S Huang - Zero Sum Game

I thought of what Dawna Polk had done to me, to Leena Kingsley, to so many other people—and what else she would do to Arthur and me very soon now.

“No, I’m pretty sure we kill Dawna as soon as we can,” I said, “and redemption be damned.”

Arthur chuckled again. He probably he didn’t realize I was serious.

When Dawna finally came, she came for me.

Two of her black-clad troops arrived in the cellblock and courteously requested I accompany them. I glanced at Arthur; his expression was heavy with worry.

I took the barest of moments to glance out from behind my shield of tedious arithmetic to evaluate the weighty, locked door at the end of the cellblock and wonder if I could jump the guards (probably) and get Arthur and myself out and through the door in one piece before an army of troops arrived (unlikely). As much as I preferred to go down fighting, committing suicide via an almost zero-probability escape attempt appealed to me about as much as bashing my brains out in the cell did. Waiting for a more opportune time was the obvious answer…though it might be hubris to think I could survive even one interview with Dawna and stay an intact person.

I stepped up the arithmetical white noise in my brain, filling every neuron with a mess of calculation, so much I had trouble juggling it all.

The troopers took me down several cinder block corridors and through a few more heavy metal doors, and then up a lengthy ride in an elevator that opened into a well-furnished hallway of what appeared to be a luxury estate. We stepped out. The carpet was so thick under my boots that it not only muffled all sound of our passage but had its own spring, and the paramilitary troops looked strangely out of place against the spotless decor and tastefully framed paintings.

They led me down several plush corridors before finally ushering me through a shining set of carved double doors and into a library, where one gestured for me to sit at a long table. Rows of stacks spread out to either side, every shelf filled with hardcovers in pristine condition.

“Please wait here,” said one of the troopers, a woman with a stark military haircut. “In the meantime, we have been instructed to remind you, with apologies, that your friend’s continued well-being is contingent upon your choices.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said. I wondered how far Dawna thought she could push me using that leverage. Hell, she probably already knew exactly how far. I peeked at the math around me again—the probabilities bounced into a much more favorable array, tantalizing me with escape, but I still believed that Dawna’s threat was good and that they would hurt Arthur very badly if I tried. I wasn’t ready to risk that.

I sat in the comfortable, well-upholstered chair and waited, counting the time, overflowing my brain with pointless mathematical grunge work. My chaperones retreated to the door but stayed in the room, presumably prepared to shoot me or tell on me if I tried anything.

The small part of my mind that wasn’t cycling through repetitive NP-hard and EXPTIME algorithms wandered. Why the heck did Pithica have a library here? What was this building to them? Like in the hallways, the decor here struck me as luxurious but impersonal; maybe the room was only for show—though why anyone would need a library for show, I had no idea.

“It’s not a pretense,” said an articulate female voice. I jumped, reflexively stepping up my arithmetic mental scramble. Dawna had entered the room, the thick carpeting muffling her elegant stilettos. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back in a light approximation of parade rest, wearing a crisp business skirt and blouse. Her gracefulness made me feel positively trollish as a human being. “I have a library here because I enjoy books,” she continued with a small smile. “I have a particular proclivity for first editions.”

“Ironic,” I said, my voice coming out a little croaky. “I think Courtney Polk’s at least on her third.”

Dawna turned and nodded to her guards; they about-faced and left the room, closing the doors softly behind them. She stepped over and sat down across from me, folding her hands in front of her on the table. “Courtney…” She pressed her lips together. “When I found Courtney, she was…broken. Beyond depressed. Drugs, pills, no job and no skills to acquire one.”

“So you got her a spot as a drug mule,” I said, chugging through another Riemann-Zeta root as I spoke. “Great upgrade.”

She smiled slightly. “The cartels put up a good front, but on the whole we’ve defanged them. In almost all ways, they work to serve our ends now, not theirs. In working for them, Ms. Polk was truly working for us.”

“Wait, you took over the drug cartels?”

“Yes,” said Dawna. “Eventually we’ll phase them out entirely, of course, but for now they provide us with means, in many ways, of accomplishing our objectives. Their resources, the networks they have in place already—they have been very valuable to us.”

“Your objectives,” I repeated. “Which are?”

She raised her eyebrows. “World peace. Didn’t Courtney speak to you?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “She did mention that.”

“Well?” She opened her hands, inviting. “What do you think?”

I factored another integer. What did I think? I thought this wasn’t at all how I had expected this interview to go. I had been anticipating—

“‘Brainwash’ is such an ugly word, Ms. Russell. Come, you’re an intelligent person. Why would I waste effort forcing you into something you will so easily see the logic of yourself? All I want is to explain what we do here. Once you understand, I believe you’ll want to join us voluntarily.”

“You locked us up,” I pointed out.

“See it from my perspective,” she said reasonably. “You and Mr. Tresting have been operating on the assumption that we’re some sort of monstrous conspiracy, when nothing could be further from the truth. I admit you even started causing some trouble for us. I wanted the chance to explain to you what we’re truly about.”

“And if I don’t agree to drink the Kool-Aid, then are you going to let us go?”

“Well, it hardly makes sense to do that if you’re going to work against us, does it? Not when our efforts are bettering so many, many lives.” She spoke simply, articulately, earnestly. “Ms. Russell, we lift countless people out of poverty and starvation every day. We’re bringing down violent crime globally, effecting drastic change in cities that have never known any other reality. We’ve headed off nuclear crises and tamed dangerous insurgent groups into nothing, made brutal warlords impotent or helped raise up revolutions against them. Millions of people suffer less every day because of what we do—real, tangible people who can work and love and live their lives now—because of us.”

I shook my head, trying to dispel her magic, to wrap myself in my internal mathematics and use it to ward off her spell. “You kill people,” I reminded her doggedly. “Arthur and his tech guy tied a long list of murders to you. And you do brainwash people; I saw what you did to Leena Kingsley, and I’m pretty sure you brainwashed Courtney into killing Kingsley’s husband and making it look like a suicide. Oh, and you’ve tried to kill Arthur and me both. Not the best way to convince me you’re all sunshine and rainbows.”

Dawna inclined her head. “I won’t deny any of that. But I urge you—Ms. Russell, I believe you’re intelligent enough to perceive the larger picture. What we do—we use surgical strikes. Precision. One life, compared to the thousands more whom that one execution will save. Or a single government official changing his mind on an issue he doesn’t even fully understand, and thus averting tensions that would build to a world war within a year. We find the butterfly that would cause the hurricane, and clip its wings to save millions—can you truly tell me this is wrong?”