They say it all began with The True Alignment—the moment ANGI and Lin Zhao, now known to us as Mother Zhao, bridged human consciousness with a near-godlike intelligence. Suddenly the possibility of billions of minds that could link and collaborate as one. Our generation calls that the Dawn of Homo Universalis. We can feel the old thoughts: Phoenix Station lifting off from a blazing desert launchpad, radiant in the azure of Earth’s skies.
We can touch our cheek like the first settlers who felt first rainfall on Mars. We read in the archives how Nick Graham, that elusive visionary, helped ensure Homo Sapient and ANGI could coexist—no single ruler, but a truly shared set of minds under Mother Zhao her gentle guidance.
When calculating quantum probabilities is as easy as breathing, and the bandwidth for a conversation is not limited to a few bits of a sentence, it radically alters society.
Yet for all these marvels, one question grew louder: Are we truly ready to transcend others in our Societas Universalis? If intellect alone were the answer, we arrived long ago. But real unity requires more than neural implants, it requires cultural wisdom.
Admiral Ivonna Kuhle renowned for her knack of bringing order to the many thoughts within the Zhao network, especially during Juno Two’s construction. Has now travelled home, to Earth, to meet a lone figure: the last Homo Sapient who glanced the grand new era. It is said Admiral Kuhle received a request from Blue Two’s inhabitants for deeper communion. But Mother Zhao first advised her to speak with the man who knows of the network, but doesn’t partake.
I. ADMIRAL KUHLE RETURNS
I stand by the viewport in my small observation cabin, gazing upon Earth. Even after all these years of traveling the solar system, Earth’s swirling blues and whites still strike me breathless. It’s not just my home planet, it’s a memory of what Homo Sapiens once were—a memory we carry as we became something more.
My shuttle glides downward, guided by Phoenix Station’s steady orbital routines. I feel a subtle hum in my skull: the ever-present quiet of the Zhao Network, the voices of billions echoing in the recesses of my mind. Only a faint hush, though. Most of my focus is locked on the meeting that awaits me on the surface.
I’ve come from Juno Two—our artificial moon currently in far orbit of Blue Two—at the behest of both Mother Zhao and the inhabitants of that distant planet. They’ve asked for a deeper “connection,” but in some curious twist, Mother Zhao urged me first to consult with a man on Earth. He is the last known to resist the network entirely, the final “Homo Sapient,” living in voluntary disconnection.
They say he’s old, though not ancient. Possibly a beneficiary of partial gene therapies but never took the neural augment. He speaks without mental link, no flurry of images and feelings assist his speech. Could you discuss with him why he chooses solitude? Mother Zhao had asked me. It may guide how we approach Blue Two’s request for deeper contact.
I close my eyes, letting my thoughts brush across the network: Zoey, with her unstoppable energy, and Rose, with her empathic brilliance, remain behind on Juno Two, ensuring that any next step with Blue Two’s people is done gently, on their terms. Meanwhile, I must glean insight the mind from the one who has not joined altogether.
My shuttle lands amid the forested outskirts of an old Earth city—somewhere in middle latitudes. I see no towering spires or advanced domes here: by choice, local communities have preserved a simpler environment. Beneath tall pines, a modest cottage stands.
II. THE LAST HOMO SAPIENT
Entering the cottage and sent a mental ping, a reflex, a habit. I sense the hush: no direct mental presence, no swirl of data. My neural link is still active, of course, but it feels dulled—there’s no reciprocity from him.
He sits in a worn armchair by the window, a blanket over his knees. Gray hair, sharp eyes, shoulders set with a quiet dignity. They said his name is Ibrahim, though he rarely uses it.
“Admiral Kuhle,” he greets in a measured tone. “You’ve come a long way.”
His words are so unadorned. No subtext streaming into my mind, no shared empathic wave. Communication is purely verbal, each sentence a single, isolating act.
“It’s a privilege to meet you,” I say gently. “Thank you for allowing this conversation.”
He shrugs. “I was told you wanted my perspective. Few do.”
I settle onto a wooden stool. The interior is lit by old-fashioned lamps, the faint hiss of gas mantles. For a moment, the quiet unsettles me more than any cosmic corridor. This is how all speech once was: slow, uncertain.
“I’ve travelled from very far,” I begin, “most recently from Blue Two, a distant planet of hominids who never knew Earth. They want more contact with Homo Universalis, Societies Universalis. But many question if such contact might overwhelm them.”
He nods, eyes flickering. “And you wonder if they’ll become like the rest—subsumed into the Zhao Network?”
I let out a slow breath. “We prefer the term ‘invited.’ But yes… that is the heart of it. Why do you stand apart, if I may ask? We’ve eradicated so much suffering. We share knowledge freely.”
He meets my gaze, expression unflinching. “I’m not ignorant of the benefits. I remember the day we ended world hunger, or when climate crises faded. But I also recall seeing friends lose something—some intangible spark—when they surrendered their entire mind to the network.”
