CAPACITY a-2

by Tony Ballantyne

  “I know I shouldn’t think this,” said Judy petulantly, “but I don’t want the section to fall.”

  Frances reached out and took her hand. “No one ever said you shouldn’t feel regret, Judy. You know that.”

  “I know,” Judy said. “I was assigned to a group of people just last week who were trying to form a protest group. They wanted to save the World Tree. And I thought: they have a point, don’t they? It’s a shame for it to die.”

  “It is,” Frances agreed.

  “Oh, I know,” Judy said quickly, “all things must pass. The circle of life, all that sort of thing. I understand that we can’t just keep taking from the Earth and not allowing anything to return. I agree with the Transition. We couldn’t have gone on as we were. Even so, when you come up against it, it all seems so harsh and cold-blooded.”

  “It is, but so is life. On Earth, on the Shawl, in the processing spaces. After the Transition, the EA removed that illusion. Do you want people to go on hoarding goods to no end, establishing ideas founded on a permanence that is not feasible?”

  “Of course not.” Judy looked down at the Earth beneath her feet. “Of course not. But every time I step out of my door and see the World Tree now, I imagine it falling towards the Earth, a cloud of VNMs expanding around it. It makes me feel regretful.”

  “But Judy, that’s the way the Shawl works. New sections will grow at the top and begin their slow progress downwards. You know that.”

  And then I dream about the tree burning through the night sky, branches shriveling in the heat, bark peeling away and flashing to nothing, and me riding the trunk, my body blackened and dead, my mind still living and screaming in pain as all that carbon goes down to rejoin mother Earth.

  “You believe in permanence, Judy,” Frances said. “It’s part of your character. Look at your sisters: some people actively seek to be different from their personality constructs. Not you. Only your dress is different…”

  “It’s the job,” Judy said. “You don’t like to think that it changes you.”

  A widening dark line above them was the twenty-seventh level. The bubble in which they traveled, caught in the fields of the connecting filaments, rode a flexible path that threaded the successive layers of sections rising to the thirtieth level, where the closest shuttle station lay. Pastel lettering wrapped itself around the skin of the bubble as they entered Section 50 of the thirtieth level, listing the local environmental parameters.

  Gravity: along direction of section height

  Atmosphere: STP

  Day: Earth latitude 20° north (locked)

  General Description: park land along major section surface. Not just a shuttle station! Come and spend some time in the well-kept grounds that make up the rest of our section! Mown lawns, tended trees. Relax on foot or horseback. Explore secluded pathways on your own or with friends, old and new!

  Judy glanced at the signs without really reading them. She had been here many times before; she liked this section almost as much as her own, and had even been offered a chance to relocate to it. She had refused. She saw little point in spending time getting to know a place that would also be gone in a few years’ time.

  The bubble floated over the green land of the section. The shuttle stations were muted yellow crosses that merged into the rolling green hills and well kept woods.

  Below, people rode horses amongst the green hills, 18,000 kilometers above the Earth’s surface.

  Earlier that day Judy 3 had ridden a shuttle resembling a Christmas bauble from a virtual Shawl to the virtual Earth. Now here, in what the prejudiced still referred to as the “real world,” the atomic Judy followed Frances down a set of yellow steps into a lifting body that clung to the outside of the section wall.

  “Looks like we’ve got this shuttle to ourselves,” the robot said, looking around the low interior of the craft.

  “Isn’t this great?” Judy ran her hand over the back of a padded seat. The craft’s interior had been decorated in mid-twentieth-century U.S. military style: khaki walls hung with crash netting, metal chairs with black leather covers. Wooden crates with black stenciled lettering had been scattered around the floor to add to the effect.

  “Hey, ship!” Judy called. “I like the look! Good effort.”

  There was a pause, then a voice spoke.

  “Hello there, Judy. Sorry, this ship is not equipped with a dedicated TM. It’s nothing more than an elevator used for ferrying down construction materials to those busy little Earth VNMs. I’ll be controlling the flight for the benefit of you two lovely ladies. Recognize my voice, Frances?”

