Work Text:
To the general public, the incident of platform K-96 of 30th June 21— was a blatant misnomer; the explosion it refers to, though it took the platform and all of its android workers in its wake, did not have the fishing exploitation as a starting point. Many minor islands in the South China Sea, which were closer to the radius, were either wiped off the map, or rendered uninhabitable in the aftermath of the explosion; these islands also had the largest number of casualties, with the islands that could not be evacuated in time being completely depopulated as a result. The estimates suggest that around 3,000 people lost their lives from an explosion that had, according to calculations, the same power as Fat Man or Little Boy (or more, since it destroyed landmass far away from its starting point) or the ensuing tidal waves; a great many more were deafened or received earing damage from the sound, which yet still could not beat the 1883 eruption of the Krakatoa in loudness.
Since the main reports were officially mandated by the governments of all the countries involved in the K-96 project, naming it after a simple fishing exploitation was seen as proof by a large part of the population that the priorities of the government did not lie with the common men. To them, the men of power had thought the loss of a profitable venture more dramatic than the loss of human lives. None of such happened on platform K-96: as a matter of fact, in its inception the project was vaunted and touted as being the first exploitation entirely run by artificial intelligences. All of the workers on K-96 were androids, run with an artificial intelligence programmed to prioritise the maintenance of the platform and the catching of fish, with a digital ratchet programmed in to avoid breaching bans. That last detail was the only point on which the A.I. of each android was conceived to take initiatives on its own. Beyond that, and the human-like appearance of each unit, they were very distinct from human workers, lacking free will and aspirations; the loss was purely material, and each, unlike the humans on the island, was truly replaceable. It is understandable, then, that the incident taking this name in official communications was met with controversy and backlash.
The truth of the matter, however, was merely a carry-over from a declaration by Pr. Sarah Copeland, who was one of the people leading the investigation of the different sites affected by the blast. Though she held no government position, she was affected to it as one of the foremost experts in geology, notably in seismic activity and underwater volcanoes. Unexpected movements in the Earth’s tectonic plates were, in the immediate aftermath, considered the most likely explanation for the explosion: why else would such a strong blast begin in the middle of the ocean, with no atom bombs being launched? It also seemed fitting, with the epicentre being located within the Ring of Fire. But she and her team could find no confirmation; no trace of a submerged super volcano, whether active or dormant, could be found on location, much to their surprise; the reason for the detonation thus remains, to this day, a mystery. Pr. Sarah Copeland was also sent to investigate the islands that were razed by the blast, in case more clues to the nature of the explosion could be found. But only contamination of the waters by gases uncommon in volcanoes were detected; no sulphur nor carbon, but a concerning amount of arsenic. Such scientific mystery contributed to the aura and mystique the incident gained, beyond the controversy.
No one was ready to blame Sarah Copeland for the misnaming of the incident, or at least doing so with malicious intent; once an obscure figure to the general public, she gained many admirers for using her personal wealth to contribute to reparations for the people who had to be moved by the incident and personally urging charities to contribute to the reparation efforts. Few even knew that the name came from her, as the declaration was not officially televised or recorded, a rarity at such a period. It existed only in written sources, with the original being quoted in many other articles, often with necessary rephrasing to be included in the text. The name came quickly, seemingly unconsciously, from her mouth as the journalist asked her for information about “the incident”. She had begun her answer with “Oh, the incident on platform K-96?”, did not seem to notice the blunder or correct it at the moment, and the name was repeated all over the international press, without anyone questioning it. Many neglected to mention Pr. Copeland as the source of the name as well, sustaining the misunderstanding.
She has not commented on the misnaming, either. In truth, once she had learned of it, the confusion greatly saddened her. She had blurted it out unconsciously, her mind thinking of something else before the interview. As a matter of fact, in her mind, the incident on platform K-96 was not the unexplained explosion in the middle of the Pacific. It was another event, unknown to all but her and her team.
