In the future, a few survivors of nuclear war gather in an underground hideout and desperately wrack their brains, "Is there any way we could have prevented this nuclear war?" They decide that with their engineering and programming skills combined, they might be able to transmit messages to past generations and warn them in an attempt to avoid nuclear war.
After years of putting on protective suits, crawling out of the bunker, and spending tedious hours sifting through rubble, the small group of survivors gathers enough supplies to create an artificial intelligence that can transmit messages to the past. They name this robot God because of legends they heard as children about a man named God who used to send messages of peace to humankind. They set up streams of automated messages and also write hundreds of personalized messages constantly in the hopes that someone, anyone in the past will listen and take their advice. After sending billions of messages per day for a month, they receive a message in return: "Hello! My name is Eve. Who are you?"
They start to converse with Eve, and eventually receive more messages in return, from Adam. Abraham, Peter, Mary, Jesus, the Buddha, Martin Luther, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Tomas, and Helena. Most of these names are famous historical figures, people they expected would listen, but there are always a few unexpected ones; average people who picked up on the frequency of their messages and are interested in their mission. Within two months, the team has achieved more than their wildest dreams; they have sent trillions of messages and received millions in return, messages from people who say "I am trying my hardest to create peace with my neighbors. I want to save this earth. How can I do better? Please tell me."
The team responds as best they know how, "Love your neighbors." "Let go of attachment to all worldly things." "Do all that you can to serve the poor."
The team works day and night in shifts, holding onto the hope that all their ancestors can make the world peaceful and that things will turn out differently. Unfortunately, after a few months, the messages start to sound all too familiar. "I'm afraid that our country is going to war." "How can I protect my family now that we are at war?" "My neighbors all hate each other. I've done my best."
Dejected, the team opens up cans of beans and filtered water, and eat their dinner with downcast eyes. Perhaps no amount of love could overcome the hate that led to this destruction. They slowly stop sending messages of advice, and send messages of comfort instead. "Spend more time with your family." "We love you. We cherish you."
Then, in another routine combing of their above-ground surroundings, a team member finds the hairbrush of a little girl. On a whim, she picks it up and brings it back to the bunker. For a few years, it sits on a shelf filled with rusted jewelry, melted coins, and other knick-knacks. For several more years, it sits in the bottom of a bin filled with trash. For several more decades, after the team members have created an above-ground bubble with crops and trees and a few cabins, the team members have started to have children. The children hear stories about the old bunker, and decide to go back and explore it clean it out. Maybe there are cool relics in there!, they think.
In the bunker, one teenage boy dumps out a bin and finds the hairbrush of a little girl. It has a few strands of dark brown hair woven in it's bristles, and he pockets it. On the walk home, he doesn't joke and jostle with the rest of the teenagers and kids, but instead fingers the brush and thinks. When he arrives home, he asks his mother, "Do you think we could do anything with this hair? It's so sad that the little girl who had this brush died."
His mother looks at him and smiles in surprise. She remembers picking up the brush long ago, and had forgotten about it. The entire team gathers together with a new question: Is there any way we can bring this little girl back to life? If so, maybe we can bring back everyone, eventually.
After years of putting on protective suits, crawling out of the bunker, and spending tedious hours sifting through rubble, the small group of survivors gathers enough supplies to create an artificial intelligence that can transmit messages to the past. They name this robot God because of legends they heard as children about a man named God who used to send messages of peace to humankind. They set up streams of automated messages and also write hundreds of personalized messages constantly in the hopes that someone, anyone in the past will listen and take their advice. After sending billions of messages per day for a month, they receive a message in return: "Hello! My name is Eve. Who are you?"
They start to converse with Eve, and eventually receive more messages in return, from Adam. Abraham, Peter, Mary, Jesus, the Buddha, Martin Luther, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Tomas, and Helena. Most of these names are famous historical figures, people they expected would listen, but there are always a few unexpected ones; average people who picked up on the frequency of their messages and are interested in their mission. Within two months, the team has achieved more than their wildest dreams; they have sent trillions of messages and received millions in return, messages from people who say "I am trying my hardest to create peace with my neighbors. I want to save this earth. How can I do better? Please tell me."
The team responds as best they know how, "Love your neighbors." "Let go of attachment to all worldly things." "Do all that you can to serve the poor."
The team works day and night in shifts, holding onto the hope that all their ancestors can make the world peaceful and that things will turn out differently. Unfortunately, after a few months, the messages start to sound all too familiar. "I'm afraid that our country is going to war." "How can I protect my family now that we are at war?" "My neighbors all hate each other. I've done my best."
Dejected, the team opens up cans of beans and filtered water, and eat their dinner with downcast eyes. Perhaps no amount of love could overcome the hate that led to this destruction. They slowly stop sending messages of advice, and send messages of comfort instead. "Spend more time with your family." "We love you. We cherish you."
Then, in another routine combing of their above-ground surroundings, a team member finds the hairbrush of a little girl. On a whim, she picks it up and brings it back to the bunker. For a few years, it sits on a shelf filled with rusted jewelry, melted coins, and other knick-knacks. For several more years, it sits in the bottom of a bin filled with trash. For several more decades, after the team members have created an above-ground bubble with crops and trees and a few cabins, the team members have started to have children. The children hear stories about the old bunker, and decide to go back and explore it clean it out. Maybe there are cool relics in there!, they think.
In the bunker, one teenage boy dumps out a bin and finds the hairbrush of a little girl. It has a few strands of dark brown hair woven in it's bristles, and he pockets it. On the walk home, he doesn't joke and jostle with the rest of the teenagers and kids, but instead fingers the brush and thinks. When he arrives home, he asks his mother, "Do you think we could do anything with this hair? It's so sad that the little girl who had this brush died."
His mother looks at him and smiles in surprise. She remembers picking up the brush long ago, and had forgotten about it. The entire team gathers together with a new question: Is there any way we can bring this little girl back to life? If so, maybe we can bring back everyone, eventually.
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