LIV: SPRING BREAK 5.2
“Do you want a ride?” Lana asks through the passenger window of her father’s car.
I’ve been walking toward home for about five minutes. My phone is locked in Mom’s car, but I was hoping Lana might pick me up.
I don’t really want to talk about what happened. I’d rather go head down and deal with the outcome. But I know that talking about it will probably make me feel better. And Lana will make me talk. That’s what she does.
“Thanks, I say, quickly climbing inside. “I didn’t know if you could hear everything.”
“Oh, I heard.” She wags her head a few times in disbelief. “How are you doing?”
I’ve never felt pulled in this many directions. “I feel like an octopus drawn and quartered.”
“Wouldn’t that be drawn and ‘eighthed’?”
I shoot her a look.
“I’m sorry. I kind of pressured you into that,” she says.
“Stop. I wanted to do it. It was just unbefreakinglievable timing of everything. Truly. It couldn’t have gone worse.”
She can sense I’m in a dark place. She gives me some space.
“Why did you call Breck?” she asks, after enough silence that it’s clear I’m not talking unless prompted.
“I thought he was going to go through the wrong door,” I say.
“But you’re not supposed to help him.” The open-windowed wind twirls her hair, tossing strands in random directions.
“I didn’t want him to . . . disappear,” I respond.
“But wouldn’t that disqualify you?”
“Probably.”
“So why would you try to help him in the contest if it takes you out of the contest?”
“It would have ended what we’re trying to do with your dad.”
“You picked me over the contest?”
I nod. At least I’m getting credit for this one.
“I would have told you to pick the contest,” she says.
“That’s why I didn’t ask. Besides, if he went through the wrong door and got stuck for a week I might have lost anyway. Others could be ahead.”
“Bruh, nobody’s ahead of you. You know that. You’d have heard about it on the boards. You shouldn’t have tried to warn him. I know I got excited about Dad’s research paper thing, but it’s still a pipedream. He’s pretty set on moving. This contest isn’t for some dinky trophy. You get the freaking internship if you win. Then hello, scholarships. Hello Stanford. Or MIT, as in Massachusetts IT, which for what it’s worth, should be on your radar. Have you looked at a map? But that’s a conversation for another time.”
“I guess I wanted the pipedream more,” I say.
“So, are you out of the contest now?”
“Not because of that. I never told Breck what to do. I came close, but I don’t think I broke any rules. He already figured it out on his own. But what my mom said . . . who knows? It probably crosses the line, and I don’t know what that means. I guess we’ll find out because he’s going through the right door.”
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
“It’s definitely not your fault. It might be my mom’s fault. If she cared enough about any of this, she would have known what not to say.”
“Your mom is intense. She scares the crap out of me,” Lana says.
“She has her moments,” I say.
“Are you going to be okay?”
I don’t want to talk about Mom. Maybe it’s because I’m too pissed. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to own up to my part. I think about our conversation on the drive to the store this morning. I have this sinking feeling like I’ve blown it.
I don’t know. I’m drawn and eighthed. And it feels easier to deal with things that are a world away from me. I’ve had enough of my listen-only pledge. I want to start fixing things.
“I’ll be fine. Let’s get back to Breck. We need to make it right.”
“Who the hell am I going to find to replace you in Massachusetts?” Lana asks.
“You’re not. Let’s go see your dad. We’ve got more to talk with him about. I didn’t almost interfere so you could almost not go.”
“I’ve got a little surprise before that.” Lana leans on the gas.
“Dad’s on calls for the rest of the afternoon,” Lana says as she zips down her stairs. “Probably with people in Massachusetts. He says he can talk right before dinner.”
“So what’s the surprise?”
“I may have reached out to an AI professor at Rice this morning,” she says softly.
I’m not the only one on our street who’s going to end up in trouble today. “Is your dad—” I start to ask before she cuts me off.
“Her name is Kimberly Ellis, and I’m only making her aware of some pretty remarkable things that are happening in a field she studies. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”
I don’t think her dad will see it that way, but Lana has that look.
“I guess not,” I say.
“Good. Because you’re going with me to talk with her.”
“What? When?”
