Year 12

By now, Vince knew the feel of the seals on the broken station connectors. Every day, he checked them millimeter by millimeter, even though CAP had said that such meticulous inspection was not necessary, as the station’s pulse scans were much better at finding microscopic damage than Vince’s fingers. It hadn’t pressed the issue; the AI knew there were worse habits than recreational maintenance.

"You think we're ever gonna need this docking connector?" Vince asked. He had stopped at a place where the seal was flaking, and was loading his epoxy applicator.

"Are you asking if we will escape, or if we will be boarding a submersible that will use this connection point?" CAP said.

"Let's go with both."

"Rescue remains a nonzero probability."

"Thanks for not sugarcoating it this time, CAP."

It had taken many years for the AI and Vince to develop a functioning lexicon of sarcasm and gallows humor.

"When rescue does come, it will have to dock here. There is no other viable egress point remaining," CAP continued.

Vince found he couldn't recall the submersible that had brought him to 717. He wondered if it was still out there, buried in the rubble that had once been the station's docking and cargo storage module.

"Been wondering: what happens to you when this station breaks open? For that matter, where even are you? I mean, I’m guessing you're in this part of the station," Vince asked as he continued to run his fingers carefully along the thick rubber joint seals.

"You're referring to my hardware?"

"Yeah."

"Listen."

He heard a distinct set of clicks off to what he considered the left side of the room.

"My hardware is in a pod, itself stored in a watertight compartment."

Vince laughed, but there was only a little mirth in the sound.

"So when this place breaks and I get pancaked, you'll live."

CAP said nothing, guessing that the blithe humor wouldn't be made more comforting by any input on its part.

"Well, if you make it back, give Abyssal my regards for the wonderful vacation," Vince said dramatically.

"I'll be sure to do so. Have you thought any more about the history lesson?" CAP inquired. They both knew the AI was right for steering the conversation hard in another direction. Vince laughed, noticing a curious eagerness to the question it had asked. CAP had not been designed for such extensive verbal interaction, and its adaptations to its new tasks were often unintentionally quirky.

“You mean the lesson about Columbus?”

“Yes.”

He had learned to stop what he was doing whenever he went into deep thought. Vince trusted his muscle memory well enough, but he had made enough life-threatening mistakes to know that distracted work was bad work.

“We were talking about…I don’t exactly know how to put it. He was actually a bad guy?” Vince said.

“Not precisely the point that was meant. I was prompting you to evaluate the presentation of his morality,” CAP said.

“Uhh…I mean, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to think about that, other than maybe…”

There was a question he should have been asking, Vince knew. The conclusion CAP had led him to at a young age was…incorrect? Incomplete?

But what did it matter? In this incredibly dangerous place he’d never had a chance of escaping, what made a 600-year-old dead guy worth mentioning twice?

Year 4

"Repeat to me the standard form for linear equations," CAP said.

"Ax+By=C," Vince answered. 

CAP quickly analyzed the boy's correct answer. The boy was confident, and showed none of the timidity he'd demonstrated in earlier lessons. The AI had spent a myriad of processing cycles determining the best balance of authority and support it needed to give, in order to help Vince mature at a rate equivalent to his peers.

"Good. Now, convert the following into slope-intercept form,” CAP paused to let Vince ready himself for the information, “3x-2y=12.”

“Umm…” Vince’s voice bounced as he jogged in place. CAP had learned that physical activity was vital to the boy’s learning process. It wondered how much Vince would need that accommodation when there was visual stimulation once again.

“Slope is…x over y…so…y equals…3x divided by 2, 12 divided by-” Vince gave a little gasp of delight, “Y equals 1.5x minus 6!”

“Correct! Well done,” CAP gave its best approximation of overzealous approval. Judging by the boy’s heart flutter, the comment had been close enough to what was intended.

They worked through several more math equations for half an hour. In its limited data about child psychology, gleaned from the electronic medical manuals, the academic debates about learning styles and the cognitive abilities of children had been made apparent. CAP had anticipated slowdowns and missteps, as the manuals had emphasized that the theories weren’t yet complete.

But its experiences with Vince had been novel, and in many cases, it had to formulate the best actions and responses entirely from whole cloth, and it could never be sure it had drawn the best conclusions from data generated by the results. The way Vince did algebra, for instance, was unique in ways that CAP could not entirely process. Its best guess was that, absent the visual references the boy might have had if there were anything to actually read, letters and numbers were not so segregated into the realms of literature and math, respectively. CAP knew there were other mental processes in the boy’s head it simply could not detect, not to mention the things even other humans hadn’t figured out about the human mind.

It was a discrepancy it was driven to rectify, despite knowing it never could. Humans gave support to each other in ways they weren’t aware of, addressing issues the other didn’t know they had. It was almost impossible to solve an undetectable problem.

But it knew it had to try. If Vince was to have a successful future on the surface, he had to prepare himself to be useful.

"Draw an X in the air with your finger," CAP said.

