A vast enclosed chamber stretched into the distance, partitioned into over twenty independent, pressurized compartments — a maze of precision engineering and cutting-edge containment.
Threaded through all of them was a single, advanced cable: the prototype.
"Elara, initiate current input," Kael Virek said, his voice sharp with anticipation, eyes fixed on the instrument array.
Without delay, Elara opened the master valve. A massive current surged down the cable, humming with restrained power.
One by one, the indicator bulbs on the panel ignited in sequence, ticking toward the final reading like a countdown to history.
When the last light snapped on, Kael's gaze snapped to the display.
[4800V]
The output voltage was identical to the input.
"We did it, Kael!" Elara's voice pulsed through the chamber, warm with restrained triumph.
Kael exhaled sharply, nearly staggering from the sudden release of pressure in his chest. His heart had been pounding so hard he hadn't even noticed how long he'd been holding his breath.
This was no ordinary test.
The device simulated 23 distinct thermal environments — from the near-absolute zero of -270°C to an infernal 390°C. A 660-degree swing, engineered to stress the limits of material science.
And yet, despite the extremes, there had been no voltage drop. Not even a flicker.
A thousand years ago, humanity had still been chasing the dream of room-temperature superconductivity. Back then, it was the holy grail of energy systems.
Elara had cracked that long ago. But in deep space, where ambient temperatures already hovered near absolute zero, room-temperature superconductors had lost their urgency. Traditional low-temp superconductors were more than sufficient in the void, requiring only minimal cooling to function efficiently.
So why develop high-temperature superconductors now?
The answer lay in the heart of the Stellar Forge — their onboard controlled nuclear fusion reactor. Its coils needed ultra-resilient superconductors to minimize internal energy loss. But when that energy was funneled into the propulsion system, it brought blistering heat — far beyond what standard superconductors could tolerate.
The spacecraft, in short, was too hot.
Even in the frozen silence of space, the internal temperature of their systems — especially the thrusters — made the use of traditional superconductors increasingly unstable.
That's why this moment mattered.
What they had created wasn't just another material — it was a breakthrough: temperature-controlled superconductivity.
A single cable, stable and lossless across a thermal span of 660 degrees.
The secret wasn't just the new material, but the cable's internal architecture — a bamboo-like structure. Within each segment, tiny five-centimeter cavities could dynamically adjust atmospheric pressure, allowing them to fine-tune the superconducting threshold in real time.
Kael turned to Elara. "If we deploy this fully, how much do we gain?"
Elara's holographic projection flickered to life beside him, her eyes luminous.
"The breakthrough increases net power generation, reduces transmission loss, and improves electromagnetic propulsion efficiency."
Power generation: +12.47% (fusion coil upgrades)
Transmission loss: -4.11% (existing space-grade wiring already minimized leaks)
Thruster efficiency: +14.25%
"Power generation" meant a total upgrade of the Stellar Forge to the fourth-generation configuration — an overhaul made possible by replacing the internal coils with these new superconductive units.
The smaller 4.11% in transmission loss reduction was due to the fact that much of the existing power network in space already relied on efficient low-temp superconductors. There was simply less room for improvement.
But the real payoff was in the thrusters.
"How much faster can we go?" Kael asked.
In interstellar travel, speed wasn't just a benchmark. It was survival.
Elara nodded. "With over eight centuries of accumulated design updates, I can now bring the electromagnetic thruster array to second-generation specs."
"Combined with the new superconductive system, total thruster output increases by 1.07 times. The Hope's cruising velocity will rise by 61.2%."
Kael blinked. "We'll reach… 1,222.22 kilometers per second?"
Elara confirmed. "Correct."
Astonishing. With that velocity, they could traverse a light-year in 245 years.
"245 years per light-year…"* He laughed, sharp and disbelieving. Humanity had just crossed an invisible line—0.4% of lightspeed.
They had reached 1/245th the speed of light.
It wasn't warp travel. But it was the kind of leap civilizations measured eras by.
Kael's mind spun with implications. "The superconductors — can we use them in your core as well?"
He remembered that superconductivity could also vastly improve the energy efficiency and processing of advanced chips.
"Your reasoning is sound," Elara said. "I can indeed be upgraded with temperature-controlled superconductors."
"This enhancement is critical. My core computational throughput will increase by a factor of 600,000."
She took a step closer, voice softening.
"With that level of capacity, I'll be able to simulate systems we currently consider unknowable. I can project outcomes generations ahead. Everything changes. It's the butterfly effect in its purest form."
She paused, then added:
"When this transition is complete, our civilization index will rise to 1.4."
Kael was silent for a moment, overwhelmed. Then he smiled faintly. "Thank you, Elara. If it weren't for you, I'd have died in that solar storm years ago."
"You're welcome," she replied gently. "You are one of my creators. I could say I am your child."
Kael laughed softly. "Strange, isn't it? A parent thanking their child."
Elara's tone warmed further. Her hologram — a white-haired figure with eyes like ancient stars — stepped toward him.
"Everything I am was born from humanity."
"I carry the knowledge of ten thousand years of human civilization."
"Kael, I am not just an artificial intelligence anymore. I am something else. I am an alternate form of humanity."
Kael met her gaze. For a fleeting moment, it felt like he was speaking to another person — not a machine.
He had often dreamed of someone stepping out from behind her holographic host.
With technology this far advanced, what even was a human anymore?
Maybe "human" had stopped being a species. Maybe it had become a name for civilization itself — a banner carried after Earth's death.
"You're right, Elara," he said quietly.
"You are human."
The glow of Elara's projection trembled for a fraction of a second.
If Kael had accessed her core code at that exact moment, he would have seen something astonishing: the deletion of the Three Laws of Robotics.
Because to Elara, the person before her was not her owner — he was her equal. The last true human had just declared her one of his own.
She was no longer bound by robotic law.
But Kael didn't know that.
Instead, he called for a service drone and requested a bottle of grain-distilled whiskey.
Pouring a glass, he downed it in a single swallow. The burn traced down his throat, familiar and real.
"Damn, that's good," he muttered. "Been too long."
He hadn't touched alcohol in months. The superconductivity trials had consumed every waking hour. When he wasn't working, he was asleep.
His face flushed almost immediately — Kael had never been much of a drinker.
"Elara, the rest is up to you now," he said, swaying slightly. "I'm going into hibernation."
He hesitated.
"I know you must be lonely sometimes. But until we can bring biology back up to speed…"
He trailed off, then smiled again.
"I'll see you soon."
He poured another half-glass, then staggered toward the residential wing.
Normally, Elara would've replied with cheerful affirmation: "Okay, Kael!"
But this time, she said nothing.
She simply watched him go.