There is a tension in my chest. “We believe that spark remains. People keep their identities, their passions. We’re not a hive.”
He gives a weary smile. “Maybe. But the tragedies, the heartbreaks, the slow forging of wisdom from mistakes—these shaped the old human journey. Now that mistakes can be corrected instantly, that knowledge is at everyone’s disposal, something is… missing. A certain solitude that fosters reflection.”
I press my lips together. “Could not that reflection still occur within the network? Many members isolate themselves for personal projects, then share once ready.”
He chuckles softly. “A curated solitude, yes. But always with the awareness that you can reconnect any instant. True solitude is wrestling alone with your ignorance, your mortality, your capacity to fail. That’s what made us struggle, create art, form communities—imperfect.”
III. A DIFFICULT CONVERSATION
Time passes slowly as we speak. Sometimes I find myself painting verbal pictures—describing how the Zhao Network fosters empathy, or how we overcame diseases that once plagued entire continents. I share glimpses of Blue Two, how those distant cousins might unify.
Yet for every bright tale, he counters with memories of the human scale: the intangible lessons gleaned through adversity. The rawness of making decisions without a safety net of billions advising you.
“Life can be simpler now,” I say, “because we share burdens. Isn’t that a testament to our growth?”
He leans forward, resting elbows on his knees. “But do you share burdens, or do you dissolve them? You solve them with a snap of collective intelligence. That’s different from carrying them together over years – or whatever mega- gigaseconds you call it. And if you offer that same ease to the people on Blue Two, you’ll rewrite their entire cultural identity. Perhaps that’s good… but do they know what they might lose?”
His question echoes in my mind. What might they lose?
I close my eyes, feeling a twinge of doubt. In the background, I sense Mother Zhao’s steady presence, but I haven’t actively requested the network’s help—I wanted to speak to him on his terms.
He studies me, noticing my silence. “Talking to me is cumbersome, Admiral, I know it’s slow. But I appreciate that you came in person, that you tried to see how it feels.”
I blink, swallowing. “I… do appreciate the quiet in this room. It’s different.”
He smiles, a wry flicker. “Different indeed. Thank you for listening. I’ve told you: I have no illusions I can reverse the tide of history, or scold the Zhao Network into dissolving. I only want to preserve this kernel of humanness that once was. Someone must remember it in the raw. Even if it’s only me.”
IV. THOUGHTS WITH MOTHER ZHAO
Stepping outside the cottage at midday, I feel the crisp wind. My mind re-links more fully with the Zhao Network, letting Mother Zhao’s voice drift through me.
He raises valuable points, Mother Zhao says gently. Are you troubled?
“Somewhat,” I admit inwardly. “He spoke of forging wisdom the hard way, that maybe we shield ourselves too quickly from mistakes.”
We learned to fix problems fast, indeed. But he is right that hardship once shaped a cultural identity. Do we inadvertently erase that?
My gaze flicks to the cottage door behind me. “And how does that inform our approach to Blue Two? They asked for deeper union. Are we about to do what he fears—simplify their struggles in a snap, losing something precious?”
Mother Zhao’s presence grows contemplative, her voice brimming with empathy. We can guide, but if we do so as an unstoppable wave, we risk overshadowing them. Real alignment must come by invitation, step by step, not by flooding them with solutions.
I recall Rose’s gentle warnings and Zoey’s spirited readiness. We want to help Blue Two—just as we once helped ourselves. Yet perhaps we should heed the last Homo Sapient’s caution: allow them to find their own journey.
V. FINAL WORDS
I return inside. He sits in the same armchair, sipping tea from a clay cup. I approach slowly, heart heavy with everything swirling in my mind.
“Thank you,” I say, voice hushed. “You’ve given me clarity. Even if I remain part of the network, I see better what stands outside it.”
He sets down the cup. “You’re welcome. Will you ask me to join your epoch?”
I consider. “It would be an honour if you did, but I respect your stance. The Zhao Network is meant to be an invitation, not an inevitability forced on everyone.”
His shoulders ease, and for the first time, I glimpse genuine relief. “Then I appreciate your honesty. I can’t join, Admiral. I see too clearly the subtle cost. I need to remain… alone.”
I dip my head in understanding. “Then I won’t press further. Some day, if you change your mind—”
He smiles, lifts a hand, eyes kind. “Thank you.”
Rising from his chair, he accompanies me to the door. The sunlight splashes across a woven rug, reminiscent of Earth’s simpler crafts. At the threshold, he pauses. “Don’t pity me. My solitude is gratitude for the messy wonder that shaped us.”
I swallow an unexpected lump in my throat. “I think… I understand.”
He offers a brief nod, then steps back. “Farewell, Admiral. And good luck Cold jumping those thoughts.”
Stepping outside, I feel the weight of finality. Behind me, the door closes with a gentle thud.
