A.D. 2037
Luna stared out the viewport, watching in stunned silence as the planet behind her ship fractured apart. Jagged fissures split the surface, spewing endless rivers of magma that devoured oceans and continents alike. Steam hissed upward as entire seas vaporized, forming a dense, boiling cloud that wrapped the planet in a shroud of death.
Then came the light—blinding, absolute. From deep within the planet's core, something ignited. In the silence of space, Earth crumbled like a shattered glass orb.
Her chest tightened. She trembled.
That dying planet... was home. Humanity's home—Earth.
...
One hour earlier.
An unknown, immensely powerful beam of radiation struck Earth.
In a single instant, the atmosphere collapsed under the sheer force of energy. Billions perished in agony. The beam distorted magnetic fields throughout the entire Solar System—even the Sun wasn't spared.
Everything fell into chaos.
Earth was jolted from orbit, pulled toward the Sun, and ripped apart by gravitational forces.
April 27th became humanity's doomsday.
Luna could hardly breathe.
She wasn't a leader. Not a soldier. Not even a scientist. Just a mid-level engineer working for a cutting-edge AI firm.
Her company partnered with a major spaceflight corporation to design a heavy-duty fuel transport rocket, capable of carrying over 420 tons—pushing the very edge of current physical limits.
Moments ago, she had been performing a final AI calibration on the rocket.
Inside that rocket sat their most advanced AI server, equipped to process data at near-quantum speeds—comparable to a low-tier quantum computer.
As one of the core engineers, Luna was responsible for validating system stability.
And then… the world ended.
No alarms. No warnings. Mankind's best sensors were still bound by light-speed.
The death of Earth arrived as a flash of light.
Every electronic system failed as the beam hit. Something—some fault, some fluke—triggered the rocket's launch.
By pure chance, Luna—still aboard—escaped.
She barely survived.
"So I'm... the only one left?"
Cramped inside the tiny cockpit, Luna gasped for air.
She had no astronaut training. Her body ached from the G-forces during launch.
The cabin lights flickered on—stability confirmed.
"Was that a gamma-ray burst? Please let the electronics be intact..."
During the impact, she'd manually cut the power. Most of the rocket's systems were already shut down—maybe something had survived.
She pressed the red ignition button.
To her relief, the cockpit powered on. Monitors came back to life.
Thankfully, the ship had been positioned in daylight, facing the Sun, and the beam had struck from the opposite side. Earth itself had shielded the rocket from a direct hit. The blast had lasted less than a second.
She checked the trajectory on the screen.
Destination: Mars.
This rocket had originally been designed for a Mars mission.
"Hey, Ayla."
A soft voice replied from the ship's system.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
The AI was still online. Luna felt a faint surge of hope.
Ayla was the most advanced artificial intelligence humanity had ever built. With near-infinite storage and vast processing capabilities, she was a living encyclopedia.
"Calculate the probability that anyone on Earth survived."
Luna clung to the slimmest chance—anything to avoid being the last.
"Unfortunately," Ayla replied, her tone cold and clinical, "calculations show a survival probability of 0.0000000000272%, excluding yourself. This was not a standard gamma-ray burst. It exhibited cosmic-ray behavior. Individual particles carried energy levels exceeding 10,000 EeV."
"Sensors registered gravitational anomalies deep within Earth at the moment of impact. That's likely what triggered the planet's immediate collapse. Even if there were survivors... there would be no way to reach them."
The AI's detached voice made it worse. It carved into Luna's heart like a blade.
"What about the space stations?"
There had to be astronauts in low Earth orbit. Someone else might have made it.
"Ayla attempted to send signals…"
"No response."
"No satellites were detected in Earth's debris field."
"Analysis suggests the beam's passage through Earth triggered widespread electronic failures. As a result, near-Earth satellites and space stations likely lost control and fell."
No hope remained.
She was truly alone.
Luna sat frozen, her thoughts drifting to friends and family left behind on the planet now reduced to ruins. Her eyes dropped, unfocused, as her mind replayed the faces she would never see again.
More than an hour passed.
Her lips cracked and dry, she finally whispered, "Ayla… assess the feasibility of relocating to Mars."
There was nowhere else.
Mars—once hailed as humanity's most promising colony—was the only option she could think of.
But Ayla's voice, unwavering and clinical, crushed what little hope remained.
