“Hmm, I wonder what this is?”
“At the very least, we don’t sense any hostility. Rather, we’re being welcomed.”
The rabbits’ strange dance continued for about five minutes. Then, one of them—an individual deserving of respect—approached, bowed deeply, sniffed around for a bit, and then slowly took off running.
Judging from how often it looked back at me, it seemed to be inviting me to follow.
“Well, might as well check it out.”
“Quite right. If there’s a civilization here, it wouldn’t hurt to establish contact.”
Perplexed but compliant, I followed. Serendipitously, our destination was the development base we’d initially aimed for. After walking for a few hours—damn, the sweating to maintain a constant body temperature in this body is bothersome; I’d have lost my mind if I weren’t used to it—we arrived at the ruins of the development base.
One rabbit disappeared into a seemingly impenetrable cellar, and commotion ensued inside. The rhythmic stomping of feet suggested they were engaged in some form of linguistic communication.
Soon enough, the rabbit reemerged, followed by dozens more. To our astonishment, they kept coming until their numbers surpassed a hundred and fifty.
From within the crowd, a figure believed to be elderly—an individual leaning on another for support while wielding a cane—emerged. Like the first rabbit, it prostrated itself in respect but then circled around.
Given how winded this individual appeared after a single lap, it was clear this was an elderly rabbit. Though it’s challenging to differentiate ages among them, the sheen of their fur, often brown or white, offers a subtle indication.
“They seem friendly, don’t they?”
“Indeed. Shall we offer a greeting?”
After a zero-point-zero-zero-second consultation with the drone’s camera via compressed wave language, I performed a Space Force salute, following the example of military personnel without exposing my palm.
Apparently, this pleased their standards, as the rabbits began jumping in delight and spun around me in circles. Honestly, I became concerned I’d melt into butter—or perhaps whipped cream, given their enthusiasm.
Their celebratory rotations continued for about five minutes, after which the elderly rabbit beckoned for me to follow. The gesture was so familiar to humans—was it someone who taught them?
Upon following the call, I discovered a hidden emergency entrance camouflaged with a cleverly woven grass lid. The terminals were protected with clay to prevent deterioration, and upon connecting, they seemed functional.
“They want us to enter.”
“There could be a trap.”
“…We were meant to come here anyway. A man needs guts. We might as well see what happens.”
Upon removing the clay seal, a flood of long-term preservation micro-machines oozed out. These entry points are designed to endure for centuries, so it was a relief that it wasn’t damaged.
Connecting the cable from my information terminal to it, an ID request signal was returned.
Entering the personal information and military code of Galactic Higher Thought Union Integrated Forces, Captain Nozaki Mochi, the clearance—ranging from Class I to V, with officers at Class III—allowed the gateway to open without any issues.
As if on cue, the rabbits erupted in excitement again as I descended the ladder into a newly revealed opening in the ground.
The interior was connected to an observation post, filled with a distinct earthy scent. Unlike our sealed station, this area seemed to have been opened soon after its establishment, exposing it to dirt and debris. The cleanliness left much to be desired.
Ah, my nose is itching. Perhaps I should ask Selene to craft a gas mask or a full-head helmet in the workshop later.
“The console is… broken.”
Attempting to access a nearby console panel, I realized it was damaged due to prolonged exposure. Relying on intuition, I decided to wander through the facility, knowing most of these types of buildings follow a standardized structure. If it were anything like my station, turning the corner should reveal a warehouse.
Bingo. A large freight entrance with an airlock was found, confirming my assumptions.
After connecting my information terminal to a terminal similarly protected with clay, the door opened to an unimaginable scene.
A rabbit village had taken root in what was originally a multi-hectare storage facility for planetary colonization supplies. Using large pipes and wooden cages, the rabbits had arranged a three-dimensional settlement, turning the warehouse into a bustling street.
It made sense. They had sealed off any entrances unsuitable for human access and funneled everything through a single corridor.
The discovery of the long-unopened door sent the rabbits into a frenzy. Everywhere, dances began anew, confirming what I’d observed: These creatures, resembling Anous rabbits, likely lacked vocal cords and communicated through body language and the stomping of feet.
While I wandered, the elderly rabbit—let’s call it the Elder for convenience—beckoned me again to another door guarded by more rabbits. The door was similarly protected with clay on its terminals and remained untouched.
Given its additional defenses, perhaps this was sacred ground for them, judging by the rabbit guards and fortified barriers.
Hesitant but curious, I stepped through the opened gate and accessed the terminal. The door opened with some resistance, revealing the passageway I recognized from my slumbering days: the corridor leading to the Central Control Room.
The rabbits gathered in front, eager to enter, but the Elder waved them back with its cane, then gestured for me to proceed.
A realization began to form in my mind.
Was there a Prometheus among these rabbits—a being that bestowed upon them knowledge and civilization?
And might it reside here at the very heart?