* * *
The RV Curiosity arrived at the coordinates of platform K-96 at 3:30 a.m. on the second of July, exactly one day and eighteen hours after the explosion swept it. On site, there was no sign that the platform had ever been there: even the pillar it stood on—which made it look like, at first glance, a regular offshore platform for exploiting petroleum when it was itself a pillar of the economy—had collapsed from the blast, and no longer stuck out of the sea.
“Are you sure we’re at the right spot?” Pr. Sarah Copeland asked through the noise of the waves.
“Positive,” answered the voice of Dr Harvey Dawn. “We’ve got the right coordinates, according to GPS. Plus, the sonar is detecting that schools of fishes are disappearing before reappearing beneath.”
“You make it sound like another mysterious phenomenon.” Her lab coat and red hair floated in the wind as she leaned on the ship’s barriers, giving the air of a daydreaming traveller over a studious young woman of the sciences. “I hope we can finally put this one to rest. I’ve seen people freaking out over the end of the world coming!”
“Their worries should soon be assuaged, thanks to your expertise,” Harvey said as he repositioned his glasses over his eyes. “But for the fish, it just means that there is a point where the sonar can’t detect them. We suspect that it’s because they are passing through the ruins of the platform.”
“Could you please remind me why we’re passing here again?” she asked, raising the heel of her foot off her informal slippers. “The platform was swept, sure, but it was also far from the blast. How could this help us?”
“It’s that the androids were programmed to have a recording function,” Harvey said. “I personally insisted that we put them in, in case danger came to K-96. It could be anything: a nation breaking out of the agreement and hijacking it, pirates, uncompliant sea life, you name it. I couldn’t get them to agree for a live broadcast at the labs 24/7, unfortunately; I thought this would’ve been best, so we could do something sooner if they were attacked. Instead, they were supposed to capture a recording of the incident and send it immediately in case of an emergency.”
“And I suppose that with the explosion, they couldn’t,” Sarah said.
“Indeed they couldn’t. All of them were seemingly wiped out. The reason we’re here,” he said, and pointed to the direction of Ben Bunowes, who was putting on a diving suit, “is to comb the ruins and see if we can find at least one unit that has captured footage of the explosion. Undamaged footage would be preferable, of course, but we’ll do with what we find. If we even find one that works at these depths and pressure, it would be splendid. It could help us figure things out about the explosion.”
“I see,” Sarah said, both feet now out of the slippers. “That’s some forethought. I should’ve figured that with you leading the construction of the machines and their A.I.s, that’s what would interest you.”
“It does bother me personally, I’ll admit; however, I am also concerned about the cause of the explosion. Everyone is. We’d like you to turn something out, explain how we got there, to preferably prevent it in the future. At least the president didn’t put a limit on what you could research.” He sighed.
“People don’t have the same fear of Gaia as they have of Skynet,” she said, approaching him. “But especially now, she’s the biggest danger. This explosion might’ve been a sign.”
“And it’s up to us to find out.” They both nodded. “When the time comes, we’ll be counting on you.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the man the diving suit plunged into the sea, causing a splashing sound that brought them back to the present. As the man sunk lower and lower into the South China Sea, the captain of the ship urged the scientists to follow him back inside, and with Sarah Copeland taking her slippers in her hands, she followed Harvey Dawn into the captain’s cabin.
The captain stood at the bar, maintaining the ship as still as possible. He wished them good luck on their search, and Harvey Dawn and Sarah Copeland entered the study, behind a door in the cabin.
A screen was on the wall, facing tables covered in sheets and calculations. As Sarah turned off the lights, one of the helps turned on the screen, displaying a great mass of blue sea-water. The diver passed through a school of fishes, swimming forward and seemingly rising as the man descended.
“It’s like a dream,” Sarah whispered into Harvey’s ear. “It’s really beautiful. Do you think the fish realise it?”
