Tony Ballantyne - CAPACITY

Schummel stared at the grooved pattern set into the rubbery material of the ground and shook his head. A cold breeze stirred, carrying the scent of autumn soil. The whole planet smelled like that, like the land here was not so much on the verge of waking up but rather at the beginning of the process that would eventually result in a spring.

Finally, Schummel looked up at Justinian, and his voice was gentle.

“Justinian, I know how you feel, but you’re not the only person on this planet. Look around you.”

Justinian kept his eyes fixed on David Schummel, but all around him he could feel the pulsing lights of the other fliers. Some of them had dropped their exit hatches. All around him were people standing in the shadows of their craft, trying not to stare in his direction.

“I want to go home,” Justinian said.

“So do they,” Schummel said gently. He reached out and laid his hand on the baby’s sleeping head. “Look, even if by some means you do get to be on the shuttle when it lifts, what will happen next? Will it develop a fault? Will the hypership hit a gravitational curve and find itself locked into a path around this planet? You know that the more you fight it, the less subtle the EA will become.”

Justinian wasn’t listening anymore. He knew now he was going to stay. There was no defying the wishes of the EA.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay,” he said softly.

David Schummel gazed at him. “Thank you.” He paused, looking towards the rear of the flier. Justinian turned to see that Leslie had just emerged.

“I’ll take the baby, shall I?” the robot said.

“I could take the baby with me,” said Schummel suddenly. “One of the astronomers space-side has brought her daughter with her; she’s about the same age as your son.”

“I know. Mareka,” Justinian said. “I met her on the way out.”

Schummel nodded. “I thought you might have. She’s nice, isn’t she? Good with kids. Your son would be in safe hands.”

Justinian looked sideways. He could see the shape of his son’s head as it lay against his shoulder, could feel the regular rhythm of his breathing. The thought of passing him to a stranger filled him with sadness.

“No,” he said. “No, I can’t let him go. He’s already lost his mother…”

The captain nodded again.

Around them, the shuttle was coming to shimmering life. Patterns of lights began to twinkle on the wings above them. Something awoke deep in its ancient engines. The occupants of the other fliers were already making their way past. Justinian heard the occasional muttered expression of thanks as they walked by. David Schummel tilted his head as he listened to something.

“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.

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 channel of water lying between England and France. There were plenty of leisure craft floating there; someone would take them on to the coastal town where Judy’s next client unwittingly slept.

“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 tanned skin, the contrast could not be more marked. The virgin and the nymph. It was no wonder that shadows moved in the windows of the apartment block, watching them.