Recursion by Tony Ballantyne Page A

going wrong is expecting them to make you better.” She gave an exaggerated sigh and spun around on her heels. The shafts of sunlight flickered over her body. “Oh, this is boring! Come on, Nicolas; come on, Katie. Leave her. We don’t want little miss goody two shoes spoiling our trip.”
    “That’s not true…” began Nicolas.
    “I said, come on.”
    She skipped off across the clearing toward the belt of trees that screened the Center from the main road. Katie shuffled along behind her, head down, hands clasped tightly before her. Nicolas tore his gaze from Eva’s breasts long enough to give an apologetic smile and shrug, then turned and ran to catch up with Alison.
    Eva watched them go, then resumed pacing on the soft leaf mold, gazing up at the cathedral roof of leaves. Silence drifted down the shafts of greenish light that filled the space within the trees and Eva began to relax again. Peace and calm and a chance to forget the outside world and to feel that it had forgotten her. Alison was wrong, thought Eva, who had never imagined they could make her better. She just liked having someone to talk to. She simply didn’t think that there was anything wrong with her that could be cured here at the Center.
    “Eva. You can’t see me, but I’m here. I know you can hear me. I need to talk to you.”
    Apart from the voices, of course. Maybe they could stop her hearing the voices.
     
    Doctor Cevier’s office was large and bare. The high ceiling and wide floor space dwarfed his plastic desk. A few framed pictures and certificates were marooned on the cheerless orange walls. Two shaped plastic chairs sat by a low coffee table set with a tray holding two steaming cups from the vending machine. Five cakes were set out on a plate. Eva took one seat, Doctor Cevier the other. He was a well-built man in his early thirties, his thinning hair looking damp and smelling faintly of shower gel. Doctor Cevier always looked as if he had just left the gym. He tapped his ultra-slim executive model console to set it recording and then relaxed in his chair.
    “Well, Eva. Two weeks now. How do you feel?”
    “Tired.”
    “That’s not surprising. How much sleep are you getting? In an average day, I mean.”
    “I don’t know. Fifteen hours?”
    Doctor Cevier tapped at his console.
    “More like eighteen, according to this. Why do you think that is?”
    “What is there to get up for?”
    Doctor Cevier said nothing in reply. Instead he picked up one of the cups and took a sip.
    “Mmm. Delicious. How do they manage it? Every cup tastes different. Aren’t you going to try some?”
    Eva stared at the other cup and said nothing. Through the wide window she could see out across the ragged lawns to the circle of limes. Their leaves rippled and danced in the sunlight.
    “I’m sorry?” Eva said.
    “I didn’t say anything,” said Doctor Cevier. “Tell me, how are you settling in here? Do you feel comfortable?”
    “I suppose so. When are you going to let me go?”
    Doctor Cevier took another sip of his drink. “Wonderful. You really should try some. It will help you relax.”
    “How? Is it drugged?”
    Doctor Cevier laughed a little and tapped at his console again. Eva looked around the empty office. If this were her room, she thought, she would buy some rugs and hang them from the walls, arrange standard lamps and statues around the edge of the room and throw mats and carpets on the floor. Anything to break the dull monotony of the surroundings. Anything that would make the room look less like a waiting room and more like an office, even a bookcase, filled with cheap second-hand books. Doctor Cevier wasn’t speaking now; he gazed at Eva with a half amused expression. Eva ignored him. She looked across at the plastic desk and wondered if Doctor Cevier ever sat behind it. The few books and papers that lay on its surface were facing in her direction.
    “Have you given any thought yet on how you got here?”
    “No,” Eva