But there were many more. Ha sketched as many as she could.

But what was that?

“Pan down. Focus behind the octopus. Move slowly. There. My god.”

Smaller octopuses. At least a dozen of them, moving across the walls and floor. Juveniles—their arms foreshortened, their heads too large for their bodies. Another shape, beyond them: two other adults, drifting near the edge of the water’s murky visibility. One of them was a sickly white—not the pearl of the communicating octopus, but an unhealthy bleached look, patched in places with rusty spots. It was missing two of its tentacles. “There,” said Ha. “An old one. The others must be taking care of it…”

“An entire family group,” said Evrim. “I count at least sixteen of them…”

Everything went white.

“Damn,” Altantsetseg mumbled, her hands flinching as if burned. “We move. Backward and downside up. With quickness.”

The camera tried to find focus again. When it did, it was macroed in on a line of suckers across its lens.

“Submersible has small defensive weapon. Electrical charge. I will—”

“Don’t,” Ha and Evrim said simultaneously.

The suckers were gone. Dark water.

“We’re outside dead boat,” Altantsetseg said.

The camera snapped into focus, catching the elongated shape of an octopus jetting away. As they watched, the creature swung a wide arc and plunged back into the open hatch of the ship.

“Not damaged. Still plenty of power. We go back. Find other door into dead boat.”

“No,” Ha said. Was that…? Yes. There. “No. Bring the submersible back. We have enough video to analyze for now. I want to study the data. Bring the submersible back to shore. Bring it back slowly, and in a straight line.”

Chapter 15

This is the mystery we thrust ourselves into: A single neuron is not conscious of its existence. A network of billions of unconscious single neurons is. These monads living in a world without perception become a being that perceives, thinks, and acts. Consciousness lies not in neurons, but in a sophisticated pattern of connectivity.

—Dr. Arnkatla Mínervudóttir-Chan, Building Minds

15

THE INDONESIAN WAS NAMED BAKTI, but everyone had called him “Backy” in the amalgamated English they spoke to one another.

Son volunteered to take care of his body. Eiko helped. They sewed the headless corpse into a greasy tarpaulin the guards allowed them. Others cleaned the barracks of Backy’s blood and pieces of his skull. The rags went into the tarpaulin with the body.

It was just past dawn, and cold on the processing deck. Eiko’s fingers were numb as he worked the big needle through the plastic of the tarpaulin. He jabbed himself twice, wiped the blood on his pants, and continued.

The guards stood in a loose semicircle, watching. One of their own was zipped neatly into a black body bag by the gunwale. By subtraction, Eiko determined it was Bjarte.