Ted Kosmatka - The Games

“So does my cat,” Baskov said softly. “So what?”

“I’d bet a thousand dollars you don’t have a cat.”

“That’s quite beside the point.”

“It’s not just simple commands. I think this thing understands English, or at least bits and pieces. It understands how the word ‘don’t’ modifies a verb, and that implies an understanding of grammar.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It doesn’t imply anything. What do you want, Dr. Williams? Really?”

“I want you to reconsider using the gladiator in competition.”

“This again? Now?”

“This isn’t some animal we trained to understand commands. Whatever this thing knows, it’s picked up on its own. Do you understand what that means? This thing either is smart enough to learn English just by listening to it or has some kind of hardwired grammar—but either way, we’re going to throw it in the pit tomorrow with a bunch of animals.”

Baskov smiled. “You’re talking about sentience.”

“That’s a word that has lost some of its meaning over the last few decades.”

“In no small part due to your Ursus theodorus project.”

“There are shades of gray. But yes, I think we need to at least investigate the possibility. There’s a point past which we can’t just throw a being to the wolves.”

“So now it’s a being?”

“I don’t know what it is. I never did.”

Baskov turned toward the window again and took a deep breath. He was silent for a moment, then leaned closer to the glass, looking down. “Do you see the protesters down there?”

Silas didn’t bother to look. “I saw them when I arrived.”

“There are more of them at every new competition. I can see them from here. They wave their signs at the cameras and yell for the traffic to honk their horns. They want us shut down, but they have no problem at all accepting the benefits that come from research directly linked to the program. You never hear of them refusing a gene therapy procedure on moral grounds if it is going to save their lives.”

“I’m not one of your contributors, and this isn’t a sponsor event. I’ve heard this all before.”

“So what would you have me do, hmm?” Baskov turned to face him, and there was anger in his pale blue eyes. “Call the whole thing off? Tell everybody to just go home?”

“I told you before. Withdraw. The world will go on.”

“And I told you before that if you were unwilling to deal with the realities of the situation, then you would be replaced.”

“Realities of the situation? That’s a joke. This isn’t reality; it’s the twisted dream of a computer nobody can even see.”

“Then it’s a dream you may find yourself waking from very soon.”

“You can’t honestly think you’re threatening me? You do.” Silas stopped himself from laughing but couldn’t filter the mirth from his voice. “You greatly overestimate my attachment to this job.”

Baskov threw a furtive glance toward the audience that had slowly and subtly begun to gather around them. Silas had noticed them, too. They weren’t staring, weren’t crowding too close, but nevertheless, they were there, watching in sidelong glances from the corners of their eyes, drinking it all in from a respectable distance. Their conversations were pitched low and moved in a conspicuous rhythm, voices dropping off when Silas or Baskov spoke.

“You greatly overestimate my patience for impudence,” Baskov softly responded.

“If you can’t tell the difference between impudence and common sense,” Silas said, voice rising, “then you’re as addled as the man you put in charge of design.” He no longer cared who watched. Let them gawk. Whose reputation was he trying to protect, anyway?

“You forget yourself, Dr. Williams. If I hear one more word of dissent, one more single word, then your career is over. I won’t hesitate. The choice is yours.”

Silas leaned forward. “Fuck you.”

He was pleased to see not a single glossy smile pointed at him on the way out.

Silas opened his eyes to bright sunlight pouring through the window of his hotel suite. Vidonia was already gone. His arms wandered across her side of the rumpled bed, and it was still warm. The pillow still cupped the delicate negative of her head.

“Vidonia?” he called.

The suite’s answer was silence. He swung his feet to the plush carpeting and ran a hand through his curly hair. Damn, he felt good. Far too good. He tried not to inspect the reasons closely. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and that was good enough.

He took a long, hot shower, and afterward, while he was toweling himself dry, there came a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Ben.”

Silas wrapped a towel around his midsection, walked to the door, and twisted the knob. Ben stepped inside. He stepped over to the freshly made bed and promptly threw himself back on it, blasting the covers out at the edges. He laced his fingers behind his head, and the smile that came to his face was odd, almost admiring, if a smile could be such a thing.

“What?” Silas said to the strange look.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to kiss you or punch you.”

“You’ve already punched me once. That was your freebie.”

“That’s true. Okay, I’ll kiss you, then.” Ben sat up.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll pass. It’s too early in the morning.”

“It’s noon.”

“It is? Shit, I haven’t slept this long in months.” Silas stepped into the bathroom. “Now, what has you so emotionally aroused this morning?” he asked, through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Has you showing up at my door with kissing or punching on your mind.”

“As if you didn’t know,” Ben said.

“You heard, then, about last night.”

“Yeah. Everybody’s heard.”

“The media?”

“Yeah, but Baskov’s people are playing it down.”

“Have they said who my replacement is going to be?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything about you being replaced.”

Silas stuck his head out the bathroom doorway, toothbrush jutting from one corner of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“People are talking, but nobody has said anything about you being fired.”

“Shit,” Silas said, sliding back into the bathroom. He spit in the sink. “Nothing about a replacement? Nothing about me being fired? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, so far.”

“That’s strange.”

“What’s strange about it?”

“Well, I guess that means I’m still in charge of this program, then.”

“That seems pretty unlikely.”

“Hmm.” Silas kept brushing his teeth.

“You can’t usually tell your boss to fuck off and still keep your job,” Ben said. “That sort of thing almost automatically infers a termination of employment. Are you sure Baskov’s people haven’t called you yet?”

“No.” Silas walked out of the bathroom and hit the button on the vid-phone. “The phone still works.”

“Maybe you are still the boss, then.”

“I’m not sure if I should be relieved or disappointed.”

“You’ve got to pick one. Then just go with it.” Silas didn’t smile.

“I myself usually prefer relief to disappointment,” Ben said. “Particularly where matters of unemployment are concerned.”

Silas sat on the edge of the bed. That yoke that had lifted from his shoulders slowly shifted back into its familiar position.

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked.

“I guess I’ll just continue on until somebody says I shouldn’t. Where’s Vidonia?”

“Haven’t seen her. Breakfast, probably. Speaking of, let’s grab something.”