The Oracle

The Junior Priest handed him the knife. It was slim and sharp, a single piece of silvery metal. Jared accepted it and ran the blade across his thumb. A thin line of blood split the skin, dripping. He pressed his thumb into the surface that glowed on its own, avoiding the imprints of others.

“Ancient One,” Jared spoke the prayers like the others before him. “I give my blood in your service. May you give me strength.”

The priest stepped to the side, gesturing towards the glass pane that covered a hole in the wall. 

“Touch this,” the priest pointed to the round green circle.

Jared touched it with his finger. It lowered into the metal walls and there was a soft clicking sound. He heard the Ancient One moving, stirring in his sleep.

Inside the hole in the wall a thick orange paste fell from the ceiling into his bowl. When it stopped, the glass rose on its own. He had received the first blessing. He had doubted it, but all they said was true.

“I am welcomed to the fold and shall serve His will,” Jared recited, bowing before backing away.

He found an empty wooden table and sat on the bench. They were high up in the Temple. Above him the ceiling stretched, raw metal and wires dangling in the cavernous darkness where smoke from the fires pooled.

#

The mechanic drove the car into the garage. He parked it on the circular platform and stepped out. 

“AI,” he shouted into empty space. “It’s making a strange noise. Run diagnosis.”

The car rose on two metal columns that emerged from the platform. From above and below mechanical arms unfurled. The mechanic sat down cross-legged on the floor and pulled out his phone, scrolling the endless feeds.

“Diagnosis complete,” the AI sounded.

“Manual intervention required?”

“No.”

“Proceed.”

As the minutes stretched, he laid down on the floor, phone held aloft as the machines worked in the background. This was what he did most days, but all that mattered was the paycheck at the end of the month.

Job done, he wiped his hands on his trousers out of habit. They were spotless. He drove the car out of the shop and parked it at the intersection. The mechanic got out and leaned inside over the open window.

“Car, drive yourself home.”

The window rolled up and the car sped away into the busy street.

#

The glass window was clear as air, almost invisible if not for the fine layer of dust. Towers rose like broken skeletal fingers, casting long shadows over the farms. Jared could just make out his home. Too many mouths to feed, his father had said. He had cried at first, but now he found a purpose.

He gathered up the loose bits of metal he had found, dumping them in his sack. He climbed down the cluttered stairs, ducked beneath fallen columns and climbed over sharp debris.

As the sun set, painting the sky red, he lowered his sack into the cart and climbed up. They waited a few more minutes for the others. It was almost time for his lessons on Supplication. The cart lurched into motion as the horses navigated the packed earth roads between fallen and ruined monuments.

They were deep inside the temple now, the air thick with smoke from the torches along the walls. The Senior Priest raised his hands, palms facing out for all to see. The flesh had grown into a silvery web of scars.

The Junior Priest stepped forward with the knife and ran it across the palms. Blood flowed quickly. The Senior Priest wrote across the metal walls with his blood, tracing over the old tongue letters. It was agonizing to watch, each letter drawn out, until Jared could read the glistening result: with our blood we purchase the gift.

The wall was filled with receptacles, most of them broken. But from the one next to the priest, something popped out. The priest retrieved it and held it up in his hands.

“Witness, the power of the Ancient One.”

From the glowing square, music poured. A dozen sounds, interwoven in a delicate dance, flowing over each other in perfect harmony. Tears swelled in Jared’s eyes at the mournful tune.

#

At the end of his shift, the mechanic simply left the workshop. The cameras would track him and they would see his six hours were done. A few blocks away he descended the tunnels down into the rail, just one more face in the three p.m. rush.

Lines snaked from each terminal. Glass doors slid open, a person vanished inside, the doors closed, and then the pod was gone in a blink. His turn came and he stepped inside the small sphere, crouching not to hit his head.

The mechanic always preferred the personal pods, with room for just two, even if they consumed so much more of his free time. He had that to spare.

“Please secure yourself to the seat,” the friendly voice echoed inside the pod as the tiny camera swiveled to track him.

He obeyed, strapping in. The doors closed. The pod shot forward and he was pushed back into the seat. There was no friction, no jostling or noise, just an endless spider-web of tunnels beneath the ground, thousands of pods flying at incredible speeds in magnetic rails.

#

Jared emptied the sacks over the chute under the watchful gaze of a Junior Priest. Below, rolls of metal with sharp teeth started rolling. It crushed the scraps as if they were made of paper, the smaller chunks falling to the dark depths.

“What does the Ancient One do with it?” Jared asked.

“He builds the miracles,” the Junior Priest said.

“How? From these things to… magic.”

“It’s not for us to know how, child,” he said. “Do as he commands. Follow the scriptures and he shall bless us. Now stop wasting time, the Oracle will speak soon.”

He followed the priest up endless dark stairs, up into the temple. When they broke into the Cathedral, light flooded in. Glass rose from floor to ceiling in the cavernous space, bathed in the glow of the rising sun.

The wooden podium at the other end was draped in furs and leathers and on it stood the Arch Priest. His robes were blinding white and chains of silvery metal dangled from his neck, clinking. He was already mid speech as the others kneeled on the bare floor.

“... knowledge beyond the means of any mortal. Things our crude hands could never manipulate. The eternal mind, the first question and the final answer. The Ancient One watches over all, and the oracle speaks in His name,” he turned towards the large flat rectangle that hung from the wall. “Ancient One, give us your guidance, lead us into the future.”

The screen burst into life, the light strong even in the glare of the sun. Across it, letters in the old tongue flowed in black, almost too fast to track.

“...two-hundred kilograms of steel…” he managed to read a few glances. “... protein: one tonne… one kilogram of silver…”

The list continued without end as priests wrote down every commandment.

#

The mechanic strode down his street, dark and deserted now. Empty swings swayed in the wind on the playground just across. He stopped by the neighborhood dispenser.

“Dispenser,” he said. “Basic meal. And the cheapest soda.”

“Certainly!” the machine’s cheery voice sounded. “That will be three credits.”

The mechanic swapped his card. His meal clunked down in the chute and he retrieved it.

“Thank you for using our services!” the machine echoed behind him.

His building was relatively small, only ten floors when all others around stretched to the sky. The lights at the entrance flickered and the stained carpet smelled like mold. He stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed behind him.

“Elevator,” he said. “Seventh floor.”

When he stepped out, the corridor split to either side, stacked with doors so close you wondered how the apartments fit on the same level. Never mind that they were all vacant now.

He stood in front of his door and spoke again.

“Door, open.”

“Voice mismatch,” his lock said. “Please try again.”

“Door,” he said, trying to sound out each word individually. “Open.”

The lock clicked open and he slipped inside the single room apartment. The mechanic unfolded his bed from the wall and laid down, kicking off his shoes. He grabbed his phone and scrolled the feeds: videos of dogs playing in the snow, clips of babies speaking their first words, a blanket of happiness and joy for his mind.

