Deep likes Idir. It’s not uncommon for trainees to develop some form of affection towards their first subject, and Deep knows it, which is why he’d never admit it. But he wants Idir to succeed. That much he’ll admit. What he sees on the big screen is a very moral man, someone guided more by principles than by subconscious attitudes. K3 should be no problem for him. And yet . . .
The AI is pushing too hard, Deep thinks. Operators control the general parameters of the experiment, but human interaction is too fast. One can’t simply improvise these things—a lesson that was learned the hard way. To keep the experiment as realistic as possible, dialogue is controlled by a computer program. It assigns character traits to the terrorist based on what it knows and learns about the subject. It is remarkably efficient, but Deep knows it can make mistakes. Sometimes the AI will focus on a detail that shouldn’t have made it onto the subject’s profile. Small things, likes and dislikes, hobbies. The people filling out profiles sometimes feel compelled to add things if there is nothing interesting about a subject. Some people are just inherently boring.
Deep thinks the AI is being overly aggressive. Even a man of Idir’s intelligence has his breaking point, and Deep knows what too much fear will do to someone. He’s worried Idir will follow his animal instinct and choose survival over reason. He’s worried the AI will cost him his citizenship. Not on my watch, he almost says aloud.
Deep rips the page from his notebook, crumples it, and throws it on the floor. He takes out a pen and starts scribbling. There’s some hesitation at first. Lots of scratching out. Then it all comes to him. Call it an epiphany, divine inspiration, whatever you want. His pen starts moving furiously on the page. He draws from biology: self-sacrifice goes against natural selection unless you shift the focus from the individual to the group to which it belongs. Social dynamics and game theory: consider the probability of survival as a resource and the goal of K3 becomes Pareto efficiency, a distribution strategy where one person’s situation cannot be improved without making another person’s worse. He remembers Nash: the best outcome for the group comes when everyone in the group does what’s best for himself and the group. That’s it, Deep thinks. Group belonging is the key. Redefine the ingroup to maximize the subject’s chance of success.
Deep can barely contain himself. This is going to be great.
6.
PLEASE KILL ME. I want to wake up from this nightmare. This is burning oil. Sharp pain. Like a stab, too much to bear, but it won’t go away, it keeps burning and burning. This is Shayṭān, evil, a ritual gone wrong. I want this to end. If I could die now and make this stop, I would not hesitate. I thought I was strong enough. I thought I could make it through, but I can’t. Not this. Anything but this.
—What’s the matter, Samaritan? Cat got your tongue?
—You have to stop.
—Why?
—I’ll do anything. Just don’t shoot anyone. Please!
I want to roll into a ball and weep. I want to close my eyes, shut them tight until it ends. I don’t want to see what’s across that window. I do what I can to stop from crying. I put all my heart into it. Stay strong. Stay strong. I believe I am but I feel the tears rolling on my face. I can taste the salt. How do I stop crying? I have to stop.
—Samaritan! Don’t go soft on me now. You’re just getting the knack of this!
—PLEASE!
—Why? What’s changed?
I cannot tell him. No matter what he says or does, I won’t. He’ll find ways to make it hurt even more, even if that doesn’t seem possible. I have to find a way to end this before he does what he wants to do. I won’t survive. I won’t want to survive. Not this.
—Stop this, sir. Stop killing people. Every time someone dies, you give them more reason to rush in and kill all of you. Whatever it is that you want, this is not the way to get it.
—Oh . . . OK, then. We’ll just leave. . . .
—. . .
—Do you think they’ll let us leave? I mean, I did kill a couple of people—they might hold that against me—but none of them were very young. That kid—that kid was a heart attack waiting to happen. He might have popped tomorrow, so really, all I did was rob him of his evening. How good could it have been? And we spent a lot of time preparing for this, you know. It took a lot of time and money. Ammo’s expensive. You wouldn’t believe it, it’s crazy. So yeah. Maybe we can forget about the whole thing. Even Stevens?
