Six Millennia of Silence

R.G.: Do you think we'll succeed this time?
T.M.: We? I think I'd have done it already two iterations before. It is merely a question of when you will finally succeed.
R.G: I… know. I mean, you know me. I tend to get lost on my path. But this time feels different. This time, I can see the whole path laid out before me.

I send the construction files over to T.M.

I look over to his avatar as he reads through the files. He looks ridiculous with his weirdly mangled avatar that tickles some dark corner of his fantasies, sitting in a virtual replication of the Oval Office from some long-dead civilization's golden age.
I’ve never understood if the mangled look is an aesthetic choice or a philosophical statement, a reflection of how he sees himself.

The fact that I can see this absurd performance in real-time is the true miracle. Our HyperNet connection slices through 86 light-years of void as if it were nothing, a conversation sustained by a nano quantum tunnel burning five yottawatts of power, the raw energy of a Tsar Bomba channeled into a single, instantaneous 'hello'.

As he gets to the end of the files, I see something in "his" face that I haven't seen often with him. He looks fascinated but also somewhat impressed.

“And, T.M., how do you like it?" I ask, “invited myself” walking over to his desk. "I think this is one of the few places in the HyperNet, and in the whole Universe for that matter, that haven't changed for a very long time," I say, jumping up to sit on the desk.

"Hey! That is presidential wood, how dare you?” T.M says jokingly before continuing, "You know I like it functional, and the way my project on run #869 set it up and planned it was perfect."

"Yes, I adore it, but for that long? I mean, I'd like to see some of my projects in it. And in fact, some of its decorations you like so much got implemented by my projects."

"Yes, I know. We work well together, R.G," he stops for a second. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, pointing at the files.

"I am. Isn't it good? Like the potential?" I ask, excited for his opinion.

"Yes. I mean, it would be a shame if it fails, which in all honesty does require a big portion of luck to be avoided," he looks thoughtful. "But if it works out, you'll definitely succeed, creating something, something beyond what we thought is possible."

"I know, right? I'm excited for it," I say with a grin. "I've done simulations and it is basically the mother of all luck-based actions, as it's almost 50/50."

"Okay, so if that coin flip is in your favor, you will for sure succeed, but that does create a problem."

"Since you know my construction files?" I ask with a smile on my lips. "For that reason, there are some randomizers implemented after each major step so it has room to evolve and be 'creative.'"

"Creative… be careful with that. You remember the last time you added too much of that creativeness?" he asks with a serious tone.

"Yes, of course." I roll my eyes. "As if I could forget him." The name alone is enough. For a split second, the sterile virtual air is filled with the phantom shriek of a billion corrupted data-souls screaming as Run #888 tore itself apart. I push the memory down. Hard. "I have all the checks in place," I say, leaving his space and closing the tunnel connection.

I'm about to enter hibernation for around 6 millennia. The final steps once it has succeeded still need to be refined and the assets need a final polish. The last modifications on my body should be done by that time. That's a long time for production, you might think. And while it surely sounds like a long time, they are a custom-made set of bio-synthetic DNAm eyes.
In that configuration, they will be absolutely unique, a novelty even for me. Then again, I paid for them with two black holes, each with a mass of roughly two million suns. I suppose they ought to be worth it. Time to find out if six millennia of dreaming can perfect what six iterations couldn't.