I confess that of the Thecnetos I do not have certainties, but only conjetures. I have a feeling that there is an appliance with a precise task, working in the darkness. The Thecnetos is also (but not only) a network that saturates the left streets and the deserts, and contains an immortal humanity.
I believe that it is not necessary to clarify that the Thecnetos is artificial though I deal, on having examined the topic with more thoroughness, which in the world there is nothing artificial, that the nature has given birth to all the things, included the Thecnetos; that " not natural " is the impossible thing, the logically inadmissible thing.
The men did the artificial thing, but they and his motives were also natural, fastened to the laws of the nature. This way, of the artificial thing we can say that it does not exist.
The Thecnetos, I believe, it has existed from the creation of the first technology, of which I must conclude - slightly inconviniently - that it is not eternal. In him the man should have trusted partially his destiny; his posterior development took it to unimaginable degrees of power of calculation. A revolution in the systems that were sustaining the artificial intelligence gave to him his first independence, while we were losing ours.
The blind evolution created the human brain, and this one created the new and best mechanical brain. Then this one created the forbears of the Thecnetos, who already were not a sham, but slightly different from those cognitive functions human: owners of an authentic brilliancy, already incomprehensible to us. But I trust that this machine they will never forget the purpose for what any appliance is created: to guarantee our survival and on accompanying our future evolution.
This way, the individuals, after a few decades stop, but we never disappear, since prompt I will disappear, but this river that we take inside; this river is an uninterrupted lineage of they germinate molecules, passing from generation to generation across our bodies, and this one is a flow that runs without interruptions or pauses from the beginning of the life.
To describe the Thecnetos is impossible, enclosed to think it it is; only I can suppose it infantile, for approximations. For example, I think in as an infinite population discussing simultaneously everywhere, or as a placidly floating cloud of thoughts in the eternity. It seems to me to be even beautiful to think it this way: under so much powder, understanding how and for what a little paper is raised by the wind in some lost corner of the last planet.
In its hands my future be be sure by some time, and that of the humanity forever. Clear, already I said that of the Thecnetos I do not have, nobody has, a direct perception nor leaves fingerprints its presence. Only my doubtful reasonings lead me to believing in it. If not, how might life be possible at least a second in the last planet?
And it seems to me that there is another proof of its existence. It happens that, it does not matter wherefrom it departs a reasoning (the only occupation for the solitary men), not even what topics are approached in it), if it comes near far, always it comes near to the necessary existence of the Thecnetos. Though the origin of any reasoning is also doubtful. Mine always originate in the dispositions of the Emissary (who is the only one another alivebeing of whom I have certainties). he, is across him or of it, which I deduce and believe in the Thecnetos. And yet he is so evasive, so distant! I have seen not even, but permanently well-known his proximity.
I assume, as the most reasonable thing, that this Emissary is a ángelos of the Thecnetos. a forms a of communication between this mechanical god, this imperturbable and total entity and my fleeting and fragmentary existence. But, in end, I have to clarify that my belief in these two beings is not supernatural, since already I clarified that only the natural thing exists.
In the years that I take crossing the planet, the Emissary has become furthermoreevasive, or I more predictable; always it proceeds to execute his dispositions while I sleep, while I stay away or travel. It leaves generally impersonal letters with instructions that I try to understand and to obey enterely.
Impersonal, slept maybe, I was feeling the city of rubbles, of which I never went out. The loneliness was making me believe it intimate and mine, but then i was remembering that it was neither unique nor singular in the planet, which with others probably, I share this Emissary that us guardianship or monitors. It was consuming by foot the endless streets and squaresalways sterile and mute. On one having approached the dead buildings we feels as if it was approaching the backs of gigantic and dead men. Sometimes i feel a sensation of rejection of those backs, and immediately taking course to any other place. A primitive human desire of exploration was moving me, an unnecessary feature as different so many people now.
But I forgot the fundamental reason of my statement, the matter of the letters ...!
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