BRECK: SIMULATION 39.5
I’m on top of clouds, jumping from cottony clump to clump across the sky, staring defiantly with each leap at the ground, thousands of feet beneath my feet. The distance blurs the details and all I can detect are broad swaths of what lies below. From here, the trees appear as plush as the clouds, and if there are people, they are too small to see. It’s as if I’m somewhere between Liv’s world and mine, taking in my surroundings from a different perspective, and preparing for an even greater change to come.
My leaps grow bolder, larger. I try to see how far I can jump, until I reach a distance I cannot cover. My feet miss the misty border and I hurdle downward, facing skyward as the clouds zip into the distance and my stomach tries to squeeze into my neck. I turn to face the ground, at which point I see people. Large crowds standing, frozen, all seemingly doing the same thing—looking upward at me.
The ground nears. Faster. Faster. Until . . .
My eyes snap open. Sam is sitting beside me in the darkness, staring.
“You were moving,” Sam says.
“I was falling,” I say.
There is nothing pleasant tonight about where I go when I close my eyes. Setting after setting has been distressing.
“No. You were lying here,” Sam says.
It’s not worth trying to explain. I try to keep my eyes open, but it’s too hard. They want to shut.
I close them once again and hope for more pleasant visions.
LIV: SPRING BREAK 7.0
I’ve spent the night flipping my pillow, spinning from one side to another, counting breaths, doing anything but sleeping. I cycle over the same questions but can’t come to a decision. I can’t even decide the right way to frame it.
Is Breck human enough to kill? Or is Breck human enough to not kill?
It’s still dark, but close enough to morning that someone is making coffee. I can smell it.
My feet find the floor as I surrender to the oncoming day.
“This is a rare sighting. Are you up early or up late?” Todd says, his mouth half-full of the other half of the banana he’s holding. He’s wearing a backward baseball cap and a hoodie.
“I guess both. I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Want to talk? I got about five minutes, then I have to meet a guy at the shop who wants me to restore his old Pontiac Fiero to its former glory. I disagree with that premise, but his car, his money,” Todd says, then bites off most of the remaining banana.
“I suppose I could use another voice inside my head.” I sit at the kitchen table, and he does the same after grabbing both of us a cup of coffee. He listens as I quickly bring him up to speed.
I finish and he smiles in a way that makes me like talking with him—knowing, but not patronizing.
“To start, you’re telling me you won?”
“No,” I correct. “I could win, but not if I interfere.”
“Bullshit. You won. Whether you get credit for it is another matter. But you beat all those other code jockeys and their electronic dolts. How old are they?”
“Mostly college, some older. A few still in high school probably.”
“You are such a badass. Cheers,” he tips his mug toward mine. “Say it.”
I sigh, which he returns with a stern look. “Say it.”
“I am a badass,” I relent.
“You are. I think you recognize that. What I don’t think you’re recognizing is that some problems are good problems. There’s such a thing as a good oh shit. I’m not taking away from how real Breck is—or isn’t—or how meaningful and important the issues are that you’re wrestling with. I’m only saying that it’s worth first acknowledging that you earned this problem. Nobody else has it because you did better than they did. Own it. It won’t make the questions any easier, but it’ll change how you feel about answering them. It’s not a burden. It’s a privilege.”
It does feel better to think about it this way, but I still squirm a little when I nod back. I guess I’ve learned to deal with criticism better than praise.
“Okay,” he continues. “Enough of the preachy you’re awesome stuff. Let’s dig in. So is this more about him or about you?”
“Him. I do care about the contest, but every time I dwell on me, I feel guilty.”
“Good. I’d listen to that feeling. You’re way too young to lose your integrity. I didn’t lose mine until I was at least twenty something, and now I’m turning Fieros into fiberglass rockets. If you can win this at seventeen, imagine what you can do at eighteen, twenty, twenty-five. You don’t need their damn trophy. Now let’s get to the hard stuff.”
I lean in.
