The Oracle Paradox

by Stephen L. Antczak

  Immediately Yatin felt inferior, unworthy, rumpled, lumpy, weak, stupid. Who was he to think a woman like her might want a man like him? At the same time he wondered… Why not? He was educated, successful, tall, dark, and maybe even handsome. Oracle had told him that in the eyes of Annika Dahl he would be handsome. Confidence was the key factor where she was concerned. A man needed to project confidence in order to really appeal to her. Her father was practically famous for it. Was he, Yatin Kumar, confident?

  He was not stupid, that was attested to by his achievements in Artificial Intelligence. He was not weak; he worked out for an hour every weekday. He was neither lumpy nor rumpled, he wore tailored suits and shirts and had practically memorized the latest edition of Men’s Dress for Success. Unworthy? Inferior? He firmly believed he was as worthy as any man who earns his way. He did not believe in the concept of inferiority.

  But was he confident? Obviously not as he hung back and watched Annika Dahl from across the room. Despite Oracle’s assurances he still felt immeasurably nervous. It reminded him of his first real kiss with a girl, as a freshman at the University of Hyderabad. He’d been hanging around with a girl who was a year ahead of him in school. She was an anthropology major. They were at a party, neither of them drinking, but he still felt drunk with the foreknowledge of what he was about to ask her. Their conversation, about a recent rash of violence against Hindus by Muslims, reached a long pause. He took a deep breath, and asked.

  She looked at him, smiled, and said okay. She didn’t move. She waited for him to step closer, to lean his face in close to hers. Her eyes were open the whole time. It was a good kiss. He remembered feeling unbelievably happy that she’d allowed him to experience something so wonderful with her. After that, though, he felt somewhat ashamed and stopped hanging around her so much. Eventually the semester ended and she went off for summer vacation while he stayed for summer classes.

  He couldn’t remember her name now.

  Lost in thought, he also lost sight of Annika Dahl. He looked around for her, and there she was on his right, looking directly at him, smiling.

  "Deep in thought?" she asked in crisp, Oxford-flavored English. Like many of the sons and daughters of the European upper-crust she’d been sent to boarding school in England as a teenager.

  He looked at her, and blinked as if the sun were shining in his eyes.

  "I suppose," he replied.

  "Remembering something from long ago and far away?"

  He nodded.

  "I saw you looking at me before," she said without a trace of accusation or insult.

  Yatin didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

  "Did you like what you saw?" Annika asked. "Do you like what you see?"

  "Of course," he answered, although he was slightly put off by her forwardness. Her father’s blood ran in her arteries, though. Yatin had spoken to the man only a few times, but it was enough to see that she was definitely her father’s daughter.

  "I know who you are," she said.

  "And I know who you are," he said.

  "I’ve studied your work, Yatin Kumar. I minored in computer science, specializing in artificial intelligence."

  "I know," he said, and immediately regretted it.

  "You do? Have you studied my work, Mr. Kumar?"

  "Well, I studied a little about…you." He had not intended to be so open about that, but also felt relief. At least he was being honest with her from the beginning. This was a good thing.

  "Did your homework."

  "I guess you could say that."

  "Did you come to this party to meet me, Mr. Kumar?" she asked. "Or did you come for the stimulating conversation?"

  "I guess I hoped to meet you."

  "That’s not to say there isn’t stimulating conversation here," Annika went on. "I just spoke to several charming gentlemen about Oracle. Were you aware that a Catholic priest in Mexico blames Oracle for the assassination of Generalissimo Sanchez?"

  "I…wasn’t aware of that," Yatin said slowly.

  She looked at him silently for a long interval, putting her left hand up to her chin.

  "Did you know that Sanchez had been assassinated?" she asked.

  "Of course. It was six months ago," Yatin said, his voice betraying a hint of annoyance.

  Annika Dahl laughed. "I just wanted to see if you were one of those scientists who is always so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t pay attention to current events."

