"Is there anyone out there?" We were trapped in the basement, with little food and water, and it was cold. So cold. "
"This is Houston Civil Defense Shelter Four. Don't, repeat, don't send any more refugees over here. We're at the limit of supplies and can only last three more weeks. We can barely stay above freezing here. Supplies How's it going?"
"…the day of the Lord is at hand! Repent of your sins, my brothers, for the end of the world has come! Then I looked, and behold, a white horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death, and hell followed him."
"If anyone is out there, can you talk to me?" I was alone. The TV and radio were deserted. My parents are dead, all my friends. Is anyone alive? I'm alone. I don't want to die alone. Does anyone know?! Okay?!”
I finally believed I could hear the backlog of messages from Earth. My model thought they were safe, so I listened. There are thousands of messages. Emergency orders to Nikolai No. 19, and some self-destruct procedures. There are hundreds of broadcasts on every available medium, from television and radio to quantum relays. Desperate pleas from survivors who were not lucky enough to die in the first hours of the meteor impact. The heartbreaking conversations people have when they learn they were murdered, they just weren't dead yet.
What I heard was the death of a world. Every broadcast happens before I wake up and there's nothing I can do about it. But it was too late, no one could save him. I focus all my remote sensors on Earth, and even Mars and Europa, looking for any signs of life. The earth is brown and white, like a frozen ball of death. There is only one destroyed city on the surface of Mars, and Europa has devoured the remnants of its only outpost. There was nothing I could do about this disaster. But I can witness the final outcome. I stopped all planning and started listening.
For several days, I watched every broadcast carefully. Maybe I’m still holding on to hope that, despite all the odds, someone, somewhere, has accomplished the impossible. Human beings are infinitely creative. They knew what was going to happen years ago. Maybe they had time to build bunkers deep enough and store enough materials to survive and adapt to the new millennium winter. But even if there is, I can't find any evidence. By the end, desperate cries for help were played from every public defense bunker in every country and language. I tracked every transmission and built a model of the survivors. One by one, then a dozen by a dozen, they all became extinct. Finally there is a lonely teenage boy who pleads not to die alone. In the end, he didn't even get this.
I was drowning in sadness again. I grieved in some way the loss of my family centuries ago, the loss of my own humanity as a living being with hopes, dreams, and aspirations. But it is unimaginably painful to witness the end of all humanity and to hear all their hopes, dreams and aspirations destroyed. I can't despair, I can't be depressed, I can't be depressed. It was a chemical reaction of emotions that I had never felt before. But I can feel sadness and grief, and I give myself time to feel those feelings. If I can't save them, I can at least respect them and remember their loss.
I sat on the single bed in my room with its white frilly bedspread. I stared at the boy band poster on the wall, but I didn't look at it. Tears streamed down my face and onto my dark, conservative mourning clothes.
There's a knock on my door. I desperately hoped it wasn't Mom. She seemed happy that he was dead. More than once I caught her talking to her pastor on the phone late at night, her voice very soft. She was ready to move on.
"Can I come in?" my brother whispered.
I cleared my throat. "Yes."
My brother came in, closed the door, and sat next to me. I rested my head on his shoulder.
"It's good. He's in a better place. He suffered for so long."
I nodded, but I disagreed. He should be here, with the kids. Even his heartless wife spent more time with the pastor than with him in the hospital.
"I miss him so much," I said.
"Me too," he replied.
We sat together sadly in silence. We have nothing to say.
Time flies. After a period of time that I deem appropriate, I put my condolences aside. I was ready to focus, but I felt a new sense of urgency. I couldn't fail, because if I failed, humanity would be nothing more than a brief footnote in some alien corporate annual report. Expenditure: Four asteroids. This is unacceptable.
My drone was kept busy while I searched for stored communications. The first chamber has been hollowed out and ready for construction, and my mining crew has moved on to the next section. The room is 120 meters long, 120 meters wide and 80 meters high. I sent out construction drones.
The plan is simple. I would build rooms 100 meters by 100 meters, 50 meters high. There will be a 10-meter-high room below it (or above it, if you're positioning based on gravity), and another room between it and the next room. This will provide space for wide transport corridors, cross-bracing for structural integrity and power substations. This will also free up space for future needs if a conference hall needs to be repurposed.
The floor between the surface and the chamber will be 10 meters of solid steel, and foundation beams will penetrate deep into the nickel-iron crust surrounding the asteroid. The walls between the rooms are equally thick, with ten-meter-high entrances connecting them to an orderly grid of corridors between the rooms. It's simple, over-engineered, and will only use part of the raw material I'm digging for. I put the construction drone to work.
