CAPACITY

“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 di

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 sudde