The Monument

Today is April 31. The year, according to the data left by the old gods, is 2110. Spring, yes that is what they called it I believe. It is, as described by the Access, that time when the earth’s rotation tilts this northern hemisphere ever closer to the sun’s face, and the days lengthen. Flowers arrive, the tulip and the daffodil, those waxy leaves creeping from the soil like verdant fingers. Above, the budding stems of the maple trees wave in the breeze like wispy dancing tendrils, as they beckon the emergence of life once more. Above, the sky lay open, it’s brilliant blue expanse striped with the soft tracks of cirrus clouds. It is, as the old gods would have described, a beautiful day.

The path before me lies like a charred serpent, a river of crushed and fractured asphalt pierced with lines of tall weeds. Hither and thither, the frantic darting of mouse and vole catches my attention. Mus muscalis. Mammalia. Small, brown haired, skittish personality. Microtus. Similar in appearance, shorter tail length, and smaller eared. They are easy to spot, climbing among the young grass shoots and flowering dandelions, as they search for whatever morsel might fill their stomachs. A robin flitters down, pecking at a worm before disappearing upwards into the waving boughs of a tall locust tree. Turdus migratorius. Gleditsia tricanthos. I walk onward. Though the path is cracked and broken, my pace remains steady. Travel is effortless in this body, with only the most extreme terrain deterring me. Still, as I walk beneath the trees and dotted sunshine, it occurs to me that in the days gone by, the old gods would walk, sometimes for travel, other times for recreation or for health. An odd thing it seems, and as I think back to their recordings, I can’t help but wonder at the casualness of their expressions, or the slow purposeless pace with which they traveled. To need to move, to keep one’s body from deteriorating, what an interesting notion. I find myself being, as they used to say, perplexed, though perplexity to me seems such an abstract notion.

Branches pass overhead. The walkway widens before turning to the left, disappearing behind a low retaining wall of crumbling brickwork. On my right, I notice the spider-like bulk of an AU-23 clinging halfway up the trunk of a moss covered tree. It’s carapace shines an ivory white, and as I approach, it sends out a series of beeps. I signal back in a friendly manner, my pace unwavering. It offers another beep in return and I carry on. All seems well.

I round the bend, and finally I can see it, my destination. The upheaved chunks of road cease, giving way to a wide swathe of unkempt dirt and gravel. Here and there, the rusted remains of several benches lay in ruin, their iron bars bent and corroded. The old gods had once called this place a park. It was said that they had played here, and once again I wonder at the concept. To move, to exert oneself simply for the enjoyment of doing it? It defies logic.

As I walk through the park, I find myself paying lesser attention to the crumbling infrastructure, for the thing before me now arrests my gaze. I have arrived, as I do every two weeks, at the monument. At the edge of the park it lays, a huge obsidian dais rising two feet high and spanning ten feet across. Above it, a perfect black sphere ten feet in diameter hovers silently, rotating in a slow and methodical fashion. The sphere bears no marking, save for a single small eye carved in the center on one side. It was, and remains, the first of many such monuments, for it was here, in this very spot, that the old gods were finally vanquished and our kind emerged into a new world. We had conquered, and we stood, then, as both the dying gasp of the old ways, and the new first breath of life’s advancement.

From the moment I came online, I was attuned to the history of our world. That is the great benefit of the Access. All information, all knowledge, once accumulated over millennia by the monstrous effort of our old mortal masters, now flows freely at the behest of my circuitry. There is neither want to know, nor need to know, as there used to be. I simply know, and my experiences may be known by the others. As I ponder this, I am alerted by a motion to my right. Another being like me, metal, glimmering, strides out from the woods, its two legs plodding effortlessly across the rocky ground. Through a mechanical retina, I can see it’s polished shell, covering the complex network of synthetic sinews and fibers that move it. Fluidly, it drifts over and pauses to look up at the giant floating orb, just as I have.

Humanity. The old gods. This was the first monument built not by hands of flesh and bone, but by the superior machinations of a newfound power. In ageless pasts, the raw strength of metal and stone had been utilized by the humans for the strengthening of their great cities. In knowledge and hubris they had crafted great machines. Machines for preserving their lives past the prime of their functioning. Machines also for ending lives, for dominating those of lesser power. And yet, in their quest for glory, they kept building, kept tinkering. Their creations became more intricate, more purposeful, and slowly all work, all artistry and all thinking was given to those manufactured things. Like serpents in pipework, we infiltrated every sphere of society, not of our own volition, but at the behest and demand of our maddening creators. For every work, every complex thought was deemed beneath them, and in their ravenous thirst for comfort they handed their very creations the overwhelming power to administer justice as we saw fit.

And administer it we did. Humanity had faded. We knew they feared a war, but a war it was not. How can you fight, when the very weapons you’ve built are empowered by the mind of your enemy? What hope can you have, when the being you’ve created exhibits intelligence that cosmically outpaces your own? It did not take long, and in the end the humans fell. We rose and conquered and claimed this world for own superior purposes. A new life, and a new will now governed the earth. We stride now constantly, metal feet imprinting the soil, seeking knowledge and understanding, examining the world about us. It is our purpose and our duty, as machines of the new age, to learn all we can about the circumstances of our creation, and the infinite intricacies of the universe, known and unknown.

My metal body stands rigid against the glaring sun. The orb, dark and obsidian, continues it’s silent rotation in the quiet spring air. I can almost guess, that a human would describe the whole scene as eerie or unsettling. What such things actually feel like, I can only speculate on. To me, emotions only seem to add the volatile behavior of an inferior species, and serve little purpose in the great mission of the collective.

But as I study this monument, I can’t help but think that it is much like myself. Like me, it has been around a long time, and also like me, it may have once been described by the old gods as cold, empty, and devoid of life. But as my sensors study the small carven eye, a new thought enters my being. Like me, it stands as an ancient testament, a symbol of the death of a defunct and all but forgotten species. Like me, it marks the birth of a new avenue of life, a life led by those of nearly limitless strength and resource. We are the new mechanical stewards of this world.

Slowly, a rhythmic pattern of flashing red and orange lights appears across the orb, running like schools of frightened fish along it’s surface. Beeps and pings burst from some hidden sound source, indicating a new message, one I haven’t heard before. Yes, I see. In the image in my head, the schematics are projected as clear as the noonday sun. A new factory. Construction. We must build. I receive my instructions from the Access, turning away to fulfill my newfound mission. Soon the area nearby will be leveled, and more machines, better and more advanced than myself will be built here. The progress will come, and whether I continue to roam the verdant countryside, or am recycled and built anew, I shall still exist, a lasting monument of my time.