I was reminded of an old sci-fi film I’d seen many years ago about a dystopian future where everything was controlled by menacing robot overlords. That was essentially the world we now lived in—the only difference being that our “robots” truly did wish for nothing more than humanity’s well-being from the bottom of their hearts. And we had chosen to let them control every aspect of our lives in pursuit of greater prosperity.
Through my telephoto lens, I could see people smiling and waving up at us from all the way down at the Titan’s feet. I found this show of pure, unbridled excitement on our behalf rather quaint, and snapped another photo to commemorate this kind-hearted sendoff.
Miss Seika? It’s time, said Coeus through the speakers on the balcony. I packed my cumbersome lens back into its case and headed inside to watch via holofield as Coeus took his first tentative steps into the ocean. On the soles of his shoes were a number of gigantic spikes. Long and narrow, but extremely sturdy, these were designed to stab deep into the soft ocean floor and pierce the hard bedrock beneath. This way, Coeus could affix himself to the ocean floor in such a way that ensured he would remain on stable footing throughout our nautical journey. It served essentially the same purpose as the foundation of a tall stationary building, essentially performing the “bored pile” (a term I was admittedly unfamiliar with until he explained it to me) method with each and every step.
Coeus advanced into the Nemuro Strait, and the water level rose as he submerged his feet up to his ankles. We had already made sure he was waterproofed, and confirmed that there were no small holes in his exoskeleton through which water could pass. Perhaps this should have been obvious, as it was originally designed to contain the special gel he’d been preserved in at the base—but it was still impressive just how thorough he’d been in its design considering how quickly he crafted it. The strait itself was barely thirty kilometers across, and would only take Coeus about an hour to cross—hardly a challenge at all to a giant like him. And indeed, he took his first excited yet wary steps into the sea like an eager child in galoshes testing the depth of a puddle before jumping straight in.
3
The stars overhead were gorgeous that night. My line of sight was relatively low at the moment, because Coeus was currently lying flat on his back along the coast—and thus I was only about a hundred and fifty meters off the ground as opposed to a thousand. I was looking down from the top of a thirty-storey building, instead of a skyscraper.
We had completed the first leg of our journey, officially leaving Hokkaido behind. Our first overseas stint had taken us 214.4 kilometers to the east, passing Kunashir Island completely to arrive here, on the northern coast of Iturup. It was already nightfall by the time we arrived, so Coeus found a nice flat bit of coastline to lie down on and begin the recharging process. (Apparently, Titans were made closely enough in humanity’s image to require horizontal rest.)
I was currently standing out near his forehead, on the special balcony he’d designed for me to spend time on while he rested—it was oriented vertically when he stood upright, and usable only as he slept. I told him there was really no need for him to go to such lengths on my behalf, but he assured me it was a trivial level of common courtesy that any human host would try to show for their guests.
I looked out over this island I’d never been to before. It was a nature-rich landscape, with few artificial light sources to be seen. Iturup was one of the Kuril Islands, an archipelago connecting Hokkaido to the Kamchatka Peninsula that had until the late 21st century been disputed territory between Japan and Russia. As time went on, however, and the power of the standard nation-state model of governance began to wane and Titan assumed more of the responsibilities traditionally associated with them, the islands had now been designated as public land, not owned by any one nation. Though a somewhat popular spot for vacation homes, there were few who lived on the island year-round due to its bitter climate. And though not causally related to the small populace, there were a fair few mining operations on the island where excavation phalanges worked tirelessly to mine precious minerals and resources from underground. These automated mines were likely responsible for the few artificial light sources I could see dotting the landscape.
Miss Seika?
Startled, I whirled around to find that somehow, Coeus’s projection had joined me out on the balcony.
“What the… How are you outside right now?” I scanned the balcony for anything resembling a projector. I knew instinctively that there should be no way to create a projection without an array of laser lenses, which were almost exclusively found indoors. There were only limited, short-distance outdoor applications for such technologies due to issues caused by maximum high-fidelity beam distance and floating atmospheric particles interfering with the lasers, generally resulting in dampened distorted images. Yet here was Coeus, projected in perfectly crisp clarity out on a wide-open balcony. He flashed a gleeful smile, then pointed up over his head, where a tiny ringlike object, only about a centimeter wide, was revolving in midair. Listening closer, I could hear the sound of tiny propellers whirring.
It’s an outdoor aerial projection equivalent. I made it myself.
“What? Just using this one tiny little thing?” I said in disbelief.
I squinted and tried to get a better look at the little ring, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see any optical mechanisms, only the parts that were keeping it in flight. There were such things as portable holofield generators, to be sure—I had one I’d been using myself—but there were physical limitations to how miniaturized things like lenses and laser-emitting mechanisms could get. You’d need a fairly large projector, or at least an array of smaller ones, in order to feasibly create an image the size of the one before me. Why, you needed one as large as my hand just to create a personal holofield. Yet Coeus was projecting a three-dimensional, human-sized image with a piece of machinery the size of an earring clasp.
It doesn’t work like other aerial technology, Coeus explained as I cocked my head. This little thing is just the control apparatus. It doesn’t project anything.
“Then what’s creating the image?”
Pixies. Coeus held one hand up in front of me, then sent one of his fingertips dispersing into hundreds of microscopic beads of light. It’s an aerial composite image created entirely out of pixies capable of emitting light at any desired wavelength. There’s no need for projection, since they can be arranged into any shape, and each gives off its own chroma with adjustable brightness and intensity.
“That’s incredible…” I murmured, genuinely awestruck.
Coeus gave a triumphant smile, like a child who’d just come to show their parents an arts and crafts project they’d just completed. But Coeus’s handiwork here warranted far more praise than an exhibition spot on the family fridge—the ability to create aerial imagery without the need for a projector was a technological innovation that could potentially revolutionize the entire world. It could strip away an entire genre of technical limitations and make way for even more freedom and convenience than ever before. And here he was, talking about it like it was just a random clever idea he came up with one day.
I just figured it would make things easier for us. Coeus flashed a smile that lacked any hint of self-importance or conceit. And it would make things easier, not just for us, but for all of human society. Though he’d been detached from the network and was now working independently, Coeus still used his immense brainpower to come up with brilliant ideas that could benefit humanity. It was all I could do to nod back at him.
Then, Coeus turned his gaze to the side, and I followed suit. Off in the distance, some flickering lights could be seen in the middle of a dark mountainside. There, a team of excavation phalanges was no doubt working through the night, burning the midnight oil.
A mining operation, said Coeus.
“Yeah, I was just looking over there. How do you feel when you see things like that?” I asked. His face was calm and serene—neither chipper and bright, nor shadowy and brooding. As soon as I put him on the spot, though, he seemed suddenly bewildered, and turned to face me in confusion. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just tell me whatever’s on your mind right now.”