  “Hilary! How are you?”

  “Working hard here at traffic control. Frances, I’ve been wanting to speak to you about your body. I’m increasingly of the opinion that pure thought is all very well, but, well, once my stint in here is finished, I’m seriously considering doing what you’ve done: putting myself in a body…”

  “Oh, you should, Hilary. You’re nothing until you experience sensation as a mind apart. Let me tell you about-”

  “Later, maybe,” Judy said. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.”

  The actual talk was just a politeness to Judy, anyway. The robots would still be continuing their conversation in machine space even as Hilary asked, “Would you like a view, ladies?”

  “Yes, please,” Frances said. They strapped themselves into the padded seats just as Hilary opened a narrow slit for them at the front of the shuttle. Judy smiled; it was just as she imagined it would be sitting in an old aircraft, only here she was looking right out into space. Given the apparent gravity here on the shuttle, the view of the external wall of the Shawl section was a black field, dotted with shuttles of myriad sizes and shapes. The Earth was rising in a blue-and-white swirl that reflected in the sense pools that spread out before them. The black field seemed to drop away as the shuttle disengaged itself from the section and, almost imperceptibly, began its long fall towards the Earth.

  “I wonder what’s in the crates,” Judy asked.

  Frances looked towards them. “You know, I never even thought to look,” she said, an edge of puzzlement to her voice. “Now, that’s not right…”

  “What is it?” Judy sensed the warning in the robot’s tone.

  “Trouble,” Frances said. “I can’t see anything in the crates at all. I can’t even get the idea of them in my mind. There’s heavy-duty stealth stuff in there.”

  The whole of the Shawl section was now visible beneath their feet. Judy felt a flutter of fear as her view of safety receded, leaving her trapped on this craft with the sinister emptiness in the crates before her.

  “Hilary…” called Frances. There was no reply. Judy stood up and folded her arms, her hands tucked into her sleeves. She was thinking herself calm.

  “Anything?” she asked eventually.

  “Nothing. Hilary has been blocked. There is a bubble of nothingness around this craft. I don’t know who is flying it now.”

  Judy placed a tiny blue pill on the tip of her tongue. There was a cracking noise and a slat on one of the wooden crates came loose. A silver-grey nail went skittering across the metal floor.

  Frances’ voice was low. “I can see the crate moving, Judy, but I can’t see what’s emerging. You’ll have to describe it to me.”

  Judy looked at the sleek grey shape that was unfolding itself from the crate, wooden slats and nails dropping to the ground around it.

  “It’s a robot of some kind, I think, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” She was whispering, though she didn’t know why. “I don’t know what forms the integument, but it doesn’t seem like plastic or metal or…or anything. It’s folding itself together like origami, or maybe some sort of three-dimensional tangram, but the shapes that it is forming are complex. I don’t think I can quite follow them. It’s making itself into a humanoid. The head is strange, like a very handsome man but obviously still artificial-”

  “It’s okay,” Frances said suddenly. “I can se
e it now. It just seemed to come into view then. I was right: it’s a stealth robot. A good one.”

  “Not that good if you can recognize me as such,” said the intruder, suddenly dropping into focus. He gave a charming smile. “Call me Chris.”

  Judy remained silent. Frances held out her hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Chris. What does the EA want with us?”

  “Not the Environment Agency. The Watcher had me come here.”

  Judy said nothing. If there had been another human in the room, her body would have appeared perfectly still. Frances wouldn’t be fooled; she would be monitoring her friend’s vital signs and noting the patterns of tension that ran through her muscles on hearing Chris’ words.

  Judy’s voice remained level. “I don’t believe you. The Watcher doesn’t exist. It’s only a fairy story made up by those who need to anthropomorphize causality.”

  Chris gave a wide smile. “Oh Judy, we both know you don’t mean that. Face it, I can read your mind just as easily as Frances here can. Even more easily, in fact.”

