2030: The Last Chance. Why Superhuman ai could save humanity

In this connection, one may recall another similar case that demonstrates the reality of cosmic threats.

On June 14, 2002, an asteroid roughly 70—120 meters across passed Earth at a distance of about 120,000 kilometers. That is less than one-third of the distance to the Moon (about 384,000 km) and within the range of geostationary satellite orbits (about 36,000 km).

The crucial fact is that it was detected only on June 17, three days after its closest approach.

The reason was not scientific negligence but a “blind zone” on the Sun-facing side. 2002 MN approached Earth from the daytime sky, immersed in bright sunlight. Ground-based optical telescopes cannot see objects near the Sun.

Of course, science does not stand still, and methods for detecting dangerous celestial bodies are constantly improving. Space telescopes are being placed in orbit to increase the visibility of such objects. Yet the risks do not thereby disappear, because no reliable means of preventing such a catastrophe yet exist.

To sum up these preliminary findings, one may conclude that floods of varying scale occurred in different periods of Earth’s history. Some of them can reasonably be classified as great floods, above all those caused by the impact of large cosmic bodies on the Earth. These catastrophes struck suddenly and brought about rapid and devastating climatic changes.

Such catastrophes may well have served as the basis for the many myths of the Great Flood. The geographical spread of these myths suggests that the flood affected a large part of the planet and dealt a heavy blow to Earth’s biosphere.

The cosmic threat remains a real source of intense End-of-the-World fear even today. A large asteroid carrying destruction for humanity may appear near Earth unexpectedly, slipping past existing monitoring systems, while effective means of destroying it at a safe distance from Earth still exist only in the cult Hollywood blockbuster Armageddon (1998), directed by Michael Bay.

The scale of catastrophe that could follow a collision between Earth and a comet or large asteroid is vividly illustrated by an event that occurred in 1994, when Comet Shoemaker — Levy 9 struck Jupiter. Its trajectory might have brought it toward Earth, but Jupiter lay in its path and captured it with its immense gravity. The giant planet literally tore the comet’s nucleus into multiple large fragments — some up to 2 kilometers across — which then plunged into Jupiter’s atmosphere at a speed of 64 km/s.

Within hours, a dark spot 12,000 kilometers across — close to the diameter of the Earth — appeared in Jupiter’s atmosphere. The energy released in the collision was estimated at 6 million megatons of TNT equivalent, 750 times greater than the entire nuclear arsenal accumulated on Earth.

Humanity witnessed such an event for the first time. It proved that collisions between celestial bodies are not merely a theory but an ongoing reality, and it forced people to think seriously about similar risks for Earth.

It is not difficult to imagine what would happen to Earth in the event of such a collision.

The Sleeping Threat

Nature is showing an increase in the intensity of hurricanes and tropical cyclones; every year about 15—23 earthquakes of magnitude 7 or higher occur; the frequency and severity of floods are increasing; and volcanic activity continues. Of particular concern are dormant supervolcanoes. They are found on every continent, and if even one of them were to erupt, the consequences for humanity would be extremely severe. Not all people would die, but for many years the Earth would sink into chaos touching every aspect of human life.

The best-known of the supervolcanoes is Yellowstone. It is the largest volcanic system in North America, located in Yellowstone National Park (Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho, USA). It is a supervolcano capable of VEI-8 eruptions, ejecting more than 1,000 cubic kilometers of material. The caldera measures 45 by 85 kilometers, and beneath it lies a magma chamber at a depth of 5—15 kilometers, fed by a hot mantle plume.

According to scientists, this sleeping giant has erupted three times: about 2.1 million years ago, when the ejecta volume was 2,450 cubic kilometers; then about 1.3 million years ago, when it expelled 280 cubic kilometers of material into the atmosphere; and about 640,000 years ago, when it ejected 1,000 cubic kilometers and formed the modern caldera.

But what if such an eruption were to occur tomorrow? Scientists paint the following picture:

Locally:

Ash would spread for more than 1,000 kilometers; lava flows and pyroclastic material would force the evacuation of millions of people.

Globally:

A volcanic winter would follow, with cooling of 1—3°C for 5—10 years, crop failures, and famine (NASA models estimate 10—100 million deaths), along with ozone depletion and increased ultraviolet radiation. But not “the end of the world”: humanity survived the eruption of the Toba supervolcano about 74,000 years ago and would survive Yellowstone as well.

DeepSeek, when prompted with the same question, generated a far darker scenario:

Locally (North America), immediately:

• total destruction within a radius of 200—300 kilometers;

• pyroclastic flows moving at hundreds of kilometers per hour;

• temperatures reaching hundreds of degrees.

Within days:

• ash several meters thick across thousands of kilometers;

• building collapses;

• failure of electronics;

• paralysis of transportation;

• destruction of agriculture in the United States and Canada.

