Recursion

by Tony Ballantyne

  When Herb had designed the lounge of his spaceship, he had intended it to be light and airy. White leather furniture and slabs of glass sat above the nonrepeating, tessellating pattern of the parquet floor. The walls were left quite plain, only the occasional tall ornament or sculpture set out around the perimeter of the room acted to relieve their blankess. The ceiling was hung with the fragile white balls of paper lanterns that gently illuminated the room. To Herb’s eyes, Robert Johnston, sitting on the white sofa, stood out like a turd in cotton wool. His dark suit may have been immaculately tailored, his sharp starched cuffs may have slid from the sleeves of his jacket as he smoothed a crease on his trousers, but as far as Herb was concerned, there was something jarringly wrong about the man sitting opposite. As he was thinking this, the answer to the problem occurred to him.

  “You suppressed my ship’s AI, didn’t you?” Herb said. “My ship is completely under the control of your ship’s AI. Your ship has processed every command I’ve made and filtered out any information it didn’t want me to see.”

  “Very good. You are intelligent, but I knew that. However…I want you to understand that everything you have done over the past six months has been catalogued by the EA. We have the proof you destroyed this planet.”

  “It was an accident.” Herb narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve monitored everything that I’ve done, you will realize that.”

  Johnston smiled sadly.

  “Oh, I realize that. But Herb…it’s not an excuse. You’ve still destroyed a planet.”

  “It was completely lifeless. I checked first.”

  Herb knew that it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his lips. Johnston’s eyes darkened and the smile snapped away again to be replaced by an expression of pure anger.

  “You checked, did you? Ran a full spectroscopic analysis of the atmosphere for airborne plankton? Performed a high-resolution deep scan in case microbes were clinging onto life beside hot vents deep at the heart of the planet?” He flicked his right hand in a dismissive fashion. “Or did you just run a five-minute local sweep for Earthlike life-forms?”

  Herb opened his mouth to speak but Johnston interrupted.

  “Don’t!” he shouted, holding up a hand. “We both know the answer to that, don’t we?”

  Herb cringed. Johnston remained perfectly still, his arm raised as if to strike, the edge of one perfectly pressed and gleaming white cuff emerging from the sleeve of his jacket, the tide line between the pale and the midnight black skin that traveled around his hand, dead center in Herb’s vision.

  Johnston held that position, held it and held it, then his eyes moved slowly to the left to gaze at his own hand. His mouth creased back into a wide smile and he relaxed. The upraised hand was dropped.

  “…but that’s all in the past now. A crime has been committed, and now we must decide upon the punishment.”

  Herb felt his stomach tighten again. Maybe the effect of the drugged whisky was wearing off, because he felt more panicky than before.

  He began to babble. “We don’t have to do this, you know. My father is a very important man. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Besides, I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t do anything like this again. Look, face it, I’ve got a lot to offer society. I put together those VNMs to my own design. My technical skills have got to be worth something; it would be a real waste to lock me away where I couldn’t achieve anything worthwhile…”

  “Preemptive Multitasking?” said Johnston, innocently.

  Herb paused in mid flow, his mouth moving soundlessly.

  Johnston began to adjust the viewing field. The greyish square hanging in the air above the coffee table began to grow.

  “I mean, I know that it reduces the overall intelligence slightly, but it does mean that a perfectly good brain can work on five or six different jobs at the same time.”

  The viewing field had now expanded to a square about three meters across the diagonal. Johnston began to apply a slight curve across its surface, continuing to speak as he did so.

  “So, we could have your body locked up in a nutrient vat in a station in the Oort cloud, while we apply your intelligence to controlling five or six different maintenance craft.”

  The viewing field darkened and a few stars began to appear.

  “We could leave you a time slice of consciousness for your own use: a time for you to think and dream, to be yourself. Depending on how you cooperate, we could locate that consciousness inside your body, in the vat…though that would be very boring—” Johnston turned from the viewing field to smile at Herb “—or maybe controlling a robot with the run of the station. That way you could get to mix with some members of the crew.”

  Depth was added to the picture in the viewing field. A section of a black sphere grew in the lounge, diamond stars winking into existence inside it. Herb was looking at a star field. His mind, however, was far away across the galaxy, trapped in a tight-fitting metal coffin filled with lukewarm nutrient soup, while his eyes stared into infrared and the empty drones under his control crept and crawled beneath the cold remnants of starlight.

  “I don’t want that,” Herb said softly. His eyes were filling with tears.

  “What makes you think you have a choice?” Johnston asked. “You’re not a child anymore; your father isn’t going to come along and say, ‘Okay, maybe not this time if you really, really promise not to do it again.’ We’re dealing with cause and effect here. You do the crime, you do the time. That’s it; you can’t go back, any more than we can restore the life to this planet that your self-replicating machines have just spent the last few months destroying.”

  “Oh.” Herb couldn’t think of anything else to say. He looked around the lounge of his spaceship and already it seemed to belong to someone else. He had passed from one world to another. He sat down heavily on one of the sofas and put his head into his hands.

  “Will you tell my father?”

