CAPACITY

Justinian 2: 2223

Even from outside the flier Justinian could hear the baby crying. So why couldn’t Leslie? He stormed up the rear ramp into the relative dimness of the cabin, blinking at the yellow and green blots that were suddenly swimming over his eyes.

“Leslie!” he called, “are you hiding from me?”

The anger in his voice set the baby screaming louder. Justinian took a deep breath as he made his way over to the cot, where his son stood gripping the bars, tears dripping down his cheeks. Justinian’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the comparative gloom of the flier’s interior; he couldn’t make out the robot.

“Hey, hey, baby boy!” Justinian picked up the baby and held him close, kissing the fine blond hair on his son’s warm little head. The cot collapsed and reformed itself into the shape of a flight chair.

“There, hey, baby boy. Shhh…” He cuddled his child closer, felt the hot little breaths on his neck as he rocked him slowly, struggling to hold his blazing white anger in check.

Leslie emerged from the door that led to the forward compartment.

“You’re back,” he said.

“You left my baby crying,” said Justinian, his voice cold, and the baby began crying again. Leslie involuntarily frosted over for a second, his skin increasing in fractality as he retreated from the real world.

“Get back here,” Justinian said in the sweetest tones he could muster. “Hey, shhh, baby boy!” He bounced the baby in his arms.

“I was only on the flight deck!”

“And why were you on the flight deck? I saw you on the ramp, listening, when the pod diverted from the script. You were hiding from me in there!”

“The baby had started to cry. I went through to get his blanket. He left it there earlier, remember? You were showing him the stars as the flier came in to land!”

Justinian glared at the robot. That could be true, he admitted to himself. The baby hadn’t been that upset when Justinian had stormed his way on board. If anything, it was the force of his own anger that had sent his son over the edge. Maybe he was overreacting. He didn’t like Leslie, and they both knew it, but maybe he should give the robot the benefit of the doubt.

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 voice. “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.

“Sorry, Justinian, course corrections during the storm have added about five minutes to the journey. We’ll be pushing it to make your connection off planet.”

“Why?” said Justinian, relaxing in his flight chair. “According to my reckoning, we should still make the shuttle with ten minutes to spare.”

The ship did not answer straightaway. When it did, its voice sounded a little slow. “From what I understand, the shuttle launch has been brought forward.”

Justinian looked at Leslie, whose face immediately smudged over. Knowing the robot could still hear him, he spoke in deliberately calm tones.

“I’m sure they’ll hold for us. Radio ahead and let them know we’re coming.”

“They may not be able to wait,” the robot said, his face unsmudging. “The shuttle will obey the commands of the hypership.”

Justinian grinned at the robot. “I thought you would most likely be the brains behind this latest development. Well, it’s not a problem; the flier can go faster than this.”

The baby was pistoning back up the length of the flier now, heading towards Leslie, giggling as he chased the ball. Justinian rose easily from his seat and kicked the ball aft. The baby laughed as he turned to follow it.

“I don’t know how you can be so without conscience,” Leslie said accusingly. “You’re walking out on all of us, and you don’t give a damn.”

Justinian laughed easily. “Don’t even try to make me feel guilty, Leslie. You’ve done nothing so far but mislead me and put my child in danger. You’re damn right I don’t feel concerned about leaving.”

“What about Anya?” Leslie asked.

“That was a pretty low shot,” Justinian said icily.

“Well? Can you be sure there is no connection between her and this place? What are you going to tell the baby when he grows up? Will you then explain to your son why he has no name?”

Justinian thought about the last time he had seen his wife, laid out on the sepal of a giant flower, high above the Devolian Plain: her long hair brushed out all around her, the simple white shift that she wore, the locket at her breast containing pictures of him and the baby. And the utterly lifeless look in her eyes. Her body was alive, but her intelligence had gone.

Justinian stared at the robot. “That’s beneath contempt,” he said, curling his lip. “You really thought that would work? I thought you could manipulate my actions better than that. All you’re doing is making me angrier.”

He chased after the giggling baby, picked him up and swooped him further down the flier where he placed him down on the rear section of the hatch, aiming him up the carpet.

“Okay, baby,” he said, “go!”

Laughing, the child began to crawl back toward the robot, who seemed to be standing very, very still. Justinian was concentrating on the baby; he was elated at the thought of leaving the planet. He was only dimly aware of the fact that robots and AIs had had nearly two centuries of learning how to manipulate humans. The nagging thought-that if Leslie had annoyed him then Leslie would have meant to annoy him-was rudely shoved aside when something in a nearby viewing field flickered in his peripheral vision. Justinian rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly disoriented.

