Evolution Z

by Everist J Miller

  ###

  Marcia was already exhausted by the time she got to work. Her day had just begun, but it felt as if she had worked too hard already to get there. So much effort just to get started. It was unfair. She needed help and who the hell could she turn to?

  Marcia opened the door to one grave face and one long stare.

  "Well Marcia, we're very pleased you could make it." After a pause, "I won't waste time asking what took you so long."

  That introduction came from Ken Stewart. What a surprise. Overweight from extravagance and overconsumption, he was on the management side. From the thousand dollar suit to the diamond-studded cufflinks, silk tie and a gold watch, he was all about showmanship.

  Marcia kept her head down as she fumbled with a chair. Damn it. She couldn't let Ken score points off her. She struggled to sit, all the time feeling the humiliating pause in the uncomfortably intimate meeting.

  It's okay to be late, she said to herself. They need you. You're safe.

  "The prototype is missing Marcia," Ken said with concentrated unblinking eyes. A deliberate pause. "Do you know anything about it?" He stared, lips still parted, challenging her to respond.

  That caught Marcia off guard. She struggled to find her voice. "Um..." She swallowed. She couldn't find an opportunity to steady herself.

  "Cut it out Ken and explain it to her." It was Cynthia Savett, the only other person in the room. Her plain middle-aged face and sagging chin exaggerated her no nonsense tone. She looked detached but her voice was stern.

  Ken sighed as if the fun had been taken out of his game. "Okay. The prototype headset disappeared a couple of days ago. We checked our records. We think someone took it out with a batch of regular headsets to clients." He spoke as if reading from a script. Then he glared at Cynthia as if to say, 'Happy with that?'

  After a pause he swivelled to look at Marcia. "Do you know anything about it?" he asked.

  That caught Cynthia's ire. She stared at him, her face still and focussed. "Of course she doesn't," she said to him. Then she turned to Marcia. "We need to know where it was up to; at what stage of development. We need to assess the risks involved."

  There were risks all right. They shouldn't have rushed into it. Marcia recalled Ken's pompous request six months before and how casual he was about it. "We need to build better volunteers," he had said. "It's what our clients want." He lectured the company executives on how the economy hadn't recovered since the V-Crisis and that cutting costs was key.

  "People are an extravagant, expensive resource," he had continued. "The answer is simple," he had postulated. "The volunteers need to be able to do things on their own. They need to be less like robots and more intelligent." More people needed to lose their jobs to volunteers. People 'higher up the chain than mere grunts' as Ken had so insensitively put it. He had the practice of many radio interviews on the subject of the useful volunteer.

  Marcia knew straight away what that meant. That's why they had hired her and her job was secure. She could visualise permutations of options and consequences.

  "Volunteers are tamed, glorified machines," Marcia said. "Their every action needs to be programmed. Ken's vision is the next step." She turned her eyes to Ken. He nodded cautiously. "The idea is to automate them. To enliven the higher order parts of their own suspended organic brains.

  "The prototype headset constrains the volunteer's hunger like all the previous models," Marcia continued as she composed herself.

  "So it's safe?" Cynthia asked.

  "Well, the headset tames the volunteer." Marcia was embarrassed at how awkwardly she had put it. She hoped that her face hadn't flushed with shame. Don't worry, she told herself. They know how good you are. You don't have to prove it every second. You're valued. Safe.

  "I appreciate there is a long winded explanation for everything," Cynthia said. "Nothing is simple," she continued unblinking. "But I asked you whether a volunteer with a prototype headset is safe." She paused. "Is it?"

  Marcia stared at Cynthia incredulously. Marcia was unsure. She thought Ken had rushed the prototype into production. How could she vouch for its safety? Could she cross Ken?

  My God, she thought. Maybe I'm not safe anymore. Maybe they'll sacked me. I can't answer.

  "I'm waiting for an answer," Cynthia said, her expression unchanged.

  "I... Well." Marcia's eyes dropped to the table. "I don't know."

  "Of course you know," Ken interjected. "There have been tests, Marcia. You've supervised them. You-"

  "Please let her answer," Cynthia said to Ken.

