearing human clothes,” he said, his tail swishing loudly inside the protective suit.
“We’re currently still using outdated models.” Arthur desperately suppressed a laugh as he reached out to adjust an armor buckle for his friend, patting down an uneven section. “These... devices don't look very good. But Klein has secured a batch of sponsorship from the Empire; the new models will arrive in Kamlan in the near future.”
“You’re doing business with the people of the Little Rose Star Sector, aren't you?” Sarkti couldn't help but interject from the side. “Last time you helped procure Monet Silk and Secret Crystal Ore. Can you help me find some human-style clothes?”
Zerg coverings were far too simple. The Combat Castes were assigned uniform gear to go with their weaponry. Ordinary females considered it decent enough if they just wrapped themselves in a piece of cloth; back when Sarkti fought in the Great Sacrificial Arena, he often fought until his clothes were shredded.
As for the males, who were treated as property, they were mostly found naked or with some random scraps for cover, giving off a terrible vibe of "Ancient Greek civilization—wearing clothes, but not really."
“Please leave it to me.”
Such a familiar conversation made the human youth’s smile broaden. Fate always moved in a spiral; one never knew when a circle would loop back to an old point.
“The last time you asked me a similar question, you hadn't yet accepted his courtship.”
Back then, the Core Seed—who hadn't yet figured out his own thoughts and had zero relevant experience—had relied on his brilliant mind to barely manage bringing back business-trip gifts based on intuition.
And now, part of those gifts had been turned into tiny crystal beads and ribbons, braided into the male Zerg’s fine hair.
This made Sarkti rub his nose and cough.
“I’m learning,” he said, his mouth harder than stone, resolutely refusing to admit his past blunders.
The male Zerg’s focus, however, was entirely different.
The rustling sound grew louder, indicating that the frequency of his tail swishing was increasing. Gera gripped his partner’s hand tightly and looked up at him. “Are you going to give me a new gift?”
Hard to resist.
Cuteness and attire had no direct correlation—the Core Seed concluded another of the universe's ultimate truths.
Even if the white Zerg currently looked like a Michelin Man, it didn't hinder his cuteness from striking directly at Sarkti’s heart.
“I will,” the man, having lost his senses, answered decisively. “I’ll give you everything!”
The human standing nearby laughed out loud.
Until the ship set sail for their destination, the Core Seed was still pondering what else he should take the opportunity to purchase.
All beings who fall in love turn into fools. They—be they men or women—always feel that the things they push in front of the other aren't good enough, aren't enough, as if the most precious gold and jade in the world are insufficient to decorate a beautiful dream. Few things can compare to a sincere and anxious heart.
Sarkti was human—or rather, his soul was human—so he was not immune to such common sentiments.
Once, he could ruthlessly train a male Zerg until they could sleep standing up, but now he couldn't.
The most unconventional fate had set a reasonable trap for him, making a part of his inner self soft and weak, filled with too many worries. His response was to stubbornly stick his entire head right into it.
Sarkti leaned against his partner, finding a brief moment of peace.
He spoke softly to Gera about every planet they passed, just as he had promised long ago.
Kamlan was actually a very vast star sector.
Before it was abandoned, it had been a prosperous home for tens of millions of people. Even though the incursions of alien species were constant, the humans who remained here had always maintained an optimistic and composed spirit, fearing nothing.
*We possess the bird that brings the radiance of the stars; its wings can dispel all gloom,* the people said.
The language of the Old Lands sang unfamiliar ballads: *O Three-legged Golden Crow, please perch upon the wind and waves, watch over those voyagers afar, and let the sun often shine upon this new homeland.*
Even if the Old Lands withered, even if the former capital planet Shavale shattered, the human race could always find the next place to survive.
Migration was a constant; parting was an inevitable end.
Every species was like duckweed drifting in the sea of stars, displaced from their ancestral lands by the waves. Some, at the end of their lives, were lucky enough to return to the place their hearts belonged; others saw shadows of the past in every place they stopped.
“We don't remember where we came from.” The male Zerg looked at one unfamiliar planet after another, the cosmic dust appearing like delicate ribbons of light. Some planets, torn apart by rifts, had fallen into void dimensions, never to be kissed by light again; others brewed magnificent storms on their surfaces, shedding eternal tears like the eyes of a lover.
“Our race moves unceasingly toward the next node, and the one after that, casting those memories that are too old behind us.”
“But humans remember the Old Lands. Everyone misses them, sings of them, and pursues a lonely island vanished in time.”
“A few days ago, I applied to Klein for temporary access to the human internal network and quickly read through all the news I missed since I woke up.” Sarkti’s wings gently enfolded the other, their seats forming a private, enclosed space.
He offered no comfort, nor did he preach any philosophy. He simply entwined his scaled tail with the other’s and started an abrupt topic.
“Then I saw my own... or rather, the other me’s death announcement.”
Gera’s fingers tightened, his pale eyes looking over.
To this, the Core Seed smiled, calmly pulling his partner into his embrace. “It’s hard to imagine that after six star-years, that thing is still posted online, as if humans are constantly mourning their previous Emperor.”
This topic didn't make him feel much sentimental sorrow; at most, he found it curious, absurd, and hilarious.
Few normal people ever get to experience reading their own obituary.
It was only after he carefully finished reading that entire passage of heart-wrenching text that he discovered the author who had written and polished that sentimental piece was none other than that "Flower of the High Tower" who had claimed they wanted to scold him to his face. His sense of absurdity immediately reached a new level.
A fine role model indeed. The other had successfully made it, rising from a gossip tabloid writer to the Empire’s official scribe. Anyone would sigh at such an inspirational story.
“Though that long stretch of literary description wrote me like some suffering, pure saint—as if only unicorns would be willing to approach me—it made me want to pry open the author’s skull to see what kind of bizarre metaphors were inside. I don't even remember my past self being that kind and warm-hearted.”
The overly long modifiers and merciless complaints fully displayed the Core Seed’s resentment. In a sense, reading it felt like undergoing several rounds of public execution; he only managed not to skip paragraphs by relying on his thick skin.
“But the other party said one thing correctly.”
“Those who live will eventually keep walking, toward a new day.”
Sarkti’s voice carried a hint of a smile.
“That is the true meaning of the continuation of life.”
***
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