CAPACITY

Judy wiped her eyes with the big white handkerchief, then blew her nose again.

“Have you captured him?” she asked.

“Kevin? Oh yes, thanks to you, Judy. He put a lot of effort into contacting you and your sisters. He really believed that you could be brought around to his point of view. He exposed himself far too much.”

“I don’t understand why,” Judy said bitterly. “I hate him. I always did. I tried not to let myself-I know it wasn’t my job to hate-but I couldn’t help it. How could he possibly think that I would help him?”

“Because that’s the way he is, Judy. He thinks people are commodities to be bought and sold. He isn’t a real person. He isn’t even a genuine AI, as you understand them. He’s just a very complex program, written for DIANA. A program written by humans, long before the Transition. An early attempt at an AI, one that can replicate. Somehow it made its way to the source of the Shawl and embedded itself there. DIANA was a commercial organization that saw everything in terms of competition, acquisitions, and mergers. Kevin has the same drives written into the core of his being. They’re in his bones, you might say. In Kevin’s terms, the society that the Watcher has created is the competition, therefore he still seeks to contend with us.”

“Why?” Judy rubbed a hand across her shaven head, feeling the little bristles spring back at her touch. It still felt odd; she was so used to having long hair. She spoke slowly: “I thought the time of competition between the large organizations and the EA ended after the Transition.”

“It did,” Lemuel replied. “This is just the death throes.”

Judy spoke bitterly: “So what have you done to Kevin? You say he wasn’t an AI at all; he was just a virus. You should destroy him.”

Lemuel paused as the rock and roll medley came to an abrupt end. The performer stood and took a bow to the polite applause that echoed around the church. Lemuel was clapping the loudest of all.

“Bravo,” he cried. “Bravo!”

“Well?” Judy said. “Have you destroyed him?”

Lemuel put a plastic hand gently on Judy’s arm, and she looked down at it. It felt unusual to be touched through a passive suit, having been so used to the silk of her kimonos.

“Kevin can’t be blamed for doing what he did, Judy. It was in his programming. He wasn’t a proper AI, remember-he had no love of life, including his own. He was nothing more than a set of yes/no branches.”

“As am I, surely,” Judy said.

Lemuel inclined his head. “Maybe. But there comes a point when what you are transcends the mechanism. Kevin has as much of a right to life as any venumb. He’ll be kept in a bottle, as a curiosity. Just like the trees in Helen’s arboretum.”

Judy pressed her lips tightly together. She felt as if she was going to cry again, and yet no tears emerged. She was puzzled: why had Lemuel come here in person to tell her all this? Huey, her counselor, was more than capable of debriefing her.

“I feel that I owe you this,” Lemuel said, answering the unasked question. “It’s what Frances would want me to do, if she could safely communicate with anyone. We feel that we have let you down. Chris is a lot cleverer than we realized. He has successfully hidden his capabilities all this time, even from the Watcher. He is still out there, Judy. Once he learns you are still alive, he will come looking for you again.”

Judy felt a cold ache of fear in her stomach. “Why?”

The AI looked solemn. “Judy, Chris still believes that you will help him someday.”

“Never.” Lemuel said nothing. She looked at him. “Well? I told him that on the Shawl. He tried to kill me for it.”

Lemuel remained silent.

“Why don’t you say anything? Why should I help Chris? How could he possibly believe that I would?”

Lemuel put his hands together and thoughtfully touched his lips with his fingertips.

“Judy, the reason that I am here, the reason that Frances would want me to come, is to tell you this…”

“What?”

Lemuel gazed intently at the performer. Judy began to think that he wasn’t going to answer, but then he turned to look at her.

“Judy, AIs can read human personalities all the way to the least significant digit. Chris really believed that you would see his point of view. If Frances hadn’t fought him, if she hadn’t made you run, he would have convinced you.”

“She made me run? He was trying to kill me!”

“Not at first, Judy. Not at first.” Judy tilted her head, trying to understand what he was saying. He continued: “But Frances believed it was for the best. Judy, it was Chris who sent you looking for David Schummel. He gave away the position of the processing space owned by the Private Network. He had someone waiting in there to speak to one of your sisters. He wanted to speak to you.”

“Why?” She paused. “He said something to me, before I ran from the room. He said that my mind had been programmed from birth. What did he mean?”

Lemuel looked unhappy. “Judy, you know what he meant. It’s what Social Care does. You train and counsel and manipulate through social pressure. All humans are programmed from birth…”

Judy stared at Lemuel. He gazed back.

“…but there’s an alternative, Judy-an idea. It’s been around for a long time. Why bother with Social Care and such imperfect mechanisms? What if humans were to be directly programmed at birth?”

“That’s immoral. What about freedom of choice?”

“You see?” said Lemuel. “You’re starting to sound like Kevin already.”

Lemuel leaned closer and spoke in serious tones. “The Watcher says we will never attempt direct programming, but there is evidence that somebody already has.”

“What was that?”

“The White Death. That was a program designed to affect human brains.”

Judy stared at him.

“But who? Why?”

“No one knows where it came from.”

“Oh.”

“And then there’s you.”

“What about me?” Judy felt her heart grow cold again. She suspected the answer already.

“What if I were to tell you that your personality was written for you before you were born? What if it turned out that you were a virgin, not through personal choice, but because someone decided that you would be?”

Judy felt something clench at her throat. She tried to speak and failed. Swallowed, and tried again.

“And do you think that?” she asked.

Lemuel looked back to the performer. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the baby?” he asked.

Judy froze. She felt very small and unworthy. She had been so wrapped up in her own personal tragedy that she had never even thought about Justinian’s baby, left abandoned in the cave on Gateway.

“How could they do that?” she asked. “How could the Watcher send an i

“The Watcher risked just two people in order to save the lives of billions. Trillions. Would you have done differently?”

“Yes!”

“I know you’re lying. I think you know it, too, in your heart of hearts. But think about this, Judy. Think about what Frances did. She looked at the seed in Chris’ head in order to find a way of defeating him and to help you live. She risked everyone on Earth just to save you.”

“That’s the difference between strangers and friends,” Judy murmured.

“I know,” Lemuel replied. “That’s why I remain a stranger.”

Judy gazed at him, and then suddenly she was crying again, though there was no reason for it. Lemuel waited patiently as she regained control of herself. Her tears formed little puddles on the stone floor. She smeared the pools with her foot, then took a deep breath.

“Has Frances put us all at risk because of me?” she asked.

“Not yet.” Lemuel looked up into the barrel vaulting of the ceiling. Judy had the impression he was looking beyond it.

“Judy,” he said, “three days ago there was an indescribably fascinating plant floating above the Earth, scattering seeds and BVBs in all directions. Now that plant is approaching the outer corona of the sun, where I hope it will have the decency to burn up and be utterly destroyed. The Watcher has had seventeen years to think and plan for how to deal with those plants. Even now, little black boxes skitter across the planet and across the Shawl, and we avert our gaze while lesser intelligences look at them and fix them in position before whisking them away to safety.”