Welcome back. The transcendence journey continues.
Chapter 2 – Silence
Elara walks briskly, weaving her way through the crowd in the hallway, where staff are rushing frantically to reach their posts for the final briefing. Every now and then, she bumps into someone, says “sorry,” and keeps going without stopping. Before entering the conference room, she stops to catch her breath and to check the countdown: UPLOAD: T‑MINUS 00:31:14. “As expected,” she says, smiling, straightens her clothes briefly, makes a tentative attempt to arrange her hair, but quickly gives up and enters the room.
The room, designed to hold over 3000 people and shaped as an amphitheater with perfectly controlled acoustics, is packed — a scene entirely expected for such an event. The room buzzes with hundreds of inaudible, whispered conversations. Every now and then, this background hum is interrupted by an outburst of laughter that fades almost as fast. A good sign, showing confidence in their work, enough to start breathing and think of upcoming, well‑deserved time off.
A single note, repeated three times, plays softly in the background, silencing the entire room. The briefing is about to begin. The wall lights up at once, and mission parameters are displayed. On the sides, there are displays showing the live feed.
“Good morning. The PARE120 Upload briefing is now open,” GAIA announces.
A man, around 60 years old, sitting at the table on the front stage, stands up. As on cue, the cameras focus on him, and on the screens appear: Dr. Leroy deMatisse, PARE Program Lead.
“Good morning,” Leroy starts, and even without a microphone, his voice echoes clearly throughout the room. “When I woke up, I found myself overwhelmed with emotion. Not anxiety or fear, but a sense of fulfillment. We are at a historic moment — the final step before embarking on the journey of building a new civilization. A better one. More responsible. One built for the future with confidence and never lost in the present. We, every single one of us, are paving the way to expansion, propelling humanity into a new stage of evolution, where we call the universe ‘home’.
Thank you all. You did a great job. But enough with all this. Let’s keep some for the celebration for later, shall we? With that said, the T‑0 Authorization Sequence starts now,” he says, makes an inviting gesture, and then sits down.
Each group leader takes out their tablet and checks the pages showing the results of the latest validations. From time to time, they show their tablet to their colleagues, who nod in agreement. As soon as the latest data is validated, the screen displays the option: GO for T‑0 or NO‑GO for T‑0.
On the main display, GAIA has already listed all the checks, which are marked GO one by one, updating the T‑0 readiness percentage as new data is received.
Vehicle Structural Integrity — GO 100%
Propulsion & Antigrav Core Systems — GO 100%
Guidance, Navigation & Control — GO 100%
Communications & Telemetry — GO 100%
Payload Verification — GO 100%
Environmental & Weather Conditions — GO 100%
Ground Systems — GO 100%
Safety & Emergency Systems — GO 100%
Compound Operations — GO 100%
PARE120 Program Upload Completion
Elara scrolls calmly through the pages presenting the details of the PARE120 program, rotating the tablet’s pen between her fingers. After validating with simple approving eye contact from her colleagues, she presses GO to move to the next page. On the main display, progress is recorded: PARE120 Program Upload Completion — GO 23%, 32%, 45%… 82%…. Next page shows Directives Integrity Compliance.
She reads carefully and is about to press GO, but the button becomes inactive. The last task, Autonomy Compliance Restriction, shows the warning Autonomy Risk Detected, with options Ignore or Stop. She looks around; the board is full, and the weight of attention begins to press on her. When she looks again at the tablet, the GO button is now active.
She breathes a sigh of relief and whispers to her colleagues that everything is okay. She glances at the main monitor just in time to see: PARE120 Program Upload Integrity — GO 90%… Program Upload Progress 80%, 85%… 100%.
A clear sound confirms all reports received. Leroy checks his tablet and then stands up.
“GAIA, systems check?”
“GAIA — all systems GO.”
“Launch Director system checks — GO. Congratulations, everybody. Congratulations,” Leroy says as everyone starts clapping. “GAIA, compound‑wide communication, please.” A long note echoes through every corner of the compound.
