Tony Ballantyne - Recursion

“Hello,” she said. “My name is Eva Storey.”

They quickly ran up the stepsof the concert hall. There was so much to explain and, out in the real world, time was running out.

“There aren’t many real personalities in here,” Mary gasped, her face pink with effort, shiny with perspiration. “It’s a processor-intensive task, keeping a full personality running. There is a limit to how many we can model, so we only use a real one if we have to…”

Her breath came in great heaving rasps; Constantine offered her his arm. Mary may have been a simulation, but she had the poor stamina of an overweight fifty-something woman. He could feel the warmth of her body in the cold of the stairway.

“So who are the real personalities?” asked Constantine.

Mary gulped for air.

“Now? There’s only space for four. So it will be you and the three people they think will be the most persuasive to you. Marion and I are both hoping that we are two of the chosen ones…”

They turned another corner in the stairway to find Marion where they had left her. She was trying to read something on her console, distracting herself from the precariousness of her situation. She rose to her feet as she saw them approach.

“How did it go?” she asked Mary.

“As well as could be expected,” replied Mary. She nodded toward the door into nothingness. “Do we have to go back…out there?” she asked, blinking rapidly.

Marion gave a shrug; Constantine could tell from her expression that she wasn’t feeling as nonchalant as she was trying to appear.

“I don’t know. It all depends on what they’ve decided…”

She took a deep breath, then held her console to her ear.

“What next?” she asked. She tilted her head, listening to the reply.

“Only Constantine goes through,” she whispered. She listened again and a look of relief crossed her face. She gave Mary a great wobbly smile.

“It’s okay, Mary. They’re keeping us in here with him.”

Mary took hold of Marion’s hands and squeezed them tightly. Marion spoke again.

“They’re rearranging space in here, making it as hard as possible for DIANA to detect what is going on.”

She turned to Constantine. “You’re to go through the door. You’ll step straight into your hotel room. Try to get some sleep while you can. I don’t know when you’ll next have the opportunity.”

“Fine by me,” said Constantine. Simulated personality or not, he was tired and he needed to sleep. As he took hold of the doorknob, Marion’s console pinged and she put it back to her ear. She listened for a moment then held up her hand for Constantine to wait.

“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? ”