Chapter 472 Antarctic Currents

Just as things stabilized with Wang Hao's situation, Yang Xiaobing pushed open the door and came in. Before He Yuzhu could even put the microphone back on its stand, a thermal imaging photo was slapped onto the table. Yang Xiaobing poked at the photo with his finger, focusing on the orange-red heat source.

"Underground activities have increased. They haven't withdrawn."

He Yuzhu glanced at him. "You said last time that they had left."

"I'm talking about the surface. The underground ones haven't stopped." Yang Xiaobing pushed the photo forward a bit. "Zhou Zhiyuan set up a seismograph in Chile and detected micro-tremors. Even more frequent than before the base was closed."

He Yuzhu didn't bring the photo. He looked at Yang Xiaobing's face. Yang Xiaobing tilted his head, and the scar on his face disappeared into the shadows of the light, revealing only half of his face.

How many people?

Yang Xiaobing paused for a moment. He knew what He Yuzhu was asking. Not the numbers. The risk.

"The heat source is estimated to have at least 150 people. With shift work, it could exceed 300." He drew a line on the photo with his finger. "And the distribution is regular. Large heat sources are surrounded by smaller ones, like a production line."

"What production line?"

"Not sure." Yang Xiaobing clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking. "But the Antarctic Treaty stipulates that military facilities cannot be built in Antarctica. We can't get close enough to conduct reconnaissance. Zhou Zhiyuan tried using a drone, but the signal was suppressed as soon as it approached the coastline. The other side has electronic jamming."

He Yuzhu stood up. The chair leg scraped against the ground with a hissing sound. He walked to the window; the glass was covered with fine sand from the Gobi Desert, a hazy gray. The launch site was empty; the Kunlun rocket was in the sky. Wang Hao had said last night, "I must complete the mission," his eyes sunken, his lips chapped, but his eyes were bright.

"Did the Soviets know?"

"The Soviet Union also had a station in Antarctica. They couldn't possibly not know that, but they didn't say anything."

He Yuzhu turned around. Yang Xiaobing stood in front of the table, not sitting down. He was waiting.

"Keep an eye on it for now. We'll discuss it again when the Kunlun returns."

Yang Xiaobing took a step forward. "Director He, by the time the Kunlun returns, they'll have already developed their third-generation spacecraft. Then our spacecraft will be in the sky, and they'll launch it from the ground—"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Yang Xiaobing fell silent. He knew it wasn't possible. Send troops? The Antarctic Treaty forbade it. Drones couldn't fly there. Satellites couldn't photograph the ground. They could only monitor it.

The atmosphere was still tense when Lin Jianguo pushed the door open and came in. He was holding a folder in his hand, glanced at Yang Xiaobing's face, and didn't ask any questions.

"Dean He, the materials for the second spacecraft project approval meeting are ready. People from Haili will be here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

He Yuzhu took the folder and flipped through a couple of pages. "Is the repair plan for the Kunlun in there?"

"Yes. Curvature coil replacement, anti-gravity system upgrade, ecological cycle optimization. Begin on page three."

He Yuzhu closed the folder. "Add the Antarctic intelligence as well. Make an attachment, but don't formalize it; just show it to the people at sea."

Lin Jianguo was taken aback. "Tell them about Antarctica?"

"Say it. Let them know that the Americans aren't idle."

Lin Jianguo glanced at Yang Xiaobing. Yang Xiaobing ignored him and stared at He Yuzhu.

Lin Jianguo nodded, took the folder, and turned to leave.

Yang Xiaobing was still standing.

"Director He, Zhou Zhiyuan asked me if it's permissible to publish photos of US military biological warfare training if we were to take them?"

"Not to be published for now."

"Keep it?"

"Keep it. When we need it."

Yang Xiaobing carefully put the photos on the table into his briefcase one by one. The sound of the zipper being zipped up was jarring in the quiet office.

"I'm leaving," he said.

"Um."

Yang Xiaobing walked to the door, stopped, and didn't turn around. "Director He, I didn't come here today to upset you. I'm just afraid that by the time we see the truth, it will be too late."

"I know."

Yang Xiaobing left. The door wasn't closed properly, and a sliver of light from the corridor shone through.

He Yuzhu sat in his chair, not closing the door. He pulled up satellite photos of the Antarctic base from his system space, zooming in, and zooming in again. The outline of the underground facilities resembled a centipede crawling beneath the ice sheet. One hundred and fifty people. Three hundred people. The production line.

He closed the interface.

Evening. Courtyard house.

Qin Huairu wasn't home. He Yushui was cooking porridge in the kitchen, the pot lid rattling from the steam. Chen Xinghai was sleeping in his cradle, a trace of drool at the corner of his mouth.

"Brother, have you eaten?"

"without."

He Yushui brought over a bowl of porridge. He took the bowl and sat down at the table. The porridge was hot, so he stirred it but didn't drink it.

He Nianhua's room door was open. He was slumped over the table, his notebook open, a pen in his hand, but he wasn't writing. Hearing He Yuzhu's voice, he closed the notebook and stuffed it into his bag.

He Yuzhu carried the bowl to the door and leaned against the doorframe. "Finished your homework?"

"Finished writing."

"What should I draw?"

He Nianhua was taken aback. "I didn't draw anything."

"Notebook." He Yuzhu pointed to his schoolbag.

He Nianhua hesitated for a moment, then took out a notebook from his bag and opened it. The sketch depicted a spaceship, with a more pointed bow than the Kunlun and an additional pair of outstretched wings at the stern.

He Yuzhu looked at it for a few seconds without saying anything. He put the bowl of porridge on the table and took out a piece of paper from his pocket—a copy of the thermal imaging photo left by Yang Xiaobing. He placed the photo next to the sketch.

"What is this?" He Nianhua picked up the photo.

"Thermal imaging of the American Antarctic base. There are 150 people underground, possibly more."

He Nianhua stared at the photo. "What are they doing?"

"I don't know. But their goal is also space."

He Nianhua put down the photo and looked at He Yuzhu. "Is our spaceship faster than theirs?"

He Yuzhu picked up the bowl of porridge and took a sip. "It's not fast enough yet."

He Nianhua returned the photos to him. "There will be enough in the future."

He Yuzhu folded the photo and put it in his pocket, picked up the bowl of porridge, and walked back to the main room. He Yushui had already filled the second bowl and placed it on the table.

"Brother, what did Nianhua draw?"

"A ship. A ship faster than the Kunlun."

He Yushui smiled. "Just like you."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He picked up the bowl and finished the porridge in a few gulps. He put the bowl down, stood up, and walked to the door.

He Yushui called from behind, "Brother, are you going back to the launch site tonight?"

"Return."

He pushed open the door. A cold night wind rushed in.

Yang Xiaobing stood at the door, clutching a crumpled telegram in his hand, breathing rapidly, as if he had run there.

"Director He." He shoved the telegram into He Yuzhu's hand. His fingers were icy cold.

The telegram contained only one line of text, sent by Zhou Zhiyuan.

"At the Antarctic base, there are lights beneath the ice."

He Yuzhu stood on the threshold, one hand gripping the doorframe. The jujube tree in the yard swayed in the wind, its branches casting shadows on the snow.

Without turning around, he said to the house, "Rain, close the door."

Then walk into the wind.