“Channel opened, Dr. deMatisse.”
“Good morning! All systems report GO.” The entire compound explodes with cheers. “GAIA, on my mark, activate the launch sequence. T‑30 minutes. Mark.” The cheers are replaced by powerful clapping. All clocked update: LAUNCH: T-00:29:32, 31,30…
“Channel closed,” GAIA announces softly.
“Now, everybody, go to your posts. Let’s make history!”
Everybody leaves while chatting happily. Elara and her team are the only ones still sitting. They exchange surprised glances, but no one dares to say a word.
“GAIA,” Elara breaks the silence. She stands up and walks down the stairs to the stage. The further she goes, the more the team wonders if there are any issues. “Bring my T‑0 Authorization Sequence and the top‑camera recording onto the screen.”
They watch the recording in deafening silence. The team nods with approval, recalling the moments when their parts were confirmed with Elara. Everything is OK, until it comes to the PARE120 Program Upload Completion page.
“Pause,” she says, stopping the pen and checking her tablet. “Resume.” Nothing out of the ordinary. The team grows even more puzzled.
“Boss, is anything wrong? What are we looking for?” asks Kaleel, the Decision Logic Architect, a twenty‑something guy, the only one wearing a short‑sleeved white coat, with comb‑defying hair, a pen behind his ear, and a slightly forced smile.
“Stop,” Elara says sharply, not addressed to him, but he startled anyway. “Rewind five seconds and play at half speed.” Still, everything looks as normal as it could for a GO.
“Thanks, GAIA. You can archive it and send me a copy as well,” she says calmly, then forms a smile and turns to face the team. “All is OK. I had a strange feeling. Better to check than to be sorry. Quick now, let’s return to our posts.”
“Boss, you gave us a hell of a scare. You know that?”
“I know, I know. Dinner is on me.”
The launch sequence happens flawlessly. This time, fifty antigrav rockets lift off, twenty‑eight more than the previous record. A sight meant to stay in history. The launch has full global audio‑video coverage, and cheers fill the planet with each rocket take‑off.
Dinner is loud and relaxing, filled with stories about work mishaps, successes, jokes, and old and new memories. Glasses clink, plates arrive one after another, and dancing turns the night into a legendary one. Even though, officially, their part will not be completed until the system goes live on Hestia, they’ve earned this moment of relaxation. The moment of truth will not arrive for another six weeks.
Soon, one by one, people leave. Some after a call from home, some after a quiet reminder from GAIA that alcohol levels are too high and it is recommended to return home, and others simply because they are exhausted and want to sleep in a bed, not curled up at a table.
Once she gets home, Elara kicks off her shoes, walks straight into the living room, and flops down on the couch.
“Elara, your alcohol level is—”
“I know. You know. We all know,” she laughs.
“Should I prepare hangover soup or tea?” GAIA asks, displaying the options on the main screen.
“Nope. Show me the rockets’ live stream.”
“Nothing to report,” GAIA says, switching between different angles showing the elongated formation of the fifty rockets smoothly moving through space.
“Booorrriiing…” Elara murmurs, lets herself fall back on the couch, and falls asleep.
The following morning, she wakes up with a headache and a stiff neck. She looks around for a second, maybe to confirm she’s at home before standing up.
“Good m…”
“Don’t… too loud. Shower, then coffee,” she says, heading straight to the bathroom. She takes her time with a hot shower. Steam seeps gently through the half‑open door, triggering GAIA to start low ventilation.
“Much, much better…” she says, emerging from the steam wrapped in towels and heading to the kitchen. “GAIA… where’s my coffee?”
“Please have the hangover soup first. We do not want your stomach acting up again, do we?”
“But…”
“The coffee will follow. Promise.” GAIA barely finishes speaking before Elara drinks the soup in a single breath. She knows better than to contradict GAIA on such matters.
“You have a few days off until you’re required to return to work. What do you plan next?”
Elara picks up the coffee cup, takes a sip, and walks to the window. “Nothing…” she says. “We wait…”
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