Recursion

“I’ll put you in a shopping bag, Brewster,” she decided out loud, and headed into the kitchen.

The clock on the convector read 10:15. Twelve minutes until she would leave. Timing was of the essence. Eva had walked the distance to the Lite Station many times, while surreptitiously timing herself. She knew the exact duration of the journey to the International Station. She would arrive there at exactly the right time. Now if only some busybody didn’t discover her e-card too soon…

She took a bag from the cupboard under the sink and pushed Brewster inside it, then sat him back on the bed, his eyes peeping over the top of the bag at the picture of the horses that hung on the wall. She had forgotten about it, barely noticed it anymore. Eva’s father had bought her the picture when she was a little girl. She felt a wrench at the thought of leaving it behind, but then, who took pictures on vacation with them?

10:17. Ten minutes to go. Not for the first time, Eva had doubts. She would be leaving for good. She would never sit on the faded duvet again, its filling gathering in lumps in the corners. Was that really what she wanted? What if something went wrong? Her whole plan turned on the fact that she would deliberately miss the direct train and have to take the stopping one instead. What if someone had discovered her e-card?

10:18 and Eva went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She drank it very slowly, rinsed the glass and dried it with a towel, then replaced it in the cupboard.

10:20, seven minutes to go. Eva went to the toilet, flushed it, poured bleach down the bowl, washed her hands, checked her face in the mirror and walked back into the bedroom.

10:24. She checked through her bags again, squeezed Brewster’s lumpy paw for luck, then walked around the apartment for the last time, checking that the windows were locked and everything was tidied away.

10:26 and she began to gather up her things. She walked out of her old life, locking the door behind her at exactly 10:27.

Eva walked quickly through South Street and reached the Lite Station just as her train was pulling in. She climbed aboard and stared out of the window as the train slid smoothly from the faded and badly restored Victoriana of the station and glided through the eras toward the tall glass towers of the twenty-first-century city. More and more railway lines seemed to be infiltrating Eva’s city. They were creeping across the world, growing all by themselves. She had read about it in Research Scientist. They had a new way of making them, a spin-off from the technology that had built the robot Martian factories. She gave a sad smile. It was an incredible world to live in, for some people at least.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a plump woman with peroxide hair settling into the seat next to her. She placed her bags on the floor between her feet, then pulled a packet of candy from her pocket and offered one to Eva.

“Toffee?” she said.

“No, thank you.”

“Has your headache cleared?” The woman unwrapped a candy and popped it in her mouth.

Eva’s mouth slipped easily into its habitual benign smile. “Yes, thank you. And you can tell them that I’m looking forward to my trip.”

The woman nodded her head.

“Good, good. Don’t forget, if you’re ever feeling down, just give us a call.”

“I will.”

“That’s good, Eva. Don’t forget, everyone needs a little help from Social Care now and again. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. It’s what I pay my taxes for.”

“That’s right, it’s what you pay your taxes for.”

The woman bent to retrieve her shopping, then lurched to her feet and made her way farther down the coach. Eva watched her activate her phone and begin to report back on their encounter.

The Lite Train glided up a ramp between tall glass walls and came to a halt in the mezzanine of a major building. Eva saw a woman in a dark suit chatting with a man who looked a little like DeForest and she wondered what it would be like to work in a place like this. The view slid sideways as the Lite Train moved out from the station. Eva felt butterflies awaken in her stomach. The next stop was hers. As the Lite Train plunged underground on its way to Empire Station, Eva held her bags tightly and took a deep breath.

The clerk spoke without looking up from his screen.

“Good morning, Eva.”

“Good morning.”

“I see you’re traveling to Marseilles. The train leaves in ten minutes. Shall we go through the formalities? Can I see your e-card?”

“Certainly.”

Eva fumbled in her bag. She frowned, then fumbled again.

“I’m sure it was here earlier. Just a moment…”

Her fumbling became more frantic, then she paused and began to go through her pockets.

“I know I had it earlier. I used it to pay for my magazines.”

She began to search in her bag again. The clerk looked on complacently.

“Look,” said Eva, “do I really need it?”

The clerk looked as if he was trying to stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry, Eva, but the e-card is your guarantee of security and identification. It’s essential if you travel abroad.”

“But you know who I am. You knew as soon as I walked into this room. This whole city is riddled with biometric sca

“I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

Eva clenched her fists in simulated rage. “They’re stupid rules. Listen. I had my card earlier in the Information Shop. Can’t you contact them? If it’s there, they could courier it across.”

The clerk gave a sympathetic smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” He leaned forward and tapped a few keys on his console.

A few minutes later the indicator board a

Eva fiddled and worked at Brewster’s arm as the stopping train pulled out from the station. A Panacetamol dropped into her hand and she slipped it into her mouth while pretending to cough.

“Where are you going?” asked the woman sitting opposite.

“Marseilles,” mumbled Eva, her mouth dry from the pill.

“That’s nice. I’m off to Paris, myself. I’m Nuala, by the way.”

“Eva,” said Eva, holding out her hand. Nuala shook it.

“Are you okay, Eva? You look a little flushed?”

“Just tired. I missed my train. I feel so stupid. I think I’m going to try to sleep.”

“Good idea.”

Hugging Brewster in her arms, Eva curled up on the seat. The grey evening skyline flicked by outside the window. She began to fiddle again at the little loose seam under Brewster’s right arm. All those nights, lying in bed, pushing white pills into her teddy bear. Saving them up against this day. She pulled out another pill and swallowed it.

She knew they monitored her apartment; she could never have tried this at home. But a train? A three-hour journey wasn’t long enough to make sure. Maybe this journey would give her enough time. She just needed a reason to catch the stopping train. A reason that would seem plausible to the na

If only they wanted what was best for Eva.

Eva didn’t want any part of her life in the city anymore. If only Social Care realized they had left her just one way to walk away from it.

She pulled another Panacetamol from Brewster and swallowed it. She thought that she had read somewhere that thirty was enough, but she had never dared go back and check the reference for fear of signaling her intentions. Her mouth was increasingly dry and chalky. She felt the train begin its smooth acceleration as it entered the travel tubes, and for the first time in years Eva felt a little hope.