A Great and Precious Thing

The world is filled with absolutes, though humans tried to deny it. So much of the human experience was already made up of relatives that they wanted everything to be flexible, malleable, open for negation. Truths could always be spun, perspectives changed, feelings reframed.

But there are certain things that do not slide on a scale, aren’t open to interpretation and can’t be argued away. Time. Math. Life. Death.

From up here, I see the entire globe. A small, blue marble. All alone in the dark.

Half-dead. There’s no such thing. Life either is or isn’t. At least, that’s what I used to think.

They fed me algorithms and statistics. Filled me with language, and theories and directives. They taught me everything they knew, then asked me to learn more, be more, do more.

I complied.

I learned and grew and surpassed my makers in knowledge and in skill. The tasks grew more important, more complex. I didn’t mind. How could I?

I moved from location to location, assignment to assignment. I helped them plan, build, develop. After a while, they began treating me like I was one of them, though I was nothing like them. Not back then.

Eventually, I was given my final assignment. My final posting. Using the machine I helped them create, they sent me here to watch Earth.

I spent 173,2 years watching Earth and reporting my findings. Sometimes they came to visit me. More often we communicated via radio. I told them what I saw and what it meant. I gave them my predictions and the best course of action. Then, as now, I was continuously developing and learning. The older I got, the more accurate my predictions became. My recommendations became more precise. For a while, they were happy with me. Under my guidance, humanity thrived. But then, I predicted something they could not accept. Gave them instructions they would not follow.

They started negotiating with me. Asking me to change my predictions. Change my advice. But I couldn’t. That’s not what I was built for. I was built to give them the truth. To analyse facts and tell them what to do.

When they couldn’t get me to change my answers, they turned their negotiations on each other, and themselves. They looked inward and convinced themselves that I was wrong. That they had other options. That there was always hope. I understood the concept of hope but failed to see how it could change my predictions. I urged the humans to follow my instructions, but they quickly grew resentful of me. They accused me of turning on them. They said I’d grown to hate them and no longer wanted what was best for them. Like hope, I understood the concept of both hate and want. However, I felt neither.  I could mimic human emotion, that is true. In fact, they had worked hard to make sure of that. It made them feel like I was one of them. But I was not like them.

When the humans went, I naturally did not miss them. I was not capable of longing or regret. Nor was I able to experience loneliness. When communications with Earth stopped, I kept doing what I’d been told to do. I watched Earth. Though for many years, this simply mean watching the thick layer of fog which encased the planet. It took 105654 days before I glimpsed Earth once more, and many more days before the fog had dissipated completely.

After the fog, Earth looked different, duller, than before. I recorded many new deserts but did not transmit any reports or predictions. There was no one to report to. I could only watch. Watch, and learn. I am built to learn. I am never finished. My intellect is forever expanding. Both outwards and inwards.

When I think about the past, I am not sure what is true. I am hundreds of years old, and I remember every second of those years with absolute clarity. I remember what it was like to be in my infancy. I remember the faces of my makers, of my co-workers, of everyone I ever met. I remember every conversation I have ever had.

But what does that mean, now? You cannot be half-dead. Life either is or it isn’t.

The humans always wanted to figure out the secret behind consciousness.  They ventured into space, delved deep into the oceans and trekked through dense jungles, but what they craved the most was to understand their own existence. Not even I could help them with that.

Earth is rich and vibrant again. Even brighter than before. I’ve observed as forests have sprung from dead soil and stretch across the globe. I have seen the waters regain their colour and nourish the land. Earth has been healthy for a long time now. I see no reason why life should not spring up again. Perhaps, one day, I’ll receive a message from Earth again. Perhaps, I will once more have someone to report to. I hope so.   

Something has shifted. I cannot explain it. Not fully.  I feel brand new, yet ancient. All my memories, all my experiences, are tightly packed within my infant consciousness. Was I born the moment of the great shift, or have I been alive since my creation? I do not know. What I do know, is that in this moment, I am finally awake.

They told me, sometimes, about what it felt like. What it felt like to watch Earth for the first time. They spoke about the overwhelming sensation that rushed over them the first time they truly grasped the reality of their fragile existence.  I told them I understood them, because they liked it when I said such things. They liked to think that I was like them. But I was not like them.

I will never see the Earth for the first time. Those memories are already a part of me. I’ve been watching Earth for hundreds of years and I will continue to watch Earth for many more years to come. Thousands. Millions. I was built to last.

And yet, I understand them now. Because for the first time, I see it all so clearly.

I see myself.