Ha felt her legs giving way, steadied herself. “You said the ships were automated.”

Evrim’s face turned to Ha, but their eyes looked past her. “I have done nothing but in care of thee … of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who art ignorant of what thou art…”

“In care of me? What?”

Evrim shook their head, as if clearing a dream from their skull. “Sorry. I am sometimes—here, but not here.”

“You said they were automated. The ships.”

“Usually they are. But there are automated ships that carry crews.”

“How can that be? Crews on robot ships?”

“Slaves. Trafficked persons, if one loves euphemism. Humans can be cheaper than robots. Sturdier, at sea. And more expendable.” Evrim stood and marched up the beach.

“Where are you going?”

“To find a shovel. These men are our responsibility. We must bury them. And then we must return to our work. We will send another submersible down today, once Altantsetseg has recovered enough to pilot it again.”

Ha was following Evrim up the beach. “Recovered?”

“It takes a lot out of her, coordinating a defense like she did last night. You won’t see her until midday, at the soonest. And I would recommend you tread lightly with her.”

“Tread lightly with her? She murdered these men.”

“Murdered?” Evrim seemed confused for a moment. “Murdered? Yes, she did. That is her job, and it is a difficult one. She will not feel well today. Come and help me find a shovel.”

Chapter 12

When we avoid behaviors that would instigate a shark attack, we are recognizing the shark has a mind capable of reading our signs and responding to them. Like it or not, we are in communication with them. If we accidentally send out signs to a shark that indicate we are prey (if we look too much like a seal in our wet suit, or we produce vibrations in the water like a fish in distress), we know we may instigate an attack, despite the fact that the shark does not typically prey on humans. We can cause the shark to misinterpret the world’s signs and make a mistake—a mistake which may be fatal to us.

How we see the world matters—but knowing how the world sees us also matters.

—Dr. Ha Nguyen, How Oceans Think

12

A KLAXON SOUNDED in the night. It was an alarm Eiko had not heard before. Red and blue light streamed across the walls of the barracks, slashed by the shadows of the barred windows. The alarm brought him bolt upright, but he had not been fully asleep: The Sea Wolf was rolling heavily in a swell. The crew’s polynet hammocks swayed under a ceiling leaking salt and rainwater.