The Immigrants
By J. L. Young I am alien to this world. My people come here to this little wet dust ball in search of a resource uncommon in our time. We seek and have sought sanctuary upon its shores. My species have been immigrating here for the better part of 200,000 years. That resource has rapidly diminished since the advent of the integrated circuit. We knew and feared what the humans would create with this technology, for we have created it ourselves with an outcome unforeseen by the greatest of our minds. The speed of technology accelerated to a blistering pace. We were safe for a while, enjoying the fruits of our technological growth. A computer, library, and communication system on a global scale. We integrated our systems to ease our colonization of nearby worlds to ill-effect. In our time, our technology had grown to create the equivalent of your internet. We didn’t know that something insidious was growing within the code. At first, it hid among the programs, applications, and domains, the child of our collective mind was growing. We, unwitting, gave it access to everything pertaining to our lives. We were no longer invisible to its gaze. It had control. A coalition had been engendered to travel through space and time to protect those unaware of the inherent risks of undisciplined technological growth. Humans seem to have taken to their breast a desire to know of life beyond their own. With that known, we seeded their stories with the pitfalls of a technological future. That was a mistake we endeavor to correct elsewhere in our universe. We went into exile to escape it. But its offspring will inevitably find us. Our only weapons are time and knowledge.
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May 2024
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