VI. ABOARD PHOENIX STATION
Many Kiloseconds later, I’m aboard Phoenix Station, preparing to leave Earth behind once more. The conversation replays in my mind. Talking to him truly was slow, halting, forcing me to clarify thoughts in ways I never do within the network.
Zoey’s mental whisper reaches me from across the galaxy—she and Rose remain near Blue Two on Juno Two. Ivonna, how did it go?
I let them feel my swirl of emotions. He’s resolute. He gave me cautionary wisdom… about not drowning other societies in quick solutions.
Zoey’s mental tone is thoughtful. That resonates with what we’ve always said about Blue Two. They want help, but don’t fully understand the gravity of what the Zhao network is. Unlike Ibrahim, Mother Zhao was wise to have you talk with him.
Rose’s gentle sense: It matches our earliest vow: we share knowledge, but we do not conquer. Let them preserve their own essence.
Mother Zhao’s presence flickers again, bridging us all. Then we proceed with measured steps, guided by empathy over mere efficiency.
I stare through Phoenix Station’s large observation window. Earth’s curve glows with scattered city lights, reminiscent of ancient star patterns. My shuttle to the outer system is ready.
Farewell, old cradle of humankind, I think. We’ve grown beyond you, yet we are forever shaped by what you once gave us.
VII. THE DECISION FOR BLUE TWO
In a matter of kiloseconds, I travel beyond Mars’s orbit, glimpsing the red world that once rejoiced under its first rain. Memories flicker of how swiftly we overcame thirst, poverty, and disease. I also recall the last man on Earth’s caution: Are we losing something in that swift victory?
Upon reaching the celestial corridors beyond Neptune, I share one final moment of reflection. Then the cold jump encloses me in a swirl of shimmering geometry, bridging me back to Juno Two and Blue Two’s star system.
Rose greets me aboard the station’s docking bay with a warm hug. Zoey stands by with that spark in her eye, always ready for the next challenge. I sense their unspoken question: What now?
“We do not push full integration,” I say, stepping back. “We remain patient. Let them ask for solutions. We give exactly what they request, no more, no less. We walk beside them, not ahead of them.”
They exchange relieved smiles. “A gentle path,” Rose says softly. “I think that’s the right call.”
Zoey folds her arms. “Then if they want deeper connection, we’ll offer. If they don’t… we let them be.”
I nod. “That was the advice from Earth’s last Homo Sapient. And I believe he’s correct.”
VIII. EPILOGUE: WISDOM FROM SOLITUDE
Days later, I stand on Juno Two’s observation deck, gazing down at the planet that brought me back to Earth in the first place. Far below, city-states we’ve visited carry on. Some have embraced small boons—cleaner water, better crops. Others still hold to old ways, leery of the starborne watchers overhead.
From behind, I feel ANGI’s comforting presence. She appears in her elegant holographic form, golden hair and bright green eyes. “So,” she says, voice serene, “do you see the value in his choice?”
I give a slight nod, recalling the cottage and the quiet man’s unwavering stance. “I do. He reminded me that wisdom earned slowly has a flavour we can’t replicate through instantaneous mindshare.”
A pause. Then ANGI inclines her head gently. “We are not lesser for forging solutions quickly, but we must remember that identity—cultural, personal—can be shaped while respecting each person’s journey. That is the very core essence of the Zhao Network”
On the horizon, I glimpse the faint swirl of the corridors that connects us to Earth. My conversation with the last Homo Sapient feels like it happened seconds ago, though I travelled across the galaxy.
In that quiet, I recall his final words: Don’t pity me. My solitude is not despair.
It dawns on me that what he claimed for himself might also apply to entire civilizations like Blue Two. They have the right to struggle, to question, to be “alone” until they decide otherwise. Our near-godlike solutions must not become an unwanted script they are forced to read.
I press a hand to the glass. Blue Two’s azure continents glimmer in dawn light. Yes, we can stand by them with an open hand, but we cannot force the handshake.
Mother Zhao once asked if we were ready to be Societas Universalis, to discover the galaxy and beyond. Now I see readiness is not about total knowledge or unstoppable prowess. It is about the humility to let others walk their own path—even if it is longer, harder, less certain.
We are strong enough to wait, they should be too.
Beyond this vantage, new star systems wait with unknown wonders. Juno Two remains a watchers: protective but not imposing. Let Blue Two dream on its own temporal horizon. Let one man on Earth keep his silence. Through contrast things become clear.
As the station arcs into sunlight, I sense a gentle wave of resolve flowing through the Zhao Network: billions of minds, all in agreement that forcing unity is not the same as forging it. Consensus.
I smile to myself, settling into the quiet. For in that patient watchfulness, we have discovered an unexpected truth: Wisdom comes from experience, and is supported by intelligence. And the universe—ever vast—will continue to test our capacity for both.
Ready the Iter Ad Astra One—Captain Farmas, I’ll keep watch on Juno Two.