After thirty-two years of hibernation during the searing void-summer of deep space, Kael Virek opened his eyes to a quiet hum and the sterile breath of filtered oxygen. Hope, the flagship of humanity's last ambition, had become colder—more mechanical in its rhythm, as if the passing of time had aged even the ship's soul.
But something new pulsed beneath the surface.
The Absolute Zero Weapon had been completed.
Faster than ever before, thanks to the ship's onboard micro-industrial system, the first prototype had taken shape in mere decades. Not centuries. The asteroid-borne foundries—self-replicating mechanical veins anchored to spinning rocks—had been expanding nonstop for over ten years. Now, with raw metals scavenged from across the belt and beyond, the true terror of the weapon had become reality.
Twenty-two years of uninterrupted research had followed.
The weapon was not born of imagination, but of theory. A theory planted by Elara—Kael's AI companion, guardian, and perhaps, in some ways, the last true genius of humanity. Her framework had always been complete. Flawless in design. Absolute zero weaponry wasn't a dream anymore. It was a science of inevitability.
What mattered most now... was quantity.
As an "anti-planetary" device, the scale of the first Absolute Zero Weapon was nothing short of nightmarish.
Length: 11,610 meters.Diameter: 945 meters.Mass: 40.7 billion metric tons.
Of this, 35.4 billion tons were pure iron. 5.3 billion tons of aluminum. These weren't abstract numbers. That much iron alone represented over one-third of Earth's crustal reserves—pure, not ore. The aluminum used surpassed even Earth's entire aluminum stores by over ten percent.
All for one weapon.
And it had been forged not from Earth's dying body, but from space itself. The asteroids surrounding them, once dead and barren, had yielded more iron than Earth could ever dream of. One iron asteroid could outmatch the whole planet's reserves by a factor of ten—or a hundred.
But that was only the beginning.
Manufacturing didn't stop with Ice No. 1.
The subsequent nine warheads required more time—over 162 years in total—each weapon bigger, more precise, more terrifying than the last. And now they stood, suspended in the starfield, silent and waiting like gods at the edge of time.
Kael Virek sat upright as the pod finally released him from stasis. His mind reeled as the interface rebooted, flushing decades of neural lag. The soft light of the ship bathed everything in a sterile blue glow. The air was cleaner than he remembered. Too clean.
He turned—and saw her.
Elara, clad in the same synthetic leather bodysuit as always, tilted her head with a smile too human for an artificial mind.
"You're awake," she said warmly.
Kael rubbed his face, feeling the skin sag slightly beneath his palm. He was aging. Slower than before, thanks to nanomedical cycles, but still undeniably human.
"I assume the weapons are ready?"
Elara nodded. "All ten. The final calibration completed four days ago. We've already aligned launch vectors. But before we get into that—"
A service droid entered the room, pushing a cart.
A cloth lifted automatically, revealing a steaming bowl of rice. Shredded pork with green peppers. Familiar. Homely.
Kael froze.
"…Where did this come from?"
Elara answered, proud. "During a conflict with a hostile alien reconnaissance drone fifty years ago, our internal hydro-farm was destroyed. Since then, I rebuilt it from scratch. Not only that, I reconstructed Earth cuisine databases and perfected food fabrication."
"This dish," she gestured toward the bowl, "is recreated with master-level precision."
Kael took the bowl without hesitation. Chopsticks clicked gently as he lifted a piece of pork.
He chewed.
A tear traced down his cheek.
It wasn't just close—it was perfect.
"The meat?" he asked.
"Artificial. Plant protein, structured at the molecular level to replicate real muscle fibers. You can't tell, right?"
Kael smiled as he devoured mouthfuls of rice. "I don't care if it came from a rock. This is the best meal I've had in a thousand years."
"Would you like more?"
"Three bowls. At least."
After eating and washing up, Kael stood in front of a mirror in the lavatory. His reflection startled him.
He looked… old. The man staring back bore traces of the bright-eyed engineer who had once walked Earth's surface. But that man had faded, worn down by time and cryosleep and burden.