  "I pay attention," Yatin told her. "It’s part of my job, now."

  "As Director of the Oracle Oversight Committee."

  "Yes. I must follow current events as they relate to Oracle."

  "How does it work?" Annika asked.

  "How does what work?"

  "Your job…Oracle…What happens?"

  Yatin had not come to the party wanting to talk about his work, but if she was truly interested, he didn’t want to give her an excuse to go talk to someone else. "The O.O.C. reviews the projects that have been undertaken as a result of Oracle’s analysis of a situation. We find a number of experts in whatever fields the project involves, and ask them to come to consensus opinion of how the project is going. This analysis is compared with Oracle’s own analysis."

  "So this is how you know if Oracle is right or wrong?"

  "The analysis by the experts is not necessarily to check to make sure if Oracle is right or wrong," Yatin said, perhaps slightly on the defensive. "It is merely another set of data the U.N. uses to come to a conclusion and therefore make a decision. We regularly test Oracle and compare the results with every previous result to the algorithm that makes up Oracle’s basic program."

  "Do you think it could be true?" Annika asked him.

  "That Oracle is responsible for the assassination of Sanchez? I supposed, in an indirect way, that something Oracle had done could have led to someone being assassinated."

  "That’s not what I meant."

  "I know that’s not what you meant. The answer is that no, I do not think it possible that Oracle could order an assassination. The algorithm does not allow for Oracle to do anything like that."

  "Did you know that my thesis paper was on the Oracle Paradox?"

  Yatin frowned and shook his head. "We took care of that, though," he said.

  "I know. But Oracle is still capable of being responsible for the taking of human life when it advises the Security Council on Peacekeeping matters. Correct?"

  "The Security Council insisted. They would have completely blocked the implementation of Oracle if we didn’t give them that access."

  "Your original intent was for Oracle to have no involvement in military matters," Annika said. He nodded. She continued, "But you must have realized that sometimes social problems are intimately tied together with military issues. For instance, a famine caused by an absolutist regime’s control over distribution must use military force to open distribution channels if the famine is to be ended."

  "I understand that," Yatin said. "I understood it before. However, given enough time, Oracle could negotiate with the leaders of such a regime to get the food distributed."

  "How much time is enough?" Annika asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, how much time is enough time? A month? Six months? A year?"

  "However long it takes to negotiate an agreement without resorting to violence."

  "And in the meantime, how many people die of starvation?"

  "I don’t know," Yatin answered. This was not going at all the way he’d been hoping it would go.

  "Am I upsetting you?" Annika asked.

  "No, you’re not. I just feel like I’m being given the third degree, is all."

  "The third degree? What is that?"

  "It’s when…" Yatin tried to think of how to explain it. He’d picked up after seeing it used in context in a number of movies. He’d picked up most of the slang phrases he used watching movies, which was his favorite way to spend a leisurely weekend, if he had a leisurel
y weekend to spend. "It’s like when the police question a suspect. They shine a hot light on him-"

  "Okay, yes, I know this," Annika said. "I’ve seen it in movies." She smiled. "I did not mean to give you the third degree, Mr. Kumar. I’m just trying to make conversation about a subject that I find terribly interesting."

  "It just sounds like you’re accusing me of being responsible for the people who die while Oracle tries to find a peaceful solution. Oracle does not kill those people. Other people kill them, and it is they who are responsible."

  "I agree," Annika said. She looked at Yatin and chewed her lower lip for a moment. "You sound angry with me. Perhaps I should leave you alone."

  With that she turned and walked away. Yatin didn’t say anything to stop her. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about her now. Beautiful, yes. Elegant. But she sounded like someone who had pre-judged Yatin Kumar before ever meeting him face to face. She was basing her assumptions on how the United Nations utilized Oracle, which was completely out of Yatin’s hands. He wasn’t sure if he liked her now that he’d met her.