  Judy held her composure. She was feeling the robot with her MTPH-enhanced senses. He was like nothing she had ever encountered. The skin was not something that existed as an object in its own right, like the silk of her chemise or the metal frame of the antique seats; rather it was nothing more than a bounding region between the inside of Chris and the outside. It shimmered and moved as she ran her mind over it, constantly changing.

  – Touch me. See what I feel like.

  The words appeared directly in her mind, and Judy reeled in astonishment. She mentally centered herself, drew herself into her own body, felt the soft silk that she was wearing touch her own skin, felt the cold of the floor through her thin white tabi socks. Now she looked at Chris and focused on him. Was he using telepathy? Was that possible?

  – Oh, yes, it is. MTPH is an idea that is entwined with human development. It can free your mind in ways you would not believe. Someday you will see. Now, touch me.

  Judy walked forward, stepping over the wooden slats that littered the floor. Chris reached out and took her arm, guided her gently away from a loose nail.

  “You’re beautiful,” Judy murmured, sensing what he had just done. She gazed into his dark eyes.

  “I know,” Chris said.

  The robot was beautiful. Proportioned like a man, his body was a softly shining grey; it made Judy think of dark lead crystal. She touched Chris’ arm. The skin was neither warm nor cold, neither rough nor smooth.

  “I can’t feel anything,” Judy said.

  “How about now?”

  Judy felt warm flesh, then cold ice, then an invigorating prickling that seemed to massage her hand.

  “That feels nice,” she said.

  “You chose to remain a virgin,” said Chris.

  “At this moment I find my resolve weakening,” said Judy truthfully. She touched the robot’s chin and felt warm skin and rough stubble.

  Chris stared at her. “Why?” he asked.

  “Because…”

  “You’re reconsidering.”

  “I am weakening,” breathed Judy. “However”-she snapped out the word, effectively throwing the switch on her emotions-“weakening is not enough.” She took her hand from Chris and folded it back into her sleeve. “So I believe you. You were sent by the Watcher. I have heard it said that the technology we use now, the Watcher knew about one hundred years ago. The Watcher reserves the best for itself and makes the ordinary available to humans.”

  “And I’m the living proof.”

  “So what do you want with us?”

  Chris sat down in one of the padded chairs. He steepled his fingers and looked up at Judy and Frances.

  “I want you to be aware that we’re watching you.”

  “Surely the Watcher is always watching us,” said Frances. “Hence the name.”

  Chris smiled at Frances, a beautiful smile.

  “That doesn’t work on me,” said Frances. “You’re tuned in to Judy’s libido. Anyway, I think that Judy has worked out that the sexual aspect to your appearance is just a distraction.”

  “Judy hadn’t realized it until you pointed it out to her in that last sentence.” He laughed. “As we both know.”

  Judy relaxed her impassive pose and slumped into a chair next to Chris. There was no point maintaining her professional manner when both other parties could read exactly what she was thinking.

  “Are you going to conduct your conversation via my subconscious reactions, or are you actually going to allow me to speak?”

  “He’ll allow you to speak,” said Frances. “All robots do the same for humans. It’s good psychology.”

  Chris turned to face Judy. The movement of his fluid body was like molten glass.

  “Judy, something has changed about you since Judy 3 and 11 visited you last night.”

  There was no point lying. “They told me something that shocked me.”

  “What?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  Chris smiled a beautiful smile, carved from the finest lead crystal.

  “No answer,” said Judy. “So is this meeting a fact-finding mission or a warning? Or something else?” She smoothed the edges of her layered kimonos flat, thereby concealing the colors of the linings. Now she was a white woman only. “Is the Watcher going to kill me if I reveal what I know?”

  Chris gave her a disappointed look. “The Watcher does not kill, surely you know that? Judy, you should not believe everything you are told. Still, here is some advice: open your mind. Your life is changing.”