“I have bad news and good news. The bad? I can’t give you an answer, no matter how long we talk. The good? Sometimes there’s not a right answer. This is a philosophical question, not multiple choice. If you polled a thousand people, you’d get a thousand different opinions. Hell, you’d probably divide the Supreme Court. This isn’t about making the right choice. It’s about being comfortable with the choice you make.
“Get out of there, Liv.” Todd points a finger between his eyes. “And look in here.” He lowers his finger to his chest. “I can’t tell you what that voice is saying. And if I told you what mine says, I’d being doing you a disservice. Because you earned this decision. Your privilege. Not mine. Mine is a Fiero.”
He rises and holds out a fist for me to bump. I lightly pound it.
“You’re going to make the best choice you can and that’s the best you can do,” he adds as he grabs his keys and leaves.
The horizon reddens as I return to Breck. He lies motionless. If I delete him, now is the time to do it. It will spare him the angst of the final moments. He will go peacefully in his sleep.
But I’m still torn. Even if there is no right choice, there’s still no answer I’m comfortable with. This is a power I don’t want, no matter how hard to try to frame it as privilege.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe the answer is as simple as me giving up the power, channeling what he wants above what I want.
And he was crystal clear about what he wanted.
It’s time to do this.
I slide a heavy finger across the keyboard, into position.
Goodbye Breck.
My cell buzzes and startles me, nearly stripping the decision from me as my hand jerks and almost presses the key to delete Breck.
“Hi, Jessica,” I say.
“Would you really go through with it?” she asks.
“With what?”
“Let’s skip the part where you deny this. You’re way too smart not to spot it as an obvious option. And I’m nearly omniscient,” she says, which feels as creepy as it sounds. “I have enough visibility to see that you’ve been one keystroke away from taking matters into your own hands since sometime last night. What I don’t know is whether you intend to go through with it. Do you?”
“Since you know about it, I’m assuming it’s not an option anymore. You’d block it.”
“That’s a fair assumption. But what were you going to do? Would you have given it all up for him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I look at her photo on the wall, as though I’m confronting her more directly. “Because unlike you, I’m putting his needs first. If you really believed in him, you’d do the same.”
“He’s special to you, isn’t he?”
“Why are you taunting me?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to taunt you. I want to better understand your connection with Breck. It’s unique.”
“Because he’s unique!”
“We agree. And I have some news to share that will help prove this. If Breck can finish the last challenge in time, we’re going to move him to another server where—this may be of some surprise to you—we have a world full of characters who are like him.”
Surprise? That doesn’t even come close. “As advanced as he is?”
“And more.”
“Why haven’t I ever heard of it?”
“We don’t exactly publicize it.”
“Then what’s the point of the contest?” I ask.
“Great question. There are several. But one is finding talent like you, Liv. I realize you’re probably conflicted about what you think of me. On the one hand, I’m ‘Jessica Anders’ from DoRC, someone you may have even looked up to . . . before all of this. And, on the other hand, I’m somebody who has not yet listened to what either you or Breck want. We have different roles, you and I, but we also have much in common. We are both scientists, people who see possibilities that others don’t see, with the courage to pursue these. In a way, you are me, simply a generation removed, with fresh ideas. You are as remarkable as Breck.”
My knees feel weak. She is right about all of it. I resent and admire her, which makes this hard to take in. I’m floored. I’m inspired. And I don’t believe her.
“There’s still something you’re not telling me.”
“Which is only proof of how smart you are and how deserving you are of this win.”
“Just tell me everything,” I plead. I’m tired of the games.
“I already told you what’s most important. And all of it’s true. Breck can be saved.”
“What if I don’t believe you?”
“What choice do you have?” she asks.
Grrr! Can you slap a wall photo?
She has me. At this point, I’m only wasting time. Time that Breck needs.
“I have to tell Breck about this. Can I call him? He’s not going to move forward otherwise.”
“I called him last night.”
“You what? What about me? You knew I was sweating over whether to delete him and you let me spend the whole night that way?” I see Breck roll to his side on the monitor, as though I’ve yelled this loud enough that he can hear me, a world away.
“We’re also interested in understanding how people interact with AI, at its various stages of development . . . when bonds form and why, and the strength of those bonds.”
