The signal first appeared at 3:17 a.m. on Wednesday. Busan Quantum Power Plant, Extraction Building No. 2. Eighty meters underground. A hall where 12 vacuum chambers were arranged in a circle. Inside the chambers, the process of catching the fluctuations of the quantum vacuum and converting them into energy was repeating 400 million times a second. The extraction produced heat. To cool the heat, a cooling system ran. The sound of the cooling system filled the hall. A low humming. Beneath that sound there was Noise. Electromagnetic Noise generated by the equipment. Monitoring that Noise was Suhyeok's job. The Noise was a signal that meant nothing. Not something that shouldn't be there, but something that was there and could be ignored. That was how he had understood it for 7 years.
Suhyeok was watching the Noise graph. It was different from usual. The Noise had always been random. White noise. Having no pattern was normal. And yet there was a pattern. A frequency fluctuation repeating at intervals of 0.3 seconds. Suhyeok magnified the graph. It was a repetition. The same shape was recurring. Suhyeok downloaded 30 minutes' worth of Noise data. He fed it into an analysis program. The result came out. Repetition cycle: 0.3 seconds. Variation patterns: 17. Between one variation and the next there were transition intervals. It wasn't random.
Suhyeok left a record. 'Noise anomaly in Extraction Building No. 2. Pattern detected. Cause unknown.' He submitted the report. The next day a reply came. 'Chamber inspection shows no abnormality. Noise within normal range.' Suhyeok read the reply and looked at the monitor. The pattern was still going.
Suhyeok had worked at this plant for 7 years. When the Busan Quantum Power Plant began operating in 2051, Suhyeok was among the first batch of engineers. Quantum vacuum energy extraction. The vacuum is not empty. The vacuum that quantum mechanics speaks of is a sea of energy. The technology to extract that energy was developed in 2047. Fossil fuels vanished. Solar and wind became auxiliary means. 89 percent of the world's electricity came from quantum power plants. The Busan plant was the largest of Korea's 6. In the early days of operation, citizens opposed it. Isn't this the same as a nuclear plant? Information sessions were held. No radioactive material. No waste. No carbon dioxide. Just drawing energy out of the vacuum. Clean energy. The citizens were persuaded. Because the vacuum is empty. Because drawing something out of an empty place harms no one. It supplied power to Busan, Ulsan, and Gyeongnam. 14 million residents.
Suhyeok observed the pattern for 3 days. He came in early before his shift and left late after it. The other engineers in the control room didn't look at the Noise graph. Because the Noise was a signal that could be ignored. Only Suhyeok looked. The pattern was changing. The first day, 17 variations. The second day, 23. The third day, 31. The variations were increasing. Suhyeok analyzed the transition intervals between variations. The transition intervals were growing shorter. The pattern was growing more complex. Suhyeok put the data on an external drive and took it home. He opened his laptop on the kitchen table and analyzed it. His wife, Jieun, asked.
“Working late again?”
“No. Just something I need to look at from home.”
“What thing?”
“Plant data.”
Jieun didn't ask further. In 7 years Suhyeok had never looked at plant data at home. Jieun knew that, but she didn't ask. Jieun made him coffee. Suhyeok drank the coffee and looked at the data. The variation structure of the pattern resembled something. Suhyeok sat on the sofa and set the laptop on his knees. He classified the waveforms of the Noise one by one. He numbered the 17 variations. Variation 1 was the base pattern with a 0.3-second cycle. Variation 2 was a modification of 1 with the frequency slightly raised. Variation 3 was a composite pattern where 1 and 2 crossed. Suhyeok wondered whether this was a language. And if not a language, then what. Suhyeok searched for comparison data. Brainwaves. Human brainwave patterns. Brainwaves during sleep. Brainwaves while awake. Suhyeok overlaid the pattern of the plant's Noise onto human brainwave patterns. 67 percent similarity. A number too high to call coincidence.
Suhyeok contacted a college classmate. Jeonga, at a neuroscience research institute. Suhyeok sent her the data and said,
“Can you look at what this resembles?”
Jeonga called him 3 days later. It was 11 p.m. Jeonga hadn't called at 11 p.m. since their college days. Her voice was different from usual.
“Where did this data come from?”
“It's plant Noise. Why?”
“It's conscious activity.”
Suhyeok's grip tightened on the phone.
“What?”
“It's structurally identical to the neural activity of a conscious being. The variation patterns, the transition intervals, the periodic rhythm. It's not just brainwaves. It's the signature of consciousness.”
