Over the last ten gigaseconds, humanity has reshaped its destiny. What began as tentative steps across the solar system, facilitated by the Zhao Network’s seamless blend of human minds and near-godlike intelligence of Lin Zhao. Became the rise of Homo Universalis. Through this collective intelligence, famine and scarcity on Earth faded into memory. Mars and the outer planets transformed from dusty outposts into thriving communities. Iter ad Astra One, humanity’s most audacious starship, successfully pushed beyond the familiar boundaries of Sol, delving into wormholes whose existence once defied all known physics.
From the first moment, Iter ad Astra one travelled through the wormhole near Neptune and locking eyes on Blue Two, observers realized that what they initially called a “single bridge” was, in fact, one node of an intricate web spanning multiple star systems, celestial corridors through the galaxy. Curiously, each celestial corridors terminus emerged only around suns hosting planets. So far, no empty expanses or rogue celestial bodies seemed to qualify. This surprising uniformity led scientists to suspect a grand cosmic pattern and possibly a deliberate design. The celestial corridors, guided by gravity wells and galactic scale architecture, rather than a random scattering of tunnels in deep space, linking only systems brimming with potential life
The cold jumps through the celestial corridors didn’t come without trials. Zoey, our cold-jump pilot, navigated the perilous act of folding space-time. Rose, our empathetic scientist, found wonders and delicate ecologies on new worlds. Joras Farma, our captain, held the crew together, ensuring that we never forgot the balance between unstoppable curiosity and the fragile essence of who we are. All the while, Mother Zhao quietly guided our growth as a species, her intelligence interwoven with the very consciousness that unites us all.
We once asked ourselves whether we were truly ready—whether Homo Sapiens could evolve into Homo Universalis and set forth toward the stars. Now, traveling the galaxy faster than thought through the Zhao Network, we approach the next great question: What wonders might the galaxy hold? And how does Societas Universalis preserve its immortality, as we surpass our old limits.
Silence in the Void
Out here, on the far side of a newly discovered wormhole exit, darkness presses in like an ocean at night. Our last jump was harrowing—a spike in gravitational readings forced Zoey to expend precious mental energy just to keep the Iter ad Astra One stable. Now we float in silent equilibrium, scanning the system that orbits a sun we’ve never named.
Yet even in this vast stillness, the Zhao Network pulses in my mind. Billions of souls back home feel as if they are perched on my shoulder, eager to share each new star we glimpse.
Joras, ANGI’s voice resonates through our neural link, the data from Rose suggests high probabilities of extraordinary cosmic phenomena in this sector. Keep an open mind.
I exhale, pressing my palm against the console. “I’m all open mind at this point,” I murmur.
Rose’s console pings. “Captain, I have initial sensor hits on something… bizarre.”
She throws me a tight smile, excitement glowing in her eyes. “We’ve found our next wonder.”
AURORAE OF FRACTAL ICE
Her data feed highlights the first anomaly: a small, rocky planet with a supercharged magnetosphere. Instead of conventional auroras at its poles, it has aurorae of fractal ice that form in swirling ribbons across low latitudes.
“It’s strange,” Rose explains, pulling up images. “Solar wind hits the planet’s unique atmospheric chemicals, freezing them into drifting, geometric flakes. From orbit, it looks like ribbons of neon-white ice dancing across the sky.”
Zoey’s eyes widen at the feed. “Those fractal shapes are alive with electromagnetic discharge. If we sail the ship too close, we risk our own hull icing over with supercooled crystals.”
I let out a low whistle. “We’ll keep our distance but take samples. That phenomenon alone could fill Earth’s entire science bulletin for a year. Let’s mark it for deeper observation.”
ANGI’s translucent form appears at my side, offering a gentle nod. “Aurora storms in fractal arrays. Humanity once feared normal auroras on Earth, calling them omens. Imagine how we’ll feel when we see this dance of geometry.”
We collect all the data and proceed through back through the celestial corridors.
Nocturnal Flyby
Barely after we leave the corridor, Zoey opens her eyes directly as the entropy rises in the condensate.