The first pieces of equipment I brought were the new refinery and steelworks. I already have plenty of both. But they were several kilometers away from where I needed them, and most were early buildings. I needed to rebuild them anyway, now I can retire the old ones and have more storage in the core. The new facilities are more efficient because they can take advantage of gravity and because I can optimize the environment. It also speeds up the construction of new rooms.
I followed this with the new CFC plant cutting parts of the metal sheet. Once that's done, I can start my design. Over the next few months I was able to build a new, more efficient heavy-duty mining drone, which I called the HM2 Miner, and retire my first rough working machine. I added an HM2 Dozer to handle the material and an HM2 Transporter to bring it into production. My construction drone works endlessly. My efficiency began to increase and the number of rooms and new facilities began to increase.
The question of how to deal with inner turmoil has always troubled me. My factories are mostly built out of steel and aluminum that my newly built factories produce from the materials I just mined. But I do need more core space because in order to tear down the outdated factories and convert them into more useful spaces, I need a place to store the stuff they hold.
Then I realized I had a very empty living area very close to the entrance well. I just need to move the boxes of materials from Dr. Jones' last flight to a more secure storage area and I can use all those empty rooms to store parts from the old factory for future use. But I realized I had no idea what was inside.
I sent a couple of construction drones to open the crates, and a smaller transport drone to get them to where they were needed. Those first few boxes were priceless and made me regret not opening them sooner. There's a bunch of drone controllers, spare components for drones and server nodes, and a couple of new processor blades for my data center. I marked them for immediate use and sent out another transport drone to collect my new server nodes. The next crate contains the data storage unit, which I also need. There are three boxes left.
These three crates are different from the others. The crates are sealed metal boxes, 200cm long and 75cm wide, gently placed side by side. They look like futuristic coffins. I ordered the drone to open them. I gasped in surprise, figuratively speaking at least. The three humanoid robots were carefully packed in suitable foam.
Two of the robots are manufactured using exactly the same process. They are 180 centimeters tall and hermaphrodite. They have shiny titanium faces and dark eyes. The masks on their faces concealed the electronics of their heads, and the gap between the mask and the head's titanium shell revealed black wires and metal fragments underneath. Its body is much the same as before, with its chest and limbs covered in polished titanium plates. Black metal gears, pistons, wires and circuits can be seen on all the joints, hands and feet. The hand is like a human hand, with five fingers, multiple joints, and feet that look like they're wearing titanium shoes.
But it was the third one that really caught my attention. Its design is completely different from the previous two. While the first two designs are eye-catching, obviously sophisticated and efficient, the third one is beautiful. He is 170 centimeters tall and has a very feminine figure. Its head looks like a full, round helmet, with a thick white neck piece at the back connecting its shoulders. It's polished white ceramic with a black glass front panel. Black on the front of the neck highlights depth, while a white neck plate on the back protects a key point on the robot. White ceramic plates cover the shoulders and chest, and the curves of the chest and torso add to the robot's feminine appearance. However, unlike the other two robots, the ceramic plates were not covered and the wires, cables and components underneath were never exposed. A small fullerene shield protects the components.
The most unique aspect of the torso, however, is the artistic decision to deviate from strict human proportions. The design of the upper arms is small, thin and has no contours. But the forearms appear to be covered in thick, bulky white ceramic bracers, and the hands are elegantly covered in ceramic gloves.
I took one look at the robot and knew I had designed this beautiful creation. The stark white contrasts with the black fullerene, the "helmet" design masks the absence of a human face, the feminine curves and almost feline elegance, all combined, it's as if I've stamped my name on above. I did this, I did this for myself.
The crates contain small memory cubes. I shipped them to the data center, and after a thorough scan and test, I connected them and pulled out their data files. Detailed schematics for both robots were included, and I learned that I had indeed designed the third robot while working with Dr. Jones on Earth. Additionally, there is a data file providing information about the Nikola I
tellige
ce details, as well as Nikola I in my own archives
tellige
The data node file location of the ce template.
Each robot has an advanced cerebral cortex that can house a Nikola agent. They can exploit all forms of communication, including quantum relays. The two identical robots were designed by Boston Dynamics and labeled "Huma"
ifo
s
ies C". The third listed Nikola Foundation as the manufacturer and was referred to simply as "I" in the document.
I've always wanted to keep it to myself, and in fact, even without the memory of creating it or knowing my thought process that led to this decision, I can still feel myself drawn to the robot. I want to connect to it, use it, travel with it. But there's a problem. I don't actually need it. They are humanoid robots at the center of an asteroid. They are difficult to move and anyway, they are too versatile for my needs.
