Chapter 325: Greenhouse Flowers
In addition to the currently tested Space Swallow and Leviathan, there was one final blueprint in the works: the Titan-class frigate, spanning a massive 2 kilometers in length!
In the computer simulations, it was a truly spectacular space fortress.
While it couldn’t quite compare to the sheer scale of Deep Space, next to the Space Swallow or Leviathan, it was ridiculously massive. It could easily serve as an independent super-capital ship!
Designed purely for war, it boasted a brutal and luxurious array of weaponry. It was equipped with advanced weapon systems, deep-space reconnaissance arrays, and even a Curvature Engine to drastically enhance its tactical mobility.
Moreover, even if this super-vessel were destroyed by an enemy, it wouldn’t compromise Deep Space or threaten humanity’s core survival.
The Titan was the perfect substitute for Deep Space when carrying out highly dangerous vanguard missions.
"With a muzzle velocity of up to 15,000 kilometers per second, roughly five percent the speed of light, its main cannons can fire 300 rounds per second!"
The projectiles were actually ultra-miniature nuclear warheads weighing only a dozen grams. They featured a simple structure enclosed in a thin metallic casing. Because the projectiles possessed immense kinetic energy and lacked complex detonators, the sheer heat and force of impact would trigger a nuclear detonation the moment they struck a target.
The crowd was captivated by the Titan’s staggering specifications, becoming so enamored with the theoretical ship that they completely ignored the live-fire tests currently happening outside.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the test analytics are as follows..."
Half an hour later, a senior engineer took the stage to deliver the final report.
Several specialists analyzed the telemetry data on the main screens, discussing the specific performance metrics of the Space Swallow and Leviathan. Thanks to their neural implants, they could calculate complex variables directly on the screen, boosting their workflow and efficiency exponentially.
While the experts examined the technical intricacies, the laymen were simply there for the spectacle. Most of the observers were busy admiring the holographic projection of the Titan-class frigate.
Compared to the unbuilt Titan, the two fully operational frigates had inexplicably lost their luster.
The war fortress was simply magnificent; its menacing cannon batteries gleamed with heavy metallic armor, instantly inspiring a sense of awe. Naturally, no military enthusiast could resist its appeal. Many women in the audience were also deeply intrigued; perhaps they just appreciated the sheer, imposing scale of the ship.
Of course, time was still too tight. The Federation hadn’t yet begun construction on a massive Titan-class vessel. Today’s tests only covered the first two variants.
Jason listened intently to the engineering summary, refusing to get distracted like the rest of the crowd.
In comparison, the Space Swallow was a smaller, structurally simpler project, and the Leviathan was a manageable mid-tier vessel. Both fell well within the Federation’s current industrial capacity. Both models could be mass-produced, and within a few years, their fleets could easily number in the tens of thousands.
As for the Titan, the design phase alone would take an immense amount of time, and the production costs were astronomical. As humanity’s first dedicated super-fortress, it stripped away civilian amenities in favor of sheer weapon density and armor.
However, having already constructed a behemoth like Deep Space, a 2-kilometer Titan was well within their theoretical capabilities. Jason wasn’t worried about the feasibility.
"...Honestly, I prefer the Titan. It’s large enough to house a miniaturized fusion reactor! Even if it has to burn rare isotopes like Helium-3 or tritium, it’s still genuine nuclear fusion..." Alex whispered to his colleagues.
"...Fusion simply provides so much more power. Only fusion can sustain the massive energy demands of a Curvature Engine alongside that many weapon batteries! Nuclear fission just won’t cut it!"
A few aides nearby murmured among themselves, weighing the tactical pros and cons of the different vessels.
Another aide shook his head. "Everyone loves the big ships, sure. But the Titan is just too expensive. We could probably only build one every year or two. It makes sense to build one to serve as a flagship..."
"Mass-producing Titans would take decades. Unless we completely sacrifice our civilian quality of life and redirect the entire population back into heavy industry, like we did when building Deep Space..."
"And a fleet can’t just be Titans. Real space combat isn’t just massive spaceships exchanging broadsides. You need small, high-speed interceptors to control the battlefield and run interference. That’s what the Space Swallow is for..."
Jason nodded in agreement; their analysis was spot on.
The Space Swallow could be launched from Deep Space’s orbital railguns, giving it incredible initial velocity. However, its power grid was limited, and its energy weapons were restricted to light point-defense lasers. Its main offensive capability relied heavily on its payload of nuclear missiles, essentially making it a high-speed suicide strike craft.
Furthermore, on planets with thick atmospheres, lasers and ion cannons suffered severe attenuation, leaving physical nuclear warheads as the only viable option.
