CAPACITY

“Frances! Help me!” she called again. Still there was no reply. What was Frances doing? Hand over hand, Judy pulled herself back along the branch until she reached the trunk of the tree. The golden spacesuit grew spikes at its hands and feet. She dug them deep into the bark, gaining purchase. The dragon grew bigger. It was reaching for her, slowly.

She screamed again: “Frances!”

“There’s no help,” came Chris’ voice. “You see, Frances may have the greater intelligence now, but I still have control of nearly all of the section’s material. I have the matter; all Frances has are her own thoughts.” Chris laughed. “Fu

The dragon reached out its long neck. It opened its mouth…

“Say good-bye,” Chris said.

And Judy let out a sudden, giggling laugh. She was terrified, but…

She was standing on the burning World Tree, plunging towards Earth, battling dragons. Could there be any better end?

She laughed out loud, let go of the tree, and assumed a karate stance as she floated away from the branch-just as the dragon drew back to strike.

“Come on then!” she shouted. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!”

The metal dragon in front of her lunged…

…and was parried by the branch of the tree…

All around her the World Tree came to life and began to grapple with the dragon floating above her.

And Judy’s laughter deepened at the sheer, incredible joy of it all.

Plunging towards the Earth, her best friend had turned the whole World Tree into a venumb. Frances had dissolved what little material made up her body and formed it into joints and hinges, just like those of a spider bush.

What a way to die, laughed Judy-falling to Earth on the burning wood skeleton of her best friend, wrestling with a metal dragon.

In the middle of all that, the Watcher’s shuttle quietly materialized and took Judy on board.

Epilogue: 2240

The man in the grey passive suit, a lavender cravat knotted incongruously around his neck, sat down at the piano and spread his hands over the keys. He paused, and then began to play a pattern of notes: the first prelude from Book 1 of Bach’s The Well Tempered Clavier. The music filled the building in the ma

A waiter clearing the glasses from a café table looked up to see a well-dressed stranger crossing the town square. It was a warm evening and his patrons were making the most of the last of the summer evenings, enjoying a drink and the quietly remarkable view of the building opposite. Built in the fifteenth century, the church had remained relatively unchanged for at least three hundred years. Its grey stone had become a little more weathered, the stained-glass windows had needed to be covered in a thin protective laminate, but beyond that it stood firm against the advancing tide of self-replicating machinery. A great green wave of metal rose up beyond the church, frozen in the motion of crashing down to engulf the building. The fifteenth-century structure sheltered in the lee of this living sculpture that stood at the north end of the square, a reminder of the chaotic end of the twenty-second century, when the endless cycle of replication had finally been contained.

Music spilled out into the summer evening as the latecomer to the concert slipped through the church door.

The ancient church was to be the venue for one of the decisive meetings of human history.

Judy sat alone in a pew halfway down the aisle, listening to the music being performed by the keyboard player who sat in the cleared space before the altar. She could feel herself begi

Her mind began to drift to the gentle sound of the piano…but the sound was subtly changing. Effects were slowly fading into the notes, giving them an otherworldly edge. The keyboard player was competent but not truly professional; he made too many mistakes. Ah, thought Judy, but who am I to criticize him for that?

She listened as the man finished the piece and then, after acknowledging the brief applause, began the next: Scott Joplin, “Maple Leaf Rag.” He was playing too fast for himself, she thought.

She didn’t notice the latecomer slipping into the chair next to her.

“Hello, Judy. I don’t know if you’ll remember me. I’m Lemuel.”

Judy was startled. She turned to look at the tall man seated beside her. Good looking, greying around the temples, distinguished. His skin was made of plastic. His eyes glowed softly in the dimness of the church.

She recognized his voice.

“You’re Frances’ friend,” she said. “I remember, you spoke to me on her birthday.”

“That’s right. It’s good to meet you in person.” He held out a hand.

Hesitantly, Judy shook it. She stared at the stranger, feeling as if she was somewhere else. Not thinking, Judy slid her right hand up to her left wrist, and then stopped. There was no bracelet there. For the immediate future she was to be the patient, not the counselor.

“How is Frances?” she asked, her voice level. As she looked at Lemuel, the emotion that she had been unconsciously holding back for the past few days, and for the ten years before that, suddenly overwhelmed her. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Why did you let him kill them?” she sobbed.

“Oh, Judy,” Lemuel said sadly. He took her hand in his. His grip was firm and warm. He offered a handkerchief. Judy took it, blew her nose, waved her other hand at nothing, seeking some sort of release. Other members of the audience tried not to look in her direction. Judy looked up into the barrel-vaulted roof and waited for her crying to lessen. Lemuel squeezed her hand again.

“I’m okay now,” she whispered, and her body shivered with emotion. “I’m okay.” Her voice was wobbling. “I just want to know. Why did you let Kevin kill my sisters?”

“Judy, you’re upset. How could I stop Kevin?”

She wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand.

“I don’t mean you personally. I mean all of you, all the AIs. I mean the Watcher. Aren’t you supposed to be looking after us?”

“We didn’t know,” Lemuel said sadly. “Not until it was too late. We didn’t know it was happening. Chris was helping Kevin cloak his actions.”

“I thought the Watcher knew everything,” Judy said bitterly.

“It has never claimed that.”

Lemuel sat back in his pew and looked around. Just ahead of them, to the right of the altar, was a large wooden frieze showing Christ being taken down from the cross. “Do you realize,” he mused, “in the past people came to these places to try to commune with the spirit that they believed made them.” He paused, and then spoke more softly. “And now, in a ziggurat, on a planet deep in the Enemy Domain, the Watcher does the same, in effect.”

Judy stared at Lemuel. No AI ever said anything without a reason.

A sudden flurry of noise signaled the end of the ragtime music and the start of the next piece. Now the performer was playing a medley of rock and roll hits accompanied by the sound of birdsong.