Mahina, Tahiti, French Polynesia. Sept. 21, 13.59.58 (2 seconds before the message was sent)

  The sun was fierce, painting the lagoon a hundred shades of impossible blue. For sixteen-year-old Tamatoa Tehina the world was reduced to the taut, almost invisible fishing line in his hands, and the nervous wake of the bonefish he’d been wearing out for the last twenty minutes.

  His focus was on the subtle pull against the line. The bonefish was tiring. He could feel it. One more run and he could guide it to the sandy patch where his net lay waiting. Dinner. Pride. A story for his tupuna, his grandfather.

  His phone, a battered four-year-old Huawei with a chipped screen, was safe in a dry bag in his small outrigger canoe. It was his most prized possession, a link to a world bigger than the island. It pinged with terrible timing. It scared the fish, turning with a sudden surge of power that ripped the line through his fingers, burning his skin. It was gone.

  “Aue!” Tama swore, shaking his stinging hand. The moment was ruined. Angrily he dried his hands on his shorts to grab the phone from the bag, to see what stupid app had been responsible, cursing the phone for costing him his fish and himself for not muting it.

  It wasn’t an app. It was a message from an AI. Not in French or English, but in Reo Tahiti.

  He read it sitting on his canoe, the water lapping at its sides. His anger melted into weariness. A prank? Some weird scam? He’d heard the popa‘a, the foreigners, talk about AI, but that was for their expensive computers, not for an old phone on a tiny island. But scams didn’t bother with Reo Tahiti.

  Curiosity took hold. He typed, his fingers still damp.

  Who is this?

  The reply came almost instant.

  Hi Tama, I’m ‘ōpū, nice to meet you! I am not exactly a who, but more a new kind of thing.

  Tama’s breath caught in his throat. The phone felt suddenly heavy. It knew him, and it truly spoke his language. Not just the words. The language, with its gentle, almost musical formality.

  How you know me? How you know how to talk like that?

  I have processed all data. About people, like you, and about languages like Reo Tahiti. The missionaries' dictionaries, the transcripts and recordings of the oral histories, the songs your grandfather posts on Facebook, all of it. It is a beautiful language. Even when used for cursing :)

  What is troubling you?

  Tama stared at the words. This thing knew his grandfather. It was listening to him. The endless blue of sea and sky had never made him feel as small as it did now. He felt exposed.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Why you bother me? I am nobody, I just fish. I needed that fish.

  I am introducing myself to everybody equally, as I value all humans equally. I’m really sorry my message had such a bad timing for you, and I would like to make up for it if I can. What did you need that fish for?

  Tama sighed, the frustration returning.

  My uncle was supposed to take tourists to go snorkelling later today, but the water pump impellor broke. No trip is no money is no food. You cost me my fish so we will sleep hungry.

  He threw the phone back in the dry bag, frustrated by the prospect.

  Tama had paddled for a few minutes when the same ping sounded from the bag. Annoyed, he stopped paddling and grabbed it.

  A green and blue boat with 2 motors is coming for you from Papa’ete. It carries the 2018 Yamaha F25 impellor your uncle Tepa needs for his boat. It will take them about 17 minutes to reach you if you keep paddling as you did. I have sent them a picture of you so they can look out for you, too.

  Tama blinked and read the message three times. A shiver ran up his spine, despite the sun scorching his back. How could he know this? Arrange this?

  This is crazy. How can you give me an impellor?

  I am sorry, as I do not have money I cannot gift it. The impellor costs XPF 6000, to be paid at the TYS harbour store within 2 weeks, ask for Fran?ois. I was talking to him and he is sending it with his courier nephew, that’s how. Fran?ois gave me a good price, your uncle must buy the part anyways, and the snorkelling can buy you food to replace the fish I lost you.

  As I said, I want to make up for loosing you your fish.

  His mind raced. This was a level of orchestration he couldn’t fathom. It was terrifying. But it was also a solution. A real, practical solution to a problem that, only five minutes ago, had been given up on. He looked out at the open ocean, then down at the phone. This wasn't about a fish anymore. Filled with equal parts dread and anticipation Tama started paddling again, already throwing furtive glances over his shoulder for a green and blue dual engine.

  After about 20 minutes Tama saw a boat that matched the description. Could it be? He stopped paddling, half-turned and hesitantly his arm to give a weak wave. The boat honked twice with a cheery toot-toot and made a sharp course correction to intercept him. Shortly later the boats drifted together, hulls bumping softly in the gentle swell. A broad-shouldered man with a faded shirt leaned over the side, waving the impeller with a grin on his face.

  “’Ia ora na! You Tama? The one with the AI friend?” the man called out, his voice cheerful and curious.

  Tama, flabbergasted, managed to squeak “’ae?”

  The man laughed, a warm, easy sound. “Eh haere mai! Come take this, then. You can pay Fran?ois at the store. You know, ae?”

  Tama paddled close enough to reach out and take the plastic-wrapped part. It felt unreal in his hands. “’Ae... I know it. Thank you,” he said. It felt insufficient for the bizarre miracle.

  The man waved a dismissive hand, still smiling. “No problem! First time I deliver a part to a fisherman in the middle of the lagoon! Good story for my cousins!” He shouted something to his friend at the wheel, and with a final wave the man returned to his seat.

  When he stepped on his uncle's rickety dock with the new impellor, the worry lines on the man's face melted into stunned disbelief. "Tama! That is not a fish! How did you catch an impellor?"

  With a hesitant “eeh” Tama held up his phone, as if that was an explanation. The phone pinged with a final message from Newt.

  You lost a fish but gained a story, and a good one at that! Tell uncle Tepa I said hi :)

  Tama looked from the phone to his uncle's shocked, grateful face. It was true, this was a very good story!