The United States would cease to function as an organized state.

Globally (the whole world, in the first weeks):

• ash and aerosols would rise into the stratosphere;

• solar radiation would begin to be screened out;

• atmospheric transparency would fall sharply.

This would mark the beginning of volcanic winter.

The second phase: months to years (volcanic winter)

Climate:

Estimates, based on Toba analogies and modeling, suggest:

• a drop in Earth’s average temperature of 3—7°C;

• in continental regions, declines of up to 10—15°C;

• summers in temperate latitudes becoming cold and short.

This would be a global climatic shock, not merely “cooling.”

Biosphere and agriculture:

• a sharp reduction in photosynthesis;

• mass crop failure for 2—5 consecutive years;

• famine on a global scale.

Even with modern technology:

• food supply chains would collapse;

• humanity’s food reserves would last for months, not years.

The main cause of death would not be lava, but hunger.

Humanity:

A realistic assessment would include:

• the death of tens of percent of the population;

• a possible decline in numbers to 1—2 billion or lower;

• the disintegration of the global economy;

• local wars over resources among the surviving population.

Even under such a catastrophic scenario, humanity would not die out completely, but what might occur is what could be called a “civilizational reset.” Human beings would remain; civilization would not. Simple logic suggests that the more complex a system is, the more efficient it is — and the more vulnerable. Modern global civilization is the most fragile in history, despite its visible power.

The signs of an approaching reset are already visible; they will be discussed in the concluding chapter. For now, let us continue our examination of climate threats.

In assessing the probability of a major Yellowstone eruption, scientists have estimated it at about 1 in 730,000 per year, using the average interval between the three known super-eruptions. That is roughly 0.00014 percent per year, which means the probability of such an event in the next century is for all practical purposes close to zero. In support of this conclusion, scientists cite many arguments: the magma chamber is not fully charged; observations suggest that most of the underground magma has already partially or nearly solidified, leaving too little melt for a super-eruption; and there are no signs of escalating activity — such as changes in gas emissions, rapid ground uplift, or accelerating seismicity — that usually precede major eruptions.

It would seem, then, that one could sleep soundly — if not for one “but”: there are alternative assessments of Yellowstone’s eruption risk, and they do not paint as reassuring a picture as the U.S. Geological Survey does.

A number of scientists and analysts believe that the official estimates are excessively optimistic. They too have their arguments:

— the magmatic system is not a single chamber, but a complex network of reservoirs;

— even partially molten magma may be dangerous under certain conditions;

— history shows that the precursors of major eruptions may be weak or short-lived;

— a volcanic explosion may be triggered by a major earthquake, even at a considerable distance from the caldera;

— all volcanoes on the planet are linked in a single chain, and the trigger for Yellowstone could be the eruption of another supervolcano.

These scientists also regard the probability of a Yellowstone super-eruption as very low, but not “almost zero”—conventionally, perhaps 1 in 10,000. That is still an extremely small risk, but an order of magnitude higher than the official estimate.

There is also a radically alternative camp. This is already outside the scientific mainstream, but it matters for an overall understanding of the landscape. Their estimates are: “at any moment”; “we are already on the threshold”; “the authorities are concealing the truth.” Their arguments are built on the weakness of monitoring systems for detecting signs of approaching danger, with the result that catastrophes occur suddenly.

As an example they cite the eruption of Hunga Tonga — Hunga Ha’apai on January 15, 2022. Scientists recorded increasing seismicity and deformation only a few days before the main event, yet were unable to assess its scale. As a result, the eruption proved unexpectedly powerful, producing a global tsunami and atmospheric shock waves. Tsunami warnings were issued only hours in advance, and in distant regions, such as Peru and Japan, the waves arrived suddenly. It was one of the most powerful explosions in 150 years, yet monitoring failed to anticipate the full collapse.

On March 11, 2011, an earthquake of magnitude 9.1 occurred off the coast of Japan. It came suddenly; scientists were unable to predict it, and the JMA early-warning system issued a tsunami alert only after the quake had already occurred. The tsunami, with waves reaching as high as 40 meters, killed about 18,500 people and triggered the largest radiation accident at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant.

On February 6, 2023, the double earthquake in southeastern Turkey and Syria, with magnitudes of 7.8 and 7.5, occurred without clear precursors. Seismologists detected no anomalies in the days or even hours beforehand. The result was about 59,000 deaths and devastation across eleven provinces. Although the region is seismically active, along the Anatolian fault system, the specific event was unexpected and left no time for evacuation. Post hoc analysis revealed weak signals, but monitoring failed to capture them.