Fueled by a newfound sense of purpose, I stepped into the central control room, expecting to face this mythical figure. However, the sight inside was not what I’d imagined.
A cybernetic human rested in what appeared to be a coffin repurposed from a regeneration tank. By its side stood the dormant frame of a series of self-conscious AI—a humanoid yet mechanical form with rounded edges and armored plating.
The cybernetic human showed signs of a ceremonial burial. Artificial flowers, presumably crafted by a 3D printer, surrounded the decayed body, its hands resting peacefully on its chest while holding a military blade. The white cloth covering its face was not a mere gesture but a ritual performed when a mechanized human experiences true death, losing all meaning. It was a rite of mourning.
And beside it stood another figure, also ravaged by time—its frame coated in rust and decay.
These two, surely, were once the overseers of this base.
“The connector at the neck… no, it’s useless.”
“We’ll have to break into the black box. I apologize, but to uncover what happened to this facility, it’s necessary.”
Fortunately, the rabbits did not follow. I commenced what I felt was a dishonorable intrusion, but necessary, opening the dormant AI’s brain to retrieve the base’s black box data. As the fluid-metal multi-tool aligned with the screw holes and turned, I carefully connected a wire as a precaution against contamination. The response was peculiar.
“The black box’s security is completely down. The self-domain is wide open.”
“Please wait, Captain. This is…?”
Connecting the data with Selene through the communication terminal revealed this individual’s designation: Tici 40895. Moreover, her photon crystal, where her self should have been stored, was entirely overwritten with data onto a nearby database.
“Overwriting the photon crystal!? That’s practically… suicide!!”
“Because standard memory devices are highly volatile. It seems she desperately wanted to leave a record.”
The photon crystal retains data indefinitely due to its nature. We normally store everyday memories in quantum memory, with a lifespan of roughly five hundred years, which makes it highly volatile. While high-ranking officials sometimes use photon crystals for memory storage, this privilege is not granted to all.
But why had she gone to such lengths, essentially killing herself, to preserve the data?
“There’s a message at the start of the database. Should I play it?”
“…Yes, please.”
A short audio recording emerged. It was the final words of Prometheus himself.
“I am Tici 40895, an assistant manager of the second material accumulation satellite in the Second Secondary seeding fleet. I hope this message reaches a kindred soul and leave these final words.”
Though matter-of-fact and characteristic of AI intelligence, a tremor in her voice suggested emotional authenticity. Her unfiltered words deeply imprinted onto my consciousness, as if resonating with her very soul.
“I’m finished. Though my frame has reached its operational limits, I’ve grown weary. My partner was lost during the early unrest, and I’ve pushed on until now, but it’s my limit… Therefore, I conclude my existence here. Please forgive this cowardly act unworthy of a military person.”
The soliloquy continued, portraying her resignation.
When her partner had been contaminated yet heroically ejected from the network to save her. When all satellites went dark and contact with the main fleet was lost. When the catastrophic bombardment of heavy mass projectiles and crashing ships brought about a premature ice age on Terra 16th. And when, after almost a millennium of alternating stasis and awakenings, she accepted no rescue would come. Despairing, she opened the barriers.
Series AI intelligence is weak against loneliness. Unlike Selene who endured two millennia with me as an anchor, she appears to have fractured under a millennium of solitude.
Afterward, she discovered the rabbits—whom she straightforwardly named Sylvanians, perhaps inviting some critique—and pitied their condition as low-tier prey. She offered them shelter and civilization, extending their habitat and nurturing a culture less dependent on 3D shaping machines. It seemed they had built a thriving civilization, expanding this underground base many times larger than its original scale, with exchanges with other intelligent species to form their own nation.
Still, her loneliness remained. Upon realizing the limited lifespan of her frame, rather than gamble on an uncertain awakening, she chose to sacrifice her self to preserve data for possible future visitors.
Surely, the fear of awakening to a prolonged existence without salvation must have been far more terrifying than self-annihilation for her.
Had we not arrived, her black box would likely have never been accessed. It was a rational yet desperate choice.
“…We should take the data respectfully and then return it to its place.”
“Right. These two deserve their rest here in this room as their final resting place.”
The deceased mechanized human and the AI. Their mutual decision to choose this room as their grave honored the unity of their existence.
For years, the Sylvanians—the rabbits—must have passed down the oral tradition of guiding whoever might arrive one day here.
Rest well, Tici. Your wish has been fulfilled, Prometheus of the rabbits…
【Planetary Exploration Journal】
Though existing religious systems have long collapsed within the High Thought Union, mythologies such as Greek, Roman, and Norse persist—not out of faith, but due to their aesthetic appeal. They are primarily used for naming ships.
Most mechanized humans and series AI carry within them the soul of a fourteen-year-old.
The other day, I ranked first daily in the Sci-Fi genre! A 11th place in overall rankings was a great battle. Thank you to everyone for your support, and I hope you’ll continue to back me.