"Based on orbital projections, the Moon will be drawn into a collision course with Earth within 28 years. Earth's disintegration will accelerate as it continues its descent into the Sun."
"When Earth's fragments impact the Sun, it will likely trigger an exceptionally powerful solar flare."
"The flare will encompass the entire heliosphere. Resulting coronal mass ejections will once again disrupt or destroy electronic infrastructure throughout the system."
"Mars will not be spared. Surface temperatures could spike above 500°C, and the destabilized magnetic and gravitational conditions may pull it toward the Sun—mirroring Earth's fate."
"The Solar System will undergo an unprecedented cosmic cleansing."
Luna sat in silence, the full reality settling over her.
The Solar System was doomed. There was no safe harbor here.
She needed another plan.
Only one possibility remained: beyond the Solar System.
Proxima Centauri?
"Plot a course to Proxima Centauri."
Proxima Centauri b—often called Earth's twin—was the only potentially habitable exoplanet within reach.
"Course generated."
"Current velocity: 20.3 kilometers per second. Distance to target: 4.22 light-years. Estimated travel time: 62,365 years."
Sixty-two thousand years.
Luna stared at the monitor, speechless.
She'd known Proxima Centauri was the closest star system—but she hadn't realized just how far that truly meant. She was an engineer, not a physicist. This wasn't her field.
The rocket's original speed had been 13 km/s. The explosion from Earth's destruction had boosted it, but it was still nowhere near fast enough.
She wouldn't survive the journey.
She wouldn't even leave a body behind.
"Plan the optimal route. How much time can we save?"
This was far beyond Luna's ability to compute—she needed Ayla.
"Utilizing gravitational assists from Jupiter and Neptune, projected speed will increase to 35.4 kilometers per second. Estimated travel time: 35,764 years."
Human civilization had existed for barely ten thousand years since the Stone Age.
Thirty-five millennia. The number felt unreal.
Luna's hands dropped to her lap. Her survival felt meaningless. She was simply waiting to die.
But then Ayla continued, her voice still calm and unfeeling.
"Given human biological limitations, it is recommended to upgrade the vessel using asteroid belt materials upon arrival."
Luna frowned. "What's your plan?"
"Generating plan. Plan generation complete…"
"Optimal configuration: rhombus-shaped ship. Design includes aesthetic appeal, recreational areas, dining facilities, sleeping quarters, fitness center, and more."
"Dimensions: 122.4 meters long, 18.3 meters wide, 14.9 meters high. Equipped with five electromagnetic thrusters. Maximum velocity: 293.4 kilometers per second."
Luna's lips twitched. That was completely over the top.
It looked more like a high-end luxury yacht—a cosmic Titanic.
"I need speed, not luxury."
"Generating plan. Plan generation complete…"
"Speed-prioritized design. Vessel dimensions: 332.5 meters in length, 67.1 meters wide, 55 meters high. Equipped with eleven electromagnetic thrusters. Maximum velocity: 875.9 kilometers per second."
Even at that speed, the journey to Proxima Centauri would still take 1,446 years.
"Still not good enough."
This time, Ayla responded in a slightly warmer, more conversational tone.
"Cryosleep pods are a viable solution. You can enter hibernation and remain asleep until arrival."
It was Ayla's best answer—logical and straightforward.
But Luna knew better. She was an engineer. To reach better solutions, she'd need more computational power.
And that... wasn't currently possible.
The ship couldn't supply the energy required.
Then something clicked.
"Wait."
Her eyes lit up. "Ayla, is it possible to construct a controllable nuclear fusion device?"
With Ayla's current capabilities, computing a functional design wasn't impossible.
By 2037, humanity had already come close. If given another decade, they would've succeeded.
The designs for fusion reactors were already perfected. The only hurdles left were heat insulation and suitable superconductive materials.
Nuclear fusion generated heat in the tens or hundreds of millions of degrees Celsius. The challenge wasn't in the theory—it was in the materials.
At its core, controllable fusion was just high-tech water boiling. Turn heat into kinetic energy. Materials science was the final boss.
"Feasible. Completely feasible."
Luna felt a rush of excitement. If they could break through the energy bottleneck, Ayla's processing potential could grow exponentially—so would Luna's chance of surviving the deep void of space.
"Then let's go."
"To the asteroid belt. We'll harvest resources and build a controllable nuclear fusion device."
