Chapter 38: The Lop-Eared Hare

The recycled warm air brushed against his cheeks, making him drowsy. Lu Yuan lay on his camp bed, one hand behind his head. Though he felt tired, he didn't feel like sleeping.

Beneath him was the portable radiation meter. Lu Yuan had collected several clusters of snow samples within the light from the rabbit lamp for testing. The readings varied but hovered around 30 roentgens.

He couldn't really blame Murphy for not warning him that radiation levels in the wild could be so high. Many Alliance citizens were born on ships or space stations, where background radiation far exceeds surface levels due to atmospheric shielding. Especially during the Great Migration, people deliberately exposed newborns to radiation to build resistance. More than seventy percent of Alliance citizens work on resource planets, constantly exposed to radiation and developing significant resistance to it over time. With his standard infantry gear, Lu Yuan hardly blinked at a few dozen roentgens.

But for most mammals, this 30-roentgen level would be a death sentence. Roughly speaking, 1 roentgen (R) equals 100 millisieverts (mSv), or 0.01 sieverts (Sv). The maximum annual radiation exposure for human health is only 1 Sv. Exceeding 4000 mSv poses a fatal risk, and absorbing that much instantly could be deadly on the spot.

Adjusting his arm, Lu Yuan glanced out the window at the snow still falling. This kind of radioactive snow forced people to absorb even more radiation. It was no wonder that neither Murphy nor Lu Yuan encountered any large intelligent life all day—no creature could survive in this extreme environment. If anything did survive, what kind of monster would it be?

The poorly sealed water heater dripped "drip drip," and since Lu Yuan couldn't sleep anyway, he got out of bed to tighten it and continued adding details to the map.

According to old data Murphy found, the crash site of the *Evening Cloud* was in an area known as the Stanov Mountains, a name Lu Yuan found awkward to pronounce in his learned common tongue. It must have been one of many ancient Earth languages that vanished after the migration. Murphy could interpret it effortlessly, but not Lu Yuan—his translation earpiece wasn't advanced enough to scan his thoughts.

Lu Yuan had already mapped most of the area near the launch site and outlined much of the mountains to the east. Moving south, he continued filling in lines, but after a while, he started to wonder if his memory was slipping. Within a 500-kilometer range to the south, there were strange, isolated contour lines every 70 to 80 kilometers—single, dense protrusions on the plains and even some large ring-like formations.

At first, he thought they were hills, but on second thought, no hills were spaced this regularly or of such uniform height. It was as if they had been placed with a specific frequency.

Lu Yuan went back to check the river plain between the Stanov Mountains and another slightly taller mountain range. He found more contorted contour lines crisscrossing the area.

Biting the end of his pen, Lu Yuan pondered. Given the high radiation levels, Earth must have suffered a devastating radiation attack during the Skyfall War, triggering a chain reaction that altered the global climate.

An ice age? He wracked his brain to come up with the term, thankful he hadn't skipped too many geography classes as a kid. This term might explain Earth's cold climate?

He tapped his forehead in frustration. Planetary climate and surface formation were their own scientific fields, and Lu Yuan was a paratrooper, not a scientist on a colonial terraforming ship. Planetary colonization required massive data and complex modeling. Most citizens of the Alliance with any status wouldn't bother with rote memorization for repetitive tasks; everyone aspired to creative roles—artists, syntax engineers, fleet officers.

In the end, Lu Yuan tentatively concluded that these strange contours might be the result of some kind of external collapsing weapon, layering soil and rock in odd ways. Urban ruins were also a possibility, though he doubted civilian structures would have survived in bulk after so much time.

The night passed sleeplessly.

As they set off the next day, the anti-gravity module pushed the snow to the sides, piling it into a pit that ended up burying the Rabbit. Lu Yuan had to flip the anti-gravity module upside down, blasting away the snow mound to help the Rabbit climb up the loose slope.

The blizzard from the night before continued into the morning, and visibility remained low. With no scout robot and unable to launch a drone to monitor the terrain in real time, Lu Yuan dared not push the Rabbit's speed. The snowfield lacked any reference points—only endless frost-white plains. Even the trees barely standing under the weight of the snow dared not add a hint of color, and the entire mountain ridge line had vanished. Lu Yuan couldn't risk gambling on whether he'd avoid sinking into a hidden pit, cliff, or crevice in the frozen snow. While he could probably hold his ground, it was another matter entirely with a ten-ton tracked vehicle.

Every few kilometers, Lu Yuan had to climb out, attach weights and a density scanner to a drone to check for weak spots ahead. His caution proved justified, as many areas had snow layers only a meter or two thick that would collapse under the Rabbit's weight.