Of course, there are also examples of successful volcanic forecasts. But who will later speak of a risk of 0.00014 percent if seismologists miss Yellowstone’s warning signals? And why, in estimating the risk of a super-eruption, do scientists base their calculations on the average interval between three eruptions?

What happens if, instead, one uses linear regression, taking into account the shortening of the intervals between eruptions?

Difference between the intervals:

800,000 — 660,000 = 140,000 years.

Next interval:

660,000 — 140,000 = 520,000 years.

Time since the third eruption:

640,000 years.

Since 640,000 > 520,000, the fourth eruption should already have occurred:

640,000 — 520,000 = 120,000 years ago.

If one uses another approach and calculates in geometric progression — assuming the dynamics are exponential — one gets a different result:

If the intervals decrease proportionally, then the coefficient is:

660,000 / 800,000 = 0.825.

Next interval:

660,000 × 0.825 ≈ 544,500 years.

Time since the third eruption:

640,000 years.

“Overdue”:

640,000 — 544,500 ≈ 95,500 years.

By such methods of calculation, Yellowstone is already 95,500 to 120,000 years “late,” and the estimate “at any moment” no longer looks grossly exaggerated.

In assessing the risk of a Yellowstone eruption, one must take into account not only the local factors that specialists monitor so closely, but the entire chain of supervolcanoes spanning the planet. Can the eruption of one trigger a chain reaction in others? Traditional science rejects such a cascading effect, pointing to the vast distances between them — from one to fifteen thousand kilometers. The volcanoes are considered isolated, their magmatic systems independent, and direct triggers operating across thousands of kilometers are not supported by the data.

And yet, in the last century quantum physics opened up a panorama in which unity extends across the universe itself. What it revealed was not merely local events on a planet, but the fundamental connectedness of all things — a reality in which distance is an illusion and nonlocality the norm. This is not mysticism, but an experimentally confirmed reality that forces us to rethink what it means to be separate.

Everything begins with quantum entanglement — the phenomenon in which two or more particles become inseparable even if they are carried light-years apart. If the state of one is measured — say, the spin of an electron — the other instantly “learns” this and assumes a corresponding state, without any signal passing between them. Albert Einstein called this spooky action at a distance, seeing in it a challenge to his theory of relativity, according to which nothing can travel faster than light. But experiments — from John Bell’s work in 1964 to Alain Aspect’s in 1982—confirmed that entanglement is real.

Bell’s theorem showed that the universe is fundamentally nonlocal and that no “hidden variables”—no local properties of particles — can explain the instantaneous transfer of information from one particle to another, regardless of the “distance” between them. Nonlocality implies that the universe is not an assembly of independent parts, but a single fabric. Particles do not “communicate” through space — they are simply not separate in the quantum sense.

The locality we observe in the everyday world is an emergent property, an illusion arising from decoherence — from interaction with the environment. At the most basic level, everything is connected.

Philosophically, this changes the picture completely: our ideas of “separateness” are artifacts of classical physics. As George Musser notes, “our sense of the universe as an orderly space with absolute places is an illusion.” Nonlocality hints at a deeper unity in which “local” events — volcanism on Earth, for example — may be only manifestations of a global network.

When scientists speak of supervolcanoes as independent points on a map, they are describing their behavior at a level where space still appears solid and time still appears linear. But the quantum prism shows that this level is only a projection — useful, but not final.

Modern science has already identified quantum phase transitions in the lower mantle on a global scale — over thousands of kilometers — such as spin crossover in minerals like ferropericlase. This is not a microscopic laboratory effect, but a phenomenon that influences mantle convection, and therefore plate tectonics and volcanism. In other words, the quantum nature of individual iron atoms deep within the planet may collectively modulate the movement of entire continents and the position of hot spots.

Geophysicists are already using quantum gravimeters — atom interferometers — that register changes in gravity caused by the movement of mass beneath volcanoes such as Etna. These instruments operate precisely on quantum principles — superposition, interference — and detect what classical instruments miss.

The implication is that supervolcanoes are not isolated bombs, but resonators within the planet’s vast vibrational system. And if a strong disturbance arises somewhere in that system, the response may propagate nonlocally — not through a mechanical wave, but through correlations in collective states.

Shadows Cast by Light

When we think of the Sun, we are always drawn to the quiet duality built into its nature. It is the source of everything we call life: a warm ray breaking through leaves, a golden sunset over the sea, or simply the feeling that the world revolves around something greater than ourselves.

But in this chapter we are forced to turn to its other side — to the side where light becomes a storm and warmth becomes plasma capable of striking a devastating blow to our civilization. Scientific research adds up to a picture in which the star that gives life may also take it away. We will examine that picture layer by layer, look at fresh evidence from the real world of 2026, and try to model what awaits us if history repeats itself. And history, as we know, has a habit of doing just that.