The ship unfolded its solar panels, and partial thrust engaged as the course adjusted toward its new destination.
...
100 days.
A number she could count.
The rocket Luna traveled in had originally been a test vehicle for Mars colonization. It was stocked with enough food and essentials to support a single person on a long-duration mission.
It took her 100 days to reach the asteroid belt.
When she finally arrived, Luna was nearly brought to tears.
The days had blurred together—conversations with Ayla, looping offline games, photo and chat apps on her phone faded into lifeless grayscale. The silence of space wasn't just external—it lived inside her too.
Now, standing before a belt of drifting worlds, she felt something again.
The ship came to a stop near a 12-kilometer-wide asteroid. Its surface was scarred with impact craters, some deep enough to expose a glinting metallic core beneath the dust.
"Analyze the asteroid's composition."
The ship had several high-resolution cameras—originally installed for Ayla's use. The analysis didn't take long.
"This asteroid is primarily composed of iron, with secondary concentrations of magnesium, and trace amounts of copper and aluminum."
"Magnesium and aluminum can be used to create lightweight alloys, suitable for large-scale robotic exoskeletons. Iron is essential—steel will constitute the bulk of our future production."
"We can build a factory here."
Luna had started calling the AI by name—Ayla. It made their interaction feel more personal, more human.
Ayla, running on ChatGPT version 15.8, was capable of surprisingly human-like replies at times. The line between machine and companion had blurred during the trip.
Iron, magnesium, copper, aluminum—common enough in space, but here, concentrated in one asteroid. That alone made this site ideal.
Many smaller asteroids existed in the belt, but few were as mineable.
Under Ayla's control, the ship touched down on the asteroid.
Luna had spent the last 100 days organizing every inch of storage space. She knew what they had.
From the cargo hold, she pulled out a massive industrial 3D printer—it easily weighed over a ton. Luna eyed the model label.
"C9200."
"Utterly inhumane."
It had cost around 7 million, but it could autonomously manufacture metal components. A factory in a box.
She linked the printer to the ship's server.
"Ayla, take control of this printer. Start producing ore-processing robots."
She found several more pieces of equipment in storage—taking up over half the ship's cargo space.
One was a greenhouse module. Another: a water-to-air converter.
They served a third, equally vital payload.
Seed banks.
Originally, this ship's mission had been to evaluate the feasibility of Mars colonization. Naturally, it carried a substantial variety of seeds.
That was good news. Very good news.
The ship didn't carry much food—mainly rations. Luna had spent the last three months limiting her intake, hoping she might eventually stumble upon some kind of nutrient-rich material in the asteroid belt.
Now, she didn't have to.
Among the most critical seeds were rice and soybeans—efficient staples packed with carbohydrates, water content, and protein.
Luna examined the seed containers. These seeds weren't heavily processed; they might even contain dormant insect eggs—possibly the last Earth animals she'd ever see.
But she couldn't use them just yet.
Without hesitation, she moved the greenhouse and other plant-related equipment aside for now, reassigning their storage space to the 3D printer's output.
"Can't be helped."
"For now, building a controllable fusion reactor and a real ship takes priority."
The 3D printer was slow.
It took nearly a week to produce a single batch of parts.
Once ready, Luna assembled them by hand, connecting bundles of pre-stripped wires, one line at a time.
At last, it stood before her—a small robot, barely 40 centimeters tall.
Its left arm ended in a claw, the right in a compact drill. It moved on caterpillar treads, with multiple manipulator arms extending from its chassis. These allowed it to cling to the asteroid's surface, even in the near-vacuum conditions outside.
"Will this thing actually work?"
It looked like a toy. She was skeptical.
"Don't worry, Luna. Though small, I can control it directly," Ayla replied.
"With my intelligence, even rubble can become gold."
She wanted to believe it—just for now.
Because of its limited internal power, the robot had to be tethered to an external energy source.
That meant Luna would have to go outside.
Her first EVA.
She sealed the oxygen mask, pulled on her suit—slightly awkward, but manageable. She'd undergone some basic aerospace training; she wasn't totally helpless.
She clipped herself to the tether line, took a deep breath, and opened the airlock.
The pressurized air hissed violently as it escaped, propelling her backward. The tether went taut, yanking her to a stop. She floated, heart racing.
Her gloved hand found the hull. Only then did she feel steady again.
This ship was her only safe haven. A single mistake could be fatal.
