6 EVERYTHING BRINGS OVER OF NOTHING

A trillion of trillions of years later …

For the last planet slips a tenuous breeze, very softly and constant. This air is caressing the extensive deserts as the arm of a lethargic lover, that with disdain, feels the sad landscapes and the cold stones, which in general, do not possess another witness of his existence.
In the highest of the atmosphere, just before the beginning of nothing, thousands of melancholy clouds, softly luminescent, weave a circular storm. This great spot turns about the hemispheres of the planet every 24 hours, providing a scanty light the half of this time and leaving in darkness other one. Eventually, between the deserts there is some deep pit of which there get up monstrous columns of dense gas in the middle of thunders. On having observed them patiently, I have been a witness on whom finally these columns of gas - made at the back of the avernus - feed the great luminescent storm. Protagonist of our synthetic atmosphere.
Here and there they can be, oldy Mekhanes (Machines); they are thousand-year-old appliances of public bio-maintenance, used for an eternity for the thousands of solitary that they are born and dying, of century in century, in the last planet. These Mekhanes prevent that my almost dry blood, after-taste of flowing. Or they leave between my tisues microsystems, that fill of scantily, though sufficient, oxygen my thin meats. But especially, they are repairing the mistakes and micro-aberrations that my germinal molecule is suffering. That is the more essential thing that I have and that I am.
Periodically the Emissary leaves a few letters (instructions). For them know how to find and to use these Mekhanes or when I must begin new operations in them. So the Emissary is the interface between the mekhanes and me.
And they are distant manifestations, a poor echoes of the Thecnetos, which allows by this way, my survival among the deserts.
Some landscapes are furthermore strange that others: they contain regular forms and of rare beauty… I suppose they are distant constructions, scrawls of the distant and violent prehistory of the human being, happened it does already so much that probably the same time does not serve to conceive the distance from us to they. They are now a remote powder, vanishing in powder furthermore old, and nevertheless they seem to me to be so interesting when I compare them with the lack of meaning of other landscapes. They speak about our vehement forbears, too different from us. I had never gone out of the local system of ruins, which was wide and to cross it was my unique distraction, but my walk along they was always solitary. There does already trillions of years that failed all the forms of life, less, clearly, ours, which will last up to the end of the universe. And yet it fits the possibility of that if it forms someone of matter or energy survives this end, the Thecnetos will find the way of making ourselves survive also.
Finger to admit that these ruins me are confused or sometimes totally incomprehensible. I cannot imagine how they served at some time either to this remote humanity or what role they played in this past strange world. The phrase “everything was very different at the time “that might be used to answer to this question, does not relieve my deep and anxious doubts.
I cross and examine them patiently, and always they seem not to make sense, ¿ or might it be perhaps that never had it, at least not for us? (This is evidence of which in the prehistory we were not physically like now we are). Maybe they correspond to periods of disorientation or of drastic change, or belong to the beginning of the control automaton of the world, of the forbears of the machines who came later, since the artificial thing also has his prehistory, too different - insurance - to the current Thecnetos.

If I think it better, the artificial thing also will have his future, but not we, since we will not change already.
It came our evolution does already very much to his end as the species that we are: Homo sapiens thecnesies. These rare ruins, these algebras of stone and cement, were maybe the trenches of war of the first artificial intelligences; the primitive (original) and coarse seed of the current, absolute and infallible Thecnetos.
The Emissary (his emissary) I believe that he has to understand them better.