Tony Ballantyne - Recursion

DeForest gave a tolerant laugh. “Oh, here we go again. Ms. Conspiracy Theory 2047. The Earth is monitored by a fleet of invisible airplanes all reporting back to the evil Artificial Intelligence that evolved in the Internet.”

Eva elbowed him in the stomach.

“Oh sorry, Mr. Free Enterprise 1987. I forgot that the world is actually run by a series of multinational companies that put the needs of the poor and the environment before their own profits.”

“My company gave several million credits to charity last year. And we sponsored the Llangollen dam project.”

“And I bet you spied out the territory using invisible planes, just so your competitors didn’t try and muscle in on your plans.”

“Why should we do that? The dam is a nonprofit-making project.”

Eva grinned at him.

“…and we don’t have any stealth planes, anyway,” he added smoothly.

“Too slow.” She laughed and raised her arms to acknowledge imaginary applause. “Thank you! Thank you, people. I was right and DeForest was wrong!”

“No, you weren’t.” DeForest grinned and pinched her backside.

“OW!!!” squealed Eva, pinching him back. They began to pinch at each other some more and then to kiss and then…

And then, later on, DeForest had flown back to his other home and had never contacted Eva again. When she attempted to reach him, her calls were intercepted by the company. First she was told that he had been relocated to Korea, then that his wife had had a baby and he had decided to concentrate on his real family. Finally she had been told to stop contacting the company, and a block had been placed on her comm lines.

Eva reached the hawthorn tree. Crataegus monogyna . The Latin name rose in her mind unbidden, and she wondered where she had once read it. The hawthorn was one of the trees that lined the road on both sides, its brown trunk twisted out of a dusty grey square of earth and gravel at the edge of the pavement. Its roots had forced up the old paving slabs bordering it to form a mound. She walked around the tree to see three feathered darts stuck in its trunk. She pulled them out and looked around. A fourth dart was buried in a nearby gate; she pulled that out too. Eva felt as if the two rows of terraced houses that bordered the road were watching her with their blank windows. Her phone vibrated and she jumped.

“What is it?” she said.

“There are two more darts. Can you see them?”

“No. Where should I be looking?”

“Try behind the wall next to the gate that had the dart stuck in it.”

“What if I’m seen?”

“Don’t worry. We’re distracting people in the immediate vicinity. Phone calls, overheating frying pans, malfunctioning electrical appliances…They’ll all be looking the other way.”

Eva sucked at her bottom lip nervously. She glanced up and down the street and then pushed open the gate. There was a narrow gap between the wall and the bay-fronted house, mainly filled with old gravel and weeds. A tortoiseshell cat slept in a corner, partially sheltered behind a stack of window glass that leaned against the wall. Eva saw one of the darts straight away, lying at the foot of the rain-streaked panes. She picked it up and looked frantically around. The last dart could be hidden anywhere in the weeds that sprang from the old gravel. She needed to find it quickly: she had a train to miss.

She glanced around the empty street again. Cracked red bricks and grey pebbledash, blind windows reflecting the April sky. Nobody was coming, but she still felt incredibly exposed. She bent down and began to run her hands through the weeds, parting the stalks to search the gravel beneath. Nothing.

She paused, her arms folded tight against her chest. Her phone vibrated again.

“Hurry up. We can’t keep this street clear forever.”

“I’m looking,” Eva snapped. “Are you sure the last dart didn’t get stuck higher in the tree?”

“Positive. We’re detecting its signature at ground level. About half a meter from your left foot.”

Eva looked around again and realization dawned. The cat behind the glass wasn’t asleep: it was dead.

“It’s in the cat,” she said.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I’m not looking. Get someone else to do your dirty work.”

There was a moment’s pause and then the voice spoke again.

“Fine, fine. Get out of there quickly. Your payment will be reduced to four hundred credits. Go to Mehta’s Information Shop.”

“I’m going.”

Eva pushed her way through the gate and walked quickly down the street. Across the road a curtain twitched and, out of the corner of her eye, Eva caught sight of an old woman, watching. Eva dodged left and headed down a side street. A man in his slippers stood on the sidewalk talking to a woman in a dressing gown. A front door stood open behind them, an untidy cluster of doorbells screwed haphazardly into its frame. As she walked past, Eva overheard a snatch of their conversation.

“He went running out of the house just after midnight last night. Kept shouting ‘my eyes,’ sounded as if he was in pain. Disappeared around the corner and then collapsed. Heart attack, the doctor said.”

“What are you going to do with his things?”

Eva continued down the road, as the reason for her contract took shape in her head. What price her part in the concealment of a murder? Four hundred credits.

The world was slipping down into Hell, and everyone was helping it on its way. Everyone accepted a little bit of money, and a little bit of blame, and that way they could all walk around with a conscience that was just a little bit off-color. Just a little bit, but add all those bits together…

Another reason why Eva had to escape.

If Eva had believed in fate, she would have had to admit it was finally coming round to her side. Her headache had almost cleared, and the diversion to pick up the darts had resulted in her arriving at the place she had been aiming for all along. She walked into Mehta’s Information Shop deep in thought and headed to the back of the retail area. First deal with the darts, then lose her card, then finally back home. After that, she would begin her escape in earnest.

A stack of blue mail tubes lay on a shelf near the back. Eva picked one up and reached in her pocket for the four darts. She examined one before dropping it into the plastic container. A short fat needle, the red “feathers” at the back sliding smoothly into the metal barrel for concealment. Her phone vibrated once more.

“Hello.”

“Drop them in quickly. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“Do the red feathers pop out at your signal, to help make them visible to collectors?” said Eva.

“Classified information, Eva.”

“Why don’t you just make them disintegrate?”

“That’s not technically feasible. I think you’ve been listening to too many conspiracy theories. Just drop them in the tube and address it to 4A53.FF91.2E22.B7C2.”

Eva scrawled the figures on the tube with a black marker pen that had been thoughtfully left on a nearby shelf.

“Okay. Deposit the tube in the secure slot. We would like to thank you for your efficiency. Your account has been credited with four hundred credits, plus seventeen credits for the postage. Good-bye, Eva.” The line went dead.

Eva dropped the tube in the correct slot to a faint popping sound and then made her way to the front of the shop. It was time to resume her intended schedule.

She picked up five magazines from the shelves near the entrance doors and carried them to the checkout, pulling her e-card from a pocket as she did so. The young girl behind the counter scanned the card and the magazines. She recited each purchase as it appeared on the screen.