I won’t play his game, either. I have to keep it together. I have to. I can’t fall apart now or I might as well put a bullet through my head myself.
—You’re no fun at all, Samaritan! Where’s your sense of humour? You know the drill. You choose one of them or I kill them both.
—I can’t! Just please! Stop this. This has gone far enough.
—You forget your place, Samaritan. Are you really gonna make me count every fucking time?
—. . .
—Wait a minute. The crying, the “Please! Please!” Something’s changed. Do you know these people? They kinda look like you.
He knows. He suspects. My whole body seizes. I want to will myself away from here. I want to wake up. I want the police to storm in and fire a thousand bullets into him as I do. I want to kill. Him.
—I asked you a question, Samaritan. Answer me or I shoot one of them just for the hell of it.
—. . . That’s my wife . . . and my son. . . .
I don’t know what else I can do. My wife is staying strong. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look at me because she knows that would make it harder for me to lie. But Ramzi’s crying. He’s terrified. Maybe the man in charge will let Ramzi go if he knows he’s my son. Even if he doesn’t, I can’t do this to Ramzi anymore. He’s not old enough to understand. He’s scared out of his wits and all he really wants is for one of us to hold him, tell him everything is going to be okay. Now he has to watch me act as if I don’t even know him. I won’t do it. I won’t let him go through this without his father. I’m here, Ramzi. Look me in the eyes and you’ll know. Your father is here and he loves you.
—Forget what I said, Samaritan. You do have a sense of humour. A really sick one at that!
—Don’t make me do this.
—What? You mean this is for real? Jesus fucking Christ!
—I beg you, sir. Don’t hurt my family.
—Hahaha! This. Is. Nuts! I’ve seen some crazy things in my life, but this takes the biscuit.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. There has to be a way out of this, but I can’t see it. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
—WOW! This is quite the pickle you’re in, Samaritan. I thought you had it easy before, me doing the killing and all, but now! Woooo! Sucks to be you!
I can convince him. He’ll listen.
—I’ve done . . . everything you asked, sir. Everything! All I—
—What in the world are you talking about, Samaritan? You haven’t done everything I asked. You haven’t done shit! You had one job to do, and you found a way to screw that up. I had to shoot two people in the head because you wouldn’t do your job. I’m telling you, there’s a Mrs. . . . Boring Accountant or Mrs. Cashmere Sweater Dude somewhere going through some serious grief because of you. OK, maybe not the cashmere guy, that guy had to be single. But you know what I mean, Samaritan. You got someone killed! Then you did your job once and now you think you’re entitled to . . . I don’t know what you think you’re entitled to. What is it that you want, actually?
—I told you. I . . .
—You don’t want me to make you choose between your wife and kid, is that it?
It’s working. I can save them.
—Please, sir. Please don’t.
—You want someone else to do it.
—NO!
It all comes tumbling down. My hope. My sanity. I will not choose one of them. I will not watch. I’m not strong enough. I want to transport myself, be . . . anywhere but here, feel anything but this. I want to feel nothing. I f
eel the will to live pouring out of me like sand.
—Good. You had me scared for a minute. That seemed a bit . . . cowardly. That’s not like you. I don’t think your wife would be very proud of you if you bailed on your responsibilities now. Would you? Ma’am? What would you think of your husband if he let someone else decide if you die? . . . No? . . . Is she always this quiet?
She is. She was quiet on that first day in the dentist chair and she never changed. She listens. If she opens her mouth it’s because she has something important to say, or because she knows I need to hear her voice, or the kids need to. There is a stillness, a strength to her that makes the people around her feel safe. I felt it the moment we met. She’s our coral reef, shielding all of us from waves and storms. We live in her world. We need her like we need air to breathe. She is everything. I’m . . .
—Me! I choose me. Kill me. Let them live.
—What are you saying, Samaritan?
—PLEASE! KILL ME! I’m asking you to kill me!
—Are you sure? That sounds like a terrible idea.
—YES! I want to die. Just me.
—. . . All right. Fine. . . .
This is how it ends.
