In the light of the flashing red button I see a few weird symbols on the panel that might as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics. A couple of funky-looking dials. Nothing remotely like a screen. How can I take over the steering of this submarine if I can’t read the controls or see an outward projection of the thinking processes taking place inside?

Short answer: I can’t.

Drip, drip, drip. Leak getting worse fast.

Not much time. Better try to think out of the box. But I’m in a box, under a river, stuck in mud.

I sit. Force myself to calm down. Breathe regularly. Okay. Stop thinking like a Mac user from the twenty-first century. I need to discard every assumption I have about computers. Because if this thing is from a thousand years hence, the odds are that nothing I know is going to help.

I’ve read books and articles speculating about what the future of artificial intelligence will be. The big disagreements seem to be about whether computers will ever become conscious. But whether they achieve consciousness or not, everyone seems to agree that in the far future the relationship between humans and machines will be less and less human-directed, and more and more of a collaboration.

So maybe I should stop trying to take over the steering of this sub. Because maybe the sub doesn’t need me to grasp a steering wheel, or pull a rudder.

That’s an old way of thinking.

This sub is probably fully capable of freeing itself from the river bottom and steering us to safety. What it probably needs is guidance and direction, not operation.

But how do I direct it? What is the mechanism of establishing collaboration? I’ve never seen it done.

Wait a minute. Maybe that’s not true.

I remember Eko at our beach house on the Outer Banks. Every time we came home, she would check a device in the living room that measured the threat level to our security. It was a blue cube. She wouldn’t say anything to it, or turn any dials. It would bathe her in a bluish glow. And when the glow faded, she would have her answer.

I spread my hands on either side of the control panel. Come on. Turn on. Bathe me in some kind of glow.

Nothing happens.

I address it telepathically. Hello? How are you today, Sub? Can you read me? Is any of this registering?

No response, audible or telepathic. Nada.

Drip, drip, splash, splash. The water is starting to stream in, in a widening rivulet.

I’m frustrated, furious, and very scared, staring at the control panel with its blinking red button.

That’s the button Gisco kept pushing to get us going. It’s what brought us down here, to the river bottom. I assumed it must be the “down” button.

But it’s unique. The only blinking button on the panel. There’s no “up” button.