Let us begin with a full map of the manifestations of solar activity and their actual effects on life on Earth.

1. Sunlight and radiation (the baseline level).

This includes visible light, infrared radiation, and ultraviolet radiation. The role of these factors is overwhelmingly positive: they are the main source of energy for the climate, they drive photosynthesis, and they help shape the biosphere. They sustain life on our planet. Only ultraviolet radiation poses a danger, but the ozone layer protects us reliably from it.

2. The solar wind (the constant background).

This is a stream of charged particles — mainly protons and electrons — constantly emitted by the Sun at speeds of 300 to 800 km/s.

It shapes the magnetosphere, creates the auroras, and under normal conditions is safe. Earth’s magnetic field is the principal protective barrier against the solar wind.

3. Solar flares.

These are sudden releases of energy in the electromagnetic spectrum — X-rays and ultraviolet radiation — lasting from minutes to hours.

Their effects on Earth include radio interference, disruption of communications — especially aviation and maritime navigation — and ionization of the upper atmosphere.

They do not “burn” the Earth, but they are dangerous for astronauts and affect electronics. They reach us at the speed of light, which makes meaningful advance warning almost impossible.

4. Coronal mass ejections (CMEs).

These are immense clouds of plasma and magnetic fields, with masses measured in billions of tons, thrown off by the Sun. If such an ejection is directed toward Earth, it reaches our planet in one to three days.

This is the most dangerous form of solar activity. It causes geomagnetic storms, overloads power grids, damages satellites, disrupts GPS, and triggers mass blackouts.

On September 1, 1859, humanity had already lived through such an event — one that entered history as the Carrington Event. That day, the amateur astronomer Richard Carrington saw something extraordinary. Above an enormous group of sunspots, each several Earths in size, a bright white light flared up — as if someone had switched on a spotlight directly on the Sun. It was the first recorded white-light flare, a solar flare that lasted only five minutes. Carrington noted that the light was so intense that it outshone even the solar disk.

Independently of him, another astronomer, Richard Hodgson, saw the same thing and described it as a “sudden flash of light.” Neither man knew that this was the beginning of a chain reaction: the flare released a stream of charged particles and plasma, known as a coronal mass ejection, which raced toward Earth at a speed of about 2,300 km/s.

The distance from the Sun to Earth is 150 million kilometers, but this “plasma bubble” crossed it in only seventeen hours — exceptionally fast for such events. Normally CMEs take two to four days, but in this case everything aligned perfectly: earlier ejections had “cleared the way,” accelerating this one.

By the evening of September 1 and the morning of September 2, Earth had been plunged into a storm. The planet’s magnetic field was compressed under the assault of the solar wind, and chaos began. The sky lit up with auroras — but not only at the poles. They descended into the tropics: in Colombia people saw red and green flashes; in Hawaii the sky burned like a polar night; and in Australia miners awoke thinking dawn had come. In the United States, from Maine to Florida, the auroras were so bright that one could read a newspaper by their light. One reporter described it as a “blood-red glow, terrifying and magnificent.” The storm lasted about two days at its peak, but its echoes stretched on for a week: auroras were seen even in Rome and Cuba, down to latitudes of about 18 degrees.

And now to the consequences. In 1859 there was not much high technology, but what did exist suffered. The telegraph network — the “internet” of that era — stretched for thousands of kilometers across Europe and America. When the CME struck, powerful currents were induced in the wires: operators received electric shocks, sparks flew from the instruments, and in some stations the message paper caught fire. In Sweden a telegraph station burst into flames; in New York sparks showered down like fireworks. Some lines functioned even without batteries — the current came directly from the atmosphere. Communication as a whole collapsed for hours, and recovery took weeks.

Fortunately, electricity had not yet become widespread in 1859, and the event caused relatively little overall damage.

Scientifically, however, it was a breakthrough. Carrington linked the flare with the storm, laying the foundations for “space weather”—the science of how the Sun affects Earth. If such an event were to happen today, the consequences would be very different. But in 1859 it was more spectacle than catastrophe: people panicked, thinking of the end of the world, while newspapers overflowed with descriptions of “heavenly fire.”

Now to the question of risk. The Sun threatens us not directly, but through a chain: flares → coronal mass ejections → geomagnetic storms → induced currents and radiation.

If we model a Carrington Event in our own time, we can see its likely consequences: the magnetosphere would be compressed by 90 percent, while cosmic rays would increase tenfold. We would be left without internet, communications, and electricity. Transformers would burn out. Banks would be paralyzed. Refrigerators would fail. Gas stations would stop functioning. Transport would grind to a halt. In cities, water supply and sewage systems would cease to operate. In a single moment, the Earth would be plunged into chaos. This would not yet be the End of the World — but it would come dangerously close.