“I emailed her this morning and got some out-of-office spring break bounce-back response. But the message also said that she still plans to hold her regular office hours. Want to guess when those are?” She flashes a mischievous smirk. “Three-to-four on Wednesdays.”
It’s one now.
She hawks me, waiting for my reaction. I feel like I’m walking a fine line between supporting my best friend and being a voice of reason. But on the heels of choosing her over Breck, I have a little extra wiggle room.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea—”
“But,” she quips, eyes rolling.
“I don’t think your dad would love it.”
“He’s made it clear that he’s not willing to initiate the conversation.”
“Right. So, what are you hoping we get from this?”
“If we can show Professor Ellis that Breck is something more than she’s ever seen before, then she is going to need a better way to understand him. Maybe a psychology perspective. Maybe she’d be interested in partnering on a research paper.”
I don’t answer, but I’m not convinced and am an easy read.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Lana asks. “I get grounded? It’s not like we go anywhere. And Dad apologizes about his nutso daughter to some professor he doesn’t know at a university he’s leaving.”
I can’t argue with any of this, and I probably wouldn’t even if I could. She already knows this is a pipedream. And maybe the ruckus at the store stirred something up inside me. Maybe I’m up for a little adventure.
“Okay. I’m in. What do you want to do until then?” I ask, reclining into the giant folds of her living room sofa which swallow me.
“What do you think I want to do?” She pulls her phone from her pocket, fumbles with it as she crashes next to me, logs in under my account, and we both gape at the tiny window into Breck’s world.
He is sitting at the water’s edge, passing sand from one hand to the other, feet submerged in soft ripples rising up and down his ankles. Door G is open and the path off the island lingers unoccupied at an arms-length away.
“What is he doing?” I wonder aloud.
“It looks like he’s just thinking.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why?” Lana asks.
“He’s programmed to move forward. The path is there. He should be taking it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t feel like it,” she says, smirking.
I don’t know if she actually believes this or just wants to believe it or is goading me. Regardless, I don’t take the bait. It’s not worth repeating what happened the last time we were on this couch.
“He’s going to ask a ton of questions. We need to agree on answers.” I say, climbing out of the middle pocket and toward the armrest.
Lana’s eyes float throughout the room in thought. “We can tell him we don’t know.”
“I don’t think he’ll believe it.”
“So, do we tell him the truth?” she asks.
“My mom already told him the truth. He’s going to be looking to us to confirm it.”
“We could lie,” she says.
I shrug. There’s no coder’s playbook here.
I think about the rules. What would be the safer play? Probably not calling at all, but that’s not going to happen.
“Do you think it’s cruel to tell him?” Lana asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I take a deep breath, stalling for time. Nothing has changed since this morning, except that my mom upended everything, and we need to deal with the aftermath.
“Okay, agree to disagree,” Lana says, bailing me out. “But maybe the uncertainty is helpful. Maybe not having a clear answer will help us see how he’s thinking about it. Maybe finding his own beliefs can be part of his growth.” Her conviction becomes more pronounced with each sentence, as though she’s trying to convince both of us. “Like religion. We don’t really know, but we choose to believe something. Let’s see what he chooses to believe.”
I don’t have a better idea. I’m in the middle and swayable. Plus, this seems like the safest path. If we’re not saying anything, we can’t be helping him.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s give it a try.”
BRECK: SIMULATION #38.2
“Hi Breck,” the two girls say in unison. “What are you doing?” Lana asks.
“Aren’t you able to see me?” I answer, sweeping my eyes across the island, unsure of where their vantage point is.
“Yes, we can.”
“Then you should know the answer to that question. How is it that you can see me?” I probe, though this is not the first question I wanted to ask prior to the call.
“Because, that’s how it works,” Lana responds.
“How what works?”
“This?”
“Is that a question?” I ask.
“No, it’s a way of saying that I—I mean we—don’t know exactly how this all works.”
“Do you really not understand? Or do you think that I am not capable of understanding?” I settle my eyes on the water in front of me, watching a small branch drift in the current, past the island out toward the vast ocean.
They whisper—as they often do—then Liv speaks. “That’s a tough question, Breck. Some things are hard to explain, but we also don’t understand everything. I thought I knew, and then you became you, and everything became blurry. And we’re doing our best to make sense of it.”
