The Life Engineered Read online

  “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 comm
unications. 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.”

  OLYMPUS—HIGH ORBIT ABOVE TARTARUS

  The trip to Olympus, the moon where Hera was installed, was long but quiet. An interesting detail about life as a Capek is the infinite possibilities our internal systems provide. Each of us can sit still for days without moving, focusing solely on whatever project, studies, or even games we might be running within our own minds.

  Aurvandil looked like he was meditating, sitting cross-legged, floating in the vacuum of Skinfaxi’s inner bridge, the hands of his long arms resting on his knees, his robotic chin high. What was he contemplating? Or was he communicating with friends and collaborators?

  When I wasn’t observing my companions, I spent the long hours reviewing technical information and familiarizing myself with some of the basics of Capek anatomy. It was one thing to have access to the information with little more than a thought, but I needed more. The knowledge had to become a part of me.

  Koalemos was restless. Though mostly motionless, he’d often twitch one of his shards or fire his thruster array for no reason. If anyone had reason to fear being ambushed by Anhur, surely it was him. While Skinfaxi and I had escaped narrowly, he had suffered a traumatizing injury from the event.

  Skinfaxi was also unusually quiet. Occasionally, he would send me batches of data to help analyze—anomalies in stellar displacements or long-range sensor readings that did not sit well with him, or any possible clue to Anhur’s presence or passage. So far, nothing. If the giant Lucretius was out there, he was being very subtle about it.

  It was an incredible relief when we arrived at Olympus unmolested. Seeing Tartarus, the dark gas giant, was unsettling at first, its surface covered in constant storms of green lightning, around which Hera’s home orbited. Thankfully, after completing a thorough sensor sweep of the area from our comfortable position close to the collapsor point, we confirmed that there were no other Capeks roaming around the system.

  “Welcome, children,” came Hera’s deep, motherly voice over open channels. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Skinfaxi?” Aurvandil asked so only me and the large Sputnik could hear. “I thought we had agreed not to contact Hera?”

  “No worries, brother,” he answered. “It was Proioxis who sent the message, and only to inform Hera of her broken child.”

  “Ah,” the elegant Capek replied.

  We made our approach to the bright-gray moon of Olympus. It was strangely similar in both size and configuration to Midgard. Even Hera had very few superficial differences to Yggdrassil. Just like my progenitor, she was composed of several large structures, all laid out around a central hub crowned with a tall tower that reached for the heavens.

  “Greetings, Mother Hera,” began Aurvandil with much ceremony. “We have on board your son Koalemos. He is in great need of your care. He heroically sacrificed one of his shards to save two of my siblings.”

  “Oh, Koalemos . . . The poor little thing. He was never meant for acts of bravery. Bring him to me, my little builder. I will do what I can for him.”

&nbs
p; There was infinite tenderness and care in the voice. I was reminded of a human mother fretting over a son with a broken leg after a soccer accident. Such a specific memory . . .

  “We also bear dire news,” I added, to which Aurvandil raised a finger to his “lips,” attempting to keep me silent, but I continued. “Your sister, I guess—Yggdrassil—has been destroyed, along with the moon Midgard.”

  “I see,” the great Capek answered after a pause. “I feared as much after losing contact with her. You, little one, are her last child, are you not?”

  “Yes.” I felt humbled by the attention. When speaking with Yggdrassil, my own progenitor, there was a familiarity and comfort I did not feel with Hera. Instead, there was a majesty to her that demanded reverence.

  “I want to hear of her last moments, child. Tell me as I tend to my son’s wounds.”

  She sounded so human, her feelings so genuine. I could sense the cracks in her composure as she juggled her emotions. The worry for Koalemos, the loss of Yggdrassil, and the need to maintain her regal demeanor before our group.

  “I . . . I managed to save her Nursery. To remove its mnemonic core . . .”

  Aurvandil cocked his head at this information, reminding me that we had completely skipped over that particular detail earlier. Concerned with more important things, I ignored the gesture.

  “Very clever, child. By doing so, you’ve saved what is most important to a mother: her children.”

  Jonathan.

  We landed in one of the two large hangars and exited Skinfaxi. The large Sputnik did not bother to deploy a remote, preferring instead to witness events vicariously through us. He made a point of requesting more telepresence drones from our host, a favor she seemed glad to provide.

  Koalemos brought his shards over to a corner of the hangar. He moved with uncharacteristic stability, as if guided by an external force—most likely Hera. Once he was in place, a series of tools descended upon him to begin work on repairing him as much as was possible. I couldn’t help but notice that one of the shards was kept apart from the rest, held in place by powerful clamps that restricted its movement.