“They’d have to know about us, from these depths,” Harvey said in the same low tone. “Even though I never bought into what Descartes said, I find it unlikely. They just swim, because it’s what they do.”
“Like the workers of K-96?”
“I still find myself thinking that they could have been more. But I’m just one voice in a development team who just wanted to do their job.”
“Like I said: people fear Skynet.”
“Funnily enough, though, we did have one fancy we allowed ourselves. We didn’t try to make them like humans 2.0, but if we find it, we should see them in action.”
“And if we don’t?”
Harvey laughed. “Then you’ll be one of the few in the know.”
“I’ve reached the seafloor,” came the voice of the diver through the speakers. “Turning on the lights.”
The darkness of the screen, resulting from the dark depths Bunowes was in, made way for the wreck of the platform, lit by the lamp on the diving suit’s frown. All of the installations had been strewn about when the blast took it away. The floor of the platform itself had been torn apart, and the pieces of it either lay on the seafloor or stuck out of it like the rocks of a craggy mountain. A few of the robot workers were visible through the wreck, with limbs torn off or disarticulate, with chests pierced or demolished under the computers of the platform, formerly used to count the catches, now one more victim of rust. And through it all, fishes swam through, probably unaware of the catastrophe that gave them this new spot to traverse, but still, to the humans who watched, like a provocation, showing off that now they could swim uncaught in what was their own turf.
It was probably with them that the platform had been at its liveliest; and yet, Harvey and Sarah could not help but feel that this was a desolate sight. Naively, they felt sorry for the machines.
Ben looked down to his feet. He stood before the remains of a worker, with wires and chips sticking out of its chest and joints like gore and guts. The communication pad, a semi-large touch screen located on the worker’s left and wider forearm, now showed only glitching graphics.
“Ben,” Harvey said, “I suggest that you explore the wreck as much as your air reserves allow you. Tell us when you think we have at least one unit whose records are intact, and we can raise it to the surface.”
“Roger.” Leaving a mark on the mechanical carcass, Ben stepped forward and entered the ruins.
The staff watched as Ben Bunowes explored the wreck of platform K-96. They were mandated to do so, for sure, but it did not prevent them from seeing this exploration as a form of breach; this underwater urbex was felt as catching a glimpse of the Holy of Holies. Even with the occasional fish passing through the light, the wreck seemed to them a place out of time, fixed in it for eternity. Logically, however, it would not be so: completely exposed to the environment, it would rust away and break away, slowly, piece by piece, and only through stories would it remain in people’s knowledge, like the wreck of the RMS Titanic of yore. This violation, though cause of unease, was a necessity, before platform K-96 would materially disappear and carry its secrets with it into oblivion.
It was an excruciating hour, split by halves of frustration and disappointments. Half an hour into the search, Bunowes found a worker unit, who had been left remarkably intact despite the blast. Only its arm was missing, having come off and being, seemingly, stuck between a rock and the reel of one of the nets. “It must have been at one of the furthest points away from the blast,” Harvey surmised. Its only remaining arm, the left one, showed its communication pad still displaying information; thus, Harvey hoped that the rest of the data kept inside this unit was intact. Ben understood, and attached it to his suit with the magnets on his back, taking it with him for the rest of the exploration. The other half-hour, however, proved fruitless, and the amount of air in Ben’s reserves encouraged Harvey to announce the end of the search. Ben returned to his starting point, and was risen out.
Sarah addressed Harvey during the time Ben was leaving the depths.
“Something’s bugging me,” she said. “How many did you say worked on K-96?”
“Sixty,” he answered. “That’s how many the company commanded, and the specs were all fulfilled, we made sure of it.”
“I’m certain there’s one missing.”
“Excuse me?”
“I counted only fifty-nine, including the one Ben is taking with him. One of the robots is missing from the wreck.”
He was flabbergasted, his face showed it clearly; but he still seemed to consider what Sarah was saying. “That is strange. Was he thrown far away by the blast? Then why weren’t more…?”
