Daniel H. Wilson

So now what?_ I ask.She is quiet for a long time, long enough that I assume she__ gone to sleep.__ think this is just part of it,_ she says. __ivilisations fall. People keep going.

You__e not really grown until you__e lost your heroes.

If you don__ die screaming in this war, then you__e fuckin_ doing it wrong. At least I__ fucking doing it right.

You humans are biological machines designed to create ever more intelligent tools. You have reached the pinnacle of your species. All your ancestors_ lives, the rise and fall of your nations, every pink and squirming baby__hey have all led you here, to this moment, where you have fulfilled the destiny of humankind and created your successor. You have expired. You have accomplished what you were designed to do.

The end of the world came and my job did not change.

I've heard it said that technology makes a good person better, and it makes a bad person worse. That's okay with me. I say we keep building new versions of ourselves, keep exploring the unknown, and keep growing. We're gonna be fine. Different, but fine.

And now the story begins for the last time.

It__l turn me into a weapon,_ I say, my voice suddenly loud. __ll you got to do is curl your hands into fists and you turn into a weapon,_ says Jim. __our body is just another tool. This technology changes nothing; it only amplifies. You decide how to use your tools. Whether to do good or evil.

Without us here to witness, the universe is just pointless physics unfolding.