Time is the cruelest force of nature. Whether one tries to outrun it or cherish every second, it marches on, indifferent to human will.
Six frantic, busy months had flashed by. Even with a few days of delays here and there, the massive space engineering project had finally reached its conclusion.
Professor Thomson, the head of astronomical observation, had issued multiple red alerts: several large asteroids had begun crossing the Lagrange boundary. The probability of an impact on the Moon was rising exponentially. Humanity had to leave immediately.
These asteroids and the Moon were locked in a gravitational dance, a complex multi-body problem.
This type of motion is extremely sensitive to initial values, a classic chaotic phenomenon. For the humans and their current computing power, calculating a precise solution was nearly impossible.
However, the danger was real. The sooner they left, the safer they would be.
Deep within the heart of Jason, the Captain of the *Noah*, there was a profound and complex sense of loss. Humanity was about to abandon its home system, likely forever. There would be no return trip.
It was a sentiment shared by many. A fleeting sense of melancholy often surfaced during the work shifts.
But there was no other choice. Humanity had to move into the cosmos to find a new sky, a new future.
From a satellite's perspective, the entire Lunar Base had undergone a radical transformation.
The original circular glass dome had long been dismantled. In its place was a massive crater, and resting quietly in the center was a colossal silver-white sphere.
It was humanity's final fortress - The Noah
It was simply too big, too spectacular. It was a sphere with a diameter of fifteen kilometers, seven and a half times the length of the original base, occupying half of the entire crater.
Leaving aside the advanced technology required to build it, the sheer volume alone was something humanity could never have achieved on its own.
Humanity's tallest building from the Old Era, the Burj Khalifa, standing at 828 meters would look like a mere speck of dust next to it, roughly one-eighteenth of the ship's height.
The geometry of the ship was significant. Spherical spacecraft are notoriously the most difficult to construct compared to conical or cylindrical designs.
Its surface was almost perfectly smooth, possessing a coefficient of friction so low that not even lunar dust could adhere to the hull. The entire ship sparkled with a breathtaking, pristine beauty.
However, this frictionless, diamond-hard surface had caused significant construction headaches. Cement, paint, and other materials couldn't bond to it.
Without friction, anything applied to the hull would simply slide off. even the strongest industrial adhesives failed to hold.
The scientists, in their ingenuity, had devised a workaround: if they couldn't build *on* the outside, they would build from the *inside*.
Engineers constructed massive reinforced concrete pillars inside the spacecraft's shell, anchoring them through the ship's existing entry and exit ports.
Relying on these internal anchors, they extended structures outward to mount essential external system, engine thrusters, the bridge, observation decks, and various laboratories.
These auxiliary structures were built from titanium-aluminum alloy, making them incredibly light yet durable.
Jason felt fortunate that the alien designers had included over two thousand entry and exit ports on the hull. Without them, humanity wouldn't have been able to mount a single external component.
This was the gap between technology and terrestrial engineering.
The civilization that built this sphere... humanity couldn't even begin to imagine their level of advancement. Standing before such a super-civilization, humanity was no different from a single-celled organism looking up at a god.
It was a pessimistic thought, perhaps, but a realistic one. Facing the vast universe, humanity was still painfully naive.
The "engine" installed at the very bottom of the spacecraft resembled a massive, inverted basin.
Sealed inside this "basin" was a large volume of pressurized gas and the one-billion-ton Helium-3 nuclear bomb.
The basin had a diameter of about one kilometer. This size was calculated precisely; too large would be inefficient, too small would risk structural failure.
One might think that for a spacecraft with a fifteen-kilometer diameter, a one-kilometer engine was too small. However, despite its size, the *Noah* was incredibly light relative to its volume. Its overall density was lower than that of a helium balloon.
Therefore, the single massive propulsion drive was sufficient.
All instruments were undergoing final diagnostics. Hundreds of technicians in spacesuits swarmed the site, conducting checks.
Jason reviewed the inventory logs again. Billions of tons of refined ore were piled up inside the spacecraft like small mountains.
The nearby uranium mine had been almost completely stripped, providing enough fuel for two or three decades of energy consumption.
The ice deposits beneath the base had also been harvested, yielding approximately one hundred million tons of water ice.
The food reserves were sufficient to feed the population for two or three years.
Yet, looking at the numbers, Jason still felt it wasn't enough. A nagging sense of insecurity gnawed at him.
Perhaps this was a universal anxiety. In the vast, dead vacuum of space, humanity would find no replenishment. No matter how much they hoarded, it would never feel like enough.
It was like a child leaving home for the first time, packing bag after bag, yet still trembling with nervousness.
If everything goes smoothly, Jason told himself, we will reach Mars in three or four months. We can resupply there. There is no need to panic.
He forced himself to calm down and continued his inspection.
Inside, the spacecraft's facilities could only be described as "passable."
Due to the centrifugal force generated by rotation (once they were underway) and the ship's internal layout, the living quarters were divided into three tiers: Upper, Middle, and Lower.
The gravity at the top tier was the lowest, roughly equivalent to the Moon. The bottom tier simulated Earth's gravity.
This gradient was necessary because the crew had not yet readapted to Earth-normal gravity.
After living in low-gravity environments like the Moon for so long, they had suffered bone density loss and muscle atrophy. If they were suddenly thrust into a 1G environment, many would be incapacitated, unable to even stand.
Everyone needed a gradual adaptation process. Only the first wave of personnel, who had been training for months, lived in the high-gravity bottom tier.
The living conditions themselves were spartan. Six months was simply too short a time to build luxury apartments or skyscrapers inside a hollow sphere.
Building the critical life support infrastructure, oxygen circulation, water recycling, power grids, and waste treatment had consumed the bulk of their time. There had been no resources left to improve comfort.
To avoid unrest, Jason had adhered to a simple principle: it wasn't just about scarcity; it was about fairness.
He waved his hand and set the rule: everyone would sleep in modular metal cabins. He was no exception.
These simple, easy-to-assemble structures were essentially corrugated metal boxes, the kind used for temporary housing on construction sites. They weren't comfortable, and they certainly weren't soundproof, but they provided privacy and shelter.
No one complained. When Captain Jason himself was sleeping in the same metal box as everyone else, who could argue?
Are you too good to live like the Captain of the Noah?
The name "Noah" had been chosen deliberately. It referenced the ancient Hebrew text, Genesis, a ship built to save the world from a deluge.
Only this time, the deluge was the vacuum of space, and the ship was saving the last remnants of the human race.
"Reporting, Captain! Engine system diagnostic complete. All parameters green. Awaiting instructions!"
"Reporting, Captain! Power grid stable at 100% efficiency!"
"Captain, all civilians have been assigned to their quarters."
...
One after another, the reports flooded in. No anomalies.
It was time to leave.
Jason gently tapped the table with his finger, taking a moment to breathe. "Broadcast the announcement: From now on, everyone is granted free time. You may move about freely, but all personnel must be aboard by midnight."
"Tomorrow at 08:00 hours, we officially set sail!"
"Yes, sir!"
As soon as the announcement was made, a large crowd rushed out of the airlocks.
Clad in bulky spacesuits, they walked awkwardly across the lunar surface one last time. Some took photos of the colossal spacecraft; others took group photos with friends and colleagues. Some sat quietly, sketching the landscape, trying to capture the gray dust and the black sky.
They were having a good time, but the atmosphere was heavy.
Everyone knew that their time on the Moon was ending. This soil, this view... it would soon be gone forever. They cherished these final moments, locking them away as their last memory of home.