  “You will have the opportunity to do that yourself. You will have access to a public comm channel. That’s a basic right of any intelligent being.”

  Johnston continued to manipulate the viewing field. Stars began to move across it. He appeared to be searching for something. Herb said nothing. He began to run his fingers over the soft white leather of the sofa, enjoying the sensation of luxury while he still could.

  Johnston paused in his search and glanced toward him. “Don’t you want to know how long your sentence is?”

  The thought that a finite sentence made any difference to his current circumstances hadn’t occurred to Herb. The thought of going to the Oort cloud was too big. Coming back was too remote a possibility, be it in ten or a hundred years’ time. He just shrugged.

  Johnston grinned as he brought the stars’ movement to a halt.

  “That’s an unfair question, of course. We don’t know the answer. How long will it take for you to atone? Only the EA knows. We don’t get that many cases of planetcide—one a year, if that. I’d guess your sentence would probably be more than your natural lifespan. We’d probably have to take an e-print of your consciousness.”

  “Are you deliberately tormenting me?” asked Herb, a feeble twist of anger gently uncurling in his stomach. Johnston turned toward him again with an approving smile.

  “Good. You do have some spirit, don’t you? No, Herb, I’m not tormenting you. I’m just trying to impress upon you the seriousness of your predicament.”

  There was a silence, and Herb had the first inkling that maybe his fate wasn’t yet decided. He paused, wondering if he dared hope otherwise.

  Eventually he had to speak. “Why?” he asked.

  Johnston grinned in response. If Herb hadn’t known better, he would have thought the other man was pleased with him.

  Johnston had finally found what he was looking for. He set the viewing field to full locale. Herb was floating in interstellar space on a white leather sofa. A star rushed toward his face, growing in size. It veered to one side ju
st before hitting him and a smaller, darker object swam into view. A planet with the size, and the apparent intent, of a fist now hung in front of Herb’s nose.

  “Take a look at it,” said Johnston. ‘I’ve enabled the tactiles.’

  Herb reached for the planet and turned it around in his hand, the rest of the universe spinning around the room in a dizzying pattern of lights as it maintained the correct orientation with Herb’s viewpoint. The planet was a grey featureless sphere, like an old ball bearing Herb had once seen in a museum.

  “What is it?” he asked, fascinated. As he stared at the object in his hand, the surface of the planet seemed to ripple slightly.

  Herb frowned. “Those ripples must be hundreds of kilometers high. What’s going on?” As he spoke, an answer occurred to him. For a moment he had thought he was looking at his own planet, the one that seethed just outside the door of his ship. Then he had noticed the patterns of the star field.

  “It’s the remains of another planet, isn’t it? Someone else has done what I’ve done here.”

  Johnston’s smile loomed in the blackness of space, his teeth glowing blue in the reflected starlight.

  “A few people, actually. Oh, don’t look so disappointed, Herb. I thought you were sorry for what you’ve done. Look at that planet, though. Look at the way it’s writhing in your hands. Think about the sheer power behind those machines. Just compare them to yours.”

  “Mine were designed to build a city. Raw power is all very well—”

  “Oh, Herb. Don’t be so sensitive. I was only making a point.”

  Herb bristled. “Not necessarily. As I was trying to say, power isn’t everything. It all comes down to the design of the original machine. If that hasn’t been thought through properly, all the power in the world won’t insure its integrity.”

  Johnston was silent. Herb let go of the planet and tried to see the man through the darkness, without success. He started at a sudden movement beside him. It was Robert Johnston, sitting down beside him.

  He leaned close to Herb’s ear and spoke softly. “So what you’re saying is that you’re not worried by what you can see before you? If I asked you to, you could neutralize those machines?”

  Herb said nothing. He breathed in and out slowly, gazing at the planet. So that was the deal.

  “Yes…” He hesitated. Johnston was staring at him intently. Herb took another breath, and his habitual confidence rekindled.

  “Yes,” he said again. “Yes, I could do it. I’m sure I could. I know I could.”

  “Excellent,” said Johnston, slouching back in the sofa. “I hoped you could. I knew you could. Set a thief to catch a thief, that’s what I said to them.” He crossed his legs, his left ankle resting on his right knee, and began to tap out a rhythm on his thigh.

  Herb stared at him. “So?” he said.

  “So what?”

  “So we have a deal. I neutralize those VNMs that have converted the planet, and you let me off?”

  “Oh, Herb.” Johnston shook his head sadly. “I can’t let you off. Your crime is much too great for that.”

  Again, Herb felt a great weight descend upon him. He slumped forward, all energy draining from his body. Johnston leaned forward quickly and placed a hand on Herb’s knee.

  “That doesn’t mean that we couldn’t cut a deal, though.” I could have you transferred to an Earth prison, instead. Get your sentence cut to about a year. Even arrange for some remedial training in the responsible applications of self-replicating machines.”

  Herb sat up straighter, though without as much enthusiasm as he would have expected. His constantly changing fate was making him feel drained and passive.

  As it was supposed to.

  He gave a weak smile. “Would you?” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Johnston. “If it was anyone else but you.”

