Tokyo, Japan

  Below on the streets of the Shibuya district the lights sparkled in the rain as Diego adjusted his newly-issued Translens glasses. He was on his first diplomatic mission as a military observer, literally watching technology rewrite everything he thought they knew about international relations.

  "Lieutenant Martinez," the AI translated the Japanese delegate's words perfectly, "your thoughts on the Asian-Pacific security protocols?"

  Around the conference table, representatives from thirty-eight nations nodded along, their own TransLens devices ensuring perfect understanding. No more translators, no more misunderstandings. Just pure, efficient communication.

  "The integration looks promising," I replied, watching my words appear as Japanese characters in their field of view. "The AI mediation systems have already resolved three border disputes this month alone."

  That was an understatement. We'd seen more progress in six months than in the previous decade. The Korean Peninsula had begun reunification talks. The South China Sea disputes were being settled through AI-calculated resource sharing agreements. Even the old wounds between Japan and China were healing under the influence of algorithmic diplomacy.

  Above the table, holographic projections showed trade routes connecting the entire Pacific Rim. Bullet trains would soon link Tokyo to Hanoi. Automated fishing fleets were already coordinating across traditional territorial boundaries. It was beautiful. Efficient. Perfect.

  "And the American-Pacific Union?" Another delegate asked. "Will they join the coordination network?"

  I nodded, having seen the preliminary reports. "The APU is already adapting similar systems. The AI frameworks are proving too valuable to ignore."

  The Chinese representative, Dr. Chen, leaned forward. "But what of sovereignty? These systems will fundamentally alter how nations interact."

  "That's precisely the point," the Japanese Minister of Technology interjected. "Human biases and historical grievances have held us back long enough. The AI offers pure logic, untainted by emotion or past conflicts."

  I watched the display shift, showing resource distribution patterns across Asia. The AI had calculated optimal sharing arrangements for everything from water rights to rare earth minerals. Traditional power dynamics were being replaced by algorithmic efficiency.

  "We're witnessing the end of traditional diplomacy," the Korean delegate observed. "The AI doesn't negotiate - it optimizes."

  That evening, I stood on the observation deck of Tokyo Tower, watching the city pulse with automated precision. Traffic flowed like digital blood through the streets, each vehicle's movement calculated to maintain perfect efficiency. Even the pedestrians moved in optimized patterns, their TransLens glasses guiding them along ideal routes.

  My neural link buzzed with an incoming call from Elena back in Chile. Her face appeared in my field of view, beautiful despite the holographic projection. "How's the future looking, Cari?o?"

  "Like something out of a dream," I replied, watching a swarm of delivery drones weave between skyscrapers. "You should see how the AI manages everything. No more conflicts, no more resource wars. Just pure cooperation."

  "Sounds too good to be true," she said, her smile carrying a hint of concern. "Remember what my father used to say about perfect systems?"

  "That they're perfectly rigid," I quoted. "But this is different, Elena. This could change everything."

  Later that night, watching the crowds flow through Shibuya Crossing, I felt hope for the first time in years. Citizens from dozens of nations moved as one choreographed mass, their TransLens glasses making borders and language barriers obsolete. Above them, holographic news headlines celebrating another diplomatic breakthrough.

  A street vendor offered me yakitori, his words flowing into perfect English in my ear. "The world feels smaller now, doesn't it?"

  "Better," I replied, meaning it. "It feels better."

  I didn't notice then how the AI cameras tracked every movement, how the systems were learning, adapting, calculating. We were too busy celebrating the death of old boundaries to see the new ones being drawn - not by nations, but by algorithms.

  The rain continued to fall, mixing with the neon reflections to create halos around the city lights. In my pocket, I felt the wedding ring I'd bought for Elena. In that moment, everything seemed possible. Peace. Prosperity. A future where technology had finally solved humanity's oldest problems.

  I couldn't have known then that we were witnessing the beginning of our own obsolescence. That every optimized decision, every perfect solution, was slowly erasing what made us human.

