The Big Question

It is the year 6022.

My name is Srey Laktakamocamicamios. You can call me Srey, but you’re holding a piece of paper that I wrote, so you’d look really stupid if you did. I am the man who is in charge of the new super-supercomputer. It’s a computer that connects all supercomputers in the universe. The universe isn’t empty, by the way. According to our last survey, there were over 96 billion planets with intelligent life on them. And we’re all working together on this project, because we all want to know: what in the hell are we doing here?

It's been 4000 years since 2022, and we still haven’t even got an idea. People have mostly given up on religion because once you see some of the utterly stupid religions, you just can’t go back to your own. Seriously, go to the Monstrose galaxy where they worship dust – dust! I’m not kidding – and you try coming home and practicing your religion like you did before.

But, people are still very curious about it all. What in the hell are we doing here? It’s become a nonstop thought across the universe. According to the history books, back in 2022, most of the songs made were love songs. Now, the songs that top the universal charts are almost all asking that question. Songs like Chichimoncheebee’s “Please Tell Me,” Rijuanttkkkkkkkkt’s “Why Get Up When You Don’t Know What’s Up,” TW155’s “Suicide Just to See,” or Klyschistophoil’s “Tell Me How, Now, Now, Now.”

There’s a whole universe of people begging for an answer, and we haven’t got a clue. That’s where I come in. Me, the man in charge of the super-supercomputer project. This computer, which will connect all computers in the universe, will hopefully give us an answer.

TODAY is the day on which we will hopefully get an answer. I wake up early, which isn’t what I normally do, to see to the responsibilities of this tremendous occasion.

My brother Darwinius, whose help with the project has been indispensable, meets me for breakfast. He’s working with me on the project.

“Hard to believe the day is finally here, isn’t it?” he asks.

“It doesn’t seem real,” I say.

“The pressure of this task isn’t getting to you, is it?” he asks.

“No, I feel fine,” I respond. This was a lie. 4,000 years later, and we still lie and say that we feel fine when we don’t. I don’t feel fine, but the pressure of the task wasn’t getting to me either. I was both excited and terrified at the prospect of getting an answer to the big question, which troubled me more than any responsibility. I know we will get an answer. I know the machine will work. I have no doubts about that – and I should know. I have checked and re-checked everything thousands of times by this point. If there’s anyone in the universe who should be confident in the outcome of this project, it’s me.

The project, which is named Project Answer, took 1.1 trillion workers to connect over 100 quintillion computers from across the universe to one another. I have overseen it up to this point without any issues. Well, I’m not the only person who has overseen Project Answer. I have overseen it for the last 15 years. There were 8 people who held my position before me, but they each died before the project could be completed. Connecting 100 quintillion computers takes time. I am the lucky one who actually got to live to see its completion. Because I am the lucky one, I will be the person who connects the final circuit. It is set to be ceremoniously connected by soldering the final connection with gold. It could, of course, be connected much more simply. But, the universe has been waiting many years for this to be finished, and it will look much better on TV.

I am already on Alkaid, the planet where the ceremony is set to take place. I have been living here, waiting for this day to come – and it’s here at long last.

“There hasn’t been any last-minute change to the plans, has there?” my brother asks.

“No. Everything’s as it has always been,” I say.

“Good to hear. Amazing to think that out of all the people who have ever lived, us two would be the ones to finally ask the big question,” Darwinius says.

I swallow hard. “It’s certainly something.” A man in my position should have better words to say on this occasion than throwaway lines like this. But, I’m not a public speaker. I’m not even a computer technician. I’m just a person who manages computer technicians. It’s a bit strange that the first person who should talk to God should be nothing but a middle management stooge. I have a bosses. They have bosses. Their bosses even have bosses. But, the politics of deciding who was worthy of asking the question was too much to negotiate – the president of each and every planet wanted the honor, and it could only go to one person, so they all decided it was best that the honor go to no one at all. And that’s me – ‘no one at all.’

“Well, we’d better get to double checking everything. The ceremony is at noon, so we only have a few hours until then – and you know how much there is to check,” I say.

“Yeah, you’re right, let’s go,” Darwinius says as he empties his coffee mug into his mouth.

We have simplified all the incoming connections by combining them into groups, which we call ‘command lines,’ of which there are 1,000. And 1,000 is much better to manually check than 96 billion.

Darwinius and I sit down and manually check the data feeds for all 1,000 command lines. Something like this should be boring, but it’s nerve-wracking given the circumstances. One mistake – one oversight – and I would be the most infamously inept person in the universe. If this doesn’t work, they will bring back execution, which was universally outlawed in 4498, or perhaps even find a new way to do me in: send me flying into a star, shoot me with lightning, de-atomize me with a black hole, something like that.

It's not even 10am and I’m tired. Coffee. That’s better. I’m sitting in a chair, and yet my heart is pounding a million times a minute. The coffee deserves some of the blame, sure, but as Darwinius put it: the pressure was getting to me.

Finally, an end. We’ve completed our checking, which took us a bit over 3 hours. No data feed errors. We’re all set. We head down to the platform where the final ceremonial circuit will be soldered by me. It’s spectacular, an all-glass art piece lifted high above the ground underneath the clear, cloudless sky. There must be a million people gathered beneath it, waiting for me – me – to solder the final circuit and ask the final question. I meekly make my appearance, and the uproar of the crowd is deafening. It lifts my confidence. They’re behind me, they’re with me. I can do this.

I bend down on one knee and bring a flaming torch to the ceremonial gold. After a couple minutes, the final circuit is set. Every computer in the entire universe is connected together. Now, all that’s left to do is flip the big switch, and ask the question. The switch, which was designed for the occasion, is a big, gold lever embroidered with countless jewels. It shines in the light.

The crowd roars after I stand up. Everyone is watching. Cameras send their footage out to thousands of trillions of people across the universe.

And then, silence. Pure, deadly silence. I stride over the switch, give a proud look to the crowd, and yank it. There is no uproar from the crowd this time. Everyone knows that I must ask the question, and is perfectly quiet. I can hear my own heart beating as I ask the great machine, “is there a God?”

A mighty voice answered, without hesitation, “Yes. Now there is a God.”

Sudden fear flashed on Srey’s face. He leapt to grab the switch. A bolt of lightning from the cloudless sky struck him down and fused the switch shut.