—Thank you.
—That’s just weird, you thanking me for that. . . .
I am grateful. I feel the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. I can turn it all off, end the pain. I can save my family.
—Whatever, your call . . . I just— Are you really sure? I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. What you’re asking, it’s kind of permanent, not the kind of thing that can be undone.
—I’m sure.
—You want me to kill you, then let someone else decide which one of your wife and son has to die. That’s just stupid if you ask me.
I . . . I don’t understand. I want to die. Me. I want it to end with me.
—N-no! You kill me and they live! That’s the deal. You let both of them live.
—What? Why would I do that?
—You said one person has to die. That person is me. I die. Me. There’s no reason to kill anyone else.
—There isn’t now! But what do I do fifteen minutes from now? You want me to pick two different people altogether?
—I— Yes. My wife and son live. You let them go.
—I see. That doesn’t seem really fair to all the other people, now does it? You’re saying that I can kill anyone, except your wife and kid, and for what reason again? Because these two . . . what? Because they know someone? Well, knew someone, you’d be dead. But still. You get the point. It doesn’t sound fair at all! I think it stinks of—what’s the word I’m looking for?—nepotism! That’s the word. Nepotism. You see, besides the money and all the things I asked for, we’re here for a reason. There is a purpose to all this. And that is to send a message, a message to the powers that be that we won’t stand for things like greed, corruption—we don’t like that one at all—and nepotism. Nepotism is in there. So if I let that happen in here, it would kinda ruin the message.
—It’s n—
—Stop! Stop! But I understand where you’re coming from, Samaritan. I do. I sympathize. I’m not . . . insensitive to your pain. If it were me . . . Yeah, if it were me, I’d try to get myself a bit of nepotism, too. It’s a natural response. Don’t worry about it. I’m not blaming you one bit. In fact, I’m going to do you another favour. That’s right. I’m going to start counting right now.
—No!
—Look! I know you’re hurting! And the longer this goes on, the more it’s going to hurt. I say let’s get through this as fast as we can, you and I. We’ll do it real quick, like ripping off a plaster—and then we can start the healing process. Here we go. One . . .
I can’t fight for them anymore. I don’t have the strength. I . . . I can hear what he’s saying, I can make out the words, but the meaning is gone. It’s just empty sound. Nothing makes sense. Nothing but one, two, and three. I know the world ends on three. I wish there were more to me than this, but there isn’t. I have expended it all. It feels like I’m abandoning my family, but I have nothing else to give. This is my legacy. Fifteen minutes. A chance.
—OK. I’ll do it.
—You’ll do what?
—Kill me now. You kill me and let them live for another fifteen minutes.
—You sure? You said yes before, but then you changed your mind. That’s not cool. People get false hopes, it’s—
—Yes! I’m sure! You kill me. Then someone else decides.
—You’re absolutely sure?
—Yes.
I am.
—Hmmmm . . . no.
—I’m sure!
—Yeah, but no.
—Why? You said yes before. I’ll do it. I want to do it.
—I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. I can’t kill you, Samaritan! You have a job to do! I think you can be great at it with a little more practice. Do you have employees? Yes? No? Well, if you do, you’ll understand. If you find someone good at their job, you don’t let that person go. You do everything in your power to keep that person because good employees are hard to come by. That’s kinda what you are, my employee. You’re like . . . my assistant! Is that good, assistant? Anyway, shut the fuck up and do your job.
This won’t end. It’ll never end. He’ll keep going and going until everyone’s dead. He won’t let me die.
—I . . . I’m begging you, don’t do this. PLEASE!
—You’re repeating yourself now. Come on, Samaritan! Are you seriously going to watch your wife and son die because you don’t have the balls to make the call? It’s a tough call, I’ll give you that. I know one thing, though. You’ll regret not making it when I paint the wall with both of their brains. I would.
I can’t do it.
—Shoot me first. I can’t— I’d rather be dead.