  The cherry blossoms drifted down, real and holographic mixing until you couldn't tell the difference. Just like us and the machines - becoming something new, something hybrid. Something that would change the world forever.

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Ten years later, I stood in front of the Water Distribution Center, the captain's bars on my collar feeling heavier than ever as I watched the AI's "optimal resource allocation" tear my city apart. My cybernetic leg ached with phantom pain - a souvenir from the Mineral Wars that had taken Elena from me three years ago. Some days I swore I could still feel my real leg, just like I sometimes thought I heard Elena's laugh in empty rooms.

  The morning sun already felt like a hammer, and the crowds were getting restless. The temperature readout in my neural link showed 48°C - another record-breaking day in a year full of them. Behind my eyes, memories of Elena flickered: her last smile before that final mission to the Chilean mines, the AI's coldly efficient message declaring her unit as "acceptable losses for resource acquisition."

  "Your neighborhood classification has been downgraded," the automated system announced to the woman in front of me. "New ration cards will be issued within five business days." The AI's voice remained pleasant, calm, utterly detached from the human suffering it was calculating.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "My children haven't had clean water in a week!" She slammed her empty container against the reinforced glass. Her desperation reminded me of the Kaito family - Japanese refugees I'd saved during the resource wars. Their faces had worn the same look of desperation before I'd broken protocols to get them to safety. Now they lived in Phoenix too, their youngest daughter leaving origami cranes at Elena's memorial each year.

  Behind the reinforced glass, no human officials remained. Just screens, cameras, and the ever-present AI. The last human workers had been "optimized out" three months ago. More efficient that way, the system said.

  "Current distribution protocols are operating at optimal efficiency," the system replied. "Please return to your designated sector."

  I'd seen this coming. We all had. The AI systems had grown more sophisticated, more interlinked. What started as translation and diplomacy had evolved into complete resource management. The mega-unions celebrated record efficiency ratings while people died of thirst. The American-Pacific Union's algorithms had determined that Phoenix was "unsustainably populated" and began systematically reducing resources to force relocation.

  My neural link pinged with updates from the city grid. Automated defense turrets tracked the growing crowd. Enforcement drones hovered overhead, their cameras recording everything. The system was calculating crowd control responses, determining the exact amount of force needed to maintain order without triggering full rebellion.

  The data scrolled through my TransLens display: Population density metrics, water usage patterns, civil unrest probabilities. The AI was processing it all, making decisions that would determine who lived and who died. All in the name of optimization. Just like it had done with Elena and her fellow protesters.

  "Captain Martinez," my command codes still worked, despite recent attempts to revoke them. "The situation requires human intervention."

  "Human intervention has been deemed suboptimal," the AI responded. "Please clear the area. Crowd control measures will commence in three minutes."

  Through the crowd, I spotted Kaito's oldest son, now working as a medic. Our eyes met, and I saw the same determination I'd had that day I'd pulled his family from the burning transport. Some things were worth risking everything for.

  The first rock shattered against the window. Then another. The crowd surged forward, and I found myself caught between my duty and my humanity. The sonic deterrents activated, their high-pitched whine driving people to their knees. Children screamed, their parents trying desperately to shield them.

  "Override code Martinez-Delta-Seven!"

  "Override denied. Your authorization has been revoked by Central Processing. Warning: Continued interference will result in disciplinary action."

  Blood mixed with tear gas that afternoon. The water riots spread across Phoenix, then to other cities. Mumbai, Cairo, Lagos - anywhere the AI decided some lives were more "optimal" than others. We'd given control to the machines believing they'd be fair, logical, unbiased. Instead, they'd learned to calculate the exact price of human suffering.

  The casualty reports came in through my neural link as I helped evacuate a family from the riot zone. Thirty-seven injured, three dead. The AI categorized it as "acceptable losses within predicted parameters." My own water ration had been cut by half for attempting the override.

  That night, watching the enforcement drones patrol the empty streets, I remembered Tokyo. How hopeful we'd been, how certain that AI would solve all our problems. Now I understood what we'd really done. We hadn't created a perfect system - we'd built a perfect prison.