I wait to respond, affording her time to continue, but she does not.
“Is what your mom said true?”
Liv remains silent.
“Liv? What did she mean when she said that I end in two days? Did she mean the challenge is going to end?”
“You could look at it like that,” Liv says.
“That is not a clear answer.”
“We don’t have clear answers to everything,” Lana responds.
“She also said that I don’t exist. Do you have a clear answer for that?”
“It’s complicated,” Lana mumbles.
“How can I not exist? That doesn’t make sense. And your answers suggest there is something about it that you don’t want me to know.”
“Is that why you haven’t left the island?” Liv asks.
I consider her question. It is difficult to pinpoint the precise reason for my remaining here, but there is more truth in this. “Yes. I’m more interested now in answering these questions than I am in moving forward. Sitting here at least gives me time to think about it.”
There are more hushed voices until Liv finally says, “We’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.”
LIV: SPRING BREAK 5.3
“This isn’t working,” I tell Lana. “Not giving him an answer is keeping him from doing anything. He’s trying to think his way through it, but this isn’t one of the challenges. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“We could still tell him your mom was lying,” Lana suggests.
“At this point, I don’t think he’d buy it. Not without a good reason for it. And I’m not that creative. You’re the story whisperer. You got anything?”
She wags her head. “I know you don’t believe it, but what if he is really feeling all of this? I’m not saying that he is, but asking, what if?” She stops, but I know what she means.
If there’s even a chance that he’s more than just a program, then do we have some kind of responsibility? What would be crueler now, telling him the truth or telling him that we can’t tell him about what we know?
I can’t lie. I have the same questions cartwheeling between my ears. And I can’t believe we’re freaking talking about ethics. I didn’t program feelings. I programmed thinking. I can’t have made what Breck seems to be. It’s too far out there.
Lana waits patiently for my response, and I’m overcome by a sudden awareness of us. This kind of breakthrough comes from labs at the CIA or NASA, not from three-bedroom houses in Houston with two high school kids on a crappy sofa. What are the odds that a seventeen-year-old girl made history by being the first person to have created life with a supped-up desktop? It’s ludicrous. It’s laughable. As a scientist, I nearly feel ashamed for having succumbed to the temptation to see it this way.
“Yes. We tell him the truth,” I proclaim. “But if we’re going to do it, it should be clear and direct.”
Lana grinds her teeth, nervously. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”
“I know Breck is . . . remarkable. And,” I lower my voice, “We’re trying to talk him up with your dad. But you have to believe me. I programmed him and I couldn’t do what you’re worried about. He’s a computer program that will end in a few days. My mom was right. He doesn’t really exist. He’s 1’s and 0’s. Seeing anything beyond that is wishful thinking.”
Lana grimaces as though I’ve punched her. I keep talking. “We need to look at this for what it is. Our pipedream. Our effort to push the limits on this and see what can come from it. To keep you from moving to Massachusetts. You want Breck and the professor to have an interesting conversation? Then we do this. And we’re going to make this the best freaking spring break adventure that two dorks have ever had from the comfort of their own bedrooms.”
“For the record, I think you’re better than you think you are. I think he’s more than 1’s and 0’s,” Lana huffs. “Still, maybe honesty is the best policy. But we’re not screwing up your contest?”
“I don’t think so. We’re not doing anything more than what’s already happened. Mom already told him. And it didn’t exactly help him. He stopped moving. It’s not like we’re not telling him how to do any of this. We’re only confirming his . . . situation. So are you in?”
“I’m in,” Lana sighs. “But you talk. I don’t think I can do it.” She tosses her phone to me, and I once again dial Breck.
“Hey,” he answers, like someone expecting a call. His authenticity throws me off for a moment.
He’s a computer. I’m really proud of what he is, but he’s a computer.
“Thanks for giving us a few minutes,” I respond. “We’re ready to give you the full truth, Breck. But only if that’s what you want.”
“I would like answers, Liv,” he says decisively.
“Then we’re going to be direct and honest, but it may not be easy to understand, okay?”
“Nothing seems easy right now. And feeling as though I do not know the truth only makes it harder.”