  Marcia stole a glance at Ken before looking down again. He was scowling. "Yes," Marcia said, "We tested them. They subdued hunger just like the other headsets. They also have the failsafe. Upon measuring particular combinations of sensory input, if there is a risk of harm to any person, an electrical current is applied immediately to the pain centre in the volunteer's brain."

  "That implies that it's safe," Cynthia said. "So, what are you concerned about?"

  "It... I mean the prototype, changes their perception."

  "I don't understand," Cynthia said. "I need to understand everything." Her stare concentrated. "Everything," she emphasised. "I'm going to be asked a lot of questions."

  Marcia exhaled. Her eyes darted away from Cynthia's. She wondered how long Cynthia would keep her there. She worried about whether she could leave in time to pick Andrew up from school. It was a while away but explaining basic concepts leading up to the complexities of the prototype headset could take an eternity at the rate they were going.

  Marcia noticed she was taking shallow breaths. Calm down, she thought. They need you. Hell, they must need you badly if your bosses don't know the most fundamental things about the volunteers. Cynthia wasn't showing any knowledge about the prototype. She must have got caught up in Ken's marketing guff. You're safe God dammit. Calm down.

  Marcia lifted her head. She was too timid to look Cynthia in the eye, so she looked at Cynthia's mouth. It was a trick she had learned.

  "Does it kill the virus?" Cynthia asked.

  "Of course not," Marcia blurted before catching herself. Cynthia blinked. Or did she? She never expressed much emotion. "Sorry... I mean. Well... Nothing kills the virus. Nothing we know of. Not without also destroying the volunteer's brain. Even then, we don't know whether the virus survives. Well, in some other form, maybe."

  Cynthia paused. She rested her index finger on her jaw and he eyes lost focus. She must have been digesting the information.

  "I don't know why we didn't just destroy all of them after the crisis," Marcia added. "When we had the chance." It was another nervous blurt that she immediately regretted.

  "Way too expensive," Ken interjected. "Can you imagine how much ammunition that would have wasted? We did better. We made them useful. Now they produce a return."

  "Spare us Ken," Cynthia said. She waved a hand without turning her attention to him. Then to Marcia, "Tell me more about the prototype."

  "It reignites neurones," Marcia said.

  "What does that mean?" Cynthia asked.

  "We're not sure. It's still in the testing phase." Marcia hesitated.

  "Go on," Cynthia said scowling at Ken. She motioned with her hand.

  "It makes them more independent," Ken interjected. Cynthia immediately raised her hand to halt him.

  A thought interrupted Marcia's concentration. She realised Ken had been keen to get the headset to market. He rushed it. Maybe without Cynthia knowing or at least being told of the consequences. To him, sales were all that mattered. Maybe he wanted to test it with one of his clients, but she didn't dare accuse him. No one's job was that secure. Ken had once said that no one was irreplaceable.

  "I'm sorry," Marcia said placing a hand on her head as if she had lost her train of thought all of a sudden. "What was the question?"

  "I want to know what the prototype headset does to them."

  "It's meant to ignite higher order brain function. It injects a new anti-tox
in into the brain to neutralise the paralysis caused by the virus at a molecular level."

  "Don't be so technical," Cynthia said.

  "If they're not programmed with a HUD, they have to process information," Marcia said.

  "Does it work?" Cynthia asked. Her expression intensified.

  "It works in simulations," Marcia said shrugging.

  "You mean you haven't tested it?"

  "We don't... We can't," Marcia stumbled. "The danger is that they-"

  "Danger?" Ken interrupted. "You're being dramatic."

  This time Cynthia turned to face Ken when she spoke to him. "Ken, we've got shareholders to protect if this blows up. You of all people should understand that. You told me this was all straight forward when I gave you the go ahead. Now that it's out there I need to be reassured by a technician. Let her talk."

