The First Superhuman: Rebuilding Civilization from the Moon-Chapter 82: A New Year Begins

Days blurred into weeks, and finally, the last day of Year One of the Federation Era arrived. After finishing their final shift of the year, the crew was officially granted a five-day public holiday.

Naturally, essential services such as the medical bays, the nuclear reactor control rooms, and the military garrison still required personnel on duty. However, these departments adopted a strict rotation system, ensuring everyone got their fair share of time off.

Currently, almost all of the fifty-thousand citizens aboard the Noah had been assigned permanent roles. Unemployment was practically nonexistent; in fact, there was a severe labor shortage across dozens of sectors. The engineering teams were scrambling to deploy automated drones to fill the gaps.

Menial jobs like line cooks and janitors had almost entirely vanished, replaced by efficient robotics. An automated robot could follow a programmed recipe down to the microsecond. While it couldn’t replicate the soul of a master chef, it was more than sufficient for mass-producing standard meals.

Because of the severe manpower shortage, even the inmates in the ship’s brig were assigned labor quotas. They were paid a standard, reduced wage, and those who consistently exceeded their quotas were eligible for sentence reductions. It was a pragmatic system that offered a genuine path to rehabilitation. However, their freedom of movement remained strictly limited; they were only allowed to commute between their cells and their designated work zones.

Having survived so many apocalyptic trials together, the fifty-thousand civilians aboard the Noah were completely united. They looked forward to their first New Year in deep space with genuine anticipation. The atmosphere across the ship was warm and harmonious.

As the final shifts ended, the crew happily strung up synthetic neon lights and hung small, handmade ornaments on the artificial trees in the residential sectors, breathing life into the holiday spirit.

Citizens from the eastern hemisphere of the Old World hung vibrant banners and digital couplets outside their apartment doors, while those from the western hemisphere observed their traditional winter customs. Choirs sang localized hymns in the main plazas, couples embraced under the artificial streetlights, and old friends exchanged heartfelt blessings.

It was a beautiful fusion of Old World traditions, a melting pot of Eastern and Western customs rapidly evolving into a unique, unified Federation culture.

At 18:00 hours, the entire civilian sector gathered for a massive ship-wide banquet. It was a event organized spontaneously by the crew, featuring the best synthetic wine and hydroponic food they could muster, free from the stuffy formalities of official state dinners.

While enjoying their New Year’s Eve dinner, citizens took turns performing songs and dances on a makeshift stage.

"...A glass for the home we lost, a glass for the stars ahead... A glass for freedom, and a glass for the fallen..."

Jason had been dragged onto the stage by a cheering crowd. After reluctantly singing a verse of an old spacer shanty, he raised his glass to toast the entire ship.

"This glass is for all of you. And for the heroes who didn’t make it to see today."

"Thank you all for your blood, sweat, and tears over this past year. And to those who sacrificed everything so we could have a tomorrow... we remember you."

"Finally, I wish you all a Happy New Year. To our survival!"

Jason kept his speech short and sweet, waving to the roaring crowd. He felt a bit dizzy and his tongue was heavy; he had definitely drunk too much. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

With so many department heads and military officers present, he couldn’t afford to turn down a single toast. He had to drink with all of them, and they were pouring high-proof industrial synthetics. Furthermore, Austin, Marcus, and the rest of the security brass had actively conspired to drink him under the table. It was a miracle he was still standing. Even with his genetic enhancements, Jason was at his absolute limit.

Right now, all he wanted to do was crawl back to his quarters and pass out.

...

Coinciding with New Year’s Day, the public recreation sectors that everyone had been dreaming of finally opened their doors. A massive digital library, a high-speed cyber cafe, a physical sports arena, and a fully equipped gymnasium were now available to the public, providing a massive boost to civilian morale.

Effective immediately, the Noah officially transitioned to a "six-days-on, one-day-off" labor rotation. It was a massive quality-of-life improvement that was universally celebrated.

By 19:30, the banquet began to wind down. Those who had partied too hard stumbled back to their dormitories to sleep it off, while the rest flooded into the newly opened entertainment districts.

"Hey Zack, want to hit the cyber cafe? It’s cheap tonight, only one credit an hour," Wayne said, leaning against a bulkhead with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Because of the holiday, the government had heavily discounted luxury goods, making tobacco temporarily affordable.

