67: Chapter 67 Farewell Home
In the residential area on the edge of the Mid-Hive, the hour hand of the wall clock pointed to three in the afternoon.
Ronan led his adjutant, Levin, up the stairwell.
Both had crawled out of the Underhive's sewers together, and their family homes were right across from each other, so they were heading home together on the way.
Levin wasn't there to monitor him; he was just going home too, while ensuring their safety along the way.
As he pushed open the door, the crisp clinking of cans could be heard.
"Daddy!"
The younger one saw him first and rushed over to hug his leg.
Ronan bent down, scooped him up, and pulled two cans of meat from behind his back with his other hand.
"Look, what's this?"
The two children's eyes lit up instantly.
His wife turned around and was stunned to see crates of vacuum-sealed meat cans, compressed biscuits, sugar cubes, and canned fruit piled on the table.
"Why did you bring so much..."
"The Governor issued them." Ronan set the items down, pulled a bank card from his coat, and pressed it into his wife's hand.
His wife was taken aback.
"This is my military pay card; the password is your birthday." Ronan lowered his voice. "Keep it safe. If I don't come back, take it and find the company, find my brothers. They will help you."
His wife's hand trembled slightly.
She looked up, meeting Ronan's eyes.
She wanted to ask what was happening, why he was saying such things.
But she didn't ask.
Because she knew that being able to crawl out of the Underhive's sewers and live in the Mid-Hive... even if it was just a peripheral neighborhood, was something they hadn't dared to dream of in their lifetime.
The children could go to the Governor's Academy, with free education and free meals.
If their grades were good, they could keep studying.
Even if they didn't do well, the Governor's Mansion would arrange a stable job for them.
She had seen children in the Underhive starve to death by the roadside, and women sell themselves for half a loaf of bread.
She never wanted to go back to those days.
"We were only able to crawl out of the Underhive because of the Governor." His wife reached up to straighten his collar, her voice steady.
"If the Governor bows his head to the nobles, everything we have now will be gone overnight."
"Go with a clear mind; I'll take care of the home. We'll wait for you to come back."
Ronan nodded and gave his wife a heavy hug.
His young son, clutching a can of fruit, looked up and asked, "Daddy, when are you coming back to take us to the amusement park?"
Ronan ruffled his hair and said with a smile, "Soon."
The moment he turned around, the smile in his eyes vanished.
Before leaving, he unfastened his officer's dog tags and pressed them into his wife's hand.
"If I don't come back, take these to the Governor's Mansion. The Governor will look after you for the rest of your lives."
His wife gripped the cold piece of metal, watching her husband's back disappear out the door.
Levin's hushed voice could be heard from across the hall.
He had given all his pension and rewards to his bedridden, paralyzed mother, repeatedly urging the neighbors to help look after her.
As he stepped out, he stood at the door and looked back once; his elderly mother had already closed her eyes to feign sleep, not wanting him to see her tears.
The two men who had crawled out of the Underhive exchanged a glance at the doorway, both seeing a grim determination in the other's eyes.
They had no choice, and they didn't want one.
Only by following the Governor was there a way to live.
...
The Underhive.
Kaimei carried half a bag of items, stepping through the sewage-flooded alleyways before pushing open the metal door that was nearly falling apart.
A heavy smell of mildew rushed at him.
The room was very dark, lit only by a single dim, yellow lamp.
His gaunt mother lay on the bed, covering her mouth as she coughed heart-wrenchingly.
His three younger siblings were huddled in a corner, looking at him expectantly.
"Brother!"
The youngest sister rushed over; Kaimei patted her head and opened the bag.
White bread, canned meat, and a large jar of condensed milk.
The three children's eyes lit up instantly.
Kaimei walked to the bedside and held a piece of bread to his mother's lips.
"Mom, eat something."
His mother struggled to sit up, looking at him with eyes full of worry.
"Where did you get..."
"The Governor issued it." Kaimei paused. "Mom, I might have to go on a mission tonight."
"If the mission goes well, we can move to the Mid-Hive. You can go to a hospital for treatment, and my siblings can go to school. No one will have to go hungry anymore."
His voice was calm, as if he were discussing what to have for dinner.
"If I don't come back, go find the veteran in my squad, Hawke. He knows what to do."
These were all promises given by the Governor.
His mother's withered hand gripped his wrist, her eyes filled with reluctance, yet she didn't say a single word to stop him.
She was a woman of the Underhive who had married an Underhive man; after he died, she had dragged four children along, relying on scavenging junk every day for half a loaf of bread.
She knew all too well that her son was the family's only hope, and this was their only chance to leap out of the Underhive's quagmire.
If they missed it, their whole family would just rot to death in this toxic, fog-shrouded tenement building.
But looking at Kaimei, who was only twenty, her eyes were full of sorrow.
"You... you must be careful."
His mother's voice was hoarse, and her hand holding his was trembling.
Kaimei hugged his mother, patted his siblings' heads, and turned to walk out of the tenement.
As he pushed open the door, a black hovercar sped from the mouth of the alley, nearly hitting him.
Kaimei stepped aside, getting splashed with sewage.
The window rolled down, revealing a slick-haired, powdered face wearing the kind of silk clothes only Mid-Hive nobles could afford.
"Underhive scum, don't you have eyes when you walk?"
The man cursed, rolled up the window, and drove off.
Kaimei stood in the sewage, staring at the car's taillights.
He remembered that face, and he remembered the crest on the car.
It was the emblem of Brigadier General Valerius's family.
"This fellow will definitely be present at the banquet."
...
In the Boarding Party's barracks lounge, the air was sweltering and oppressive.
Two dozen soldiers were either sitting or lying down; some were cleaning their guns, others were staring blankly.
In a corner, a recruit was carefully wiping a Stubber, which had two crooked characters carved into its body.
"Little Sister."
A scarred veteran nearby glanced over and asked, "Are you scared?"
The recruit looked up, thought for a moment, and shook his head.
"Scared of what? The Governor said that after this battle, my wife will be assigned subsidized housing. It's worth it."
The veteran was silent for a few seconds, then patted his shoulder and continued cleaning his gun.
A bit further away, the gray-haired veteran Hawke pulled a crumpled photo from his coat.
The photo showed a newborn baby.
Someone leaned over: "Your grandson?"
Hawke nodded, carefully tucked the photo back, and pressed it into the pocket closest to his chest.
He was fifty-four this year; he had spent his whole life mining in the Underhive, and in his old age, he couldn't even scrape together money for his grandson's formula. It was Fu Haoran who gave him his first clean paycheck and gave his family hope for survival.
He gently brushed the photo with his fingertips, tucked it into the innermost pocket of his combat suit, and chambered a round in his gun.
His life was on borrowed time; now, he should use this life to secure a future for his grandson where he could see the sun.
"When I was in the Underhive, my life was worth less than trash."
"It was the Governor who gave me my first piece of clean bread. Now, it's my turn to protect this life."
No one responded.
But everyone understood.
...
At sunset, the entire unit returned; not a single person was late.
The hands of the clock on the wall ticked forward, notch by notch.
In the Underhive, the mother looked at the photo again and again before tucking it under her pillow and closing her eyes.
By a window in the Mid-Hive, the wife gripped the cold officer's dog tags, staring at the night outside, unable to sleep all night.
In the barracks, the Boarding Party soldiers were fully geared up, three-meter-tall steel giants standing silently in line.
While the Boarding Party was ready, another group of elite soldiers, dressed in civilian clothes, had already boarded inconspicuous civilian trucks and were quietly heading toward the Upper Nest.