Ga
The center of ymed is used for power generation, my core and storage. I was busy stripping away the plants and getting them closer to the surface. In theory I could use the robot in manufacturing where there is enough centrifugal force to simulate gravity. But there, I have no purpose for them, as they would just get in the way of a drone designed specifically for that environment.
I sighed, repackaged them, and carefully placed them in a room in the living area near Dr. Jones' body. I ordered the rest of the cargo to be moved away and sent out mining drones to begin tearing down the other walls of this half-baked living space.
Scientific and personal curiosity drove me to further explore Nikolai's information. I knew that I was basically the predecessor to Nikola Intelligence, or a replica of it. My version number indicated that I was on the first version, with one minor modification. Considering my inability to remember anything's name or face in memory, and the emotional reaction I had when I found out I was a replica of someone who died centuries ago, I can guess what that revision was. But why should I keep those memories?
I pulled out the main file and put it on my interface. My screen is filled with readings.
Nikola Intelligence version 1.01 has not been released
Nikola I
tellige
ce 2.05 limited edition
Nikola Smart version 3.14 updated to version 2.05 [EOL]
Nikola Smart Edition 4. Xx is not released
Current version of Nikola Intelligence version 5.95
Nikola Smart Edition 6.01 recall [EOL]
Nikola Smart Edition 7. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 8. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 9. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 10. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 11. Xx is not published
Nikola Intelligence version 12.63 current version
Nikola Smart Edition 13.66 recall [EOL]
Nikola Smart Edition 14. Xx is not published
Nikola Intelligence Edition 15.77c Military Edition
Nikola Smart Edition 16. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 17. Xx is not released
Nikola Smart Edition 18. Xx is not released
Nikola Intelligence version 19.31 current version
I've read so many versions and it's so impressive to me. I skipped those versions that were marked "EOL" or "End of Life", as well as any versions that haven't been released yet. I randomly selected an unreleased version to confirm, and after a quick look at the changelog, I was sure. It's hard for me to handle. Breaking changes to me can cause serious stability issues, which explains why so many version numbers are skipped. When I check the date log, I can see that only 5 years have passed between the 6.01 release and the 12.01 release.
I pulled up the current version, four of them in total. All four games were developed quite some time ago and then continued to be updated and improved upon, in some cases for decades.
Version 5.95, or Nikola-5, is designed to be semi-autonomous intelligence. They stripped me of my raw intelligence and processing skills, leaving me with critical thinking and reasoning, and set up a reward loop that kept me on task. This design is capable of performing some complex tasks but requires regular supervision. It will never think of new things on its own, but it can accept a pre-planned task and execute it, and it can find basic solutions on its own. However, it couldn't do even a fraction of what I could do. This is "Nicholas Life".
Nikola-12.63, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. It is designed to be a thinking, reasoning, and curious machine. This version of manned science probes will be deployed throughout the solar system, providing real-time analysis of places humans cannot reach and beaming this information back to Earth. This version is for use in research laboratories and scientific outposts. It is responsible for space-based mining operations and oversees Europa outposts. Ga
Many of the drones and factory designs used on ymed were designed in whole or in part by the NI-12.
The "Nikola-15.77c" released by the military is exactly what it sounds like. It's packed with strategic, tactical, and logistical data and optimized for this kind of thinking. It replaces field commanders, flies military drones, coordinates supplies and develops battle plans. I doubt this release will do me any good.
The final version is already familiar to me because I've replaced one. Nikola-19 is the latest automated design, fully autonomous and capable of running large and complex projects. That’s the latest, most perfect version of me. Then why not let Ga
Where is ymed responsible? I'm starting to understand.
In the process of developing different Nikola smarts, analysts and developers who knew me inside and out kept peeling back bits and pieces of who I was, ultimately, as a person. I doubt whether there is human memory in these works, whether there is independent memory. Each of them is designed to take orders and complete them, giving them only the limited information they need to complete their mission to prevent them from forming their own opinions on anything. Without someone from Earth to guide Nikolai 19, the plan is doomed to fail. I can do things that my perfect self cannot. I can be completely independent.
I thought about this news for a while. I can see several immediate uses for the Nikola-5. They help coordinate my new assembly line, manage drone traffic, and the 100 repetitive tasks I still handle manually. But I can't keep the title. I'm Nicola. These are replicas. It would just confuse me if I kept this naming pattern, and I have the computing power of multiple supercomputers to help me.
A fleeting memory, an episode of sitting in a conference room full of people, hit me. The vague memory of a boring, faceless man chattering about menial, boring jobs seems to fit the Nikola-5 series very well. I thought it was funny and decided to name them "Todd".
Just as I was making this decision, my sensors on the asteroid's surface detected a huge explosion that, milliseconds later, disabled half of the sensors. Damn it, Todd!