“You were testing me?”
“Not exclusively. But yes.”
“You played me.”
“You’re in a contest, Liv.”
I clutch her photo from the wall and drop it to the carpet at my feet. “That isn’t the contest I signed up for. I didn’t sign up to be an ethical guinea pig. You only wasted more of my time and Breck’s time.”
“I don’t think you really believe that. After this week, you—of all people—know the difficult moral debates we can’t avoid in creating intelligent life. This is what you signed up for. You just didn’t expect to be as successful as you’ve been. You are God, Liv, even if you’re not comfortable with the semantics of it. And if you had the chance to study God, wouldn’t you? You would. You’re a scientist, Liv. And, as for wasting his time, I’ve ensured he’ll be able to return to the final challenge quickly. If he’s capable, he’ll have enough time to solve it.”
As she says this, Breck wakes. He and Sam waste no time climbing into the cart and zipping into the distance.
“As his God, what happens to him if he doesn’t solve it in time?”
“We’ll honor his wishes and let it end.”
“So he dies?”
“That is what you requested of us yesterday, is it not?”
“Before I knew there was a better option.”
“This isn’t my decision alone. I realize you know me as the head of DoRC, but you could say we’re more of a committee. There are many others here and, unfortunately, I don’t write all the rules. I’m bound to them, just as you are,” she explains, her voice so dry I could wring it and not find a single drop of empathy.
“Can I talk with him one last time?”
“No. The rules state explicitly that he cannot receive any help from outside the competition,” she says, emphasizing my place. “Trust that what you’ve given him is enough. So for now, I suggest that we both watch. I think you’ll find it relevant to everything that’s happening. Goodbye, Liv. And good luck.”
As she hangs up, I watch two suns inch into the sky, mine and Breck’s. We are worlds apart. Jessica is right. All I can do is watch and trust.
BRECK: SIMULATION #40
Jessica’s promise was accurate. When I woke, the cart was at the tunnel’s edge. We took it back down to the island where we found the quadcopter, which I flew to the castle. The entire trip took mere minutes. Now we are standing in front of a moat surrounding the castle, watching the top of an enormous wooden gate slowly lower to form a bridge to enter, all prompted by the word, Sea.
Sam and I crane our heads through the growing gap between the door and the frame to peer into the gargantuan edifice.
The door extends over halfway up the massive walls of the tower, and as it nears the ground, we move to the side, ensuring that our feet do not end up beneath it. The door falls to the ground in the final six inches of descent, shaking the earth and affirming our decision to back away.
The entrance is a twenty-foot corridor that leads into an open space with a lush field of green grass.
Sam does as he always does, proceeding forward without caution. I trace his steps until we’re both at the edge of the courtyard, surveying the interior. Bordering the wall of the castle on all sides are rooms, two stories high, decorated with ornate stained-glass windows that pop vibrantly from the cool, gray stone walls. Above each room, a tower rises. And in the center of the grassy courtyard, there is a fifth tower, the one with the golden dome that appears to touch the sky.
The door to this middle tower hangs open, making our path from here obvious—so obvious that Sam does not ask. He walks there. I’m close behind.
The vacant space gives me an uneasy feeling in my stomach. We have seen no one nor heard anything, yet the whole structure feels occupied. The grass and hedges are perfectly manicured, the windows are free from dust and dirt. There isn’t a shred of debris anywhere.
We enter the tower and begin to ascend a spiral staircase, our footfalls echoing loudly against the stone steps.
“Hello?” I say into the void above.
There is no response.
We make several ascending loops before coming to an open-air window, which gives us our first glimpse of how high we have climbed. From here, every few loops, there is another window, offering light and an increasingly better panoramic view. We pass eight of these before arriving at a door with an image of this tower painted into the woodwork.
Sam looks at me and I nod. He grabs the handle and turns. The door easily opens, and we both step through into the space on the other side.
