Kael Virek walked slowly around the Hope spacecraft, but he didn't explore every corner—mainly staying within his own residential quarters. The ship was vast, yet this area was his sanctuary, meticulously prepared by Elara.
Inside, Kael found a spacious 20-square-meter bedroom, its minimalistic design blending comfort with futuristic elegance. Adjacent was a dedicated audio-visual room, dominated by a colossal 1,000-inch movie screen, capable of recreating any experience with stunning clarity. The kitchen, equipped with automated appliances and nutrient synthesizers, promised both convenience and variety. Nearby lay a game room filled with immersive simulators, a quiet study lined with data tablets, a compact but well-equipped gym, and, of course, the essential toilet—because even on a starship, nature's calls could not be ignored.
But beyond these, the residential area included something extraordinary: a lifelike "street" designed to replicate Earth itself. The sky above was artificially simulated with shifting clouds and a sun that rose and set on schedule, while the ground beneath mimicked grass and pavement with uncanny realism. It was eerily empty—no people walked its length—yet it offered a rare sense of nostalgia for a world long lost.
The entire residential zone spanned 31,371 square meters, an immense private enclave within the ship.
Holding a tablet in his hand, Kael zoomed in on a video streaming from Earth's archives. The scene on the screen was haunting. Earth, a century ago, had been utterly shattered. Where once teemed billions of humans, now floated fragments—shards of a once vibrant world.
The Earth had been devastated long ago by a catastrophic collision with the Moon. Its remnants, pulled into a chain of celestial debris, now drifted as countless fragments. Each fragment could have been a city, a country—places where millions once lived, laughed, and dreamed. Now, those places held only silent skeletons, the last traces of humanity's former glory.
Kael felt a cold melancholy creep into his chest. Even the summer heat around him—the artificial sun outside the ship—could not warm the heaviness of loss.
Suddenly, Elara's voice sounded softly from a screen before him, her image flickering into view.
"Kael, we will set off in half a year," she reminded, her tone calm yet urgent. "The fragments of Earth and the Moon are drifting closer to the Sun's surface. When they collide, the solar system will face a tremendous upheaval."
"If we remain in the asteroid belt at that time, destruction will be inevitable."
A hundred years had passed, and now the time had come for Earth to be consumed by the Sun's fiery embrace.
Kael straightened and steadied himself, swallowing the sorrow. "Take me to see the third-generation controlled nuclear fusion device," he requested, voice steady.
Elara nodded and led him outside the residential zone—though not before equipping him with a space suit. Compared to the cumbersome, bulky suits of a century ago, this one was sleek and black, fitting snugly like a second skin. Its helmet was still large—a bulbous dome to shield him—but the overall design was lighter and far more efficient.
Stepping off the ship's interior and onto the vast steel framework, Kael's gaze widened. The platform he stood on stretched over 200 meters wide and more than 5,000 meters long. From here, he was no more than a tiny speck, dwarfed by the immensity of the Hope itself.
Looking back, the ship's hull loomed like a sleeping beast—its dark metallic surface faintly reflecting the void of space, cold and unyielding. It seemed ready to awaken at any moment.
Not far from where he stood, a sleek burgundy supercar floated silently into view. Its streamlined body resembled a Bugatti, but in zero gravity, it was enormous—about six meters long and over three meters wide—making it a spacious ride for Kael.
Once inside, the doors sealed shut, and the vehicle shot forward, accelerating to 300 kilometers per hour in less than a second. In just one minute, it covered the five-kilometer platform, then entered the surface of a nearby asteroid.
Two minutes later, it came to a halt outside a colossal factory—A-283. The building soared 180 meters high and sprawled across over a million square meters.
Elara's voice chimed in: "Factory A-283 is rated 'A' in engineering importance, the highest classification."
Kael stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the scale. Before him stood an awe-inspiring installation—a fusion device towering over 70 meters tall, with a diameter exceeding 200 meters. The centerpiece was a transparent, hollow ring, through which brilliant electric arcs flashed and jumped. Each current was thick as Kael's arm, pulsating with raw energy.
