I wanted this out by 9/9, whoops.
From afar the sun hovered over the grey fog. Their sensors recorded the sudden dip in temperature, and the gentle gust of wind that caused it. Just as quickly, it left, with the inputs springing back up and returning to normalcy. At around 22.2 degrees Celsius. The wind left behind only the faintest hint of chemicals: sodium, calcium and sulfur salts all mixed together, water and trace amounts of algae all recorded and jotted down in their rapidly filling data-banks.
Three megabytes down, 4.53553 remaining terabytes to go. Was that a lot? Who knew, definitely not the scientists, they're all dead.
Maybe it was just in case the atomic clocks fizzed out and they had to be activated early. They were the only thing that could form a connection with the new enlightened sapients, and give them the knowledge and culture of old.
Maybe their creators were just a bit egotistical, lumping their minds with the literary, musical, and programming talent of their own species, another thought to move from RAM to the solid state drive, at a premium of only 6 megabytes no less.
In front of them and approximately 1 and a half kilometers from the islands center was the fog of war. Which painted the horizon in pure white, obscuring a lonely archipelago that was partially consumed by the wispy fog.
From high above, everything felt still, everything was still. There were no waves crashing against the bay 300 meters below them, there was no white foam scrambling for purchase, no fish or sea life bounding out from the water. The sky wasn't any better. A cloudless blue, only remarkable for the average level of radiation.
Average for the 2010s. The world was no longer a dying planet. Even despite the lack of life around them, something had purged all the carbon dioxide in the air back down to only 422.92 parts per milliion, already quartering the last known records. Or perhaps was it all trapped in the sea? It would explain the heat.
Did it matter how the carbon dioxide was reduced though? They weren't here to understand, not even to scout out the new world. The calculations who's results were inserted into their drive claimed that this mountain should've become an island. Only there wasn't anything there, not even the footprint of a tsunami.
Should they care about all that? They were only here to see if protocol 'Like the Wind' needed to be be carried out, and with all that fog...
Gears and lenses clicked into position, pulling the world towards them. Filters of Infrared, Ultraviolet, X-ray and whatever else existed pulsed by every second. Still nothing. That doesn't mean that there was nothing there, and therefore 'Like the Wind' must be activated. Back down the precarious dirt path they went, digging their fingers into the wall to keep themselves steady. One over twisted ankle joint would send them careening into the bay below. A thick line 3 centimeters deep was already carved under where their 5 digits were, guiding him towards the vault, and the lock that separated it from the outside world.
Not that it was needed. Oxygen was still fixed at 21 percent, nitrogen at 78, and the medley of other chemicals were there. Most importantly though, there were no new compounds.
The entryway was inset into the mountainside, with a little arch whose keystone held a blobby emblem, coloured like moss. Into the darkness and off to one side was a little matte button. With a springy click the mechanism was temporarily brought back to life. There was a faint hissing noise whilst a motor whirred without resistance. A faint wind picked up near their head, winds speeds of around 2 meters per second, it lightly tugged at their antennae.
Suddenly it stopped, and the entrance spun out. What little light there was rebounded against the chrome tiles. Inside, there was another red button, and with a click they were back into the vault, stumbling over a single inset into the single room. It was a single room and not two because there was no doorway that could hide the faint blue luster from the chamber.
Night vision was activated, and green sprung out to push against the darkness, it swam through the dust laden carpeted floor, and over the two containment units that held the logs of golden discs. Each laser etched with blue light to compress gigabytes of data onto their meter long surface. Each containing every song, every poem or book, and every game from the rules and specification for board games to the raw binary of every conceivable video game.
Well, not all of them, some were deemed to unwieldy to fit on, or they couldn't find enough space on the disks. There was no rhyme or rhythm to their position, and they only knew where everything was thanks to an external bank that was filled to the brim with names, disk numbers and positions on the disk. An entire mess that took 3 minutes and 20 seconds to find where 'David Bowie's' discography was.
That was another thing the scientists gave them, 12 recommendation lists, for every category.
For every artist.
For every company.
For every thing.
And the first list was a bunch of 'David Bowie' songs, rated by some arbitrary metric that wasn't encoded in the metadata...
Right, the protocol. 'In case there isn't an island, or there's no clear sign of life. Launch a few flares into the sky'.
That's what it ordered, 'a few flares'.
The dark jittered with every step, slinking further and further away as they crossed the room, and gazed upon the previously unfamiliar wall. Where rows upon rows of flickering yellow and red lights communicate with each other in some unknowable, and unnecessary manner. Right below that were little dials with their pointers acutely fixed at some direction.
32.332, 20.335, 50.05246. None had deviated from those values since they left, and there wasn't any observable twitching to jot down, sparing them the space.