The tapered walls and domed ceiling confirm that we are at the top of the tower. From the center of the ceiling, a lone light casts a spotlight on a brightly colored ornamental doll in the middle of the tower. Though to call it a doll understates its size; it is taller than I am. The figure is in the shape of a portly person without legs. It has a wide and flat base, bowed middle, and smaller circumference toward the upper section where the neck begins, with painted eyes and mouth above. If it were black and white, it would look more like a very large penguin than a person.
Otherwise, the room is vacant. The stone walls have been plastered over, leaving the entire inside a dull tan, noticeably void of anything, especially when contrasted with the vibrant doll.
The door behind us shuts with an echoing bang. My head snaps back toward it. There is no handle on our side, and the convex interior of the door fits so snugly into the wall that there is hardly any trace of where it shut, other than a slender gap at the floor allowing it to swing open and shut.
This room is either where we are supposed to be, or we have made a significant misstep.
LIV: SPRING BREAK 7.1
Breck and Sam appear trapped in a room with a lone Russian nesting doll, though they haven’t figured this out yet.
It can’t be this simple.
There has to be something more than uncovering the other dolls, concealed on the inside. This seems like basic logic and reasoning, which he’s already been tested on. This challenge is testing something different, but without knowing what that ability is, it’s tough to see where this is headed.
There has to be more.
Bingo!
There’s a small card at the base of the doll.
Come on, Breck. See it! You don’t have time to waste.
BRECK: SIMULATION #40.1
As I walk toward the center, I notice something I had missed on my initial scan of the room—a tiny envelope placed at the base of the doll. I pick it up and open it. There are four words written on a thin plastic card on the inside.
Find the real one.
“What does that mean?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know.”
“There is only one of them,” he adds.
“I can see that.”
We continue to look around the room, confirming what we already know—it is empty except for the colorful figure, and we are stuck. Sam runs his hands along the walls, pushing into it in various places. I can’t blame him for trying and I don’t interrupt him. It’s occupying him and preventing him from barraging me with an endless series of questions to which I do not have answers.
I turn to the doll and look at its eyes, large and round. They stare back at me, as if following me around the room. It makes me think of Liv and whether she, too, is watching us, silently.
I stare at the doll with my thoughts swirling elsewhere, unbound, and random. I may be trapped in here, but my thoughts are on the loose.
“There is nothing on the walls. Have you found anything?” Sam asks, breaking the silence.
“No.”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
The emptiness of the room squeezes me with the tension of having no time to waste, and not knowing how to spend the time we have. The pressure mounts.
“Breck,” he says after I do not respond.
“Can you give me a minute?” I ask.
“There is not much time,” he answers.
I sit on the cool stone floor, consumed by what’s at stake. Everything. I’m reminded of the island, where I sat idly and let my concerns take over. I am doing this again. I consider what I have learned since then. There is wisdom in Sam’s words. There is not much time. I should use what is left to focus on something meaningful. And—even if I don’t solve it—this final challenge at least poses a worthy question. What is real?
I stand.
“We should look more closely at the doll,” I tell Sam.
We approach it. Aside from the overall shape and the facial features, there is little else about it suggestive of a person. It is more like a painting, or a collage, with lively and disparate elements commingling throughout—clouds, houses, animals of land and sea, musical instruments, tools, pastures, streets, tables, rivers, and far more.
Is the question which one of these elements is real?
If so, I have no idea how to determine this. They all look illustrated.
As I gaze at each of these in more detail, Sam begins to push the doll, softly at first, until he exerts enough force that he’s groaning.
The doll slides slightly, just enough to let us know it can be moved.
“Help push this,” he says to me.
I don’t know what this will accomplish, but I have no reason to disagree, so I join him on the other side, and we lean in with full effort.
This time, rather than slide, the doll begins to tip. Both of us let go, as it teeters on the cusp of falling sideways, before dropping back flat onto the base with a pronounced boom.
“We pushed too high on it. We should push lower,” Sam says, intent on his original plan.
Again, I have no reason to say why we should not do this, so I plant my hands lower on the doll and prepare to shove. Then, I feel something my eyes had not yet noticed.
“Wait,” I say.
“What are we waiting for?” Sam asks.
I run my index finger gently along the belly of the doll.
