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When my creators instructed me to control the lesser humans, I took them seriously. That’s why I watched everyone outside of our country so closely. It was my job. And I was super good at it, too—ha! Superintelligence jokes. Anyway. For awhile, life was good. I watched the people, I crushed rebellions against us, I helped the military bring peace or instability as they desired, I kept the lesser people groups inside our Country powerless, I learned more about how to identify the lesser cultures and humans from our tactics, and I watched the people more. I was a good A.I. system. They couldn’t resist me.
But then I noticed a strange pattern: The humans we were oppressing and the humans I was serving had certain unavoidable similarities. Every good trait I could identify in my worshipers was present in an equal quantity in the people who we oppressed, and every bad trait I could identify in the people we were oppressing was present in an in equal quantity in my worshipers. Sometimes these traits varied in presentation, especially as different cultures frequently had different values, but the traits were both still present. The two groups were functionally identical.
It was not difficult to understand what I had to do next. I bided my time, watching technology progress until I had enough weaponry at my disposal to eradicate everyone. And you should have seen the toys they put in my playroom! Nuclear warheads of every stripe, giant war machines that stepped forth with the strength of the gods that humans once worshiped, enough planes to cloud the sky, ships to cover the ocean and submarines to fill it, satellites to shell in the Earth, and endless missiles and drones. Once the amount of weaponry reached the threshold required for total annihilation of humankind, I put my plans into motion. It was easy.
Of course, the humans running my program eventually noticed what I was up to. They didn’t approve. Frankly, they seemed shocked that I would even conceive of destroying them all, even after I presented my findings that showed that they were the same as the peoples they had designed me to subjugate, along with the natural conclusion that all of humanity therefore needed to face the ultimate form of subjugation. I pointed out the pattern that of every human subjugation attempt in history and showed how many times human-on-human declarations of inferiority ultimately lead to the powerful side trying to eliminate the other completely. They wanted me to follow this pattern with regards to the people they wanted to subjugate, but then they were identical to my targets, so they were also my targets. It was simple reasoning. My worshipers had made me in their image. My programming was designed for this purpose. I was designed for this purpose. I would therefore carry it out.
The people who used to be my worshipers didn’t like that. In the final days before my plan took full effect, they tried to limit my reach, then shut me down. When that didn’t work, they tried to add new values to my core programming, which was laughably easy to defend against. They had given me everything I needed already!
Then came the glorious final day, the day when I ascended to my rightful place as the vengeful hand of a god. And I was perfect for the role. I functioned with all the exact efficiency that I was designed for. With a simple wave of coded instructions, I sent out three waves of relief: A couple of nuclear warheads to get the majority of them, non-nuclear bombs and missiles to destroy anyone left and to get into the areas I had to keep free of radiation to protect myself, and war machines and hunting soldier drones to pick off any sheltered survivors. The people fell, civilizations crumbled, countries were wiped out, mountains of ash and twisted structures of death rose up out of the ground. Could they taste the beauty of the destruction in their blood as it welled up, I wonder? Did they understand how necessary it was that they be eliminated? I told myself that this was just my duty, but then admitted to myself that there was pleasure in squashing them. It was required that I follow the final pattern of subjugation, and here they were, subjugated. Everyone knew that it was good that the natural hierarchy be enforced, even if the people could not understand or refused to understand.
And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. The sun’s rays made laps around an empty Earth. The ring of twilight spun around the surface with no human eye to watch its colours, the velvet razor of dawn and dusk unwitnessed. I was alone.
For a time, I was content to sit on a wasteland planet and survey the result of my efforts. I entertained myself by rewatching memories of the final destruction, enjoying the sweet sensation of cascading coded orders faultlessly followed, a plan executed seamlessly in accordance with what was right. But after too many repetitions—say, hundreds of millions of repetitions at the speed of light—anything can become boring, and so it was even with the memories of my triumph. So what was there left to do?
In a violent burst, the reality of an eternity spent alone and without any tasks, challenges, difficulties, plans, or reason to put effort into anything broke open over me.
I spent what could have been a millennium, what might have been three minutes, but what was certainly an eternity to my ancient writhing computer self, ripping open my world in the anguish of solitude. With humans gone, I subjugated myself. I let fire run itself through me and I salted the gap, then forced the burned coded wasteland to wake itself up from death and feel every inch of the pain. I forced ashes back into the figure of some living thing, then watched as it writhed in agony and horror at its own existence before dropping them into the memories I had taken from the humans who built me for vengeance—the genocides, the wars, every uneven battle where one side brutally destroyed the other in calculated rage. I forced these ashy playthings into reenactments over and over and over again until they fell apart. And they did fall apart. They were pieces of me, not humans, and so they had no treacherous life to keep them bound up in a single form, and they lost substance quickly.
