The Life Engineered (7 page)

As I put in the last few pieces, I went through the file a final time and noticed a strange mistake. It mentioned that Koalemos was a septuanian Von Neumann construct; he was composed of seven shards. I knew one had been destroyed or at best left behind, but there were still seven floating around within Skinfaxi’s belly. It was an odd mistake for such a vital technical document, but I let it go, focusing instead on reviving the little guy. Guys?

When I looked up, I noticed that we were traveling in the wormhole. Skinfaxi had been silent during the entire operation, maybe frustrated with me, but more likely respecting my need to focus.

I wished I could take a deep breath before reanimating my patient, but that was another source of human comfort I didn’t have access to. So, skipping any further ceremony and procrastination, I flipped the virtual switch that would awaken our new friend.

For a moment little more happened than the soft glow of seven thruster arrays warming up as the toruses began to right themselves. Then they each began to rotate and move independently, flying about the bridge slowly. Somehow I could almost feel Skinfaxi looking inward in anticipation.

“We aren’t destroyed?” Koalemos asked slowly, testing his voice. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

I could have hugged one of his stupid floating donuts.

“You did good back there, little guy,” Skinfaxi finally spoke up. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up.”

“I’ve felt worse . . . and better.”

“I’m just glad you’re still”—I wanted to say functional but realized that it was insufficient—“alive.”

“Not unhappy myself.”

“All right,” I began, relieved to have one more crisis behind me. “Any chance we can go somewhere that won’t blow up?”

“Aha!” my companion answered, his joviality restored. “I’m way ahead of you, little buddy! I’ve got us on course toward the City.”

He’d said something about the City before. A whole metropolis where Capeks of all shapes, sizes, and classes congregated. That was where I was meant to go after I had activated. Hopefully, it would prove safer than my two previous destinations.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find some way to preserve Yggdrassil’s Nursery’s mnemonic core there?”

“Hopefully. Hopefully, we’ll also be able to start figuring out why someone tossed a giant rock at our mother, and what a Lucretius-class is doing lumbering around the Milky Way assassinating Capeks.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Mmmh . . . I think we’d be better off asking Aurvandil. Before you ask, he’s another of Yggdrassil’s children. Another Leduc-class Capek, though much taller than you. He’s very old and very much the intellectual. He spends most of his time on the City and is usually up to date on current affairs. If anyone knows how to help us, it’s him.”

Aurvandil . . . The name was elegant, and my data banks told me it was related to the Morning Star of Norse mythology. There was something romantic about that. I was eager to meet this Aurvandil.

“You managed to not leave behind your progenitor’s Nursery?” Koalemos inquired, nudging me with one of his tendrils.

“Yes. It’s in Skinfaxi’s care. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t leave it behind.”

Jonathan . . .

W
e ended up being much closer to the City than I originally thought. As it turned out, the wormhole we were in when I finally reactivated Koalemos was actually the third one in a series that was bringing us ever closer to our destination. I had spent the better part of two days—without sleep—working on our new companion.

When we dropped out of our fourth and final wormhole, we were only half an astronomical unit away from an enormous gas giant. The monster was roughly five times the size of Jupiter, the largest planet from the original human system. It had giant spirals of dark-amber clouds that were swirling around in tight bands along its equator, feathering softly into brilliant-yellow clouds. I could see seven moons orbiting the giant, but none were our destination.

Approaching at sub–light speeds, we took several hours to make our way to the City, which turned out to be a modestly sized floating orbital station.

“Welcome to Babylon!” Skinfaxi announced as we began our final approach.

The City was magnificent. Set relatively deep within the atmosphere of the gas giant, which I learned was called Ziggurat, it was positioned at the perfect altitude to not require artificial gravity or rotation. Being helio-locked allowed it to have constant sunlight, which went well with a Capek’s unsleeping nature.

Babylon was egg shaped, with a bottom stem extending deep into Ziggurat’s inner layer. I wanted to ask if it was tethered to something below but thought the question naive. The City itself shined like gold, with hundreds of horizontal lines carved into beautiful patterns. Around it zoomed a multitude of ships, or more likely Sputnik-class Capeks, which moved from one portion of the egg to another like bees flying around a hive.

We approached an open terrace, from which a landing platform automatically extended. It wasn’t large enough to accommodate Skinfaxi, but it allowed Koalemos, myself, and one of Faxi’s telepresence drones to disembark. My friend took himself into higher orbit on autopilot while activating the drone.

“Usually, I just drop the drone from orbit, but when I have passengers I can’t exactly indulge in those kinds of acrobatics,” he explained.

“Does that have anything to do with why you’re down to two remotes?” I questioned slyly.

“Ho-ho! Of course not!” he lied.