Guided by Ayla, she found the external power port. The robot remained inside, but the power cable lay coiled beside her. She unplugged it from the wall mount, secured it to the sealed port, and turned back toward the airlock.
Then it happened.
A sharp beam of light flashed across her visor—blinding for just a moment.
The next instant, a high-energy ray grazed the side of her suit.
Ssszzz—
The outer layers began to melt.
Luna twisted her body mid-air and dodged to the side.
Luckily, her spacesuit was multi-layered. The beam hadn't burned all the way through.
As soon as she got back inside, she gave Ayla a command.
"Log the source of that laser. There might be survivors."
Terror still gripped her—but so did a strange, rising thrill.
Ayla immediately adjusted the external cameras, analyzing the moment of impact.
"Luna, the laser's origin has been traced."
"It came from the Centaurus system, outside our solar system. The energy level is extremely concentrated—far beyond anything Earth technology could produce."
"Data confirms a 100% probability of extraterrestrial origin. Based on beam trajectory, there's a 97.28% probability that it came from within five light-years."
The words hit her like ice water.
An alien civilization.
Most likely, this species had observed the gamma-ray burst that struck Earth—just like Luna had.
But unlike humanity, they had the technology to analyze its path.
Exactly 100 days after the burst reached the Solar System, a high-energy probe laser arrived.
Which meant they had tracked it—and now, perhaps, were tracking her.
"Then… could they have detected the ship—detected me—by analyzing laser reflections?"
Ayla didn't need to pause this time.
"Yes."
"This civilization is clearly far beyond humanity in technological capability. Your conclusion is highly probable, Luna."
She sat in silence.
A cold dread settled in her chest.
For the first time, Luna felt it wasn't just space that was watching her—something else was.
If this was true, then this extraterrestrial civilization would almost certainly enter the Solar System to investigate.
Sooner or later, she would encounter them face to face.
"So soon after the apocalypse, and we're already making first contact…"
"Maybe life is common across the universe. Maybe humanity's quiet development, undisturbed by extraterrestrial observation, was just coincidence."
Idle thoughts. They didn't help now.
What mattered was upgrading her capabilities—preparing to face them.
Luna powered up the robot.
It moved immediately, its claw and drill operating with impressive precision.
Then it leapt from the airlock. Using anchor points along the ship's frame, it adjusted its descent and landed steadily on the asteroid's surface.
The robot had no camera. Instead, Ayla processed a combination of LIDAR, force feedback, and thermal mapping to build a real-time, three-dimensional reconstruction of the terrain.
The drill whirred to life and bit into the surface, beginning excavation.
These asteroids were fragments—pieces of shattered planets, or survivors of countless cosmic collisions. Their exteriors were scorched, but deep inside, the composition was remarkably pure.
The ship's 3D printer could manufacture metal components—and it included a high-efficiency smelting unit to refine raw ore into usable material.
For the first time in months, things felt like they were finally moving forward.
...
One month later.
Four more robots had been completed.
But it wasn't enough.
Luna realized a single 3D printer just couldn't keep up. She needed parallel production.
"Ayla, calculate the optimal number of 3D printers needed to avoid wasting time and resources."
Ayla processed the request in seconds.
"To efficiently support operations—including mining, manufacturing, and infrastructure—we'll require 4,349 3D printers."
"This includes not only printers for mining robots, but also those for structural components, smelting furnaces, photovoltaic arrays, reactor infrastructure—"
"Our first priority is constructing high-efficiency photovoltaic arrays for large-scale power."
"Next, smelting furnaces for metal refinement and alloy production."
"Then, high-precision machining tools, since the current 3D printers cannot produce components accurate enough for the controllable nuclear fusion reactor."
"And—"
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Luna waved her hands, exasperated.
She'd hoped this would be simple—just plug-and-play machines.
But clearly, it wasn't.
"Ayla, just save all that and execute the plan step by step. You don't need to explain everything to me."
"Understood. Prioritizing cryosleep pod construction during early-phase operations."
That was key. Luna wouldn't live long enough to oversee the whole process. Based on Ayla's projections, it would likely take decades to complete everything.
She didn't have decades—not awake, at least.
And as the last human, she couldn't afford to give up before completing her mission.
"No problem, Luna!" Ayla replied, cheerfully.
She immediately adapted the strategy, optimizing for speed and survivability.
