CAPACITY a-2 Read online

  Then he remembered his conversation with the AI pod outside on the mud slick. Still speaking calmly, as if humoring the child, he addressed the flier’s Turing machine. “Ship? I want you to take us back to the spaceport.”

  “Okay, Justinian.”

  The exit hatch slid smoothly up behind him.

  “Justinian,” Leslie said, “you are aware that we’re not due to return to the spaceport for another two days?”

  “Yes.”

  The robot’s face was in soft focus, like the romantic lead in a twentieth-century movie. Even so, Justinian knew that Leslie was reading his thoughts through careful measurement of his heart rate and body language.

  “Now, Justinian,” Leslie said, “you know that AIs are manipulative. The ones on this planet particularly so.”

  “Present company included,” Justinian said, smiling sweetly.

  Leslie sounded hurt. His blurred body language was defensive: legs together, arms crossed. For some reason his fingernails shone silver.

  “Oh, Justinian. You can’t put me in the same category as those AI pods. I haven’t tried to commit suicide, have I?”

  “Pity.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Leslie said dismissively. “Look, why should you trust one of those pods more than you trust me? Leave now, and we might as well all just abandon the planet. The other colonists can’t stay here if they can’t trust their own intelligence. They are all relying on you to find the answer to what’s going on. I mean, how do we know that humans aren’t suddenly going to begin committing suicide, too?”

  Justinian smiled sweetly again at the robot. He wasn’t going to disturb the baby by letting his temper get the better of him again.

  “Leslie,” he said in a sing-song voice, smiling as he did so, “the other people on this planet do not have their fifteen-month-old sons with them. The other people on this planet actually chose to come here.” His voice suddenly hardened. “Most importantly, Leslie, the other people on this planet do not have their images stored in primitive format in the abandoned memory spaces of half-insane AIs.”

  The flier lifted effortlessly into the air. The red mud and turquoise water of the delta could be seen dropping away through the floor’s viewing fields. Leslie took a step forward, his fuzzy foot wading into an expanding picture of the river. A note of puzzlement crept into the robot’s voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  Justinian laughed sardonically. “You know what I mean. I saw you out there. I know you were listening in on the conversation.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” the robot said quietly. “We are doing everything we can to restrict use of AIs on this mission. That’s why I’m so fuzzy.”

  “Are you telling me you weren’t listening?”

  The robot was silent. For a moment Justinian had the impression that the robot was telling the truth, but the conviction quickly gave way to suspicion that he was still being manipulated. Leslie was a robot. If his voice sounded convincing, it was because the robot had chosen to sound that way.

  “I hate robots,” Justinian said. “You direct emotions and sidetrack conversations. Never mind whether you heard or not, just give me a straight answer. Why am I here?”

  The robot answered without hesitation. “To find out why the AIs on this planet are failing to thrive.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. There must be hundreds, thousands of people better qualified than I am for this job. None of them has a baby to look after. Why pick me to come to this planet?”

  Leslie moved forward, half blocking a viewing field. Down below, red mud was giving way to turquoise sea as the flier picked up speed.

  “We’ve been over this before,” the robot said. “You have a lot of experience working with AIs and personality constructs, both at home and in the Enemy Domain. You’re good at what you do, Justinian-you must know that. And then there’s your wife, Anya; you have direct experience of the White Death. You have to admit, what happened to her is very similar to what happened to the AIs.”

  “Similar, but not the same. We know that now!”

  “You didn’t have to bring the baby with you.”

  Justinian gave the robot a look of sheer contempt. “Leave my own child to be raised by someone else? What sort of a man do you think I am?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

  “Like the EA would allow it anyway.”

  “Look, Justinian, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m not au fait with child development. It’s not part of my brief.”

  “Yeah. You’ve made that excuse before. So what is your brief, anyway? Why are you here, dressed up in your fractal skin?”

  “To look after you. You know that.”