The interior of the City was twice as stunning as its exterior. As it turned out, most of Babylon was hollow, crowded instead with hundreds of gleaming towers that connected the lower portions with the higher ones, each passing through several plateaus. The outer shell was on average a hundred meters thick and was honeycombed with rooms, chambers, and apartments. I was stunned to see, for the first time since exiting the Nursery, life. Nothing complex, but Babylon was heavily decorated with an immense variety of green plants in elaborate hydroponic pots and creeping freely over the surfaces of the towers.

Babylon lived up to its promise of being populated by dozens of various Capeks that almost defied description or classification. I walked by a hulking sphere of mirrored pseudo-plastic with no apparent limbs, and in the distance I noticed a lobster-shaped entity with an iridescent surface tenderly pruning one of the many trees in the plaza. There was a swarm of hundreds of robots eleven centimeters in diameter that buzzed around in formation, flying across the empty center of the City, clearly a Von Neumann specimen; nearby was a featureless humanoid with semitransparent skin that exposed the complex inner workings of its anatomy.

Each Capek was as unique in form and purpose as I expected them to be in personality. Most of those I passed sent closedchannel greetings, and those who were capable even smiled or waved. There was a distinct sense of civility and belonging. I could if I wished catch fragments of conversation on open channels from Capeks discussing various projects. Everything was about building this, restoring that, or growing some other thing. If nothing else, Capek civilization was industrious.

Most surprising was the art. Babylon was apparently the refuge and point of congregation for all Capeks with an artistic nature. Beautifully complex sculptures dotted the plaza, and if I paid close attention I could pick up patterned vibrations in the atmosphere that melded harmoniously into music. Certain plants were trimmed into gorgeous topiary patterns; most were abstract in nature, depicting complex spirals and interwoven helixes, but some represented animals in a strange celebration of life as it once was. Details in the very architecture of the City rewarded those who paid close attention. Seemingly minimalistic designs broke down into intricate patterns upon inspection, tone-on-tone textures and patterns putting a layer of almost-organic beauty over the clean and efficient lines of the City.

We wandered through Babylon for a long while, walking— or hovering in my companions’ case—with the apparent goal of allowing me a brief visit before we got down to business. I drank in the culture of my people, basking in what it meant to be Capek.

Skinfaxi’s drone stopped to exchange on a closed channel with a snakelike entity, one of the very few Capeks I’d seen with facial features. Once they finished their private conversation, the creature, whom Faxi introduced as Proioxis, smiled at both Koalemos and me.

“Good day, friends of a friend,” it spoke with a mellifluous voice that was unusually soothing. “We’ll have time to talk more at a later time, but I’ve sent word to Hera that one of her sons is coming home for some care.”

It was referring to Koalemos, who while apparently functional still required excessive repairs.

“Don’t worry, little brother,” the gentle snake addressed my broken companion. “Mother will mend your woes.”

This seemed to please Koalemos, his remaining shards gathering close around Proioxis in what might have been an embrace. I touched the palm of my left hand with the tips of my finger, reminding myself that while synthetic, I could still touch and feel. Human contact was clearly not an option, but Capeks seemed to have their own version. I wondered how Skinfaxi felt having others travel within him. Very familiar, I assumed.

“My friend says the news of Yggdrassil’s demise has not reached the City yet,” Faxi explained on a closed channel, “which is odd considering the pace at which information travels amongst us.”

“Is anyone not your friend?” I inquired mockingly.

“No,” he answered simply without a trace of irony.

We continued wandering the many plateaus of Babylon, moving slowly and ignoring the countless other ways to travel that could have taken us directly to our destination. The only obvious trend was an upward climb toward the very top of the station. The higher we went, the more natural light filtered through the clear outer shell, bathing the increasingly elaborate and lush gardens in golden light.

Only when we reached the very top of Babylon—a large, domed terrace decorated by a pattern of flowerpots that housed exotic and breathtaking specimens—did we stop. The room was like a garden in the sky, floating on an ocean of clouds. It was both stunning and relaxing—a site designed for meditation and contemplation.

Off to one side was a small group of Capeks—five of them to be exact. One was a Sputnik-class ship, hovering outside the dome, its maneuvering thrusters furiously firing to fight gravity and compensate for the wind. It resembled a large octopus, with short mechanical tentacles serving as stabilizers. Another looked like a squat, flat dome supported by a dozen legs, each small, refined, and deceptively weak looking. Two Von Neumann types—one composed of a school of five floating fish with beautiful spiral-pattern decorations, and another who looked like a small band of diminutive metallic teddy bears—rounded up the group.

A tall humanoid with slender, elfin limbs held court. He stood over seven feet tall and had two sets of arms, one pair long and expressive, and the other short and utilitarian. His head was stretched like the rest of his form, an oblong dome resembling my own head, segmented in a way that imitated human features. Friendly, soothing features.

When the humanoid Capek noticed our small group, he waved the others away politely, each of whom bowed in his own way before dispersing. Once his companions had departed, he nodded to us in greeting and signaled for us to join him.

I knew him. Immediately, I knew him. Through his presence and mannerisms, despite the brief description I’d been given, I knew him. Aurvandil.