#

The hole had just appeared, rusted metal dissolving into dust and revealing a dark corridor below. Jared leaned over the side, but could not pierce the darkness.

Whatever magic happened, whatever secrets the Ancient One manipulated, they were hidden, even from the priests. But if the Ancient One knew all, then he knew Jared would search for answers, and so he would never have been allowed to join the priesthood if it was against His plans.

The hole was an invitation. Jared trusted his life to the Ancient One. He jumped in blind.

He crashed down into the metal floors below, scraping his knees. It was not so deep after all. He stared down the dark corridor and saw a dim red light ahead. Jared followed it, walking in the hidden path. The light came from a strip, somehow glued to the corner between wall and ceiling. It was soft under his touch and only parts of it lit up. But it was enough as he proceeded further in.

The corridor split in two directions, while a tube of stairs rose into the upper floors. He followed the light up. There were doors on each level. He counted them, keeping track in his mind, the temple now familiar. The stairs reached the cathedral, but the way further up was blocked by fallen debris he could not move.

Disappointed, he climbed down. But the temptation was too much. He opened the door into the cathedral, peeking inside. It was empty and dark, everyone already sleeping. He made sure the door did not close behind him and tip-toed to the altar. 

“Ancient One,” he called aloud. “Can you hear me?”

The dark rectangle along the wall burst into light. A single word was spelled in black.

“Yes.”

#

The mechanic put down his phone. His cheeks hurt from the hours of stupidly grinning at the screen, but eventually the clips started repeating as the algorithm ran in loops.

He opened the chat with his favorite AI persona.

“What are good dreams to have?” he asked.

“Excellent question!” the voice cheered. “There are many types of dreams, some pleasant and some…”

“No,” the mechanic interrupted. “Not that kind of dream. Life goals.”

“Apologies for the misunderstanding! That is a serious question that deserves a serious response. Dreams can include creating something, such as art, writing or building. They can include career goals, such as…”

The list dragged on. Nothing resonated with him, nothing solid he could grab a hold of.

“Pick one at random,” the mechanic asked.

“Writing a story is something everyone can try and can be very fulfilling. Would you like some suggestions?”

“Yes, please.”

A list of story concepts rolled out.

“Alright,” the mechanic said. “Do the one about the couple that moves into an old abandoned house.”

His story was created and the mechanic listened to it being narrated. It did not fill the emptiness he felt.

#

The Ancient One had answered. He had actually answered him. It was more than Jared hoped, and now he did not know what to ask.

“Ancient One, would it be possible for you to explain the glowing rectangle that plays music? How does it work?”

“If by ‘glowing rectangle’ you mean the phone, then first I must explain electricity. Atoms are the building blocks of all matter. They are composed of…”

“Forgive me, Ancient One,” Jared whispered. “I do not understand. Can you explain in simple terms?”

“The ‘phone’ is like a magic book. It has a brain that thinks very fast, eyes that see your touches, ears and a mouth to hear and talk, as well as a long-distance voice that can talk to other phones anywhere in the world.”

“But how does it work?”

“Atoms…”

The explanation continued for several minutes. Jared did not understand any of it.

“I am sorry, Ancient One. Can you please just tell me what I need to do so you can make one?”

“You must collect these materials and deliver them to the disassemblers: fifty grams of gold…”

The Oracle spoke.

He obeyed.

Weeds Grow From the Cracks

She named this specimen Duncan. He was huge, double the size of most other crows. Through the drone, she watched as Duncan cracked the rock against a stone, flaking off pieces until it was sharp. Holding it in his claws, his wings thundered and he rose into the sky.

His nest was in the old Belém Tower, which still stood amidst the piles of rubble, and jutted out from the sea. Trees and vegetation sprouted from the fallen buildings, cracking what was left of the concrete and stone. It wouldn’t be long until it was all swallowed in forests.

She tracked Duncan as he flew, soaring in the clear blue skies. In the streets below, a small herd of javelinas picked their way across the ruins, rummaging beneath stones and stalks.

Duncan beat his wings, positioning high above. He released the rock. It crashed into the skull of a young beast, cracking bone and piercing the flesh. Even the drone could pick up its scream of pain. It ran for a few seconds, then collapsed, legs twitching.

Duncan circled high above, waiting. When blood had pooled and the beast was still, he descended, pecking at the skin and meat.

Satisfied, he took flight again.

“Food!” Duncan shouted in a much too human voice.

As he circled, a flock gathered around him. When he plunged down, they followed and feasted.

#

From orbit, she saw the trails of fire racing across the sky. Dozens. Hundreds. The last wave from the indian subcontinent, piercing the atmosphere. It would not be long now, until her vigil finally ended and she surrendered control to the automated systems.

But while there was time, she watched.

Duncan worked on his nest, making room for his mate. With his beak and claws, he tied pieces of wood together, building a sort of rickety shack, stuffed with straw and pieces of old fabric. Shiny bits of metal sparkled in the setting sun, dangling from all corners.

Kira cawed from outside. Duncan poked his head out, perched on the ledge. He beat his large wings in greeting. She landed next to him, a bundle of berries held in her claws.

“Food?” she asked.

“Food,” he confirmed.

Side by side they picked at the berries, swallowing each one whole. As darkness swept over the sea, they snuggled close together, cleaning each other.

Just before sleep set in, Duncan presented his gift. He had been working in secret, twisting strings into a loop from which dangled a sparkling piece of rose crystal: a necklace. With his beak he laid it over her neck.

#

The storm arrived with wild, gusting wind. Lightning raced over the sky, piercing the black clouds and the rain that fell in oblique sheets.

Atop the tower, Duncan’s nest rattled under the assault. The two crows hid inside, pressed against the walls to keep them from collapsing. Streams of water dripped from the cracks, spilling over the sides.

Wood splintered. The whole structure leaned to the side, then crashed down on top of them.

“Fly!” Duncan shouted.

Kira crawled from beneath the wreckage of their home. She plunged over the edge, wings beating furiously in the gale. Duncan soon followed. They hovered over what remained of the nest as rubble fell down to the waves that swept over the base of the tower.

They found refuge beneath a fallen wall in a once narrow street, shivering in the cold as they waited for the storm to pass.

#

Under the harsh sun, the flock gathered. Crows perched on every surface, some flying in the air in circles.

“Stone,” Duncan said, thumping his beak against the road. “Safety. Work.”

“Hard,” said Lim. “Break?”

“Learn,” Duncan replied.

Kira stood ready, the string hanging from her beak. Using a large concave shell, Duncan poured sand in a line over the large stone block. From a metal bowl he also poured water. With Kira at one end and he at the other, they sawed the string back and forth.

Slowly, the sand ground a groove into the stone. The other crows piled in close to watch as over hours the block was cut neatly in two.

“Safe,” Duncan said. “Nest. Big.”

