Little Pink Starfish

“A1 module normal.”
“D3 module normal.”
“Engine—”

The entire aircraft suddenly shook violently.

“Engine: unknown malfunction!”
“Initiate emergency landing procedures!”
“Captain, emergency protocol failed!”
“Switch to manual mode!”

The aircraft trembled wildly, the engine sputtering on and off.

Hubbard gripped his seat tightly, checking again that his safety belt was secure.

“Malfunction?” Lu Feng asked. “Didn’t we run pre-flight diagnostics?”

Beside him, Hubbard frowned slightly. “Were we attacked mid-flight by a flying alien species?”

Another officer replied, “No, the route was secure throughout.”

Hubbard narrowed his eyes. “That said, one of our wingmen crashed three hours ago.”

The aircraft continued to lurch, rising and falling. At last, it stabilized and managed a rough landing.

The cockpit opened. The co-pilot and navigator were pale; the navigator dropped to his knees and vomited into a trash bin.

“My god…” the co-pilot said. “We almost didn’t make it. The engine definitely has problems. I’ve never seen this kind of malfunction. This plane’s grounded—needs a full overhaul.”

Still, they had landed safely.

As Lu Feng stepped off the aircraft, he looked up at the city glowing in the morning light. In the outskirts, a cluster of bees took flight, disappearing into the horizon.

“Bees?” Hubbard asked.

But there was no time to dwell.

A line of officers from the United Front Center stood at attention at the foot of the ladder.

“Welcome back,” the lead officer saluted, expression serious. “On behalf of the base, we commend your efforts.”

Hubbard, lacking military rank, ignored the formality and cut straight to the point. “What happened to the base?”

The officer’s mouth tightened. “Indescribable disaster.”

Then he turned to Lu Feng. “Colonel Lu, please come with us.”

Lu Feng surveyed the area in silence, then got into their vehicle.

Watching him leave, Hubbard’s eyes darkened. A high-ranking officer from General Staff stood nearby and commented, “Colonel Lu and the United Front have always had tensions.”

“I heard he killed a United Front major general on his first day as an adjudicator,” Hubbard remarked.

The officer stayed silent—silence was confirmation.

—

United Front Center.

“That’s the situation,” the general at the end of the long table said.

In the military’s rigid hierarchy, the Adjudication Court was an exception. Originally a joint effort between the Lighthouse and military, it had no high-ranking titles. Later, adjudicators were stationed almost permanently in the Outer City, where the highest ranks were only colonel. So no one had ever proposed promoting an adjudicator’s rank.

But everyone knew adjudicators could overrule any command—they held more power than any colonel. That power was both feared and indispensable.

Lu Feng’s voice was calm. “How many survivors are left?”

“Preliminary count: 8,700.”

“The United Front has deployed a squadron to track the bee swarm,” the general said. “Colonel Lu, I must inform you—there are two prime suspects in this disaster. Both are tied to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Lu Feng said. “But I’ve always been loyal to the base.”

“The base trusts you,” the general replied. “You know what you must do.”

“Yes,” Lu Feng responded. “PL1109 squadron has sustained malfunctions and cannot proceed with missions. Requesting reassignment.”

“Approved.”

—

Night fell. An Zhe didn’t know where the black bee was flying him, but he was almost dried out by the wind. So when the bee landed briefly to rest, he returned to mycelium form and covered its head.

Predictably, the black bee fell asleep.

The terrain was dry—a flat desert, unsuitable for mushrooms. An Zhe dressed in human clothes from his backpack, ate a bit of compressed biscuit, and drank water. Sheltered behind the bee, he decided to sleep.

He heard airplanes roaring southward all day—at least ten. Lying on the bee’s back, he finally made a guess.

The bees were flying south. These bees must be heading somewhere hospitable, and the human aircraft—were hunting them. These were gene-carrying bees. If not wiped out, human genes might spread across the food chain, and if those creatures attacked the base, it would be catastrophic.

As for how the humans were tracking the bees, he didn’t know. For now, his bee didn’t seem to be targeted.

Then he saw a fighter plane struggling mid-air, swaying, and after a violent shake, it burst into flame and plummeted.

This was the third incident. Human aircraft were crashing frequently. Why?

An Zhe tightened his clothes, closed his eyes. Despite the noise, he was hidden beneath the bee. It was night—humans wouldn’t see him.

As he was about to fall asleep—

A loud crash. A hundred meters away, a fighter tilted and slammed into the ground. A wing broke off, and the plane flipped sideways. Smoke billowed.

An Zhe’s frown deepened. He got up and walked over. Sometimes, he couldn’t explain his own actions—like when he dragged a dying An Ze back to his den.

The cockpit was twisted open. He struggled to pull it apart, and a figure tumbled out in a dark blue pilot uniform, drenched in blood. An Zhe checked for breath.

—Dead.

Inside, another was dead too. But maybe he could find supplies.

He moved into the rear cabin—

And froze.