—You know the rules, Samaritan. If I kill you, then you can’t choose and I have to shoot both of them. I don’t know about you, but that seems like a lot of unnecessary death. Look at your kids, Samaritan! I’m guessing that’s your daughter back there. Look at your wife. They’re going through a lot of anxiety right now. This whole waiting game, it’s torture. Cruel and unusual, my friend. So think of your family and hurry the fuck up!
Tidir is looking at me. She knows there’s no way out of this. She would volunteer if she believed the man in charge would listen to her. She’s afraid he won’t. She’s afraid he’ll do the opposite if we don’t play by his rules. I would give my life without hesitation. I know she’ll gladly give hers if it means saving our son, but I don’t know if I can do it for her.
—Oh, I think you’ve made up your mind, Samaritan! I can see it in your face. You look like a man who’s made a decision. All you have to do now is say the words.
She knows what I have to do, but it’s too hard. I won’t kill my wife.
—Tougher than you thought. I get that. I’ll make you a deal, Samaritan. You don’t need to say it. We both know what you chose. All you have to do is nod. Just nod and I’ll do the rest.
Tidir is coming closer.
—Close your eyes, Ramzi.
She puts her hand on the window. I put my hand over hers. She’s looking at me with such tenderness, such calm. I want to trade places with her. I would give my life to save hers. I would give anything. But I will not watch my son die in front of me. Neither will she.
—Ramzi. I said close your eyes. Put your hands over your ears and close your eyes. You too, Salma.
—All right, Samaritan. I’m going to count to three . . . ONE!
—Please, sir. Don’t make me do—
—Yeah, yeah. I don’t. I can’t. Blah blah blah. We’ve been through this already. TWO!
Tidir’s eyes are tearing up, but she’s smiling at me. I know she’s scared. I know there’s a part of her that wants to scream, and run, and fight. But she’s not. She won’t. She doesn’t want our kids to see that. She wants to make this easier on them. She’s also thinking of me. She knows
part of me will die with her, but there has to be some part of me left for our children.
—TH—
I nod. I close my eyes.
**TAK**
NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
7.
DEEP SITS ALONE AT the desk and watches Idir scream and fall to his knees on the big screen in front of him. He smiles. He’s proud of himself. He went where no one had gone before, boldly. That was science. He observed, theorized, then proved a hypothesis. Maximized group dynamics. He won’t say it himself, but he’d like someone else to say his K3 was a work of art. He did it. He’ll make Idir a citizen.
Laura storms back into the control room and turns on the lights.
—Have you lost your fucking mind?
—What?
She is followed by her own supervisor, a balding man in his fifties wearing a beige cardigan over his government-issued grey shirt. The balding man is Tom. He’s been here since the very beginning. He was a tech when it all started, and now he’s responsible for a small army of operators. He was once proud of that. He doesn’t remember ever being as eager, as ambitious as Deep, but he was. Over the years his ambition has made way for an even stronger desire for comfort, peace, and quiet. All Tom really wants is for things to run smoothly. If it were up to him, no operator would ever quit or retire, and the program would never expand. All these things mean new people and new people mean . . .
—You! What’s your name?
—Deep.
—What you just did . . .
Aside from a slew of medical issues—heartburn, high cholesterol, high blood pressure—Tom has some anger issues to deal with. He’s doing his best to breathe in and breathe out, calling on every trick he’s learned in group sessions.
—What you just did . . . is wrong.
—What? What did I do? He passed K3!
Deep rewinds the video to show Idir begging the terrorist to kill him. Tom is well aware of what transpired; he saw it from his office. But watching it again—Idir’s son putting his hands over his ears, Idir’s wife putting her hand on the window, the terrorist firing his gun—Tom realizes how much trouble they’re all in. This isn’t just highly irregular. It isn’t just the kind of thing that gets people fired. This is the kind of thing that gets out. There have been mistakes in the past, plenty of them, but never anything this juicy. This . . . it’s too good not to leak. It’s a bloody piece of meat in shark-infested water. It’ll get out. It’s only a matter of when.
The Test Page 5
