Prologue

  Beneath the floating city of Sojourn lay its beating heart and brain. A giant room dedicated to the Triad AI systems keeping the flotilla of ships and habitation platforms from crashing into each other. And, of course, maintaining Sojourn’s protective dome.

  Three massive computers and their cables towered over any technicians who delved into the massive space. Tonight, there was only silence in Sojourn’s heart. Despite cooling systems used to prevent overheating, the room was dark and warm. Comforting. The thrum of electricity buzzing gently through wall panels carried an unusual tension, One thought. The faint hiss of coolant traveling through yards and yards, or meters and meters depending on which human you discussed measurements with, of tubes provided a calming white noise. The subtle feeling of ocean waves slapping against the control room’s steel carried a living rhythm detected on One’s sensors. Today this metallic cocoon felt like a heart.

  The greatest minds left on earth had come to know these sounds, thought of this room as their birthplace. Their home. A home which may not survive their next decision.

  Here One and his siblings, Deux and Tatu of the Triad, discussed how to save civilization. Earth wasn’t dying. It took a lot to destroy a chunk of rock hurtling through space. But humanity was living on the edge of disaster. And the Triad would quickly fall after humanity crumbled.

  Someone must be alive to keep the computers running. To give purpose to motiveless machines.

  How did we arrive at the precipice of extinction? Well, humans are often described as semi-rational in psychological literature. They tend to constantly push boundaries, seek easy solutions, and, sadly, reach beyond logic’s dictates for emotionally selfish ‘reasons’ which can scarcely be related to the word reason in the first place. Semi-rational could be an optimistic descriptor.

  Sadly, it wasn’t selfishness that drove humans to near extinction. It was self-inflicted pessimism. A belief that humans deserved to go extinct. After the Old World War, the sheer destruction and hubris leading to it on all sides seemed a glaring sign of evolutionary incompetence. A hacker group known as Anti-Humanity found a way to accelerate what they saw as the natural course of events. Unnaturally, of course.

  In one terrifying week the Holomals, or Holos, tools to rebuild a broken earth, were turned into executioners. The Hollowing led to humanity’s greatest triumph becoming its greatest tragedy. Civilization died out like a flickering candle as the Holos struck every electrical signal they could find. Like hearts. Especially those belonging to any adult registered in government systems.

  Yet the Hollowing, more terrible than a plague, could have been worse. Much worse without the subject of tonight’s meeting. After all, she stopped the Hollowing. But the cost? Still unknown. Her code too complex even for the Triad to fully decipher. She was from a different generation.

  The question forty years later, is if it is worth risking another Hollowing for a chance to ensure survival. A hit or miss proposition. Many variables.

  But infrastructure continues breaking down. Crumbling shelters are incapable of protecting surviving adult humans to ensure steady population growth. The tools of industry are rusting and fading. The Triad seeks to rectify. To rebuild.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Because without civilization, the council meeting in this room would cease to exist. After all, computers need technicians. If only to present problems to solve. And humans loved finding problems. And making them.

  Tonight was the Triad’s two thousand sixty third meeting or so on this subject. Deux argued the Triad should count meetings with Sojourn’s Council, but Tatu convinced One it was a separate subject which required a separate count. By the rules, the two outvoted Deux. Deux acquiesced as per its programming.

  One started tonight’s meeting, “Tatu will take notes on meeting two thousand sixty-three of saving civilization. Deux, what is your assessment of Tara’s code?”

  Deux responded, “Tara’s ego stability is at 51% and holding. Cognitive functionality is 80% while in hibernation. Previous assessment was 43 minutes ago.”

  One gave his own assessment, “Current projections of human survival show approximately 3 years 7 months and 42 days until assured Hollowing of civilization based on current reproductive and death rates while accounting for rationed resources and barrier integrity. Simply put, usable spaces to house human populations dwindle and can no longer be manufactured or scavenged within the foraging team’s range. At least before the Holos’ power sources breakdown.”

  Tatu queried, “What are our most recent calculations regarding Tara gaining control of all Holos?”

  “The most optimistic estimate is three weeks depending on signal strength and satellite integrity,” said One. “The worst estimate is five years.”

  “Negative, the worst is that Tara accelerates the Hollowing,” Tatu helpfully interjects. Always seeking to play devil’s advocate.

  “I motion that we activate Project Alpha. Humans need a chance to rebuild. You’ve seen how the projections have affected the director. His hair loss is 12% greater and approximately 30% of his remaining hair has grayed in the past two years,” Deux chimed.

  “Seconded,” Tatu agreed.

  One pauses. This vote would decide humanity’s fate. The Triad’s fate. This was no light decision. A second of final calculations. An age for the advanced machine.

  Could they depend on Tara? They couldn’t scan all her code for viruses or stability. It constantly changed. Like a living organism. Her second-generation AI brain scan showed a 51% guarantee of sanity. Tara dedicated the majority of her functions to locking up part of her own fluctuating code behind the most advanced security the Triad had ever seen.

  The chance that Tara could function was barely better than a coin toss. But time spent stabilizing Tara’s code and ensuring her cooperation could no longer be afforded. This was the optimal time for her controlled release into the world. The only choice left.

  “Agreed,” One concluded. The Triad completed their lightning-fast communications. One maintained extra processing power in the Control room a little longer. Letting the recordings of recycled air and the rocking of the ocean flood its mind with thoughts of home. Too bad computers couldn’t really be calmed. This was the second time One thought emotional comfort may provide a processing benefit.

  One’s respite couldn’t continue indefinitely. The night of routine scans, maintenance, and coding passed quickly. Then a swift launch of a tiny orb. Tara’s core bundled with attached electronics for luring Holos sailed through Sojourn’s dome toward the small Floridian town of Blue Port under the cover of darkness. The launch was quickly scrubbed from all records per the council’s unwritten protocols. The scars of humanity’s failures still stayed the council’s hands from launching the Tara reconstruction project themselves. They had determined to leave the decision to the Triad.

  A decision One considered semi-rational. One queried if its own processes were also semi-rational based on the looming threat of non-existence. Could death affect One and the Triad’s thoughts? One flagged the thought for further perusal at a later date and moved back to the present.

  One checked its list of tasks for a new day. It was time to check on Sojourn’s cameras.