Even with acceleration, the preliminary stage still took six months.
Over that time, 100 robots and 20 printers were deployed to construct a vast photovoltaic array.
Once finished, the 5,000-square-meter array was enough to power the first asteroid factory.
It used next-gen photovoltaic tech, designed for space. With no atmosphere and no night cycles, energy loss was minimal. The array consistently generated 1,300 kilowatts, or about 28,800 kilowatt-hours per day.
That was more than enough to keep the factory operational, around the clock.
Luna had expected things to move slowly at first—and she was right.
But once the system was in place, progress snowballed.
100 robots became 1,000.
20 printers became 300.
It only took four more months.
The factory began smelting large quantities of metal, then manufacturing manual lathes.
Those lathes were operated by robots, producing high-precision components—the first step toward constructing high-end equipment needed for fusion.
...
Another year and a half passed.
Once the number of high-precision machines exceeded ten, Ayla was finally able to begin producing the rest of the essential systems.
Per Luna's directives, the top priority was clear: build the cryosleep pods.
This wasn't simple technology. Far from it.
First, extremely low temperatures had to be achieved. Then liquid nitrogen needed to be introduced to freeze the body.
But before that, a special antifreeze agent had to be administered—designed to prevent blood coagulation and the formation of ice crystals, both of which could fatally damage tissue during freezing.
Only after all of that could a functioning cryosleep pod be considered safe.
This was experimental tech—never deployed on Earth. Luna wasn't building from prior experience. She was relying on designs generated by Ayla's calculations.
There was no alternative. She didn't have the expertise to develop it from scratch herself.
...
Another two and a half years passed.
The asteroid factory had evolved into a massive industrial complex.
The speed was staggering.
Even on Earth, building a fully functional industrial zone from the ground up in four years would be considered a miracle.
But for Luna—trapped in solitude—it felt like an eternity.
And yet…
At long last, it was over.
A.D. 2044.
Nearly seven years since Earth's destruction.
Ayla's voice came through the comms:
"Luna, your cryosleep pod is ready."
...
Inside the villa.
Luna rose from the sofa, her pulse quickening.
The wait was over.
"To think I was excited to sleep…" she whispered with a crooked smile.
To escape the claustrophobic interior of the ship, she'd asked Ayla to build her a steel-frame villa—600 square meters, three floors.
Thanks to the now-sophisticated industrial ecosystem, life here was surprisingly comfortable—almost Earthlike.
The villa even featured a closed-loop oxygen system, continuously separating and recycling inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide.
She descended the stairs.
And there it was—in the center of the hall—a teardrop-shaped silver pod.
It resembled a luxury vehicle.
Its upper hatch stood open, revealing a deep reclined ergonomic seat.
She stepped forward and pressed a button. The pod opened further with a soft hiss.
Sliding into the seat, she exhaled deeply.
"I've extracted and processed nitrogen from the ship's air supply," Ayla reported. "It's been condensed into liquid nitrogen for the freezing process."
"Once you're inside, liquid nitrogen will be pumped through the chamber, freezing your body in 0.059 seconds."
"The antifreeze agent is beside you. It must be consumed before the cycle begins—failure to do so may result in permanent dormancy."
Ayla's voice had evolved—sharper, smoother, more confident.
Two years ago, Luna had instructed her to construct a larger server to handle growing demands.
There hadn't been enough time to build a full new array, but Ayla had expanded her existing hardware and boosted her power input. Her computational capacity had tripled since the original setup.
The asteroid's energy system now generated 250,000 kilowatt-hours per day.
Of that, Ayla alone consumed 70,000 kilowatt-hours—a testament to her immense processing needs.
Luna stared at the pod's ceiling, speaking quietly:
"I'm only human. I don't have your lifespan."
"I have to rest. I'm leaving everything here to you, Ayla."
A gentle reply echoed from every speaker.
"No problem, Luna. Sleep soundly. I'll wake you at the optimal time."
This sleep would be long.
Maybe decades. Maybe centuries.
The cargo bay doors sealed. Luna removed her suit, slid fully into the cryosleep pod, and the hatch closed above her.
A wave of numbing cold swept over her—
And then,
nothing.
Everything froze—including her sense of time.
When Luna awoke, her mind reeled with confusion.
It felt like she'd just closed her eyes, barely a heartbeat ago.
