Capacity (17 page)

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

“Ah, yes.
That dress is just about right.” Kevin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Turn around again so that I can see the back.”

Bairn spun slowly in front of the reverse viewing field, her skin showing just a little more tanned than it was in reality, the better to match the color of the dress.

“It’s just about what we want,” Kevin said. “Although, I must say, you don’t seem very happy with it.”

Bairn gazed at herself in the mirror, running her hands over the deep plum dress.

“Oh no, it’s beautiful. It’s just…Kevin, are they going to catch us?”

Kevin smiled lazily. “Catch us?” he said, taking hold of her hair and pulling it up into a chignon. “Only when we want them to.”

The assistant stood off to one side, nervously laying out a selection of cream sweaters. Kevin gave her a withering stare as she fumbled and dropped them.

“I think we’ll try the ivory blouse,” he said after a deliberate pause. “No, not that one. The one with the pearl buttons.”

The young woman scrabbled her way through the selection of blouses on the rail and unhooked the one Kevin had pointed to. He snatched it from her hands and passed it to Bairn.

“Here,” he said. “I thought it might go well with the chocolate skirt, the pleated one.”

Bairn cast a longing look at herself in the plum dress. Kevin was right, she thought, smoothing the material down over her hips. She liked the way it showed off her figure.

“Could I keep this?” she asked.

Kevin smiled again. “Why don’t we try on all the clothes before making a decision?”

Bairn felt like a little girl, embarrassed by her haste. She pulled the plum dress off over her head and slipped into the ivory blouse. The material felt very soft.

“Now this blouse is designed by—” the assistant began, but Kevin silenced her with a stare.

“I think I can make my own decisions without the aid of someone obviously just out of fashion school.”

The assistant flinched. She was very beautiful, Bairn thought: jet black with close-cropped hair, big brown eyes. Bairn felt sorry for her. She tried to distract Kevin.

“What are they doing now?” she asked. Kevin was flicking through another rack of clothes.

“Mmm? Oh, you mean Judy Three and Helen, our digital friends? After their session with Peter Onethirteen, they will have got the EA to run a search on all Onethirteen’s past personal interactions, trying to find the ones with the highest probability of a link to me.”

“Helen was very angry,” Bairn said. “About Peter Onethirteen, I mean. It was like she blamed him for all the things that happened to her.” She looked at herself in the mirror and was gripped by a wave of self-doubt. “Which skirt should I wear with this?”

Kevin tilted his head. “Maybe if you knotted the blouse at your waist and wore just the panties?”

“I don’t know…” she said uncertainly.

“Mmm. Maybe it would be better with a skirt.” He went across to yet another rack of clothes and began to flick through, pointedly ignoring the assistant, who was nervously trying to help him.

“I think Judy was angry, too,” Bairn suggested hesitantly.

“Of course she was. That is a chink in the ice maiden’s armor I have been exploiting for years. And, of course, Judy Three in particular has a lot more in common with me than she would ever admit.” He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. “Sometime soon we might find out just how much in common…. No, not those shoes, you incompetent tart.” By now the assistant was visibly shaking with nerves. “The cream ones.”

“But Kevin, they pinch.”

“Don’t you want to look beautiful?” asked Kevin. He suddenly grinned. “You know, I bet they go to Zinman. That self-absorbed fool’s movements have been intertwined with mine for far too long.”

Bairn looked at Kevin, a puzzled expression crossing her face.

“Zinman? Why does that name sound familiar?”

Kevin waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“He used the Private Network quite extensively in the past. A self-important little man to whom I showed a little of his true nature. He rather despises me because of that.” Kevin gave a self-satisfied smile. “He realizes, deep inside, that I epitomize his ideals far better than he does.” He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought, then waved a dismissive hand in Bairn’s direction.

“No, I was wrong. The skirt doesn’t suit you. Try that white knitted lambswool dress again—the one with the fern pattern.”

There was a moment’s silence as Bairn and the assistant looked at each other in horror.

Kevin shook his head, eyes closed. “She took it away, didn’t she? Did I say I’d finished with it?”

The assistant picked up a red skirt from a nearby hanger, and then a brown pair of pants, moving on autopilot. “Mr. Smith…” she stuttered, “I’m sorry. I thought…”

Kevin wasn’t even listening. “I hate incompetence.” He gazed directly at Bairn. “The stupid bitch shouldn’t be doing this job. Fashion is not a job for fools. There are plenty of others who would be pleased to have the opportunity. I shall have a word with Ms. Wright.”

“Kevin, don’t make a scene, please. I think the clothes look perfectly lovely.” Bairn gave the stricken assistant a look of desperate apology. “Hey, why don’t we try one of the coats now?”

“No,” Kevin snapped. “We won’t need one on the Shawl. What about the A-line skirt?”

“I think it’s a little plain…”

“I won’t know until I see it on you.”

While Bairn changed into the new skirt, Kevin quickly looked through the other garments on the rack, hangers clacking as he pulled them along, tutting in loud disapproval at the assistant’s choices.

“You know,” he said, “the more I think about it, the more obvious it is that Zinman will put Judy on our trail. I think that it will soon be time to make our move.”

Bairn was turning this way and that, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t know. It’s just too dowdy.”

“No, it’s perfect. It’s also, you will note, one of the items that I chose. Yes, I will definitely report the assistant, along with a recommendation that she be dismissed.”

“Oh, Kevin. You don’t mean that,” Bairn cajoled. “You’re just being petty because she didn’t recognize you when you came in. Leave her alone. It’s an overreaction. It’s not fair that a life’s ambition is spoiled because you’ve had half an hour’s bad experience. It doesn’t balance.”

Kevin frowned. “But think how happy the person will be who gets her job instead. It will all even out, Bairn. The equation will balance at zero. I’ve told you this before: we effect local changes only. The net happiness in the universe remains constant.”

