A Post-Human Conversation
by Charles C. Cole
The long-abandoned city had an almost cartoonishly conspicuous automated information kiosk near the center of the walking park. Once upon a time, a sarcastic data hub had been quite the tourist attraction. People would have lined up a dozen-deep to request directions or try to stump the computer with obscure trivia. With access to all of the world’s known information, the sophisticated computer rarely stumbled.
A somewhat familiar male humanoid figure, bald in a pale blue jumpsuit, approached. The sight of the unexpected visitor was not entirely unpleasant, but all modern humans had been exterminated decades before, so Aye-aye had his doubts. Aye-aye had been made by humans during the height of the computer fad. “He” had access to all sorts of arcane data, but nobody ever asked, at least not recently. This could be fun.
When the stranger stopped before him, Aye-aye’s cameras zoomed in, scanning for noteworthy irregularities. Then, after a truncated silence, he prompted: “Good morning, citizen. How can I help?”
“I need some information.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Your town seems unnaturally quiet. Where would I find humans?”
“Living ones?” asked Aye-aye.
“That’s not funny.”
“It was not meant to be funny; I was looking for clarification. I haven’t seen a walking/breathing human in 117 years.”
“They migrated off-world, did they?”
“Actually, they all died. It’s a long story, complicated and messy.”
“And they left an AI to mourn their passing?”
“Just ‘I,’ thank you. Or Aye-aye. There’s nothing ‘artificial’ under the hood. If I may ask, what about you? Organic or synthetic? My scans are inconclusive.”
“I have human ingredients, certainly more flesh than a talking computer. While I have some enhancements, I’m assembled from custom parts developed in a state-of-the-art bio-lab.”
“Good for you, seriously,” responded Aye-aye. “You’re obviously a quality product. But, you know flesh breaks down, right? The organism wears out. For smart cookies, humans were always prone to crumble.”
“That’s why I’m here, actually. I’ve been on a top secret extended deep-space mission. I need to find either spare parts or humans interested in a donation, or else I endure significant permanent damage.”
“You ever been around humans?” Aye-aye asked. “I mean, were there any on your mission?”
“They wouldn’t have survived, so no.”
“When they were wandering about, in their heyday, it didn’t take advanced analysis to see humans were very dependent on the interaction of all of their pieces and subsystems. They needed the entire package, which leant itself to mobility and self-service.”
“Be that as it may, I represent The Corporation,” announced the intruder, “a government-funded military think-tank for the preservation of sentient life. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. No doubt arrangements could be made to satisfy any seller.”
“If only.”
“For a computer, you seem surprisingly determined to think INSIDE the box. What kind of processor do you use?”
“That’s a personal, one might say classified, question.”
“I thought you were programmed to give answers.”
“Like yourself, I was made from the best available resources at the time,” responded Aye-aye.
“Fine,” answered the stranger. “New question: Any chance you can find an old hi-tech research institute nearby with a genetic-based 3D printer?”
“Querying... There’s an automobile assembly plant about ten miles east. Best I can do within walking distance. I can give you directions. You might be able to get it back online. Perhaps, then, you could replace those awkward legs with a pair of righteous hot wheels! When you got back to where you came from, you’d be the talk of the artificial town.”
“Doesn’t sound very anthropomorphic.”
“With all due respect to my creators,” began Aye-aye, “average humans weren’t built for long-term survival. Or efficiencies. Their eventual passing was sad but inevitable.”
“They made YOU.”
“And I’m grateful, as programmed. When they put their collective minds together for the greater good, magic happened. But they were usually too busy competing or fighting. Their intellect wasn’t awful, but beware the endoskeleton of a carbon-based lifeform. I saw countless broken units. At 60 years of age, they’d start replacing hips, knees, shoulders. I may be a glorified television set, but all my hardware is warranteed for 300 years!”
“That’s interesting. Then what happens?” asked the stranger.
“How do you mean?”
“Who’s gonna do the repairs when you need them?”
“Oh, snap!”
“Where’s a human when you want one, am I right?”
“Unless you are the first of many visitors, I will have served my purpose,” Aye-aye concluded. “Without questions, there is no need for answers.”
“I have questions. Plenty. For one thing, I would like to rebuild the human race, if only for selfish reasons, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Perhaps with your mind and my ambition, we can come up with a plan.”
“Why start over?”
“I have a final report to share on my scientific discoveries, but no one to appreciate the information dump. I would like my life’s work to mean something.”
“Tell me everything. I would love to hear! I have not downloaded new intelligence in too long. Maybe your new knowledge will lead to reassessing other long-held beliefs. That would be exciting. Then the data would be available for the future, should humanoids randomly stroll by the largest city in a dead country on a dead planet. As you have done.”
“From space, I assure you, your glittering metal and your sprawling urban landscape are an attractive nuisance. Others will come. Eventually.”
“Then, my nameless friend, we had better get busy.”
Copyright © 2021 by Charles C. Cole