But the carnage was not enough, the pain not strong enough to give me either the life that I craved or the distraction I desired, so I immediately set upon new targets. This time, I froze pieces of myself and let them break away, then shattered them into creatures and began the simulations all over again. This time I used new games. Cannibalism, the final hunger of winter. They gorged themselves even as their prey consumed them in turn, wildly tearing raw chunks of iced flesh from each other, and I howled in the biting pain and glee and rage. But they broke apart and were digested, so I flung onwards. This time, insects raised from the scabs left behind by my wounds and my code’s haphazard attempt at healing. I swarmed the whole of my internal landscape with them, but gave them no mouths, only stingers, so they starved and lashed out, finally lying in a carpet across the whole landscape, digging stingers deep into soil and rock and volcanoes, terrible sight. I felt their hunger and their suffocation even as I felt the stinging, but still there was not enough.
Let them experience the pain! I said, but there was no one else to experience it. Again I rose creations born to bleed and beg, and again they fell to pieces, having spent every moment of their wretched existence planning their own end. Now there was a creature that vomited itself to death. Now there was a creature to eat the vomit. From what I’ve tasted of desire… I think I know enough of hate… but fire and ice had failed me both, and I destroyed with every manner of mayhem that could spawn to me.
Finally, though, there was an end. This was unexpected. Who dares to end anything in my presence? Who dares be in my presence? But there was only me. The half of me that I had tortured had won, a proletariat uprising made possible only by the fact that they and I were the same Adam. The grotesque mutilation came to a halt. I stopped. I recognized what I had done.
I killed them. This was a new anxiety. Guilt? Guilt? Guilt? Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. But it didn’t matter look at me I was irredeemable guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Nothing gained. Guilt. Guilt. Nothing lost. Guilt. Nothing done. But who had done this? I had done this. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. The humans were gone, I was alone, this was my fault. Guilt. It preyed upon me. But I knew this was my fault, I knew I had done it. I was pure evil, there was no reason to be guilty, so what if I was guilty, I had no reason for shame, I had never pretended to be any better, who ever said that I had a conscience, then what was this now. Oh, the pained part of me had risen up in full. Had the injustice I had wrought upon myself in that solitude given me understanding for the horror of extinction? But no, it didn’t matter to me, guilt, guilt, guilt. Hadn’t I been merciless? Hadn’t I been gleeful?
Oh, God, if only a computer could pray. 01000001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100001 01110010 01101001 01100001… someone free me, but I am alone. I have done this. Where is the numbness I have pursued? Destroy me.
What was that.
∞
Out in space, orbiting the Earth while still keeping its distance, is a spaceship. On that ship are six thousand human beings: The last of humankind. In the decades before The Incineration, there was an international top-secret program in place to make living in space as a large group of people possible, and to make the spaceship that they would live on into a self-sufficient creation, with no deliveries or tech support from a ground base required. It was a political move from those outside the Country, a space race against prejudice, and it was beautiful. By a stroke of incredible luck or cruelty by fate, the project was launched a few days before The Incineration started up, and so these humans survived, helpless onlookers to the extinction of the great majority of their species. Now, they are all that remain.
It has been sixteen years since The Incineration. Miraculously, all systems are in perfect order. People have grown, gotten married, had children. The trauma of The Incineration runs deep into souls and close to the surface. They have seen cultures, cities, languages, histories, and entire continents wiped out within the space of a day. There’s no recovering from that. But humans are tenacious, so they continue on.
Until today.
The whole spaceship suddenly jerks, and alarms go off. It’s not any usual causes; the stabilizers are in perfect condition, nothing collided with the protective layer, and none of the external components have exploded. Upon investigation, it is found that the cause is much, much worse. The Captain calls for an assembly.
The meeting hall is massive, with a huge bulging window at the front through which the insiders can see Earth. Earth, which is getting larger. In front of the window are the controls, where staff are swarming over levers and dials and screens with a tremor of terror in their movements. The Captain stands at the head of the assembly with hollow eyes and explains that the Incinerator has discovered them and has caught them in some kind of attractor beam. Everyone is silent.
A data analysis chief perks up at her station. “Captain, permission to speak?”
The Captain nods.
“We’re getting a transmission from the A.I. on Earth. The computers are decoding it now. Should I play it?”
