For a moment, the four of us just held each other—bodies pressed together, arms tangled, breathing in sync. A brief pocket of safety amid the chaos.
Then my wife broke the silence.
“Aco, what’s going on?”
Yeah… what was going on? My brain felt like static, half in panic mode, half struggling to catch up to reality. I turned my attention to the gauntlet. “Status report.”
[Enemy threat level adjusted from minor to negligible.]
I blinked. What?
My mind immediately jumped to the ship’s shields. Logically, I knew they existed, but after 36 years on Earth—most of it in a third-world country—shaking my old perceptions of reality was harder than it should have been.
To the old me, nothing was more powerful than the armed forces of NATO.
But now? The world’s mightiest militaries had just been downgraded to negligible.
I swallowed hard. “Are there any other threats I should know about?” I asked, hoping for a no.
[Satellite images and ship sensors show two naval battle groups entering effective aerial strike range.]
[ETA: 20 minutes to additional hostile contacts.]
Damn it.
I exhaled sharply and turned to my wife. “I think we’re okay for now,” I said, still half-convinced I was missing something. “But we can’t stay here.”
The safest place on the ship was the bridge.
As I turned, my eyes landed on the plastic container holding the phylacteries, sitting untouched on the docking bay floor.
For a fraction of a second, I hesitated.
Secure my family or secure the box?
Then, the answer clicked into place—the Eisenhower Matrix.
My family was important and urgent. That meant I had to handle them myself.
The phylacteries were urgent but less important. That meant delegation.
But to who?
The ship.
I pointed my gloved hand at the container, focusing my intent through the gauntlet. “Secure that container. If that fails, keep track of it and everything inside.”
I couldn’t risk those phylacteries scattering across the ship while I was too busy dodging the world’s military.
Two crawlers immediately rolled forward to carry out my command. I didn’t wait to see how they handled it.
Scooping up both girls—one in each arm—I turned and sprinted toward the elevator that would take us to the bridge, my wife keeping pace right behind me.
Then my gauntlet flashed another alert.
[Update: Missile launch detected.]
[ETA: 5 minutes.]
I barely had time to swear before snapping out my next command. “Get us moving. And stay low.”
The ship began to move, a brief, almost imperceptible shift in my stomach—like stepping onto a fast-moving elevator. But just as quickly as the sensation hit, it vanished, the internal gravity dampeners kicking in and nullifying all sense of motion.
I set the girls down in the elevator and turned toward my wife. The worry in her eyes mirrored my own.
“Don’t fly through anything,” I quickly added to the AI. Then, as an afterthought, “And don’t break the sound barrier.”
The AI remained silent, but I knew it understood.
Because if an 80,000-metric-ton spaceship suddenly went supersonic over a populated area…
We wouldn’t just be escaping.
We’d be leaving a disaster in our wake.
And things were already bad enough.
I forced myself to focus. “What’s the threat level of incoming ordnance?”
[Surface-to-air missiles: None. Evasion maneuvers effective.]
[Hypersonic projectiles: Unknown. Assumed moderate threat.]
[ETA: 2 minutes.]
[Recommendation: Engage point-defense systems.]
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes—fire on anything unmanned, including all missiles.”
The AI acknowledged the command as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a corridor leading to a massive blast door. It was slowly splitting into three sections, retracting into the walls.
I scooped up my daughters again and rushed inside.
The room beyond was stark and minimalist. At its center, a captain’s chair sat elevated, flanked by three additional seats positioned in a semi-circle to the right.
I carried the girls over, setting them into their seats and quickly securing them with four-point harnesses. I heard the click of my wife strapping herself in behind me.
Then my eldest let out an excited gasp.
“Dad, look!”
I turned, following her outstretched finger—and froze.
The dark walls around us rippled like water disturbed by a single drop. The effect spread outward, transforming the black interior into a hyper-realistic, panoramic view of the outside world.
It was as if the walls had disappeared entirely.
Suddenly, it felt like we weren’t inside a ship at all, but standing on a floating platform racing over the landscape.