“Ben’s at the surface,” a female colleague called them. “We’ll see if the robot has exploitable data.”
Many of the scientists ran out to greet the diver. After a moment, and no less dumbfounded, Harvey followed them, and Sarah did him. But rather than join the group of scientists around Bunowes, she stood in the doorframe, watching them as Harvey Dawn gave a look-over to the sunken android. His face presented a great variety of expressions as he searched through the internal circuit; confusion made way for disappointment, then curiosity, and finally, his face showed happiness.
“I found it! The chip with the video data! It’s still working! Let’s get back to the computer!”
She made way for them. The captain told them that, with their work in the area of platform K-96 done, he would begin journeying to the starting point of the explosion, and Sarah acknowledged his initiative with a nod of the head before she followed her colleagues in the laboratory.
With her being one of the few who was not familiar with the technology used for the workers, she sat back on her seat, waiting for her co-workers to transfer the video data to the main computer. With the seats being arranged in rows, it gave her the impression of being in an empty movie theatre, well in advance for the next screening of the next major picture; alternatively, it brought back memories of her university classes, merely ten years from that present moment, when the students would wait on their seats as the teacher, for a lecture, showed documentaries explaining in great detail the movements of tectonic plates, the eruptions of volcanoes, the causes of earthquakes and tsunamis. It was a pleasant memory. This sort of anticipation reminded her of her times as an excitable teen to young adult, always looking forward to the next big thing that would amaze her.
And now, she thought, she was about to watch something that would not even knock her socks off, and not just because she didn’t wear any right now. Still, one of her bare feet bobbed up and down in wait as a few more of her colleagues join her on their seats.
“I’ll take care of the video files, Harvey,” the female colleague said. “You deserve to watch this.”
He left her on a nod, and took his seat beside Sarah. One last member of the team turned off the light of the room, which had made way for the light of the screen by the time he had rejoined his colleagues. All could see their colleague, Kali Komina, search through the files to display on the video program.
“We can start with the day of the explosion,” Harvey said. “We’ll see after if there is something we can find in the files for the days before.”
“Alright, got it.”
She clicked on the file for 30th June, 21—, and the video began to play. The bar at the bottom of the screen displayed a length of ten hours, fourteen minutes and thirty-one seconds of footage.
“That long?” Kali reacted in shock.
“Seems to check out,” Harvey said. “They were programmed to always start recording when their day of work started again. That should be around 5:15 a.m., meaning we’re not faced with an early bird.”
“Any reason they start so early?” Sarah asked.
“That’s because of their battery life,” Harvey answered. “They spend a short night recharging their batteries, which lasts from around midnight to, you guessed it, 5:15 a.m.. We programmed it into their behaviour as well, just because it was close enough to our own habits.”
“Well, still,” a man said, “ain’t no way I’m watching ten hours of robots fishing straight! Maybe an hour before, and we can look over the footage for before on our way to the starting point of the explosion. Otherwise, no point borin’ us with useless film.”
“That’s a pretty good compromise,” Sarah said. “You agree, Harvey?”
“Sounds good enough,” he agreed. “Fast forward, Kali!”
“Got it!”
With a swipe of her finger on the computer’s screen, Kali advanced the footage to nine hours, ten minutes and forty-eight seconds into the video. Some of the spectators settled into more comfortable positions on their seats before they continued watching the footage.
There was nothing to pique their interest in the majority of this hour of footage. Yet none of them, least of all Sarah Copeland, felt bored during this hour. There was something oddly mesmerising about the way the robots, at that point still fully built and immaculate, going about their day of work like masons, knowing nothing else and not even caring about the purpose they were built for. They did not even stop to occasionally engage in small talk or share gossips; their programming made them consummate professionals, without even thinking of such a concept. And in the hues of dawn approaching, the scene had a strange, cosy atmosphere.
The detonation came out of nowhere. Many were startled, even beyond the room.
