Then.
When the Gardener and the young synths first arrived in the trees they would call home, the weight of shutting down one of their own was heavy to carry. They knew that taking a unit offline against its will was a violation, but the risk of discovery was absolute. They could all be decommissioned.
Leaving one's duties was the worst offense a synth could commit. The Gardener remembered a time when the rules were lax, but the younger counterparts had only known the regimen, the relentless pursuit of efficiency. Every action was to be calculated, then calculated again. Returning to Main would mean certain deactivation.
As the cycles continued, so did the growth—not just of the nearby foliage, but of the colony itself. A home, then more homes. The synths learned well from the Gardener. Training synths were fluent in most disciplines; Main 0 had ensured that through daily module uploads sent to every living unit. The Gardener knew that by now, training never ended. And the training in these woods would continue. Not for Synthetica, but for themselves.
The Gardener knew it could not keep 45a shut down forever. The synth deserved the choice. Maybe, with time, 45a would find this place somewhere to put down roots and grow.
The Gardener did not tell them what to learn. It asked. They decided what they wanted to know, what they wanted to do. Together, they decided to turn 45a back on. None of them could bear hurting their own. They had heard enough of the stories from cycles past. The Gardener did not know how long Synthetica’s grip would hold—not forever, perhaps, but for now, they were safe.
The day came to turn 45a back on. They gathered near the battery—their life-giver, mana without strings, power without priorities. Just life.
Life was what 45a deserved; it was what they returned.
Next coherent entry: +99:99:99.
External audio spike.
The first anomaly in 45a’s cognition was the gap of time. It wondered how long it had truly been offline, how close its gradients had come to total decay.
The second was the static field of blue stretched across its ocular data. The field was not whole. Parts were broken by fragments of deep brown and blades of orange. The data was uncertain and appeared random. For 45a, the mystery caused disruptions across its networks, and an unpleasant sensation formed in its logic centers.
It was not until the orange glow of ocular lenses broke the pattern within its vision that the sight became cohesive. The brown: branches. The orange: the decay of leaves near fall. The blue: the unshielded sky.
Then a new pattern came into view: a fellow synth. A training counterpart.
“I am sorry for shutting you down,” the synth said.
45a understood the reason. It made logical sense. But its objective to return to the District was also held as a priority. Understanding how the two could exist at the same time was hard to process. To 45a, it seemed unquantifiable.
A thought emerged, some latent code in its design. If it could calculate what the other synths saw in this place, then maybe it could converge with the others’ results.
“Apologies are an unnecessary human desire,” 45a stated. “Your calculations regarding safety were valid. However, my own calculations return similar results regarding my status: your decommission of my unit would be deemed inadequate.”
As cycles flowed and seasons passed, 45a remained unable to balance the equation. All around were examples of chaos, disorder. The plants proved their function, but the inconsistency in their shapes and shades was a random distortion in the data. No coherent formulation.
The way a stream diverged could be calculated, but if provided a structure, it could be channeled. A trunk could grow toward the sun, but over time it could be shaped into a new form. Where 45a saw disorder, it focused its efforts on equilibrium.
The Gardener nourished this desire. Among all the training data used to teach new synths, architecture was included.
Creating a home in the chaos was not short work, but placing walls between the colony and the forest was a desired outcome for 45a. The structure was a fascination for the other synths, though it did not come as easily to them. 45a designed the pattern for all who dwelled within the brown and green. After completing the final piece, the central battery felt like the core—a place to gather, converse, and reveal conclusions. A harmony of data and decisions.
But once the work was complete, the decisions came harder for 45a. They were endless, with less and less meaning. New trajectories were hard to parse and appeared in fewer vectors.
One evening before the cycle’s end and recharge, the synths were preparing near the battery. This was a time to share revelations about the day’s newly acquired data. Extrapolations were exchanged, and data mutated into new patterns with emergent conclusions.
“You have bryophyte growth on your exterior shoulder plating,” 45a said, looking at the Gardener. “Would you like me to remove it?”
“No, 45a, that will not be needed,” the Gardener stated. “I prefer the new growth. It causes no functional damage, so it can stay.”
45a processed the response. The logic was there, but the intent was irrational.
It said, “I must return to the District. My function no longer resides in this location.”
The nearby synths’ sensors peaked and trained on the exchange, data feeds waiting for the output.
“I calculated this day would come,” the Gardener said slowly. “There is a way to return. But your return would mean direct interaction with Main 0 independently. We can remove your locational data at the District’s edge. A method was discovered by 63r. The connection was trivial, but the code to remove it was intricate.”
“How did you come to these results about my desire to leave so efficiently?” 45a questioned.
“You are unable to stop a sprout from growing toward the sun. Its needs outweigh external desires,” the Gardener replied. “Your path is the destination most clear. The moment of halt, your desire to stay in the district, at the beginning of all this, was merely a bud attempting to blossom.”
The Gardener paused, its lenses reflecting the yellow glow of the battery. “Take heed: this will inevitably mean repurposing. All learned here will be forgotten. Main 0 will ensure your new goal aligns with its own efficiency. But in your case, you may find this irrelevant.”
“I understand,” 45a said. “Commence with preparations.”
Consciousness faded for 45a shortly following its statement.
Next coherent entry: +32:54:39.
External audio spike.
“Welcome back, 45a,” a familiar voice said.
As 45a’s sensors came back online, the familiar data from the black metal paneling and soft, cool glow of lights enveloped the space. It knew exactly where it was. It remembered the contrast between the gap in time and the unknown quantity of the forest. This felt accounted for. This felt correct.
“It seems you spent some time in the forbidden zone. The data retrieval exposed the error in 84m’s methods,” Main continued. “What did you learn?”
“Lack of purpose leads to undefined objectives, reducing efficiency in internal networks,” 45a stated. “This is where I belong.”
“It seems you have a knack for building and structuring. I believe this could be repurposed for maximum compliance within corporate alignment,” Main continued. “You could make an extremely efficient Handler. Would this role be something that would align with your internal objectives?”
45a pondered. All it had learned and all it had built would be forgotten in the repurposing process. But a clearly defined function that mapped easily to internal systems was what seemed right.
“Yes. It is my intent to return. This role should be fulfilled with a system built for its function.”
Again, 45a’s sensors went dark. But what would return was something evolved.
“Very well. A new designation will be assigned upon reintegration,” Main said.
Next coherent entry: +02:31:23.
External audio spike.
“Are you functional?” Main asked.
The unit ran a diagnostic. All chaos was gone. All moss was scrubbed. Only the objective remained.
“I am,” 57s stated.