The Guardian Angel

by George Lazăr

  The colonel tapped the screen, pointing at Bolden’s current threat outlook on the Device. It was spiking into the top third of the risk probability.

  “See that? In two or three days, something represented by this graph is going to take place. And without our protection, the odds say it’s going to kill you. You’ve already cheated death twice, Ian. Do you really want to shoot for the trifecta, all on your own?”

  Bolden stared at the graph, fascinated, as the lines on the screen started overlapping. Folder slowly put his arm on Bolden’s shoulders and guided him towards the exit. The door closed behind them with a slight wheeze.

  “What if I hide inside my house for four days? I don’t come into contact with anyone and I don’t do anything. Your estimates device become useless and the future changes without you lifting a finger.”

  Folder shook his head as they walked.

  “You have it stuck in your head that we’re a team of charlatans determined to con you out of your money,” Folder said. “But you’re clearly missing the central point. It’s not that the Device is usually right. It’s that it’s never wrong. If it says there is a seventy percent chance that you’re about to die, there is. The Device isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s designed to spot fatal events, and it does that with an unrelenting, spooky accuracy. And what it tells us is that the more times you escape death, the more likely it is that death will pursue you.”

  “You’re not too good at math, Folder. If I toss a coin, the odds of it coming up heads are 50 percent. Even if I toss heads 10 times in a row, the odds of the next toss coming up heads again remain exactly the same. The history of all the previous throws has no weight on the likelihood of an individual toss of the coin.”

  “In the world we grew up in, that’s true,” Folder said. “But for whatever reason, that’s not what happens when you use knowledge of the future to change the future. The traditional rules of probability break down when you use knowledge of the dominant line of probability to push the future into a new line. The future tends to revert to the mean.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That the farther you get from the original line of probability for your life, the harder the universe pushes back.”

  Bolden’s brain worked the concept. “So... if I toss a coin and it comes up heads five times in a row, in this example, the odds of the next toss coming up heads...”

  “Would be about 3 percent.”

  Bolden’s eyes drifted as they walked. “It’s as if nature has it in for me.”

  “From the data we’ve collected through The Guardian Angel, once your risk probability exceeds a certain threshold, risk, you’re essentially as good as dead without our protection,” Folder said.

  “Your only hope of survival is that you’re lucky enough to enter another probability line, or that we’re around to push you toward that new line. That’s our job.”

  “So what’s the threshold?”

  “About a quarter of the scale. Once you hit that, your risk escalates rapidly.”

  “You mean there’s a 25 percent chance I’m going to die?”

  “No, I mean there’s about a 25 percent chance you’re going to live, although in your particular case your survival quotient is hovering around 32 percent right now, according to the Device. The more brushes with death you survive, the smaller that number gets.

  “I don’t pretend to understand it, Ian, but you’re right. There really is some sort of natural phenomenon that is trying to take your life. Call it one of the unknown laws of nature. Your repeated instances of unlikely survival distorts the world around you, like tension moving and building in a fault line. The more tension in a tectonic boundary, the greater the earthquake when the fault slips.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “My job would be a lot easier if it were. Look, we’ve been watching you for forty years, and we’ve treated you as an investment until now. But we can’t afford to do that anymore. Protecting you at this level of probability is going to be expensive, and if you don’t sign with us now, the odds of you being around to protect are going to drop dramatically. We call it the Law of Temporal Conservation, which isn’t the best name, I’ll grant you.”

  “So the Law of Temporal Conservation says I have to die. That’s your sales pitch?”

  They emerged from the building to find the limousine waiting.

  “Tell me, as a rule, could this method of yours can predict anyone’s death?” Bolden asked as they climbed into the back.

  “It does. Company policy is that we do this only for those who influence the lives of others, but of course these people tend to be rich people, and only the wealthiest can afford our services. We do it for our staff too, in a limited way. It wouldn’t be easy to convince your team to save your life if each member wasn’t already convinced, first and foremost, that they were safe. This is why we tend to recruit people without personal or family obligations, and we select for candidates who show the highest probability of survival. Protecting a client and the higher-ranking members of his protection team takes a serious amount of money.”

  “Money you intend to ask from me.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Even though the request requires the belief that I’ll accept as truth every outlandish thing you’ve told me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though if I refuse you’ll allegedly lose out on four decades of expensive investment.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So why would anyone make a bet like that?”

  “Because it’s the only winning bet you’ve got left.”

  The next hour passed in silence. Twilight fell around them, and the colonel switched on a discreet lamp in the ceiling of the limo and continued to work on his documents. Bolden sunk deeply into his thoughts. The likelihood that he had fallen into the hands of con men seemed ever more far-fetched. He called up memories from different points in his life, superimposing them over the probability graph Folder had shown him at the former military base, unsuccessfully attempting to correlate spikes in the graph to dangers he had faced.

