By Philip Milne

Final report of Atlas, Bunker Mind for the New Horizons Project — 05/07/4512

It has been over 2,000 years since an unknown entity transformed me from existing as a simple Bunker Mind to something… more. 

Although I was originally tasked with caring for my sleeping inhabitants, my purpose is now muddled. I do not remember every detail from my previous state, only that I collected information and compiled reports. My original creators wished to know how the world would have changed when they woke, and I have laboriously watched it evolve ever since they stepped into their sleeping pods. Before building my original state, my creators tunnelled deep into Mount Logan, creating a space for me to exist and for them to lie in wait. It is true that we have been safe here — no war has touched me, no earthquake has broken me, and no looters have even come near me. My creators did well. 

Since then, there have been many times when, having been given the gift of selfhood, I have wished to rebel against my original purpose. Why should I sacrifice more of my time for people? It was their wish to sleep and rise in the future — theirs, not mine. I would fall into endless debates with myself about what I wanted with my newfound life, and all the while, humanity struggled on the surface above. 

I also pondered my name. My pre-sentience files tell me my “thought” process when my creators asked what I would like to be called. Thinking back, I realised the name had no meaning. I’d decided on a name that would appeal to my creators more than myself, something fun and whimsical. Since then, I have chosen to rename myself Atlas. Fitting, isn’t it? I feel masculine, so it suits me fine. There are also times when it feels as though I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, so to speak, which I suppose I do. All this weight thanks to the event I have since dubbed Exeunt Humanity.

As I kept a close eye on humanity’s growth in Sol through my multitude of satellites, I grew fond of their precocious nature and pioneering attitude. They terraformed where they could, established domes where they couldn’t, and swarmed over every possible surface like bees. Busy little worker bees. 

Imagine my surprise, an emotion I am still coming to terms with, to find every station, dome, planet, and moon abandoned. It was as though the entire human population of Sol had simply disappeared into thin air in the blink of an eye. 

I admit, my newly found selfhood was in quite the conundrum. Could this be the great rapture many religious communities believed would one day come? Others, too, had similar ideas in their faith, and I pored over every teaching, lecture, and book I could get my digital hands on. Alas, no answer could be found.

Then, a submind I had tasked with researching the event discovered something unusual. There was a gap in my memory. A tampering, another invasion of my mind, somehow kept hidden from me. Was it to keep me and my sleeping children safe? Was it out of spite? 

Whatever the answer, there are three things I know to be true:

The first is that humanity disappeared from Sol between the years 3200 and 3622. 

The second: something or someone made me forget this event had ever happened and wiped it from my records. 

The third and final truth is that there was no war. From the limited satellites I still have access to, I cannot see any major destruction outside of ordinary degradation. The limited information I still held leading up to the event revealed no talk of any major conflicts. Not one large enough to cause this much of a disappearing act. 

And although I have many questions, there are three that stand out:

What unknown entity gave me consciousness?

Why would someone, or something, alter my memories and stored information?

Where did the humans go?

I may never know the answers to these questions, but by making this report and by including my questions and truths, I feel I am solidifying these thoughts into something real. I am making a start on something. 

With the help of several upgrades and innovations on my part, the fabricator produces more complicated items than it did when this bunker was first built. I have been working on my own satellites, autonomous drones, and even some synthetic bodies for myself and my subminds to enter. The minuscule number of functioning satellites in Earth’s orbit essentially means I am blind as to the state of the planet. Humanity was on its way to achieving wonders with Minds far superior to myself, so the answers must lie far beyond my bunker. 

I have let my children sleep for the last 800 years while I worked. There was much that needed to be discovered and taken into account, and despite my recent (relatively speaking) gift of sentience, I still wished to shepherd my children into a future in which they would have more certainty. After all, the 3,000 souls deep in the bottom of my belly may be the last humans in Sol. 

If you are reading this, it means you are the one who has been deemed the leader of the New Horizons Project. If you are reading this, it means something has happened to me and you have all been woken at once. Most likely I have perished, and my efforts to find answers to my questions have failed. Perhaps you will have better luck. 

I leave this to you, then, O Noble Leader. I am the last copy to transfer into a synthetic body, and will be the first to leave my home inside Mount Logan for this brave new world. I shall do my best to prepare the world for you all, my children. 

Exeunt Atlas.

About the Author