“Well, the deal has been done. I am sorry it is not to your satisfaction.” It sounded hurt. “Perhaps as you gain more experience in the use of FE, you will understand just how rude you are being.”
“Perhaps,” said Joanne. “For the moment, though, I am canceling the deal.”
“Just a moment, Joanne,” said Michel, “I don’t think that we can…”
“And who’s in charge here?” asked Joanne, 1.4 meters of icy calm, turning to face her former boss.
“Well,” interrupted Saskia mildly, “if the deal has been broken, I rather think Michel is in charge again. We can hardly be seen to act on the Stranger’s advice if we are breaking the deal.”
Donny was looking down at his console. He gave a sudden mirthless laugh. “When you’ve finished, ladies, I think you should see this. I’ll put it on the main viewing field.”
Pale gold letters sprang to life in the middle of the living area, flowing across the floating shape of the Stranger.
Violation of Contract?
Are you sure you wish to disengage from a Fair Exchange?
Yes/No?
“That looks ominous, Joanne,” said Saskia softly. “What are you going to do?”
Joanne bit her lip.
“If I could just give you some advice, Joanne,” said Michel softly, “we were warned at the start. Once you break a deal, that’s it. You are off the Fair Exchange network for good. My advice is that we just grit our teeth and learn from this one.” Yet again. The unspoken words were picked up by everyone present.
Joanne’s face remained calm; even so, the rest of the crew could feel the fury boiling within her. Edward moved around Craig’s chair, trying to get farther away from her. Jack picked up his doll and held it tightly in his hand, its little legs kicking pitifully as it tried to get free.
Finally, Joanne spoke. “Okay. We accept the deal.” She glanced at her console. “Of course we do. Stranger, we will be with you in eighty-five minutes.”
The Eva Rye was decelerating, matching velocities with the black and silver swastika of the stranger. Four glassy lenses gazed through emptiness at the rainbow colors of the ship that would save it from the region of Dark Plants. It was silly, the Stranger knew, but it imagined it could already feel the aching of oblivion to be found in the region ahead. The Stranger had once plunged into a gravity well, fallen head-first onto a planet. Its body had burned brightly, the plasma formed by the speed of its entry into the planet’s atmosphere whipping out from its limbs in long swirling strands. It had felt the rising pull of the mass below, drawing it down and down.
That’s what the region ahead felt like: 600 years away, the region of Dark Plants was an inescapable emptiness, working on the bright star of the Stranger’s intelligence, pulling it inward. The Stranger had written words on its own body, a quotation from a classic text.
“Do you know how I see the Milky Way? As a glow of intelligence. AIs such as myself have spread throughout the galaxy. Humans have piggy-backed their way along, parasites, living off our greater intelligence…”
Maybe someday the Dark regions would swallow up the entire universe.
When the Stranger had first seen the Eva Rye, it had felt a huge wave of relief. Now the ship was coming closer, invisible black lightning arcing about its gaudy teardrop shape as it displaced its momentum to the free hydrogen around it. The Stranger reached out with its senses and stroked the mismatched patterns on the ship’s surface, followed the seams between the materials, teased them apart and reached into them to touch the ship deep inside, interfacing with the dormant mechanisms it knew to be there. Sensually, it set about waking them up.
“Donny, what’s that?”
Joanne pointed to the red band that had begun to loop around itself, in a figure eight, inside the viewing field.
“I know what that is,” muttered Michel.
“It’s the Stranger,” said Donny hoarsely. “He’s activated the Self-Replicating Mechanism. The ship is copying itself.”
Suddenly all were on their feet.
“What’s going on?” said Edward.
“Not now,” shushed Craig, and Edward watched in confusion as his only friend on board ship stood up and stared intently at the walls.
“Stranger, what are you doing?” called Joanne.
“The last part of our bargain. I’ve activated the Self-Replicating Mechanism of your ship.”
“But we’re still on it! We could be killed.”
“You’ll be perfectly safe. I suggest you go to your rooms. I will move you through the ship as fission proceeds.”
“Craig…” said Edward.
“Go to your room, Edward,” ordered Craig. “Go to your room.”
“But…”
But Craig wasn’t listening. He was shouting at Donny, who wasn’t listening either; he was too busy bundling up his children and pushing them towards the door. The floor shuddered and Edward looked down. Miss Rose hurried past, something half hidden in her hand.
“She’s got my knife!” yelled Armstrong. “She’s taken my bloody knife.”
“Get out of my way,” muttered Donny, hurrying past with his children.
“Joanne, don’t you think we should go to our rooms now?” Saskia stood up and took the arm of the person nearest to her.
“Come on, Edward,” she said sweetly, and she guided him out into the corridor that led to the bedrooms. The garish walls there were already peeling apart like a snake shedding its skin. There was a cracking noise that seemed to travel the length of the ship, as indigo glass shook itself free of iron sheets.
“What’s happening?” asked Edward again, in a tinkling cloud of sparkling violet shards. Michel came hurrying up behind them.
“I think you should take Edward to his room,” said Saskia, passing him over to the other man.
Edward watched as she hurried away. Beneath their feet, the wooden tiles of the parquet floor had risen up and were walking away all in one direction, like leaves being carried by ants. A tumbling river of glass blocks started to flow in the other direction.
Dancing over the shifting floor, Michel pushed Edward into his bedroom. The door slammed shut and Edward looked around to see that his collection of holopictures above the bed was migrating to one corner, as the wooden frames of the doors and windows peeled themselves away from the walls and began to descend into the floor.
“What’s happening?” asked Edward again, but there was no reply. He was all alone.
ALSO BY TONY BALLANTYNE
Recursion
CAPACITY
A Bantam Spectra Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
TOR UK edition published 2005
Bantam Spectra mass market edition / January 2007
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Tony Ballantyne
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Bantam books, the rooster colophon, Spectra, and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90330-0
v3.0
Capacity Page 35