  He rolled out of the chair easily before Herb could seize him by the throat and then backed casually around the room, ducking and dodging as Herb tried to catch him. Herb was incoherent with rage: shouting and swearing as he tried to punch, kick, scratch and bite his tormentor. Eventually Johnston tripped him up with one elegantly shod foot. Herb curled up on the floor and began to cry.

  “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you playing with my life?” he sobbed.

  Johnston looked puzzled. “I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m not explaining myself very well. Come here.” He reached out and took hold of Herb by the hand. Gently, he led him back to the sofa and sat him down.

  “I think you need some more vanilla whisky.” He filled a new glass and pressed it into Herb’s hand. Herb gulped it down, staring into the star field that filled the room.

  Robert Johnston’s voice was low and comforting. “You see, Herb, I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t cut a deal with you. No. Any time you want me to cut a deal, just say so, and it’s cut. You can trust me. But Herb, I have your best interests at heart and I don’t think you could handle this. You have to believe me: there is more to that planet than you think; a lot more. If you agree to make a deal with me, there is no going back. You can’t change your mind. You have to see this through. Do you understand?”

  Herb nodded.

  “I don’t want to go to the Oort cloud,” he said.

  “I know that,” said Johnston, patting his hand. “But there are even worse things than service in the Oort cloud. Are you sure you want me to go on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.”

  Johnston sat back in the other white sofa, facing Herb, the converted planet they had been looking at still hanging between them. He placed the tips of his fingers together, gazing at Herb over them. The universe wrapped itself around him in trails of brilliant stars and black depths. His voice was rich and low.

  “Herb, listen to me. You, me, this planet we see before us, the planet below us, we are all linked together. The roots of the events that bring us together here today run deeper than you might guess. You are at the end of a process that started when an ape first picked up a bone to use as a weapon. When humans began to bury their dead and to raise ziggurats so that they could speak to their gods, they hastened this process. When the first electronic counting engine was built, humankind knew that someday they would end up in this situation, with people like you and me sitting together in a room looking at a planet like that one before us in the viewing field.”

  Herb looked at Johnston suspiciously. The whisky was calming the dull edge of his fear, helping him to think clearly.

  “Are you sure?” he said carefully, expecting Johnston to flare up in anger. To his surprise, Johnston remained calm.

  “Trust me, Herb. If we get to the end of this you will see that I am right.”

  “If?”

  “Yes, if. Were you not listening? This goes deeper than first impressions would suggest. This planet we see before us is just the first pebble skittering over the scree at the foot of the cliff. Bouncing down behind, you may hear the clattering of other pebbles and rocks, and you may be fooled into thinking that this is just a minor slippage, and that soon everything will come to a halt and the balance will be restored. Don’t think that. That silence you can hear will just make the ensuing avalanche sound that much louder.”

  Herb licked his lips, trying to understand what Johnston was saying.

  “You mean there are other planets like that one?”

  “Oh, yes. Something in that region of space has begun reproducing. We don’t know what it is, but it has taken root and is growing fast; faster than anything we have so far encountered, faster even than us. Just as your VNM destroyed this planet, whatever is at work in there is viciously converting whole systems. If we live in the Earth Domain, then that region of space is the Enemy Domain. In a very short time it has grown from nothing to something that threatens to totally engulf us and everything we know.”

  Johnston leaned closer. “I’m putting together a team to do something about it and I want you to be part of that team. Do you think you will b
e useful? Could you help us fight it?”

  “I can fight it,” said Herb. “Yes. No problem.” He paused, gazing contemplatively at the glass in his hand.

  “Are you sure? Because I want you to understand, I cannot guarantee that you will return to Earth at the end of this.”

  Herb sighed. Pushing through the smothering wall of the whisky that he had drunk, Johnston’s words had a sobering effect. Following them came the thought of the Oort cloud: years spent living as multiple copies of himself at the edge of nothingness, cold and forgotten. Better that he should take his chances out here.

  “I understand,” he said.

  “Again, I ask, are you sure? The EA picked you for this team because of certain qualities that you possess. Those qualities may enable you to complete your role as a team member, but nothing more. Are you willing to take that risk?”

  “I am,” said Herb.

  “Excellent.” Johnston proffered his hand. “We are about to shake on a contract. There will be no going back.”

  “No going back,” echoed Herb. He placed his whisky glass on the floor and shook Johnston’s hand firmly.

  Robert Johnston beamed widely. “We’ve got a deal.”

  Herb felt himself relax a little. It was going to be all right, he thought. Anything was better than the Oort cloud. Anything.

  The feeling of relief that welled up inside him was so intense that he went quite limp. Johnston switched off the viewing field and set some gentle music playing. Herb listened and drank more whisky. It helped to kill the growing feeling of unease.

  For Herb was dimly aware of how expertly he had been distracted by Robert’s entrance; he had a vague appreciation of how he had been kept off balance by the rapid pace of events and the constant changes of direction in Robert’s approach.

  He refilled his glass and gulped down some more of the sweet alcohol, wondering at how carefully Robert had worded the terms of his agreement.