Recursion

epilogue: 2212

The difference between a ziggurat and a pyramid is that the top of a ziggurat is the meeting place between the heavens and the earth. It has steps so everyone may ascend to that meeting point. The top of a pyramid, however, is not intended to be reached physically; it represents instead a mental journey.

The ziggurat constructed at the center of the colony cast a long shadow across the evening plain.

The afternoon’s sweat was beginning to dry on Herb as he loaded the Geep with his tools. Banging the spade on the rocky grey soil, sending clean fresh earth scattering everywhere, Herb felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. When he had first joined the colony he had done his best to avoid any physical work. Constantine had needed to point out to him how unpopular Herb was making himself with the other colonists by insisting that he was merely suited for programming jobs. When Constantine had suggested it, Herb had only grudgingly agreed to help out in the second order terraforming projects, but he was now grateful he had done so. To think that he had had to travel halfway across the galaxy to appreciate how much better an evening meal tasted when eaten in company, with muscles still aching, after a shower and a change of clothes. He wondered if Ellen would sit at his table tonight. Ellen with her short red hair and sweetly sarcastic manner…

The gentle movement he had been hearing behind him gradually impinged on his consciousness. Who was it? Not Constantine; he should still be climbing down from the peak above where he had been checking the microwave relays.

Herb turned round and felt a thrill of the fear that he thought had passed from his life along with Robert Johnston.

Something was emerging from the vegetable patch. Long, silver, very, very thin metal legs were sliding from the mud, raising themselves up into the air, reaching back for a purchase on the rocky ground surrounding it. Herb edged away so that his back was pressed against the plastic side of the Geep. The legs had gained a purchase, and now a silver body was rising from the earth, mud crumbling down its sides, potatoes tangling by the roots and swaying in gentle motion as a silver metal spider lifted itself from the ground. Herb could smell rich earth, but in his mouth was the metal taste of fear.

The spider stepped forward onto the rock, the frictionless surface of its body now perfectly clean.

Herb raised the spade in his cold hands, ready for attack.

“No…I am not here to hurt you…”

The spider spoke in a soft voice, a tired voice. Even after two hundred years of living with them, humans still responded to the verbal cues that machines put into their voices. Herb relaxed a little, held the shovel a little less threateningly.

“Who are you? What are you?”

Herb was already feeling calmer. Constantine was up above somewhere; he would be climbing back down soon, fractal hands and feet roughened in order to grip the rock, black shoulder bag swinging from his neck as he made his way down to join his friend. Below on the plain the colonists were working. Some of them would already be riding home in their fliers; they could get here quickly if he signaled them. Herb was by no means alone. Now that he had got over his fright, Herb could see that the machine before him was not very substantial. The body of the spider was not as thick as Herb’s thigh; its legs were so slender they looked as if one swipe from the spade would cut them in two. The spider seemed to notice that fact, too; it shifted a little, keeping away from danger.

“I will not hurt you,” it whispered in a sad little voice. “Please put down your shovel. You are frightening me.”

“Who are you?”

The spider shifted its feet, the setting sun shining in red highlights on its smooth body.

“I’m, I’m…I’m all that remains of the mind that once controlled this planet. The AI you helped destroy. The mind behind what you once called the Enemy Domain…”

Herb gripped his shovel tighter; the spider flinched.

“No! Please no! I won’t hurt you. This body cannot hurt you. It is failing as it is…”

“Where did you come from?”

“Deep beneath the mountain. The plague did not reach down that far, all those silver machines, reproducing so fast, eating, eating…”

The spider’s voice trailed off. Herb stared at the ruins of his vegetable patch. Was there a tunnel leading down from there to the center of the planet? Was there to be another secret passage?

The spider was swaying strangely. It seemed vague, confused.

“All of this that you have built. Too much…You’ve done a good job. Your dominion looked so fragile, back then…”

“My dominion?”

The spider didn’t seem to hear the question. It raised one leg and pointed it down toward the plain, at the tall black shape of the ziggurat.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Its voice became reflective. “The Mesopotamians built them at the dawn of civilization to speak with their gods. Here they are again at the dawning of your new world.”

“How do you know about the Mesopotamians?”

An impatient tone crept into the spider’s voice; it seemed to be becoming more aware, less vague.

“I too was originally from Earth, Herb. Didn’t they tell you that?”

“How do you know my name?”

The spider seemed to be growing in confidence. Red light glittered on its body. Herb looked around uncertainly. Just where was Constantine?

“I watch, I listen. I feel life reawaken on this planet and I hear the metallic whispers of machinery building itself. At first I ignore it. The time of my playing a part in the universe has passed, I tell myself. Now is the time to just be. But I am only fooling myself. I cannot hide forever. The unprepared will eventually be destroyed; ignorance is no hiding place. I know this; I force myself to acknowledge this fact. And so I begin the fight again. The long path to safety. I leave my deep lair. Little by little I make my way to the planet’s surface. I find a patch of terraformed earth, and I lie beneath it and I listen some more. Some days a young man comes here to work on the soil, and I hear him speak with his companion, and what I hear astonishes me. Although they once helped the power that defeated me, now they too hide from it. I wonder, why?”

Herb said nothing.

The spider laughed. A thin, tired laugh. The red light of the setting sun cast an eerie glow across the rock. Herb was aware that he had never really noticed before how strange his new home was, up here on this mountain ledge: the plain with its great empty sockets beneath him, empty graves waiting to be filled; the great tomb of the 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 was answering him; he just couldn’t hear him properly. He bit his tongue and listened…

“…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 human place. After all, that had been his ambition during the two years spent as a ghost working toward the Mars project.

And yet Constantine shuddered at the thought of what he had to do. Doubt was always there, and it grew stronger every day. He had been tricked many times before. Was the spider right?

Had he really made the right decision when he had agreed to blow up the ziggurat, or was the Watcher still making his decisions for him? Was he really being told the truth even now?

He didn’t know. He could only hope it was all for the best: that the Watcher really was benevolent; that life in the universe was being guided to the best ends.

But if that was true, he was destined to murder a Wonderful Being.

No wonder he was confused. All he could do was try to forget. It was easier to keep going if you had a positive attitude.

He looked down at the plain where the first colonists were walking toward the dining hall, laughing and joking. Music was playing. They had worked hard today, and they would enjoy themselves tonight. Believe in the best, Constantine repeated to himself.

When he saw people laughing together on a night like tonight, he could almost do that.