  Marcia observed cracks appear in Ken's facade. He was being relegated, and it rattled him. All powerful Ken was being castigated, and he didn't like it. There was nothing he could do to save face. Things must have been very dire for Cynthia to step on him like that. Marcia's concern escalated. Still, nothing could happen to her because she was the only one that could help them.

  "What's the danger?" Cynthia asked Marcia with urgency.

  "Well," Marcia recovered, "It could make them unpredictable."

  "But you said they were tame, that they can't hurt anyone."

  "Yes-"

  "So that's predictable?"

  "Um-"

  "Can they hurt people or not?"

  "All we know is that they're tame, but if we want them to do things independently, we can't program their every move. At the moment the volunteers can only perform structured and repetitive tasks. The new headset is supposed to allow them to do more complex things. Things they need to do in the manner and order they see fit to finish the task. In that way we can't predict everything they might do."

  "Okay," Cynthia said. "I get it."

  Marcia exhaled in relief.

  The interrogation wasn't over. "But how does it work?" Cynthia asked.

  "Well," Marcia said, "it establishes connections between neurones."

  Cynthia's eyes were still. She was looking at Marcia - but through her. Her mind was ticking over. "I see," she said. "So we're giving them their brains back."

  Marcia nodded. She marvelled at how Cynthia had a knack for simplifying complex ideas. Marcia always thought her own strength was in technical analysis and technical speak. At that moment she realised it was also her greatest weakness. That's why the Cynthias of the world were so far ahead of her.

  "I didn't think we could do that," Cynthia said. She was looking at Marcia again but this time she was not elusive. She raised her eyebrows expecting an answer.

  Marcia hesitated.

  "What I'm saying," Cynthia continued, "is that the virus is supposed to kill all higher level brain functions and leave only instinct and hunger." After a pause she said, "Is that right Marcia?"

  It was so complicated. Marcia struggled to find words to explain it. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She bit a fingernail. Okay, she thought. Okay, I can do this. "As far as we knew, the virus destroyed the brain cells associated with higher order thinking," she said. "That's as far as we knew, but we did some experiments. We think the cells are deactivated, not dead. We think we could activate them again."

  "So you can jump start them?" Cynthia said.

  "Kind of," Marcia said hesitantly.

  "So we're turning them back into people?" Cynthia asked.

  "We don't know," Marcia said. "I'm not sure what we're turning them into."

  "Marcia, let me put it this way," Cynthia said. "There's a difference between predicting whether a volunteer will use its left or right hand to pick up a wrench, and predicting whether it's going to follow someone home and sit on their sofa, glaring at their pet dog for two days. That would cause panic. I want you to tell me what kind of unpredictability you're talking about."

  Marcia was flustered. She hated being interrogated and Cynthia was like a dog with a bone. She couldn't help it if the prototype was in the wild. Ken probably leaked it. Why wasn't Cynthia questioning him?

  "Marcia, I need an answer," Cynthia said.

  Marcia lowered her eyes to the desk. "I don't know," she said in defeat.

  Cynthia stood up and leaned over the desk towards Marcia. "That's not helpful," she said. After a pause she slammed her fist on the desk inches from Marcia's face.

  The sudden act of aggression caught Marcia by surprise. Her body convulsed with a startle. She let out a squeal.

  Cynthia placed both fists on the table.

  Even Ken startled. His facade was peeling off. He dug his feet into the carpet and dragged his chair as far as he could from the table in the limited space.

  Marcia's confidence was eroded. Her face was burning with shock. She felt her emotions chocking her. She was on the cusp of surrendering to tears.

  Cynthia eyed Marcia. "We need to test the other prototype urgently," she said. "Real tests on real volunteers." She lifted her fists from the table and stood up. "When can you get me the results?" she asked Marcia.

  Marcia didn't know what to say. She didn't know how long it would take. She didn't even know where they could get test subjects or how safe it was to do tests on them.

  "How soon?" Cynthia pressed, folding her arms.

  Marcia didn't know how to respond. Testing could take an indeterminate time, depending on any problems they might encounter. They hadn't even set up a test environment. That, of itself, could take days. Then they would have to source at least two volunteers, one for testing and another control.