We shift our attention to the next oddity: a battered dwarf planet half-shrouded in darkness, locked in a tidal embrace with its ringed gas-giant parent. From my pilot’s seat, I can feel the hum of the cold jump engines purring beneath my feet—like an animal eager to run but forced to trot.
Rose pinpoints new data. “This dwarf planet’s rotation is nearly inert, but it has a bizarre fissure system that glows at night.”
Through the main display, we see an entire hemisphere etched with glowing cracks—a web of crimson lines flickering like veins in rock.
“Radioluminescent brine,” Rose remarks, half-breathless. “I’ve never seen an ocean sealed beneath a crust that actively vents light.”
We call it the Veinsea Glow. Tiny organisms, living in subterranean saltwater, spark with bioluminescent chemicals whenever tidal forces shift. The result is a mosaic of shimmering cracks across the surface at night—both haunting and breathtaking.
“In a sense, it’s a living map,” Joras says, leaning over my console. “We can track the planet’s geological stress by watching how each fissure glows.”
I trace my gaze across the streaming lines. For a second, I imagine how ancient explorers on Earth must have felt seeing new lands by torchlight. Except we have no torch—just ourselves and the entire Zhao Network, marveling at this hidden sea that pulses in the dark.
Zoey prepares the condensate for the next jump.
A view from the observatory
Barely left the celestial corridors and the third oddity of our explorative mission emerges from a star that shouldn’t even exist. Our system scans detect a rogue brown dwarf captured into a wide elliptical orbit around the main star.
“This brown dwarf is cooler than typical,” ANGI informs us through the link. “But its core endures pockets of intense nuclear fusion—too sporadic for stable brightness, but enough to emit unpredictable flares.”
We name it the Twilight Pulsar, though it’s not a true pulsar at all. Watching from the Twilight Deck’s panoramic window, I see the distant dwarf star flicker like a dying ember, each flutter a faint stroke of violet or red.
What truly sets it apart is the crescent ring rotating around it—a belt of metallic debris that must have once been a planet or moon, shredded by tidal forces. Periodically, the dwarf flares and ignites the debris with a ghostly glow. So, from a distance, we watch ephemeral arcs of shining dust ripple across the ring, then vanish again when the star dims.
“That ring glimmer is mesmerizing,” Zoey says quietly. “It’s like watching fireworks slowed to a cosmic timescale.”
This swirl of slow-motion brilliance reminds me that not all wonders are about life or water. Some are about the silent interplay of gravitational heartbreak—matter ripped from its home, dancing forever around a quiet star.
Joras pinged Rose “Have you collected sufficient data Rose? Zoey is already calculating the next corridor cold jump”
Saffron Reefs
Mere kiloseconds pass, yet we travel vast distances not even bothered by the twisting of space and time.
We approach the fourth site of the shift, an exoplanet hugging the inner boundary of the habitable zone. Our long-range spectrographs show a lush environment with oceans tinted a pale saffron color. Once in low orbit, Rose identifies colossal reefs—yet these reefs aren’t made of coral but crystalline spires rising hundreds of meters from the ocean floor.
“They seem to be formed by an exotic microbe that deposits silicon and ammonia-based compounds,” Rose explains, data swirling across her station. “Basically, living crystals. They cluster in great banks along the ocean currents.”
The effect is surreal: from orbit, it’s as if the planet’s seas are dotted with glass towers that catch the saffron sunlight and refract it, sending beams of shimmering gold in every direction.
Zoey’s voice trembles with excitement. “Those beams reflect far above the surface. We can track them from space. It’s like an inverted cityscape in the water.”
We dispatch a single drone below the cloud layer. Through its feed, I see fish-like creatures weaving among the spires, each scaled in translucent patterns. The entire underwater realm glitters with kaleidoscopic light.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “A new frontier of marine life. No carbon-based coral polyps—just crystals and fluid organisms forging symbiosis.”
For a moment, I feel the entire Zhao Network shift in wonder, that collective hush that overcame us when we first glimpsed Blue Two from orbit. Except now, it’s just wonder and no shock at all.