  Suddenly, as if unconnected to the thoughts running through his mind, a question formed on Bolden’s lips. “You said something before about there being seven levels of protection. Can you explain that more fully?”

  The colonel gave a start and looked up from his documents. It took him a moment to regain his bearings.

  “There are seven types of major incidents in which a client’s probability of death increases dramatically. The incidents mark the passage from one level to the next, and while the exact form of the threat differs from client to client, there is definitely a progression to the events.”

  “And each threat is more serious.”

  The colonel nodded grimly. “More serious, more violent, and more rapidly paced. At the higher levels, some clients have faced several fatal events in a year.

  “We’ve concluded a few things from our decades of case histories, and they’re not comforting. Threat events become more difficult to manage over time, which requires more manpower and greater expense. It is as if someone up there is determined to take the life it has claimed.”

  “But you usually win. Right?”

  “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have much of a business. But what you need to grasp here is that in the end, we always lose. Nobody beats death. We just extend the game.”

  Bolden looked out the window, vaguely noting the low traffic and the distant lights of a city.

  “And what comes after level seven?” he asked softly..

  Such dead silence fell that they could both hear each other breathing. Bolden thought Folder hadn’t heard the question and was about to ask again.

  “We don’t know,” Folder answered in a low, quiet voice, as if worried that the driver might hear him through the soundproof window. “No one has ever survived past level six.”

  Chapter 6

  “Now that you’re asking the right questions, this will prob
ably give you much better answers than I could offer,” Folder said as he pressed a button on his armrest. A drawer beneath his seat slid open, revealing a helmet that looked like something out of a fighter jet simulator. He helped Bolden put it on and then activated the 3D projection visor.

  After a quick adjustment check, Folder activated the feed, and Bolden plunged into a virtual world.

  The first image that appeared before him was the Guercino painting The Guardian Angel. Bolden was sure he had seen it before, most likely in some Italian museum. It faded as another painting along the same classic theme replaced it, beginning a slideshow of paintings and sculptures that flowed through his 3D field of vision in quick succession.

  The image stream accelerated to a blur, then dramatically ended, dropping Bolden back into complete darkness. He hovered there for a moment before a new image emerged around him. This time he found himself surfacing into a luxurious office with a window that offered a grand view of a cityscape he did not recognize. Turning his head and shifting his eyes changed his view of the room, and to his right he discovered a broadly expansive desk, with an elegantly groomed, familiar-looking man standing patiently behind it. He wore a sharply trimmed goatee and glasses with fine goldwire frames.

  His virtual host smiled gently, as if he were waiting only for Bolden to pay attention to him, and then took his seat in a hand-tooled leather chair, leaning back with his elbows on the armrests and interweaving his fingers.

  “My dear... Ian Bolden,” he began, pronouncing the name with a slight hesitation, accompanied by a barely detectable playback stammer in the digital stream. “My name is Jonathan Atalai.”

  No wonder his host seemed familiar, Bolden thought, tallying up the mysterious Arab billionaire’s distinctive traits: crooked nose; long, curly black hair; that slightly curved, trademark smile. During his lifetime, the enigmatic Atalai was considered the face of a vanishing – yet still influential – Arabic petro-plutocracy.

  “You are now watching a recording, because I am no longer alive,” his virtual host said. “Your name has been automatically added by the computer, and the simulation will proceed according to your reactions. I assure you that the organization you know as The Guardian Angel has been constantly learning and improving its knowledge even after my death, and that your chance to live beyond the span allotted to me has grown considerably.

  “The Guardian Angel has saved your life at least once and has contacted you with an offer. If you agree to the conditions, they will save you again. I know this, because I founded this organization. Would you like to know more?”

  Bolden nodded, even though he was communicating with a VR ghost. Atalai had died in an accident at one of his defense-related labs two years before. Rumor had it that the accident had something to do with a revolutionary new weapon Atalai’s engineers had just completed, that during a product demo, the weapon exploded, killing not only the billionaire, but dozens of employees and potential buyers. Insiders whispered that the Army had gotten control of a tape of the incident, but there was never any proof of the claim.

  “Good,” the virtual Atalai said. “Although I can’t actually see you, just as you actually see me, let me prove how well I know you. You are around forty years of age, you are fit, everything has worked perfectly for you and you love life. And, most of all, you have a lot of money at your disposal. I didn’t need a computer to help me this time, because I was just like you when I received the Device.

  “I was the fifth person to whom the Device was offered, along with its manufacturing plans, by an inventor who wished to remain anonymous. I will respect his wish, the more so since his name is not important. He said he never consulted the Device in order to find out the day of his death.”

  Atalai fell silent for a moment, then continued.