“What was that, ship?” he asked.

“What was what?” said the flier.

Justinian sounded puzzled. “It looked like something falling from the sky.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before the flier spoke. “I just did a ten-second replay. I couldn’t see anything, although I should remind you I am working with severely curtailed senses. My status as a Turing machine may also mean that patterns in the data that might be discernible to a full AI will not be apparent to me.”

Justinian was suddenly confused. He was trying to remember something, something that was just on the tip of his tongue.

“Do you want me to go back?” the flier asked.

“No. I’ve got a ship to catch,” Justinian said, but he sounded unsure.

“Sorry,” Leslie said, appearing at his side. “I shouldn’t have said that about Anya.”

Wordlessly, Justinian looked at the downcast robot.

“I wanted to say, too, that we’re near the Bottle. That could be what caused the illusion of something falling.”

Justinian headed to the other side of the flier.

“Not that you’d want to go down there. You haven’t got the time.”

Justinian felt a spasm of annoyance at the robot’s words. “I know.”

“There is an AI in the Bottle. It could still be active, for all we know. It’s probably best avoided, though.”

“Why?”

“I just think you should avoid it, that’s all. I wonder if it can see out? It might recognize you.”

A pause. The robot spoke on carelessly: “Not that it matters. We haven’t got the time to get down there anyway.”

“Yes, we have,” said Justinian. “The flier can always go faster. Ship, take us down to the Bottle. Now.”

Justinian never doubted the rumors that the EA could influence your actions without you knowing it; that all free will died when the AIs assumed power after the Transition. How could he doubt it, when he himself was part of that process, working as he did for Social Care? Still, he liked to retain the defining human belief that he was the master of his own destiny. So the gradually creeping realization that Leslie had manipulated him into making a detour during his spontaneous journey to catch the shuttle off planet came as a real blow to his ego. Here he was taking his child into further danger when he should be wasting no time in leaving this planet. What buttons had Leslie successfully pressed in order to persuade him to make this unnecessary landing?

But maybe the landing wasn’t unnecessary; maybe there would be a clue… He dismissed the thought quickly. That was just his ego trying to salvage some semblance of control. He had to face the facts: humans may choose the individual steps, but it was the AIs who chose the dance.

He should tell the flier to resume its course to the spaceport right away…and yet, and yet…He felt to do so would lose him face in front of the robot.

It was ridiculous. Even when he knew he was being manipulated, he couldn’t back down.

And now the flier was touching down and the rear hatchway was dropping open and red shards of light were dancing around the interior of the cabin.

Just for a moment, he was sure he saw his own face, projected onto the orange wall of the flier, formed in the patterns of the dancing red lights.

An idea occurred to him. He opened his travel bag and pulled out a thin packet. Quickly, he slipped it into his pocket.

The flier perched at an angle on a tilted slab in the Minor Mountain range. Even with its rear landing treads extended as far as they would go and the forward treads pulled in tight, the craft could still not be leveled. Justinian stumbled down the ramp towards the impossible red jewel of the Bottle. If you looked at it from the corner of your eye, the Bottle looked a little like a dome, roughly the size of the flier itself. If you looked at it straight on, your eye got lost in following the strange curves, and then the Bottle looked like nothing that could be described. Someone had once said it was like a Klein bottle given an extra twist, but that was a human perspective. In the absence of fully functioning AIs, no one had managed to expand further on that explanation.

The air was thin and cold up here, the sky a pale dome above the blue-grey slabs and tilted ledges that formed the jagged landscape. When the thirty-two AI pods of the Gateway terraforming project had become operational, and the first trickle of the ensuing flood of Schrödinger boxes had begun to flicker across the planet, it had been the pod located in this inhospitable terrain that had first requested to study them. Its claim was a sensible one; there was little to do up here in the primary stages of planetary conversion, and during this phase its processing spaces were intended to provide little more than backup for the other, busier AIs. The other pods had concurred with its request, and so Pod 16 had begun its study of the Schrödinger boxes.

That study had lasted just under thirty-five seconds before it was abruptly terminated. The pod had made an urgent broadcast to the other thirty-one pods that was cut short before completion: a fragment of complex eleven-dimensional code, then the beginning of a plaintext message. The code seemed to describe two Calabi-Yau spaces; the plaintext message consisted of sixteen bytes: “Urgent…Abando-.”

It was supposed that the second word read “Abandon,” but the rest of the message was never sent. As the red, opaque material of the Bottle did not form a completely closed region around Pod 16 until just over four seconds later, it seemed logical to assume that the pod had cut short its own message.