Right next to the panel were a row of cupboards, each with a little indent that curved ever so slightly inwards. It was a perfect fit for their fingers. One, two, three doors clicked open. Allowing the green to creep back in. And one, two and three flares were tucked into the corners of the dustless rooms. The fourth cabinet swelled around the lower half, and clicking it open was a struggle. Out popped the gun and holding it in place was even harder. At least they weren't attempting to hold all three flares in their hands.
The flare gun was a bulky arrangement, with three barrels parallel to each other. It carried no scars, and the plastic grips did not cling to their fingers. Why would it? They fiddled with the butterfly hammer, clicking its front wing left and right. Peeling back its second one halfway and letting it snap back into position, with his sensors recording the loudest sound, now 35 decibels.
The tactile receptors at the tip of their finger worked overtime, describing to them the existence of space and the lack of it, alternating between the two as fast as they would drag their fingers across.
With a click of a button the three flares were unceremoniously slid in. When the barrel was snapped back into place, they would rattle against the inner barrel with every slight move.
The flares themselves should burn at 30,000 candelas for approximately 40 seconds. That is, assuming that they still worked. The propellant would degrade over the course of up to 6 years, until its no different to a regular explosive.
But who were they to think about that? They weaved forwards, absent-mindedly smacking the side of their palm against the button. A sharp screech was the response.
Back through the airlock they went, and once again. The bright afternoon light razed the slanted dirt path. With fingers pushed deep - now above the prior scoring – they went. Up and up the loose path. Hesitating with every step as the dirt pushes out from the treads and creeps up their soles.
Years of neglect had turned this compacted trail into a disaster waiting to happen. Perhaps they should work on this later. Have it all prepared for the new sapients that should find him.
Will find him.
The horizon was still bathed in a bright white, and the archipelagos were still being funneled into their gaping maw. The sun still stood high above them however, and the instructions explicitly state to wait until night.
And so they waited. Like a busted rendering algorithm, the world churned along, the occasional flicker of white from the still waters blurred away as the self-made internal clock counted down.
24,756...
24,755...
24,754...
24,753...
And so on and so on.
Down.
Down.
And down some more.
The soil didn't smush or crackle under their algorithmic shifting, and the servos and motors that built up their legs remained silent. The wind had all but abandoned them, leaving the 35 decibels all alone, with no equal. 4, 5, 6.
24,732...
24,731...
24,730...
24,729...
24,728...
There was nothing new. Nothing new to consider, nothing new to process. So they didn't, but still did. Through the side cameras did they notice the sun gradually sink into the foggy horizon.
And at last, the tip of the moon peeked its head out from the sea. Its imprint weakly skirted across the oceans surface, flecking the quiet sea with occasional light. The fog had rolled away into the darkness, giving way to a midnight blue backdrop. Up above the constellations were now completely different. The Big Dipper was no longer there, neither was the Teapot or the the Northern Cross. The stars were instead paired, sorting themselves into an mess of irregular polygons.
All staring down at them like beady eyes affixed wide open.
Was that where the last of humanity lived? There was a story similar to that, right? It was a video game, or was it a concept album?
Despite the world around them shifting, close by, nothing had changed. There were still no birds, no plants, nothing for the new race that they wont already have... so the flares were the only way bring attention.
Where to shoot the flares? They kept their grip dead tight on the aged rubber as they looked around. Not too tight though… 100 newtons made the plastic creak in some places, but it was sufficient.
Night vision was useless, the photons would all get absorbed by matter before they would reach the sensors. Thermal vision too, the world was cold, they could already sense that.
What season was it? It was 22.2 Celsius, with a humidity of approximately 80 degrees, that doesn't say much...
Where was he?
He? It. She? They. In china, they was the only pronoun before they got into contact with the Europeans. How many pronouns and how many sexes do the new sentients have?
It doesn't matter. What matters is the exchange, and 'Like the Wind', a red flare was shot first. It soared through the sky, illuminating nothing but blowing against their microphones. 70 decibels. It soared further and further away, until it fizzed out of their periphery, but possible not out of existence.
The second shot was obvious, 143 degrees clockwise. Towards where the archipelago was. It was an archipelago.
Again. Another flare soared, it streaked through the air, and the red light rebounded off the ocean despite how high it flew.
And now the last one…
What to do with this? Anywhere else wouldn't suffice, because it may hit nothing, and it may overlap. The new sapients may not be able to estimate where they were just from the shots.
…
There was no clear answer, wasn't there.
They were all alone, for what its worth… The fog will subside soon, and then it'll be revealed that there's nothing even beyond the horizon…
All alone, with humanity's works, and they can't even enjoy it… Probably not, another red flare shot through the sky, past the boulder, like a shooting star. The latch was released and the shells spilled out, inertly thudding against the ground.
Now to wait a week, and do it again.
Where would the other flares be?
How many of you read about the ending of 3? its pretty Japanese, isn't it?