Someone slumped against a seat—unmoving.

He rushed over, lifted the upper body—

It was Lu Feng.
Lu Feng wasn’t dead.

An Zhe couldn’t describe what he felt. Lu Feng—here?

He hadn’t time to wonder why. He checked Lu Feng’s breathing.

Alive.

This cabin was intact. The seatbelt was tight. He must’ve passed out from the crash impact.

The air was filled with smoke. He had to get out.

He grabbed Lu Feng’s gun, then tried to lift him, shoulder under his arm.

Too difficult. Too narrow a space. The burning stench intensified. The communicator crackled: “United Front calling Colonel Lu Feng. Please respond…”

He pulled hard—

Lu Feng’s eyes flew open.

The next moment, everything spun. Lu Feng grabbed him, kicked open the emergency hatch, smoke pouring out. He pulled An Zhe with him. They rolled down into a shallow pit nearby.

An Zhe clung to Lu Feng instinctively.

Then—

Boom!

The earth shook. The crashed plane exploded in a fiery blast. Shrapnel soared like meteor showers. A severed arm flew, landing near them in a puff of dust.

The jet had self-destructed—just like the previous crashes.

Had he not gone in, Lu Feng would have died. Or both of them would have.

He was dizzy, ears ringing. Only their breathing remained.

After a long silence, Lu Feng said hoarsely, “…Thank you.”

An Zhe panted. Everything hurt. The lingering effects of torture were worse than the fall.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, all the pain returned—his body recalled the interrogation room, only now the interrogator was Lu Feng.

Lu Feng was the most terrifying of all.

He stared for a long time. An Zhe couldn’t read his expression.

Then: “An Zhe?”

An Zhe didn’t answer.

His ID said “An Ze,” but he called himself “An Zhe.” Changing your name was common, but it was still a flaw.

Those eyes—same as their first meeting. That day, An Zhe had prepared to die. But Lu Feng had let him go.

But the judgment only arrived two months late.

“Where is the sample?” Lu Feng asked coldly.

An Zhe couldn’t answer. But Lu Feng’s tone frightened him more than any torture.

He bit his lip. “Ate it… gone.”

Lu Feng pressed his fingers against An Zhe’s stomach—through the thin cloth, the touch was terrifying.

If Lu Feng knew the spore could be retrieved, he would cut him open without hesitation—just like he had sliced his mycelium before.

An Zhe couldn’t think. Mind blank. Lu Feng’s expression was frozen—calm, cold, flawless.

An Zhe breathed shakily. He had hidden Lu Feng’s gun behind his back. He nudged it farther, trying to conceal it.

But that motion exposed it.

Lu Feng’s eyes sharpened. With lightning speed, he grabbed An Zhe, pinned him tightly, pried open his hand, and took the gun.

An Zhe gasped, struggling—

“Bang!”

A shot.

An Zhe’s mind went blank—but he wasn’t dead. He heard something fall nearby—a lizard-like creature had been shot by Lu Feng.

An Zhe went cold. He and that monster were the same species. And Lu Feng—their eternal enemy.

The communicator crackled again. “United Front calling PJ103 fighter, please respond…”

Lu Feng replied coldly, “PJ103 received. Jet crashed. Pilot confirmed dead.”

“Report mission status… send coordinates…”

The signal distorted—either the comms were failing, or the outer signal was collapsing again.

“Target secured,” Lu Feng said.

“…Confirm mutation type… retrieve lost data… eliminate. Please—”

“Do you hear me?” Lu Feng’s voice cracked slightly. “Respond.”

The icy barrel pressed against An Zhe’s temple.
He was closer to death than ever before.

He trembled. “No… I won’t…”

“PJ103, immediate—”

The message pushed all emotions to the brink—

Then silence.

“Bzzzt—”
The static rose—sharpened to a piercing whine—
And vanished.

A gentle female voice replaced it:
“Apologies. Due to solar wind or ionospheric interference, the base signal is down. This is normal. Please remain calm. Communications will resume shortly…”

An Zhe was still pinned. They were dangerously close. Lu Feng could kill him any second.

He could feel Lu Feng’s heartbeat—uneven, despite the calm face.

Lu Feng’s fingers pressed into a wound on An Zhe’s shoulder. An Zhe shivered, vision blurred, whimpered.

The gun barrel remained cold. Death did not retreat.

He couldn’t speak.

All his memories flashed by. He couldn’t hold onto any of them. Just the night before, he had been thinking how to lie to protect this man.

“I… won’t give it to you.” He hugged his abdomen, voice shaking, sobbing. “I hate… you.”

The gun trembled.

“…Please remain tuned…”

Silence.

The flames died. The communicator went quiet. All connections severed.

There were no signs of human life. Only endless desert meeting the night sky. As if humanity had never existed. No humans. No civilization. No base.

Only them.

A dull thud. The gun fell.

Lu Feng closed his eyes and pulled An Zhe tightly into his arms.