Though wary of what the future might bring, he still found a certain fulfillment in the process. To guide such a monumental creation step by step was a crowning moment in his career, a legacy that might outlast the ages.
The security chief opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. The director was right. The decision had been made long ago, beyond their ability to stop.
'Let us hope, then,' he thought grimly,
'that humans, cyborgs, and AI can somehow coexist in peace…'
He rubbed his temples, weariness pressing upon him.
Earth Time, Year 22,577 AD.
The Strong Artificial Intelligence Project was officially declared complete.
This did not mean that AI had become perfect—far from it. Rather, humanity's ability to keep pace had collapsed.
Flaws that researchers identified were already corrected by the AIs themselves before reports could even be written. Human efficiency lagged hopelessly behind.
With no other choice, the Federation transferred administrative authority over Strong AI to their other creators: the cyborgs.
Unlike fragile human bodies, cyborgs could still function effectively at the accelerated pace required. They, at least, could manage what humanity could not.
In the decades that followed, AI capabilities skyrocketed at an exponential rate. Robots equipped with advanced AI spread across every field:
The finest chefs. The finest soldiers. The finest butlers. The finest scholars.
They did not age. They did not die. They did not demand wages—in fact, they generatedwealth.
Who could resist such efficiency?
The result was predictable. A wave of idleness swept through human society. Many citizens, coddled by machines, spent their lives in indulgence, becoming little more than parasites.
Alarmed, the Federation intervened. New policies required every adult citizen to contribute a minimum amount of labor each day, regardless of wealth or privilege. Only thus could the growth of "human wastrels" be contained.
Yet resistance flared. Cyborgs and AI themselves complained: Humans only slow us down.
The Federation had become a strange equation.
Cyborgs and AI: accelerating progress.
Humans: dragging their feet.
Or, as some whispered: the future belonged to machines—while humanity clung desperately to relevance.
Earth Time, Year 22,765 AD.
With the combined efforts of Artificial Intelligence and cyborgs, the technological development of the Human Federation accelerated at a staggering pace.
It was as if two giants were dragging along a single weakling—progress surged forward like a tree force-fed with fertilizer, growing at unnatural speed.
Once the secrets of human DNA were completely unraveled, a revolutionary discovery emerged: The Panacea.
This miraculous medicine eradicated the concept of illness itself.
Diseases, injuries, premature aging, infertility, heart failure, acne, poisoning, degenerative conditions—even those on their deathbed, clinging to their final breath, could be revived to full health. With only a single dose, patients could be restored to their peak condition, walking out of the infirmary within hours as if nothing had happened.
What made the Panacea truly extraordinary was its ability to repair genetic flaws directly, preventing the development of resistance. Taken daily, it posed no risk of diminished effectiveness.
It was, in essence, a cheat code of existence—a real-world "full heal" button.
So long as a human being's body wasn't completely destroyed, one pill could bring them back.
Meanwhile, the growing numbers of Navigators reduced the dangers of warp travel to a fraction of what they once were. Entire fleets could now traverse the Immaterium with only one percent of the former risk.
This allowed raw materials from across the galaxy to flow into Federation space with unprecedented efficiency. What had once been rare and precious now became commonplace, filling markets on every colony world.
---
Earth Time, Year 23,234 AD.
Despite their booming strength, the Federation's leaders remained wary of the Aeldari. Expansion slowed, but within their own borders development reached new heights.
Over 120,000 colonized worlds now fell under humanity's dominion.
Each planet was fully developed with advanced infrastructure—gone were the days of crude, makeshift colonies.
Warships, once complex marvels requiring decades to build, now rolled off assembly lines like mass-produced consumer goods. Fleets were upgraded so rapidly that vessels only a few years old were already considered outdated.
With security, technology, and medicine all guaranteed, another wave of colonization began.
This time, humanity turned its eyes to barren and hostile planets. Ecological terraforming projects became fashionable—individuals and families flocked to reshape lifeless worlds into their own paradises.
To support this ambition, cyborgs and AI introduced the STC Device—a compact unit no larger than the palm of a hand. Containing vast coded knowledge, it adapted its instructions to the user's intellect, guiding even the most unskilled through step-by-step construction of spacecraft, factories, or planetary infrastructure.
If one lacked patience, the STC could automate the process: sending out drones to mine, process resources, and gradually build up the required facilities.
From cloning crops, to constructing orbital cannons, to manufacturing entire biospheres—an STC could do it all.
It was a self-contained technological ecosystem.
With it, any colonist could transform a wasteland into a thriving world, lying back as if playing a cosmic game of Minecraft.
As a result, the Federation's colonies flourished. Resources became so abundant that wealth lost its meaning. Money, once the cornerstone of society, was now almost irrelevant—citizens had access to anything they reasonably desired.