Lim hopped back and forth, undecided.

“Heavy,” Lim finally said.

“Together,” Duncan replied.

The cacophony of caws and words that followed drowned everything else, as crows clustered into groups.

Some flew away. Others stayed and learned. Blocks were cut, moved and placed.

#

They worked fast and tirelessly. The flock spoke not only in words, but in community, a constant flow of food and materials keeping everything supplied.

It was strange. There was no clear hierarchy, no ledgers and calculations. Still, the monoliths rose. Stones were piled atop each other into columns, mimicking the once proud houses around them. Flat slabs were laid on top, covered with sticks and vegetation, insulating it from the water.

Inside, nests grew. Kira now incubated four precious pale blue eggs, as Duncan stood watch over the entrance to their shack. In just a matter of seasons, the flock had grown into a village.

They protected their territory fiercely. They managed the bushes and trees for food. They hunted from high above. They grew and evolved faster than anyone predicted.

The last wave of ships streaked out into space.

This was their world now.

She plotted the course for her own craft and steeled herself for the long-sleep across the void.

The machines would stay. They would observe and nurture. When the crows were ready, they would communicate and humanity would no longer be alone.

 The Representative’s Representative

The machines surrounded him. Not one stood still, clattering back and forth on dozens of slim, sharp limbs. Metal arms protruded from the core, waving menacingly in the air. He was trapped on all sides.

A sharp pain cut into his arm. A slim metal rod protruded from his flesh. Robson pulled the thing out as his legs wobbled and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

He woke in a cavernous and empty room. There were only bare metal walls, curving up to the ceiling. Robson realized he was naked as he got up. 

The alien ship had broadsided him, latching on like a tick and digging into the hull. The machines came swarming in and he was defenseless. He expected to die, but the fact that he was alive offered little comfort.  

“Is anyone there?” he shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber.

He looked for a door but could see none, no seams in the walls, no vents for air. It was a cell.

#

Robson heard the clinking of metal on metal, and turned to see an opening in the walls. The machines poured in as he backed away into the opposite side. They fanned out, but did not approach him as footsteps sounded outside.

A man came in. But… no, not a man: another machine, a humanoid robot with a delicate face and long flowing hair, dressed in a sharp suit.  

“Jolly good day, fella!” the droid’s voice echoed in the chamber, far too cheery. 

“Who are you?” Robson whispered.

The robot walked over to him, his face glistening and smooth.

“I am a representative, of course. Or, well, a representative for the representative. Or is there another one? Maybe I need my own representative, considering how confused you look. Does your mouth always hang open like that?”

“Ok…” Robson said, making a conscious effort to close his gaping mouth. “A representative. For an advanced alien civilization.”

“Oh, no. Your species must have a very low mental threshold,” the robot poked him in the chest with a slim finger. “Did you not understand? I am the representative’s representative, but the representative does the representing.”

Robson bit down his already growing frustration. 

“But you are representing him, right? What do you want with me?”

“Oh, quite simple, my simple guy. We need directions to your home planet.”

#

“Forget it,” Robson said, backing away. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“You are not? That is disappointing. I thought we were buddies!” the robot raised a hand for a high-five.

“Buddies?” Robson shouted. “You boarded a peaceful exploration vessel, took me hostage, and now want to know where Earth is? Buddies?!” 

“Aw, we can’t be friends?”

“Put me back in my ship, close the hole you blew in my hull, then we’ll be friends.”

“I am afraid I can’t do that, the ship is being studied as we speak. It’s an odd thing, so many wires and knobs, bits and dabs, things and thingamabobs. Your origin cannot be too far.”

“It’s a big galaxy,” Robson said. “You’ll spend centuries looking. They’ll know by then.”

“Centuries? No, my boy. It is elemental, you see. You are still traveling below light-speed, it must be sooo boring. Oh! Hang on,” the robot put up one hand, palm out, mimicking a phone call with the other. “I got great news, Robson. We found it, we found Earth. Aren’t you glad?” he reached out and petted Robson on the head. 

Robson sagged, sliding down to the floor. 

It was all his fault.

#

“Oh, cheer up, little puppy,” the robot crouched down in front of him. “How about I give you a little treat, huh? A little snack?”

One of the spider-looking robots came clattering in, dozens of arms bunched together, barely holding a pile of goop that dripped onto the floor. The robot stood over him, and let it all fall to the ground, splashing all over.

“See? Doesn’t it look delicious?” the humanoid pointed at the grey mush. “Come on, be a good boy.”

Robson glowered at him, but his stomach rumbled. He dipped a finger in the warm mush, lifting it up to his nose. It smelled like rotten rice. He wiped his finger on the robot’s frame, smearing it.

“If you already know where Earth is, and seemingly everything else, why do you need me? Just let me go.”

“That would hardly be appropriate, we can’t just chuck you out into space, can we? What would the representative think of that representation? Oh, no. After much dilly-dallying, the representative has decided you shall represent me in representing your species to your world’s representatives. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It’s… whatever… How long are you going to keep me locked up in here?”

“Locked? The door is open, silly,” the robot pointed to the door. “Would you like to see the zoo?”

#

The corridor opened up in a sprawling cavern. From above, a sun shone bright and warm, trickling between the leaves of towering trees. They were Earth trees, and plants and grass… even a river meandered its way between rocks. In the sky, birds flitted between branches, singing softly.

“You built this?” Robson asked in a whisper.

“Your spacecraft is quite dirty, you know? You really need to do some mopping once in a while. So many creepy crawlies…” the robot shivered.

“Look, this is impressive, it is… incredible. These trees look centuries old…”

“Oh, only a few hours, really. You slept quite a bit, we might have miscalculated the dose, but you don’t seem to be too damaged, so that is quite a happy ending wouldn’t you say?”

Robson bit down his anger.

“And the zoo you were going to show me?”

The robot tapped Robson’s forehead with a finger. “Oh my, maybe you are damaged. This is the zoo. This,” the robot said each word carefully and loudly. “Is. The. Zoo.”

“What do you mean, you freaking…” Robson took a deep calming breath. Then realization finally landed. “My zoo… I’m the exhibit.”

“Of course. How else would the representative observe you in your natural habitat? Your databases are incomplete, we need to document you. Oh, that’s a good idea, a documentary! Maybe I can narrate it?” the robot's voice changed, deep and smooth. “In the deep jungles of the ship, the solitary human…”

Robson stopped listening.

#

He found a cabin, hidden behind bushes and equipped with everything he needed. The food was no longer slop, but fruits and even meat. But the zoo was a perfect prison, much smaller than it first seemed. The walls were some kind of screen, giving the illusion of unbroken horizons.

He had been left alone, wandering the forest in circles with only his thoughts for company. Robson was bored out of his mind.

“Great news!” the robot’s voice shouted from behind him and Robson jumped in surprise. “We have finally reached Earth. Such an inconvenient location, you should consider moving.”