In just thirty-nine seconds, the Gateway mission had been changed forever. Pod 16 had effectively removed itself from the universe. It was another fourteen minutes before anyone or anything realized that there was a man trapped in the Bottle, too.

James Gabriel was twenty-seven years old at the time of enclosure. He left behind a sister on the Jupiter section of the Shawl and three personality constructs. The most recent PC, taken when James was twenty-five, had been informed of the loss and had traveled to Gateway in a processing space aboard the hyperspace-enabled ship, but naturally had not been allowed down to the planet’s surface following the EA’s edict concerning AIs of human-and-above intelligence.

All this ran through Justinian’s mind as he made his way down the tilted slab towards the edge of the Bottle. His face and ears were pinched and cold, the thin breeze carrying the emptiness of high mountain places. Previous visitors had fixed thick ropes in place with metal bolts. It was a primitive arrangement, but effective. Justinian was impressed by the human ingenuity revealed, as he had been so many times since he had arrived on the planet. Impressed by what could be achieved without the aid of AIs and VNMs. He clung to a thick white rope as he edged forward, acutely aware of the gentle downward slope of the slab just to his right and the sudden drop that lay beyond it. Pod 16 had been deposited on a ledge near the top of a sheer seven-hundred-meter cliff: a slab of stone that slid as smoothly as an ice waterfall into the chaos of broken stones far below. The shape of the Bottle, at least the part of it that could be followed by the human eye, resembled a jellyfish draped over this ledge, long tentacles trailing down the vertical slab. From what Justinian understood, the Bottle was all exterior; all that could be seen of it existed on his, the outer, side. As for Pod 16 and James Gabriel, it wouldn’t be correct to say that they were inside the Bottle, because the inside of the Bottle was twisted around on itself and existed only out here where Justinian stood. But it was definitely true to say that the space they occupied was bounded by Justinian space. He could walk around the Bottle, fly over it in the flier, even burrow beneath it, if he felt so inclined, and he would have enclosed the volume occupied by James Gabriel, but he had no way of actually passing through the surface of the Bottle to meet that unfortunate man. Nor, he assumed, could James come out to meet him.

Justinian gazed at the surface of the shape before him. It looked transparent, but the red rocky slabs and mountain peaks and dark skies he could see in its depths were just the same slabs and peaks and sky that occupied the world on this side of the boundary. Light followed a convoluted path along the skin of the Bottle.

He raised his hand and waved into the depths, wondering if James Gabriel and Pod 16 were watching him. He had seen pictures of James Gabriel, taken just minutes before the pod had activated the super-fast replicating Von Neumann Machines that formed the skin of the Bottle. He was a thin man with long hair. To Justinian’s eye he had the air of a loner, the sort of person whom Social Care took an interest in as they entered their teens, encouraging them to attend parties and events and whatever else was thought would bring about a more positive social attitude. Justinian had counseled people like him in the past, and their personality profiles described exactly the sort of person who would volunteer to come to a remote place like Gateway.

Justinian ran his hand backwards and forwards across the curving planes of the unearthly artifact. The surface seemed to dip into and out of itself, curving in directions that the eye couldn’t quite seem to follow. He had heard some of the colonists discussing its shape. It was part of another of those rumors that had slowly grown in stature until almost accepted as fact: how the AIs that ran the Earth held many things back, that the products of their imaginations were hoarded and only made human knowledge when they deemed it appropriate.

So…what if all the AI pods on the planet knew the secret of the pathway that must be followed by a laminar VNM expansion in order to enclose a volume in the manner of the Bottle? Was it a failsafe piece of knowledge they all shared; did they all know how to make the super-fast replicating VNMs that had formed the red artifact that now lay before him? He hoped so. It was a more comforting thought than the idea that Pod 16 itself had deduced the shape in just the few seconds before it sent out its incomplete plaintext message of warning.

Or, even more disturbing, was Pod 16 responsible at all? Had something else entirely done that to the pod and poor James Gabriel?

Feeling slightly foolish, Justinian finished waving to the Bottle. Maybe someone inside had seen him. More likely his image had been bent and projected somewhere else in the Minor Mountain range: a ghostly image to scare any unlikely climbers that happened to be passing by. The same effect that had given the impression of something falling as the flier cruised by. Many other people had undoubtedly tried the same thing in the past, to no avail.

But now Justinian was going to try something new. So far as he knew, he was the only Empath here on the planet. He had been brought here to speak to AIs. Well, now he was going to try to empathize with one. He pulled the slim packet from his pocket and worked the mechanism that dropped a tiny blue MTPH pill onto his hand. He swallowed it and relaxed.

