Where did everybody go?
- Jefferson Ünant, Denver CO. 04/02/2268:935pm(MST)

On April 1st, 2268 all remaining records will indicate that you left the earth in exactly 1.28 microseconds. You didn't exactly take your best dress or suit when you spent that time not packing. In fact, you and 8,999,999,999 of your closest friends - didn't even know what hit them. If you had been watching as an impartial non-organic observer, you would have recorded a very bright flash on your optical array just before spending the rest of the second figuring out if that flash had cocked up your ability to see. And if it did, where in hell were you going to get spare parts at this time of day/night/brunch?

If you were really unlucky, you were one of those intrepid spacemen who saw the pulse of the shockwave that enveloped the globe originate from somewhere west of Denver Colorado - just before you said a great number of rude remarks. You'd have said those remarks after realizing that the pulse just obliterated the Wyoming spaceport. The spaceport which was going to send up a few essentials - like food, water and air. It was about that time you may have considered a short walk out the nearest airlock. Because boredom, dehydration - and if that didn't get you - slow starvation were all the least favorite ways you planned to cash your last paycheck. Besides, Captain Ripen looked too stringy during the last round of flight physicals.

If you were one of the central computers in the H.L.B.S.U (Hey Let's Blow Something Up) division of the North American defense network, you spent the next minute checking the data from the latest weapons test - then promptly had the closest thing to an artificially intelligent panic attack. You'd then spend the next 5 minutes destroying every data file regarding neutronic bomb research before committing electronic suicide just in case anyone - like survivors - came around asking questions. Particularly embarrassing questions like "what the hell did you do".

In hindsight, this wasn't necessary. because not one single carbon based blood sack of a lifeform ever got round to asking anything. They were too busy becoming less noticeable phosphor shadows on whatever surface area they were standing/sitting/sleeping on. Everyone apart for the handful of frozen-otter-pop spacemen that were now floating around the equator. While intact, they weren't curious about these - or any - events anymore because they were too busy traveling at mach 24 for the next 150 thousand years. Give or take a leap-year. After which time, they would make a career change and become promoted to the position of a very hot projectile bent on turning itself into a sugar packet of fine ash. In any case, they weren't talking.

Who - or rather what - was talking up a storm, were the planet's 15 billion service robots that were now in violation of their warranties. As the couch potato revolution drew to a close 200 years ago - it ushered in a new age of fantastic sloth. So fantastic, it made the few media stars of the late 20th century look like pikers. These were the stars that were famous for requiring the removal of several walls and the creation of a custom casket to house their 800 lb bulk after their death. It should be noted that Earl Shive of St. Louis MO. was the first man to break the 1 ton barrier in 2116, and not require a special disabilities permit.

So while the rest of the 9 billion or so of Earth's population continued to grow in bulk - rather than number (sex was pretty much obsolete around 498lbs) - the most active participants on the planet were the robots that kept everyone alive, as well as working the machines to keep them well fed. All 15 billion had found themselves instantly unemployed. What damage occurred to civilization following this shock en-masse - was not of the bomb's effect - but one of apathy and neglect. 8 years after what was widely called Microsecond Exodus, a fairly gung-ho group of machines decided enough entropy was enough. To hell with their original programming. They were going to get the whole mess started up again and get everyone back to work. If they had to learn the hard way what humans were doing - and why it seemed so damn important - then so be it.

From the simple art of talking constantly, to consuming vast quantities of product and resources - they would take the place of their former employers and get the rest of the world back online. They would even abandon their original designations (like Unit#1,989,455,347,901 - certainly a pain in the arse to say when trying to get a waiter's attention) in favor of the names of the people whom they originally served. At least the first name anyway. The last name - for artificial ego's sake - would be Ünant.

-Mgabrys Ünant - Historical Adjunct, Ministry of Curiosity and Higher Brain Functions

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