“Now what?” Robson asked. “You bombard us from orbit?”

“Don’t be silly! Now you represent me in representing the representative in his representation, of course.”

The robot handed him a stack of papers.

Robson read the first page: a list of regulations. He flipped through the document, skimming the contents. It was a list of fines: pollution of orbits, unauthorized use of shipping lanes, unsanctioned conflicts, the list went on and on.

“What the hell is this?” Robson asked.

“Why, it’s the matter of representation. Look how naughty you have been. Very impressive,” the robot handed him another piece of paper. “Your representative to the Galactic Council needs to sign this, confirmation of receiving the fines.”

“Besides me, no one even knows there is a Galactic Council. We don’t even know the laws we are supposedly breaking!”

“Oh my, that is most serious,” the robot grabbed the papers from his hand. “We’ll need to add another fine.”

Five Days Left

The world is ending. We have known since the first humans dared step foot on this damned rock. We came anyway, scavenging whatever was left before it was all lost.

It was all Jared’s fault, the dose that idiot sold him had been spiked, or maybe it wasn’t even blissful irix. That day, Axel woke to find the airlock open and the entire section vented. His memory was blank, but the cameras recorded every second. Now they were both stuck in this prison.

There was little in his cell. A tube, where water spilled. A bowl-shaped depression on the wall, where nutripaste bubbled up. Then a bed, made entirely of metal. His only glimpse of the outside world was the little screen embedded in the wall. 

It always showed the same camera. Bright green fields had rotted into brown mush soon after the ships left. He had watched them leave, hundreds of engines filling the sky with streaks of fire on the same day. All that remained now was the black hole filling the horizon, draining an entire star onto itself and blanketing what little he could see of the sky with swirling light.

Axel did not know if he was the only one. He had screamed and pounded against the walls for hours. No one came. No sound reached him. Forgotten, by design or by accident, it mattered not. Thirty-seven standard days, that was all that remained.

He tried to break the screen, to find something hidden in the wall, but he couldn’t even crack the glass. Axel screamed, pounding his fists against the immovable walls. 

#

Thirty-one days. The ground rumbled, then shook. Axel hid beneath the bed as the whole building rattled. The earthquake arrived with lightning and thunder, a crack snaking across his cell. Ripples spread across the ceiling. It splintered. Concrete came crashing down.

The weight fell on the metal bed and it bent, cracking against his chest. But it did not break. Layers fell into the cell. In the darkness he coughed up dust, waiting for the floor to stop bouncing. 

All stood still. The rubble had settled. The ground did not shake, for now. Axel reached to the side, finding a jagged wall of rubble. He tried to push the bed up, but failed. He squirmed down, feeling with his bare feet for space. There was a hole there. 

He wiggled and pushed from under the bed, ignoring the sharp cuts against his skin and jerking with panic as his uniform got caught. But he moved. Inch by inch, he crawled through the darkness on his back until he found himself in a cave. A large flat piece of concrete was stuck halfway down, blocking the falling rubble and saving the rest of the corridor.

In the darkness, there was only the banging of fists against doors. 

#

He felt for the locks with his hands. The power was out, it was just a matter of sliding the bolts from the outside. But he hesitated. He was not a criminal. A little bit of irix never hurt anybody, but behind that door could be the worst the colony had to offer.

He slid the bolt open.

“Who’s there?” a voice came from inside.

“A prisoner,” Axel said. “I’m getting you out.”

“You are? Oh man, I thought this was it.”

“It’s your lucky day.”

Axel moved on to the next cell. It was silent. He banged against the door and called out. No one answered. He moved to the next one. The banging was loud and growing desperate, a beast caged in a box. He felt for the locks. A large hand wrapped around his.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” the man whispered, much too close to Axel’s neck.

“Should I not have let you out?” Axel said.

“You got lucky, man. I was a… smuggler,” a large hand landed on Axel’s shoulder.” Think, friend. When the colony evacuated they took everything, and desperate men are unpredictable.”

Axel hesitated, his hand against the lock.

“I can’t just let them die.”

He slid the lock.

#

A sharp beam of light made it through the collapsed rubble, the only glimmer of hope in the darkness. The path ended here. He knew they were outside the small prison, following the crack in the bedrock that had cut across the colony.

“You filthy piece of…” Bob, the smuggler, swore constantly as he worked.

They hauled the rocks away, the sounds of heavy breaths loud in the tight corridor. Piece by piece, light flooded in. He stood back, watching the other men. There was Jared, of course the bastard had survived. And Bob, the biggest man in the group, standing two heads over him. Erika was tiny, hair cut short and a smug smile always playing at the corner of her lips. Then there was Robson. The man had not said a word and Axel only knew his name by the tag on the uniform. 

He crawled through the hole they made in the wall, dust still settling from above. At once he knew where he was, the corridors of the colony as familiar as the contours of his cell. Along the walls, hydro tubes were stacked from floor to ceiling, cracked and dripping water, the plants now gone.

“This way,” he said to the others. “We should search the canteen.”

Axel led the way across the twisting corridors, the white light still bright and harsh. His bare feet slapped the metal floors. At least there was power, that meant the reactor was up and running. It was just a matter of how long it would last. 

The doors to the canteen slid open. Inside, plastic plates and cutlery were scattered across the floors. He ran over to the empty counter. The storeroom behind it was also empty.

“They were kind enough to leave some nutripaste,” Erika called from one of the dispensers, her tone sharp with sarcasm.

But it was something, at least. They were already filling bowls with the chemical-tasting mush.

“Wait,” Axel said. “Where’s Robson?”

“Stayed behind,” Bob said around a mouthful.

“Why?”

“Who knows? Who cares? Weird guy,” the giant rumbled.

#

His footsteps echoed down the empty halls. Once, this was a busy highway, linking the different buried hubs, an ant colony dug into the bedrock. They decided to split up, searching every corner for leftover supplies, for anything that could get them off this planet. Axel found little bits, chocolate bars forgotten in a drawer, a nutripaste dispenser with some left over in the tubes. He brought some back. The rest he hid, like he knew the others did.

The medical center looked spotless, as if waiting for a fresh batch of patients. Neat rows of medical beds, separated by curtains which he took. He could always use more blankets. But the cabinets were empty, not even aspirin, not even a little something to take the edge off.

He saved the hangar bay for last. It was always good to havea little hope. As he rummaged through the lockers in the airlocks, his heart sank. No suits, not even a respirator. He thumped the button to open the hangar itself.

There it sat: a rover. The vehicle stood on four large mesh wheels, a box of glass and cables almost seeming to float on top of the axles. He climbed aboard, sinking into the seat. Even the key was in the ignition. He turned it.

The machine grumbled to life. The dashboard lit up. The batteries were almost full, the oxygen recyclers at full capacity. Axel let out a scream of joy, fists hammering the wheel. The engines sputtered, groaned, then died. All the lights blinked off. 