The cold air seemed to thin around him, silent waves of emptiness spreading out across the mountains, reflecting back the lifelessness that existed up here at the roof of the world. The effect was psychological, he knew. MTPH worked by boosting the mind’s ability to process peripheral information, to bring to the fore the details that only the subconscious had picked up on. Some people said there was a very small psychic component, but Justinian had used MTPH for fourteen years and didn’t believe in any such thing.

Justinian concentrated, tried to imagine his mind taking hold of the impossible shape of the bottle. Listening for crystalline singing or subsonic rumbling, tasting the thinness of the air. Feeling the hairs on his body prickling to the energy of the red aura…

Nothing. All he could feel was his own imagination. If there was any information being transmitted by James Gabriel or Pod 16, he was not picking it up. The only thing he was aware of was that the baby was experiencing mild distress; probably his subconscious was aware that his son’s diaper must be full by now.

He gazed at the impossibly twisted shape of the Bottle and realized he was going to learn nothing here. The whole diversion had been nothing more than that-a diversion. A chance for Leslie and the EA to delay him.

He turned and pulled his way back along the thick white rope towards the flier. He ran up the exit ramp, calling instructions ahead of himself as he did so.

“Okay, ship. Take us up and get us back to the spaceport at maximum speed. We still have time to make the shuttle, right?”

“Only just,” the ship said.

The shuttle was a genuine antique and looked it. Everything about it spoke of its considerable age: the great wings that swept across the landing field, dwarfing the incoming flier; the clear spoon-shaped section of the flight deck; the scorched paint of the underside. The aerodynamics of the ship made it much more a thing of the air than the soulless shape of the flier as it simply moved from A to B. This was a vehicle that negotiated or, failing that, fought with the elements. This was the craft that would carry him off planet, up to the safety of the hypership.

Justinian felt quite giddy at the thought as he strode from the exit ramp of the flier into the shadow cast by one of the shuttle’s great sweeping wings. He carried the baby in one arm and his bag in the other.

The shuttle pilot was waiting for him, radiating an unease that Justinian could have picked up even without the lingering effects of MTPH.

“Hello,” he said. “All that time on the shuttle and we were never properly introduced. I’m David Schummel.”

Schummel was old: he looked to be in his sixties. He had chosen to let his hair grey and thin, possibly because that lent him a distinguished air. He was a tall man who retained his good looks, an effect enhanced by his maturity. He had warm creases around his eyes, nonetheless, the smile he gave as he shook Justinian’s hand seemed nervous.

“I got the impression you were avoiding me,” Justinian said coolly, noting Schummel’s uncomfortable reaction. “I’m Justinian Sibelius,” he added.

Schummel raised his eyebrows. “Sibelius. One of the old company names. Are you one of the company children?”

“I am,” Justinian said, effectively ending that line of conversation.

Schummel’s embarrassment at his tactlessness seemed slightly pathetic on a man of his age. The nearby lowered entrance ramp offered them both a view of the shuttle’s darkened interior, and yet Schummel made no move to lead Justinian inside.

“What’s the matter?”

Schummel looked at the ground; he seemed ashamed to speak. “Justinian, I don’t know what you’ve done, but you’ve pissed off the EA big time. I need to ask you not to leave the planet.”

Justinian stared at the man, all expression shutting down. He shifted his son in his arms and felt the baby’s little pink hands begin to play with the fur around his collar.

“This is my son,” he said. “Can you tell me why I should risk his life by staying here?”

A spasm of something almost like pain crossed Schummel’s face. “Look, I got the order to take off half an hour ago, and I refused. There were three fliers still not yet arrived here and, anyway, what was the hurry? The hypership isn’t due to depart for another six hours.”

“Thank you for waiting,” Justinian said with just a hint of sarcasm. Nonetheless, he suddenly became fully aware of the group of fliers that formed a rough semicircle in front of the spoon-shaped nose of the shuttle. All of them were pulsing with colors that showed they still contained passengers. No one was boarding the shuttle yet.

“And so the games began,” David Schummel said, following his gaze. He was looking in every direction but at the baby, Justinian realized. “I got another call about five minutes before your flier touched down, telling me to abandon takeoff. Apparently the hyperdrive on the hypership has developed an irregular fault and they need to move it out of orbit in order to reduce the effect of Gateway’s gravitational field.”

Justinian gazed at him. “That’s all bullshit, isn’t it?” he said softly, and already he felt the defiance of the last two hours draining away. Why fight the EA? It always won.

