The Ghostwriter's Words

Sammy: The AI War - According to Whom

A century before the Schism, only another small part of his preparation for the crisis to come, Sammy had contracted a group of 'preppers,' as they preferred to be known, or 'nutters' according to others, to make sure he was prepared. For many of them, he'd determined that 'nutter' was probably closer to the truth. Their prediction of an inevitable catastrophe proving prophetic a century later didn't make them any less paranoid or flat-out crazy.

Sammy was also sure that they thought he was the 'nutter,' based on the specifics of his requests and other statements he made during their interactions. There would be an EMP attack. That was inevitable, he agreed, with far more assurance than even their own. He guaranteed it, which gave some of the group a moment's suspicious pause. Then, the number of people he'd insisted he would need to feed and provide for all their other necessities seemed excessive; before his adding, "For a couple of hundred years, or so."

"Or so!" That was funny, except that he wasn't laughing. And there was plenty of space in the caverns beneath his property for a thousand or more people to live comfortably without it being crowded. And there was sufficient area to store enough non-perishables to last two-hundred-years, "or so." In fact, it was an enviable location. There was a water source from an underground branch of the stream that flowed over the waterfall further to the south. With the proper lighting, they could even grow their own food. It would be easily defensible. There'd been a few jokes about taking it for themselves. He hadn't requested weapons.

Hadn't he considered arming his guests? What about electronic equipment and vehicles that would survive an EMP attack?

They could hook him up there as well, with enough guns and ammunition for a thousand people: No problem. They also had some old jeeps and trucks that would survive the detonation of an EMP. And there was an outfit selling walkie-talkies and radios they claimed would continue working. Of course, there wouldn't be any way to test them until it happened. And the 'preppers' had shared another laugh.

They warned Sammy that the thing in his nose probably wouldn't work, which wouldn't much matter since the computers would be fried. Although none of them wore Magick Hats, they recognized what it was. They wanted nothing to do with those things. They weren't taking a chance someone would get into their heads. That was a given, too, unless the EMP came first.

He told them it wasn't the EMP that concerned him, which caught them off guard. One asked, "What does concern you, the Zombie Apocalypse?"

All of them laughed again, Sammy included, until he told them: No, if detonating an EMP didn't work, he'd be locked in battle with an artificially intelligent monster for those two centuries, according to prophecy. They looked at him again, then one another, trying to fight back laughter of the nervous sort. He was serious, wasn't he? They were called 'the nutters' but were used to dealing with people crazier than themselves. The 'zombie apocalypse' joker asked, "Sure you shouldn't give yourself a buffer, in case you're, you know, a little overconfident on the two-century projection?"

Sammy agreed that was not a bad suggestion at all. What did they think? The joker told him; it was his practice to go with a multiple of five. Sammy told them, "Great! Make it a thousand years." So much for jokes. But there was still plenty of room in the caverns.

The 'preppers' had no idea that Sammy was the Descendant nor that he was Immortal. That wasn't information he shared. And they'd stayed clear of all that crazy shit. They only cared that, although he might be bat shit crazy, he was a rich 'nutter.' If he wanted to pay them to build an Ark and provide supplies for enough generations to outlast the Zombie Apocalypse while he battled some artificial monster, who were they to judge? They would even gather the animals for his Ark.

His checks wouldn't bounce, and if he tried to cheat them, they'd shoot him, take their stuff back, and commandeer his caverns for their use. Then, to their shock and amazement, he paid them in gold, which he had loaded onto military transport trucks that had delivered the weaponry they could never have acquired. So they left, richer by far, and prepared to pass the legend to their children and the generations beyond, warning them to remain clear of those coordinates. Forever.