Recursion (8 page)

Constantine was smiling now. The streets they walked were lightly scattered with other tourists, some of them looking at Mary to see what she was shouting about, but most of them looking away in disgust at her language. Mary continued, oblivious to the stares.

“I mean, why couldn’t they just leave those buildings in the form that they grew? Surely the fact that Stonebreak
is
is enough. It doesn’t have to pretend to be anything else.”

“I quite agree,” said Constantine. “But didn’t you say earlier that Stonebreak is obsolete? I thought the VNM look was passé?”

“Oh, shut up,” Mary replied without anger. “Come on. We’re almost at the Source.”

Nearly forty years ago, the CEO of the Australia Southeast Asian coalition had walked across the flat scrubland of the Nullarbor plain to a point marked by a cross lightly scraped into the dry earth. Four dull grey machines were already set on the soil at the north, south, east, and west ends of the cross. She had crouched down and placed a fifth, silver machine, no bigger than her hand, in the faint depression scooped at the center of the cross, and then turned to smile at the assembled press and VIPs who stood one hundred meters back, behind the fluttering plastic ribbon that encircled the location that was destined to be the Source. The heaps of junk metal and other raw materials needed for the VNMs to work upon had been placed well out of sight of the spectators. They would have spoiled the effect, ruined the magic.

The sky had been a deep, deep blue, the sun a yellow glare, low in the sky, too bright to look at directly. The CEO turned to smile and pose for pictures. She was wishing she had worn a thicker suit. Okay, so they had deliberately scheduled the activation ceremony for early morning when it was cooler, but the Nullarbor plain was meant to be
hot
, for fuck’s sake. She had to clench her teeth tightly to stop them chattering as she smiled.

Eventually, the photo call was over, and she could head back between the sparse bushes, the reddish sand scratching at her soft blue leather shoes, and enter the presentation area. Someone handed her a glass of thin champagne and she took it with a smile. “Get me a fucking cup of hot fucking coffee,” she muttered under her breath.

She held up the glass and smiled brightly. “Good morning. Today, we can all feel privileged to be attending this incredible and historic event. Today, we can look back over five thousand years of human history, and reach out with the finest sieve imaginable, and garner the very best of human achievement, bringing it together here in humankind’s mightiest achievement to date. Using the very latest in self-replicating technology, we…”

The crowd stirred: she was losing them. Fuck the speechwriters, what did they know? She hadn’t got to her present position by rehashing other people’s words. She did what she knew best and went with her instincts.

“Ah, to hell with it,” she said. “You know what this is about. Let’s build a city.”

She raised her glass and took a sip. Out on the arid soil the machines began to stir. The assembled crowd drank their thin champagne and looked on at the unfolding scene: five cylinders scratching in the sand. How could the start of something so momentous appear so dull? It didn’t seem right at all.

Soon they began to drift away, bored when they realized nothing much was going to happen out there. As they did so, the engineers and the workforce moved in. The sun rose further into the empty sky, beating down harshly on the minuscule activity below. Minuscule activity at the moment, maybe, but growing all the time as the machines began to reproduce.

A huge metal tree marked the Source. Pastel lights moved back and forth over it, dramatically picking out its colossal shape in the clear night. The trunk was composed of five thick strands twisting around and in and out of each other to form a thick plait. Four of the strands were a dull grey; the fifth, bright silver. The trunk itself emerged from the flagged ground and rose forty or fifty meters into the air before untwisting itself to spread its five branches high over Constantine and Mary’s heads. These five branches then each split successively into two and four and then eight strands, blossoming into a huge, feathery, treelike effect.

The harsh white stars twinkled at them through the sharp outer branches. Constantine was so taken by the sight, he felt as if he had forgotten to breathe.

“It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” he whispered.

Mary nodded dreamily, and Constantine continued. “We walk around this place and we think we know what it is, but it’s too big to hold in the mind. We
need
something like this to remind us what this place is all about. Thank you for bringing me here, Mary. Thank you.”

Mary swayed slightly as she gazed upward into the air.

“In memory of the five original VNMs that were used to construct Stonebreak,” she said. “I’ve heard that the fractal effect at the end of the branches was incredibly difficult to achieve back then.”

Constantine merely nodded.

“Don’t you notice anything odd about the branch directly above us?” asked Mary.

He looked up to where searchlights flitted back and forth, causing the shadows cast by the metal twigs to dance like leaves blowing in the wind. He stared at the branch above him. It did look strange, now that Mary mentioned it. Not misshapen as such, not even melted…He searched for the right word.

“It looks odd. It reminds me of something.”

She didn’t answer for a moment, allowing him to think. When he didn’t continue, she began to explain softly.

“The contract to build Stonebreak was too big for one company back then. It was awarded to five different concerns: Berliner Sibelius, Sho Heen, 113, Imagineers, and DIANA. Each of them contributed one of the VNMs that were needed to construct Stonebreak. This tree is a legacy of those five machines. That branch above us is the DIANA branch, and it’s breaking down. You can see how it’s crystallizing.”

Constantine experienced a sudden flash of recognition on hearing Mary’s words. That’s what the branch reminded him of: an old piece of uneaten fudge, still the same shape, but slowly turning back into sugar.

“I sometimes wonder if I’m the only person to have noticed that deterioration,” Mary said. “But I doubt it. One-fifth of Stonebreak is the result of the DIANA machine. So what if one-fifth of Stonebreak is similarly breaking down, deep down beneath the surface?”

“Hell…” murmured Constantine.

