175: Chapter 175 Floating Boots Assist in Election Campaign

Joshua continued speaking, his tone no different from when he had just announced the Black Hole Bomb manifest and the Space Jump Gate budget, sounding as though he were merely adding an engineering metric that had long been calculated.

"Based on our current findings, that new planet, the third planet of the Pavo T system, let's temporarily call it Cat Ear Planet, is inhabited by a native intelligent lifeform."

"Its morphology is similar to a combination of feline and human traits on Earth. To put it simply, it's much like the cat-girls in certain Earth anime."

"Those who want to leave the Solar System for free via the Space Jump Gate must all join the Interstellar Expeditionary Force upon reaching their destination, contributing their blood and lives to the expansion of the new human colonies."

Musk placed his hand on his knee, his voice low, but every word carried undisguised confusion.

"Can humans and cat-people not coexist peacefully? Must there be a military conquest?"

Before Joshua could speak, Edward took over the conversation.

He picked up the now-cold coffee cup again and placed it on his knee, turning his head to look at Musk. His tone was calm and cold, resembling someone reading a closing statement at a Senate hearing that had been verified by history countless times.

"The North American continent used to belong to the Indians."

"Subsequent history proved that peaceful coexistence was impossible to exist, but scalping certainly did."

"Things like this are unavoidable."

Prant leaned back against the back of his chair, remaining silent for a moment before suddenly lifting a finger and tapping gently on the sofa armrest.

"Actually, the cat-girls themselves are an extremely attractive piece of promotional material."

He retracted the finger that had been tapping the armrest, crossed his hands and placed them on his knees, his tone sounding like he was discussing a merger proposal at a board meeting whose return on investment he had already fully calculated.

"We can step up our propaganda efforts and let the public volunteer to join the Interstellar Expeditionary Force."

"That way, their enthusiasm and autonomy will be greatly enhanced. For the conquest of Cat Ear Planet, it has a hundred advantages and not a single harm."

He uncrossed his hands, his right index finger gently tapping his left palm, speaking word by word as if he had already written a promotional draft.

"Soft and fragrant cat-girls, cuddle them in bed after the war."

"Win military merits, divide estates, marry cat-girls, and become a chieftain."

Edward, who had just picked up the cold coffee wanting to take a sip, froze midway.

Musk lifted his left hand from his knee, placed it on the sofa armrest, tilted his head to look at Prant, and moved his lips before closing them again.

The two of them simultaneously turned those few lines of doggerel over in their minds:

Cat-girls were the bait, military exploits were the ladder, and estates and chieftainships were the ultimate promises of class ascension.

Every single line precisely stepped on the most primitive reproductive desires, violent impulses, and greed for wealth and status deep within the hearts of lower-class males.

This wasn't doggerel; this was an interstellar recruitment advertisement packaged as a rhyming jingle.

But compared to letting the general masses be directly blown to death by the Black Hole Bomb at the edge of the Solar System, going to Cat Ear Planet to join the Interstellar Expeditionary Force at least offered a chance at a way out.

Winning merits on the battlefield truly was a channel for class ascension,

making one's death far more meaningful than being crushed into a singularity by a Black Hole Bomb in the void.

Standing in the middle of the room, Joshua nodded slightly after hearing Prant's doggerel, his tone calm, neither praising nor mocking, like someone handling a routine matter that had already passed approval and only needed to be handed over to the execution level for implementation.

"These trivial details can be handled by yourself after you become president."

"The primary goal right now is for you to successfully run for president."

He raised his blue-gloved right hand from his side and waved it casually,

"Facing the million-strong fleet of Grey Alien arriving soon, if you can pull out one or two truly shocking high-tech equipment in front of the voters, I believe it will be of great help to the campaign."

Prant slowly drew back his hands resting on his knees, crossed them together, and pressed his ten fingers against each other.

"High-tech equipment? What kind?"

Joshua put his blue-gloved hand back behind him, his tone calm and resolute.

"Since the Tech Faction has already decided to aid you, we won't be stingy with the support."

"This piece of equipment, the Levitation Combat Boots. After putting them on, you can freely perform zero-gravity maneuvers within an altitude range of about thirty meters."

"As long as you showcase this device in front of the voters, they will naturally think that you are more qualified to sit in that chair than Biden."

As soon as his voice fell, he raised his black-gloved left hand and waved it casually,

and a pair of combat boots, entirely silver-gray with surfaces covered in extremely subtle light patterns, appeared out of thin air on the floor beside Prant's feet.

A ring of dark blue halo was embedded in the soles, glowing with a faint aura under the cold light of the screen still switching on the old chart table.

Prant looked down at the pair of boots on the ground, opened his mouth as if wanting to ask something more,

but Joshua had already turned into a streak of lightning and vanished into the exact center of the room, leaving only a steady and cold voice slowly echoing in the air:

"Use it well."

"But remember, no leaking of any information related to the Deep State is permitted."

Prant lowered his head, picked up the Levitation Combat Boots from the ground, placed them on his knees, and repeatedly stroked the smooth surface of the dark blue halo ring on the soles with his palms.

After a moment of silence, he raised his head, looked first at Edward, then at Musk,

and then placed the boots beside the sofa armrest, reaching out to shake hands with each of them.

"Edward, Musk, from now on, I join the Long Live Alliance."

"And deal with Biden together with you."

Edward placed his re-picked-up cold coffee on the edge of the table, and reached out to shake hands with Prant.

Musk straightened his body up from the sofa, also reached out, and gave a firm shake.

Prant turned the boots over and placed them on his knees, the dark blue light strip on the soles shimmering with a faint glint under the cold lighting.

He looked up at Musk.

"Since we can't mention the Deep State regarding these Levitation Combat Boots, how should I introduce their origin to the voters?"

Musk leaned back and casually replied, "You can say these boots were developed by SpaceX."

Prant took the boots off his knees and placed them beside the sofa armrest, nodding slightly.

No matter what seemingly outrageous high technology it was, as long as it was associated with Musk, it seemed to instantly become much more reasonable.

Edward placed his coffee cup on the nearby table edge and said, "Then next, it's our turn to play our hand."

"Biden had the FBI search your Mar-a-Lago, and his first move has already been made. It's time for us to strike back."

Prant raised both hands almost immediately; of course he agreed.

The FBI had turned his Mar-a-Lago upside down—this was the ultimate contempt for his personal dignity, and he had to fight back.