  Then there was Andrew to think about. Marcia need to pick him up from school in the afternoon and attended to him. Marcia worked until three. She was available at home if something was urgent, but she could only do tests in a lab. She couldn't experiment remotely from home. Well she could try to train someone but then she might lose her value to the company. Then she would be at risk of losing her job. Then what?

  "I... " Marcia stammered. She turned to look at Ken for support about her flexible work arrangements. After all, he was her manager. He scowled.

  "Get started and keep me updated every two hours," Cynthia snapped.

  "When do you want it done?" Marcia asked with a noticeable tremor in her voice.

  "As soon as possible," Cynthia said. Marcia gave a look of confusion. Noticing, Cynthia said, "I want you to keep working until it's done. Now"

  Helplessness washed through Marcia. What could Cynthia possibly mean by that? Stay at work for days, maybe weeks?

  Cynthia stood up and turned to leave the room. "It could take days, possibly weeks," Marcia blurted. Her panic dominated her fear of Cynthia.

  "You'll keep working until it's done," Cynthia replied without turning back.

  Marcia's panic overcame her. "There's no one to look after my son," she said. There was an edge to her voice that caused Cynthia to freeze and turn back towards her.

  Cynthia's eyes narrowed as she poised to speak. "Do you know how serious this is?" she asked. "God only knows what could happen if there's an out-of-control volunteer out there. This company could be finished. Finished. All of us without jobs."

  After a pause, Cynthia moved closer to Marcia, standing over her. "You know what else?" Cynthia said. "We could all end up being arrested. We all know the penalty for a rogue volunteer."

  "I..." Marcia stuttered. She sounded close to tears.

  "Don't worry," Cynthia said in an appeasing tone. It sounded false. "I'm sure a family member will look after your son." There was only a pretence of concern.

  "I don't have anyone," Marcia replied. "That's why I have flexible working arrangements." Her eyes were fixed in helplessness. "I need to call the school," she said.

  Cynthia exhaled. "It's a lock down."

  "A lock down?" Marcia asked in a wavering tone.

  "No one makes any contact with the outside world," Ken chimed
in. "No one comes in. No one leaves until it's done."

  "Why?" Marcia asked. She directed the question to Cynthia. She hadn't turned to face Ken.

  "Leaks," Ken said grinning.

  Cynthia gave Ken a cold, penetrating stare. "I don't know how you ever got to be a manager," she said to him. His mouth straightened. Cynthia turned to Marcia. "Marcia, as I've tried to explain, we're in a very dangerous situation here. No one can find out about this until we have it under control and when someone finds out about it, it has to be on our terms.

  "The police, army. If not handled properly, everyone's going to be interested in this. The authorities care less about murder than they do about the possibility of rogue volunteers. We could all end up in prison. Or worse."

  Ken swallowed. He had lost his mischievous expression. He gulped a second time. That wasn't lost on Cynthia. "Yes," she said to Ken, "Even you ought to be scared."

  "But my son could die alone," Marcia said. "You know what it's like Cynthia. There are predators out there." But Marcia knew that Cynthia didn't know how it felt. Cynthia was childless.

  "He's not going to die," Cynthia said. "I have to weigh the risks. The probability of your son dying is much lower than the certainty of all of us dying if this gets out. Now if you work hard and find a solution quickly, we can all get out of here unscathed and you can see your son again. Think of it as a motivator. You're wasting time. Precious time that you could be using to close this out."

  "Can't I just make sure he's okay? I'll come right back."

  Cynthia tapped the round face of her petite watch. There was a glint of light from the diamonds embedded in it. She raised her eyebrows. "You can do this Marcia," she said. "I have faith in you."

  Cynthia left the room before Marcia could say any more.

  Marcia was suffering a horrible anguish. She felt a lump in her throat as she imagined Andrew alone, confused and scared. Hopefully he'd try to get home with one of the other kids, but that was far from certain. She was also horrified that her job–the one she had fought to protect–was exposing her son to danger; that she had got caught up in something that could be illegal and catastrophic and now she was trapped like a rat in a cage.