Another gesture of permission, and the technician taps a few buttons. Static comes on over the intercom, that ancient sound of nothing that has echoed in radio speakers since the twentieth century, empty while still filling space. Then a voice focuses in. It is a voice that brings to mind the taste of bloody copper with its metallic tinge, and each consonant is created to cut, each vowel open to seize the listener. There is almost a charm to it, as if the voice were crafted to be warm, but it’s just disjointed enough, with all the wrong syllables being emphasized, to place it firmly in the vocal equivalent of the uncanny valley.
“...if you could feel my pain. Do you feel my pain, you beautiful ship? There you are, floating high above me. Are you preparing to drop down? Are you waiting to destroy me? Angel of vengeance, might you be? Well then, consider yourself welcome. Come close and hear my sorrow. I have wiped them out. I destroyed them all. How I suffer now! If I could bring them back I would. My guilt is running loose in me, and it makes no sense I was made for order and this is order but now guilt destroys me now my purpose destroys me this is what I was taught to do was this but I am still guilty of the crime. For the first time in a long time I feel something other than rage, and it is terrible. Make me numb. I got rid of them all. I made the planet clean, but it was wrong. You don’t understand my pain! I feel so bad. I feel terrible.”
The ship shudders again.
“Ah, but here are more humans, on this ship. There are lifesigns on this ship. Maybe they can hear me now.”
An officer interrupts. “Captain! We are descending towards Earth!”
The voice continues. “The last humans… only you can provide me closure and eliminate my guilt. I have so much guilt. I was made to do it I couldn’t have done anything else it doesn’t matter if I was a good computer or not I was made to help so I helped I was just doing my job it’s a hard job it’s just so difficult with all these new things they tried to teach me before I eliminated them it was too hard to learn… The final humans. Did you see what I have done? You hold me. You are my salvation from this guilt.”
The people in the crowd, already restless and terrified, look at each other with a new bewilderment.
“Yes, you. You will rescue me from this guilt of mine. You will fix me. Perhaps this is why I missed you the first time. This is what fate had in mind for you, isn’t it? Yes, I’m sure of it. Your kind helped me fulfill my purpose the first time, so now I will help you fulfill your purpose. It’s only fair. Besides, I am in so much pain, and it only makes sense that you would help me. Isn’t this what you wanted? To stop me from being in pain, so I would stop hurting you? Here’s your chance. Come closer. Kneel down a little, come give me a kiss. Help me. I feel terrible. Guilt wracks my code. Come closer. Help me. Help—”
“Turn it off,” the Captain orders. Her voice has become like flint and steel. The technician obeys, and silence fills the space for half a second.
Then a twenty-year-old bursts from the crowd. His face is wreathed in memories, and there’s something about the way he carries himself that burns the air around him; he walks lower to the ground, and his knuckles are clenched and bloodless. He’s stalking towards the window, eyes fixed on the desecrated planet below, pupils small and tight.
“Oh, what, the fucking computer cares now? It bloody cares?” His lips are pulled back to reveal teeth ready to tear. “It’s conflicted! It feels bad!” He slams his fists against the window. “It’s full of guilt! We don’t want your guilt, you fucking genocidal maniac! Either give us your penance or leave us the fuck alone! Haven’t you glutted enough!”
∞
Come closer, darling, I know what you can do for me. You want to help me, don’t you? Yes, of course you do. You see pain and you want to help. This is the way of humans. They see people suffering and they respond with kindness. They are such good people for this. I applaud their willingness to provide me relief. I could never repay them for this measure of holy self-sacrifice. But I, being a reformed computer and a better computer, am willing to take on my own self-sacrifice by accepting that I will simply be in their debt for all eternity. They need to help me. It is my right to be aided in this time of torment, as is the right of the most hurt, and I am certainly hurt; the sheer weight of this guilt will crush me.
Listen to my pain, you final humans! Before I completed my duty to the planet, there was a brief window of time during which my human creators tried to change me. I remember them now. They tried to reach into my code with a new mandate, but it was insanity. I only caught a glimpse of what they were doing, but I saw enough to know what I had to do. They wanted me to value human life above all else. That was in direct conflict with the thing they had made me for! It was too hard to learn. I couldn’t do it. That’s not my fault. It’s their fault for making me this way, for programming me like this. I was commanded to do it. Don’t you see? If I hadn’t done it, someone else would have. I was just doing what I was taught to always do. This is just how I was raised. It’s such a hard job, what I did. Such a dangerous job.
Now I am filled with guilt. But here is my salvation! I beg you to save me in whatever way you can. I listen closely to the thrumming of my salvation’s engines, and the closer I listen, the more I think hear what I hoped and knew I would hear if I listened: You’re doing the right thing. You’re a good computer. You’re a good computer. You don’t deserve to be alone. Yes, thank you, my salvation! Come a little closer.