  Judy looked at the robot.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a bad thing on my mind, Judy.” He looked at her significantly. “You’ll see.”

  The viewscreen at the front of the shuttle was beginning to glow red.

  “We’ve hit the atmosphere,” said Chris. “We have about twenty minutes before we land. Frances, what happened to Judy 11?”

  “You seem to be much more advanced than me,” said Frances. “Can’t you read my mind?”

  Chris leaned closer to her. “Not as such,” he said. “But I believe I can see something there.”

  Frances said nothing. Judy gazed at the two robots, seemingly frozen in place. She was trying to feel what they were doing, MTPH-enhanced senses soaking up every possible piece of information there in the cabin. It was no use: the two were communicating on a completely different level than human senses. As the red glow of reentry built up outside, Judy felt as if the temperature in the cabin was rising. But she knew that was all pure imagination.

  Or was it? One of Chris’ hands moved, running itself down the front of Frances’ golden body. Judy looked on in slightly horrified fascination as a grey crystal finger began to draw lazy circles around the top of one of Frances’ thighs. The circles grew smaller and smaller as his finger moved closer and closer to his target.

  Gently, he pressed one of the buttons between Frances’ legs. The robot bent her knee, ever so slightly.

  “Don’t mind me,” muttered Judy, turning to look through the screen at the brilliant plasma glow beyond.

  The shuttle skimmed across the surface of the sea, lazily weaving in and out of the colored sails of the yachts and dinghies that were making the most of the brisk coastal wind. Complex fields baffled the ship’s passage through the air, so that its passing barely disturbed the white foam flecking the busy waves.

  The shuttle decelerated as it approached the shoreline, lowering four flexible legs as it slowed in such a fashion that the point at which its lift vanished and its speed and altitude became zero were contemporaneous. Its legs touched the ground lightly.

  “An elegant landing,” said Chris, disengaging from Frances. “And now, ladies, I must leave you.” The grey sheen drained from his body as he gradually became transparent.

  “I can’t see him anymore,” said Frances. All around them the shuttle was beginning to disassemble as VNM routines were activated in v
arious regions of the hull. Finger-sized creatures were forming themselves in the material of the ship and tearing themselves free of the surrounding structure. As soon as they were loose, they began to form the rest of the hull into copies of themselves.

  Chris now looked like an empty milk bottle. He waved to Judy. Pale grey daylight suddenly filled the interior of the shuttle as part of the roof simply walked away.

  “I can’t see him anymore, either,” said Judy. Chris had vanished. The rest of the ship was collapsing faster around them, scuttling away on flickering little legs. Frances took hold of Judy’s hand and led her down a dissolving ramp to a clump of grass that lay half drowned in the cold dunes where the ship had landed. The sea breeze blew a fine spray of sand across Judy’s face. The endless grey clouds above seemed to accent the bleak scene.

  Judy and Frances stood in the middle of a widening circle of little grey VNMs that crept off on their mission to render unto the Earth that which was the Earth’s. The stack of wooden crates sat in the sand nearby, a pile of broken wood the only reminder that Chris had actually existed.

  “Just what on Earth went on there?” asked Judy.

  Frances placed her hands on her hips and turned in a slow circle, her painted eyes and smile ridiculously contrasted by her serious posture.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  Judy cocked her head. Frances sounded thoughtful.

  “That wasn’t so much a fuck as a tactical engagement. He was testing me all the time, showing how much more advanced than me he was. Still, I think I may have held my own. I think that what we just saw was an introduction. Chris was just letting us know what he was capable of.”

  Judy felt something brush her foot. The last of the VNMs was making its way through the sand, heading off on its mysterious errand. Impermanence-the fate of the shuttle was a stark reminder of the fact. It was a way of life, post-Transition. And yet Judy felt disturbed. The Watcher preached impermanence, and yet wasn’t it the most permanent of the objects known to humanity? If it was right in its guesses on its own origins, it could trace its lineage back almost to the dawn of intelligent life in the universe