Time flew by. Before anyone realized it, a hundred days had passed.
This particular day was a joyous occasion for everyone on the base. Smiles adorned every face as they received new clothes distributed by the administration, along with generous rations of fresh grain, vegetables, and even a bit of meat.
Today marked the official completion of the Agricultural Transformation Plan.
The production results exceeded all expectations. In just one hundred days, humanity had stockpiled 25,000 tons of staple grains and over 30,000 tons of vegetables enough to feed the entire base for three years.
As for the meat, it was mostly chicken.
Broiler chickens could be harvested in just over forty days. Although they had been fed a diet of vegetable scraps and were relatively lean, having meat at all was a miracle. To the survivors, these birds were worth their weight in gold.
The workers were beaming with joy. Compared to the tasteless, high-energy compressed bars they had been surviving on, eating a fragrant bowl of steaming rice and roasted chicken was a luxury beyond measure. From this day forward, real food would be back on the menu.
To celebrate this massive harvest, the base held a grand gala, inviting everyone from the mining crews to the manufacturing teams.
Of course, essential personnel were still required to man the critical systems, but they rotated shifts to ensure everyone got a chance to join the festivities.
The menu was served buffet-style, featuring a fusion of cuisines to satisfy the diverse population. There were savory meat pies, soft bread rolls, dumplings, sliders, and sponge cakes. The variety was impressive given the circumstances, and the portions were unlimited. Everyone could eat until they were full.
This party was far more modest than any gala back on Earth. Resources were still scarce, and the decor was makeshift. But for the survivors, this gathering was paradise. They understood the reality of their situation and couldn't ask for more.
The taste of real food and the promise of a full belly filled their hearts with anticipation for the future.
To mark the occasion, the base management unlocked the "Special Reserves" the last of the cigarettes, alcohol, sugar, coffee, and frozen steaks salvaged from the old officer's mess.
These luxuries had been brought from Earth before the explosion and hoarded by the previous corrupt leadership. Now, they were brought out for the people.
Once these supplies were gone, it would be a long time before they could be enjoyed again. Although the *Noah* had a massive ecological park, new crops like coffee beans or sugar cane would take at least a year and a half to harvest.
These luxuries were rationed, of course. Everyone received a fixed quantity, obtainable by swiping their ID cards.
Thanks to the biological laboratory, humanity had preserved the genetic material of countless species. Without this, their diet would have been restricted to potatoes and algae forever, which would have been a tragic existence.
However, the base currently lacked the energy and infrastructure to cultivate everything.
For example, the biological laboratory held live specimens of various shellfish and seafood, but where would they get seawater? Creating a saline environment was currently impossible. They could only preserve the specimens, hoping that future technology would allow for mass cultivation.
Freshwater fish were a different story. Now that the grain surplus was secured, there was enough feed to support aquaculture. The first batch of fish was estimated to mature in a year.
As for pigs, sheep, and cattle, their reproductive cycles were far slower than chickens or fish. It would take years of careful breeding to expand their populations enough for slaughter.
Sadly, species that hadn't made it into the biological laboratory's ark were likely extinct. With humanity's current technology, there was no way to revive them. It was a heavy blow for the culinary enthusiasts, knowing that so many flavors had been lost to the void.
---
At 6:00 PM, the grand party officially began.
There was no strict schedule, and the hosts were amateurs, but the crowd didn't care. After three months of frantic, back-breaking work, people needed a night of release.
A host took the stage, said a few emotional words, and kicked off the talent show.
The performers had been selected through auditions, so the quality was surprisingly decent. The organizers had screened out the tone-deaf and the rhythmically challenged.
While the production value couldn't compare to professional concerts back on Earth, there had been no time for rehearsals the event had something better: genuine, raw emotion.
Some sang classic pop songs, others performed dance routines, and a few showcased sleight-of-hand magic. The atmosphere was lively, and the talented individuals earned thunderous applause.
Then, a young woman took the stage with an acoustic guitar. She strummed a familiar chord progression.
"Country roads... take me home... To the place... I belong..."
As she sang the old John Denver classic, the festive atmosphere shifted. People stopped chewing. Eyes glistened.
They remembered the days before the collapse. They remembered the warmth of the sun, the smell of rain, and the hometowns that were now nothing but radioactive dust drifting in the void.
How could they not feel the crushing weight of loss?
Quiet sobs broke out across the hall.
Home, family, history gone. All gone. Never to be seen again.
*But those of us who are alive... we must continue to live.*
The mood in the venue became somber, the weight of their reality pressing down on them.
At that moment, two young men jumped onto the stage. One grabbed the microphone, the other shredded a power chord on an electric guitar.
The song was an adaptation of an old sci-fi ballad, the lyrics rewritten to become an anthem for their new reality:
"We are the pilgrims, my friends, don't you know?
On a road to the future, against the flow.
We'll cross the blue mountains where the snow never dies,
And sail through the tempests of infinite skies.
With hearts like steel and spirits unbound,
Comfort and ease are nowhere to be found.
We spread our wings to the great unknown,
Where courage is king, on a drifting throne.
We endure the cold, the hunger, the thirst,
To see the new dawn, to be the first.
Only through fire can peace be reclaimed,
Only through struggle can the stars be tamed!
I've looked down from the highest peak,
Found the enlightenment that we seek.
The cold, the warmth, the hunger, the pain,
We live to challenge the dark again!
This is the meaning, the truth of our scars,
Our journey is the Sea of Stars!"
It wasn't a polished pop song or a classical masterpiece. It was raw, loud, and real. It was composed by the young men themselves, fueled by the adrenaline of survival.
Humanity never lacks warriors.
What is the fear of death, or the endless darkness of despair, compared to the indomitable spirit of exploration?
Facing the endless unknown, humanity is both terrified and curious. People stand on their tiptoes, hearts trembling, summoning their fighting spirit to step into the dark.
Who isn't afraid of death?
But humanity has always produced those who go anyway.
George Mallory, lost to the slopes of Everest; Percy Fawcett, swallowed by the Amazon; John Franklin, claimed by the frozen Arctic...
One failure after another, yet nothing could erase humanity's grand ambition. These were the vanguard.
And now, the survivors were about to face the greatest challenge in history: the void itself.
Whether forced or voluntary, fearful or excited, trembling or curious, they would rise to the challenge.
"The stars! Here we come!" the singers shouted as the final chord rang out.
The crowd roared back, a sound that resonated deep in their chests.
Humanity was currently like a child who had lost its mother. It had to become strong on its own... otherwise, only a cold death awaited.
"Stars! We are coming!"