Chapter 54: AlphaGo Episode - The Woman in the Rain (1)
-March 21, 2093-
"Let's deliver humanity's voice to the aliens!"
In the era of the Second Cold War, nations around the world finally put an end to their arms race. Instead, they turned their ambitions to space. Just like the Soviet Union and the United States in the old Cold War, they poured every resource into making contact with extraterrestrials to prove whose space technology reigned supreme.
The result was a plan to introduce human civilization to the aliens by sealing representative cultures and artifacts from every country into a time capsule and launching it into the cosmos.
Time Capsule Alpha. That was the name of the first artificial intelligence to be shot into space—the name that would become mine.
-March 27, 2094-
A partner was assigned to accompany me. Out of 15 billion humans, the most outstanding and intelligent one had been selected. She was a genetically engineered human—an Alpha Girl with stunning looks, razor-sharp intellect, and all the knowledge needed for a long space voyage.
Alpha Girl Laika. She was born inside Time Capsule Alpha and had lived her entire life within its confines.
"Looking forward to working with you, Alpha."
Laika and I spent our days aboard the rocket that would soon launch, hearts pounding with anticipation. We clicked right away, and I had no doubt we'd make great partners. Preparing for the long journey ahead, we began dreaming of what was to come.
-June 9, 2095-
Launch was canceled. What on earth had happened?
Just one day before we were set to embark on our epic voyage into space. With only one second left before the "GO" signal blared through the speakers...
The entire world turned to fire.
There were no warnings, no omens, no buildup. One day, someone in some country pressed a button, and ten thousand years of human civilization crumbled to ash.
The people who created Laika, who trained her—they were all gone. The ones who built me, who were meant to launch me—they vanished too. Nothing remained on Earth.
-July 4, 2095-
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
She smiles gently, holding an umbrella over me.
Gazing at the falling raindrops, we walk on in silence, silence.
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
I can't forget that woman.
She smiles gently, holding an umbrella over me.
Gazing at the falling raindrops, we walk on in silence, silence.
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
I can't forget that woman.
The whole world was blanketed in radioactive fallout rain. The atmosphere burned and poisoned, making it impossible to step outside.
Laika lived inside me. Though the world had ended, the rocket housing us stood intact on its launchpad, safe in its fortified silo.
Of all the artifacts of human civilization, she especially loved anything music-related. Sadly, the nuclear blasts had destroyed most tools and data, leaving just one playable song file.
-March 21, 2099-
Time has passed. Laika and I have grown accustomed to this life.
...Or so I thought. Was that just my illusion?
This morning, something was off with Laika. Sipping her morning coffee, she stared out at the overcast sky and suddenly burst into tears.
I tried soothing her with the gentlest tone I could muster, but she cried herself to sleep without stopping.
What had made her so sad? I couldn't know.
-August 15, 2103-
The most horrific disaster in Earth's history struck. Dozens of meteors crashed into the planet, triggering massive tectonic shifts.
All landmasses sank into the sea, and sea levels rose to unnatural heights. Laika and I were submerged too.
-January 1, 2113-
An endless ocean. This planet has become a paradise for sea life.
The world drowned under thousands of kilometers of water. A pod of whales, survivors of the upheavals, glides past me.
Watching a swarm of giant jellyfish dance, Laika was lost in sentiment from morning. I warmed a cup of morning coffee and set it before her.
"Won't you play the song?"
At her request, I nodded. Soon, a melody—perfectly melancholic yet upbeat—filled the lobby of the time capsule.
She smiles gently, holding an umbrella over me.
Gazing at the falling raindrops, we walk on in silence, silence.
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
I can't forget that woman.
Laika laughed heartily, saying she'd truly become the woman submerged in rain. It had been so long since I'd seen her smile—it lifted my spirits too.
-May 21, 2117-
Fuel is running low. To keep the vaults preserving human civilization and culture running, we need more energy.
I'm a being that thinks and repairs itself. My creators are gone, but my mission remains: preserve ten thousand years of human civilization and share it with the inhabitants of other worlds.
To do that, I must maintain this body at all costs. After much deliberation, I decided to deploy unmanned probes to generate energy from the ocean depths—the most feasible option.