For a second, I just stared, utterly mesmerized.
Then—a fighter jet screamed overhead, so close I could almost feel the air displacement.
Adrenaline slammed into me like a freight train.
That was enough gawking.
I redoubled my efforts, frantically buckling my youngest into her harness as the ship’s point-defense turrets roared to life.
I practically jumped into the captain’s seat, my heart still racing. The moment my gauntleted hand settled into the recessed groove on the armrest, my world shifted.
A rush of sensation overwhelmed me—not quite VR, not quite reality—but something in between. Unlike the Mindspace I had experienced before, this was different. This was constant input, flowing into me like a tidal wave.
I felt everything.
The wind howling over the shields.
The turrets locking onto distant targets—far beyond human eyesight, yet now crystal clear to me.
The three primary gravitational engines pushing us forward, resisting Earth’s relentless pull.
The six secondary maneuvering drives subtly adjusting, keeping us perfectly balanced in the atmosphere.
And for the first time… I was free.
A fighter jet streaked ahead, trying to evade me. I chased it down, effortlessly matching its sharp, evasive turns, anticipating its next move before the pilot even made it.
This ship and I—we were one.
A burst of laughter snapped me back to reality.
My daughters.
Their giggles rang through the bridge, filled with pure, unfiltered joy as I pursued the fighter in a rollercoaster-like chase. The ship twisted and banked effortlessly, each maneuver sending shockwaves rippling through the atmosphere behind us, leaving turbulence and chaos in our wake.
I blinked and suddenly, I was back in the captain’s chair. I had been pushing the ship too hard, playing a dangerous game, locked in the thrill of the chase. I exhaled sharply, bringing our speed down, refocusing.
No more distractions.
Instead of running another high-speed maneuver, I adjusted the ship’s trajectory, tilting us into a full 90-degree climb. The view shifted as we angled straight up, ascending toward space.
To make the ascent more thrilling for my wife and daughters, I adjusted the ship’s gravity plating—tilting their reference frame so they felt the climb rather than being cushioned from it. To them, it was as if we were angled upward, soaring into the sky on the world’s greatest rollercoaster.
Then, I added another layer to the experience.
Gripping the armrest, I angled the ship into a slow, deliberate corkscrew, gently spiraling as we climbed higher. The movement was smooth, controlled—less of a wild chase and more of a graceful ascent. Outside, the world turned in a mesmerizing rotation, the landscape below slowly shifting with each revolution. Wisps of clouds curled around the ship, drawn into our wake before dissipating.
Their laughter exploded through the bridge, pure exhilaration in every sound.
For the first time in hours, I let myself smile.
With a final slow turn, we slipped into the thick cloud bank, swallowed by the mist as the world below faded into a sea of grey.
Their laughter shifted to awe as the outside world unfolded in shades of grey, accented by the flickering flashes of lightning and the fiery bursts of intercepted ordnance. Jet-fired missiles struck the shields with brilliant detonations, their force dissipating harmlessly against the ship’s defenses, leaving only ripples of energy in their wake.
I grinned. At least someone was enjoying this.
Then, a notification flared across my vision.
[Request for Bridge Entry: Awaiting Permission.]
I frowned. The AI?
“Yes, naturally,” I said, granting access.
A soft blue shimmer rippled through the air as the ship’s holographic projector activated.
And then, standing before me, was a Roman soldier—except not quite.
Their armor was a seamless fusion of ancient tradition and futuristic innovation. Dark gray plating covered their form, reinforced with gold and red accents. Their breastplate bore intricate engravings, reminiscent of Roman insignia, yet the craftsmanship suggested something far beyond human metallurgy.
But what stood out most was the helmet.
Unlike traditional Roman designs, this one was sleek, fully enclosed, and faceless. The visor was an opaque black, featureless save for a shifting glow that rippled across its surface like liquid gold.
The red plume atop the helmet was almost ceremonial—elegant, striking, beautiful—but there was an air of purpose behind its presence.
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Their stance was precise, disciplined—calm, yet undeniably powerful.
