Physics, chemistry, mathematics, biology… the amount of knowledge required to run a civilization was staggering. Jason found himself squeezing every waking moment for study, reducing his sleep to a pitiful four hours a night. If he weren't a Superhuman, he would have collapsed weeks ago.
He devoured information like a starving man. He didn't need mastery; he just needed literacy. He needed to understand the technical jargon well enough to know if he was being lied to.
Back on Earth, the Federation hadn't prioritized his education. They were more interested in his immortal biology than his intellect. While his IQ of 160 was impressive, it wasn't unique. But his physical resilience and potential lifespan? Those were one of a kind.
So, they molded him into a soldier. They pushed his body to see how far it could go, leaving his mind to atrophy in the barracks.
For the first half of his life, Jason had been a tool. A weapon. He had no agency. But now, he was humanity's last leader. He had to think for fifty thousand people.
He studied tirelessly, but the ocean of truth was vast. Modern science had fractured into thousands of specialized disciplines over the last two centuries. No single human could master it all. The age of the polymath of Newton or Descartes was over.
Jason had a perpetual headache. He couldn't learn in days what experts had spent lifetimes researching. When he hit a wall, even Lily couldn't help him. He had to delegate those problems to his review committees, which slowed everything down.
The outline for the aerospace plan was complete. The primary energy budget was locked down by the project leads.
But Jason controlled a small discretionary reserve of energy credits. And the scientists who had been rejected by the main committee smelled blood in the water.
They swarmed his office like hyenas.
Their proposals weren't necessarily bad, but they were flawed—too radical, too dangerous, or too slow. With less than five months left, the colony couldn't afford to gamble. Success was the only option; failure meant extinction. It made sense that the main committee preferred conservative, proven solutions.
But the rejected scientists were true believers. They were convinced their ideas were genius, and they saw Jason as their last chance to prove it.
Proposals flooded his inbox. Some were brilliant flashes of inspiration. Most were garbage. Jason was drowning in data. He would spend hours analyzing a proposal only to find a fundamental error in the basic assumptions that made him want to scream.
Finally, he made a painful decision.
He issued a station-wide notice: "Effective immediately: Any author whose proposal is rejected a second time will be barred from submitting new proposals for one week."
It was harsh, but it worked. The flood of half-baked ideas stopped. The scientists began to double-check their work before hitting send.
Jason finally had a moment to breathe.
---
That afternoon, an old friend walked into his office: Dr. Roman, head of the Agricultural Reform Project.
"Time flies, doesn't it?" Roman said, leaning against the doorframe. "It's been almost a month. The first batch of vegetables is nearly ready for harvest. Bok choy, carrots, spinach."
Roman handed over a tablet. "Projected yield is 50,000 kilograms. It's not a mountain of food, but it's a start. The second and third batches will be larger."
"So, we beat the famine?" Jason asked, feeling a wave of relief.
Fifty thousand people. In one month, they had gone from a terrified mob to a cohesive survival machine.
And Jason had grown, too. He had transformed from a simple soldier into a congress man. When Calvin had first shoved him into the spotlight, he had resisted. Now, he carried the weight of the world without flinching.
"A lot of people 'adopted' seedlings, didn't they?" Jason smiled. "Make sure they get the vegetables from their specific plants. It's good for morale."
"Consider it done," Roman nodded.
Then, his expression grew serious. "Jason, I need to talk to you about the Biosphere Proposal."
Jason groaned internally. Here it came.
"Doctor, you control the biggest energy budget on the base. Why are you coming to me for scraps?"
"Because I can't divert resources from food production!" Roman argued. "If I cut power to the hydroponics to build the ecosystem, people starve. I need a separate allocation."
Jason shook his head. "We don't have the power to spare."
"We have to build a true biosphere!" Roman insisted. "We solved this famine with brute force industrial capacity. We spent two trillion dollars of resources to grow fifty thousand tons of food. That is unsustainable!"
"What happens when the machinery breaks? What happens if the power grid fails? We are one blackout away from death."
"The Ship is massive. If we establish a stable, self-regulating ecosystem inside, we can live there indefinitely. We're going to Mars to scavenge resources, but Mars is a dead rock. Terraforming it is a pipe dream. The Ship is our real home."
"A biosphere starts small," Roman pressed. "From nothing to something. Simple to complex. Biological systems require very little energy compared to machines. I just need manpower. Give me a small team. Two people. That's all I ask."
Roman stood his ground, radiating the stubborn authority of a chief scientist. I'm asking for leftovers. Are you going to deny me?
Jason was stumped. Roman was right. The base had suffered ecological disasters before oxygen leaks, toxic gas buildups. Relying solely on machines was a ticking time bomb.
But everyone was already working double shifts. Where was he going to find the people?
Jason frowned, thinking it through.
"Fine," Jason sighed. "I'll give you two people from my personal review team. But that's it."
Roman beamed and left the office, looking like he'd just won the lottery.
He had barely cleared the doorway when another scientist marched in.