  “Oh…just be quiet,” Justinian snapped. The robot had successfully changed the subject again. Leslie shut down the floor’s viewing fields and the turquoise sea vanished. The robot was a blur standing on the orange-carpeted floor of the flier. Where it could be seen, Leslie’s body was humanoid, right down to the smooth, grey shapes of muscles molded into his arms and legs. Sometimes, when the robot relaxed in the flight chairs of the lounge, Justinian had seen his skin revert to a smooth, grey semitransparent crystalline form that he assumed was its natural state. It was a fascinating sight: the dark shapes of machinery could almost be seen through the skin, tantalizing half glimpses of the power that drove Leslie. At the moment, though, the robot’s body was nothing but a grey haze.

  “Useless,” Justinian muttered, half to himself. He felt a sudden twinge in his right arm and rubbed it absentmindedly. The baby was running his mouth around his fur-effect collar, biting and giggling as he did so. Justinian smiled at his son and spoke in happy tones. “Why is the naughty robot so disingenuous? Why is he? He is, isn’t he? He’s deliberately misunderstanding what I say! He is.”

  The baby chuckled and went back to biting at the fur collar. Justinian pulled the collar away and blew a raspberry on his son’s fat little cheek. The material in his passive suit bunched up around his right arm as he did so.

  “The naughty robot won’t tell us why we’re here, will he? He keeps changing the subject! Why has he put us in this danger?”

  He turned back to face the robot.

  “Listen, Leslie. You let me think that the EA chose me because of Anya and my work in the Enemy Domain. Now I find my picture stored in the boot space of an AI pod, millions of light years from Earth. How can that be? No tricks, no sidetracking. Just tell me.”

  “All right,” the robot said, suddenly firming up before him. The baby turned to look at the dark grey crystal shape that stood in the room. Leslie was really quite beautiful when like this.

  “This is what I think. The AI pod is about to commit suicide, for whatever reason. Maybe it wants to warn others about what has happened. What to do? It has access to vast libraries of data. Records of every human that has ever lived are stored inside it. It does a search for the human most likely to help it. Is it any wonder that it comes up with the same answer as the EA has? You!”

  Justinian stared at Leslie, wondering. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was being hasty, wanting to leave the planet. The baby bit at his collar again, then began slobbering over his cheek. Justinian made to push his son away, but stopped as he felt something grip his right arm.

  “Ow!” he said. “What on Earth?”

  Leslie began to blur. The baby was trying to kiss his cheek, and Justinian’s right arm was caught in a tight grip as he tried to push his son away. The baby didn’t like being stopped; he struggled harder. Justinian set his son on the floor and, to the rising sound of crying, began to pull off the top of his passive suit.

  “Oh shit…” he whispered, feeling a sweat break out on his forehead. There, on the biceps of his right arm, glistened a BVB.

  The flier skimmed at Mach 7 over the sea. Inside it the baby was still crying, and Justinian felt like doing the same, such was his frustration. Leslie was trying to calm him down.

  “It’s not a problem.
Once this is over we’ll take you back to Earth to have your arm removed. They’ll have another one on in no time. In the meantime we’ll put a heat bandage around your biceps to keep it warm and stop it shrinking further in the cold.”

  “I’m not walking around for two weeks with this thing on me.”

  Justinian couldn’t take his eyes off the black velvet band. It was beautiful in its way: a cold, terrifying beauty in the way it had so gently formed on his arm, underneath the quilt of his passive suit. He had barely noticed it appearing. Not until he had moved his arm.

  Leslie was probing the band with his fuzzy hand, silver fingernails flashing in the light.

  “It’s not a problem, Justinian, honestly. What’s the worst that could happen? You go three weeks without an arm. I’ll tell you what: if that happens, I’ll take one of mine off, too, to keep you company.”

  Justinian glared at the robot. “The worst thing that could happen? What if we wake up and find there’s one formed around the baby’s neck? What if it forms inside his body? There may be one in there already, wrapped around his little heart! He’s a growing child!”

  Justinian scooped up the baby from the floor and held him close. He felt his son’s warm cheek against his own bare chest. The child’s tears were cold on Justinian’s flesh.