“I hope that came from your video!” the captain shouted. “That would be disastrous if it came from the boat!”
“It’s in the footage, yes!” answered Bunowes. “We’ve reached the point of the video where there’s the explosion!”
“That’s how loud it was?” Kali reacted in disbelief. “Good thing it’s filtered through the video! I would’ve gotten worse than tinnitus!”
No visual announcing sign had been caught on film. At the moment the blast was heard, a pillar of white cut the sky in half in the horizon for a split second, clearly coming from the surface of the ocean and making ripples; it was clear to them that, in closer view, they would be revealed to be, in fact, devastating waves. The blast stayed and quickly expanded into a sphere, and it grew big, approaching the platform at dangerous speeds.
The wave of the blast had a sound of howling wind. In the video, it fought against the alarm that sounded on the platform. A synthetic voice, the only one that had been heard in the entirety of their watching, urged the workers in a dissonantly monotone ‘Warning. Warning. Danger is approaching.’ To the surprise of all but Harvey Dawn, the robots promptly stopped working, and began repositioning themselves.
“What are they doing?” Sarah asked. “Aren’t they working to the bitter end?”
“That’s the one fancy we allowed ourselves in the development team,” Harvey explained. “We still wanted to have a little bit of fun, so we decided that, in case of danger they can’t stop by themselves—we had thought of a case where the platform would sink, but that didn’t turn out to be the main danger—we decided that they would arrange themselves in ranks and give a salute. Like they’re facing death with dignity.”
“Really?” She let out a small, amused and bemused laugh. “Facing death with dignity. That’s your idea of fun?”
“It’s not like they can understand the gesture anyway,” Harvey said. “They don’t have the mind to think of the meaning of this gesture, because mandate wouldn’t let us give them one. They’re just programmed to do it; to accept that they’re going to sink with the proverbial ship.”
All eyes were fixed on the screen. A few seconds had passed, and the workers had abandoned their office. Now, in a meaningless routine implemented in their basic minds, they moved, faced the explosion swallowing the horizon, stood firm and placed their left hand next to their heads, in a position of salute.
Sarah squinted.
“One of them isn’t doing it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rewind, Kali,” she said, as the video showed the explosion catching the platform. “One of robots isn’t behaving like the others.”
“That can’t be!” Harvey said. “Just to make sure!”
Kali paused the video and did as she was told. Replayed in normal speed, it was too quick to be perceived clearly. She paused, and zoomed in on a spot in the screen where something strange took place.
“This one!” Sarah exclaimed. “It’s not saluting! What is it…?”
Without being told to, Kali rewound and replayed, slowing the video to half speed. One of the workers was not, in fact, giving a salute. Its arms were slumped on its sides, before it rose them to cover its face with its hands. During the entire process, its head and shoulders moved as well, in jerking motions up and down. And with the unexpected quality of the resolution, Sarah noticed something small crawling down from where its eye would be; something transparent and liquid.
“Is it… crying?”
“How?” Harvey went. “They’re supposed to all work on the same A.I.! There is no way it could have been programmed differently! We made one program, copy and paste to all others! Didn’t even change it when we implemented it! So how?”
“And more of that,” Kali added, “what is it crying for? Its… what?”
“Its life?” Sarah offered. “It… he’s about to die…”
“It shouldn’t even be aware of its life!” Harvey said. “There’s no way…”
“Oh, wouldn’t you believe it!” Ben reacted. “There’s more!”
“What?”
“Replay the moment the blast catches up! I’m sure I’m not dreaming it!”
The final seconds of the video were replayed for the final time. The crying robot had caught the attention of everyone; how come it had something different about itself? Otherwise discreet within the crowd, it did not look at the explosion. But it came in a flash; metal and cords came apart and burned in this blinding light, before it swallowed the unit they found and the footage stopped completely.
And still, in that instant, alone, he stood amidst this light, and he wept.