The corona is the harvest — one reaper and a million gleaners march the spoke-roads to the Sun.
A fully speculative artistic imagining — no such craft, swarm, or harvest exists or is planned. In this furthest-future fantasy, a Dyson-harvest brigade works inside the Sun's corona: a million gleaner ships march the spoke-roads down the open field lines to drink plasma, bale it as star-stuff, and haul it home — and one reaper, vaster than the Sun's own disc in the poster's telling, leads the harvest.Image: poweringspace.com. Artistic imagining.