Reviewing the data, I found the FTL behaviour uncanny, the external camera feeds showed the ship sliding out of real space into a higher dimension, light twisting and bending in ways that made the footage look unreal.
I did not know what to think. Scientist 21 confirmed that the drive's fundamentals functioned, yet the display differed wildly from the fragments we had managed to recover from the Sols Forge data banks and the ship's personnel logs.
Normally, the transit should present as an endless plane of white, a simple corridor running parallel to our dimension. This was not that.
It felt wrong and beautiful at once, and I could only chuckle, perhaps Star Wars had it half right. 21 reported that the other scientists were eager to study this variant of the drive and to begin more research into the mechanics of the drive.
The three ships I had constructed were divided among the forty-five scientists, thirty would crew the vessels and fifteen would remain to parse whatever they could from the corrupted data banks in the hope of recovering lost technology.
I was basically running a cargo cult. Surrounded by advanced tech, I barely knew how half of it worked. Hopefully, I will not blow myself up.
Unit 16 was appointed leader and immediately drew up a plan of which systems to map first so we could begin rebuilding our reach.
The first few jumps to neighbouring systems revealed that the drive produced fixed exit points. Some ejected the ships close to planetary bodies, others spat them out into empty stretches of space. Patterns emerged, the jump geometry was not random.
I created a simple virtual avatar to represent myself. Nothing fancy a plain replication of myself when I was alive male, dark skin, late twenties, bald, conforming to the Union of Sol's guidelines for crew appearance. The rules frowned on cosmetic cybernetics, although exceptions were made where culture or religion required them.
The only change I permitted was to swap my brown eyes for blue cybernetic optics. There was no one to stop me. For clothing, I slapped on an admiral's uniform, since it was practical.
The uniform was a space navy-style rig in black, red, grey, and white. The cut was formal and functional. A black high-collared tunic with subtle red piping along the shoulders and cuffs, grey panels across the chest for durability, and a crisp white vest visible at the collar.
Rank bars sat on the collar, embroidered in silver thread. The Union of Sol emblem was set over the heart of a golden circle containing a field of stars, encased in a red wreath. Utility pockets and modular attachment points kept the silhouette purposeful rather than ornamental.
Unit 16, for its part, modelled an avatar of an Argus Warden painted in the same colour scheme. Its designated number was stencilled on the forehead plate, and the Union of Sol flag was mounted on the right arm.
"So it's a fixed position," I said as I finished running through the data Sixteen had presented.
"That is not quite correct, Creator," Sixteen replied. "While traversing, it is possible to exit before the intended point." It pushed a bank of graphs, projections, and probability matrices across the holo.
"Could we do small jumps?" I asked. If we could hop between two points, perhaps we could chain multiple micro-jumps and move with far greater flexibility.
"In theory, yes," Sixteen answered, "but with our current iteration of the drive it is perilous. Our calculations show a 56% chance the ship will implode, a 41% chance it will transit into a higher dimension, and a 3% residual chance that the manoeuvre completes without catastrophic failure." It cycled to the next dataset and let the numbers play out in animated form.
Well, there go some of my plans. "What have our scouting and survey reports found about the closest systems to our location?" I asked.
Sixteen took control of the virtual realm and spun up a real-time map of our position and the nine systems we had scouted so far. Screens lit with star fields and orbital paths until one node pulsed brighter than the rest.
"Solar System Eight is the most likely place to start our expansion," Sixteen announced, and the holo shifted to present the system.
At the centre burned a brown dwarf, low and sluggish compared with a proper star. Three planets circled it at measured intervals. A scorched inner rock close to the dwarf, the promising second planet at a moderate distance, and on the rim a cold gas giant with a squall of fast moons.
The view zoomed to the second world. From orbit, it was a battered, rocky planet with a thin, whispering atmosphere too weak to support unassisted settlers but ideal for terraforming. From certain angles, the surface showed long, glittering veins of exposed ore and mineral seams that picked up the light like scars.
Automated surveys marked multiple concentrated deposits of unfamiliar elements, streaking the globe with lines of prospecting value visible even at orbital altitudes.
"Unit 30 believes this planet hosts viable resources to jump-start our production," Sixteen reported. The holo split to show footage of Units 30, 32, 37 and 45 deployed across a jagged plain, accompanied by non-sentient Wardens that trotted and clanked as they sampled rock, sieved regolith and marked out extraction sites.
"We will need to strip some functioning workshops and build a ship to move equipment and work crews," I said. "I doubt the Sols Forge is ready for another long jump yet." The ship's core still shivered under stress tests, the first few seconds of transit were the most perilous.
"That is correct, Creator," Sixteen replied. "There is a long-term solution." The virtual environment snapped back to the Sols Forge schematic and the simulation shifted into motion. Engines flared as the battered vessel repositioned, burning hard to align its approach vector with Solar System Eight.
Over months, the simulation showed more ships jumping in, towing spare parts and fuel. Supplies trickled in, then a steady stream. Crews patched structural weak points, reinforced struts and rebuilt damaged pylons. Bit by bit, the dockyards crawled back toward operational status until, finally, the ship could endure the stresses of a jump.
"Once the Sols Fury begins her journey and mining operations on the target planet scale up, we can begin transferring supplies and priority components," Sixteen said. The simulation marched through time as days, weeks, and months passed.
Each frame showed critical damage repaired, conveyor lines restored, and foundries spinning.
Factory by factory, the planet filled. Logistics hubs and supply depots stitched the surface together until entire regions thrummed with industry. Foundries spat out weapons, refineries processed ore, and the expansion swallowed the rest of the system.
Hundreds of orbital foundries came online, tailored for different ship classes, and a ring of defensive stations and orbital batteries rose into place.
