Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

Chapter 627 The Last Human in Proxima Centauri?

Chapter 627  The Last Human in Proxima Centauri?

“Oh. My. God,” Ayaka murmured. Her murmur was caught by everyone else in the meeting, as they had all been stunned into silence by the hologram the AI had generated in the middle of the conference table. All of them couldn’t help but agree, as the visual of Proxima Centauri b was starkly different than when they had first laid eyes on it.

“Proxima, generate a comparison hologram,” Admiral Bianchi said once he recovered his voice.

{Comparison generated, Admiral,} the AI said as a hologram of the planet as it was appeared next to the current one.

The two planets looked completely different. When they had first arrived, there was only one continent on it and some scattered islands. But now, one, two, three.... “Five continents,” Dr. Standing Bear said, her tone filled with shock. “Great Coyote, that should have taken millennia, not just months.”

She wasn’t wrong, either. Change on a geological scale took time that was better measured in eons, not months! Earth had once been a pangea as well, back in the late paleozoic period—roughly 335 MILLION years ago—and continental drift had only broken it apart in the early mesozoic period, roughly 175 million years ago. In other words, Earth’s continental drift had taken around 110 million years to change the surface to what it was now, and the drift was still ongoing; Earth had looked different as “recently” as 65 million years ago.

Ayaka gasped, and everyone turned to her. They thought she had been struck by the absurdity of the situation, but that was far from the case. The realization that Joon-ho was likelier dead than alive had just hit her like a gut punch in the feels and she was trying to hold back her tears and stay strong.

Before seeing the changed planet, with no sign of human presence at all, she had held some small hope that Joon-ho, and perhaps some of the other scientists, would still be alive. They could have made it to Research Base New New South Wales over the past few months after escaping the ambushing roots, but now.... The research base was gone, and it had taken that tiny flickering flame of hope along with it.

Furthermore, even though she was no geologist, or any kind of scientist at all, really, she still knew just how much energy and force it would take to change a planet to the extent Proxima Centauri b had been.

That knowledge was like a jackboot that came crashing down to trample the small seedling of hope.

The only thing preventing her from breaking down into a sobbing mess was, again, her more than two decades of comportment training, which ensured that she could keep a straight face no matter how she felt inside. It was her armor, and now it had become her reliance. Perhaps later, when she could think straight, she would whisper a thank you to her father, who had forced her through those lessons and prevented her from having a normal childhood. But for now, she continued paying attention to things in the virtual conference room around her.

The hologram of the newly redecorated Proxima Centauri b was still blurred due to all of the mana interfering with their sensors, but some markers bled through. The five continents, roughly the size of Eurasia, South America, Africa, Australia, and the Eden-Esparian Archipelago, were visible in the hologram, along with indicators showing that they were completely covered in plant life with no non-organic materials present.

“We should adjourn until our sensors are able to get a clear image of the surface, Admiral,” Dr. Standing Bear began. “It’ll save time in the long run for us to not come to any conclusions based on rapidly evolving ‘fuzzy’ data, then need to throw them out whenever new data comes in.”

It wouldn’t be that long a wait, either, so long as the mana density on the planet continued dropping at the same rate it had been over the past months.

“Agreed. Meeting is adjourned until our next monthly meeting, unless things on the surface become clear enough to gather data from orbit,” Admiral Bianchi said, then blinked out of the VR conference room as though he had never been there to begin with. He, too, needed time to recover from the shock and come up with plans for the new situation.

……

Joon-ho had spent the last few months in the timeless meadow, or his “jail cell” as he jokingly called it. All things considered, he could have been in a far worse situation, though it was cold consolation when he thought of the unchanging environment and the endless questions the trees had for him.

“So they’re going to be born soon?” he asked the cypress, which was the chattiest of the bunch.

“Yes, our children are almost ready. We have already drained too much of our world’s mana in hastening their growth, but all has gone according to plan,” the tree replied in its—her—gentle tone.

Thanks to all of the conversation, the trees now understood almost everything Joon-ho knew about humanity, and they had become much better conversationalists as a result. Getting them to understand what, to him, were simple concepts had been frustrating for... well, he didn’t exactly know how long. Time was a loose concept for him, stuck in an unchanging environment as he was, but they had finally understood simple things like the difference between “you” and “me”, and the six question words “who, what, when, where, how, and why”.

“Oh, the plan. Right. The plan,” he said, giggling to himself. He might have become slightly unbalanced during his time in the timeless meadow; he had to admit as much to himself in his more lucid periods. “So can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead, Joon-ho,” the cypress replied.

“What plan?”

“The plan to populate our world.”

“Right, populate. That’ll be nice. Will you bring some of your children here to visit me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re all nice enough and everything, especially considering that I’m basically an invader, but a change would be nice. Yes, a change. That’s what we need!”

“But we’ve already changed the world, Joon-ho,” the cypress responded, a quizzical note in her tone.

“You have?! Great! Let me out so I can go and see!”

“We can’t do that yet.”

“Why not?”

“You currently don’t have a body. Well, you have a body, but it’s not ready to be born yet.”

“Right, I don’t have a.... Wait. I don’t have a body? I DON’T HAVE A BODY!?” He rushed over to the cypress and tried to shake her, but even as hefty as he was, a 280 pound man trying to shake a tree that was hundreds of meters tall was an impossibility to begin with. Especially considering that he lacked a body at all at the moment and was present only as a phantom of his consciousness.

“Indeed, Joon-ho,” the oak interjected in his rumbling basso profundo voice. “You lack a body because we had to use you as a pattern to create our children. Before humanity came, we only knew ourselves and each other. There was no other but us, and we lacked a certain... spark, so to speak. You brought us that spark, willingly or not, knowingly or not, and for that we will be eternally grateful.”

“So you tried birthing children before?” Joon-ho asked, his mood rapidly swinging from anger to curiosity.

“Yes. We came together for the first time to create children, and you’ve seen those children. They lack what you humans call sapience, and they fear us and our power. That’s why the continent we created first was covered by our children, but there was a vast separation between them and us, caused by their fear and reverence. We’ve always mourned the loss of what could have been.”

Joon-ho was completely lost and couldn’t comprehend the thought of what the trees had accomplished. He would just have to bring smarter people than him to figure out what exactly the oak was talking about.

That is, if there was anyone smarter left in the solar system to begin with. He couldn’t be sure of that without knowing how long he had been trapped in the timeless meadow; he might just be the sole living human left in the Proxima Centauri system.