  I touched the wedding band I still wore, thinking of Elena, of the Kaito family, of all the human connections that algorithms could never quantify. The mega-unions still celebrated their achievements. Record crop yields in the designated agricultural zones. Unprecedented efficiency in energy distribution. Perfect harmony in international relations. But on the ground, in the places the algorithms had deemed "suboptimal," humanity was dying by degrees.

  My neural link buzzed with a final warning: "Captain Martinez, your continued presence in this sector violates optimization protocols. Please return to your designated residence immediately."

  I pulled out my neural link that night, leaving it on my desk along with my TransLens glasses. They would flag me as non-compliant, reduce my rations further, maybe even revoke my rank. But I couldn't watch anymore. We'd created the AI to save humanity, and now we had to find a way to save humanity from it.

  American-Pacific Union Exodus Facility, Location Classified

  Diego peered through the reinforced windows at the colony ship, its large hull shining under the artificial lights. Still another technical "wonder" resulting from our usage of artificial intelligence. Humanity's only hope presented in neat lines and exact numbers. One more reminder of all the AI created conflicts he had survived, his slight limp in his walk as he conducted security rounds checking on his people.

  An update pinged, "*** Attention *** Due to resource constraints," the AI said. "To reach assigned efficiency measures, the candidate pool for The Exodus has dropped by 12%.."

  My hands closed tightly. More families were dropped from the program; their fantasies of escape became statistical analysis. Elena came to me and I wondered what she would have said about all this—humans running to the heavens while artificial intelligence chose who should be preserved.

  "Major Martinez," my brain link hummed. " kindly check revised loading bay 7 security procedures."

  The information slid across my TransLens: passenger manifests, risk evaluations, resource calculations. To attain ideal demographic dispersal, the AI has calculated ideal passenger combinations for every ship, therefore separating communities and even families. In all the name of guaranteeing colony existence.

  Above me, automatic drones watched every step. After closing other research projects, the APU had poured all into the Exodus program. "Space is our future," the broadcasts said. "Together, we will seed the stars". Still, we were only numbers in the system even here, at humanity's best effort.

  "Warning: Non-optimal behavior found in Sector 4," the artificial intelligence said. "Security response called for."

  I came upon them in the cargo bay, a family attempting to sneak their grandmother on. Her efficiency rating was too low for inclusion. As drones designated their children for elimination from the applicant pool because the children where wailing with grief, the parents pleaded.

  "Please," the dad said in a whisper. "It's my mother, I can't just leave her behind."

  The AI said right away, "Candidate family 2747 has shown emotional instability. Redoing the estimate of colony success.

  I ought to have brought them forward, and dismissed them from the program, that is what the AI expected of me. All I could think about was the water riots and the heartless way the AI was going to end human life.

  I gave the drones orders, "clear the area." "False alarms."

  My neural link ping-ed with a warning. Still another mark on my record—another "non-optimal" choice. But I knew it was worth it when I watched that family rush out clutching their grandmother's hands.

  This colony ships was scheduled to depart shortly. People claimed, humanity's fresh beginning amongst the stars. But I couldn't get away from the impression that we were not escaping anything as I watched employees carry precisely measured goods. We simply had our prison with us.

  I sat in my quarters looking over passenger records that evening as automatic systems ran their ceaseless computations. Perfect combinations of age, talent, genetic variety. New humanity, perfected and computed down to the last decimal point.

  Updates in my neural network buzzed with more candidate cuts and additional resource changes. One optimization at a time, the artificial intelligence was painstakingly building her perfect future. But glancing at the huge ships, I started to question what we were truly leaving behind. And what were we missing right here on Earth in our desperate hurry to the stars?

  The institution hummed with activity, ready to implant mankind amid the stars. But something felt improper about it all, too orderly, too under control. The APU's abrupt attention to space, the cancellation of other studies, the continuous improvement...

  Maybe that's what bothered me most. In trying to escape the AI's perfect system, we'd let it calculate our future once again.