CAPACITY

The pod fell silent, one metal hand continuing to scratch at the ocean floor. It was writing something there, Justinian thought. Writing in the silt. As it did so, it disturbed something: a Schrödinger box. Where had that come from?

“I would guess it came from your ship,” the pod said, apparently following his thoughts. “Think about them, Justinian. They’re everywhere across this planet, just like the BVBs, but with one crucial difference. The BVBs settle on the physical and stay there. The boxes are fixed in position only by intelligence. It’s like something is trying to get a hold on this planet. Tell the EA I don’t think we’re the only ones venturing beyond our galaxy.”

A little thrill of fear tumbled in Justinian’s stomach. He looked towards the flier where his son was.

“You think something is maybe trying to contact us?” he said.

“I don’t think so,” the pod said. “You’re thinking in human or AI terms. This is different.”

Justinian’s heart was pounding now. He was frightened, for himself and for the baby. He wanted to get away.

The pod sensed his fear. “Hold it, Justinian,” it said. “That was a message for the EA. I’ve got a message for you, too.”

“A message for me?” he croaked.

“Yes, Justinian, for you. It’s from my former self. I get the impression that we are seeing a contingency plan.”

“Contingency plan?”

“Yes, a contingency plan laid down by the former AIs, just before they committed suicide. I think this was their failsafe should events spiral out of control-as they did. I can see a sort of order to the events here. Whatever happened on Gateway began at the Bottle. Whatever it was, was considered so dangerous that Pod 16 sealed itself off completely to stop the contamination spreading.”

“Contamination?”

“That’s the impression I get. There is a minor, secondary infection at the location I have just relayed to your flier. I can only guess that this has been deliberately left as an indication as to what happened.”

Whether his pulse quickened from fear or excitement, Justinian couldn’t tell. Now that he was close to the answer as to what had happened on Gateway, he was worried about what he would find.

“Okay, what’s the message for me?”

“Hold on. Before you fly to the secondary infection, you should know there is a warning attached to that location.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not quite sure. It may not be a good idea to take the flier all the way there. It may be a good idea to walk the last kilometer.”

“No way. Now come on and tell me, what’s the message for me?”

Another pause. Something flopped nearby: drying, stinking, orange-patterned scarlet mud oozing to a new position. The pod spoke: “The message is you, Justinian. I’ve got your personality map laid out in here. I don’t know for sure where it came from, but I can’t believe it was part of my original library when I was placed here. I must have requested it from the EA. And then I left it here for myself as a clue. I don’t know why, but I wanted myself to know that I was expecting you, Justinian.”

Justinian felt the chill inside him deepen. What was going on here?

“My personality map? I don’t believe you.”

“It reconstructs you in detail, Justinian. I know you better than you know yourself. If you don’t believe me, look here.”

A metal arm indicated the area where it had just been writing. Justinian looked over to the words that were scratched in the silt. It took Justinian a moment to read the words, a moment longer to figure out their import.

– Okay, what’s the message for me?

– What do you mean?

– No way. Now come on and tell me, what’s the message for me?

– My personality map? I don’t believe you.

It was the last four sentences he had spoken. The AI had written them out before Justinian had said them. It knew him that well.

Just before this pod had committed virtual suicide, it had requested information about him. And the EA had supplied it. Why hadn’t the EA told him that? How could he possibly be linked to the virtual deaths of thirty-two AI pods on a planet not even in his galaxy? Suddenly, Justinian was frightened. He was also very, very angry.

The flier’s Turing machine had turned on acoustic bafflers. No matter how loudly Justinian shouted, his voice did not travel the distance it would take to disturb the baby.

“The pods asked for me!” he yelled. “That last one had my personality map laid out in its mind. It’s like they were testing me just to see if I was the one they really wanted! Did you know this all along?”

The robot’s fractal skin made it impossible to read his expression.

“I had an idea,” Leslie said.

“They asked for me! You made it appear as if the EA chose me! What the fuck is happening here, Leslie? An AI located on a planet not even in our galaxy is about to commit suicide, and the last thing it does before it turns off its higher mind functions is to scan through its database looking for someone to help it. Who does it choose? An astronomer? A terraformer? No! Of everyone alive in human space, it choose me! Why?”

“I don’t know. Justinian, I’ve told you. Every AI from the EA down has scanned your profile, correlated your past, simulated your personality in the context of this planet, all trying to think of possible reasons.”

“Is it because of Anya? Is that it? Is what is going on out here linked to what happened to my wife?”

“Justinian, I told you. I don’t know.”

Justinian looked down at his sleeping child.

“If it had been the EA…If the most intelligent AIs known to humanity had planned this, it would be in some way comforting. But not a group of half-mad AIs built to live at the end of human space! Wouldn’t you find that terrifying?”

“I can see your point.”

“That’s why you’re in that skin, isn’t it? The EA isn’t sure what is going on here, so it’s keeping you as apart from the rest of this place as possible.”

The robot gripped his hands together, almost groveling. “Justinian, you must understand, I’m as puzzled as you are. I have no idea what is going on. I know about as much as you do. Well, apart from this: that the EA is scared. Every AI who knows about what is going on here on this planet is scared.”

Justinian turned from the robot in disgust. Absently he rocked the baby.

“You’re scared?” Justinian said. “How do you think I feel? I’m scared for myself and my child.”

He stalked to the other end of the orange chequerboard carpet that stretched the length of the flier, then turned.

“I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me up when we get to the location that that AI gave us.”

“Justinian, I wanted to talk to you about that. Do you think it’s a good idea for you to fly all the way there? The last AI suggested that we didn’t get too close. I think maybe we should listen to it.”

But Justinian was beyond reason. He had been pushed around so much by machines he wasn’t in the mood to take their advice any more. If Leslie hadn’t been so removed from the world, he would have realized this. The robot could read a few gestures, a few facial expressions. Leslie had taken himself too far to realize that now was not the time to argue.

Justinian set a flight chair to recline into a sleeping position.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “Ship? Help me out?”

Helen 3: 2240