In a world devastated by Man's neglect, where the population live on floating islands of their own decay, one man must push himself further than ever before. In doing so, he makes a startling discovery.
Written for the @NationalGeopgraphic #PlanetOrPlastic contest.
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His eyes scanned the dials, their images fed directly into his optical implants.
He was deeper than he'd ever been, but he dared to search where others wouldn't. He knew his Crawler and was fully aware of how far he could push it.
If only they'd give him the promotion!
"You're the best!" they'd tell him.
Yeah. reflect that in my pay packet!
He didn't mind really. He at least had an actual job. He was a Crawler, named after the mini sub he piloted. In a world devastated by the disposable attitude of too many generations, any job was something. Crawlers, however, were world builders.
Or rebuilders.
Once, oceans were shrinking from the devastating effects of climate change tampering. That had been stopped but it wasn't enough. Plastics didn't degrade so were dumped. Landfills became mountains encroaching upon and invading cities. People wanted to save the planet, but were too busy trying to survive to actually survive.
It started small. Move the landfills to the oceans, creating space for an ever increasing population. Just here and there. And then there and there. Too soon, oceans were saturated.
The Crawlers were the answer. Reclaim the oceans. Build new islands from the discarded plastics of our ancestors. Melted, formed and solid.
It worked, for a time. Then they started to decay.
Finding fresh plastic in the grimy sea became an impossible task. There just wasn't enough water to explore! So, he pushed his Crawler further. Deeper.
He wondered if the oceans had ever been anything other than grey soup. If the legends of creatures in the depths were ever more than that.
He tapped his temple.
"Edmonds to base."
"Edmonds."
"Returning empty."
There was a mental flash through his neural connection, letting him know his response had been received but they had nothing in return. What was there to say?
He drove his Crawler downwards. There had to be something. He blinked, twice, to disable the interface with his craft. No alarms, no problems. The shell groaned under the increasing pressure.
A flash of movement in the lights made him gasp. He reduced speed, turning slowly.
Another flash.
He blinked twice, then twice again as the dials flashed up and he removed them.
"What the hell?"
He stopped. Before him wasn't filthy water. The gloom cleared to reveal a panorama of intricate spires and rolling hills. He moved closer and realised what he was seeing.
Settlement!
Over the decades the discarded plastic had drifted downwards to create this landscape. His heart fluttered as he imagined building a new world down here, unburdened by the limitations above.
Then something floated into view. One of the looped plastic holders that once held cans of refreshments together.
Normally, he'd use his Crawler's arms to retrieve it, but not this time.
One of the holes held something entirely different. Something he hadn't even believed existed.
The flesh had mostly fallen away revealing much of the skeleton. A few scales clung on to a fin.
A fish?
He paused. His breath and heartbeat seeming to stop too.
He shook his head, turning the Crawler around and blinked the dials into view, engaging the engines.
