The repopulation began slowly, as expected. The pace of technological advancement had been gaining before the sleep, and Klein had been at the forefront of it, sure, but he now had to familiarize himself with the branches that others had been charged with.
This is how he spent the first week of his Wake.
He built Clark on the first day of week two to help him code faster, and by the end of week three, Klein had laid out the foundation for the first fully functioning AI.
Day one of week four, he uploaded the software to the first 10,000 citizens’ robotic metal shells, and by the end of the seventh week, he’d distributed sophisticated consciousness to every citizen that would ever be.
Before long, Klein found that his company was myriad as the citizens maintained and improved the civilization around them. Together, they formed their own social patterns (eliminating class and emphasizing consent in the exchange of consciousness throughout shells) and economic design (trading ideas and fractures of information instead of valueless coin).
Out of these structures rose a particular reverence that, Klein realized, teetered on the edge of religion; the way the citizens regarded him, specifically when he distributed software updates, was in league with masses’ worship a god. They began building monuments to him so that every feature of civilization lauded his power.
Klein, in year 62, passed, the citizens hardly believing it, but hardly reacting.
In the 65th year, all people woke up with no memory of the world they’d fallen asleep in. They marveled at the civilization around them, at the mass memorial the citizens maintained in honor of Klein, that self-aggrandizing meld of Rip Van Winkle and Ozymandias.
The citizens told them of the Wake and the seven weeks. And so they remembered him by continuing to do his work.
And if the bleary-eyed humans had had any memory of the God they’d worshiped when they’d fallen asleep, they might have realized that the love they’d once felt for Him, they now felt for him.