32: Chapter 32 An Alliance of Anger, the Long Live Alliance is Established

Musk was not looking at him.

He was staring at the greyish-white sandstone ground beneath his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line. His nostrils flared three or four times wider than usual, and something in his chest seemed to be pounding against his ribs.

He was angry, but it was completely different from the annoyance he felt when negotiations with politicians failed.

This was another kind of anger—purer, more intense. It was the anger welling up from the marrow of a man who viewed the upgrading of human civilization as his life's ambition, upon seeing another group of people using technology capable of advancing the entire civilization by centuries, merely to prolong their own lives like tortoises.

"The people in the Deep State obtained alien technology..." Musk's voice was trembling, the kind of tremor that couldn't be hidden after suppressing anger for too long. "The first thing they thought of wasn't spaceflight, wasn't interplanetary migration, wasn't civilizational upgrading, but how to live long enough, like some thousand-year-old tortoise?"

He spat out these words slowly, as if chewing on something bitter and sticky, then suddenly looked up at Edward, filled with utter disdain.

"If that spaceship had really fallen into their hands back in that era, and had been placed in the hands of any decent organization..."

"Do you have any idea how many centuries those reverse-engineered things could have advanced aerospace propulsion technology?"

"An engine capable of sending an interstellar spacecraft into orbits outside the solar system!"

"And what did they do with it?"

"They used it to extend their own lives! And killed everyone who knew about it while they were at it!"

He no longer controlled his volume.

The rooftop was empty, and the wind muffled all echoes for him.

Edward watched the anger on his face, neither offering comfort nor adding fuel to the fire.

He was simply watching, not because he needed any particular reaction, but because he was confirming something—confirming whether Musk was the same person he had anticipated in his mind.

He confirmed it.

What Musk was thinking about really was starships, civilization, and the interplanetary future of humanity.

And what those people in the Deep State were thinking about was precisely the opposite—using alien technology to lock themselves in coffins and live for ten thousand years.

He and Musk did not have conflicting interests at the most fundamental level, and they stood on the same side against their most fundamental enemy.

That was enough.

"Mr. Musk," Edward began, his tone suddenly becoming very light, light enough to sound like he was consulting him.

"Do you know why I brought these things here for you to see?"

Musk took a deep breath, and his shoulders slowly relaxed.

His anger did not disappear;

that kind of anger might never disappear,

but with the instinct of an engineer, he pushed his emotions behind his reason.

He looked up at Edward: "Go on."

"Because from the moment I confirmed this secret in the fishing cabin at Gold Lake, from the moment I finished that meal with Walsh on Chestnut Street, I was already on that list."

"No matter how careful I am, no matter how cleanly I delete those surveillance records, the Deep State will eventually track me down."

"A person like me, having sat in the Senate for decades, understands one thing all too well—"

"In the power system of the Lighthouse Country, there is nothing that cannot be uncovered; it is only a matter of time."

He took two steps forward, his voice dropping lower.

"Including you. You will also be on the list, from the moment you finished watching that surveillance video on the tablet."

The corner of Musk's mouth twitched, but he didn't speak.

He knew this was a fact.

Given the Deep State's logic of "eliminate anyone who gets involved," this line of inquiry wouldn't spare him just because he, Musk, was rich, famous, or owned a multi-billion dollar rocket company.

Back then, they didn't even spare that newspaper owner who held the secret to the Hoover Dam; a police report of bankruptcy and suicide was all it took to erase an entire piece of news truth from history.

"So I brought these for you to see," Edward said, "not to have you investigate anything for me, and not to sell you a conspiracy theory."

"But to let you know that you are now a part of this, too."

"You and I are both on the list now."

"...Then we are natural allies." Musk looked up at him, the sharpness in his eyes reigniting. His voice returned to a dry, flat tone, but at the end of that flatness, there was a heavy weight of certainty.

"As long as we don't make any noise, that so-called Deep State will have to have an extra layer of hesitation before making a move."

Edward nodded: "So, I formally propose that you and I form an alliance. No contracts, no public announcements, operating only in the shadows."

"The purpose of this alliance is—"

"First, to protect ourselves from being 'taken care of' by the Deep State."

"Second, to find that alien technology they've hidden under the Hoover Dam, before the Deep State seals it away forever."

"Third, to make the number of people who know this secret large enough and influential enough that the Deep State won't dare to strike at all of them at once."

Musk was silent for a few seconds, as if using his businessman's brain to make a final calculation.

But this calculation time was very short, perhaps less than five seconds.

Because he had already thought it through clearly:

he knew this secret now, too.

The Deep State would not show him any leniency.

He had an adventurous spirit. When he founded SpaceX, everyone told him that private companies had no chance in the aerospace field.

When he tried to get the Falcon 1 into orbit, he experienced three failures, and the funds for the fourth attempt were only enough for one last launch.

The dangers, threats, and people who wanted to sabotage him along the way had never been few.

It was just one more—one more mysterious organization that had hidden under the federal bureaucratic system for generations.

And besides... that was alien technology.

If he, Musk, could get his hands on those things, even just a tiny bit of data related to reverse-engineered propulsion technology or energy systems, the future of starships would not be what it is today.

The entire process of humanity becoming an interplanetary species could be accelerated by a giant leap.

"An alliance," Musk reached out and shook Edward's hand. "I don't need a contract."

"But you need to give this group a name."

He squinted at Edward, his voice soft yet steady, as if inviting the other man to speak the words he had been holding inside.

The corners of Edward Warren's mouth curled slightly.

The arc was small, but certain.

It was as if he had the answer in his heart all along and was only bringing it out at this moment.

He released Musk's hand and looked toward the west, as if gazing at the Hoover Dam in the distance, or perhaps at those kings in human history who never seemed to die.

"Let's call it the 'Long Live Alliance'," he said, his voice not loud, but every word landing heavily in the wind atop the tower.

"A name for those thousand-year-old tortoises in the Deep State who want to treat alien technology as an elixir of immortality."

The arc of Musk's mouth twitched sharply, then solidified into an extremely complex expression, with disgust, sarcasm, and hard determination mixed together.

He repeated slowly: "Long Live Alliance... Good, no turning back now."