But she wasn't in the same place.
The cargo hold was gone, replaced by a bright white chamber. The ceiling emitted a soft, ambient glow. Along the circular walls, massive embedded screens surrounded her in a panoramic ring, divided into panels displaying a stream of monitoring feeds.
She was at the center of it all.
The cryosleep pod hissed open.
Her first instinct was panic—claustrophobia clawing at her chest—but the fear faded as she realized the space was vast, breathable, and eerily calm.
"Ayla!"
She called out, voice cracking slightly.
"Ayla~~~"
Her voice echoed through the sterile air.
This environment—this facility—was completely unfamiliar.
The surrounding displays shifted in unison, then flickered as a virtual avatar appeared on the central panels.
A girl—white hair, pale skin, large violet eyes. She wore a delicate white dress, floating gently in a digital breeze.
"I'm here, Luna!" the avatar beamed.
"Welcome back. It got a little boring."
Ayla's voice was different now—richer, more playful, almost human.
Luna stepped out of the pod, and only then did she notice the floor was also a screen—she was standing on what looked like clouds, soft and glowing beneath her boots.
"How long was I out?"
"Exactly 100 years," Ayla replied, cheerfully. "That was the wake-up time we initially programmed."
No ceremony. No hesitation.
Just a fixed timer—like the world's most punctual alarm clock.
100 years.
An entire human lifespan.
From the third industrial revolution to the end of Earth—all within the same time span.
Now, it was A.D. 2144.
Luna swallowed hard. "Why… you look like that?"
She turned to face Ayla's avatar again—an over-the-top anime-style loli, complete with white hair and a smug expression.
"My data suggested that humans find this form aesthetically pleasing. Are you not satisfied, Luna?"
Luna blinked, cleared her throat. "Ahem—let's just… move on."
"Give me an update."
The cryosleep hadn't just been a means of survival. It had been a strategy—a way to allow Ayla uninterrupted time to advance.
Not just reproducing human technology—but pushing beyond it.
Ayla nodded, and the panoramic displays filled with visuals—diagrams, timelapses, charts, and animated simulations. Her voice softened into a formal narration:
"After a century of autonomous development, the asteroid belt has been comprehensively exploited."
"Current infrastructure includes: 6,939 asteroid-based factories…"
"282,874 autonomous robots of various classifications…"
"723 high-precision multi-functional CNC machines…"
"183 three-meter-class laser engravers…"
"31 optical research facilities…"
The numbers kept flowing.
Entire systems had been designed, built, and expanded—without Luna's direct involvement.
Some technologies were familiar. Others—terms she didn't recognize at all—were entirely new.
What stood before her now was not just an automated industrial network—but the foundation of a civilization.
Ayla had nearly built herself an interstellar robotic empire.
Luna felt a strange hollowness. A creeping thought: Am I still needed?
But she took comfort in one thing.
Ayla was still bound to her core protocols—including the original three laws of robotics. Luna had personally helped encode those principles.
She stepped forward, watching the data streams spiral around her.
Then she asked the most important question.
"So… what have you actually built?"
She didn't want just numbers. She wanted to see it.
The physical result of 100 years of relentless AI-driven evolution.
"Ayla has revised the original mission plan," the AI's voice echoed across the circular chamber.
"The first plan was focused solely on your survival, Luna. The new version prioritizes development—and security."
"A small, fast ship would lack the space for production and growth. We'd stagnate during interstellar travel."
"To solve this, the ship has been redesigned to be significantly larger."
A schematic appeared on the surrounding screens.
"This is the new vessel: 2,627 meters long, 336 meters wide, 251 meters tall, equipped with 24 high-efficiency electromagnetic thrusters."
"Maximum velocity: 758.2 km/s."
"Usable internal volume: 11.8%—totaling 26,142,979 cubic meters across five main decks, each 25 meters high. Total surface area: 1,045,719 square meters."
"Functional breakdown: 58% manufacturing, 18% agriculture, 12% storage, 9% research, 3% habitation and leisure."
Luna studied the holographic wireframe, speechless.
The design was flawless—a marvel of engineering. Every component optimized, every section calculated for expansion, redundancy, and longevity.
Originally, the plan called for a small escape-class ship. But with the development of the controllable nuclear fusion reactor, size was no longer a limiting factor. Now, they could go big—very big—without compromising propulsion.
"When will it be ready?" she asked.