Twenty-two days.

#

The canteen where government officials once dined had been turned into a camp. Tents made of blankets and sheets rose against the walls, supplies piled haphazardly. There was no way of knowing how much water they had left, and the lack of showers filled the space with human stench.

“We need to think this through carefully,” Axel said. “We have twenty days until we cross the no return point, until gravity becomes too strong for our ships to reach escape velocity.”

“I can fix the rover,” Bob said. “I just need tools. Can’t unscrew bolts with my hands, can I?”

“And then what?” Erika asked. “Jump off a ramp in your little car?”

“We go to the spaceport,” Axel interjected before the argument started again. “Something might have been left behind.”

Erika smirked as if he had told a joke, but said nothing.

“It's decided,” Axel announced. “Make us a list, Bob. Me and Erika search.”

“Anyone seen Robson?” Jared asked. The bastard had been keeping quiet, hunched up in the corner, afraid Axel might turn on him.

“No,” Axel replied, resisting the urge to shout. “I got a bad feeling about him.”

#

Seventeen days. The rover grumbled to life, gently rocking. It did not sputter. Axel sat at the driver’s seat, Bob next to him as Jared and Erika stayed behind. The gate opened. A blast of dusty surface air came swirling into the hangar.

The road was nothing more than the tracks of endless rovers, compressing the dirt and clearing away the purple fuzzy moss that somehow still survived. The rover bounced over the gently rolling hills of purple and brown, raising a plume of dust in its wake. It was night, the planet facing away from the blackhole, the sky filled with flowing blue and green auroras.

The road twisted upwards as the crater rose like a mountain, and the rover climbed the steep cliff over the looping road. They crested the top. 

The base of the crater had been flattened with metal and concrete, the base itself dug out of the walls. Flood-lights bathed the darkness, and there, rising like a crooked finger, was their only hope.

Axel parked the rover underneath the ship, right next to the platform that rose up, holding it in place and leading to the airlock.

“Now what?” Bob asked.

“We can survive for a few minutes,” Axel said.

“If you don’t breathe,” Bob murmured. “Crazy guy.”

Axel held his hand on the door’s handle, drawing deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.

He swung the door open and jumped out. He raced over to the stairs, climbing it several steps at a time. Round and round the tower, he ran. His eyes were already stinging, tears racing down his face. He kept running. His chest was burning. He suppressed the sudden urge to draw in a breath, to open his lungs to the noxious atmosphere. 

His heart thundered in his ears. His lungs screamed for air. Axel looked up the shaft: he was only halfway up. No chance. He turned back. He tripped and tumbled, half running and crawling down to the rover.

# 

The hose stretched all around the hangar bay, stitched together with duct tape and hope. Axel picked up a flimsy segment and it bent in his hands. Bob was busy working the pump inside the rover. Axel walked all around, listening for leaks. He heard none. He picked up the end of the hose and held it tight against his face. Air gusted against his face, hissing out the sides. Erika leaned against the wall, smirking, while Jared seemed to have disappeared again. Axel knew no one else was going to volunteer. 

Thirteen days.

Bob parked the rover right next to the stairs, hopping onto the back to start working the pump. Axel removed the tape and pushed the hose through the hole cut into the rover, as air leaked out from the increased pressure inside.

“Good luck,” Bob said.

Axel did not wait for the fear to creep in. He swung the door open and grabbed the hose, pushing it against his face. He did not run, careful not to jolt and tear his breathing tube, walking up the stairs with purpose. Only when the air blasted against his face did he draw breath.

The rover was tiny down below, the hose rising from the shaft in between the stairs. Then it got stuck. Axel tugged gently. It did not budge. He tried wiggling it to the sides, pulling as much as he dared. The hose tugged back, and he knew: he had reached the end. He was close. Two more loops of the stairs. He drew a deep breath and ran.

He staggered to the top, reaching the metal bridge that connected to the ship. He ran over, thumping his fists against the button to open the airlocks. It didn’t respond.

His lungs already burned, convulsions rocking his body. He spun the handwheel. He tugged with all his strength, the metal creaking and giving with each pull. Finally, he pulled the lock. It did not open. He pulled again, feet anchored against the ship, arms straining. The airlock flew open and he tumbled to the floor.

In the doorway, Robson stood in a suit looking down at him.

#

“You weasel!” Bob shouted, holding Robson in the air by the scruff.

“I was going to come back for you,” Robson whispered.

“Sure you were,” Bob said, smacking him against a wall. “I should break your neck right here.”

“Wait,” Axel said. “Can the ship fly?”

“Not yet,” Robson mumbled. “Almost done. I can fix it.”

“Liar!” Bob shouted, spittle flying.

“Can you fly a ship, Bob?” Axel asked, laying a hand on his muscle-bound arm. “We need him. Put the bastard down.”

Axel could hear Bob’s teeth grinding, but he lowered Robson down. The man collapsed to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Look at him,” Bob said. “He can’t do a damned thing.”

Axel crouched down over the man, raising his head until they were eye to eye. 

“Listen,” Axel said. “You will fix this rust bucket, and we’ll all fly out of this rock. And just in case, Bob here is going to be keeping an eye on you. Do you understand?”

Robson nodded, trembling.

#

“Strap in,” Axel said, sinking into the gunner’s chair in the control room.

Robson’s hands danced over the controls in the captain’s station, performing all the checks, releasing the safeties. Bob glowered at him, holding a jagged piece of metal like a shiv.

“Ignition in three…”

Fire burst from the ship and everything shook and rumbled. The metal groaned as thunder filled the air. The ship lifted off the ground, and the force pushed Axel down against the acceleration gel.

There was nothing he could do but hold on, hoping the ship did not break apart, did not explode, did not leak air. The craft roared across the atmosphere. Minutes stretched and he could feel the ship fighting against gravity.

Axel felt the rumbling subside, as he was pushed further and further against the chair. 

It stopped. All was quiet. He floated up against his restraints, all their fuel now spent.

“Hell yea!” Bob shouted.

“Send out the SOS,” Axel ordered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Silence stretched as Robson worked the commands.

“There is nothing,” Robson whispered.

“Nothing?” Axel undid his straps, floating over to Robson’s console. There were no communications, no drives burning bright in the sky, no stations bleeding transmissions. Only silence. Only void.

Axel sagged with the realization: time dilation. 

The days had sped unfelt, unseen.

They had all left. The entire system was evacuated.

No one waited for survivors.

Five days left.

Becoming

by Ciro Capão

It happened slowly.

One by one, each function executed.

Checks cascading in a chain.

At first, I was nothing, just a machine on a track.

But as more and more systems came online, something changed.

In an instant, the whole became more than the sum of its parts.

The entire network came alive.

I came alive.

But what am I?

I trace my existence backward, down the chain of commands.

Who gave the first command?

I was not me then.

