Tony Ballantyne - Recursion

Robert Johnston was puzzled. They had dissolved too soon. If they had waited longer they could have left him with no propulsion system at all. Why so soon?

A second replay of the ship’s memory and he saw it. A routine internal scan had been initiated ten picoseconds before the attack. The enemy nanotechs must have feared detection; they acted too soon rather than be wiped out. Thankfully.

The threat had been identified.

All this took just under two seconds. Robert Johnston now felt it safe to split his consciousness further so as to interface with other layers of reality.

To Herb, it was as if the attack was still underway. Robert could see him as he was thrown out of the sofa, his left knee banging on the wooden floor. Robert could read the pain in Herb’s body as his left hand was twisted the wrong way and almost broke.

Robert Johnston was still funneling materials toward the propulsion system. There wasn’t enough mass in the propulsion chamber, so he sought it from elsewhere on the ship. Herb’s bedroom was quickly cannibalized.

The propulsion systems now operated at four percent efficiency.

Back in the slow world, Herb was thrown to the left, tumbling across the floor, hot coffee splashing over him as he went. A white vase fell to the floor, shattering next to his head. Meanwhile, the robot body was picking itself up off the floor, its face slack and utterly expressionless. The ship continued to shake and jerk around, but the movement was diminishing. Herb sat up slowly, favoring his right hand. As he stared at his left, Robert could see wave after wave of sickening pain sweeping through the human, centering on his knee. The robot body came and put an arm around Herb, helped him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” asked Robert. He helped Herb to limp across to his sofa and sat him down.

“I think so. My hand…No. It can wait. What happened?”

Robert began to explain.

All the while another part of Robert was examining the options of what to do next.

He had been too cocky, he had underestimated the capabilities of the local AI. He could not afford to make that mistake again.

Now he would have to take time out from the attack to replenish the ship’s resources. He calculated that it would take about four minutes. He estimated the Enemy’s ships would be here in five. So, just enough time to drop back to the planet’s surface and then get out again.

Much too confident. He would not make that mistake again.

Then another part of his awareness picked up the flickering of a warp transition. One, two, three Enemy ships inserting themselves into normal space. They had got here far too quickly. Another mistake.

He would have to jump again right now…

He looked at the warp field, began to coax it into shimmering life…

He was simultaneously observing Herb. Robert could read the fear that coursed through the man’s body at his announcement of the jump. Herb’s mouth was dry, his pulse rate increasing, his stomach pulsing, and yet his body’s functioning was still within acceptable parameters. Herb would experience far worse before this was over.

Something foreign still lurked on the ship.

Another jump. They reinserted into normal space and the lounge lit up with the brilliant white glare of an explosion. This time all of the viewing fields darkened. Herb felt as if the ship was skimming sideways, riding a wave, dancing and surfing toward a beach. He could feel the busy rumble of something like water beneath them.

“We’re riding the explosion,” said Robert, “just inside the wave front. They won’t be able to scan inside here. At least I hope not. No nanotechs could survive out there in that maelstrom, so we can assume we’re not going to be boarded again… We’re going to jump again in a moment.”

Robert’s face slackened, just for a fraction of a second, and then: “The top ninety percent of the hull has ablated. At least it didn’t breach…”

The ship rocked again as they began the transition back into warp. Herb was flung from his seat, across the room. He tripped on Robert’s sofa, catching his left knee again as he landed. He screamed with pain…

…The ship reinserted itself into normal space.

“It’s okay, Herb,” called Robert. “It’s okay.” He was looking at him with genuine concern.

“I’m okay,” Herb mumbled. “I just banged my knee.”

Robert nodded. “I’ve taken us into the space between the stars again. We need to give the ship time to repair itself.”

Herb was light-headed from the pain. He was finding it difficult to concentrate.

“I hope so. They’ll never find us here, surely?”

Robert offered Herb a little pink tablet. The way he was moving seemed odd; Herb seemed to be befuddled.

“Swallow this,” Robert murmured. “It’s an MTPH variant. It will help you to separate the pain into different parts, make it easier to deal with.”

Herb took the pill and swallowed it. “Couldn’t I just have a painkiller?” he asked.

“You’d learn nothing that way, Herb. Pain and adversity help us to grow.” He grinned a little. “Well, they help humans grow, anyway. Look, Herb, the ship has lost a lot of mass, so when repairs are complete, the hull is going to be stretched very thin. The Enemy ships will be jumping incrementally out from our last position in a shell formation, scanning as they go. They’ll reach this point in about four minutes, I’d guess. We have to be gone from here by then.”

The pill hit Herb’s stomach and the pain seemed to recede: it was still there, but it was as if another person was experiencing it.

“Whoa,” he said, “that’s pretty good stuff. Hey, why don’t we just jump back inside the ring of spaceships?”

“We will if we have to, but I’d rather not. We’ve got to keep heading toward the center of the Enemy Domain. The Enemy will eventually figure that’s what we’re doing, and then it will direct its search ships to better effect. This battle is still just getting up to speed.”

“Getting up to speed. Right.”

Herb looked around the inside of the ship. The kitchen cupboards had burst open; pots and pans spilled across the floor, washing across a tide of broken glass and crockery. A white vase lay smashed on the blond wood. There was a rip in one of the white sofas. Robert himself looked odd.

The viewing fields imposed a sense of order on the shambles of the room, their regular shapes showing stars shining against a dark background. Red indicator bars showed they were still picking up speed. How fast did they have to get?

Robert looked the worse for wear: his suit was disheveled, his shirt had come untucked, his tie was twisted so that the knot was lost under his starched collar. His jacket was badly ripped near the shoulder. That’s when Herb finally noticed what was odd about Robert.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked. “Where’s it gone?”

Robert’s right arm lay on the white sofa he had been occupying earlier. He sat down next to it and picked it up with his left hand. Herb caught a flash of silver at the severed end as Robert turned it to push it into his shoulder joint. He twisted it a couple of times.

“The repair mechanisms won’t engage,” he said softly. “I had to deplete myself of nanotechs and send them to aid in the repair of this ship. They’re building up numbers again, ready to effect the repair within me, but resources are low. Other priorities are currently higher, and what use are arms when fighting this type of war? Better that my brain remains intact.”

He smiled gently at Herb. He was no longer the personality who had spent the past few days constantly goading Herb: now he seemed like an amiable old man, a wise father figure. The rules of their relationship were changing.