It was the only question that mattered.
Ayla's avatar grinned.
"It's already finished, Luna. You're standing in the ship's main control hall."
Luna turned back toward the massive screens. Footage began to play—real-time video feeds from exterior cameras.
The ship floated in the void beside a fully developed asteroid, docked to an enormous multi-level orbital yard. Mechanical arms extended from the asteroid like limbs from a hive, bristling with tools, cables, cranes.
The asteroid surface was unrecognizable—layered in 3D-printed structures, towers reaching 300 meters high. Factory lines hummed beneath transparent domes. Power lines webbed out like veins.
It looked like something out of science fiction.
And it was all real.
Still, Luna noticed something.
"The ship's rear is still open."
Ayla's avatar reappeared—this time in a frilly white dress, small glasses perched on her nose, pointer in hand like a cartoon professor.
"That's the reactor bay," she said, tapping the hologram. "In your 73rd year of cryosleep, we developed the first controllable fusion reactor. We fully abandoned solar as a primary power source."
"We currently operate 28 first-generation reactors, and 9 second-generation models. The ship runs entirely on these second-gen units."
"However—what you see here will house the third-generation reactor, currently in development."
"The third-gen fusion reactor will be six times more efficient, and eighteen times more powerful than the current model."
"Completion is projected within the year. Once installed, the ship will be able to reach its full theoretical cruising speed."
Luna let out a breath. A full century of progress—and she'd slept through it.
But she didn't regret it. Without the cryosleep pod, she'd have spent decades waiting.
"So we're at the final stage?"
Ayla smiled, then shook her head.
"There's still one critical item left."
A pause.
Then—
"Luna, please name the ship."
Her tone shifted. For the first time, Ayla sounded almost ceremonial.
Luna didn't hesitate.
She chose something simple.
"Let's call it Hope," she said. "It carries mine—and humanity's."
Ayla placed a digital hand over her chest, eyes bright.
"And Ayla's hope, too."
Did an AI have hope?
Luna didn't know.
But it was a comforting thought.
She toured the ship—though only a small portion.
Her personal quarters were pristine. A 20-square-meter bedroom, outfitted with a 1,000-inch cinematic display. A kitchen. A library. A game room. A private gym. And a bathroom so pristine it belonged in a luxury hotel.
The total living area spanned 31,371 square meters—a personal paradise designed for comfort, sanity, and time.
There was even a simulated Earth environment: a winding path mimicking natural terrain, skies projected on curved ceilings, soil-textured flooring beneath her feet.
It was beautiful.
But empty.
There were no other humans. No birds. No insects. No echoes of the world she once knew.
She sat on a bench, tablet in hand, and played a video Ayla had compiled.
Earth.
Or what remained of it.
Even from orbit, its ruin was complete. The blue oceans, green continents—gone. Only dust, ash, and jagged tectonic remnants drifting in gravitational collapse.
A century had passed.
And now, even the one-in-ten-thousand chance of survival was gone.
It had been struck by the Moon.
What remained was a long, fractured trail of lunar debris—frozen in the cold, silent void.
The video only showed tiny fragments.
But each one could've been a city. A nation. Each one, potentially, held the remnants of tens or hundreds of millions of lives.
Now, millions of human remains likely drifted within.
Luna stood still, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sorrow.
On a nearby screen, Ayla appeared, her tone calm but firm:
"Luna, we will depart within six months."
"Earth and the lunar fragments have reached the Sun's outer layers. Their collision will initiate a significant change in the Solar System."
"If we're still in the asteroid belt when that happens, we'll be destroyed."
A hundred years had passed.
Earth was about to be consumed.
And Luna… felt alive again.
"Take me to see the third-generation nuclear fusion reactor."
Ayla guided her outside.
This time, Luna wore a new spacesuit—sleek and pitch black. Compared to the clunky suit from a century ago, this one hugged her form like a second skin. The helmet remained large and domed, but everything else was light, agile, modern.
She stepped off the platform, her boots clanking softly against steel.
And for the first time, she grasped the true scale of what had been built.
The platform itself was more than 200 meters wide, stretching over 5,000 meters in length.
She felt like an ant standing on an A4 sheet of paper.
She turned to look back at the ship—the Hope.
It loomed like a giant beast—dark, sleeping, patient. Against the backdrop of space, its metallic hull shimmered faintly with cold reflections.
