Droubble: Spheres

Spheres

A sphere lumbers by on stubby segmented legs. They seem to be the pinacle of intelligence on earth, though their demands on their surroundings are so minor that they appear rather dumb.
The tribesfolk are human, or at least reasonably so, with no more genetic drift than would be expected in the fifteen thousand years that have passed since we left – three years in our subjective time; that’s relativity for you.
The spheres are our descendants, too, at least mentally. Each is a ball of almost pure computronium – each atom participating in efficient nano-scale computation. There rest the minds of the other half of humanity.
The scale is immense. By our best calculations, each ball contains computing power orders of magnitude more than that of every computer and evey human brain on earth when we departed in 2103. There is no input or output, other than the lowest of sub-programs steering a course across the grasslands, finding the clearest sunlight, continually moving to avoid being shaded by debris or dust.
We left to look into the face of what we would become, but is it the face of the unwashed savages, or that of the unresponsive white sphere?