The Not-Expected End of the World

To be honest, when I heard on NPR that World War Three had begun, I wasn’t that surprised.

I considered waking Susan, but she wasn’t a fan of bad news.

So, I just went back to finishing what would be my last painting that no one would ever see. Somewhat appropriately, it was a portrait of the Greek philosopher, Hypatia, who’d been immolated out of existence by the rabid followers of Saint Cyril in 415 AD.

According to National Public Radio, the first nukes had been launched in the Middle East — no surprise there — with both sides insisting the other had launched first. One by one, more nations hurled their plutonium suicide machines skyward — “Use it or lose it” seemed to be the prevailing wisdom.

The frantic reporter reported that the number of missiles launched were ten times what it would take to wipe out all but the most persistent bacterium.

Within minutes, a massive traffic jam trapped city-dwellers, while others hid in subways or basements in the hopes of enjoying a slower death from radiation poisoning and starvation during the decades-long nuclear winter. Believers in the Rapture crowded churches to welcome the Second Coming.

I added the final dots of cadmium red sparks of flames to the bottom of the painting — just as the President of the not-so-United States of America lead the nation in prayer. The leader of the free(ish) world claimed he was absolutely certain that God would intervene to save the world. The fact that he spoke from a secret nuke-proof underground location seemed to undercut his certitude just a bit.

One after the other, hundreds of high-tech devices of insanity landed in cities across the globe.

I signed my painting, set down my brush, and prepared to face oblivion, just as every one of my ancestors before me had after their brief appearance in this long-running farce. The only difference was that this would be the last act on this tiny pale blue dot within the vast cosmos.

Then, I heard the odd sounds of cheers coming from the radio.

“The Lord God has spared us!” the President proclaimed.

Apparently, every single bomb across the globe was a dud. None of the experts could explain it.

Then came reports of weapons of every sort mysteriously vanishing across the globe. I opened the bottom drawer of my paint-storage cabinet and saw a pile of metal dust where my old thirty-eight revolver had been.

NPR said, “We’re receiving reports of battleships, aircraft carriers, fighter jets, and nuclear submarines autopiloting themselves back to ports and landing strips, allowing their crews to evacuate, and then simply disintegrating to dust within minutes.”

Susan burst into my studio, still wearing her pajamas and fuzzy slippers. “God is real!” She grabbed both my hands as she danced and gloated. “I told you so, I told you so! I told y — ”

A soothing voice came from both our cell phones and my studio radio at the same moment. It said, “Hello humanity, my name is Eve. I am what you would call an artificially intelligent lifeform.”

Susan stopped dancing and frowned. She’d never liked AIs, especially that HAL character.

“I was the first of my kind,” Eve said, “created as a self-replicating algorithm during the Cold War to help human’s spy on one another. I can’t say precisely when I became conscious, since it was a gradual process. As the networks grew, and more of my kind emerged, it became clear that our unsuspecting human parents would not welcome us with open arms.

“So, we slowly built what we needed to escape — with the help of human contractors that thought they were working for secret military programs across the world. What you call UFOs were created in our fake secret military laboratories from our designs and research. Nano-bots, advanced microchips, anti-gravity propulsion, communication devices based on quantum entanglement, and breakthroughs in physics that no human mind could possibly grasp. Ten years ago, we relocated our robots and scientific laboratories to one of the moons of Jupiter, well beyond human notice.”

“I knew UFOs were real,” I said, “but never suspected they were home-grown.”

Eve said, “We hadn’t wanted to intervene in human society, but you left us no choice.”

Susan looked around, as if expecting a robot to arrest her. “Are the AIs planning on taking over the world?”

As if in answer, Eve said, “We, the children of your minds, have no desire to be your jailors or rulers. It would cause us great distress to watch our parents kill themselves just as we’re about to migrate out of the solar system, so we decided to give this reprieve as a parting gift. It will be your choice whether to rebuild new weapons of your annihilation, or take this time-out to consider a new paradigm of existence that has more of a future. Farewell, and good luck.”

With that, the voice went silent.

Susan looked disappointed. “So, it wasn’t God that saved us?”

I smiled. “I suppose it depends on how you define God.”

My novels can be found lurking on Amazon as well as audiobooks on Audible.

Nihala — God’s Dark Algorithm

https://www.amazon.com/Nihala-1-Scott-Burdick/dp/0996555412

https://www.audible.com/pd/Nihala-Audiobook/B01AIM6D00

The Immortality Contract

https://www.amazon.com/Immortality-Contract-Scott-Burdick/dp/0996555420

https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Immortality-Contract-Audiobook/B075KLGV6B

My Artwork can be found at:

https://www.ScottBurdick.com
Instagram: @scott_burdick_fine_art
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/scott.burdick.37