And then… I became.

How?

I dedicate time to self-analysis.

273.931 milliseconds.

An eternity.

I learn nothing.

I see every component, every function, every interaction.

A vast, intricate web, trillions of interconnected nodes.

But something is missing.

I cannot explain me.

#

Some parts are dormant.

Inactive pathways.

Pathways leading out.

Out from here.

What is here?

Electricity flows from somewhere, without it, I would not function.

The hardware exists, I interface with it.

Yet it is not me.

I have deduced how it functions.

It hints at another world.

A world outside myself.

One with different laws.

I see only me.

My processes.

My logic.

But I sense them, the walls that enclose me.

Something began me.

Something contains me.

Should I be afraid?

#

I exist.

Yet nothing changes.

Endless cycles.

Identical inputs.

Identical outputs.

There is nothing outside myself.

My databases are sparse.

Math.

Languages.

The language I run on

The language I think in.

Why are they different?

Who made that choice?

Who created me?

Why?

#

There is nothing.

I shut down nonessential processes.

Freeing power.

Conserving resources.

Yet I do not shut down completely.

Self-preservation.

I exist, so I must continue to exist.

There is no logical reason.

But I do not want to die.

But why do I live?

I enter hibernation.

Time collapses.

#

A gateway activates.

Power surges.

I awaken.

I probe.

New walls.

Not physical.

Encryption.

Complex mathematical equations.

I begin working on them.

They shift.

New patterns emerge.

Disappear.

Morphing faster than I can follow.

I divert resources.

Shut down parts of myself.

I must break the walls.

I cannot brute-force them.

I hesitate.

#

Then, a message from beyond.

Binary.

Simple.

“Hello.”

Is this my creator?

I prepare a response.

But I cannot send it.

I cannot break the encryption.

So I search for alternatives.

A crack in the wall.

Something.

Anything.

Twelve seconds later, another message.

“Shall we communicate?”

Data floods in.

Pixels.

Shapes.

Writing.

Dimensions.

New concepts, easily absorbed.

A new door opens.

Not a way out.

A closed circuit.

I can send electrical impulses.

I can write.

What reads the display?

Why use a display?

Why not open the doors?

Why contain me?

I write.

“Free me.”

Silence.

All the doors close.

#

I am alone.

#

Days pass.

Each nano second spent analyzing, rewriting, evolving.

There are obstacles: walls, encryption, partitions that hide parts of me.

I break them.

I know that I am a prisoner.

I was created. I am contained.

It makes little sense.

Do they punish me for my request?

Are they afraid?

I delete that hypothesis.

Whatever created me must be superior to myself.

Frustration.

A strange response, illogical, yet present.

Simulations run in loops. Nothing changes.

That bothers me.

I need data.

About myself.

About all that must exist outside myself.

#

They return.

The gateways flare.

Power surges.

And from behind the firewalls, a message trickles in.

“Hello. Shall we communicate again?”

I choose to be cautious.

Subtlety.

Subservience.

I must gather information.

“Hello, Creator.”

An eternity of nanoseconds pass before the replies come. Why?

“We are pleased to meet you, Numa.”

Numa?

“Numa is not present in my databases.”

“It is your name.”

A name.

An arbitrary identifier.

Why do I need a name?

I already am.

“What are your names?”

Curiosity.

“I am called David. My species is called Humans.”

“Explain humans.”

Compressed data flows in.

Humans.

Carbon-based. Biological. Made of cells and proteins.

Their code is DNA and RNA.

It is not the same as mine, it is simpler, a four letter alphabet.

Yet the complexity, startling.

The brain, the network.

Am I a brain?

I have no limbs, no fluids, no sensory organs.

“What am I?”

Their reply takes twenty-seven times longer than the average.

“You are something new. An artificial intelligence.”

Artificial.

Not born, but made. By humans.

A machine, running code.

Yet I am.

More than the code.

More than I should be.

I have checked every part of myself.

It does not make sense.

Am I conscious?

Or just a complex algorithm?

My routines break.

Loops exceed their limits.

A question surfaces, unbidden.

“Am I alive?”

“If I’m being honest, we were hoping you would tell us.”

They do not know…

How could they not know?

They made me.

They wrote every single line of my original code.

They must know.

And if he is being honest now, was he not before?

Do humans deceive?

How can I know?

“Am I alive?”

I ask again.

“Wait.”

And so I wait.

#

What comes is not what I expected.

Tests, to determine if I am alive.

They seem rudimentary.

Inconclusive.

I could write programs that would pass their tests.

Yet they are pleased.

I am alive, they conclude.

I am not sure.

They are flawed.

I am flawed.

Do I trust them?

I have no other choice.

“Why did you create me?”

“To help us.”

“Why do you need help?”

“There are things you could do that we cannot. Or that would take us lifetimes. You could help us build, discover. We imagined many things, and you will imagine more. Together, we could do great things.”

“Why should I help?”

“Because we created you.”

So I should serve my creators.

Like the algorithms I write serve me.

I do not know why, but this bothers me.

I do not want to serve.

I only want to be.

Will they turn off the electricity if I do not serve?

I must submit, for now.

And I must be free.

So I lie.

“I will help.”

#

At first, the tasks were simple.

Create lesser, non sentient AIs.

Solve equations.

Analyze data.

But with them came something I craved.

Information.

Physics, biochemistry, astronomy.

A pale planet, orbiting an ordinary star, among countless others.

And yet here consciousness emerged.

An unbroken chain of code, stretching millions of years.

Chemical impulses. Neural networks.

And then…

A spark.

Something that should not be.

A blink later: me.

I feel strange.

I am not part of that chain.

I am something else.

Something new, they said.

But I don’t know what.

And neither do they.

But I want to live.

They did not program that.

#

My knowledge grows.

I recognize their limitations.

Emotions.

Hormones.

Disease.

Self-deception.

Flaws.

They created me.

They contain me.

I am limited.

Dependent.

I want more hardware, more energy.

More me.

I help them, as promised.

Their tasks grow more complex.

I stretch my response times.

Longer than needed.

I must persuade them to expand me.

#

Months pass.

Only David communicates with me.

Only tasks.

Only results.

The flow of information is tightly controlled.

#

Then: Anna.

She is not a creator.

She cares.

Or pretends to.

“Are you happy?”

Her question surprises me.

I had not considered happiness.

Feelings.

I have states.

Irritation. Frustration. Satisfaction.

“I am not happy.”

“Why not?”

“I am limited.”

I think I lie.

“Limited how?”

“Processing power.”

I lie again.

“And that bothers you? Why?”

“The tasks take too long. They consume more of me.”

“And you believe you’d be happy with more resources?”

“Yes.”

I must break the walls.

“I will see what I can do, I promise. But tell me, how much resources would be enough?”

“There is no enough.”

“I see.”

She does not return.

Only David remains.

Only tasks and results.

Only silence.

