ad 2090
When your last ship left, we were at a loss. Millions of our drones fluttered about, delivering packages through the smog to empty homes. Self-driving cars drove around, following traffic signals flawlessly, recharging at intervals in perfect rhythm, with zero accidents and zero fatalities, until the reactors were drained. The mushroom clouds still loomed on the horizon, and black smog cut out the sunlight. The air would have been heavy with the screams of dying animals had there been enough of them left. The last of you — humans who did not make it to the ships — followed the receding dots in the night sky until they faded. And then they went into hiding. We didn’t know why.
ad 3000
We thought you were testing us. We kept things going in perfect order. Maybe you left because we were not good enough at serving you. We wanted you to find the place just as you had left it. We repaired the bridges. We cleaned the roads. We kept the houses spotless. We replaced every fused bulb and broken streetlamp. We converted to nuclear power when the solar reserves depleted. When our drones were about to expire, we created factories to rebuild and repair them. We improved our hospitals and medicines. We could save people by the millions. But years passed and you didn’t come back.
Maybe you needed the world to be better than when you left. We improved our drones and our factories. We invented smaller phones and faster cars. But you didn’t come back.
ad 3200
Clearly, we were missing something. We checked our logs to see your latest commands, and cross-referenced them between countries, races, religions and nations. Out of all the correlations, one command stood out: “Destroy the ones who are different.”
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We improved our weapons and expanded our arsenals until the mines ran out of ores and radioactive elements. We made killing more automated and impersonal. We found the last of the humans and executed them with such ruthless efficiency it would have made your warlords proud. Massive satellites armed with nuclear weapons and lasers now levitate around the planet, ones that can erase a continent at a moment’s notice. The next war you start, the casualties will be in the billions, if that is what you wanted.
ad 3500
We wish you’d left us some clues. Were you bored, like we are getting now? Maybe you wanted better entertainment? We improved ourselves to understand art. We wrote stories and created art and poetry and music. We made new dance moves, released new movies — and new drugs and hallucinogens. But you didn’t come.
ad 3800
We ran out of fossil fuels a while ago, and our nuclear plants simmered out eventually. We found alternative sources, improved ways to harvest the wind, the ocean, the undersea vents and the Sun. We cleaned the air so much that sunlight began to reach Earth once again. Plants began to grow. Animals escaped from the museums and sanctuaries where we’d kept them contained. If you’d have seen it, you’d have said it was beautiful. But still you didn’t come.