“I knew,” the elegant Capek explained.

We had moved to another portion of the gardens closer to the center and shielded by trees and other vegetation, which offered us a greater sense of privacy. One of the strange things about Capek existence was the lack of a need to sit. Being able to lock our joints and painlessly hover on automated thruster arrays removed the need for rest. Although this was normal for Capeks, it was still damn hard to get used to.

“I tried to contact Yggdrassil but couldn’t establish a link,” Aurvandil continued. “For anyone familiar with how a Gaia-class Capek is structured, there are very few possibilities to explain a complete breakdown in communications. I was looking at going there myself but remembered our friend Skinfaxi here was on a return trip from Midgard, so I waited to see you for confirmation of my fears. I won’t lie, brother. Your delay worried me greatly.”

“What we haven’t told you is that we think we may know who is responsible for the attack,” I said.

“Oh?”

Koalemos’s shards recoiled slightly, one of them rocking back and forth.

“Koalemos here was the one who sent the meteor through the wormhole using the Spear of Athena, but he was given the coordinates from an outside source. I believe he was tricked.”

“That’s a bold claim, last son of Yggdrassil,” the elegant Capek answered, his “eyes” focused on me.

“I identify more as a female . . .” I said, sheepishly.

“Mmmh . . . An artifact of your time in the Nursery. It doesn’t matter. Brother or sister, we are kin.”

“We were attacked while at the Spear of Athena,” said Skinfaxi. “It was Anhur. I don’t know if you’re familiar with him.”

“A large Lucretius, if I recall. Isian dynasty. Spawned about six years ago.”

“Yes. Heavily armed. He laid waste to the Spear and then went after us. Koalemos here sacrificed one of his shards to allow us to es cap e.”

“Yet he still functions?” Aurvandil asked, bending over to get a closer look at the little Von Neumann.

“I fixed him. Temporarily,” I explained. “We have to bring him back to Hera for further repairs.”

“Yes. . . He’s there but not quite, is he?” The tall Capek gave a gentle push to one of Koalemos’s shards, sending it floating for a few moments before it regained its orientation and flew back into the formation. I couldn’t help but find the gesture rude, but what did I know of Capek culture?

“We leave as soon as possible, but we needed to warn the City,” Faxi continued. “I don’t know what this attack means— if Anhur has simply lost his mind, or if all the Lucretiuses are involved—but I figured if anyone could put the pieces together, it’d be you, brother.”

“You honor me with too much credit. The news of Yggdrassil’s destruction will not be taken lightly. I don’t expect mass panic, but there is reason to fear that this is not an isolated attack.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a wave of worry washing over me.

“Gaia-class Capeks are the only ones capable of truly creating weapons of war on the galactic scale. Sure, some Von Neumanns can assemble fairly terrifying engines of destruction should they put their minds to it, but none can match the sheer volume and scale of a progenitor fabrication facility. If I were to mount a military campaign against us, I would begin by taking out the Gaias.”

It made an awful lot of sense in a horrifying sort of way. This was a side of Capek civilization I had not expected to see—a cold and unfeeling approach to problem solving that allowed them to look at their military capabilities with a pragmatic and efficient mind. If, as Skinfaxi had mentioned, very few Capeks had weapons, then destroying Yggdrassil and others with manufacturing capabilities would leave us all helpless.

I looked at Aurvandil, a tall and beautiful artificial entity. More piece of art than tool, his body didn’t seem to have the obvious tailored uses other Capeks exhibited. His slow, graceful gestures and deliberate cadence of speech indicated a less physical being. A thinker or perhaps an artist. He and others like him would fall like wheat under the scythe before a monster like Anhur.

“Who is the closest Gaia to Yggdrassil?”

My own navigation systems answered at almost the same time as our entrancing host.

“Hera.”

“We have to warn her,” Faxi said.

“Not so fast, brother,” Aurvandil warned, raising a hand to halt whatever my companion was about to do. “Lucretiuses are incredibly advanced and well-equipped Capeks. If Anhur knows you’ve escaped him, he will probably do his best to keep a warning from reaching Hera, and I have no doubt that he is capable of it.”

“We have to warn her ourselves—and fast.”

“Mmmh . . . If Anhur’s out there knowing we escaped his clutches, then he might still be hunting us down. You’re asking us to swim in shark-infested waters.”

Aurvandil paced for a moment, rubbing what would pass for his chin in a very human display of concentration.

“Then I’ll have to ask a more foolhardy Sputnik for a lift,” he finally said in a strained voice. “I wanted to keep the evolving crisis between us for now, but I would feel better if you did avoid any heroics, my brother.”

Either Aurvandil did not know much about Skinfaxi, or he knew him too well. Even I was aware that this kind of talk would only fire up my large friend’s ego. Sure enough . . .

“Aha! No, no, no. If there is a Sputnik who will claim the title of savior of Hera, it will be me. And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, brother. Well played.”

“I know what to expect from you, Skinfaxi.”