Recursion by Tony Ballantyne Page A

strand of nothingness showed at its end.
    The gap beneath the sky was spreading. He was going mad.
    Mary seemed to rouse herself.
    “What about you, then?” she said. “Do you have a comfort family?”
    “Me? No,” said Constantine, his mind still elsewhere.
    Mary gave a knowing laugh. “Of course not,” she said, a note of bitterness creeping into her voice. “I forgot. It’s different for men, isn’t it? I bet you’ve got a string of skinny, unwitting twenty-year-old girls lined up from here to Alaska. All their details looked up from your company database and a script worked out so you can flatter your way into their apartments and their panties. I remember what it used to be like. It feels more moral to you than using a brothel, doesn’t it? And you don’t get your dinner cooked in a brothel, or your shirts ironed, or someone sitting up at night watching football with you, or slicing lemons when you have a cold, or—”
    “I’m married.”
    Mary stopped dead, her hand pulling Constantine backward. She opened her mouth wide in disbelief and began to laugh.
    “Married? What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “It means something to me,” said Constantine simply. Mary brought her face close and breathed a sweet, alcohol breath over Constantine. She looked up into his eyes.
    “I don’t believe it. You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
    She turned around again, took his hand, and began to drag him back along the street.
    “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
    Night shadows were spreading. White light shone from the spherical paper lanterns strung in looping lines between the chestnuts and limes that marched up the central lawn. A white barge came gliding down the canal, elderly people enjoying their pre-dinner drinks on the deck; the smell of prawns being fried in garlic and butter wafted from the open windows of the galley below.
    —This is taking too long, said Blue, his voice seeming too loud in the stillness that was settling with the evening.—Are we being led into a trap?
    —I can’t see anything around us, answered Red.—Besides, I trust her. Her body language backs up her words. I don’t think she’s keeping anything from us.
    —I…agree, said Blue,—but I can’t help thinking that someone with the ability to train as a ghost might have enough skill to conceal her motives, even from us.
    “Be quiet,” muttered Constantine, concealing his mouth with his hand and pretending to cough. “She’s watching me. She knows I’m listening to you. You’re supposed to be a secret, remember?”
    Mary was gazing up at him again, her eyes full of cool appraisal. Constantine nodded toward the barge.
    “That smells delicious, doesn’t it?” he said.
    A pair of tramlines emerged from a side street to their left and swept round to follow the axis of the central strip of grass. The line of trees now moved to one side to make way for it. They walked on in silence for a while. Presently a tram came bumping along, an ancient construction of wood and metal that clanked and rattled as it trundled down the rails. It slowed sufficiently for Mary and Constantine to climb on board and then grumbled to itself as it sped up again. The pair sat down on a bench of varnished wooden slats. Constantine rubbed his fingers approvingly across the warm wood.
    “When Stonebreak was set to build itself, they wanted the best of all worlds,” said Mary. “The Australian and Southeast Asian government wanted it to be both ultra modern and ultra traditional. That’s why you can still see the VNM bodies in the I-station, and that’s why the tramlines zigzag around this level. Some thought trams were too modern to be ultra traditional, so it was decided that no line should run the entire length of any street. It will be a twisty journey from here to the locks.”
    “Fine,” said Constantine, surprised to realize how relaxed he was becoming. If it hadn’t been for his encounter with Mary, he would have gone