"Hack... cough!" Wayne doubled over, coughing violently. He hadn’t smoked in almost a year, and his lungs violently rejected the harsh smoke.

Still, he forced himself to finish it. Even with the holiday discount, a single cigarette cost a full credit. It was an absolute luxury, and he refused to waste a single drag.

Wayne’s best friend, Zack, was a lucky man. Not only had he survived the Martian pathogen, but his girlfriend, Victoria, had survived as well. The shared trauma had only deepened their bond, and the two had recently moved into a shared apartment. Wayne figured they would probably get married soon.

"The cyber cafe?" Zack scratched the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding Wayne’s gaze. "Uh... I kinda promised Victoria that tonight, we would... y’know..."

"Say no more, say no more. I won’t ruin your date," Wayne laughed, waving him off in mock annoyance. What a sellout. Ditches his best friend the second his girl calls.

Zack hurried off, leaving Wayne standing alone in the corridor.

Suddenly, the lack of a schedule hit him. Having absolutely nothing to do felt bizarrely alien. For an entire year, he had been a tightly wound machine, constantly working, constantly surviving. Stopping so abruptly made him feel unmoored. He wasn’t the only one; dozens of people were wandering the halls, looking mildly confused by their own free time.

Should I just go back to the lab? That subroutine sequence isn’t going to compile itself...

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Wayne let out a bitter laugh. When the hell did I become such a workaholic?

But it was true. He had developed a severe addiction to the grind. Whenever he managed to solve a complex engineering problem, an incredible rush of joy and pure accomplishment washed over him. The high was so potent that it instantly erased all his physical exhaustion. It made every sleepless night worth it.

The feeling of personally pushing the wheels of human civilization forward was intoxicating. It was genuinely hard to stop.

It wasn’t just him. The entire ship had become a hive of workaholics. Before the holiday, people had been voluntarily working brutal overtime every single day. If the government hadn’t implemented strict lock-out hours for the labs, half the engineering team would have worked themselves to death.

This feverish dedication had become the ship’s defining culture, silently infecting everyone aboard.

It was a profound shift, largely driven by the nature of their new reality. Because the robots handled all the mindless, repetitive labor, human jobs were now almost entirely creative and analytical. Creative problem-solving was inherently difficult, but that difficulty made the work addictive. The harder the problem, the greater the dopamine hit when you finally cracked it.

Wayne shook his head, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Damn it... since when did humanity become so driven?"

In the Old World, humans were notoriously lazy. When did they all turn into hyper-focused zealots?

He found a quiet bench in a corner, sat down, and lit a second cigarette. The synthetic alcohol humming in his blood made his thoughts drift freely.

The answer was obvious. Humanity had been forged in the fires of the apocalypse over the past year. One monumental crisis after another had hammered them into a single, unbreakable cohesive unit.

The destruction of Earth. The starvation crisis. The near-collision with the lunar surface. The Martian pathogen. Any single one of those events was an extinction-level threat. Yet... humanity had survived them all.

Recently, the government had declassified the truth about the lunar collision crisis. The public now knew how close they had come to crashing into the moon during their initial launch. Surprisingly, no one was angry at the administration for covering it up.

Everyone understood why Jason had lied. If the government had broadcasted the truth while the ship was plummeting toward the surface, the panic would have torn the crew apart. People would have died in the ensuing riots.

Having successfully navigated the apocalypse, the Federation Government’s credibility was absolute. No one seriously questioned Jason’s leadership anymore.

When the administration issued an order, the crew executed it with terrifying efficiency. Combined with the massive cult of personality that had naturally formed around Jason, the Federation operated with total unity.

Wayne himself firmly believed that the current administration was the most incorruptible, efficient, and transparent government in human history.

Jason was the undisputed anchor of their survival. If anyone dared to suggest that someone else should take his place as Director, they would be written off as a lunatic. Wayne would personally punch them in the mouth, and he knew a thousand other engineers who would back him up.

Some Old World sociologists might call it a dangerous cult of personality, but Wayne didn’t see the problem. Hero worship was a hell of a lot healthier than worshipping vapid pop stars and actors.

In a universe this dark, a single misstep meant the extinction of their species. In times like these, you naturally followed the strongest, smartest leader in the room.

Only the strong could carve a path through the dark.