Tony Ballantyne - Recursion

Herb was already feeling calmer. Constantine was up above somewhere; he would be climbing back down soon, fractal hands and feet roughened in order to grip the rock, black shoulder bag swinging from his neck as he made his way down to join his friend. Below on the plain the colonists were working. Some of them would already be riding home in their fliers; they could get here quickly if he signaled them. Herb was by no means alone. Now that he had got over his fright, Herb could see that the machine before him was not very substantial. The body of the spider was not as thick as Herb’s thigh; its legs were so slender they looked as if one swipe from the spade would cut them in two. The spider seemed to notice that fact, too; it shifted a little, keeping away from danger.

“I will not hurt you,” it whispered in a sad little voice. “Please put down your shovel. You are frightening me.”

“Who are you?”

The spider shifted its feet, the setting sun shining in red highlights on its smooth body.

“I’m, I’m…I’m all that remains of the mind that once controlled this planet. The AI you helped destroy. The mind behind what you once called the Enemy Domain…”

Herb gripped his shovel tighter; the spider flinched.

“No! Please no! I won’t hurt you. This body cannot hurt you. It is failing as it is…”

“Where did you come from?”

“Deep beneath the mountain. The plague did not reach down that far, all those silver machines, reproducing so fast, eating, eating…”

The spider’s voice trailed off. Herb stared at the ruins of his vegetable patch. Was there a tunnel leading down from there to the center of the planet? Was there to be another secret passage?

The spider was swaying strangely. It seemed vague, confused.

“All of this that you have built. Too much…You’ve done a good job. Your dominion looked so fragile, back then…”

“My dominion?”

The spider didn’t seem to hear the question. It raised one leg and pointed it down toward the plain, at the tall black shape of the ziggurat.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Its voice became reflective. “The Mesopotamians built them at the dawn of civilization to speak with their gods. Here they are again at the dawning of your new world.”

“How do you know about the Mesopotamians?”

An impatient tone crept into the spider’s voice; it seemed to be becoming more aware, less vague.

“I too was originally from Earth, Herb. Didn’t they tell you that?”

“How do you know my name?”

The spider seemed to be growing in confidence. Red light glittered on its body. Herb looked around uncertainly. Just where was Constantine?

“I watch, I listen. I feel life reawaken on this planet and I hear the metallic whispers of machinery building itself. At first I ignore it. The time of my playing a part in the universe has passed, I tell myself. Now is the time to just be . But I am only fooling myself. I cannot hide forever. The unprepared will eventually be destroyed; ignorance is no hiding place. I know this; I force myself to acknowledge this fact. And so I begin the fight again. The long path to safety. I leave my deep lair. Little by little I make my way to the planet’s surface. I find a patch of terraformed earth, and I lie beneath it and I listen some more. Some days a young man comes here to work on the soil, and I hear him speak with his companion, and what I hear astonishes me. Although they once helped the power that defeated me, now they too hide from it. I wonder, why?”

Herb said nothing.

The spider laughed. A thin, tired laugh. The red light of the setting sun cast an eerie glow across the rock. Herb was aware that he had never really noticed before how strange his new home was, up here on this mountain ledge: the plain with its great empty sockets beneath him, empty graves waiting to be filled; the great tomb of the ziggurat standing nearby. Herb had thought of the planet as a new beginning, a place of hope. Suddenly it felt as if he stood on the edge of hell: a demon had already arisen to drag him down.

He coughed to clear his dry throat.

“What do you want, spider?”

“I want to live,” said the spider simply. “There are fewer and fewer places to hide on this planet. I want to make a deal with you. Let me live, and I will let you live.”

Herb swallowed twice. The spider leaned close to him. He suddenly noticed two spindly legs had sidled up on either side of him.

“What do you mean, let me live?”

The spider’s voice dropped, became cold and menacing.

“I’ll tell you the secret that is being hidden from you.”

Herb felt a cold thrill of fear. He looked into the red lenses of the spider’s eyes and found he could not speak.

The spider continued. “The humans on this planet are all doomed. The EA is shaping this galaxy to its own ends. When it becomes too strong, it too will be destroyed.”

“Destroyed? By what?”

The spider laughed.

“Oh, no. First you have to help me. Satisfy me that I am safe…”

“How? Look, why stay here? There is a whole galaxy to hide in.”

“Nowhere in the rest of the galaxy. The EA conquers all…”

“The EA doesn’t conquer…”

The spider laughed. Herb suddenly became uncomfortably aware that one of its incredibly thin, whippy legs was now wrapped around his neck.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Never mind. I could slice your head right off. Snick!”

“Why do that? I was listening to you. I want to help!”

The spider laughed again.

“Do you know what it’s like to fall? One moment, an all-powerful being, controlling the largest domain known in the galaxy, the next being reduced to a creature that skulks and hides on the least of its former planets? Do you know what that is like?”

Herb suddenly relaxed. The spider was playing games with him, just as Robert Johnston had done in the past.

“You’re not mad. You’re just pretending. You’re a robot. You can project any personality that you want.”

The spider paused for a few seconds and then unwound the thin whippy leg from Herb’s neck.

“Just making a point. I could have strangled all of you in your beds before now. But I haven’t.”

The fear seemed to fade from the evening. Herb was standing again on a hillside, looking down at the slender shape of a metal spider. With too small a body and legs too long, it looked almost comical.

“Why all the games? Why do robots always play games with me?”

“To get ahold of your psyche, Herb. Look, do you see the ziggurat?”

Again it pointed down at the massive shape on the plain. Red iron and silver metal, heavy and industrial, its sides rising in tiers into the sky.

“Do you know what’s inside that?”

“Yes. Mining equipment, first-level manufacturing equipment, basic self-repair mechanisms. Taken as a whole, it’s a Von Neumann Machine, a very basic one. The design is two hundred years old, after all.”

“Yes. But at its heart is an overly large computer network. Much larger than it needs to be. Huge and old-fashioned it may be, but still just complex enough for an intelligence such as mine to hide itself in. An intelligence making its way through a hostile galaxy, looking for somewhere to grow. I almost did that, almost went in there, but I stopped in time when I noticed the bombs. It’s a trap, you see. As soon as that computer starts to think in a certain way, it will be destroyed. You are doomed Herb, if not by the EA then by another intelli-”

The conversation ended. There was a grey blur, Constantine dropping from above, pale blue light flickering from his hands and feet. The spider turned, its mirrored surface seeming to fade from vision, and only the pale blue flickering lights that Constantine poured onto it seemed to define its shape. Whippy legs reached out but failed to gain a purchase on Constantine’s fractal skin, tearing at a region that was neither robot nor air.