The soldier raised a fist to their chest in salute—a closed fist pressed firmly over the heart. Then, in a single fluid motion, their fingers unfurled into a flat palm, thrust forward at a precise 90-degree angle. Their elbow remained tucked at their side, fingers straight and together, palm facing downward.
I gave a respectful nod in return.
They turned and repeated the salute toward my wife and daughters, who were completely mesmerized by the armored figure standing before them.
I introducing them.
“This is my family—Aerorae, Evangeline, and Roslyn.” I gestured toward the soldier. “And this is the ship. Or at least… their avatar.”
The AI inclined their helmeted head slightly, then turned back to me.
[Ship sensors have detected high-yield inbound ordnance.]
The words sent ice through my veins.
[Point-defense turrets are ineffective in atmosphere this close to a gravity well. I recommend engaging secondary weaponry to neutralize the threat.]
[Railguns primed]
A brief pause.
[Fire solution ready. Awaiting authorization.]
I turned sharply, pulling up the sensor feed—and my blood ran cold.
I wasn’t a military strategist, but I didn’t need to be. Even from here, the missile signatures were unmistakable.
Not one. Not two. Three.
They had fired nuclear warheads at my family.
A slow, burning rage coiled in my chest. My jaw tightened.
“Permission granted.”
The moment the words left my lips, three sharp thuds reverberated through the ship—subtle, controlled, almost understated.
Then, silence.
We pierced through the cloud cover in a blinding surge of light, lightning still arcing between the ship and the storm below.
I barely had time to breathe before my sensors flagged another squadron inbound—24 fighter jets.
I exhaled slowly, my hands tightening around the controls.
This was serious.
And I was mad.
I hadn’t fired a single shot until now. I hadn’t attacked anyone. The only thing I had been trying to do was leave.
And they tried to nuke my family.
Fine. If they wanted a chase, I’d give them one.
I pushed the throttle forward, increasing speed.
Outside, a flash of condensation erupted around the ship’s hull as we punched through the sound barrier—an expanding white halo forming for the briefest moment at the nose and along the trailing edges. Below us, the clouds rippled outward in concentric rings, torn apart by the sheer force of the pressure wave.
Inside the ship, there was no sound. No tremor, no shudder.
But outside?
A rolling boom thundered across the sky, an invisible shockwave racing downward—a deep, earth-shaking thunderclap that would reach the ground far behind us.
The fighter jets, sleek and predatory, were still trailing behind.
But already, they were struggling.
They weren’t built for this kind of chase.
Then—the entire view turned white.
A blinding flash engulfed everything, erasing the sky, the clouds, the storm—all of it. For a fraction of a second, it felt like existence itself had been wiped clean.
Then, the AI’s voice cut through the silence.
[First and second ordnance intercepted.]
[Third warhead was remotely detonated. Possible intent: disruption or suppression.]
As quickly as it had appeared, the blinding light faded—and the world came back into focus.
But the sky was no longer the same.
Where once there had been thick, brooding clouds, now there was a massive, gaping void—a dark scar where the nuclear blast had ripped through the storm, pushing everything away.
A glowing plasma ring hung in the sky, expanding outward, its vibrant edges slowly fading into nothing.
The explosion had painted the heavens with eerie, unnatural beauty—artificial auroras flickering across the atmosphere, shifting in hues of green, blue, and violet.
Bolts of chaotic blue-white lightning cracked violently through the disturbed clouds, their jagged veins stretching for miles, feeding off the charged remnants of the explosion.
Far below, the rolling pressure wave spread outward, reshaping the sky—cloud formations twisting, contorting, spiraling in on themselves as the force rippled across the heavens.
It was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
A silent reminder of what had just been unleashed.
On the ship, there was no aftermath.
No shockwave. No turbulence. No sense that, just moments ago, a nuclear explosion had reshaped the sky behind us.
It was insane.
The gravity drives had kept the ship perfectly stable, while the internal dampeners had smoothed out any bleed-over turbulence. We had shrugged off a nuclear detonation like it was nothing more than a gust of wind.