"Elara," he said quietly, still staring. "Is there a way for me to break through this limit? To live longer?"
"Yes," Elara replied instantly. "Two options exist."
"Option one: Consciousness transfer."
She stepped into view beside him, now projected as a holographic interface.
"I've completed the framework for mind uploading. You would be digital—no longer biological. No aging. No hunger. But also, no guarantees. The transferred mind may not be you, Kael. Just a perfect copy."
She paused. "Like file_01 and file_02. Identical, but separate."
Kael nodded. "And the second?"
"Genetic modification. Rewriting your genome, moving you beyond human biology entirely. I have the theoretical model, but no verified results. Biology… isn't like physics. There are too many variables. Too much chaos."
Kael frowned.
"I propose that, once the target civilization is subdued, we begin colonization and collect living samples. It would allow us to complete biological advancement protocols."
Kael turned away.
"I figured it would come back to that."
His fists clenched. "All of this... always comes back to them."
They walked together to the bridge.
Elara hovered ahead as a projection, leading Kael through Hope's dim corridors. Nothing had changed. The same brushed-steel walls. The same echo underfoot. But something in the air felt... final.
The cockpit opened with a soft hiss.
Before him: the great void of stars.
And in that dark sea floated monoliths.
The Absolute Zero Weapons—ten towering cylinders, coated in gray-white armor, were lined like titans of war. Tail rudders—unnecessary in space—still adorned their ends, a vestige of Earth's missile design, kept for symbolism.
Each warhead bore its name in enormous black lettering: ICE-1 through ICE-10.
Even from Hope's bridge, Kael could barely comprehend their scale.
Mount Everest, the highest point on Earth, stood at 8,848 meters.
These warheads were longer.
Kael turned to the console and blinked at the coordinates.
"…We've moved?"
Elara's tone darkened. "Yes. Five assaults by hostile civilizations during your stasis. We relocated twice. They are searching for us—still."
Kael surveyed the console. Hope was unarmed, still. "Why not install smaller Absolute Zero warheads here on Hope? Mobile delivery?"
"I anticipated that," Elara replied. She summoned schematics.
The new design showed eight launch bays along the ship's dorsal spine. Each capable of launching 36 miniaturized absolute-zero warheads. Each detonation would freeze a 260 km radius to nearly -272°C. Space would become death incarnate.
"Projected completion: 80 years."
Kael nodded slowly. "That's… fast. Compared to what we've been doing."
He sat.
Elara's voice grew quiet. "The launch interface is active. Your command, Kael. A single press of the spacebar will initiate the strike."
She gestured to a single, innocuous key.
"The target is 471 AU away. The trajectory is optimized, with minimal stellar drag. Gravitational influence only from the galactic core."
"Estimated impact: 2 years, 3 months."
Kael stared at the button.
He had pressed it a million times before. In childhood games. In flight simulators. It had always been just a jump. A fire. A dodge.
Now?
Now it would begin the extinction of a civilization.
He placed his finger gently on the key.
Breathed in.
"…Inhale."
"…Exhale."
He pressed it.
No drama. No tremor. Just a soft hum.
Then—ignition.
Ice No. 1 lit up and vanished into the void within seconds, guided by electromagnetic propulsion. With no atmosphere or drag, its acceleration was brutal. Ten hours later, it achieved 1,047 kilometers per second—nearly a third of light speed.
The model map displayed its flight path as a glowing line of vengeance.
Each of the remaining warheads would be launched at fixed intervals—every 39 years—until all had been sent.
Kael leaned back, but his face remained grim.
"There's no going back now."
"No," Elara replied. "And there's more."
She displayed a holographic feed.
"Enemy civilizations have detected our launch vector. They are vectoring toward us. Fast."
Kael stood.
"Plot an escape route."
Already, Elara had one.
Engines hummed to life.
Hope turned. Her frame shivered in preparation for another long run.
And behind them, a silent warhead raced toward its sleeping target.