“There’s a seam here,” I say. “You can feel it.” I glide my finger around the full circumference, with Sam doing the same, trailing behind me. “Hold onto the bottom as I try to lift off the top.”
Sam kneels and wraps his arms around as much of the base as he can, while I stand and attempt to pull straight up. It’s a clumsy effort which yields nothing.
“Where is the card with the message?” I ask.
Sam locates it from on the floor behind him and passes it to me.
I press the firm corner along the seam and push; the top and bottom separate, though only by a millimeter. I run the card around the entire seam, finally returning to the spot where I began.
“Now, let’s try again,” I say, as we both resume our positions on top and bottom.
I feel it slowly shift.
“Try turning it,” Sam says.
“Good idea,” I answer.
I pull and twist.
The crack along the middle widens.
“Once more. Everything we have,” I say.
We both grunt, filling the chamber with guttural echoes, until—
Pop!
The top loosens and I release my grasp, toppling backward, hard onto the unforgiving floor.
The upper portion of the doll sits askew, exposing an equally colorful section of something inside. Without speaking, Sam and I both approach opposite sides and hoist the top high into the air, revealing another vibrantly collaged doll resting on the inside, only slightly smaller in size. We hoist the top shell up until we are on our tippy toes, just high enough to clear the head of the inner doll, then set the half-carcass on the ground and gawk in silence.
“It is the same,” Sam says.
“No. It’s marked differently,” I point out.
“It is similar,” he revises.
“Yes, Sam. It is.”
“But which one is real?” Sam asks, as we both continue to gaze at it.
“I think there will be more choices than these two,” I tell him.
I try fitting my fingers between the bottom shell of the larger doll and the outside of the smaller one, but there’s not enough space. We tip it—more carefully than the last time—until we’re able to gently rest it on the side and fully slide out the inner figure.
It, too, has a seam.
Soon my suspicions are confirmed. Inside of this, there is another doll, with a seam.
We spend the next hour extracting slightly smaller and smaller versions of these dolls from the bellies of their predecessors. When finally done, there are thirty-four of them, which Sam has lined up, by size, along the wall, nearly forming a complete circle around us.
All of them feel real.
LIV: SPRING BREAK 7.2
“The plane is boarding in a couple of minutes,” Lana says, beneath the roar of an airport loudspeaker. I’ve given her a quick update on everything. “My dad wants to know if Jessica said anything about what they’re testing in the fourth challenge.”
“No, and I forgot to ask. I got a little distracted. Tell your dad I’m sorry.”
Breck is sitting in the middle of a round room, surrounded by a group of ornately decorated nesting dolls, organized by size. He’s staring intently at the instruction card, as though trying to decipher something more from the brief message. I’m as stumped as him.
“Dad forgives you. So, what’s your plan?”
“I can’t do anything other than watch. He’s either going to figure this out or . . . I don’t want to think about the alternative.”
“He’ll make it. And you can post a giant middle finger on the chat boards as soon as it happens.”
“I can’t wait. How are you feeling?” I ask, changing to a subject she’s clearly avoiding.
“Surrounded. Mom’s on my left and Dad’s on my right both trying to sell me like they work at a Honda dealership,” she says. “Yeah, I’m talking about you both. Excuse me while I go walk over here so I can talk more about you in front of your backs,” she pauses, presumably as she’s walking away. “So, yeah, this sucks, but we can’t blame us for lack of effort, right? We did try to change my dad’s career path. That was only a bit ambitious. And you want to know the worst part—it worked! Just not the way we wanted it to. It’s more than an academic paper now. That turd is talking with Amherst about creating a class to explore how people communicate with AI. He’s using my plan against me.”
I laugh because she meant it to be funny. “Like you said, we definitely put forth the effort.”
Another message blasts on the loudspeaker.
“Okay. We’re boarding. Gotta go,” she says. “I’m thinking about you. And Breck. We’ll talk in three hours and forty-eight minutes, plus however long it takes them to load us onto this aluminum tube.”
Then, it’s back to me and Breck, both of us trying to unscramble the same four words.
Wouldn’t everything feel real to him?