Mary continued: “And then I hear that DIANA is one of the agitators calling for Stonebreak to be pulled down. Of course they would be! Trying to hide their mistakes. So I put two and two together, and I think about what’s going to happen next. I head down to the station and I wait. And I wait and I wait. And then I see a ghost arrive with the best stealth routines of anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Constantine said nothing.

“You’ve come here because of this, haven’t you?” demanded Mary.

Constantine remained silent. She gripped his arm.

“Tell them, Constantine. Tell them that I know. I’ve been watching and gathering information all the while, ready to drop back into the game. I’ve been out here on my own for too long. Let them know that; I’m ready to do what’s required.”

Constantine opened his mouth to speak, but was distracted. Three people wearing long grey overcoats had moved up to them so silently that Constantine hadn’t noticed their approach.

“Good evening, Mr. Storey,” said one. “Sorry it took us so long to find you, but, well, you’re shielded by the best. Us.”

Another took hold of Mary by the arm and firmly began to lead her away; Constantine couldn’t tell whether by a man or a woman; all he could make out was a smudge of a person. They must all be wearing some sort of baffling equipment, he realized.

“Hey, leave her alone!” yelled Constantine. “I was speaking to her.”

“Can’t take the risk, Mr. Storey. She’s drawing attention to you. That’s how our computers found you, by noting the dead spot that seemed to follow her around.”

“But she’s a ghost too!”

“Was a ghost. Was a ghost. Now she’s just an unemployed consumer, like so many others here.”

“Unemployed? But she works for DIANA.” He hesitated. “At least, that’s what she told me.”

“Not for ten years.”

Constantine was half led, half bundled away from the Source. A grey flier rested lightly on the ground nearby. They steered him toward it.

“But people ignore her. I’ve seen her move down the street and no one notices she’s there. She
must
be a ghost. What have you done to her?”

The grey figures did not reply; they just bundled Constantine into the flier. As the door closed, there was a faint shimmer beside him and Constantine found himself sitting between two tall women with short-cropped hair.

“Whew. It’s a relief to turn those baffles off. I start to feel as if I can’t breathe. Now, if Lee gets a move on in dumping that woman, we can soon get you back to the hotel and out of mischief, Mr. Storey.”

Constantine watched the third grey figure hand Mary something, then turn and move quickly back toward the flier. Mary watched him go, then looked at the object in her hand. A bottle.

As the flier rose into the air, Constantine watched her take a deep drink, then begin to head toward the buildings that lined the perimeter of the open space in which the Source sat. Late-night sightseers moved out of her way as she staggered past. The flier climbed until it was just higher than the surrounding buildings, still much lower than the branches of the Source, and then it began a long dive down toward the second level. Constantine caught a last glimpse of Mary moving through the sparse crowds. The passersby continued to pay no attention to her. An embarrassment, it was as if she wasn’t there.

As if she were a ghost.

Herb 2: 2210

Herb gazed upward
in awestruck silence. He had never seen so many spacecraft: layer upon layer of silver-grey disks, rising higher and higher into the night sky. Stacks of silver pennies thrown into the air, the farthest seeming no bigger than the cold diamond stars that twinkled behind them.

On an intellectual level, Herb had known that the sky was big, but those thousands upon thousands of ships floating above gave it a depth he had never seen before. A feeling of vertigo swept over him and he wanted to sit down on the soft, spongy road and hold on tight. Beside him, Robert Johnston stood gazing upward without any apparent concern.

“Impressive, huh?” he said.

“Oh, yeah. Very impressive. Where are we?”

Herb felt giddy: a man who had suddenly become aware of the cathedral vaulting that held up the sky. Johnston smiled delightedly and leaned closer.

“On a staging planet.” He placed one finger to his lips and whispered, “At the edge of the Enemy Domain, just beyond the wave of expansion.” His eyes slowly slid from left to right in an exaggerated survey of the twisted buildings that surrounded them. “I think we’re okay at the moment, though.”

Herb curled his lip at Johnston’s play-acting and began to walk along the soft road, looking all around. Now that he was getting used to the wonder of the night sky above, he had time to pay attention to his immediate surroundings. Hideously warped and melted buildings hemmed them in from all directions, leaning over above them like trees in a forest. They had a stretched-out look about them; they seemed too tall and thin to remain standing. Shadowy and lopsided drooping windows formed eyes that looked down upon them, silently pondering their presence. The air was warm and smelled of machine oil; from every direction there was a gentle hum that almost sounded like voices.

Everything about this place seemed wrong. Even the road felt strange beneath his feet; it seemed to bounce and give as he walked on it. Herb got the impression that at any moment it would suddenly wriggle and turn around on itself, a large black snake turning to see who was walking along its spine.

Johnston was following him. “What do you think of the Necropolis, then?”

“The Necropolis?” Herb came to a halt and looked around. He gave a thoughtful nod. “An apt name. What’s the matter with this place? It looks like someone took a picture of a city and then smeared it down a wall. What are we doing here?”

“Spying on the Enemy. We must be careful not to be seen.”

At that, Johnston began creeping forward on tiptoes, his hands raised close to his chest. Herb remained where he was.

“Come on,” Johnston called over his shoulder. “This way.” He continued his exaggerated movement down the road.

Herb sighed and began to follow. He wondered if he was dreaming. He had no recollection of arriving on this planet.

He remembered going to sleep on his ship, thoughts of Johnston’s descriptions of the Enemy Domain spinning through his mind. Five minutes ago he had woken to find himself standing, gazing up at the endless tiers of spaceships. Maybe Johnston had drugged him again, slipped something extra into the whisky. Herb certainly felt as if he was still under the influence of something, walking along a rubbery road, twisting between strangely warped buildings, beneath those pale static disks far above.