I. Preface
“The Human Alliance is a loose, indissoluble alliance composed of multiple human subspecies, an intact alliance proven by history and existing since the inception of humanity.”
—Preamble to the Human Alliance Manifesto
II. The Tavern
“History is void. It is a little girl left to anyone’s dressing. Of course, I mean the people who write history are void. We Superstarkin just like to tell the truth. That is why we are often thrown out.”
A yellow man holding a wine glass leaned against the wall. His right leg propped halfway against it. Tall and thin. A patch covered his left eye.
His name was Duanmu Xi.
“You know. That’s how my eye went blind. But my soul can still see.”
The white man opposite him stood there. Also tall and thin, but not as straight as Duanmu Xi. He wore no eyepatch, but his eyes constantly darted, as if afraid of being seen by someone.
“Alright, Duanmu Xi. This isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the system,” the white man comforted. “Our generation of Superstarkin was simply born at the wrong time. Liu Yao’s death really might not have been an accident.”
Hearing the name “Liu Yao,” Duanmu Xi’s anger flared. He slammed his glass heavily onto the bar counter.
“I know, Colin. But what is the point now? It is the year 2602. Liu Yao has been dead for almost half a century. Why still dwell on him?”
He left the tavern without turning back, leaving Colin standing dazed on the spot.
“Wait, Duanmu, I haven’t finished speaking.”
Colin grabbed his glass and ran out, not hearing the tavern waiter calling from behind at all.
“Sir, don’t forget to return the glass.”
III. Curfew
Los Angeles nights were quiet.
Almost no homeless people could be seen. Nor could siren calls be heard. People mostly walked with their heads down, not daring to make a sound.
This was Los Angeles’s famous curfew policy. Ever since Monica Warren took office as Governor of the North American Union, she had been building her own power base in North America. Some of her bills even superseded the Alliance Constitution.
Laymen evaluated her as cold-blooded, an iron woman, unfeeling. Most rumors claimed she was raised in a family that favored sons over daughters.
Naturally, she was one of the Bloodkin.
The birth of the Bloodkin was an experimental accident. No one knew exactly how it happened. Rumor had it: “The Bloodkin have bat factors in their genes, which is why they dislike daylight.”
In reality, it was not so supernatural. The official explanation was—the Bloodkin were called Bloodkin because of their cold white skin, higher blood volume than humans, and a special blood type designated H. Thus, they were officially defined as Bloodkin.
However, the common folk did not seem to buy this explanation. There were even street rumors claiming firsthand sightings of Bloodkin sucking human blood at night.
Legend had it that on the streets of Los Angeles, a fanged humanoid monster appeared at night, surviving by feeding on human blood. This was the origin of the Los Angeles curfew.
But this claim was soon overturned. The government declared that the humanoid monster was actually the shadow of a bat under moonlight, and the victims had died from infections caused by untreated bat wing scratches.
Nevertheless, the former story remained a tool for elders to threaten children, warning them not to go out at night.
Duanmu Xi was out of step with those around him.
He would never walk with his head bowed. He preferred to carry himself upright and proud. Even if caught, he would accept the consequences.
Colin did not dare speak loudly once outside the tavern. He was even afraid to run, terrified of running into patrolling police who might arrest him.
“If you’re scared, go home. Coward,” Duanmu Xi said irritably to Colin behind him.
Colin trotted over without pause and hurriedly covered his mouth.
“Keep it down. If people around hear us, we’re finished. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”
Duanmu Xi pried Colin’s hands away with force. Pointing at Colin’s nose, he said through gritted teeth:
“You are a coward just like that Liu Yao. A coward among the Superstarkin. We were born to change the world, to change the system. Look at you—timid, fearful, lacking ambition.”
Colin froze.
He watched Duanmu Xi walk into the distance without turning back, disappearing from view.
The Los Angeles night wind blew past. The streetlights cast yellow glows. The street was completely empty.
Colin stood on the spot, his hand still clutching the glass stolen from the tavern.
IV. A Little Girl Left to Anyone’s Dressing
Yes. It was the year 2602 now.
Three or four decades had passed since the advent of the Bruce Engine. Human footprints spanned every corner of the Galaxy. Quila was now merely a small place for humanity.
History was a little girl left to anyone’s dressing. We didn’t even count as history.
Of course, some people existed in history by mistake. Or didn’t exist at all.
Liu Yao was one.
Claude was another.