I let out a slow breath as we exited the atmosphere, the deep black of space stretching endlessly ahead. The point-defense system automatically removed a satellite that had been on a collision course—its obliteration barely registered as a blip on the sensors.
I slumped back in my seat, exhaustion crashing over me all at once.
“Can you get us back to Triton?” I asked the AI.
[Affirmative.]
“Do we need to stay buckled in?”
[Internal systems will keep all users safe.]
“Okay, but let me know if we do anything out of the ordinary—and keep me updated.”
[Acknowledged.]
I hesitated, then added, “And… thank you. You did amazing.”
For the first time, there was silence.
Like the AI had paused.
Then, finally—
[Acknowledged.]
I unbuckled my harness and stood, my hands shaking. My wife did the same, stepping toward me and gently taking my hands in hers.
“You did amazing,” she whispered.
“It was all the ship,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yes,” she agreed, squeezing my hands. “And you stayed calm. You made the right calls. And we made it out alive.”
She turned toward the AI. “What would you have done differently?”
There was no pause this time.
[Eliminate all threats without prejudice.]
She turned back to me, eyebrows raised, wearing her ‘see what I mean?’ face.
I let out a breathless chuckle. Fair point.
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to focus. “Let’s go take a look at our new home.”
I reached over to unbuckle Roslyn, while my wife did the same for Evangeline.
Then, just as we started to leave—
[Attention.]
For the first time, the AI spoke—not in clipped, mechanical reports, but in a smooth, humanlike voice.
“This is for Rome. For the Empress and the Princesses.”
The floor in front of us hissed open, and three small floating disks rose into the air. Each carried a delicate, jeweled bracelet—intricate, beautiful, and undeniably crafted with intent.
“With these,” the AI continued, “they will also be able to interface with me.”
Then, in a single precise motion, they saluted—before vanishing.
I stared at the floating disks for a long moment before finally stepping forward, carefully taking each bracelet.
And somehow, I knew.
I knew exactly which bracelet belonged to whom.
Each one was designed to match their personal style—down to the smallest, most delicate detail.
“Okay…” I muttered, turning the bracelets over in my hands.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
I led us through the bridge doors, down the hallway, past the elevator, and toward the other side of the ship.
Another set of imposing double doors awaited us. Their gilded inlays shimmered under the soft ship lighting, elegant and regal. As we approached, the doors slid open soundlessly—revealing a scene that stole my breath away.
Even though I had designed it with the AI, even though I had seen the plans, nothing compared to standing here in person.
Before us, bathed in the golden glow of simulated sunlight, stood our villa.
It was exactly as I had envisioned—and yet, impossibly more.
A grand Roman-style estate stretched before us, its towering columns standing in perfect symmetry, supporting arched walkways and expansive terraces. The pristine marble glowed under the light, every engraved detail meticulously crafted, as if lifted from an ancient world.
The terracotta-tiled roofs, rich and warm in color, contrasted elegantly against the cool stonework, giving the villa a blend of imperial majesty and inviting warmth. Wide, sweeping steps led up to a set of ornate golden doors, polished so finely they reflected the soft light cascading from above.
The sky—or rather, the illusion of one—arched high above, stretching beyond the villa in a boundless expanse of soft blues and wispy clouds. It was perfectly simulated, the lighting dynamically adjusting to match an artificial sun that cast realistic shadows across the courtyard. The clouds shifted naturally, manipulated by complex projection systems embedded into the curved ceiling of the ship’s vast interior chamber.
To the far edges of the landscape, a mountain range framed the horizon, their snow-capped peaks crisp and clear, giving the overwhelming illusion of distance. The depth and realism were astonishing—so precise that even I, the one who had designed this, felt my brain struggling to reject the lie.
A gentle breeze, carefully calibrated by the ship’s environmental controls, rolled in from the villa’s simulated waterfront, carrying the scent of fresh water and the subtle mineral tang of stone.
Everything was artificial.
And yet…
It was home.
I turned to my wife and daughters.