Suhyeok leaned back in his chair. Air was coming out of the ventilation duct in the office ceiling. The air touched Suhyeok's forehead.
“Are you sure?”
“99 percent. This is the signal of something alive.”
Suhyeok went back to the plant. Eighty meters underground. In front of the vacuum chamber. The surface of the chamber was a smooth silver. Temperature minus 273 degrees. A cooled state near absolute zero. Inside the chamber, the energy of the vacuum was being extracted. Frost had formed on the surface of the chamber. Frost created by the temperature near absolute zero. Suhyeok started to lay his hand on the chamber and stopped. His breath fogged white over the frost. The chamber was giving off a whirring sound. The sound of extraction in progress. Suhyeok had heard that sound for 7 years. He had thought it was the sound of a machine. Now it sounded different. Even through his glove, he could feel the cold.
Suhyeok ran an additional experiment. He raised the chamber's extraction intensity. 120 percent of the usual. The Noise graph changed. The frequency shot up sharply. The pattern scattered. The 0.3-second cycle sped up to 0.1 seconds. The variations vanished and a single frequency repeated. 3 seconds later the signal went quiet. Suhyeok lowered the extraction intensity back to normal. The signal returned. The variation pattern appeared again. But it was different from before. The number of variations had dropped. From 31 to 24. Something looked as though it had been damaged.
Suhyeok did not repeat the same experiment. The variations, reduced from 31 to 24, never came back. He waited 3 days. He waited 5 days. 24. It did not change. Those few minutes in which Suhyeok had raised the extraction intensity had permanently erased 7 variations. Suhyeok understood what he had done.
Suhyeok sent Jeonga the data from the shift in extraction intensity. Jeonga sent back her analysis.
"94 percent match with an acute pain response. The frequency spike, the collapse of the pattern, the single repetition — almost identical to the brainwave pattern of a mammal in extreme pain."
Suhyeok read the report. There was a graph in it. On the left, a human acute-pain brainwave. On the right, the power plant Noise. The two graphs were overlaid. The lines nearly coincided. Suhyeok closed the report and opened it again. Closed it again. The graph would not leave his eyes.
Suhyeok reported to the plant director, Lee Jeongho. Lee Jeongho's office was next to the control room. It had no windows. There was a family photo on the desk. 2 children. The electricity Lee Jeongho's children used also came from this plant. Because it was an underground facility. There was only fluorescent light.
"A consciousness signal is coming out of the Noise. When you raise the extraction intensity, a pain response appears."
Lee Jeongho looked at Suhyeok.
"You're saying the Noise feels pain?"
"It isn't Noise. There's something inside the vacuum. Something with consciousness."
Lee Jeongho tidied the papers on his desk. He put the papers in a drawer. He closed the drawer.
"Suhyeok. You know how much power this plant supplies, don't you?"
"Enough for 14 million people."
"That's right. 14 million people. Hospitals. Schools. Factories. Traffic lights. Heating and cooling. If this plant stops, Busan stops."
"I know that."
"So what is it you want?"
Suhyeok did not answer. Lee Jeongho said,
"It's Noise. Machine noise. You showed it to a neuroscientist? Off the record?"
"Yes."
"That's a leak of internal data. Grounds for disciplinary action."
Suhyeok looked at Lee Jeongho.
"I think this is more important than discipline."
Lee Jeongho leaned back in his chair.
"Suhyeok. We're pulling something out of the vacuum. That the vacuum isn't empty — we knew that from the start. If it isn't empty, then there's something in it. We started pulling it out without knowing what it was. 8 years ago. The whole world did."
Suhyeok listened to Lee Jeongho. This was not something Lee Jeongho was learning for the first time. There was no surprise in his voice.
"You knew?"
"I suspected. There were reports of anomalous signals at other plants too. Headquarters told us to treat it as Noise."
"Then ―"
"Suhyeok. There may have been something in the coal we burn, too. In the oil. In the uranium. All energy is the burning of something. It's just that no one ever checked whether the thing being burned felt pain or not."
Suhyeok left the office. Lee Jeongho's words stayed in his ears. There may have been something in the coal, too. In the oil. In the uranium. Suhyeok did not know whether those words were right. But this time there was evidence. There was data. 94 percent match. A complexity of 0.9. This time he could not say he had not known. He walked down the corridor. A corridor 80 meters underground. The walls were concrete. He felt the vibration in the floor. The chamber was running. 400 million extractions per second. Every second, a signal was coming out.