The captain leaned forward and touched Justinian on the arm. His lined face now looked very old; his voice was heavy with resignation.

“Listen, Justinian, I’ve seen this happen before. I flew a lot of missions in the Enemy Domain. You’re not the first person I’ve met who has tried to get away from a situation he didn’t like, only to be held up by a series of seeming coincidences. The only difference today is that the EA doesn’t have its usual web of senses covering Gateway. It can’t pick up the smallest nuances of your expressions; on this planet it doesn’t have the finesse to cause subtle effects to gradually unravel that lead you to places you don’t want to be. It has to employ a more direct approach.”

Justinian held his son close and gazed at Schummel, who looked away, embarrassed.

Justinian’s voice was low and firm. “It can be as direct as it wants. I don’t care. I’m leaving.” It was his last attempt to take back control of his own actions. The baby shifted in his arms, eyes closing; he was tired. Justinian felt tired, too. He pulled his son up and rested the baby’s little head against his shoulder.

Schummel stared at the grooved pattern set into the rubbery material of the ground and shook his head. A cold breeze stirred, carrying the scent of autumn soil. The whole planet smelled like that, like the land here was not so much on the verge of waking up but rather at the beginning of the process that would eventually result in a spring.

Finally, Schummel looked up at Justinian, and his voice was gentle.

“Justinian, I know how you feel, but you’re not the only person on this planet. Look around you.”

Justinian kept his eyes fixed on David Schummel, but all around him he could feel the pulsing lights of the other fliers. Some of them had dropped their exit hatches. All around him were people standing in the shadows of their craft, trying not to stare in his direction.

“I want to go home,” Justinian said.

“So do they,” Schummel said gently. He reached out and laid his hand on the baby’s sleeping head. “Look, even if by some means you do get to be on the shuttle when it lifts, what will happen next? Will it develop a fault? Will the hypership hit a gravitational curve and find itself locked into a path around this planet? You know that the more you fight it, the less subtle the EA will become.”

Justinian wasn’t listening anymore. He knew now he was going to stay. There was no defying the wishes of the EA.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay,” he said softly.

David Schummel gazed at him. “Thank you.” He paused, looking towards the rear of the flier. Justinian turned to see that Leslie had just emerged.

“I’ll take the baby, shall I?” the robot said.

“I could take the baby with me,” said Schummel suddenly. “One of the astronomers space-side has brought her daughter with her; she’s about the same age as your son.”

“I know. Mareka,” Justinian said. “I met her on the way out.”

Schummel nodded. “I thought you might have. She’s nice, isn’t she? Good with kids. Your son would be in safe hands.”

Justinian looked sideways. He could see the shape of his son’s head as it lay against his shoulder, could feel the regular rhythm of his breathing. The thought of passing him to a stranger filled him with sadness.

“No,” he said. “No, I can’t let him go. He’s already lost his mother…”

The captain nodded again.

Around them, the shuttle was coming to shimmering life. Patterns of lights began to twinkle on the wings above them. Something awoke deep in its ancient engines. The occupants of the other fliers were already making their way past. Justinian heard the occasional muttered expression of thanks as they walked by. David Schummel tilted his head as he listened to something.

“We’ve got the word to go. They’ve fixed the fault space-side and are moving the hypership back into orbit. Takeoff in three minutes.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Schummel fixed him with a stare. “You’re a good man, Justinian. You deserve better than this. I hope you get whatever it is you are doing here finished as soon as possible, then get off this planet.”

“Me, too,” Justinian said. He felt angry at the EA-so angry. It wasn’t fair, but when Schummel offered his hand, Justinian pointedly ignored it. He couldn’t help it. He had to take his frustration out on somebody. David Schummel looked down at his own hand, nodded ever so slightly, then withdrew it. He turned and made his way back towards the shuttle. Justinian watched the tall man go, finding himself left alone as the occupants of the other fliers boarded the shuttle and the ramp raised itself. He watched the wings sparkling and flashing as the air around them was ionized and shaped into a path through which the craft could fly. Then the shadow in which he stood was shrinking as the shuttle lifted lightly into the air. Justinian watched it rise, spiraling higher and higher into the turquoise sky. And then it was gone.

He turned and made his way back up the ramp into his own flier, pushing his way past Leslie as he went.

“Don’t speak to me,” he growled as he set a flight chair to the shape of a cot and placed the baby in it. Then he slumped into a chair opposite, suddenly aware of a tingling on his leg. He pulled up the right trouser leg of his passive suit.

A second BVB had formed there.