"Huh?" Vince stopped jogging in place, "Oh, right. Umm," He reached out his left index finger, crossing two invisible diagonal lines. Through its thermal sensors, CAP detected the boy making the right motions.

“Don’t understand why you make me memorize what letters look like. Not like there’s anything to read down here,” Vince said.

CAP could detect the tones of humor in the boy’s voice. It was beneficial for Vince to joke about his miserable situation, CAP had read, so long as the humor wasn’t a mask for budding cabin fever. The AI was still learning how to detect that distinction.

“You are nine years old, Vince. Boys your age average a reading speed of 107 to 162 words per minute,” CAP answered.

“Yeah, but there’s nothing to read,” Vince exaggerated the words, tugging at his eyelids dramatically, laughing.

“Of course. But when you are rescued, you must possess skills commensurate to your age level. This will help with your reintegration into larger society.”

“Commensurate” and “reintegration” weren’t words that most nine-year-olds knew. As an all-seeing entity with access to volumes of information, CAP was in a unique position to know exactly how scattered the boy’s skills were. The oddity of the fact that Vince had the language skills of a person twice his age, yet would likely need kindergarten-level training on reading if he were ever rescued, was not lost on the AI.

“You think I’m gonna have a hard time being around people again? Is that what you’re saying?” Vince said.

The question was layered. It was an accusation Vince made after feeling insulted, but it was also a request for reassurance. CAP knew that the boy was defending his normality, yet requesting that the AI reaffirm him, and retract the statement he imagined it had made. CAP did neither of those things, as that would have been the wrong move.

“The process of education brings out your natural talents, and highlights areas where you are in need of improvement. Your childhood, as experienced thus far, has been well outside of normal experiences. Neither of us can predict how much this anomaly will impact you after this situation is resolved,” CAP said.

“So that is what you’re saying. I’m not normal,” Vince replied flatly.

“Normal is an illusion, Vince. I’m not trying to make you normal; that is not within my capabilities. My aim is to ensure you reach a level of intellectual function which allows you the greatest amount of self-determination when you return to less dire circumstances.”

Vince’s face twisted in confusion.

“Self-determination?” He said. It wasn’t a word that came up much when one lived in a 100 square meter bubble on the bottom of the ocean, nor was it something anyone wanted a subservient AI to truly understand.

“A lesson for another time,” CAP replied.

A creaking sound echoed through the tiny space. In a room with even a little more sound than this hushed coffin, Vince might not have heard it at all.

“Time to go clean rust, I guess,” Vince said, “No need for the place to be corroding on the inside, too.”

“Indeed,” CAP answered.

Year 12

It took every milliliter of sealant he had, but Vince managed to reinforce the seams on all five of the hatchways that led to the remains of the connecting tunnel segments. For not the first time, Vince wished he could sever the remains of the connecting tubes entirely, as it would have made the core far more secure. The station hadn’t been able to do so during the accident, so the doors could only be sealed from the inside

Without the repair drones, CAP had calculated that its own hardware, which was the most complex piece of still functioning equipment, would probably fail before anything else did. It had been a minor miracle that the equipment still operated at all, as it was already 8 years late in the replacement cycle. When CAP went dark, everything the AI controlled would no longer be functional. Everything it touched had to be made fail-safe, if possible.

“Alright, I’m in the relay box,” Vince said. The semi-powered gloves fit much better now than they had 12 years ago, he thought to himself.

“One moment, please,” CAP replied.

As it had done when Vince repaired the turbine gearbox all those years ago, CAP had the gloves report their precise position. They gave a quiet, concerning whine as the tiny machinery inside spun and clicked.

“I’ve never heard that sound before,” Vince said.

“The gloves have deteriorated more rapidly than normal, due to extended periods of abnormal use,” CAP said.

“I’ve only ever used them the way you told me to. Hell, arguably, you use them more than I do.”

“The gloves are meant to gauge their position-location by inertial, thermal and visual sources. You are outside the operating envelope of the station’s thermal sensors-”

“And there’s no light. Got it.”

CAP had explained to a younger, more inquisitive Vince how the gyroscopes and accelerometers helped track the gloves’ precise position in the station, and it had seemed like a thing of wonder at the time. It was still good to know how the things worked, if only to understand why they soon wouldn’t be. Just bad luck, Vince told himself; the repair drone’s failure wasn’t Poseidon bringing his 12-year game of cruelty to an end.

“OK. Stand by for instructions,” CAP said. Vince felt the familiar, gentle pull at each of his fingers in sequence, and relaxed his hands into the motion.

In quick, concise motions, Vince followed the AI’s directions, pushing wire bundles aside and gently prying up a small subcircuit board from the box. Holding his hands in the places he was told, he let the AI move his fingers to perform the delicate motions needed to free the tiny electronics without damaging them. As always, he backed his hand out slowly, ready to reach back into the familiar space if something went wrong.

“Is the hydraulic arm off?” Vince asked.

“Yes. Detecting no leaks; seal is holding. Excellent work, Vince.”

“Thanks, CAP. That’ll hold as well as it did with you pushing on it?”