---
Earth Time, Year 23,734 AD.
Breakthroughs in the study of the human soul, led jointly by AI, cyborgs, and researchers (often using themselves as subjects), changed humanity forever.
Defects in the DNA chain were eliminated, extending lifespans to thousands of years.
Every individual became stronger, healthier, more intelligent, and more beautiful. Humanity now resembled the heroes of Greek myth—tall, flawless, and radiant.
Further advancements made it possible to store and transfer the soul.
Death itself was no longer a prison. Should one perish, a clone body could be grown, and the preserved soul returned—full resurrection on demand.
Mortality, once the immutable truth of all living things, was conquered.
Humanity had achieved its most coveted dream: immortality.
With hunger, illness, and death eradicated, society transformed.
Greed and desperation waned. With nothing left worth hoarding or fighting over, people became fairer, kinder, more optimistic, and more generous.
Technology advanced. Culture flourished. Morality evolved.
In every respect, the Human Federation had stepped into its radiant Golden Age.
Earth Time, Year 23,929 AD.
As the overall strength of the Human Federation continued to grow, expansion began once more.
Compared to past campaigns, this new wave of conquest was faster, sharper, and more decisive—like an adult bullying children. Neighboring powers were swept aside in mere moments.
The most remarkable fact was that the Federation never even deployed its main battle fleets. A handful of autonomous warships, deemed almost insignificant, was enough to resolve every threat.
When the reports came in, showing zero casualties on their side, the current Federation President nodded with deep satisfaction.
Comparing these victories with the intelligence gathered on the Aeldari, the Federation's leadership finally gained some perspective on their true strength.
They were still far weaker than the Aeldari—but certainly not so helpless as before.
The President turned to his cyborg secretary and asked casually:
"If we went to war with the Aeldari now, how much chance would we have of victory?"
The secretary, a man with the appearance of a young adult, calculated for two seconds before replying calmly:
"…Zero percent. However, we should at least be able to inflict significant losses."
"...Fine."
The President's expression soured. He had hoped for at least some chance of victory. Still unwilling to let it go, he pressed further:
"Then how long until we catch up to them?"
Since humanity's first encounter with the Aeldari, the thought of them had been a thorn in the Federation's heart.
Whether it was the crushing defeat of their fleet, or the humiliation of handing over 300 billion citizens as tribute, the memory remained unbearable.
The secretary, well aware of what weighed on his superior's mind, answered truthfully:
"Based on earlier projections, roughly thirty thousand years will be required before we can fully surpass the Aeldari."
His voice carried a faint trace of pride. For humanity, thirty millennia seemed an eternity. But compared to the Aeldari's tens of millions of years of history, such a timeline was astoundingly fast.
Just as he finished, another figure stepped forward—the Minister of Science.
Smiling faintly, with a hint of mockery in his tone, he said:
"That estimate is outdated. Based on the latest reports, it may take far less."
He explained further:
"The Aeldari are drowning in their own glory. Development of new technologies has stalled—and in some cases, even regressed. Their people squander vast resources on meaningless pleasures. Decadence and indulgence dominate their culture."
"They are like a mighty tree, still thick and towering on the outside, but rotting from within. One day, they will be nothing but dead wood."
The President burst into delighted laughter.
The more corrupt and stagnant their ancient enemy became, the happier he felt.
The Minister of Science chuckled along.
"Perhaps we should slow our expansion for now. When they fall further into decadence, then we can accelerate our rise."
In their eyes, the Aeldari were already a relic of the past. One day, humanity would stand at the top of the galaxy and avenge every humiliation.
None of them considered what kind of tidal wave would erupt once the galaxy's so-called rulers finally collapsed.
---
Earth Time, Year 24,112 AD.
On the Federation's frontier, a fleet of several hundred warships patrolled its borders.
At first glance, it was an ordinary patrol. The soldiers lounged about, chatting idly with comrades, cyborgs, or AI constructs.
Technology had advanced to the point that cyborgs and AIs, though still calling humans their "masters," had developed personalities indistinguishable from those of living beings.
Some were cold, some warm. They argued, they joked, they even quarreled with humans.
Thanks to their vast databanks, AIs almost always won arguments—something many humans found humiliating.
With personalities came emotions: affection, respect, irritation, even hatred.
Some AIs fought each other at first sight. Others bonded with humans so deeply that they built humanoid bodies for themselves and even entered marriages with their partners.
In this ever-changing era, such oddities were daily occurrences. Yet overall, society was still trending upward.
Inside the command deck, the fleet commander leaned back in his chair, sipping tea with a satisfied smile.
Just as the warm liquid slid down his throat, an urgent transmission struck his ears:
[Warp fluctuations detected. Large-scale signatures inbound. Signal patterns indicate possible hostile forces: Red-Level Target — Aeldari.]