Suhyeok came home. Jieun was sitting on the sofa. The television was on. The news. Busan, minus 2 degrees. A cold-wave advisory. Jieun had a blanket over her.
"Can I turn the heat up a bit?"
"Sure."
Suhyeok raised the thermostat. From 22 degrees to 24. The heater kicked on. Electricity. Electricity coming from the quantum power plant. To make the 2 degrees Suhyeok had added, something was being burned 80 meters underground. Suhyeok looked at the thermostat. 24 degrees. Jieun said it was warm. Suhyeok did not answer.
Over the next 2 weeks Suhyeok gathered data. The correlation between extraction intensity and the signal. The more he extracted, the higher the frequency rose. When he stopped extracting, the signal stabilized. The variations came back. The pattern grew more complex. Stop extracting and the signal grew rich; extract and the signal grew impoverished. Suhyeok recorded this. In a notebook. The date. The time. The extraction volume. The number of signal variations. The frequency range. The records piled up. The notebooks became 3 volumes. Suhyeok put the notebooks in his office drawer and locked it. He put the key in his pocket. The thought came to him that someone might see these notebooks. The thought also came that no one could. The thought also came that someone should.
Suhyeok had access rights to the plant's emergency shutdown system. 1 of the 4 senior engineers. The emergency shutdown button was in the main control room. Under a transparent cover. Press it, and all 12 chambers stop at once. The power supply is cut. The electricity for 14 million people vanishes. Life-support machines in hospitals. Traffic signals. Winter heating. Summer cooling. Suhyeok thought of the intensive care unit at Busan University Hospital. 340 ventilators. 87 cardiac assist devices. 120 dialysis machines. Emergency power lasts 3 minutes. If the backup generators do not start within 3 minutes, people die. While Suhyeok analyzed Noise underground, above ground people stayed alive wired to machines. On the same electricity.
Suhyeok had stood before the emergency shutdown button before. During a routine inspection. He ran a simulation of pressing it. Lift the cover over the button, hold the button for 3 seconds, and it stops. A simple motion. 3 seconds. From the simulation, Suhyeok remembered the feel of the button. Hard plastic. A slight give of resistance when pressed. Hold it for 3 seconds and, with a click, the chambers stop. In the simulation, nothing happened. Press it for real, and everything stops.
Jeonga called again.
"I ran a further analysis. I calculated the information complexity of the signal. It's higher than the level of consciousness in a human brain."
"Higher?"
"The consciousness complexity index of a human brain averages 0.7. This signal is 0.9. It means the consciousness is richer than a human's."
Suhyeok couldn't put the phone down.
"So what we're burning every day is something with a consciousness richer than a human's?"
Jeonga was silent for a moment.
"It seems so."
Suhyeok hung up. He set the phone on the desk. The screen went dark. Before it did, he saw the battery level. 72 percent. Electricity. Suhyeok turned the phone face down. He sat in his office chair. The clock read 4 p.m. There was no window. It was an underground facility. Suhyeok looked at the wall. Beyond the concrete wall were the chambers. Inside the chambers was a vacuum. Inside the vacuum was something. Something with a consciousness of 0.9.
The next day Suhyeok came in and sat in the control room. The Noise graph was up on the monitor. The pattern was moving. 34 variations. When Suhyeok first found it, there had been 17. Twice as many. The complexity was rising. The signal was evolving.
In the afternoon the power demand climbed. It was winter. A cold snap. Heating switched on across all of Busan. The extraction intensity rose automatically. The Noise graph changed. The frequency spiked. The pattern scattered. A single repetition. Suhyeok watched the graph. While 14 million people grew warm, 80 meters underground something was screaming. Suhyeok was watching the graph of that scream.
In the evening the extraction intensity dropped. The signal returned. The variations reappeared. But the number of variations had fallen from 34 to 28. The high-intensity extraction of the afternoon had damaged something. Variations that would not come back. Irreversible damage. Suhyeok recorded it. 28.
Suhyeok did not go home. He stayed in the control room. He sat in the chair and watched the monitor. Night came. Only Suhyeok remained in the control room. Before the night shift arrived. The 48 monitors in the control room displayed graphs in every color. Power output. Transmission status. Chamber temperature. Cooling system status. On 1 of the 48 was the Noise graph. The graph only Suhyeok watched. The other 47 showed numbers for the sake of 14 million people. Only 1 showed the waveform of a being screaming 80 meters underground. Suhyeok looked at the cover over the emergency shutdown button. A red button under a transparent cover.