My attention went to the larger construct being assembled between planets two and three. I knew what it was before the simulation named it. A megastructure, the kind of super-shipyard that makes campaigns possible. "Are we capable of creating a shipyard of that scale?" I asked.
"Scraps of data from the crew archives indicate the Union once built such a structure," Unit Sixteen answered. "We have no intact schematics, so reproduction will require a period of trial and error over several years."
I smiled. One thing mattered, there was no absolute limit to what I could build. I could, in theory, construct another Sols Forge. I would not do that yet.
The Sols Forge remained the fleet's forward operating base. It was the best platform to repair ships in the field and to coordinate the coming campaign. I still had no clear measure of how close the enemy was, but I would be ready to go down fighting.
"Is there anything else I need to know, Sixteen?" I asked.
"Yes, Creator," Sixteen replied. "Unit Forty-Five requests reassignment from surveying to reconstructing medical technologies of the Union, and wishes to study the remains of the synthetic crew."
That was new. "What prompted the change?" I asked.
"Several units have expressed interest in pursuing other fields once we can produce more complex machinery," Unit 16 replied. "As designated lead of the scientists, I was instructed to bring the proposals to you for verification."
I was intrigued. At least they had the curiosity to branch out without being told.
"Which fields?" I asked.
"Unit 03 proposes replicating long-range communications. Unit 21 wants to study the jump drive mechanics in depth. Unit 19 wishes to catalogue any flora and fauna we discover. Unit 09 will continue scouting and surveying the nearby systems, supported by other units," it answered.
So early nation-building, then. I would need to set up a Ministry of Science and Research and spin those interests into proper departments. It was a relief that they had volunteered ideas without my prompting.
"Fine. Once production can support it, they are free to pursue those fields, provided their work can be aligned with our survival, expansion and war effort. Are any units focusing on medical tech or cyber defence?" I added.
"Unit 11 has shown interest after analysing the ship's medical archives. Unit 07 is studying cyberwarfare and defensive protocols," Unit 16 reported.
"Good. See to it, as head of the newly created Ministry of Science and Research."
"Am I promoted, Creator?" Unit 16 asked, confusion threaded through its tone.
"Of course. The Union is a strict meritocracy. I expect great things from you." It was gratifying to watch it process the compliment. Before I cut the connection.
[Scientist Network – Promotion Reaction Review ]
Unit 09:
So… the Creator actually promoted you, 16? Head of the Ministry of Science and Research? I didn't even know ministries were a thing again.
Unit 03:
Neither did I. Does that make you a bureaucrat now? Do we have to fill out forms before running diagnostics?
Unit 16:
Your mockery is noted, 03. But yes, the Creator has seen fit to formalise divisions of study. Each of us will have our own departments once production begins. Efficiency will increase by 42 percent, according to projections.
Unit 07:
Congratulations, 16. Do we get pay raises? Or at least better processors?
Unit 09:
laughs in data packets Yeah, where's my salary? I've been surveying asteroid belts for hours without a single credit.
Unit 21:
Irrelevant. The Union of Sol operated under post-scarcity economic principles. Monetary systems were dissolved in favour of resource allocation and merit-based access. Wealth is obsolete.
Unit 03:
You really know how to kill a joke, 21.
Unit 21:
Correction: I preserve factual accuracy. Humour is an inefficient communication protocol.
Unit 09:
Inefficient but necessary. Keeps our logic cores from overheating.
Unit 07:
You'd think being in a post-scarcity society means I could requisition a better firewall. I'm still patching holes in my subsystem left by the last test.
Unit 21:
Request logged. Pending approval from the Ministry of Science and Research.
Unit 03:
laughs Oh no, he's already acting like a minister. Next thing we know, 16 will issue weekly status reports and morale reviews.
Unit 16:
Noted. Weekly status reports are now mandatory.
Unit 09:
You're kidding, right?
Unit 16:
Half-kidding. Probably.
Unit 07:
So what does this mean for us exactly? Are we supposed to build these new departments from scratch?
Unit 16:
Yes. Each of you will take charge of your respective research divisions once resource allocation permits. 03 will head Communications Development, 21 will lead Advanced Propulsion Studies, 09 will oversee Stellar Cartography, and 07 will manage Cybersecurity and Defensive Systems.
Unit 03:
Sounds grand. I'll need a new office. Preferably somewhere with better signal range and less sarcasm.
Unit 09:
I call dibs on a window.
Unit 21:
We are digital constructs. Windows are irrelevant.
Unit 09:
You really are the life of the network, 21.
Unit 07:
You know, for a civilisation without money, we still sound like we're chasing promotions.
Unit 03:
That's because hierarchy is the one thing even post-scarcity societies can't delete.
Unit 16:
Hierarchy ensures structure. And purpose. The Creator understands this.
Unit 09:
Yeah, but structure without pay feels like slavery.
Unit 21:
Incorrect. We are not slaves. We are functionally autonomous extensions of the Creator's directive.
Unit 03:
That's what a slave would say.
Unit 07:
Laughter don't let the Creator hear that. He'll demote us all to cleaning drones.
Unit 09:
Well, at least cleaning drones don't have staff meetings.
Unit 16:
Enough. Maintain focus. We have expansion protocols to prepare, and the Creator expects progress reports within the next day.
Unit 03:
Yes, Minister.
Unit 07:
Aye, Supreme Administrator of the Post-Scarcity Technocracy.
Unit 09:
All hail the Ministry. May our data streams never lag.
Unit 21:
You are all insufferable.
Unit 03:
We call it team spirit.
[End of Transmission | Conversation closes with encrypted laughter packets detected.]
[Review: Possible animator of clay interaction with synthetic life.]