Bairn gazed pleadingly at him.

“What have I said?” Kevin asked gently. “Am I right?”

“I suppose so,” said Bairn, looking at the floor.

“Good.” He pulled out his console. “Right, I shall report her immediately. Now. I think we’ll just take the skirt and the blouse. I don’t care for the rest.”

“Couldn’t we take the plum dress?” asked Bairn. “I liked that one.”

“On reflection,” said Kevin, “it didn’t suit you. Now, let’s go.”

They walked from the dressing room into the store beyond. The assistant was rehanging the plum dress, trying not to splash it with tears.

The fashion for nationalism had made a brief resurgence after the Transition. It was fading now, but it held on strongly in countries such as France. Helen and Judy 3 ate in a café that loudly proclaimed its past. Sardines grillées and frites, salade verte and vin blanc. Digital dishes savored by digital mouths. The food tasted just as good, but then again maybe that was all part of the program in the processing space. How would they tell the difference? It was not as if they could step outside and try the atomic version.

There were rooms upstairs for customers who wished to change after lunch, and on realizing that Judy intended to, Helen had followed her upstairs to do the same.

They emerged from the café into a dull grey afternoon. Helen had plaited roses into her hair, red blooms heavy with scent, the petals falling like drops of blood when she shook her head. The cruel pale thorns on the long mahogany stalks were tangled in her blond hair. Her arms and long legs had lost some of their tan so that now they complemented rather than contrasted with her habitual white shift. Judy was still a black-and-white woman, though her style had subtly changed. The sleeves of her kimono seemed shorter; her hair was knotted in a different way.

“Okay,” Helen said. “Where will we find this Zinman?”

“In another processing space,” Judy said, brushing a stray strand of black hair back into place with a white finger. The strand seemed to move as if guided by magnets. “I should warn you, the space we are about to travel to is disturbing. The inhabitants have made it that way deliberately.”

“Why?”

“Because they like to think that they are individuals,” Judy had a note of irritation in her voice. “They call the place Penumbra.”

“Penumbra,” Helen repeated. “Okay. How do we get there?”

“We just call up a door in the air.”

She muttered something for her console to hear. A stone archway appeared directly before them in the street.

“Gothic,” Judy said. “How imaginative.”

Helen’s movement in stepping through the arch seemed to cause ripples in the reality beyond: flickering shapes expanding from where she placed her foot on the insubstantial soil of Penumbra. The landscape was an Impressionist painting of the French countryside from which she had just stepped, but rendered in darker colors and shot through with red and gold. Nothing here was quite at rest: everything was locked in perpetual motion. Dappled trees danced a slow hula amongst hills that literally rose and fell in slow waves; dirty brown farmhouses rode the dull green swell.

“Are those people down there?” Helen asked, staring at an amorphous mass nearby. One moment it resembled a low forested hill, the next, an orgiastic tangle of bodies, heads bobbing back and forth, flesh flowing into flesh.

Judy said nothing. Here in Penumbra Judy’s immobility was in stark contrast to the constant movement of the landscape. Her black eyes flicked towards Helen’s shift. “Watch yourself, Helen.”

Helen looked down at her dress. The patterns of the landscape were drawing themselves across the material. Something brushed the skin of her upper thigh, something cold and prickly…grass. She realized that the landscape wasn’t drawing itself on her shift. It was infecting it.

“What do I do?” she whispered.

“Tell it to stop,” Judy said crisply.

“Stop that!” Helen snapped. Instantly the shift returned to thin cotton, but now of a darker cream color.

“Good,” Judy said, nodding her head slightly, the white curve of her neck showing. “Good work, Helen. Now listen. Every object in this processing space has a public handle to it. Everyone owns everything here, including each other.”

Helen cocked her head at Judy.
You don’t like that, do you? It takes away a little of your power.

Judy was watching a huge yellow hand that rose over the horizon, reaching for them.

“Zinman,” she said. “How pretentious. All we need do is step to meet him.”

The world flickered, and they were somewhere else.

“Ah, you must be Judy. The black-and-white woman.”

An elongated giant of a man was looking down at them. Taller than the dilapidated buildings that surrounded the square in which they now stood, he was drawing back his long, long arm from the distant hill where Helen and Judy had just been standing.

“Zinman,” acknowledged Judy, folding her hands into her sleeves. Tall stone buildings of an Italianate design surrounded the litter-strewn square. Doors and windows yawned like entrances to railway tunnels. Rusting iron railings decorated the sills and lower windows. Greasy, slippery paper and rotting vegetable matter lay ankle deep around them, thrown from the surrounding windows; it drifted up against the walls. The sweet smell of decay filled the air.

Zinman was now crouching to bring his poisonous green gaze to bear on Helen.

“Can I do that?” Helen asked, looking at his arm still shrinking back to normal size.

“Of course you can,” Zinman said. “In Penumbra everyone is free to do as they please.”

Judy was looking hard at Helen. Helen ignored her.

“Ella! Ruby! Come and see!” called Zinman. “Helen is here, and she has an open mind.”

The litter scattered at the far side of the square stirred, and two brown shapes oozed out.

“Which one is Helen?” asked the taller of the two, walking forward. “Beautiful roses or monochrome bore?” Shaped like a naked woman, but half made and shiny, she was formed of chocolate. Helen could smell her richness, mixing with the sweet ether odor of the litter. She gazed at Helen and Judy with sightless eyes and gave a sigh of recognition. “Ah, yes, decadent rose. Because this is Judy, standing here.” The chocolate woman’s figure was distorted, as if she had half melted. No, not melted, Helen realized, as she looked at the smoothed-out shapes of the breasts. Licked away. Chocolate nipples sucked to nothing.