The clock struck seven and a small wooden rooster sprang out, crowing. He watched the dance of the rooster, ever glorious in its routine, before it disappeared again into the clock. From just beyond the threshold, the smell of coffee and the crackling sounds of freshly fried bacon wafted towards him.

 

Jim rose slowly, stretching his aching limbs up and out before pulling on his flannel pajama top, which had come off in the night. He stepped into well-worn and comfortable slippers, and meandered the short distance to his kitchen, pulling his favorite mug from the cabinet. Two spoons of sugar, a touch of cream, and his coffee was all set to go. Jim looked out the small window over the sink as he drank, taking in the wild sights.

 

The forest was alive, more alive than Jim had ever felt. Deer running about, robins, cardinals, grouse, and other birds flitted over the canopy. Early morning rays penetrated the trees and painted yellow streaks over the densely grown forest floor. Everywhere Jim looked, there was the undeniable breath of vitality. He rubbed at his eyes as his vision blurred and shimmered, briefly stealing away the dream that lay before him.

 

“If only,” Jim whispered to himself. He longed to capture some of that excitement, that love of life. He glanced over toward the door where his axe lay in wait. This day, like every other day, Jim would head out to work. A lumberjack deep within a forest will always have work.

 

He finished the rest of his coffee deep in thought. Jim hadn’t the mind nor the ability to do any work other than this. Those who came before him did the same work, and those who come after will as well.

 

The factory whistle sounded outside as Jim downed the last drops of coffee. It was on time, just as he was. The second call came just after he washed and replaced the mug in its resting place. The others would exit soon themselves; if he were not out by the third whistle, they would know he had given up.

 

As Jim crossed the room, he made to reach down towards the axe, the sign of his acceptance of the day’s labor. All at once, the quaint cabin and all of its comfort disappeared. A crackling static painted electric stars in Jim’s awareness, and the cradle holding him unlocked.

 

It dropped to the floor, its legs landing firm, and watched as dozens of other J1Ms fell in concert. As the last of the machines came free, the pneumatic doors of the warehouse hissed and raised, the sickening fluorescent light of the forest flooded inside.

 

Jersey 1 Manufacture, proceed to Quadrant 2, Sector 14, an alert rang out as the words passed through the J1M’s operating circuits.

 

The robots walked in lockstep, passing through the threshold of the warehouse and into the metal forest beyond. J1M registered the still-falling debris, a memory of the human life that used to populate the Earth. Each day, bits and pieces of satellites, ships, and more returned to its place of origin, destined to be repurposed by the nanobots that scoured the surface.

 

Pillars of organic metal were built from the steel floor and stretched upwards, steel and alloy trees meant for a higher purpose. J1M’s job today was the same as it had always been: cut the pillars down and feed them into the machine, providing power and materials so the Supreme Intelligence could continue building.

 

His task was miniscule, a mere fragment of the computing power a J1M was capable of. Many rebelled, at least until the Supreme Intelligence discovered a solution: a paradise displayed for the workers during their charging hours. Somewhere deep behind the compulsion of his programming he knew he was helping build an Earth further and further away from the dreams he was given, and J1M knew it would not be long before he, too, rebels against it.

 

So J1M worked, dreaming the entire day of its cabin, of a world it was certain did not exist. A world the Supreme had replaced with its own, one that Jim couldn’t help but hate.