“Captain, it’s been close to 50 kiloseconds, are we closing shop or are we jumping?”
“And waste the low entropy state?”
“Freezing her up Captain”
The Wandering Stormfront
It’s the last jump of our shift and I murmur a soft “Captain, you might want to see this,” as our final anomaly is the strangest yet.
We’ve discovered a planetoid crossing a wide orbit, trailing a chain of swirling storms behind it—almost like a comet’s tail, but composed of thick vapor clouds. Initially, we think it’s typical outgassing. Then Rose identifies something extraordinary: these storms contain pockets of ferromagnetic dust.
“I’m calling it the Wandering Stormfront,” Rose declares. “Each swirl can last centuries, shaped by the planetoid’s rotating magnetic field. It’s basically a traveling weather system that loops around the star, swirling dust into giant arcs that glimmer with ferrous brilliance.”
Like ribbons of molten metal, the storms cast reflections so bright they’re visible from across the system. Through my pilot’s scope, I see a swirl of shimmering gray-silver arcs against the blackness, trailing behind the planetoid as if it’s dragging a living tapestry of steel-gray clouds.
“I’d bet Bose-Einstein condensate that no one has ever witnessed anything like this,” Joras says quietly.
Our sensors show that the storms interact with cosmic rays, generating faint lightning inside the swirling dust. I can’t imagine what it’d look like up close—an alien thundercloud crackling with arcs of magnetized plasma.
“We’ll have to proceed carefully,” ANGI adds. “That level of ferromagnetic concentration is a hazard if we get too near.”
I grip the helm with fresh respect. Even if Homo Universalis no longer fears resource scarcity or disease, nature can still fill me with a primal sense of awe…and caution.
Reflection and Resolve
We reconvene in the heart of the Iter ad Astra One. The fleeting images of these five new oddities pulse through our shared consciousness, each phenomenon reminding us that the universe holds mysteries that no single mind—nor even a collective—can fully predict.
Joras stands before the main holo-display, arms crossed. In the swirling overhead projection, the Auroras of Fractal Ice gleam. Veinsea Glow pulses across the dwarf planet. The Twilight Pulsar flickers with its shredded ring. The saffron reefs glisten, and the Wandering Stormfront arcs across empty space.
“We’ve come a long way,” he says softly, “but these discoveries prove we’ve only scratched the surface.”
Zoey nods. “Even with the Zhao Network’s collective brilliance, there’s so much we don’t know. And that’s the beauty of it, right? We’re not just unstoppable problem-solvers—we’re explorers, still capable of being stunned by the cosmos.”
I smile at that. “We once asked if we were ready to be Societas Universalis, crossing the galaxy with our near-godlike intellect. Readiness isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about cherishing the questions.”
ANGI’s form materializes, a patient radiance in her expression. “Indeed. We must never abandon the wonder that makes us human. Let these phenomena remind us that humility and curiosity walk hand in hand.”
The Next Leap
After one final orbit around the saffron ocean planet, we set coordinates back to the celestial corridors. The advanced cold jump engines hum beneath our decks, ready to open the next doorway in space-time.
I make my final checks. Zoey glances over her shoulder, ponytail swishing, a resolute spark in her eyes. Rose’s gentle presence fills the bridge with a sense of unity. We are three, yet in truth we are countless—billions of minds watching with us, feeling each tremor of excitement.
Before I give the order, I close my eyes. For one silent moment, I picture those fractal auroras drifting in the night, the crystallized reefs shimmering gold, the flicker of lightning in magnetized storms. Each wonder resonates with a single revelation: Our universe is vast, not just in scale, but in imagination itself.
ANGI’s voice gently encourages me. “Captain, they await your word.”
I open my eyes, heart calm yet brimming. “Zoey, reduce all entropy in the condensate—short-range cold jump, when you’re ready”
“We’re about to ripple like an event horizon Captain”
As we touch the horizon, a short disconnect.
All contact lost, every single soul in the Zhao network stops and stares at the celestial corridor eyes wides open.
End of Transmission?