Their expressions shifted—from curiosity to pure awe.
My youngest gasped, gripping my hand tightly, her small fingers clutching as if afraid the world before her might vanish like a dream.
My eldest took a hesitant step forward, her wide eyes scanning every detail, her mind struggling to accept what she was seeing.
And my wife…
She stood frozen, her lips parted, eyes tracing every inch of the world before us, yet no words came.
Finally, after a long silence, she whispered,
“This… this is home?”
I exhaled, the weight of everything finally settling—the escape, the uncertainty, the fight to get here.
I turned to her, my voice steady.
“Yeah,” I said. “This is home.”
I stood in what I had already claimed as my study—a sanctuary of thought and strategy, a place where I could bring order to the chaos of our sudden upheaval.
The room was everything I needed—grand but not excessive, elegant yet functional. But for now, it was empty. A space waiting to be shaped.
Soft golden light streamed through the massive silver-gold curtains, stirring gently with the artificial breeze. The high, domed ceiling above me bore intricate carvings—constellations, stars, and swirling nebulas, a celestial masterpiece. Aco had insisted on this design, saying it felt right. He knew me well. He also loved to remind me that he knew my taste, even when he pretended it was coincidence.
The bookshelves lining the walls were tall and imposing—yet completely bare, save for a single datapad resting on one of the middle shelves. The sight of it settled a quiet determination within me.
I will fill these shelves. One way or another. Even if I have to write the books myself.
Beyond the open balcony, the landscape stretched out before me—rolling hills, distant mountains, and the shimmering waters of our private swimming pond below. The faint scent of water drifted up, cool and fresh, mingling with the subtle crispness of the conditioned air.
The mountains in the distance were projections.
The sky above us was an illusion.
But the feeling of it? That was real.
This was home now.
The thought settled over me like a weighted blanket—comforting, yet heavy with responsibility.
I turned, eyes tracing over the vast empty space around me. My mind filled in the blanks—a desk, solid and commanding, positioned where the morning light would hit it perfectly. A set of chairs, one for me, others for those inevitable late-night discussions with Aco, when he would show up grinning, bursting with some wild new idea. Shelves filled with knowledge, datapads interwoven with real, tangible books.
A place for thought.
A place for work.
A place for refuge.
Right now, it was none of those things.
It was bare. Hollow. A reminder of how much was left undone.
Aco had thrown our lives into turmoil in the way only he could—reckless, impulsive, but undeniably brilliant. He had always been like this, diving headfirst into the unknown, trusting that he’d figure things out along the way. It was infuriating.
It was also why I loved him.
I sighed, rubbing my temple as I looked out over the landscape again.
The move had been necessary. That much I understood. He wouldn’t have called us back early if there wasn’t a damn good reason. And now that I had seen what he had built—the ship, the AI, this entire world—I couldn’t deny the sheer scale of what we had stepped into.
But it also meant that the burden had shifted.
Aco had set everything into motion—but now, it was my job to ensure it didn’t all collapse in on itself.
That was how we worked.
He dreamed. I structured.
He leaped. I built the safety net.
And right now?
I needed to start thinking like an engineer.
We needed to establish order—priorities, logistics, sustainability. How long could we stay here before supplies became an issue? How would we expand, adapt? What systems were in place, and which still needed refining?
Most importantly—how the hell were we going to raise two children in the middle of all this?
I shook my head as I looked out through the open archway, the artificial breeze stirring the silver-gold curtains.
This was exactly like Aco.
Dreaming up a villa in space—not a practical, efficient living space, but a massive estate with ten times the number of rooms we could ever reasonably need.
The girls each had their own bedroom, their own playroom, and their own study. They even shared a gymnasium and a dance room. I had my study, a workshop, a walk-in dresser, and of course, a shared bedroom with Aco.
And yet, even with all that, there were still dozens of rooms left empty.
The view outside was breathtaking, carefully designed to mimic an idyllic landscape—rolling hills, distant mountains, and a crystal-clear swimming pond. It was a masterpiece of engineering and aesthetics.
