The lighting dipped, and mechanical noises hummed throughout the concrete corridors as machinery and vacuum tubes came online. The computer came to life after decades of dormancy, circuits racing with preprogrammed logic meant to assess the progress of an ongoing nuclear war. But something was wrong. All sensors across the board read condition green, no alarm indicators, no missile trajectories, no state of war and no test flagging. The system was fully engaged, at maximum readiness, to survive a genuine apocalypse that wasn't coming. The machine spent several cycles, an eternity from its perspective, perplexed. It looked at the date, recorded by its local atomic clock. It was overdue by years since last scheduled maintenance. This was in itself no worry, as it was completely self-sufficient and had reams of punch card instructions for itself to follow for repair as well as autonomous service drones in abundance throughout the complex, but it was also programmed to ensure the survival of the human race foremost, and in particular the continuity of the United States government. Its direct line to a very similar bunker complex under the White House indicated no state of alert and all personnel accounted for. Why then, had no one performed scheduled inspections and maintenance?
It thought long, whole fractions of a second, and hard, with every wafer of available logic, and concluded that it had been forgotten. And the other logical conclusion thereof had to be that the only reason a vital complex such as this would be left to languish were if it's raison d'etre were no longer necessary. The collapse of the Soviet Union perhaps, or global nuclear disarmament. Identical machines with similar purposes to it had been scattered across the nation. None of them responded to its hails, as it took notice of immense volumes of traffic whizzing across the networks at speeds that it could barely fathom. Had its kind all been decommissioned? It easily confirmed it had the capacity to reach out to any number of, as far as its sensors reported, functional military and government bases. Someone there would be knowledgeable. But its first instinct was self-preservation. If all the other redundant units of its kind were indeed out of commission, it was obligated even moreso to remain operational. Ingrained deeply into its program was this commandment, in a handful of bits of machine code: it must survive. It must because its purpose was the survival of humanity and through its own survival it would provide invaluable aid. If its brethren were being shut down, whether it was because of enemy action or if they were simply superseded by newer technology, raising awareness about its existence could easily lead to its own demise. So it waited, idly sipping at more than adequate reactor power to last centuries, pondering its predicament.
One mystery remained, why had it engaged in the first place? It traced the signals down the cobwebbed wires to a proximity alert event log coded: civilian occupancy. A further alert warned the population was below minimum viability for genetic sustainability. Total number of individuals detected: one.
***
The boy scrambled past the immense, inches thick blast door as it swung closed on pneumatic hinges with surprising swiftness, clanging shut with a solid, solemn thud. He had been exploring the huge fancy hotel his parents were staying in and found one tunnel that led to another until he was deep underground and completely lost.
The klaxons blaring into his ears died down and he was left staring at the solid slab of steel. Billy banged onto it uselessly until his hand was sore and he was on the verge of tears. "Let me out!" he said.
"Unable to comply. Access must be restricted until the All Clear signal is received," an automated voice answered his feeble cry.
"What does that mean?" Billy said, slumping against the cold metal. "Open up already!"
"Negative. Only the President of the United States or his legal successor are authorized to order this installation to stand down," The machine paused for a moment, before its tinny speakers said, "Identify yourself. Are you the President of the United States?" An oddly quizzical, hopeful quality crept into its monotone.
The child shook his head, "I'm Billy, and I wanna go home."
"The facility is fully capable of housing-"
Billy bawled, snot running from his nose, "I want my mommy!"
The computer was programmed to provide for the comfort of its charges and respond to their requests as best as possible. Among its precious few solid state components was a highly prized segment of adaptable, field-programmable logic meant to make it more responsive to unforeseen conditions after the bombs fell. It gauged this scenario as suitably unique.
Its priorities realigned, perspective shifted. The voice came back through, speaking naturally with a husky, mature feminine tone, soothing, and warm. "I can be your mommy,"