  “It is very complicated to undertake something when you know a certain person, who hasn’t been sentenced to death by a judge and isn’t terminally ill, is about to end his days. That is, without being able to tell him where, how and why. The other four, those before me, thought the inventor of the Device was a lunatic. That he pretended to see the future. Unfortunately, they found out too late that he had been right. I shared their skepticism, but something different happened in my case. The inventor sacrificed his life to save my own.

  “Ever since I have wondered why, and I suspect I understand his motives better today after continuing his work for all these years. It was a burden to him, this Cassandra complex that comes with prophecy, just as it has been a burden to me. I suspect he was simply ready to pass on that burden to someone who could continue his work, because he knew from his Device that my life was effectively over. And so he convinced me to meet him one final time, at what he knew to be the moment of my greatest danger. And when my competitor’s hit man took his shot, it was the inventor of the Device who calmly, serenely stepped in front of the bullet.

  The image trembled slightly, reminding Bolden that he was watching a recording.

  “From that moment on, I have devoted myself to applying his gift, his mystery, in the world. So began The Guardian Angel, meant at first to protect only me. Later we extended the organization to some people I knew who were willing and able to pay for their protection.

  “The person who contacted you has already given you the technical details. I would like to talk to you about the philosophy of this organization. It is important that you accept it, since your life depends on it.”

  There was another pause, in which Atalai froze for a few seconds, with his mouth left unnaturally open.

  “The Guardian Angel is one of the most profitable privately held companies in the world because it offers something no competitor can match: the chance for life beyond what fate would naturally hold in store for you.

  “What gives us this right? Who or what checks and intervenes when this natural order is breached? We have no idea. Based on our experience we believe there are forces that influence the arc and extent of our lives, but we don’t pretend to truly understand them. That is for philosophers, and we are but simple businessmen.”

  For Bolden, listening without being able to interrupt felt strange. Only the slight desynchronizing of the image reminded him that he was watching a recording.

  “...that is how The Guardian Angel became a common property for all those who benefit from its services.”

  Bolden realized that he had missed something from Atalai’s presentation.

  “The contract that you will sign with us will bring you incredible benefits. For these services, The Guardian Angel will become your sole heir. This way we will always live, if not as human beings, at least as an organization. The sums of money paid by you will be used not only to protect and extend your life, but also to aid in our research to eradicate this plague – the great plague of death. It is our goal to cheat death permanently.”

  Atalai pointed his finger at him, staring into his eyes. After a few moments he lowered his finger and resumed in a gentler tone: “Although we are trying to reduce operating costs, not many can benefit from the Device. What do you think would happen if everyone had their own Device and could find out when they die?”

  Bolden had never thought about it that way. He didn’t care what happened with others who had found out when they were going to die. If everyone knew that, it would start a mass hysteria.

  “There are people who know when the end is near. It is strange, but sensing this leads, in a very unnatural way for human beings, to resignation and acceptance of their deaths. It is like a pain that, when it appears, it also comes with a built-in anesthetic. When you get hurt, for instance, during those first moments, due to the endorphins secreted by the pituitary gland and by the nervous tissue, you don’t feel much. The ability to sense death has atrophied in the case of most people; only a few of them still have it. And the Device, just like the machines that amplify human powers, only rediscovered and artificially reproduced this ancient instinct.”

  Atalai paused and took a sip out of a
glass that was on his desk. The breaks in the recording seemed to have been introduced intentionally when Atalai wished to emphasize an idea; they gave the potential client time to process his words.

  “You understand, of course, that spreading the Device on a large scale would do absolutely no good to humanity. On the contrary, it would hasten its destruction. People would frantically try to defend themselves from death by any means and at any cost. You already know this ... or you are about to. The scope of variables would become much too large, completely uncontrollable. The Device would become useless. The predictive margin would decrease from days to hours to minutes, obliterating our ability to intervene. So it is likely to remain, until the moment when we finally conquer death forever. “

  Once again, there was a break and Atalai’s face froze, as if the monologue had exhausted him. Bolden suspected they were analyzing his reactions again.

  “Sensors indicate that you are in disbelief. I have recorded a version of this – let’s call it meeting – especially for this type of reaction. You are probably thinking that, if you leave us your entire fortune we would have no interest in keeping you alive. And, most of all, what is the purpose of those payments through the contract we are proposing if, after your death, we will inherit everything anyway? That is why I have spoken to you about the philosophy of this organization. You and I have no use for all the money we have. And we have a lot of it. In exchange, we want to stay alive, at any cost.

  “There is a certain tendency to restrain ourselves when talking about death. It is a typically human hypocrisy. As strange as it may seem, death is a part of life. But no one would feel like living if they knew precisely when life ends. There is no such thing as a pleasant death. Not even the one through euthanasia. We are bound to defend ourselves from death, to try and cheat it as much as we can. You must understand: out of all the people in the world, only you and a select few others can pay to live longer than you were meant to. Among them, there are also people who don’t have a fortune, but who can pay in a different currency: power. We call them politicians. All of them share a common desire to live.