  Of course, he realized she was exactly the kind of woman he’d told Oracle he liked: she obviously had a mind of her own, wasn’t shy about expressing her views, and gave them clearly and intelligently. So what was the problem? There wouldn’t be a problem if she’d only praised Oracle and praised him. His own vanity, that was the problem.

  He should find her, apologize for coming off like some thin-skinned academic. What she had said really bothered him, though. Suddenly the spacious interior of the Dahl house felt stuffy. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. Before he could talk to Annika Dahl again he needed to organize his thoughts. On his way to the door that led out to the pool area he stopped at a refreshments table and poured himself a glass of mineral water. He drank that as he stepped out into the cool, evening air. Several diplomats nodded greetings at him. He acknowledged with little more than a tight smile and curt nod. He didn’t want to listen to the drone of international politics, so he moved around to the other side of the pool, pretending to investigate a rose bush there with orange-yellowish blooms. How long would it be before he could leave without attracting any undue attention? He didn’t want to be impolite, but he had no head for such things.

  Yatin simply could not believe that Oracle had misjudged Annika Dahl, though. It didn’t make sense. Compared to the issues that Oracle had to face, compared to the complex problems that Oracle had to solve, a simple matchmaking situation should have been easy. Oracle knew most people better than they knew themselves, and it knew Yatin Kumar better than it knew most people. Surely locating a woman that appealed to him, whom he would also appeal to, couldn’t be so difficult. Matchmakers had been doing it for centuries in India, as Oracle well knew.

  He stood there for a while, long after he finished the mineral water. He held the empty glass and felt conspicuous. A man talks to a woman at a party, the woman suddenly turns around and walks away, then the man goes off to stand alone somewhere… Anyone seeing that would have a pretty good idea what had transpired.

  He needed to leave. The great Oracle matchmaking experiment was a failure. So it goes, he thought. The rose bush swayed in a sudden breeze. Yatin had never seen roses that color, or if he had then he hadn’t noticed them. The flowers looked like little explosions of fire. Roses to him were red, white, or pink. He bent down to smell one. Yes, it had that familiar, fragrant rosy scent.

  "A man who stops to smell the roses," Annika’s voice said behind Yatin.

  He straightened, then turned to face her.

  "I was just leaving," he said.

  She looked disappointed. "But we haven’t even met, yet," Annika said. She held out her hand. "I’m Annika Dahl. This is my father’s party. And you are…?"

  Yatin frowned. What was she doing? He caught a glint in her eye, a hint of playfulness that lured him into the game.

  "Yatin Kumar," he said. "I work at the United Nations."

  He pressed his free hand around her extended one. She squeezed his for longer than what he thought was normal. His heart rate increased and he felt his blood surge. Her blue eyes radiated a field that seemed to engulf him.

  "Tell me about yourself," she said.

  "What would you like to know?" he asked somewhat coolly. He was still feeling wary.

  "Where are you from? What was it like for you growing up? What’s your favorite movie? What’s your favorite food? Things like that." Annika smiled, and it was a kind, warm smile that seemed to indicate reconciliation for their earlier conversation. Pretend it never happened, she seemed to be telling him.

  It never happened, he thought.

  "I was born in a small village in India," he told her.

  Chapter 15

  Juan Alonso was an executive with Coca Cola Enterprises with an annual compensation in the mid-six figures. He had invested very wisely over the years. His house in Buckhead, a wealthy neighborhood in north Atlanta that also boasted the Governor’s mansion, was on a side street that snaked off of West Paces Ferry, the main artery through the neighborhood. It was a beige Tudor set back about thirty yards off the road, fronted by a wide lawn unbroken save by a stone fountain halfway to the house from the street. Juan Alonso was also a devout Catholic whose contributions to the Church were such that the Pope himself knew the name Alonso. It was here that Nevin Cardinal Roscoe brought Sam, Tina, and Henry by way of Henry’s rental car.