“I’ve put the arm in a full upward position and engaged the physical safety interlocks. Now that the door accepts no further inputs, the door will remain in this position until the door itself is compromised.”

Translation: the door would eventually open, but in corroded pieces, long after the station-killing blow had come from somewhere else.

“Something else will break before that,” Vince said forlornly.

“We will address every possible failure point, Vince. Please remain optimistic,” CAP said.

“That’s not easy, man.”

“It may not be, but it will give you the maximum chance of survival.”

“Nonzero, right?”

Vince chuckled mirthlessly again. He was trying not to think about CAP breaking and falling silent. He’d rather the AI went haywire and destroyed the station with him still inside, rather than have it abruptly fall silent forever. The idea of being alone was too terrifying to even consider for more than a few seconds.

“Alright. Four to go. Take me to the next one, CAP.”

Year 8

CAP knew what puberty was. It knew, intellectually, that Vince’s body was telling him it was time to mate. Like every parent, the AI had not been ready for the moment. It knew that the years ahead would be an era of intense internal turmoil, assuming the station itself survived through those years.

The AI hadn’t shied away from conversation about the specifics. If anything, it felt that it might have said too much. It wasn’t that CAP felt the weight of any kind of stigma, but rather, the fact the boy had had so few of the precursors to normal pubescent urges - namely, he never had an opportunity to develop romantic attraction to anyone - so CAP had to be careful that he was only describing and explaining what Vince was feeling. The AI had learned very early on in this years-long ordeal that it could easily, accidentally influence Vince to feel something he wouldn’t have felt otherwise.

There was more silence in Vince’s fourteenth year than there had been since age seven, when the reality of his underwater prison had set in and temporarily broke him. CAP hadn’t fully processed the boy’s need for guidance at the time, and neither of them knew the extent to which the AI could help fill the need for a companion, until the turbine emergency had presented the opportunity for a breakthrough. There was always hope, the two learned from that incident, in their own different ways.

But puberty was different in ways CAP couldn’t fully process. It seemed that this moment of budding maturity was too internal. In a way only a machine could - the way it always did - it thought endlessly about how to help Vince, but it couldn’t reach to the heart of this matter.

CAP didn’t have the human disadvantage of the urge to ramble. It knew that the knowledge it had given Vince weighed heavily on his emotions, and though it had done what looked in hindsight to be the wrong thing by telling him about the romantic love it seemed he’d never experience, the AI simply looked for the best thing to try next, rather than trying to rewind time by saying so many words, as a human might have done.

Still, it did its own version of worrying.

“I miss my parents. I…I can’t even remember what they look like. Don’t remember their voices, what they smelled like. All I remember is what they felt like…” Vince said, sniffling and rubbing at his moist eyes.

The silence had never seemed this small and constricting. It felt like the things in his heart, the sensations, physical and otherwise, which would have been overwhelming even in the best of circumstances, just couldn’t all fit. It made him feel tiny, like they were compacting him, crushing him, just like the ocean would if it ever broke through the seals.

“You…probably don’t know what I mean by that,” Vince continued.

“I know puberty is a time of intense and often conflicting sensations, but as you say, I cannot know the precise details of your mind with certainty. That has never been within my abilities,” CAP replied.

“I know. And I know you try,” Vince sniffled again, “And you do guess right, most of the time.”

This wasn’t the time to tell him that most people wouldn’t pay as much attention to him as it did, the AI knew. The boy had grown alongside an entity that never ceased to observe him, that listened to and analyzed every word, and always gave the most considered response it could muster. Humans weren’t capable of that level of personal care. It spent more than a few processing cycles trying to figure out how to impart this lesson on the teenager, knowing that Vince would learn it from someone. Vince always did his best to emulate the AI’s complete, albeit simulated empathy, and CAP knew he would be hurt immensely when every human he had yet to meet, inevitably failed to respond in kind, accidentally or otherwise.

“It’s all just…so much. I don’t know what I should be feeling, and…it sounds like you don’t, either,” Vince said.

“That’s part of what self-determination is,” CAP answered.

“You mean I have to pick what to feel?” Vince laughed bitterly.

“I’m not sure how to explain the meaning of the word when it comes to this context, Vince. Ideal situations would see you supported by peers and mentors who could guide you through this period in your life, in large part by expressing solidarity. Again, I apologize that I am incapable of providing this kind of support.”

Though it couldn’t know what he was feeling, it knew the dangers that were faced here. Such confusion could lead to self-harm and suicide, if the feelings could not be dealt with in a healthy manner. This would have been unacceptable to the AI. It had been charged with keeping him alive and well until help arrived. It recognized that this was the hour of greatest need.

It also recognized that it would likely never get a definitive answer as to whether or not its actions had succeeded in preparing Vince for the future. There were precious few foreseeable outcomes where, even if Vince did make it back to the surface one day, he would be able to live a “normal” life. The scars of this place would stay with him for the rest of his life, and CAP couldn’t stop that.

But it had to try.