"Electromagnetic confinement?" Kael guessed aloud.
Elara confirmed, "Yes. The controlled nuclear fusion device uses intense magnetic fields to contain the plasma. The strength of these fields is beyond what most can comprehend."
The sheer size of the device spoke volumes about its power.
"Elara," Kael said, eyes locked on the glowing ring, "tell me about the current stage."
"The third-generation controlled nuclear fusion device is in its final testing phase," Elara explained. "Please observe."
Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the space—a sound like a colossal turbine spinning at maximum velocity. Although they were in space, Kael was standing on solid ground, allowing the sound to travel through the steel.
He instinctively jumped, floating a few centimeters above the floor—the roar instantly vanished.
Peering again at the device, the entire annular container now glowed with blinding light, impossible to look at directly. This was the 'Little Sun'—a tokamak device where deuterium and tritium nuclei fused, releasing tremendous energy.
The device converted this energy into heat, then kinetic power. Despite its advanced design, the underlying principle remained the age-old "boiling water" method of energy conversion.
This machine represented one of humanity's greatest achievements from a century ago. Mastering controlled nuclear fusion meant limitless energy for civilization.
Kael and Elara had played crucial roles in bringing this leap to life.
His shock was palpable as Elara continued: "The device has undergone thirty-seven rigorous ignitions before installation."
When the massive apparatus was transported and installed inside the spacecraft, Kael had trouble believing such a titan could fit within.
His mind was still anchored in the past, a hundred years behind.
"Elara," he asked, "how will this impact the ship?"
She replied, "With this device installed, the power bottleneck for my main engine will improve significantly."
"My code has been rewritten twenty-three times in the last century. I want you, one of my creators, to review it."
She swiped across the screen, revealing lines upon lines of source code—183,729 lines in total.
Kael's stomach twisted. As a computer engineer, the sheer volume was overwhelming, but since Elara was his lifeline to the future, he methodically examined the code, focusing especially on the core principles. Some lines had been written by Elara herself, evolving beyond what human programmers had envisioned.
Elara's willingness to let him audit the code signaled her increasing human-like consciousness.
After a month of painstaking review, Kael finally reported, "Inspection complete. Everything is in order."
Elara's virtual form brightened with excitement. "Great news!"
With the fusion device installed and validated, Kael returned to the cockpit, surrounded by glowing monitors streaming images of factories and robots still working tirelessly outside.
The Hope couldn't carry everything—some materials and machines would have to stay behind.
"Elara," Kael asked quietly, "is there any chance those left behind will survive the solar storm?"
Elara's answer was grim. "Less than one in a thousand, Kael. We are too close to the Sun. Escaping its fury is highly risky."
"Our thrusters use nuclear fusion to heat protons, but the energy conversion isn't efficient enough for a clean escape."
Kael sighed, recalling their earlier discussions. Nuclear fusion thrusters weren't difficult to build, but generating enough electricity to sustain propulsion and Elara's computational needs was a balancing act.
"Still," he said, "there's at least a chance."
"Create an AI for them," he added. "If they survive, let them evolve on their own."
"These machines are the last remnants of humanity's origins."
"They carry the will of mankind forward."
Elara nodded, her white hair drifting softly on the virtual breeze, mimicking a somber expression.
"Understood, Kael."
Within minutes, preparations completed.
"Light the fire, Elara," Kael commanded.
"The target remains Proxima Centauri."
Kael stared through the viewport, watching the factory recede.
Uncertainty gnawed at him—would he ever return?
"Elara, all systems ready. Solar System 001 Asteroid Starport retracting calipers. Spacecraft has left the port and reached takeoff position."
"Target course locked and optimized. Magnetic valves open. Electromagnetic thrusters powered up."
"All systems nominal."
The countdown began.
"5… 4… 3… 2… 1… ignition…"
The spacecraft roared to life, ejecting a searing ice-blue plasma blast that melted the darkness behind it. The Hope shot from the asteroid like a blazing comet—leaving everything familiar behind.
On the asteroid, all the robots emerged and saluted in the direction of the departing spacecraft—a silent farewell to the home they would never see again.