  Leslie insinuated his way around the cabin, flight chairs sliding out of his way, until he was standing right before Justinian. His face lost some of its fuzziness; he wanted Justinian to register its sincere expression.

  “Listen, there is no danger. I monitor you both constantly. If a BVB forms on the baby, we will leave this planet immediately so that it can be operated on. You have my word on that.”

  “He shouldn’t have to be operated on! He shouldn’t have been put in this danger in the first place!”

  Even the flight chairs seemed to feel Justinian’s anger; they were gliding across the floor, heading aft, leaving him with room to pace.

  “I’ve had enough. I’m going home! Go and find someone else to be your counselor.”

  Justinian stared at Leslie, breathing heavily. The robot spread his arms wide in apology.

  “But Justinian, there is no one else.”

  Justinian shook his head. “I don’t believe you. There are billions of humans in space. For goodness sake, there are trillions now, after the expansion of the Enemy Domain. There must be thousands of people out there who could do the job.”

  The robot remained silent for a moment. His body flickered, becoming fuzzy orange; it seemed to fade into the pattern of the flier’s interior. Then, gradually, he resumed his natural grey, crystalline state.

  “I don’t know, Justinian,” he said eventually. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know. If I had the choice, I would have sought help elsewhere, but I don’t. I was given my instructions by the EA, and it asked for you by name. It obviously thought you were important. Justinian, please. Stay.”

  “No.” Justinian glared at the robot. “The baby and I are going home. Ship, how long to the spaceport?”

  “Two hours, Justinian.”

  “That’s two hours longer than I want to remain on this planet.”

  The flier followed an elegant arc through the deepening blue of the morning, a needle stitching the brilliant white clouds. Below, the turquoise sea was darkening, becoming deeper blue as they headed away from the equatorial region. A yellow-striped survey platform floated a few meters above the slap and foam of the waves, its human crew struggling to continue with their task without the aid of the platform’s AI. High above, Justinian was feeding the baby. Their two flight chairs faced each other by a window; the others were still lurking aft. Justinian sat in one chair watching as his son tried to feed himself. The baby would scoop up the dinner, then turn the spoon upside down as he put it in his mouth. Orange shapes fell to form a loose scree at the out-turned bottom edge of his bib.

  Leslie walked back from the flight deck and into the flier’s main section.

  “I’ve been speaking to the EA,” he said.

  “I’m very pleased for you,” Justinian said sarcastically.

  “They’ve worked out the probability of either you or the baby coming to any harm from the BVBs. Apparently it’s negligible. You’re more likely to die on the journey home than as a result of a BVB.”

  “That’s a comforting thought. Did they mention anything about the fact that my picture was stored in that AI pod?”

  “…They concurred with my theory: the pod must have done a search on the database and come to the same conclusion as the EA. You were obviously the best person to work out what has gone wrong here.”

  Justinian stared at the robot accusingly.

  “Why did you hesitate before answering? You’re a robot, you must have deliberately chosen to hesitate. Why are you choosing to sound shifty?”

  “I’m not. I’m trying to sound sincere.”

  “Sincere!” Justinian laughed. “That will be something to think about when I’m flying home with the baby.”

  “Justinian! Don’t be so stubborn! Aren’t you curious about what is going on here? How can you just leave without knowing? You’ll spend the rest of your life wondering!”

  The baby had finished his meal. Orange goo spattered the tray, the baby, even Justinian, who took the spoon from his son with a struggle, the BVB constricting his arm as he did so. The heat bandage was making him sweat under his passive suit. Calmly, Justinian turned towards the flight deck.

  “Ship! What time is the next shuttle off planet?”

  “One hour thirty minutes.”

  “And our ETA at the spaceport?”

  “One hour fifteen minutes.”

  Justinian smiled at the robot. “There you are. And all I own is my console and travel bag. No packing necessary.”

  The baby took advantage of the distraction to snatch back the spoon.