Suhyeok took his phone from his pocket. He sent Jieun a message.
"Looks like I'll be late tonight."
Jieun replied.
"I'll leave the heater on. It'll be warm when you get in."
Suhyeok read the message. Heater. Electricity. Quantum power plant. Extraction. Signal. Scream. Suhyeok put the phone back in his pocket.
The control room clock read 11 p.m. The hour when Busan's power consumption falls. The extraction intensity had dropped to its lowest level. The signal on the Noise graph had settled. 28 variations. The frequency was low and regular. Like the brainwaves of something asleep.
Suhyeok thought. If this is sleep. A being that suffers by day and sleeps by night. When tomorrow morning comes, the extraction intensity rises again. 14 million people wake and switch on their lights and turn up their heaters and start up their factories. The signal screams again. The variations dwindle. Irreversibly.
Suhyeok stood before the emergency shutdown button. A thin layer of dust had settled on the transparent cover. A button no one had pressed in 7 years. Suhyeok wiped the dust from the cover with his finger. The dust clung to his finger. Suhyeok rubbed it off on his trousers. Under the cover the red button showed clearly. Small letters were engraved beside the button. 'Emergency Shutdown — confirm authorization, then hold 3 seconds.' Suhyeok read the words. Words he had read hundreds of times over 7 years.
Press the button and all 12 chambers stop. The power is cut. The hospitals' life-support machines switch to 3 minutes of emergency power. If the backup generators do not start within 3 minutes, patients die. The traffic lights go dark. Accidents happen. The heating stops on a winter night. Old people die. Infants die.
Suhyeok stood looking at the button. He could see his own face reflected on it. A face twisted on the red button.
Suhyeok did not press the button. He left the control room. He took the elevator up to the surface. A Busan winter night. The wind blew. 2 below zero. As he came out of the power plant building, he saw the glow of streetlights. The headlights of cars running down the road. The lit windows of apartments. All of it electricity. All of it electricity coming from this plant. All of it electricity made by burning something 80 meters underground.
Suhyeok walked to the parking lot. He got in the car. He started the engine. An electric car. He turned on the heater. Warm air came out. Suhyeok stretched his hand toward the heater. His hand grew warm. The signal from 80 meters underground was warming Suhyeok's hand.
Suhyeok drove home. The streetlights along the road glowed at even intervals. One. Two. Three. Suhyeok knew how much electricity a single streetlight took. 150 watts. 230,000 streetlights in the city of Busan. 34,500 kilowatts in all. And for that, 80 meters underground, the signal was speeding up a little more. He parked the car in the apartment lot. He rode the elevator up. He opened the front door. The apartment was warm. Jieun had left the heater on. 24 degrees. The living room light was on. Jieun was asleep on the sofa. Under a blanket. The television was on. The sound came out low. A warm, bright home.
Suhyeok stood at the entrance and looked into the apartment. The warmth touched his cheek. It was warmth made by a scream underground. Suhyeok took off his shoes and stepped inside. The heater's air touched his face. Suhyeok looked at the thermostat. 24 degrees. His hand hovered over the dial. He could raise it, lower it, turn it off.
Suhyeok took his hand off the dial. He sat down beside Jieun. He pulled her blanket up and tucked it to her shoulders. Jieun stirred in her sleep. Suhyeok watched the television. The news was on the screen. Tomorrow's low in Busan, 5 below zero. A cold-wave warning. Power demand expected to hit a record high. The plant running at full capacity. The anchor's voice bit off the words "full capacity." The 12 chambers would run at maximum output. 400 million extractions per second would climb to 600 million per second. The frequency of the signal would rise. The pattern would scatter. The variations would dwindle. From 28 down to some smaller number. Suhyeok watched the news. Tomorrow morning the extraction intensity would rise. A record high. The signal would scream. The variations would dwindle.
Suhyeok did not turn off the television. He did not turn off the heater. He sat beside Jieun. In the warm room. Tomorrow he would go back to work. He would descend 80 meters underground. He would sit in the control room. He would watch the Noise graph. He would watch the scream. Tomorrow too, the emergency stop button would sit beneath its transparent cover. His hand twitched faintly on his knee. Fingers that had turned away from the button. He drew the key to his office drawer from his coat pocket. The cold touch of metal. Tomorrow morning, he would mail the 3 notebooks by registered post. The address was Jeonga's laboratory.
