The Norfolk Project

I volunteered for this. I really did. So cursing at the heavy waves which continued to assault my small metal platform was not overly productive.

"HIRD, are you finished?" I shouted into the wind, hoping that my in-ear Bluetooth device would pick up my voice.

"The analysis of the seafloor has not been completed," came a faint reply, in what could have been a bemused voice.

"I don't care, the waves are too much," I responded, squinting into the gale. By my best reckoning, the sun would set in less than an hour, postponing completion further.

"Cancelling topographic scan #718," I heard distantly. The salt was stinging my eyes so badly that I finally gave up on waiting for the submersible radar to dock back onto the platform and instead edged my way inside a small door.

Inside, a small rickety table looked as if it had been dredged up out of the sea. There was a leftover piece of toast on it; a blanket in the corner betrayed that anyone ever slept here. The turbine's control grid was visible under several books -- there hadn't been any trouble with the wind turbine so far and I sincerely hoped that luck would hold.

I, a mariner, knew the sea better than the wind.

The project had seemed easy enough, at least on paper. With the help of HIRD, which stood for Human Intelligence Resource Database, I was to install a series of current-driven underwater turbines on the existing platforms of the wind turbines in the North Sea, off Norfolk's coast.

The idea was to provide supplemental energy for calm days at sea for a more comprehensive power grid.

At this point, however, I was starting to doubt that this gale could ever give way to anything calm. I gritted my teeth at the swaying of the turbine, looking at the droplets of water which aggressively slid down the small windowpane in the door.

"HIRD, have you docked yet?" I asked, bothered that the system had not alerted me.

"Yes, I am running diagnostics now on all devices," came the reply.

"Could you possibly find it in your mechanical mind to tell me when you've finished?" I said, as I irritably dumped seawater out of my Wellington boots.

"You are expressing irritation by commenting on my system's mental capabilities," came the reply.

I scowled further, unbuckling the rubber slicker that went over my jumper.

The only way to complete this program was to ensure that the seabed and currents underwater could support an undersea turbine, but the currents were so strong that sending a human to evaluate it would mean certain death.

It was ironic, really, that I almost wished I was alone on the seas, doing this by myself, when I actually was alone on the seas, doing this by myself. However many comprehensive intelligence analyses HIRD completed, it was still a coded algorithm.

"Scans finished," HIRD announced. The sudden voice in my ear jolted me out of my thoughts.

"And?" I prompted. "Could you determine anything from today's session?"

"The current should be strong enough to support one undersea turbine on this site," answered the system. "But the current itself sweeps considerable sea life into the path of the proposed turbine. A sea life screen should be implemented."

I grudgingly allowed myself a feeling of satisfaction at hearing the system's conclusion. This was exactly why I had proposed the use of artificial intelligence. Only a human thought process could make ethical decisions about putting up sea life screens in front of certain turbines based on the diversity and population of the surrounding ecosystem. The screens, designed not to rust in the unfriendly ocean conditions, were thousands of dollars each, meaning we couldn't put one around every undersea turbine.

"Thank you for completing those," I replied, hauling myself off the floor and scrawling the proposition for Turbine #244 in the log I kept. Another irony: I was being kept company with the most advanced AI system in the world, and yet, I had no WiFi. I snorted at the ridiculity of it all. Despite having travelled to one of the most beautiful oceans, this was no vacation.  

"What has caused your feeling of disbelief?" asked HIRD, still surprising me by its ability to understand nonverbal expressions.

"I just don't get why I have to sit here with a pencil while you get to explore any digital interface in the North Sea," I replied with sarcasm, again forgetting I wasn't speaking with a person.

"I do not understand your reasoning," it replied. "Humans are very dramatic, as a species."

I snorted again. Definitely not a person. "Relative to other species? Prove it." I raised an eyebrow. "What's the fifteenth most dramatic species?"

The system was silent. If I estimated correctly, based on previous trivia questions, it would take at least two minutes for it to run through the millions of scientific articles, animal behaviour videos, and probably the bulk of the information on the National Geographic website before it could reply.

Deciding to make a cup of tea, I poured water into a mug that sat on the hot plate. It probably wasn't supposed to be used to heat tea, but at least it fit in here. Just as I reached behind the burner for Irish Breakfast tea, HIRD began to say something.

My forearm bumped into the mug of water, drops of which sizzled on the hot plate.

"Careful!" I admonished, more to myself than the system. "I told you not to scare me like that." I added accusingly.

"How else am I to tell you that the fifteenth most dramatic species, based on a series of calculations considering--"

I cut HIRD off. "No, stop, I don't really care about the numbers. Which species is it?"

"Elephant seals," it said, in what I imagined to be a slightly affronted tone at the previous interruption.

In spite of myself, I grinned for the first time that day.