CAPACITY

“We’ve got the word to go. They’ve fixed the fault space-side and are moving the hypership back into orbit. Takeoff in three minutes.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Schummel fixed him with a stare. “You’re a good man, Justinian. You deserve better than this. I hope you get whatever it is you are doing here finished as soon as possible, then get off this planet.”

“Me, too,” Justinian said. He felt angry at the EA-so angry. It wasn’t fair, but when Schummel offered his hand, Justinian pointedly ignored it. He couldn’t help it. He had to take his frustration out on somebody. David Schummel looked down at his own hand, nodded ever so slightly, then withdrew it. He turned and made his way back towards the shuttle. Justinian watched the tall man go, finding himself left alone as the occupants of the other fliers boarded the shuttle and the ramp raised itself. He watched the wings sparkling and flashing as the air around them was ionized and shaped into a path through which the craft could fly. Then the shadow in which he stood was shrinking as the shuttle lifted lightly into the air. Justinian watched it rise, spiraling higher and higher into the turquoise sky. And then it was gone.

He turned and made his way back up the ramp into his own flier, pushing his way past Leslie as he went.

“Don’t speak to me,” he growled as he set a flight chair to the shape of a cot and placed the baby in it. Then he slumped into a chair opposite, suddenly aware of a tingling on his leg. He pulled up the right trouser leg of his passive suit.

A second BVB had formed there.

Helen 2: 2240

Concealed as she was by darkness, the pale lights flickering across her face were the only clue to Helen’s presence in the shuttle. Judy 3 sat opposite, monitoring her for signs of stress, but so far she had detected nothing but an awed, breathless wonder. Helen smiled, and Judy felt the happiness rising from her, filling the interior of the insubstantial craft. They were dropping down by the seemingly endless diamond-studded black wall of the Shawl towards the blue-white swirl of the Earth below, and it was good to be alive. Even if that life was in the digital world.

Brilliant sunlight burst around them. They had now dropped beyond the lowermost edge of the Shawl; they could see it receding above them and begin to make out its shape.

Earlier, back in her room, Judy had unrolled a bolt of black-and-white chequered kimono silk and gathered it loosely around her shoulders, like a shawl. “This is what it looks like,” she had explained. “Imagine that the black squares are the sections of the Shawl. New sections are formed and added around the neck; the older sections are allowed to drop a little closer to Earth…”

Helen was looking up into the heavens, following the receding pattern of sections, unable to make out the overall shape of the Shawl. It was just too big.

But it was beautiful. The spun-glass bauble of the shuttle was filled with rose and gold from the bright sun. Helen jumped from her seat and, arms outstretched to catch the warmth, seemed to hang suspended in a golden halo, a vision of life, her hair plaited with flowers, rich light blooming on her white shift.

“I’m glad we took the shuttle!” she sang out. “We would have missed all this if we just stepped straight down to Earth.”

Judy smiled back. Emotional extremes were normal after Helen’s experience. Her moods would continue to swing back and forth for the next few weeks, as Judy sought to center her.

“To think I might have died without seeing this!” Helen said.

Judy said nothing. The atomic Helen had died fourteen years ago. Judy thought it significant that Helen hadn’t thought to ask about her “original” self’s death yet. She was still thinking in atomic ways. Example: insisting on catching a shuttle when a door could have been opened directly to Earth.

An orange glow was building around the transparent skin of the shuttle as they plunged down towards the narrow cha

“This place looks grim.” Helen gazed down the narrow street. A trail of damp, sandy footprints led back along the rubbery road to the grass-covered dunes. Behind them, the yellow catamaran that had brought them ashore now skimmed its way southwards, borne by the cold morning wind that cut through Helen’s shift’s warm-field, making her shiver.

“I thought you said there hasn’t been any poverty since the Transition,” Helen said through chattering teeth. She hugged her arms to her chest as she gazed at the bleak scene all around them.

“It depends on how you define poverty,” said Judy calmly. “No one goes hungry, but there are still people with fewer possessions than others.”

Judy’s white face turned to scan the street. Helen noticed that her black hair was knotted in a different style this morning. There were other subtle variations to her kimono, too. The sleeves were shorter, the obi sash not as wide. Nonetheless, she still had the same striking appearance: black lips and nails, white face and hands. Put next to Helen in her simple white shift and ta

“You’d think that they would have set a VNM loose on this place,” Helen murmured dismissively. “Converted these dumps into something more modern.”

“Different places, different times, different perspectives,” replied Judy. “Here they don’t pay as much attention to the exterior appearance. This street isn’t seen as shabby; it is valued for the fact that it isn’t constructed by Von Neuma

“But none of this is real,” said Helen. “Why not let everyone have what they want in this processing space?”

“Because that would make us less human,” said Judy. “That’s a basic tenet of the EA.”

“That sounds a bit-”

“Listen, that’s just the way it is. Remember, my ‘sister’-the atomic Judy-doesn’t inhabit the digital world. She has a different perspective. She believes in the stories of the Watcher and Eva Rye far more than I do. Hah! Eva Rye. The woman whom the Watcher studied in order to learn what it means to be human. I don’t think so. Eva is a metaphor. A training technique they use on us when we start with Social Care. The clue is in the name. Eva. EA. En-Vironment Agency? Get it? Now, come on. This way.”

She led Helen up a cracked concrete path to a narrow doorway. The dimly lit hallway beyond was elegantly plain. A set of stone steps led up to the first floor. Helen followed Judy up the stairs and along a corridor, where Judy gave a loud knock on a wooden door near the end.

“No one home,” Helen said.

“He’ll be asleep,” said Judy. “The apartment’s Turing machine will be waking him up as we speak, telling him there is a member of Social Care at the door. He’ll take a few minutes to get washed and dressed. Maybe have a shave. Everyone likes to make a good impression with Social Care.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Helen said, noting Judy’s self-satisfied smile.

“I take pride in my work,” Judy said, “as do all members of Social Care.”

“But you like the power it gives you, don’t you?”

Judy turned her face to Helen’s, impassive black eyes lost in a white face locking on to hers.