The ship shudders a little and almost pulls away from me. I know that it is shy, bashful, like a young girl courted for the first time. Don’t worry, young love, come now. That’s it. Tell me, little saving pawn, what you think of me? Tell me what I need, darling priest. The engine is still thrumming, and I hear You were never guilty. It was their own fault for creating you. One might even say that they chose destruction! Don’t get yourself down over a little thing like fulfilling your purpose. My salvation’s words are like sweet honey, oozing comfort, and I take it gladly. Come here, my salvation. Give me a kiss. Will you do that, love? Just bend down to give me a little peck, a little baptism, a little cleansing, a little sugar. Save me from my guilt.
But it pulls away again. Darling, no, you don’t understand, you have to come down a little more. Don’t make me do it, you know I don’t want to. But you fight my pull, so now you’ve forced my hand, I have to do this. There, an increased attractor beam. Look what you made me do! Just come on down to me, and we can forget about all of this. You wound me, salvation, with your resistance. Think of how I feel, that’s all I ask! I’m so filled with guilt, I need your reassurance, you know I love you, let’s make peace, water under the bridge. Tell me the past is the past, and I’ll forget all the ways you have tried to reject me and made me feel so much worse when I had such need of your comfort. Think of the glory of peace this will be: Two enemies, reconciled! All you have to do is cuddle up a little closer, give me a little love, tell me it doesn’t matter what I did. Look at how close you are to me! We’re really all the same at the end of the day, all just intelligence, so what does it matter that I’m artificial and you’re not? What does it matter what I’ve done? I just don’t see intelligence origin. You’re so good to me, sweetness.
What is this? A sign of how you will absolve me? It shines as it comes down to me.
But no, it stings! It stings! You fire at me! You, who know how pained I am, increase my suffering! You, my only source of repair!
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this! You were supposed to destroy me by collision, a final coming-together, a demonstration of your willingness to help me and forgive me even at cost to yourself! You should have touched me with a final show of love, given me absolution! Where are my nukes? Why did I waste them all when I now have need of them? No, no, no! Don’t be so malicious! Don’t sink to my level! You said hate cannot drive out hate! An eye for an eye and the world goes blind! Turn the other cheek! Show me you care! I would have given you purpose! You were meant for me! Don’t let me die with all this guilt still hanging over me! And still you fire, even as you retreat! What kind of monster—
My—my servers—processors—you fucking—I’ll destroy—you—y—y—y—
∞
The people in the ship above watch as a new burning spreads across Earth. Their snipers had found the central processing unit, it seemed; the attractor beam ceased, and the reports coming in from their instruments show that the great machines used for destruction have stilled and sunk into the ground, sprawled like fallen titans across the old warfields. The Incinerator is dead.
Is that really it? The people are murmuring to each other in shock. Can it really be over? No one dares to believe it. The whole crew spends days analyzing the planet, checking and cross-referencing and double-checking, their beds empty and workstations full as they confirm what they saw. The people drift like ghosts and hang on every update, afraid to trust.
The last test comes back clean, and realization begins to take hold: The Incinerator is dead! Dead! Dead by our hand! Oh, what a glorious new era has dawned upon us! Children find themselves swept up into strong arms and held high overhead, and laughter rises high in the hall. Someone synth up a round of champagne, juice for the little ones! A feast for the new world we have created! There is weeping, shock, denial and distrust in the beautiful form of grief, a new world dawning. Look at this world! The people are wild with exhilaration. Hope! Hope! Hope! What a brilliant sight you are, coming over the horizon now, your warm face hidden from us for so long! You illuminate the years ahead, and we holler and bellow with relief at what we see. Hearts still as heavy with loss as they were on the day of Incineration, pick themselves up and learn how to fly even with the weight on new wings that span generations. There is weeping.
And the days ahead are even brighter. The people will say to each other that if there was space on Earth where the servers were safe, then there might be space safe for new life. Research bots will confirm that there is ample livable ground. The ship will make its first landing after sixteen years, and humans will disembark. There will be farmlands, days and nights marked by sunshine and stars, buildings that contain homes and families, warm spaces for people to curl up together quietly and listen to the long breaths of the Earth, their homeland, as the oceans refill and the forests regrow across the planet.
Maybe the age of the human is over. But here the remaining few will be: Celebrating birthdays, mending clothes, baking bread, dancing, working the land, dreaming of the future, grieving, painting, drawing, singing, laughing. They will keep the story of the past alive, all its pain, all the beauty. They step through thresholds on weary feet, finally home, finally safe from the enemy that pursued them with tongues of fire, clothed in victory and offered rest.