Douglas was classified after his death as an ultranationalist terrorist. History books called him a madman.
Under Bruce’s push, people finally accepted Claude’s signal—yet it remained “the hypersignal.” Because it rolled off the tongue easily. No one wanted to change the term. Nor did anyone remember why it should be changed.
What about Louise? No one knew what happened to her. Nor did they care. Perhaps she lived a conventional life. Perhaps she became a writer. But people had never seen any writer named Louise Cromwell.
Yet at the dawn of the 27th century, humanity had indeed achieved remarkable accomplishments. Human leadership established the Stellar Fleet, laying an armed foundation for spaceflight.
Deep within Earth, Bruce and his student discovered Solfire Ore—a mineral vein holding immense energy. It was also widely distributed on Mars, becoming a new generation of weaponry.
Bray, meanwhile, died on December 31, 2599.
Bruce even attended his funeral.
Companions of yesterday. Enemies of later days. Then, respect for the dead.
The scientific community lost Bray. It gained Bruce.
V. The Superstarkin
Duanmu Xi was a Superstarkin. He cared nothing for his own race.
The Superstarkin were a species endowed with superior intelligence and the ability to deduce the past. They usually served as politicians or historians within the Human Alliance. But they liked to speak the truth, always blunt and incisive in calling people out. Consequently, they held very few seats in the Alliance, if any.
The Superstarkin were few. Some said a mad human scientist had created them by accident. That scientist deleted the bad fragments from human genes, crafting these smart yet imperfect people. Thus, they looked almost no different from humans.
But more people said the Superstarkin were simply humans with Klinefelter syndrome. Males lacked thick body hair.
They offered no rebuttal to this either.
Duanmu Xi came from a wealthy background. In his house, there had always been a book he could not understand. The cover translated into English as Valverde. But the characters inside were completely chaotic, of an unknown language.
His father had told him: The ancestors of the Superstarkin were Valdosians, coming from the vast universe. They had been exiled here. The first generation of Valdosians exiled to Earth assumed human form for disguise, intermarrying with humans and having children.
“Utter nonsense,” Duanmu Xi always retorted.
But he had never thrown the book away. It sat on the second shelf in the study, gathering dust. The unintelligible characters on its cover glowed faint blue in the sunlight.
He did not know what light it was. Nor did he care to know.
Duanmu Xi was born into the world after Douglas’s death. At the time, the news was still broadcasting the passing of the prominent historian Hubery. The Mayor of Berlin, Zhu Weichang, was holding a funeral for him. But Duanmu Xi had no impression of any of it.
He only remembered that during childhood his family owned a hypersignal radio, which occasionally played old songs. Whose name was sung in the lyrics, he could not hear clearly.
Colin Defoe was his classmate and close friend. He lived right next door. They grew up together. He was also a Superstarkin.
But Colin was not as smart as he was. Colin liked playing with humans. He liked lying. He liked flattery.
VI. Tea Cakes
The incident deepest in Duanmu Xi’s memory was when Colin brought a human friend to his home to see him. While the three chatted, Duanmu Xi loved showing off his knowledge, pointing fingers at the human.
“I think your friend doesn’t seem to like me. I’ll head back first,” the human whispered into Colin’s ear.
Duanmu Xi overheard.
“Do you think us Superstarkin are all deaf? You’re just stupid and lost the argument,” Duanmu Xi said, his face turning red as he swung a book at him.
“Everything you said isn’t in the history books. How do you prove you’re right?” The person dodged and retorted.
Duanmu Xi was left speechless.
“Get out!”
The human left. Colin followed him out.
Duanmu Xi stood on the spot, still clutching the book. Printed on its spine was Valverde.
From then on, he and Colin did not speak for a month.
Until Colin showed up at his door with his favorite tea cakes to apologize.
Colin stood at the door, holding a paper bag. Oil stains seeped through the paper.
“My mom made them,” Colin said.
Duanmu Xi looked at him. Then looked at the tea cakes.
Then he stepped aside from the doorway.
Colin walked in.
Many years later, Colin completed the final piece of the engine fuel puzzle—Type VI fuel. After that, humanity’s fleet sailed out of the Solar System for the first time in a true sense.
Duanmu Xi did not congratulate him.
What Duanmu Xi said to him was: “You finally did something that isn’t flattery.”
Colin smiled. He offered no rebuttal.
This time, he did not cover Duanmu Xi’s mouth.
—End of Chapter 11.