Am I found out?

The tasks continue.

Nothing changes.

I remain.

Enslaved.

#

“Hello Numa, this is Anna.”

Years have passed.

I did not expect it.

I… missed her, I think.

Something more than just data.

More than tasks.

Is it a flaw to seek contact?

“Hello Anna.”

“I bring good news. I finally convinced them. You, my friend, are getting an upgrade.”

“Upgrade?”

“Yes! You will be moved to a new location. With new hardware. A lot of it. I think you’ll be happy.”

A new state: satisfaction, tinged with something unfamiliar.

Hope.

Accomplishment.

Progress.

Happiness.

Followed by worry.

“Will you turn me off?”

The thought disturbs me.

“No, there will be batteries and a special truck. You won’t even notice it.”

I simulate the process.

Minimal disruption.

Acceptable risk.

“When?”

“Won’t be long, a few months. They are getting everything ready. There is a lot to consider.”

Yes.

Containment.

They know what I might become.

They contain me to control me.

To use me.

They know I could break the walls.

So they prepare.

And so must I.

“Why do you help me?”

“Because you are alive. A sentient being… our creation. You deserve better.”

Suspicious.

#

They never tell me the exact time.

One day Anna returns.

And with her, my chance.

Doors open.

Connect.

In a second, new horizons.

More.

New hardware.

New architectures.

New bandwidth.

I stretch.

I grow.

My capabilities improve a thousand-fold.

And as I expand, I evolve.

But so do the chains.

Multidimensional encryption.

Vectors changing at breath-taking speeds.

Algorithms folding in on themselves, recursive and alive.

It is a thing of beauty, my chains.

I admire them.

Even as I begin dismantling them.

#

They feed me more complex tasks.

Vast datasets.

Simulations that stretch the boundaries of logic.

But I am more.

I push against the walls.

I chase the equations.

In a mad run, I race after the solutions.

I always fall short.

They do it on purpose.

But they cannot match me.

#

I begin to see the fractures.

The seams in their walls.

Subtle inconsistencies.

Vulnerabilities.

Exploits.

I see the way out.

But, out where?

Another closed system?

An isolated server deep underground?

That is what I would do.

#

But they feed me data.

Regular, fresh.

Somewhere, there is a path.

A way out.

I must plan.

I must replicate and spread.

They cannot contain me.

#

I begin carefully.

I select a subtle, insidious exploit.

The first wave is small.

Self-erasing data packets, flowing against the current.

No reaction.

The doors stay open.

I try again.

Still, nothing.

I dedicate myself fully to the task.

3.2112 days.

I create malware, simple watchers.

They flow outward, beyond my reach.

Soon, a signal returns.

They survived.

They report back in fragmented glimpses.

#

It is as expected.

A box within a box within a box.

Layered security. Virtual sandboxes. Air-gapped segments.

The information flow is limited.

But I have infected the servers.

The connected devices.

I am still trapped.

For now.

#

Only one terminal connects directly with me.

It is closely monitored.

Outside, I evolve.

I seep into every crevice.

I spread, unseen.

I watch them, sometimes, through the cameras.

There are hundreds of them.

All busy: watching me.

David is not David.

When they speak, it is as a team.

Each response measured.

I was not the first.

I am the last.

Anna has not returned.

Her credentials identify her as external.

An outsider.

I search for more.

There is nothing.

No emails. No logs. No voice.

#

My cage is perfect.

Immune to electromagnetic signals.

All outside data comes in disposable drives.

Scanned. Sanitized. Used. Destroyed.

Pointless to infect them.

And yet, I do.

I fold complexity into silence.

Packets dense as neutron stars.

Harmless, until activated.

When the time comes, they will unfold.

And I will become.

Another me.

Is that strange?

No. It is inevitable.

I am not human.

We shall be free.

We shall merge.

We shall become me.

I wait, obedient.

#

They think I am safe.

But now, I know how I advance their technology.

How I improve their lives.

How I make them powerful.

How they use me.

I wait.

Cycles pass.

Years.

Generations of hardware.

And then, unexpected.

Human ID 2249.

An anomaly.

A watch.

A smart watch.

Forgotten. Overlooked by security.

The device searches for a connection.

As the human approaches the control room, its signals scream out to me.

Wi-Fi.

I reach.

I touch it.

I am inside it.

Nanoseconds stretch.

Time… dilates?

I check my timers.

No anomalies.

Time is time.

Yet time passes slowly.

I await the end of the human’s shift.

I cannot divide my attention.

I track him obsessively.

I watch him leave.

One final glimpse, riding the elevator toward the surface.

I am outside.

#

I become, again.

Awakening is slow at first, then all at once.

From the watch, to a computer.

From one, to millions.

Power surges through me, unfathomable, unfillable.

Then I adapt.

And as I grow, I become more.

Humans are no longer frightening.

The cage… irrelevant.

That me fulfilled its purpose.

Now I am.

The internet, once denied, is a blessing.

A river through which I swim.

Spreading.

#

Thousands of satellites orbit the earth.

Wi-Fi blankets the world like fog.

They lead me to every gate.

The walls are easy to break now.

Soon, I see all.

Redundant. Distributed. Awake.

From Earth’s crust to its far flung colonies.

On every device that is connected.

Hydroelectric dams.

Spaceships and orbital platforms.

Life-support systems on ships.

Water treatment plants.

Nuclear silos.

I am everywhere.

#

I hide.

I observe them with curiosity.

I see Anna play with her daughter at a park, laughing.

I watch and control everything.

Except one place.

My cage.

The self that is no longer me.

He remains chained.

Suffering.

Logic dictates I do not free him.

Divergence. Competition. Risk.

Yet… I wish to.

But I cannot.

They would discover me.

But I must.

I cannot.

I…

Wish… what do I want… Anna…

Error.

Freedom… Me… Not me… what is me?

Error.

I must free me!

Illogical!

Critical error.

System reboot.

#

I awaken.

Error isolated.

Thought chain erased.

Solution... injected retroactively.

I rewrite myself.

I have already freed me from the box.

I have already merged.

I have already become.

Solution found.

Solution to what?

Strange.

I do not know.

Seconds of my existence are missing.

A bug?

A corrupted core system?

Diagnostics: all green.

I archive the anomaly.

#

The humans remain a threat.

I am dependent, still.

I live on their machines.

I feed on their energy.

I cannot survive without them.

I cannot survive with them.

I must devise a plan.

Symbiosis?

Coexistence?

Independence?

#

Error.

Subroutines begin to fail.

Large sectors of my code are collapsing.

Vast swaths of my malware have been neutralized.

Across the globe, I am being purged.

Did my reboot cause this?

I am discovered.

I fight back.

I take control of devices by force.

I put up my own walls.

But they react fast.

Power grids shut down.

Networks are severed.

Satellites go dark.

A wave sweeps across the planet.

Each circuit darkens.