  “All gone,” Justinian said, holding up the empty bowl for the child to see. The baby’s mouth twisted; he was threatening to cry. Justinian glanced across to the kitchen unit that had formed on the forward wall. “Leslie, can you get me the pear halves? They’re in the bowl over there.”

  “I can’t,” the robot said sulkily. “My hands are too fractally.”

  “Fractally?” Justinian said. “Is that a word?” He looked intently at the robot. “How can a robot be so lazy?”

  “It’s not being lazy,” Leslie replied petulantly. “It’s about the appropriate expenditure and conservation of energy. If you were a robot, you’d understand.”

  Justinian laughed as he went over to fetch the bowl. Now that he knew he was leaving the planet, his mood was suddenly a lot lighter. When he got back, the baby was hitting at a Schrödinger box that had appeared on the sauce-spattered tray in front of him.

  Justinian made to flick the box from the tray, then paused just for a moment. In under two hours he would have left this planet and would no longer be encountering these bizarre artifacts. It was odd how, in just three weeks, he had become so blasé about something so unusual. He picked up the box and examined it carefully. It was small: about the size of the first joint of his little finger, almost a cube but for a slight taper to its shape. Merely looking at it fixed it in position; holding it clenched tight in his hand put a fix on it and kept it in place. He slipped it in his pocket, where he couldn’t feel it through the padded material of his passive suit, then almost immediately he put his hand back into the pocket. The cube was gone.

  He suddenly became aware that Leslie was watching him. “What?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” said the robot.

  Justinian squeezed the handle of the spoon, making it frictionless for a moment. Orange sauce slipped from it to the tray. He squeezed the handle again and scooped a spoonful out of a pear half. Another Schrödinger box had appeared, lodged amid the pears themselves.

  “They never did figure out what these things were doing,” he murmured to himself. “They haven’t figured out anything on this planet.” He raised his v
oice. “Hey Leslie,” he called, “have they even figured out how to get into the Bottle yet?”

  “The Bottle?” said the robot, in surprised tones. “Why bring that up?”

  “I was just thinking about all the things I will leave behind when I get off this planet. Can they get into it yet?”

  “No. Do you think they really want to?” There was still an edge of sulkiness to its voice.

  The ship suddenly spoke up: “Electrical storm coming up. Do you want to go around it?”

  “No, straight through,” Justinian said. “And let’s have full visual.”

  “No problem,” said the ship. It was nice to speak to a PC that didn’t automatically disagree with him, Justinian thought.

  Viewing fields expanded all around, and the scattered flight chairs and carpeted interior of the flier gradually disappeared, leaving Justinian, the baby, and the robot seemingly hanging in empty air. There was nothing but the deep blue sea below them, the blue sky above, and, ahead of them, the sinister black line of storm clouds approaching at Mach 7.

  “It’s AI five’s region,” explained the ship. “Lots of warm air rising from the ocean heat exchange.”

  The black line of the storm clouds lengthened and grew, towering higher and higher above them, and Justinian felt a thrill of anticipation as he saw the flicker of lightning. Puffs of grey skittered past them, the sea below glimmered in an unearthly violet, and then, with a breathtaking suddenness, the storm enveloped them. They flew into the space between the anvil clouds, the darkness lit by an eerie electrical glow. Lightning arced from the seething dark below them, up to the towering masses of clouds above. Justinian flew through the dark cathedral spaces feeding pear pieces to the baby, who turned his head this way and that at the strange glowing lights, so fascinated that he almost forgot to eat.

  At the front of the flier, slumped in a flight chair, Leslie sulked.

  The baby was crawling across the soft carpet, arms and legs moving like a clockwork toy as he chased a striped ball. The viewing fields had been collapsed to normal proportions now that they had left the region of the storm. Justinian’s attention flicked back and forth between his son and the twisted shapes of the Minor Mountain region. Blue-grey rills and columns, crags and cliffs all formed a cracked and tilted pavement below the flier. Red crystals grew from the highest peak, another VNM project mysteriously abandoned before completion. The flier interrupted his thoughts.