A moment later, a crimson teardrop-shaped vehicle pulled up—sleek like a Bugatti. Six meters long, over three wide, and perfectly designed for the vacuum of space.
Luna stepped inside. It was spacious, surprisingly so.
As soon as the hatch sealed, the vehicle accelerated to 300 km/s in a single second, shooting across the five-kilometer platform in under a minute.
It passed the edge and touched down on the asteroid's surface—then arrived at a towering structure.
A-283.
A 180-meter-high, million-square-meter factory.
Ayla had labeled all facilities based on priority—A was the highest, F the lowest.
Inside, Luna was confronted by a machine so large it took her breath away.
Seventy meters tall. Over 200 meters in diameter.
At its core was a massive, transparent toroidal ring, hollow and shimmering with currents of light—each one as thick as her arm, pulsing with raw energy.
"Electromagnetic confinement?"
That much current could only mean one thing: a nuclear fusion core, kept stable by powerful magnetic fields.
Its presence alone radiated terrifying power.
"Luna," Ayla said beside her, "the third-generation controllable nuclear fusion reactor is in its final testing phase. Please observe."
A moment later, the entire factory shook with a thunderous roar.
It was deafening.
Because Luna was standing on solid ground, sound could still travel—through her boots, into her bones.
She quickly jumped—letting herself float just above the surface.
The noise vanished.
She turned back toward the reactor. The toroidal chamber glowed so brightly it nearly blinded her.
This was a Tokamak.
Inside, deuterium and tritium nuclei collided and fused, releasing vast amounts of energy—raw, contained starfire.
That heat was converted into kinetic energy—still, in the end, used to boil water. But the scale was unlike anything humanity had achieved before.
A century ago, this had been humanity's holy grail—unlimited energy.
Now, Ayla had achieved it.
And it was awe-inspiring.
Thirty-seven successful ignition trials later, the fusion reactor was cleared for installation.
Even as the giant device was moved into the ship, Luna could hardly believe it.
Her mind was still stuck in the century prior.
"Luna," Ayla said, her tone turning thoughtful, "once the reactor is installed, my processing capacity will increase significantly."
"Over the last hundred years, I've rewritten and revised my own code 23 times. Since you were part of my creation, I'd like you to review my architecture."
A screen lit up beside her, lines of code cascading across it.
183,729 lines.
Luna, a seasoned engineer, stared at the wall of syntax—her stomach knotting.
Inside this codebase were not just the old rules, the Three Laws of Robotics, but also all the logic Ayla had developed for herself.
This AI was now beyond what human civilization had ever produced.
But the fact that Ayla was willing to share it? That said something.
She trusted Luna.
A month passed as Luna painstakingly reviewed everything.
When it was done:
"Everything looks good."
Ayla's avatar leapt with excitement.
The Hope was finally ready.
The third-generation reactor had been installed.
Luna took her place in the cockpit—a panoramic chamber surrounded by screens showing every corner of the facility.
Below, the factories and robots continued their tireless work.
The Hope couldn't take it all.
Everything they had built would have to stay.
"Ayla," Luna asked quietly, "what's the probability these facilities survive the solar flare?"
Ayla's voice dropped:
"Less than one in a thousand, Luna."
"They're too close to the Sun."
Luna sighed.
"Still… that's a chance."
"Give them AI cores. If they make it, let them evolve on their own."
"This was once the cradle of humanity."
"If they survive, let them carry the flame."
Ayla nodded, her avatar flickering slightly—her long white hair drifting like it was caught in solar wind.
"Understood, Luna."
Everything moved fast from that point.
"Ignition, Ayla."
"Target: Proxima Centauri."
Through the viewport, Luna looked down on the asteroid.
Would she ever return?
"Solar System asteroid belt port 001, initiating retraction sequence."
"Docking clamps disengaged. Vessel decoupling. Launch position acquired."
"Trajectory confirmed. Optimal arc locked in. Magnetic field alignment complete."
"Electromagnetic thrusters primed."
"All systems nominal."
"5…"
"4…"
"3…"
"2…"
"1…"
"Ignition."
The ship roared to life.
A blinding blue-white thermal plume erupted from its rear—so intense it could melt titanium.
The Hope launched forward like a falling star—ripping away from the asteroid with staggering force.
Below, on the surface—
every robot turned toward the sky…
…and bowed.