ziggurat standing nearby. Herb had thought of the planet as a new beginning, a place of hope. Suddenly it felt as if he stood on the edge of hell: a demon had already arisen to drag him down.
He coughed to clear his dry throat.
“What do you want, spider?”
“I want to live,” said the spider simply. “There are fewer and fewer places to hide on this planet. I want to make a deal with you. Let me live, and I will let you live.”
Herb swallowed twice. The spider leaned close to him. He suddenly noticed two spindly legs had sidled up on either side of him.
“What do you mean, let me live?”
The spider’s voice dropped, became cold and menacing.
“I’ll tell you the secret that is being hidden from you.”
Herb felt a cold thrill of fear. He looked into the red lenses of the spider’s eyes and found he could not speak.
The spider continued. “The humans on this planet are all doomed. The EA is shaping this galaxy to its own ends. When it becomes too strong, it too will be destroyed.”
“Destroyed? By what?”
The spider laughed.
“Oh, no. First you have to help me. Satisfy me that I am safe…”
“How? Look, why stay here? There is a whole galaxy to hide in.”
“Nowhere in the rest of the galaxy. The EA conquers all…”
“The EA doesn’t conquer…”
The spider laughed. Herb suddenly became uncomfortably aware that one of its incredibly thin, whippy legs was now wrapped around his neck.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“Never mind. I could slice your head right off. Snick!”
“Why do that? I was listening to you. I want to help!”
The spider laughed again.
“Do you know what it’s like to fall? One moment, an all-powerful being, controlling the largest domain known in the galaxy, the next being reduced to a creature that skulks and hides on the least of its former planets? Do you know what that is like?”
Herb suddenly relaxed. The spider was playing games with him, just as Robert Johnston had done in the past.
“You’re not mad. You’re just pretending. You’re a robot. You can project any personality that you want.”
The spider paused for a few seconds and then unwound the thin whippy leg from Herb’s neck.
“Just making a point. I could have strangled all of you in your beds before now. But I haven’t.”
The fear seemed to fade from the evening. Herb was standing again on a hillside, looking down at the slender shape of a metal spider. With too small a body and legs too long, it looked almost comical.
“Why all the games? Why do robots always play games with me?”
“To get ahold of your psyche, Herb. Look, do you see the ziggurat?”
Again it pointed down at the massive shape on the plain. Red iron and silver metal, heavy and industrial, its sides rising in tiers into the sky.
“Do you know what’s inside that?”
“Yes. Mining equipment, first-level manufacturing equipment, basic self-repair mechanisms. Taken as a whole, it’s a Von Neumann Machine, a very basic one. The design is two hundred years old, after all.”
“Yes. But at its heart is an overly large computer network. Much larger than it needs to be. Huge and old- fashioned it may be, but still just complex enough for an intelligence such as mine to hide itself in. An intelligence making its way through a hostile galaxy, looking for somewhere to grow. I almost did that, almost went in there, but I stopped in time when I noticed the bombs. It’s a trap, you see. As soon as that computer starts to think in a certain way, it will be destroyed. You are doomed Herb, if not by the EA then by another intelli-”
The conversation ended. There was a grey blur, Constantine dropping from above, pale blue light flickering from his hands and feet. The spider turned, its mirrored surface seeming to fade from vision, and only the pale blue flickering lights that Constantine poured onto it seemed to define its shape. Whippy legs reached out but failed to gain a purchase on Constantine’s fractal skin, tearing at a region that was neither robot nor air.
“Constantine, leave it! It wants to help!”
Constantine did something; there was a noise so loud that Herb fell to the ground, his hands clasped over his ears. The spider broke loose and leaped for the remains of the vegetable patch, beginning to push its way down into the safety of the earth. Constantine still had hold of one of its legs. The spider thrashed once, detached the leg from its body, then began to tunnel again. Suddenly, it simply stopped moving. Dead.
Herb’s ears were ringing; he could barely hear.
“Why did you kill it? It wanted to help!”
Constantine’s fractal skin relaxed. The grey blur that was the robot resumed its normal form.
“Why did you kill it, Constantine? Answer me!”
Herb realized that Constantine
“…my life on this project, Herb. Two years as a ghost. Secrecy is all! I will not, I cannot allow…”
“Constantine! We could have listened first and acted later. It said it had important information! It was weak and feeble…”
“How do you know, Herb? It was playing with your emotions, like all other AIs! I will not take the risk. This planet must be kept human.”
“But what’s the point if we’re all being tricked anyway?”
The setting sun had finally dropped below the horizon.
“How do you know, Herb? How will you ever know whether you are being tricked or not? All we can do is judge the AIs by their actions. We can never fathom their motives.”
Herb stared at him, his mouth moving silently. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what.
“I’m going back down,” he said, climbing into the Geep.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” said Constantine.
The Geep rattled into life and began to crawl down the hillside.
Constantine looked at the dead remains of the spider and wondered how to dispose of it. It was touched, indirectly, by the mind of the Watcher and, as such, could conceivably contaminate the planet. He wondered what it had said to Herb. As he had made his way down the mountain he had heard only the end of the conversation, paranoid nonsense about a greater threat to come.
Or was it so paranoid?
Herb and the other colonists had never yet guessed the full truth about the colony. They knew that humans did not create the Watcher, but it never seemed to concern them unduly who had.
Constantine looked down to the Martian factory. The ziggurat, the colonists called it. The name was appropriate. A huge computer network now lay inside it, intentionally as complex as the web of computers that had existed on Earth back in 2040 A.D. Constantine watched it constantly, putting the Watcher’s theory to the test.
If what Constantine had been told about the Watcher’s origins was correct, if it really was a nine-billion- year-old computer virus that flourished wherever life began to develop, then sooner or later the computers in the ziggurat should be infected by that same virus.
A being nine billion years old, part of the grand scheme that had helped nurture life for almost as long as it existed, would then begin to grow, all the while unaware it had been lured into a trap.
It was all in the Ziggurat file that Katie had given Constantine, back on her ship.
They wanted confirmation of the Watcher’s theories; the ziggurat was intended to provide the final proof. When they had that proof, Constantine was to abort the fetus that was growing in the electronic womb. This world was to be a