Moving forward this cautiously meant that by noon, with the snowstorm abating somewhat, he'd managed only about five kilometers—impressive for a traveler, but at this pace, he'd be lucky to reach the launch site, the old "Svobodny," by spring.

This low-speed, high-consumption driving drained the Rabbit's engine hours. The marines, in their grueling front-line duties, had nicknamed it the "Tough Rabbit" because of its durability. But tough as it was, it still needed minor and major repairs. After 400–500 engine hours, it would need a thorough overhaul at a field maintenance depot. Lu Yuan knew a bit about mechanics, but not enough to pull out the engine and run a diagnostic test.

The sky cleared a little, and the drone data showed flat terrain ahead. Lu Yuan, feeling bold, grabbed his sunglasses, jumped out, snapped on the auxiliary track teeth, cranked the turbo, and—boom—the Rabbit tore off at high speed!

The thrill of speeding was exhilarating, but the cracks forming in the snow behind him were less so. Lu Yuan switched on cruise mode, slipped to the back door, and, binoculars in hand, watched as the gaps in the ice widened rapidly.

"Damn," he muttered, not taking it too seriously, and was about to pop an anti-radiation tablet when a rumble grew louder in his ears.

The intense glare on the snow forced Lu Yuan to shade his eyes with his hand. Across the ridge, a white wave thundered towards him, majestic as if painted to erase imperfections from a canvas, leaving no trace of the black fissures beneath—a blinding, holy radiance.

Amazed by the rare sight, Lu Yuan scratched his freshly stubbled chin and thought that, after a bit of purification, this poor little planet might make a decent vacation spot.

But after just a few seconds of daydreaming, he pursed his lips and decided to snap a photo. He squinted sideways at the oncoming white wave, and a distant memory stirred, dredging up what little knowledge he had.

"Avalanche?" he murmured, dismissing it as not too dangerous—nothing like surfing on a tsunami. That thought lasted about one heartbeat before Lu Yuan remembered he wasn't on Zorion, and realized what "avalanche" actually meant.

"Damn," he muttered, diving into the cab and dropping into the driver's seat, stomping on the gas. With turbo and obstacle-breaking mode fully engaged, he took off. The avalanche was coming for him!

The Rabbit sped wildly, ice and wind whipped past the rear-view mirrors. Lu Yuan didn't need to look back to see the rows of pine trees snapping like sugar canes in the avalanche's wake.

The warning alarm blared, splitting his head with its constant beeping. But Lu Yuan couldn't free a hand to adjust for the drone struggling to land; the drone clung onto the Rabbit's open panel, battered by the snow-laden wind. The drone's rotor smacked against the car roof, leaving a trail of wires as it clung on, making the Rabbit look like it was pulling its ears down in terror.

Lu Yuan couldn't care less if the Rabbit's "ears" were drooping. All he cared about was if he was going fast enough to escape the avalanche. Luckily, his luck held. The avalanche from the cracked ice didn't last too long, allowing Lu Yuan to escape with his life intact.

Seeing the snow wave gradually recede, he let out a breath and found a sheltered slope to stop.

Lifting the hood released a wave of heat that flushed Lu Yuan's face bright red. Heartbroken, he inspected the overheated engine, nearly on the verge of blowing a gasket—the oil was almost boiling. It was a Rabbit, not an antelope, and wasn't built for this kind of punishment. While it wouldn't break down entirely, the turbo boost was definitely out of commission.

Lu Yuan leafed through the maintenance manual and performed some basic repairs. Murphy hadn't been in hibernation long, and Lu Yuan was already missing that chatty AI. Sadly, he had no control over when Murphy could be reactivated. After removing the drone wreckage tangled in the tow wheel, he dismantled the parts and tossed them in the equipment box, checking if the water had boiled.

Hot water swirled in his cup, instant drink powder dissolving into a rich, sweet coffee, which he set down on the table. He picked up his pen, bumping the mug slightly so that a splash of brown stained the notebook's pages.

Many days later, when Lu Yuan opened that old notebook, the coffee stains on the first page were still prominent.

"Day 1 on Earth, snowstorm clearing."

"I don't know what day of the week it is. Let's call it Monday. I drove a long time today. The Rabbit is amazing—it saved me from an avalanche. When I get back, I'm definitely submitting a request to headquarters to equip paratroopers with Rabbits…"

"My watch still runs on Zorion Standard Time. Today is January 1, New Year's Day. I don't know if it's the New Year's first day back home. If it is, I'd like to make a New Year's wish."

"After thinking for a long time, I realized any wish I'd make would be too big to come true. So I'll give the right to make a wish to Jiyue. She's much smarter than me. If she doesn't get it, pass it to Dad. If he's on duty, pass it to Mom. As long as someone gets it, that'll be enough."

"Happy New Year."