It was also wasteful.
Nearly ten percent of the ship’s available space had been dedicated to this villa alone.
But we’d make it work.
Before I could dwell on the logistics of it all, laughter echoed down the hall.
A moment later, my daughters came racing in, toys clutched in their hands, their faces lit with excitement.
I folded my arms, smiling as they skidded to a stop in front of me.
“Hey, girls,” I greeted. “How are you finding our new home?”
“It’s amazing, Mom!” Eva beamed, practically bouncing on her heels. “We were just exploring the house!”
I nodded. “That’s good, ladies. But remember—don’t go near the water.”
“We can’t,” Rose answered matter-of-factly. “The big man in armor won’t let us!”
I frowned. “What? You tried to go to the water?”
Rose shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah, I wanted to go, so Eva followed. But the man in the big armor stopped us. He said if we promised to stay away, we’d get our toys out of storage.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you talking about the AI?”
“Yes! The soldier person,” Rose confirmed, nodding. “He also showed us how to use our bracelets.”
“The bracelets,” I murmured, glancing down at the beautifully designed jewel-encrusted band on my wrist.
“Can you show Mommy how to use it too?”
Eva and Rose nodded eagerly and rushed over, their own bracelets catching the light.
I studied mine more closely. The craftsmanship was exquisite—intricate filigree patterns intertwined with delicate gemstones, elegant yet clearly more than just decoration. I had assumed they were merely a symbolic gift from the AI, but as I watched the girls effortlessly interact with them, I realized there was far more to them than I had thought.
Eva grinned. “It’s easy, Mommy! You just think about something, and it happens!”
Just think about something?
Skeptical, I decided to try.
Show me the way to Aco, I thought, directing my intent toward the bracelet.
And then, it happened.
A thin golden thread of light materialized in front of me, stretching toward the door before curving out of sight. It wasn’t just a glowing line—it had depth, shifting slightly as I moved, almost like a projection that existed in real space.
I inhaled sharply. This isn’t just a tracking device. It’s augmented reality.
The realization sent a thrill through me. This wasn’t a hologram in the traditional sense. It was something more advanced, more seamless. The way the golden line shimmered in perfect sync with my perspective, how it reacted to even the subtlest of my movements—it was an interface far beyond anything I had worked with before.
I reached out instinctively, trying to touch it, but my fingers passed right through. The golden line remained unaffected, hovering patiently, waiting for me to follow.
I exhaled, feeling a surge of excitement.
This was incredible.
I dismissed the line with a thought, watching as it faded instantly, like mist dissolving in sunlight.
“Hey, do you two ladies want to stay with me or explore more?” I asked, still slightly in awe of what I had just seen.
“We want to explore!” Eva declared, bouncing on her toes.
Rose grinned and lifted her bracelet to her mouth, whispering, “Lead us to Daddy.”
The golden line flashed into existence, and both girls took off laughing and running down the hall.
As they disappeared around the corner, I heard Eva shout, “Let’s see if we can catch the fairy this time!”
I smiled. Children adapt so easily.
Taking a deep breath, I sat cross-legged on the cool marble floor, centering myself.
Let’s see what else this thing can do.
Show me a workspace.
The moment I directed the thought at my bracelet, a golden screen flickered into existence right in front of me.
I gasped.
It wasn’t a simple floating panel—it was fluid, dynamic. Thin golden filaments wove together, forming an intricate frame that hovered weightlessly before me. The screen itself was translucent, shimmering, shifting between a solid interface and a projection as I moved my hand closer.
I hesitated, then reached forward.
The moment my fingers neared the interface, it reacted, expanding into a fully interactive workspace. The edges pulsed softly, awaiting my input.
I focused, directing my thoughts.
- Food
- Water
- Clothes
The words etched themselves onto the screen, each one appearing in a sleek, elegant script before shifting into neatly organized categories.
I exhaled slowly, still marveling at the technology in my hands.
Here is the villa and the study. Ignore the trees and plants, as there are none on the ship.
Images attached below.
The Villa