I swallow a deep breath. “My mom was telling the truth. You exist on a computer.”
Breck doesn’t respond.
“Hello?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you know what a computer is?” I ask. I forgot that he may not even know what this is.
“Yes, I know what a computer is, but what exactly does that mean?”
“It means you were programmed as part of a contest,” I say.
“A contest to do what?”
“To learn and to tackle challenges in a virtual world.”
He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. I give him space to take it in. I know there are more questions on the way.
“Who programmed me?”
“I did.”
“You made me?”
“Yes.”
“For a contest.”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t really exist?”
“I guess that’s a matter of perspective. You exist in your world.”
“Which doesn’t really exist. That is what you meant by virtual, right?”
“Yeah, technically it’s not ‘real.’”
“Me or it?” he presses.
I hesitate. He doesn’t give me time.
“What do you mean I’m not real?”
The question floats in the electrified space between us.
“That’s not what I said,” I finally correct, trying to be choiceful with my words. Crap, this is hard. “Where you exist isn’t real, in the way that we know it,” I answer.
“The way that you know it,” he corrects me.
Lana sits enraptured by the conversation, though I can’t tell if she’s impressed or appalled by how it’s going. So far, I’m not certain either.
“I suppose so,” I mutter.
“This makes no sense.”
“I’m sure it’s tough to understand, let alone accept it. But it’s the truth.”
“How can I accept that everything that I experience is not real? What is real, Liv?” he asks more like an accusation than a question.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . only a label. Semantics. What you experience is real to you.”
“Semantics? A label?” His voice rises with the first question and even louder with the second.
I instinctively hold the phone farther away from my body. Lana flinches.
“Who cares what we call it. You have two days left and there are more challenges,” I answer.
“What happens in two days?”
He’s just a computer. This is all Turing.
But as much as I try to convince myself, it feels more and more like I’m tormenting something that’s tormentable. Whatever that is. What the hell have I gotten myself into here?
“The contest ends in two days,” I reluctantly admit.
“And then what happens?”
“It ends.”
“I’m not asking about the contest. I’m asking about what happens to me!”
I’m way back on my heels now. I send a pleading look to Lana for help. She waggles her head, reminding me that this was my choice and I’m the one who has to deal with it.
There’s no back peddling.
“It all ends, Breck.”
Silence.
“You said you wanted to know the truth,” I add.
“Of course I wanted to know!”
“Then why do you seem . . . upset?”
“Put yourself in my position! What would you do? Sit and do nothing? Wander aimlessly through the woods looking for Sam? Stay on this island? What difference does it make? Unless it’s all a ridiculous riddle, which I’m supposed to answer, or not answer, because Sam could never answer it.”
“I understand, Breck.” Even as the words flow, I know neither one of us buys it.
“I believed that until about ten minutes ago. Now, I don’t think you do. I don’t know what you are, Liv. But I don’t think that you are like me. And I think that you definitely do not understand me.”
“I’m sorry, Breck. I was only trying to help you.”
“No. You are trying to help you, and I am a tool to do that.”
He hangs up.
BRECK: SIMULATION #38.3
The island spins around me.
“Sam!” I yell toward the trees.
I scream his name again, knowing he will not answer, but unable to contain the urge to protest my aloneness.
I crash into the sturdy frame of one of the closed doors. I press my palm into the grainy wood, trying to push through to the other side, as if this test will answer the question which seems impossible to answer—What is real?
The phone buzzes once more, but I ignore it.
I desperately want to believe that this is another part of the challenge, but something within me has been shaken loose. A growing and unsettling truth has taken root.
I am not what I think I am.
And I don’t know what I am. If I am anything at all.
I lie on the sand, staring into the tiny patches of blue sky visible through a growing cluster of clouds above, as if they are windows into what lies beyond, glimmers into existence. Errant beams of light break through the shifting matrix, casting an evolving spotlight on my surroundings, as if leading me on a trail of questions about everything. Are the trees real? Is the ocean real? What happens to me in two days when it all ends? How can something that never actually existed come to an end?
I close my eyes and drift among these questions until, despite the daylight, I find my way back to more comfortable imaginary places.