CAPACITY

“Right, Jesse,” he said, “let’s go.”

They were in no hurry.

Justinian held Jesse’s hand as they walked the external length of the flier, the white hull of the ship smooth above them. As they came to a gentle slope of scree, Justinian carefully picked his way up to the dark crack in the rock ahead, his son now cradled in his arms. Swirling blue-green patterns danced at the edge of his vision.

They paused at the entrance to the cave, and Justinian took a last look back at the friendly white shape of the flier.

“Okay,” he said, and he turned away from the daylight and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could make out the begi

Jesse giggled. “Hallur ellur ellur…” he said, pointing deep into the darkness.

“You understand, don’t you?” Justinian said. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Hallur ellur elluble!” said the baby urgently.

Justinian took a step forward and the darkness seemed to pull away from him. Black shapes formed in his vision: black floor, black walls, black ceiling. He could see into the darkness, all in shades of black. The baby giggled again.

“I don’t think we’re really seeing at all, Jesse,” said Justinian. “I don’t think this is our eyes’ doing.”

But it still looked real: a mapping of the inside of the cave picked out in darkness. A smooth floor sloping downwards, following a winding fissure in the rock, black stalactites hanging silently above.

Tantalizing shapes danced at the limit of his vision, beckoning him on. Jesse struggled in his arms, urging him forward.

Justinian followed the path downwards and the daylight faded to nothing. Turning, he saw the entrance to the cave had gone. He felt claustrophobic, adrift in a dark tu

The last AI pod must have traveled this way, he realized. After Pod 16 had sealed itself in the Bottle, it must have come down here to look at the Schrödinger boxes. The occasional broken stalagmite or chipped corner showed where it had passed. What had it called into being down here?

Jesse was still speaking in Jargon, the official language of children about to make the leap into proper speech. Whatever was ahead was co

Jesse was wriggling uncomfortably in his arms. In his fear Justinian was clutching him too tightly. He relaxed his grip a little and continued walking, brushing tears from his own cheeks as he went. It wasn’t Justinian they really wanted, it was his child!

They had all been in on it. Leslie, the pods, the EA-even the Watcher!

What if the Watcher had openly asked him to sacrifice a son? Justinian was no Abraham; he would have refused. The EA must have known that. Any father would have done the same. How could it be otherwise, in a world where Social Care vetted potential parents so carefully? No one was allowed to have a child unless it was judged that he or she would take proper care of it.

So how could the pods arrange for a child to come to Gateway? They had tricked Justinian, made him believe it was himself they wanted here.

As Jesse spoke again, Justinian caught the urgency in the child’s voice. Jesse knew what was going on here. He was telling his father.

Justinian hugged his son close and kissed his head softly. He felt his own tears on his son’s downy hair.

“Oh, Jesse, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Oblivious to his anguish, Jesse wrestled in his grasp and again pointed down the tu

How many planets lay throughout the galaxy, how many cave systems lay beneath their surfaces? How many dark places were there lurking throughout the universe, their existence never validated by the liberating gaze of intelligence?

And if, someday, they were gazed upon, what could be called into existence by the very act of observation?

Down and down and down.

And then Justinian heard the drip-drip-drip of water, echoing along the passage. Shortly after that a dim grey glow rose; the dim light of dreams when you walk into a room and turn on the light, and everything goes a little darker and harder to see.

The passage began to widen and Justinian felt a little warmth ahead. He had the impression of an enormous space lying before him, just out of sight. He smelled old cabbage and roses.

And then he stepped from the tu

Jesse was burbling again. Heart pounding, Justinian pressed on, the greyness intensifying.

As he approached, he became aware that this final AI pod was very much bigger than even first impressions suggested; it had grown to a height of around fifteen meters, a bulbous dome held up by an irregular tripod. Justinian recognized the shape of VNM factories around its base and realized that this pod was well advanced in its growth, almost complete. And yet, like all the others, it too had stopped. Why? Jesse tugged at his hand, staring in fascination at the black vines clustering around the edge of the precipice. They seemed to ripple without moving; rather, they seemed always to have just finished moving when Justinian’s gaze alighted upon them. What lay over the edge of the lip? What did the plant from which they had grown look like? Justinian craned his head to see. He was getting closer now…

“Do not look over the edge.”

The voice came from the AI pod. Justinian ignored it, continued to edge forward, determined to see what was down there. Jesse tugged at his hand. He obviously felt the same urge; he wanted to move forward.

The pod spoke again: “There is a laser trained upon you. Despite the fact I have had you brought here beyond your galaxy, I will kill you if you take one step closer. Believe me, this is not a bluff.”

“I believe you,” Justinian said, stopping. Of course he did. An AI knew how to sound sincere. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help himself craning to see over the lip of the fault. He was sure there was something moving down there.

“Do not try to look past me. The laser is still trained upon you.”

“I’m trying not to look.” It was true: he was trying. “What the hell do you think you are doing, placing my child in danger?”

“Establishing parameters. You are Justinian Sibelius?”