Recursion

“From the very top?” she said, her face creased in utter puzzlement.

She listened further, her expression becoming more and more incredulous. When the call was over, she returned her console to her pocket and turned to face Constantine. She looked thoughtful.

“They’ve decided on the fourth personality. They say it’s a token of their goodwill.”

“Really?” He looked at her closer. “Is that all? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Uh…” Marion looked torn for a moment. Then she turned and hurried down the stairs, Mary close behind her, the clatter of their footsteps on the stone floor retreating into the distance. Constantine watched them go, wondering, then he pushed the door open and stepped back into his hotel room. There was someone sitting on the edge of his bed. The door swung shut and instantly became an open French window leading out onto the balcony. Constantine looked at the worried-looking figure on his bed, her arms wrapped around herself, gazing at Constantine through dark brown eyes that were wide with fear.

“Hello, Jay,” he said.

Constantine’s marriage contract was for an indefinite period. The figures in the small print predicted that they would remain faithful to each other with a confidence of six sigmas. It was what they had both wanted. That was why he felt so uncomfortable sitting here with what he liked to think of as the real Jay: the one that had been sneaked by DIANA into the virtual world, the one with all the strengths and vulnerabilities of a real personality, rather than the thought patterns of an actress playing a role in order to extract information from him. Resurrecting her after their discovery of her hiding in the floating building was supposed to be a gesture of goodwill on behalf of Berliner Sibelius, but Constantine couldn’t help thinking there were subtler schemes at work.

Monogamy had been Constantine’s choice. In the simulation it was no longer an option. How could he be monogamous when in one sense he wasn’t even Constantine: how could he be faithful or otherwise to a woman who lived in another world? 113 Berliner Sibelius had left him with the capacity for personal salvation of a clockwork orange.

They had left him marooned in a computer with a woman calculated to be attractive to him. Calculated to how many decimal places?

“Why you, Jay?” Constantine said.

“Why me sent here by DIANA, or why me resurrected by 113 Berliner Sibelius?”

“Both.”

“I already told you: Spearman’s coefficient of Rank Correlation. Someone did a personality match and found that of all the people available to DIANA I would be the most compatible with you. I guess 113 Berliner Sibelius resurrected me for the same reason.”

“Uh,” grunted Constantine, “I get the impression there’s more to it than that…” His voice tailed away. The room was dim, lit by the bright moon and stars shining from outside. Jay’s face was half in shadow. She had stopped rocking back and forth. She still shivered. Constantine wondered if he should fetch one of the thick white bathrobes from the bathroom. Or would that be just what they wanted? Would helping her be his first steps down the path that led to trusting her?

– It makes no difference what you do. Trust her if you like. I won’t allow you to say anything.

Grey’s words were a chilling whisper.

That made up Constantine’s mind. He rose to his feet, fetched the robe, and threw it to her. She began to pull it on gratefully.

“How did DIANA find out I was in here, anyway?” he asked.

“Routine scans. This computer, the one holding the simulation, is shielded against most attacks, but people don’t always keep quiet once they’ve left work. The comm lines are buzzing with talk about you. DIANA submitted transcripts of conversations to the courts as proof of your existence. Unsuccessfully, though. Their request for a warrant of disclosure was denied, but don’t let that comfort you. They’re trying everything in their power to get a picture of what’s stored in this computer’s memory. A snapshot of your personality construct: proof that you’re here. As soon as they get it, they’ll have you wiped. And as soon as you’re gone, that’s it for me, too.”

– And Marion and Mary, pointed out Red.-No point keeping the simulation going once you’re destroyed.

Constantine nodded. “What is 113 Berliner Sibelius offering you if you help them?”

Jay flinched. She was obviously frightened, but she was angry, too. It was building inside her. Her reply was a hoarse whisper.

“What is 113 Berliner Sibelius offering me?” she asked. “What are they offering me? I get to live. For as long as you want me, of course.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, as she spoke. Constantine said nothing in reply.

Jay glared at him. “Well? Say something. I live or die at your word. My whole existence in this place is down to keeping you happy. How do you think that makes me feel? And you ask what 113 Berliner Sibelius is offering me?”

Constantine shook his head. It really hadn’t occurred to him to see things from Jay’s point of view. He had been too busy feeling sorry for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Jay waved a hand at him and stared down at the floor. She shuddered.

“Ah, why am I blaming you? You didn’t choose to come in here. I did.”

Silence descended. Jay shook her head gently. Constantine wondered if she was crying.

– It could all be a trick, of course, said Red.

– Shut up, Red, Blue said.

– I don’t think it’s a trick, said White.-Something’s happening. This room is not maintaining its integrity. I see it when we move around. Parallax. Things aren’t quite where they should be. Something is draining system resources.

– So what’s the point of saying anything? Blue asked.-As soon as DIANA gets proof that we’re in here, we’ll be wiped anyway.

Constantine nodded. The idea had already occurred to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but White interrupted.

– Something big has just happened. Get ready to move.

Constantine opened his mouth to ask what, then he saw it for himself. For a moment the room flattened, became two dimensional. Jay became a picture, pasted to the wall. The bed, the writing desk, the view from the windows, were all just a flatscreen picture.

Jay was moving, standing up, the robe slipping to the floor.

“What was that?” she asked.

Normality began to reassert itself. Her body separated from the wall. Looking down, Constantine saw his feet, regained his illusion of depth.

“I don’t know…”

Marion and Mary were in the room; the balcony window had been pushed open.

“Quickly,” called Marion, “this way.”

They brushed briskly past, heading for the door that led to the bathroom. Barely two days ago Constantine had showered there and attempted to rid himself of a headache. Now he was ru

“DIANA almost got a handle on you there,” explained Mary. “We had to relocate this room within the simulation.”

Constantine wanted her to explain more, but Marion had pushed open the door to the bathroom and he saw what she meant.

Through the door he could see another place. He saw the dark emptiness of a field, the night sky pressing down from above. They were looking out across the first level of Stonebreak. At the edge of the horizon was visible the first pale line of the approaching dawn.

Constantine wondered if he would live to see it.

Now they were making their way through the farmlands of the first level, wading through muddy fields, stumbling into ditches, pushing their way through hedges. Behind them rose the dark mass of the city proper.

Mary was gasping for breath. “Too tired. Too tired. Stop…can’t keep it up.”

Constantine was tired too, his breath heaving. Marion was talking into her console.