Recursion

“Mmph. About time.” Constantine rubbed shampoo into his hair.

– This could be the first of the last three meetings.

Constantine said nothing. Finally to be set free, to be released back into the real world. It was almost too much to hope for. He spoke carefully. “Will they know who I am?”

– Some will, some won’t. It’s the ones who aren’t aware of your mission who should provide us with the best picture of the world at the moment. I’d advise that you keep quiet about who you are. To begin with, at least.

Constantine said nothing in reply. That was what he had pla

He changed the subject. “How do you feel about what Mary was saying last night? Do you think that Stonebreak will collapse?”

– It’s probable, said White.-VNMs weren’t as efficient at reproduction when this place was built. The likelihood of a design flaw showing itself increases the more that the machines reproduce.

– Frightening, isn’t it? said Red.-All that effort goes to waste because one machine was faulty at the start. It’s like a whole building collapsing because of six sick bricks.

– Let’s just hope we’re not here when this place finally falls apart, interrupted Blue.

“Mmm.” Constantine rinsed soap from his hair. Who else had three, maybe four personalities looking over their shoulder at everything they did? It was no wonder he was cracking up.

The summons to the meeting came just after he had finished breakfast: a discreet message flashing up on his console. Constantine made his way up to the roof where a flier awaited.

The hotel was a low building, set near the edge of the second level of Stonebreak. A fresh breeze wafted over him, dissolving his headache. He walked toward the edge of the roof to look out over the green patchwork of the first level.

“Mr D’Roza, we are in a hurry.” The pilot wore a stern expression. She was busily pi

Constantine waved dismissively. “Just a moment. I need some air.”

She glared at him. “Two minutes,” she said tightly.

“When I’m ready.”

The pilot scowled at his retreating back and muttered something in the direction of the cockpit. Constantine ignored her and made his way right to the edge.

The morning sun was rising behind him. A building somewhere behind cast a shadow across the roof. Constantine took several deep breaths and stretched his arms. It was a long drop to the first level. He thought again about Mary and their ride up the inside of the wall to the third level last night. Where was she now, he wondered?

– Probably lying dead in a gutter somewhere, said Blue.

“Don’t. I’m sure that won’t be the case.”

Constantine took another deep breath and headed back to the flier and its impatient pilot. He stepped into the shadow cast by the tall building and looked up at it. It was such a delicate construction that it seemed to pierce the very clouds. An incredible piece of engineering: rose-colored glass set in an intricately fashioned silver metal frame; it seemed too fragile to support its own weight. Constantine felt his stomach flutter. The building was floating on the very air. Beneath the base of the tower there was nothing. Only empty air upon the empty air that sat upon the second layer of Stonebreak. Constantine bit his lip and turned away from the illusion. If he couldn’t see it, he couldn’t be going mad. He clung to the hope. It was all he had.

The tiny green oasis of life that was Stonebreak quickly vanished from view as they flew out over the Nullarbor plain. Constantine gazed out of the blue-tinted window of the tiny flier at the flat scrubland that scrolled endlessly past. The pilot seemed intent on paying him back for the delay on the roof of the hotel; she dipped and weaved way too close to the ground, claiming that she needed to avoid detection whenever Constantine queried the need for such violent maneuvering.

– She’s lying. Our secrecy lies in our mundanity, not in elaborate attempts to evade detection.

“Thank you for your observation, Blue,” muttered Constantine sarcastically. The flier’s jerking motion was making him feel sick. Worse, he was still shaken by the sight of the floating building and was unsuccessfully trying to convince himself he hadn’t actually seen it. His one comfort during the queasy ride was that White seemed undisturbed by it. That was the personality Constantine trusted most in situations such as this.

The flier looked like a military model covered with a thin veneer of luxury to hide its true character. The outside paintwork was now white and gold, rather than the dull matte grey or silver of a stealth skin. Constantine’s seat was soft white leather, facing an elegant communications console inlaid with white wood and mother of pearl, but the passenger section seemed just a little too large for these items. In addition, there were too many slots and catches set into the airframe, too many places where crates could be secured or guns mounted. Ahead of him, the pilot’s chair was a mechanical egg surrounded by struts and pneumatic rods, bracing it against forces from every direction. Even the very shape of the flier was a giveaway, squat and maneuverable, rather than affecting the sweeping curves currently fashionable for so many business vehicles.

There was a subtle change to the view as gentle hills rose up from beneath the land. Isolated grey shapes began to flash past, then small clusters, then packs. Kangaroos and camels. The flier had left the lifeless plain for a region where a few animals scratched out an existence.

The pilot sent the craft skimming along a shallow path between the low hills and then spun them around and down and they were suddenly in the midst of the construction site. She decelerated rapidly, touching the flier down near the center of a rectangular patch of mud.

The pilot spoke without turning. “Welcome to DIANA Arcology, phase one. Please check that you have all your belongings before leaving the vehicle.”

The door slid open and bright sunlight filled the passenger section, along with a wave of heat as if someone had opened an oven door. Constantine hesitated for a moment before moving out into the bright daylight. He stepped down onto a plastic duckboard laid over wet red mud. As he did so, the door slid shut and the flier rose and skimmed off in a wide circle before disappearing in the direction from which it had come.

Constantine turned in a slow circle himself. There was no sign of anyone. He was alone, abandoned in the middle of a large rectangle of reddish earth, baking under the hot sun. Already he could feel sweat ru

– Why hasn’t the mud dried up? It’s like an oven out here.

“That’s a good point, Red,” Constantine muttered. He crouched down and reached one hand toward the muddy surface.

– Careful. There’s something moving down there.

Something broke the surface fast, just as Red spoke; the edge of a silver cylinder flashed brightly in the powerful sunlight before dipping beneath again. Now that he looked closely, Constantine could see that there was a constant bubbling motion just below the mud’s surface. Hundreds of identical cylinders busily crawling all over each other.

– VNMs, confirmed White.-We’re looking at some sort of bounding tank, I think. The mud layer must extend beneath the ground for some distance. It’s acting as a nurturing area for the machines.

– Like a fish tank, said Blue.

– That’s right. It’s a clever idea. It delimits the area upon which the machines can act. It stops them from escaping or converting something that they shouldn’t.