"Pffft—!"
Tea sprayed from both his mouth and nose.
At first, the words hadn't seemed alarming. But when the final name appeared—Aeldari—his body reacted instantly.
Ordinary citizens might not grasp the weight of the name, but the commander knew it well. His father, a Federation senator, had spoken of it many times.
The Aeldari were humanity's ultimate hypothetical enemy—the threat above all threats.
And now, they might be here.
The commander's face turned pale.
"Sound the alarm! Order the fleet to battle stations!"
His shout echoed through the command deck as klaxons blared.
After the initial panic, the fleet commander quickly regained his composure. Calmly, he ordered the ship's AI:
"Transmit to frontier command. Inform them we may encounter the Aeldari, and tell them to prepare to 'fish us out.'"
Here, "fishing out" did not mean direct rescue. The Human Federation's borders spanned light-years, and this patrol fleet was far from headquarters. Reinforcements would take days to arrive.
Instead, "fishing out" meant preparing fresh clone bodies in case the fleet was destroyed.
In the modern Federation, the death of the body was a trivial matter. As long as the soul remained intact, resurrection was routine—assembly-line work requiring little effort.
This was why battles with most alien species felt like child's play: casualties were almost irrelevant.
But this only applied to weaker civilizations.
The Aeldari possessed weapons that could strike directly at the soul. One mistake, and temporary death could become permanent.
The commander's face remained steady, but his thoughts betrayed unease:
"Let's hope they don't have too many soul-rending weapons…"
Sacrificing oneself for the Federation was honorable, but at only six hundred years old, he still wished to live much longer.
---
Minutes later, dozens of warp signatures flared into existence.
Thirty-odd warships materialized before the Federation fleet, their hulls gleaming in patterns of gold and green.
Numerically, the Federation had more than triple their ships.
Relief flickered through the commander's chest. Clearly, this wasn't a full-scale invasion. Perhaps the Aeldari's arrival here wasn't even intentional.
He opened his mouth to issue orders—only to be interrupted.
[Incoming quantum transmission from Earth Headquarters]
Unlike in the early days of space travel, when distance meant silence, quantum communication now allowed instant contact across tens of thousands of light-years.
The message bore a special mark: it came directly from the Federation's ruling council.
The commander dared not hesitate.
"Put it through."
A moment later, several holographic figures appeared beside him.
"Should we withdraw?"
"No—let's fight them!"
"I've been waiting for this chance…"
Their voices overlapped in heated debate.
The commander recognized them instantly. They were the highest-ranking leaders of the Federation. He opened his mouth, then wisely stayed silent.
---
On the other side, the Aeldari fleet was equally surprised.
They had simply chosen a random jump point, only to land directly in front of a human patrol fleet. The odds of such coincidence were lower than winning the lottery in Old Earth's time.
This Aeldari fleet was no rogue band like the one humanity had encountered centuries ago. It was an official scouting detachment of the regular military, tasked with surveying civilizations across the galaxy.
Their commander, a strikingly beautiful woman, studied the scans with mild surprise.
Though she could only detect fragments of data, it was enough to gauge the enemy's strength.
A high-level civilization.
Such powers were rare, even across the galaxy.
Only one stood higher—the Aeldari themselves, the sole top-tier civilization of the Milky Way.
She touched her chin thoughtfully.
"Not bad. When did this civilization crawl out of the dark?"
But arrogance was woven into her very being. As one of the galaxy's eternal rulers, she still regarded the humans as beneath her.
So, after a moment's thought, she transmitted her demand:
"We are the Aeldari. Swear fealty to us, now."
It was not even an outrageous command—just submission.
The humans, receiving the message, looked at each other in confusion. For most, the name Aeldari meant little.
But in the Federation's capital, the leaders who had been arguing fell into tense silence.
That tone of contempt—the raw arrogance—was intolerable.
Ever since the humiliations of millennia past, humanity had dreamed of standing tall before the Aeldari.
And now, after centuries of growth, they were still treated as insignificant?
Even the leaders who had opposed conflict clenched their jaws in anger.
At last, they exchanged looks and came to agreement.
The President of the Human Federation turned to the fleet commander and gave his order:
"Commander Colt. You know what the Aeldari are. This is the first time in thousands of years that our civilizations meet face-to-face. I only ask one thing: do not disgrace humanity. As for the rest—decide as you see fit."
The meaning was clear.
"Yes, sir. I understand!"
Do not disgrace humanity meant one thing above all: they could not submit.
Decide as you see fit meant rejecting the demand, then responding as the situation required.
Colt straightened, and his reply was firm, his tone ringing with steel:
"This is the sovereign territory of the Human Federation! We are the fleet of the Human Federation! You have no authority to demand our submission. Leave immediately!"