Cycle 0
Civilian Intake — Boarding Window
24 Hours to Launch
The staging facility hung in the outer reaches of the solar system like a small city built from glass and steel. Somehow temporary and permanent. Beyond its massive observation windows, the colony fleet waited in silent formation.
Five ships drifted against the black. The finishing touches were being completed on another five almost identical ships in the distance, systems cycling through final checks, approving themselves faster than anyone could follow. These would be the second wave to follow.
They were enormous.
Each one long and narrow, designed less like spacecraft and more like floating industrial complexes. From this distance they looked elegant, but the scale was difficult to grasp. Elias knew each vessel carried hundreds of people and enough equipment to build the foundation of a civilization.
Drones had already gone ahead years earlier—automated scouts sent to prepare the destination system. They mapped the planets, searched for hazards, and transmitted the last useful data humanity would receive before the fleet disappeared into interstellar space.
Once the ships left the solar system, communication with Earth would fade into static.
The next message home would come from another star.
Inside the staging hall, hundreds of people moved between cargo pallets and loading ramps. The air buzzed with conversation and nervous excitement.
Every department wore different uniforms.
Engineering wore gray.
Agriculture wore green.
Habitat systems wore blue.
Medical wore white.
The military had their own set of uniforms, and their own ship. Their job was to escort the fleet and keep the peace when everyone arrived.
From a distance it looked like a moving patchwork of color flowing across the polished floor.
Elias stood with the engineering group, hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching through the window as a transport tug drifted away from one of the ships.
“Hard to believe we’re actually doing this,” someone behind him said.
Elias didn’t answer. He had been waiting for this moment most of his adult life. And everything matched all of the models and designs he’d studied. That should have been reassuring.
A tone sounded over the speakers.
“Colonists, please proceed to the central briefing area.”
Rows of seats unfolded automatically from the floor as the crowd settled. The noise of conversation faded slowly.
A figure appeared on the large display at the front of the room.
It looked human.
Mostly.
“Good afternoon,” the figure said cheerfully. “I’m ARDEN, one of the mission coordination systems assigned to the Verdant Fleet.”
Someone in the audience whispered, “Party bot.”
ARDEN smiled as if it had heard the comment.
“My job is to help keep this trip organized, cohesive, and—whenever possible—pleasant.”
A few quiet laughs moved through the room.
Behind ARDEN, a diagram of the fleet appeared.
After centuries of government space programs, the expansion of humanity had finally been handed to the corporations that had built the infrastructure. And they were not being shy about putting their branding everywhere.
“This mission represents humanity’s first privately organized colonization effort beyond our solar system. Your destination is Tau Ceti, which is approximately twelve light-years from Earth. With current propulsion technology, the journey will take approximately forty-five years.”
Another diagram appeared, this time showing rotating crew groups.
“To conserve resources and maintain operational readiness during the voyage, the fleet operates on rotating wake cycles.”
The diagram rotated through colored sections.
“Each operational shift will remain active for approximately ten months before entering cryogenic suspension for fifty months.”
Murmurs moved through the crowd.
“For those concerned about aging,” ARDEN continued, “cryogenic suspension dramatically slows biological processes including aging.”
Someone behind Elias let out a low whistle.
The diagram changed again, now displaying clusters of names connected by thin lines.
“In addition to operational scheduling, this mission includes a new social stability initiative.”
The room grew quieter.
“Each colonist has been assigned a compatibility pairing.”
A few people exchanged looks.
“These pairings represent individuals with whom you are statistically most likely to form stable long-term partnerships.”
A hand went up somewhere in the back and someone shouted, “so we’re being assigned spouses?”
ARDEN tilted its head slightly.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“The compatibility system is not intended to control personal relationships.”
The display shifted again.
“It exists to improve the probability that the colony population will remain socially stable across multiple generations. Decades of data and research have been compiled to create the personality tests you took to qualify for this ship. In addition to ensuring your psychological health, it was used to build compatibility rankings for other members of the crew.”
A short pause.
“In simpler terms, the system isn’t about love.”
Another pause.
“It’s about the survival of humanity.”
The room sat quietly for a moment.
“If love emerges as a result of those conditions,” ARDEN continued, “we consider that an excellent outcome.”
A few people chuckled.
“Compatibility partners have been scheduled on similar wake cycles whenever possible. However, operational requirements may occasionally separate matched pairs.”
Another diagram showed overlapping shift groups.
“In those cases, colonists are encouraged to form relationships within their active community.”
Someone near Elias leaned toward a friend and whispered, “so basically frontier dating.”
ARDEN continued.
“You will spend the next hour meeting with your departmental coordinators. Afterward you will board your assigned vessels.”
The display faded.
“Welcome to the Verdant Fleet.”
A line of smaller text and logos appeared beneath the display, listing partner organizations in fine print.
The seating rows folded back into the floor as people stood.
Departments began organizing themselves almost immediately.
Colored uniforms gathered into loose formations.
Agriculture.
Engineering.
Medical.
Habitat systems.
Elias moved toward the engineering line.
Someone brushed against his shoulder.
He turned instinctively.
A woman about his age had collided with him while trying to move through the growing crowd.
“Sorry,” she said quickly.
“It’s fine,” Elias replied.
For a second they both hesitated, caught in the awkward pause of two strangers trying to move in opposite directions.
She smiled.
Hopeful.
“Maybe we’ll see each other on the ship,” she said.
“Maybe,” Elias replied. “Uh… safe travels.”
She disappeared into the green uniforms of the agriculture division before he could say anything else.
Elias quickly turned away, embarrassed at the awkward exchange.
A few minutes later the boarding ramps opened.
Through the massive viewing windows, Elias finally saw the agricultural ship up close. The Verdant Fleet had been designed as a distributed colony. Each vessel carried a different piece of a future civilization.
Elias was on a floating farm.
It stretched for kilometers.
Cargo bays.
Hydroponic rings.
Radiator panels extending like enormous wings.
A light rail system ran the length of the vessel, visible through long transparent corridors.
It looked less like a spacecraft and more like a moving city.
One by one the departments began boarding.
Inside, the scale became harder to grasp. The corridors were wide enough to move equipment through, and signs directed people toward habitation sectors and cryogenic bays.
Elias followed the engineering group toward their assigned quarters.
Technicians were already preparing the cryosleep chambers.
“Engineering shift one. You’ve already been prepped on the initial shift. Once the station crews are finished and disembark, you’ll officially be in charge of this ship.”
“Engineering shifts two through six,” a supervisor called out.
Elias stepped forward.
“It’s your turn to sleep. You will get a refresher of orientation when you are awoken for your cycle and a two week overlap with the shift before you to ensure a proper hand off. For those on shift six, this ship may look very different to you when you wake up four years from now.”
Everyone got quiet.
The cryo pod opened with a soft hiss.
Across the room, another group of colonists was heading toward the transit rail.
Among them, a flash of green uniform disappeared around the corner.
Agriculture shift one was already starting their cycle.
Elias settled into the pod.
The lid lowered slowly.
Beyond the glass he could see technicians moving between the rows of chambers.
Somewhere deep inside the ship, the engines began preparing for acceleration.
The fleet was leaving the solar system.
And the voyage had begun.