  They were welcomed by a sumptuous feast that Mr. Alonso had made ready for their arrival. There was shrimp cocktail, roast beef, a massive salad of baby greens and feta cheese, a bowl of fruit cocktail, French bread, cheddar cheese marbled by port wine, and Swedish meatballs. To drink there was red and white wine, and Coca Cola Classic. Sam ate a little, but she did not seem to have much of an appetite.

  "You should eat as much as you can," Tina told her. "You might need your strength later."

  Sam ate few bites more. She stared dejectedly at the table. Tina sat helplessly by her side, gently rubbing her back. Alonso had fresh bandages and aloe for Henry. He winced while Alonso silently changed the dressing on his wound.

  They had left Immaculate Conception before the police arrived in response to a report of the shooting. Archbishop Hamilton told them he wouldn’t mention anything about them being there when the shooting occurred, although he did suggest they let the police in on what was really happening. Both Cardinal Roscoe and Henry told Hamilton that the police could not help, and they would inadvertently make it easier for whoever was after Sam to find her. Hamilton didn’t push it. He was just happy they were leaving his church.

  Henry ate some shrimp cocktail and French bread. Tina had some salad. Cardinal Roscoe had a piece of roast beef and some bread. Alonso told Sam that she could watch the Disney channel or Cartoon Network on TV if she wanted. She silently nodded, so he led her to the next room, put her in front of the TV, and turned on to the Cartoon Network.

  "She’s had a rough day," Tina told him.

  "Of course, I understand," Alonso replied graciously as returned to the dining room. He had an almost regal presence about him, reminding her of an Hispanic actor on whom she’d once had a teenaged crush. "As have you, I imagine."

  Tina managed a weak smile and nodded almost imperceptibly. She felt less than presentable in her sweat pants and t-shirt.

  "My ex-wife left some clothes here that might fit you," Alonso said, as if reading her mind. "I do not think she will be asking for them. You are welcome to try them on."

  It hadn’t occurred to Tina what she’d been wearing since leaving her house. That thought reminded her of Teddy. She was sure he was fine, though. It hadn’t been that long, not even a full day, although it seemed like it had been days.

  A clean set of clothes sounded wonderful. She hesitated to follow Alonso and leave Sam with Henry. She felt more inclined to believe him, now, and the Cardinal would also be there…but that didn’t stop Tina from being ill at ease with the idea of not keeping Sam in her sigh
ts at all times. The real question was, did she believe Henry or not? If she did, then she could trust him to keep Sam from harm. If not…then nothing she could do would make any difference. Henry had a gun, he had killed before, he was stronger than Tina. She would not be able to stop him from doing something terrible if he so desired.

  So that left her…feeling like a slob in her sweat pants and t-shirt. She could not think straight that way. She was no good if she couldn’t at least put something clean on, something to make her feel refreshed.

  Tina followed Alonso through the house and up a circular staircase to the second floor. There was a framed wedding photo in the upstairs hallway of a younger Alonso and his then-new bride.

  "She’s beautiful," Tina said, pausing to look at the picture.

  "Yes," Alonso said. He opened a door and gestured inside. "In here you will find the clothes she left behind. Some of them I don’t think she ever wore, actually."

  He waited for Tina to enter into the room. It was a guest bedroom, the bed made up with military sharpness.

  "In the closet," Alonso told Tina. Then he bowed slightly. "I will be downstairs."

  He left, closing the door behind him.

  The bed looked more inviting than the closet door. But she resisted the temptation and opened the door. She was taken aback by the size of the walk-in closet. She went in. One entire side was dominated by a shoe rack. Tina forced herself not to examine the shoes, otherwise she’d be there all night. She knew herself. She could get lost in shoes.

  Most of the dresses were quite extravagant, dresses she would expect to admire on TV draping off the elegant shoulders of a movie star at the Oscars. Not dresses she would ever have expected to be able to choose from and actually get to wear someday. Some day. The circumstances weren’t like anything she would ever have imagined, though.