Similarly, the Leviathan had its own trade-offs. It lacked the agility of the Space Swallow, but its larger chassis carried vastly more fission fuel and heavier armor. The Leviathan was effectively a mobile heavy weapons platform.
When it came to sheer, unadulterated power, only the Titan class could field a true fusion reactor! Even if it required precious Helium-3 as fuel...
But weren’t they actively mining Helium-3 right now?
Resources were meant to be spent; the Federation wasn’t a civilization of hoarders!
After rigorous debate and tactical demonstrations, a consensus was reached: over the next two years, the shipyards would construct a single prototype Titan-class vessel, run extensive field tests, and determine its true tactical viability.
The Leviathan fleet would be capped at roughly 125 units for now. As for the Space Swallow, further crewed development was temporarily tabled; future iterations might rely on advanced AI to serve as unmanned combat drones.
Once the briefing concluded, Jason stayed behind in the hangar, chatting casually with several military brass about the live-fire results.
Minister of Security Austin walked over and patted the hull of a docked Space Swallow. He sighed in frustration. "Jason, these ships are getting faster, their systems more complex, and their acceleration G-forces are constantly climbing. Now we’re launching them out of railguns! If this keeps up, human pilots will be entirely rendered obsolete by combat AI."
"A railgun launch... the human body simply can’t withstand that kind of physical stress."
The physical limits of a human pilot had already been maxed out by the first-generation A001 fighters. While a human could manually fly a Space Swallow, they would have to artificially cap its speed and maneuverability, making its performance virtually indistinguishable from the obsolete A001s.
"And... during the last batch of tactical simulations, our pilots got completely wiped out by the combat AI in equal-numbers engagements. The casualty ratio was 3 to 1! How the hell are we supposed to fight a real war like this? These kids are getting slaughtered!" Austin cursed during the internal review, deeply dissatisfied with the performance metrics.
Jason smiled wryly and shook his head. "That’s to be expected. Given a robust enough algorithm, a human can’t beat a computer at chess. Naturally, they can’t beat one in a dogfight either. In void combat, whether it’s targeting precision, reaction times, or optimal flight paths a human will never outperform a machine."
"If we lose to the AI, we lose. But remember, we are the masters of the computers. The future of warfare is human-machine synergy!"
Marcus offered a bitter smile. "I still think our troops just lack the edge. Otherwise, the simulated losses wouldn’t be this embarrassing."
"Captain, our society has been at peace for far too long. We have zero violent crime, zero terrorism... We don’t have any actual enemies! The new generation of recruits has never seen a drop of real blood. No matter how many virtual simulations we run, it will never replace the crucible of live combat!"
"They’re just greenhouse flowers!"
"If they were forced to look at a real corpse, they’d probably throw up! Because they’ve never had to see one!"
Marcus frowned deeply. Like Austin, he was immensely frustrated with the combat readiness of the newest recruits. Yet, even these seasoned military commanders couldn’t figure out how to reverse the trend.
It was true. As the Federation prospered, this underlying issue was steadily worsening!
The civilization was advancing rapidly, society was highly harmonious, education levels were peaking, and technology was booming but the martial grit of the average soldier was eroding.
This wasn’t a drop in physical capability or intelligence; it was a steep decline in psychological resilience.
It made perfect sense. The Ark had been an idyllic safe haven for decades. Where were they supposed to find life-or-death struggles?
Without adversity, there is no true growth!
A simulation could never truly replicate the terror of a real battlefield.
When Jason was first briefed on this issue, he had fallen silent. It was a thorny dilemma, and he hadn’t yet found a viable solution. Should they manufacture a fake enemy out of thin air? Impossible.
Just then, his wrist communicator chimed urgently.
Jason paused for a moment, then tapped the receiver.
"Captain! We’ve been closely monitoring Digg 114, located 6.8 light-years away. We just finished processing the latest long-range optical data..."
"We found... we found..." the analyst stammered, his voice tight with nerves.
"What did you find?" Jason asked, his brow furrowing.
"It’s... in the optical recordings. We documented sudden, massive spikes in the planet’s luminosity. Bright, high-energy flashes!" the analyst reported, sounding entirely bewildered. "And not just once. We’ve logged at least three distinct events!"
Jason’s expression darkened.
Flashes of light?
What did that mean?
He had no choice but to treat the report with extreme caution. Digg 114 was their next scheduled destination. The astrophysics department had hypothesized that its environment might be highly similar to ancient Earth!
If something was genuinely wrong with the system, the Federation absolutely would not go there.
When a civilization lacked absolute strength, the wisest strategy was always to lay low and avoid unnecessary risks. After all, with Deep Space functioning as a mobile utopia, humanity wasn’t in any danger of starving in the void...