Tony Ballantyne - CAPACITY

“Ow!” he said. “What on Earth?”

Leslie began to blur. The baby was trying to kiss his cheek, and Justinian’s right arm was caught in a tight grip as he tried to push his son away. The baby didn’t like being stopped; he struggled harder. Justinian set his son on the floor and, to the rising sound of crying, began to pull off the top of his passive suit.

“Oh shit…” he whispered, feeling a sweat break out on his forehead. There, on the biceps of his right arm, glistened a BVB.

The flier skimmed at Mach 7 over the sea. Inside it the baby was still crying, and Justinian felt like doing the same, such was his frustration. Leslie was trying to calm him down.

“It’s not a problem. Once this is over we’ll take you back to Earth to have your arm removed. They’ll have another one on in no time. In the meantime we’ll put a heat bandage around your biceps to keep it warm and stop it shrinking further in the cold.”

“I’m not walking around for two weeks with this thing on me.”

Justinian couldn’t take his eyes off the black velvet band. It was beautiful in its way: a cold, terrifying beauty in the way it had so gently formed on his arm, underneath the quilt of his passive suit. He had barely noticed it appearing. Not until he had moved his arm.

Leslie was probing the band with his fuzzy hand, silver fingernails flashing in the light.

“It’s not a problem, Justinian, honestly. What’s the worst that could happen? You go three weeks without an arm. I’ll tell you what: if that happens, I’ll take one of mine off, too, to keep you company.”

Justinian glared at the robot. “The worst thing that could happen? What if we wake up and find there’s one formed around the baby’s neck? What if it forms inside his body? There may be one in there already, wrapped around his little heart! He’s a growing child!”

Justinian scooped up the baby from the floor and held him close. He felt his son’s warm cheek against his own bare chest. The child’s tears were cold on Justinian’s flesh.

Leslie insinuated his way around the cabin, flight chairs sliding out of his way, until he was standing right before Justinian. His face lost some of its fuzziness; he wanted Justinian to register its sincere expression.

“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 dinner, then turn the spoon upside down as he put it in his mouth. Orange shapes fell to form a loose scree at the out-turned bottom edge of his bib.

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.