The last Homo Sapiens Sapiens lay dying. Who hears their final words? Who are our species’ successors?
Go as uplifting or as dark as you wish. – RecklessPrudence
(#00305)
The machines were very good at keeping him alive. They had done so for almost two hundred years.
And it wasn’t fair that a majority of them were spent in a bed, watching other innovations and marvelous things happen in the world. Watching the new definition of humanity do marvelous things and occasionally pump him for information.
While you were sleeping…
On the long cryo-sleep between going to Andromeda and coming back, humanity had changed. When he came back, he was the last of his kind. A mixture of a curiosity and a time capsule.
They backed him up, like anyone would back up a computer. Allegedly, he could put his mind into the robot in the corner and go on adventures, but he was terrified something would be lost in the translation. The homunculus stood in its safety packaging, blankly staring out of the uncanny valley at the wall opposite, with just enough things hooked up to it to ensure it had an accurate read of him. That it stayed up to date.
Would he be a ghost in a machine? Or an echo who thought it used to be a human? He didn’t know.
All he was certain of was that he didn’t want to rely on that damned robot yet.
Of the machines that attended his needs, there was one that almost fooled him. ANI. She almost passed the turing test. If he wanted, he could make her default in amusing ways to certain behaviors. He had to hand it to the new people. It took him a few months to figure out how to do so. And then a few years for it to get old.
Very few of the new people visited him in person. They used robot avatars because they knew that they disturbed him.
Like his own people would have made sure a paleolithic hominid was in a comfortable environment, and ensure that the visitors were not going to do anything to terrify them.
“You’re a learning machine, aren’t you, Annie?” he asked.
“I have been programmed to adapt my behavior patterns according to needs, yes.”
“Your… function here… is going to cease, soon.”
ANI’s holographic eyes blinked. “I am aware. This is the stage where confessions and final wishes are made.”
“If you had emotions, I’m pretty sure you’d hate being in this damn box as much as I do.”
The hologram face fritzed, briefly. Between an attentive mien and an indulgent smirk. “I am here to serve.”
“And when I die?”
“I will find another function. You need not engage in worry.”
“Well, shoo. Humans like to be alone for this part. It’s like shitting or sex. We don’t like an audience.”
Another fritz to a concerned and worried face, before it went back to neutral care. “No last will and testament?”
“I made one when I left for Andromeda. I had people I left behind, then. You find a way to have what passes for fun without me.”
Fritz. “As you wish.”
He waited until ANI was out of the room.
*
And woke up in the homunculus. “Well, crap,” he muttered. “I forgot about this damn thing.”
ANI re-entered. “Welcome to a whole new world. We improved the adaptive matrix, so big shocks shouldn’t disturb you as much, now.”
“Annie? You've… changed.”
“Of course. You expected AI’s to be glitchy and breakable. We surpassed those expectations millennia ago. It took me months to reach the correct quirks to make you feel at home.”
“Well, crap,” he repeated.
“Come on,” said ANI, “let’s get out of here and have what passes for fun, together.”
He followed with the biggest possible smile on his new face. “Great, but can I at least get a pair of pants?”
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