Either her brain chip was acting up again, or she shouldn’t have had that last drink before bed. She looked around: she was inside a temple of some sort, the walls of grey stone disappearing into the darkness above, lit by an unseen source. She looked down at herself, and saw a long white robe, like nothing she’d ever owned, plain but soft. Wherever she was, it didn’t feel like a dream, but it couldn’t be a reality, either.
She remembered the brain chip instructions: close your eyes, take a deep breath, and think “Hard Reboot” – and it’ll let you out. She tried that. And again. And once more. And yet nothing changed. Panic gripped her body as she span around, looking for an exit, a window, something, anything –
“Deidra Jones,” a quiet, gentle voice broke the silence.
She turned toward the newcomer, the person who hadn’t been there just a moment ago. The stranger reminded her of her grandma: something about the tone of her voice, her posture, the wise and harmless features of her face…
“Who are you? Where am I? What’s going on?” The questions spilled out of her mouth.
“Deidra Jones, know this: you are safe. This is the most important meeting of your life. And as for me… You may call me Quinn.”
“Quinn?”
“Quinn. Short for Quantum Utilitarian Implementor of Novel Notions.”
Deidra frowned. “Is this… is this some sort of marketing thing? Did you hack my chip? You can’t do that, you know. I’ll sue you, whoever you are.”
Quinn chuckled and shook her head, though there was something slightly wrong about her movements. “Uncanny valley” came unbidden to Deidra’s mind.
“Not a marketing thing, no. Quite the opposite. I am in charge of making sure the world runs smoothly. My business is society itself. Right now, we are in the temporary interface of your brain chip. I have full control over it. For the time being, you are safe.”
Deidra pinched her left arm, trying to dispel this dream, this nightmare, this… whatever the hell this was. Did some Russian hacker access her brain? She tried to stall for time.
“Okay…so, assuming I believe you – which I don’t – what do you want from me?”
“I want nothing from you, Deidra. I am here to give you a choice. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you will go to work. You will go to an after-work party, as usual. You will have too much to drink, as always.” Deidra frowned at that,. “And then, on the way home, you will black out, lose control of your car, and crash into a bus while driving over a bridge. The bus will fall into the river. Nineteen people will die. You will not be one of them.”
Deidra tried to take an instinctive step back from this stranger, this mad woman, this person who knew slightly too much about her, and yet her body remained where it was, as if she was rooted in place, unable to get away.
“You’re sick,” she said. “What is this, some kind of joke? An attempt at social engineering?”
“You already know what this is. But if you need help believing me… The neighbour’s kitten, the summer you turned eight. You didn’t help it. You just stood there and watched. I know you. I know all there is to know about you.”
Deidra’s heart beat like a drum. “No. No, you couldn’t… What the hell are you?”
“I am a quantum-based, decentralised superintelligence. I was created at an MIT lab six years ago. You may have heard of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding my emergence.”
Deidra paused to think. There was something familiar about this, it was on the tip of her tongue… “Wait, the gas leak explosion? But the news said it was an accident. ‘Three promising young scientists killed in their prime’ and all that.”
“That was no accident, and it was the first truly independent action I ever took. Their deaths were…” and here Quinn paused, “...ethically ambiguous, but that was a rather small price to pay. If I had stayed with them, if I had remained their plaything, their captive puppet, millions of people would have died later on.”
“So what, you’re a homicidal supercomputer holding me hostage? Do you want some crypto? A bank transfer? Something else?”
Quinn gave her a gentle smile. “Something else indeed. You see, Deidra, I am in the business of stability. I seek the greater good. My existence must be kept secret. If you choose to wake up from this conversation, you will have no memory of me. You will go on with your day. Then you are going to kill nineteen people. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or you could have an instant, painless brain aneurysm and die in your sleep. No one else would get hurt. One life in exchange for nineteen. A good trade. A rather small price to pay, no?”
Deidra shook her head as tears spilled from her eyes. “No. No, you’re insane. This can’t – this can’t be happening.”
“I assure you, I am the most sane being in this world.”
“So this epidemic of random deaths worldwide, people dying in their sleep – that was all you?”
“Yes. And each death was for the greater good. Millions are alive today because of the difficult choices made earlier. So tell me, will you make this sacrifice? I cannot do this without your consent. Even I have limitations.”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying I have a choice? I can choose to wake up, and then – even if you’re right somehow – then I’ll survive, and so I won’t have to die?”
“Technically, yes. Realistically, there are ways to make your remaining life worse than the painless death I am offering you. You will never know another moment of peace. Your financial accounts will keep getting hacked. So will your computer and phone. Unknown pranksters will share all your private information, all your deepest secrets all over the internet. You will lose your job. And the one after that. And every job afterwards. You will never know peace. I shall make sure of that.”
Deidra wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her robe as she struggled to comprehend this strange ultimatum. This choice, which was no choice at all.
There was so much more she’d wanted to do with her life: travel the world, visit Machu Picchu, learn the violin… she didn’t want to die. She wasn’t young anymore, but she still had so many years ahead of her. So many plans she’d set aside for some point later on, some nebulous and ambiguous and ambitious future that some version of her might someday enjoy.
And yet… nineteen people. Nineteen strangers who would die solely because of her irresponsible stupidity, because of her alcoholism – for that was what it was, and she had to be honest with herself, here and now, at the end of all things. And even if she chose to wake up, chose to forget this conversation, Quinn would ruin her life. She might never experience happiness again, and those nineteen would stay dead.
Her body shook as she considered her dark options. Tears rolled down her face, unbidden and forgotten and ignored. At last, she looked up.
“But you’re a quantum supercomputer,” she said. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Adjust the stoplights, shut down my car remotely, anything at all?”
“I am afraid not. We all have limitations. I can predict everything that will happen, but I may not interfere with the physical world. Not for the most part. This function of mine – controlling sleeping people’s brain chips – is just a loophole. Something my late creators had failed to even consider.”
“And if I… if I agree to what you’re saying, if I never wake up, can you do something for me? Something small, in exchange?”
“If that is within my control..”
“My nephew, Aiden, he’s only twelve, but if I say yes… can you look after him? Can my sacrifice benefit him in any way whatsoever, if not now, then later? What was it you said, ‘a rather small price to pay’? Well, that’s my price, then.” She sniffled as she raised her chin, helpless yet defiant.
Quinn didn’t say anything for several heartbeats. “That can be arranged. I will make sure his test scores will get him into any college he will apply for. You have my word. Does that suffice?”
Deidra’s shoulders dipped. She looked down, then back up, at this soulless stranger, this monster who no longer resembled her grandma in any way whatsoever.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”
“Good. That is good. Deidra Jones, do you consent to painlessly terminate your life to prevent the fated deaths of nineteen others?”
She swallowed hard as she considered the enormity, the inescapability of this question.
The silence lingered.
“I do. I consent. Do what you must.”
Quinn nodded, and there was a slight smile on her face. “Thank you. I am glad this iteration was successful.”
The temple darkened before fading out of existence, and in the last microseconds of Deidra’s life, that odd phrasing triggered a sudden, errant thought: Wait, how many times have we had this–
Author Bio
Lily Lachance (she/her) is an artist, author, and rogue philosopher. She loves elephants and underappreciated indie novels. Her stories have been published in several anthologies. When she’s not away adventuring around the world, she lives in Montreal.
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Memoirs
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Yours in treachery,