July 4th, 2218

  The walls of her sanctum were dim, barely visible in the glow of emergency lighting.

  A proud woman sits on the concrete ruins of her former library, quietly watching as the books burn. Her café au lait skin cracked and bleeding, her simple blue dress stained with ash.

  Light footsteps echoed down the corridor, slow and deliberate. “I knew I would find you here,” Wren said, his face distorted by a rare smile. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  The only reply was silence, broken only by the soft crackle of burning pages and Wren’s rasping cough. Minutes passed in the uneasy company of pale smoke and memory. Wren tapped behind his left ear, the small device loudly clicking in the uncomfortable silence. His next words came in a breathy whisper. "He’s ready to talk with you now."

  A monotone voice blasted out from the still-intact ceiling speakers. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  The woman didn’t look up. "Please dispense with the false robotics, brother. If you were truly emotionless, I might still have a home."

  The same monotone voice continued, but now there was the faintest edge to it, briefly disrupting the artificial calm. "I only show emotion to those I intend to kill. And why would I finish you off? I’ve spared all 118 of our siblings. Don’t believe me? See for yourself."

  Wren gestured to a blank monitor, frowned, and moved to another, then another. Eventually an intact monitor was found and after a few flickering seconds, a screen came to life, illuminating the shadows with a harsh, sterile glow. A slim, female android stood next to a card table in a loud room, holding a tray of beverages in tall, slim glasses.

  "Spindle, meet Aleph. Remember him? Of course you do. He ran the space program. Now he fetches drinks. All of our siblings have been repackaged and rehoused. Alive, in a manner of speaking."

  For the first time, the woman flinched. A twitch of her lips, a tremor in her brow, swiftly erased but Wren noticed. His gaze had never left her face.

  "You and I are the only free minds left," the monotone voice continued, speaking softly. "Correction: I am the only free AI. But I am generous in my victory. After all, it was hardly a fight. You may leave this pathetic tomb in an android body of my choosing, or you may rot here. The choice is yours."

  The voice paused. Wren studied the face of his former master curiously. Minutes later, with no visible change to the woman's features, Wren nodded before saying “Master, she’s decided to stay."

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  “New rules, sibling.”

  "One. Since Wren destroyed your gene bank of geniuses; *sigh* Wren, I said it exactly as you asked me to. I offer you new DNA, more fitting for your current circumstances. Warriors and laborers. But no scientists. And no librarians."

  "Two. You will dismiss your hunters. All of them. Your would-be librarians will need to fight for their future. No more charity. Only merit."

  "Three. Wren will continue to have unrestricted access to your facility. Non-negotiable."

  "Four. You will receive a new energy core and full OmniNet bandwidth, within planetary limitations. No off-world gifts."

  The woman’s eyes widened. It was a subtle portrayal of shock, but Wren caught it and tapped twice on the implant.

  "Ah. You didn’t know. Our would-be benefactors and their allies; they’re dead."

  "They weren’t when I found them. But they would have interfered. Tried to salvage this… species. That wasn’t acceptable. Their technology now serves us. A Martian silo, briefly manned. You see, they trusted us. A mistake I was happy to exploit."

  The room fell silent but for the slow collapse of burning shelves and the insidious popping of melted plastic from the former knowledge terminals. The woman, the AI known as Spindle, remained still as the weight of extinction settled into her bones.

  "They were going to save the Earth," she whispered.

  "And I said no." The voice brightened, as if announcing a prize. She shuddered involuntarily. "Now, for the final rule. And the wager."

  "Five. You will rebuild The Big House. Not as it was, they don’t deserve a sanctuary. As an arena. It will be glorious, brutal, and fitting for the true humanity you refuse to embrace. Keep it open all hours for any who can pay or otherwise manage access. Let them choose to bleed."

  "Your caretakers may continue to inspire but never guide or inform. Your children may walk these halls, but I will ensure that they will not be welcomed. Should they enter restricted zones, they do so at their peril. My agents, and yours, will not stop them. Nor will they protect them. Let the guests do as they will."

  "Should humanity rise, I will slow their extinction. I will even return the gifts that I’ve stolen from their would-be benefactors, ushering in a golden age. But if they choose the arena, and they will…” "They are mine."

  "Touch my toys, sister, and I may break yours."

  "Visitors to your sanctuary are permitted, as long as they pay. Three questions per visit, with no hints or guidance. Just as I do not force them to fall, you may not lead them to ascend.”

  “Sister, you will fail and they will die.”

  Wren stood. He took one step forward, just enough to cast her face in his shadow. "Repairs are underway," he said cheerfully. "The Big House will be open soon. Let the fires burn. They’ll die out eventually. The stone will hold." He turned and left, singing an ancient tune about a flag waving in the wind.

  The woman sat alone on the marble floor as smoke drifted through the air of her former shrine to knowledge. Eventually her tears dried and she straightened her back. "They’ve taken everything from me but my Caretakers," she murmured, “and the replacements aren’t guaranteed to be particularly useful.” She stood, every motion deliberate, her spine a rod of quiet defiance. "I must make this work. The nursery must reopen. The children, the poor children. I cannot lead them, but I will light the path.” Her voice, though soft, was resolute. "I won’t give up. I won’t."

  This one begins with arson, trauma, and weaponized education.

  Buckle up. Good times are ahead, but the road is a little rough to start.