129: Chapter 129 Little Guga

In the conference room, Thompson felt his worldview was being reshaped.

He stood where he was, with New York at nine in the morning behind him; outside the window, protest slogans rose and fell, the voices from the loudspeakers growing increasingly hoarse.

Regarding equality, regarding freedom, regarding that system of values that humanity had spent thousands of years establishing, he had never once doubted their correctness.

Although reality was terrible, they—humanity—still regarded these things as noble ideals.

But now, the alien standing before him was telling him another truth in a gentle tone.

"On a cosmic scale, the equality you discuss might really not be that important."

"After all, if civilization itself perishes in war, then so-called equality will only become a laughingstock for the enemy."

"Gugu Gaga."

The little penguin had walked to Thompson's feet at some point.

It tilted its head up, two round black eyes looking at him from below, and its flipper-like forelimbs gently patted his boots. Then it spread its short fins, making a "hug" gesture.

Thompson was stunned.

Agor was also stunned.

"It rarely does this," Agor said. "It seems it likes you very much."

Thompson looked down at the little penguin, which didn't even reach his knees. It was still looking up at him, its flipper-like forelimbs raised in mid-air, trembling slightly because they weren't long enough.

This reminded him of how Mary looked the first time she saw him as a child.

He bent down, gently picked up the little penguin, and stroked it softly.

Under the little penguin's feathers was soft down; it felt like a freshly baked bun, the texture so good that it was addictive to pet.

It rested its head on his shoulder, making satisfied purring sounds.

——————

At six in the evening, Thompson's first day of on-the-job training ended in agony.

The weapon systems of Guga Planet were genetically authenticated; after Thompson registered his genes, even if someone killed Thompson, they wouldn't be able to use these weapons.

Agor had spent six hours teaching him how to activate the safety mechanism of a bolter with his mind, as well as various shooting techniques.

At the same time, he was equipped with a set of black combat gear that could instantly boost an ordinary person's impact resistance and strength to a C-level; however, if it encountered an attack that exceeded the suit's defensive capabilities, it would spray liquid inside.

When he walked out of the training room, his knees were still weak, and the shirt under his uniform was soaked through with cold sweat twice over.

Agor was already standing by the front desk, having changed out of that black uniform and wearing a deep blue casual outfit made of an unrecognizable material.

Gugu Gaga was standing at her feet, chewing on a French baguette longer than its own body, holding it with both flipper-like forelimbs.

The little penguin's face was covered in breadcrumbs and cream. It licked around the corners of its mouth with its tongue, but instead of cleaning it, it smeared the cream next to the star-shaped white spot below its left eye.

Thompson greeted them: "You haven't eaten yet, right! Do you want to try some Blue Star specialty dinner?"

Agor tilted her head: "Is this an order or an invitation?"

"An invitation." Thompson bent down and reached out to wipe the cream off the little penguin's face. "Your partner invites you and your daughter to have dinner together."

The little penguin stopped licking; upon hearing about dinner, it jumped up and down excitedly: "Gugu Gaga!"

Thompson took them to a seafood restaurant under the Brooklyn Bridge that had been open for over forty years.

The owner was a sixty-two-year-old Greek immigrant who had known Thompson for nearly twenty years.

When Thompson walked in with Agor and Gugu Gaga, the owner just lifted his eyelids from behind the grill to take a look, then shouted in English with a heavy Mediterranean accent: "Thompson, is that one of the penguins from the United Nations flag you've brought?"

"You've misunderstood, it's just a normal alien." Thompson shook his head and patted his chest firmly. "Bring out the freshest fish you have today."

"Striped bass caught today, it was still in the Atlantic two hours ago." The owner pointed at the little penguin, which was clawing at the plastic tablecloth with its flipper-like forelimbs. "Can that little guy eat fish? Or should I prepare something else for it?"

"Fish is fine." Agor answered for Gugu Gaga.

Soon, the owner walked over with a plate of grilled fish.

He had just placed the plate on the table and hadn't had a chance to introduce it when Gugu Gaga, with a speed completely inconsistent with its round shape, catapulted up from the high chair and hugged the grilled fish, which was bigger than its entire head, with both flipper-like forelimbs.

The little penguin ate happily. After finishing, all its feathers puffed up in a ring, as if it had been struck by static electricity.

Then it began to nod vigorously, its two flipper-like forelimbs flailing in the air, emitting excited gaga sounds.

"Is that the culinary level of your interstellar civilization?" Thompson poured himself a glass of water, watching the little penguin bury its entire face in the belly of the grilled fish, revealing only a round, black little tail.

"There is no need for gourmet food when fighting a war." Agor watched her daughter wolfing down the food. "Frontline soldiers eat high-density energy bars."

"One piece can last seventy-two hours; the taste is like chewing wax, but the efficiency is extremely high."

"Then what about when you aren't fighting?" Thompson asked. "The food must be better, right?"

Agor was silent for a short moment, her fingers tapping gently on the tabletop: "My genes have undergone the Empire's standard modification since I was a child."

"All the smells I perceive can be broken down into chemical formulas. To me, this plate of grilled fish is seventy-two percent water, eighteen percent protein, five percent fat, three percent carbohydrates, and two percent residual herbs and spices."

"I can precisely perceive the concentration of every component, but I cannot combine them into what you humans call 'delicious'."

Thompson understood completely; Guga Civilization was too advanced, so advanced that everyone was a reservist soldier, able to pick up weapons and fight at any time.

But because of this, they had lost many simple pleasures, perhaps because in the eyes of the Emperor, these simple pleasures were useless to civilization and thus were not developed.

Thompson put down his water glass and called the owner over to add an order of chocolate cookies.

The little penguin had already finished half the fish, its belly bulging like an inflated balloon.

But when the plate of freshly baked, still sizzling cookies was brought to the table, its eyes lit up immediately again.

It reached out its flipper-like forelimbs and cautiously touched a cookie, but was burned and jerked its flipper back, blowing hard on the burned spot, then looked up at Agor, emitting a grievance-filled Gugu Gaga sound.

"You have to wait for it to cool." Agor picked up a cookie, blew on it a few times, and handed it to Gugu Gaga again.

The little penguin took it with both hands and took the first bite; its eyes widened more than ever before. It immediately raised the remaining half of the cookie over its head and let out a long, satisfied Gugu Gaga call toward the ceiling, causing guests at nearby tables to turn their heads to look.

"This is its first time eating sweets," Agor said softly. "There is no sugar in the standard rations for Guga Planet infants."

After dinner, Thompson took them to the apartment he rented, letting them stay there temporarily until he had time to take them to rent a place.

Agor shook her head: "No need. The consciousness of us Guga Planet people can traverse the interstellar network at any time; our physical bodies can just stay here."

And Gugu Gaga was even more excited, playing everywhere, clearly not picky about the place.

After settling the two of them in, Thompson lay on the bed, surprisingly feeling somewhat expectant about what the scene would be like on his first day of work tomorrow.