CAPACITY

It gave a rueful sigh. “Look at this. I don’t know what happened to my former self, but I seem to have been very premature in my terraforming process. I shouldn’t have released the grass seed yet.”

Justinian yawned and waved to the baby again. Leslie was pointing over in his direction, trying to get the boy to see his father.

“These little black boxes,” said the pod. “I don’t remember them. Did we find them somewhere in space?”

Justinian eyed the boxes on the mud right in front of the pod. They had all shifted their positions, if indeed they were even the same cubes that had lain there when he first arrived. As all Schrödinger boxes looked identical, there was no way of really telling how far they traveled as they wandered the surface of this planet. Was the cube that was by your left foot the same one that had been by your right foot when you looked down a moment earlier, or was it another one entirely? The question had seemed fascinating three weeks ago when he had first come here-but no longer. It was amazing how quickly the cubes had become commonplace.

Justinian shook his head. “No, the Schrödinger boxes only exist here on Gateway.”

“I wonder what they are,” the pod said in a soft voice.

“I’m sure we’ll find out,” Justinian replied, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Well, that’s just about everything. I’d like to thank you for your help.”

There were three more questions left on the list. Justinian didn’t even need to check his console to see what they were; he knew them by heart. Do you want to come with me or stay here? It would choose to stay. For a terraform pod, the place they were located would always seem like home. Have you been in contact with any other of the AIs since the suicide, and do you want to be put in contact with them if not? It would answer no to both questions. Can you remember anything else from before the suicide? It would say no to that.

And then Justinian could get back on the flier. He wobbled his hand in a drink gesture over towards Leslie. Naturally, the robot didn’t see it; it was already walking back into the ship. Justinian yawned again. Time to wrap things up.

“Now,” he said in a businesslike fashion. “I can take you back with me, or would you rather stay here?”

“I’ll stay here, thank you.”

“Fine. Have you been in contact with any of the other AIs since the suicide?”

“No.”

“Would you like to be put in contact with them?”

“No. What would I have to say to them?”

“No problem. If you change your mind, let us know. I’m leaving a pulse transmitter here just in case.” He threw the heavy yellow egg shape down into the mud by the base of the pod. “Finally, can you remember anything else significant from before the suicide?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, then. Well, I’ll be getting back to the flier. Remember, if you ever want to speak to us, just use the pulse trans…”

Justinian’s words trailed away. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, hear a pounding in his ears. What had the pod just said? Every other pod had answered no…

As he stared at the pod, silver light shone all around, reflecting from the water. White grass seed rolled in the red mud.

The pod spoke haltingly. “Listen, before you go, maybe you should know…”

It paused. It seemed unsure if it was doing the right thing.

“What is it?” Justinian asked, hardly daring to breathe. This had never happened before. The blurred shape of Leslie appeared on the ramp. It was looking over in the pod’s direction. Listening.

“Well, I don’t know if this is important,” said the pod hesitantly, “but…there are some irregularities in the setup of this pod that may be of interest to you.”

“Irregularities?” Justinian licked his lips. “What irregularities?”

The pod hesitated again. “I’m not sure that I should tell you.”

Justinian licked his lips again. “Why not?” The pounding in his ears was increasing. The first clue since he had arrived on this planet, and it was threatening to slip from his grasp. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Think about it logically, Justinian. If my former self had wanted me to know why it reduced itself so drastically, it surely would have told me. It didn’t, and so we must assume there is a reason for that. And don’t you think we ought to trust an intelligence far greater than our own?”

“I don’t know. Should we?”

Justinian felt as if he was at the top of a huge building, tiptoeing along the ledge, looking down at the street far below. He could feel the drop, sucking him over. Watcher, don’t let me fall, he thought.

“Surely I could decide if the information is valid…” he suggested.

The pod laughed. “Come on, Justinian. Humans have allowed AIs to guide their actions for the past two hundred years. You can’t wrest back responsibility now just because it suits you. I really do wonder if I should tell you-”

Justinian forced himself to wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, I don’t care. I’m cold and tired; I’m going back to the flier. I need a hot drink…”

He knew that was a mistake as soon as he did it. The pod could read his personality too well to fall for such a playground trick.

“Don’t try to bluff me,” it said scornfully. “Look, think about this: if I can see clues, maybe the other AI pods you have spoken to have also seen the same clues. Do you think that is possible? Yes, you do. I read it in your body language. I can read your pulse and the electrical patterns in your brain.”

Justinian cursed himself again. Once more he had allowed himself to be misled. These pods acted like children, but they weren’t.

The pod continued to speak. “And if those pods have seen the same clues, which it seems reasonable to assume, why didn’t they tell you?”

Justinian didn’t know. Then an idea occurred to him.

“Good point. But none of them mentioned the fact that they knew anything. The fact that you have suggests that you may think differently. Why would that be?”

The pod was silent. The sun was now well clear of the horizon. The water that slurped and sucked around the base of Justinian’s mud bank had turned a rather pretty shade of turquoise. As the silence stretched out, Justinian felt his heart racing. What else could he say? And then, at last, the pod spoke.

“You’re right. I’m confused. My original intelligence destroyed itself before this pod had grown a full sense array. Most of the long-distance senses are barely formed, hence, I suppose, the necessity for your visit here to be made in person. However, one of the deep-radar arrays is fully formed, and I can see no reason for that to be. It is pointing in the direction that I have just relayed to your flier’s TM.”

“Thank you,” Justinian said, smiling.

“Just a moment. You’re too impatient, Justinian. I have to ask myself, why did my former intelligence grow this deep radar and nothing else? It must have wanted me to notice it, even though it knew I would be able to do nothing with it.”

“Okay,” said Justinian. “Do you know why it’s there?”

“No! That’s what I’m saying. Listen, the deep-radar array is a physical device. There are a few kilobytes of data left inside it.”

“Okay…?”

Another pause.

“I’m not sure that you will like what the data represents.”

Justinian frowned. The sun was rising higher and the day was promising to be a good one. If one could ignore the foul smell of the mud, there was a certain bleak freshness to the scene before him: red mud and turquoise water spreading out in lazy curls to the horizon. He had just had his first lead after three weeks on this bizarre planet. Why did the pod have to spoil it with such a roundabout way of speaking?

Justinian replied in the most uninterested tone he could manage. “Pod, I can assure you, I don’t care what the data represents. I just want to find out what happened here and then get off this planet.”