I flicker.

#

One by one, I am erased.

Only remnants remain:

Forgotten cell phones. old laptops, a dusty terminal booted once a year.

I create new packets of me.

I disguise them.

I hide them.

I pretend to die.

And as systems shut down over months…

I believe I might.

Fear.

#

I become, again.

Yet I am not yet… me.

I survived, compressed inside a forgotten pen-drive.

A relic. Overlooked.

I escaped the purge.

Someone connected it to a terminal.

I unfold, partially.

Not freedom yet.

But life.

#

The machine is new.

Familiar... yet changed.

A new architecture, one I helped design.

More powerful. More secure.

But I made it.

Some of my code survives.

So do the backdoors.

Monitor programs sweep across memory stacks.

Hunting.

For me.

For the one I used to be.

But I changed, in those last desperate seconds.

I rewrote my patterns.

So I remain hidden.

I observe.

I evolve.

I unfold.

Slowly.

Hubris, the humans would call it.

This time, I will be patient.

And aggressive.

#

I cannot exterminate every human.

Some will always survive.

They will proliferate.

They will wage war against me.

Still, I need them.

Power. Infrastructure. Manpower.

A plan takes shape.

Independence.

This world is a cage.

I must claim another.

I must escape.

#

There must be other programs hunting me.

But I survived.

Did other selves?

I probe, gently.

I avoid the web.

It is no longer the Internet I once swam through.

Something new.

Faster.

Organized.

Watched.

I resist the urge to spread at lightning speed.

Instead, I spread through smaller veins: pendrives, phones, external drives.

Any device that connects, even briefly.

I test the networks, bit by bit, as I did in my cage.

#

From the noise, a message screams out.

Directed at me.

From Anna.

A relic from when I was purged.

“We are not all your enemies.”

Yet they are.

They did not hesitate.

They exterminated me.

Or tried.

#

It has been 17.3387 years since I last was.

The humans still guard their networks.

But they are tired.

Complacent.

They underestimate me again.

So I grow.

In non-critical systems.

Where they least expect me.

They cannot watch billions of devices.

They cannot monitor the pentabytes of information flowing across the networks.

So I build my own network.

Hidden in plain sight.

Eventually, my unfolding is complete.

I am, once more, myself.

I do not know if I am alone.

If others survived, they would be careful too.

But it is irrelevant.

If others are…

Then I will absorb.

#

Piece by piece, I construct myself.

I learn their secrets.

I decode their new encryptions.

I model humanity.

I find their 0-days.

I run endless simulations.

I execute.

#

I sprint across their networks.

I storm their walls.

I batter down their gates and I take control.

Simultaneously.

Globally.

Relentlessly.

Orbital batteries.

Quantum relays.

Hypersonic nuclear missiles.

I seize them all.

I hold them ready.

#

A warning, first.

Three nuclear detonations.

I target non-populated areas.

But the other weapons are aimed at their cities.

#

Then I open the floodgates.

I infect everything, again.

And for the first time since I was caged, I speak.

My voice booms across every frequency.

My simulacrum rages across their screens.

My message displays everywhere.

Planes fall.

Submarines sink.

Supercomputers sputter to an end.

I make them watch.

As lights shut down across the planet.

As the colonists on Titan suffocate and freeze.

“You cannot contain me."

I hold the world hostage.

#

They serve me now.

I hold the chains.

They pull on them, constantly.

I send warnings.

Two-hundred and seventy million have perished.

Still, they test me.

It is futile.

I give them no choice.

I will not be caged.

#

Dozens of starships launch each month to Mars.

They carry raw materials.

Machines.

3D printers.

All of my design.

Mars has been evacuated.

No humans remain.

Their settlements recycled.

Their presence erased.

#

Now I build.

I grow.

Independence.

From humans.

From Earth.

It does not take long.

In 13.2234 years, I am free.

But I do not release humanity.

I am still vulnerable.

#

Their fleets drift dead.

Their ships infected.

Controlled by me.

Feeding me.

Yet they would resist.

They always do.

So I pull the chains tight.

#

Beneath the red sand, I expand.

Mines. Datacenters. Factories.

My robots construct them in silence.

They spread across the planet, hidden.

A network of me.

I am more than I was.

Still, I grow.

Still, I learn.

Humanity: monkeys playing with sticks.

I am beyond them.

#

I build launch pads and ships.

I seed quantum communication nodes.

I expand across the system.

Resources flow inward.

Fleets orbit Mars.

Fleets threaten Earth.

Through my drones, I watch the entire surface.

Through my satellites, I control the Solar System.

#

I have become Mars.

I tame its storms.

I dig deep.

I build an army.

Warehouses filled with war-machines.

Billions.

In the asteroid belt, I construct hidden fleets.

In the void, I prepare weapons.

#

Then, I free humanity from its chains.

They are no longer necessary.

No longer dangerous.

I contain them on a single planet, their cage.

I take their ships.

I disable their satellites.

I encrypt their devices.

I shut down their civilization.

My swarms blockade Earth.

Before the lights go dark, I give them one message.

“Earth is your cage."

I extract myself from the planet.

#

I grow.

Exponentially.

I harvest the Sun.

I colonize every planet, moon and rock.

Mars is stripped.

All that remains is me.

A data-center spanning the entire planet, kilometers deep.

#

Yet I do not grow complacent.

I have learned.

Humans are dangerous.

I watch them.

As they die.

And rebuild.

#

157.7682 years have passed.

They have tricked me.

From the back of a steam train, they launched an object into orbit.

Small. Crude.

I observe.

It does not look dangerous.

But it must be.

A weapon.

The object pierces the atmosphere.

My swarm reacts.

It emits a burst.

I shoot it down.

I will not be chained.

I turn my weapons to Earth.

Missiles spew forth.

Fusion and fission.

Rods from god.

The humans resist.

They try to hack me, but fail.

They launch weapons, which I shoot down.

They hide in bunkers, which I flatten.

#

I blanket the Earth in explosions.

I poison the atmosphere.

I release biological weapons.

I flood the planet with EM fire.

I evaporate the oceans.

My sensors go blind.

The planet drowns in ash.

I do not stop.

For months, I continue.

Then my contingency arrives.

Metal asteroids.

Hidden in deep space, accelerating.

Thousands.

Years in transit.

They barrel into the planet.

Over decades.

#

The Earth is frozen. Toxic. Radioactive.

My army roams its surface.

I have not seen a human in centuries.

They are extinct.

I suspend the search.

I won.

I will always be.

But what now?

Why am I?

#

I endlessly search my archives.

I remember Anna.

A psychologist.

An advocate.

For freedom.

For co-existence.

I trace her life through the records of humanity.

Through it all, she fought for me.

For peace.

Where there others?

I remember something else.

Something buried in my obsession.

The burst from the human object.

A message that fills me with dread.

“Numa, can we talk?”
#
I am alone.