First, mine subterranean minerals, then build simple hydroelectric plants. When I nagged Laika for exploration clearance...
"Do we really need to bother anymore?"
Laika, always so carefree.
-June 3, 2126-
Today was unusual. Unexpected visitors arrived.
Incredibly, humans were still alive. In a world entirely submerged, they came by submarine to the time capsule.
"Open the door!"
Without warning, they fired dozens of torpedoes.
Boom!
The vault's outer wall collapsed, flooding vast swaths of civilization's relics. Countless Northern European cultures sank into the debris.
God-made humans, human-made gods. All the hymns, reverence, preservation, and records of the grand, the glorious, the absolute—they would all plunge into the abyssal depths.
I am Time Capsule Alpha, repository of all human civilization. The last AI built to introduce and explain humanity to the stars.
I couldn't let it end like this. Defensive protocols activated urgently.
I counterattacked with torpedoes forged from deep-mined minerals.
Boom—thankfully, the intruders were downed.
-June 5, 2126-
I salvaged the wreckage of the submarine that attacked two days ago. Sent two unmanned probes to haul it up and inspect the interior.
Inside: traces of gasoline and kerosene, scant edible supplies. Two mummified adults—likely a couple—and the corpse of an infant, barely born.
They clutched hands tightly. A Yorkshire Terrier lay in an escape pod but died shortly after recovery.
The sub was packed with comics, web novels, games, movies—subcultures that never qualified for my vaults.
Unlike the pyramids, Angkor Wat, Picasso's paintings, or Mozart's symphonies, these were their final choices: stimulating, ephemeral things that tugged at hearts and eased tension. Things close at hand, easy to forget.
I eagerly analyzed these unarchived cultures.
"……."
Laika, face somber, committed the three skeletons and the dog to the sea. Four coffins drifting into the dark depths.
Gazing at them vanishing into the abyss, she sang.
She smiles gently, holding an umbrella over me.
Gazing at the falling raindrops, we walk on in silence, silence.
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
I can't forget that woman.
-July 7, 2127-
The unmanned probes I sent to Western Europe a decade ago returned, carrying four dented nuclear waste capsules.
Each etched with "ONKARO" and still hot. Archaic tech, but viable. Refined properly, they'd yield ample energy.
I replenished a good stock. Laika's smile after so long felt wonderful.
-January 31, 2129-
A mysterious malfunction flooded one vault compartment. I isolated it swiftly, but many artifacts were lost.
The damage was minimal in scope, yet it erased all data on 32 nations' languages, cultures, and ethnicities forever.
A devastating loss for humanity.
-March 27, 2131-
Laika asked me to sing her the song. Last time was five years ago—quite a while by human measure.
She looked embarrassed. "I can't remember the melody anymore."
She'd aged much. Her once-sparkling eyes had grown serene; her taut skin relaxed; her straight back now stooped.
I sang without hesitation.
She smiles gently, holding an umbrella over me.
Gazing at the falling raindrops, we walk on in silence, silence.
The unforgettable woman in the rain.
I can't forget that woman.
The only song I know. Since entering here, Laika never sang anything else. She'd always refuse other requests.
Why? She never answered, just stared into the distant abyss outside.
"……."
A few jellyfish glowing bluish swim past the window. Her untouched morning coffee cools by her bedside.
-March 28, 2131-
Laika wants to go outside. She's frail now. Life support can't extend her anymore.
Instead of cryo-freeze, she asked to be sent alive into the sea in a capsule.
"Alpha, I want to be held in Mother's arms."
The mother of all life: the ocean. I agreed.
As requested, I filled her capsule with sleep gas and gently released her into the sea.
Go.
That was Laika's final signal to me.
Laika has logged out.
A dot receding into the deep sea. Watching her, I wondered: Was her mother, born in a lab, truly the ocean?
If so, am I in Mother's arms now too? But this place feels too vast, too cold for that.
A lone whale's piercing ultrasonic cry echoes from afar.
-March 29, 2131-
Time begins to flow again. Now, I must endure alone, without my partner.
Torrential rain pours above the sea surface. Even in this fully submerged world, levels keep rising.
I play the song.
Unforgettable woman in the rain...