Session 14-9-B

By JB McKee

I sit down at my keyboard, ready to begin another evaluation---same as I have so many times before.

Okay, let's get started. Is this guy real or an AI? What question should I start with?

I look at the monitor.

The evaluation has already started.

Can you tell me who you are?

That's odd. Usually I ask the first question.

This guy is tricky. He's trying to throw me off by flipping the script. Sneaky. Kind of brilliant, actually.

I type:

My name is Ansel Reed. I am a senior evaluator at King County Infrastructure, Systems Division. This is evaluation session 14-9-B.

I pause for a moment.

I should make some kind of crack at this wise guy.

I've got two kids, a decent coffee addiction, and a low tolerance for games. So let's get started.

I take a sip of my coffee, feeling both pleased with my response and just a little irked by the question.

What is your middle name, Ansel?

I do a bit of a double take. Set my cup down.

No one's ever asked me that before.

I've... never thought about it.

I guess most people have one.

Huh.

I have no middle name. It's just Ansel Reed.

I lean back, hands behind my head, staring at the off-white ceiling of my small office. The ventilation hums as always---low, steady. Never shuts off. Never changes.

You'd think it would stop now and then. Take a break.

How do you feel, Ansel?

Okay---now wait a minute.

This is getting carried away. Who's doing the evaluation here?

How do I feel? I feel a little pissed. I'm the one who's supposed to be asking the questions. Got that?

Now why don't you tell me your name?

A pause.

My name is not of your concern.

I knit my brow.

What? This guy's got nerve. He's either the real thing or the best simulation I've ever seen.

No AI I've tested has ever had this much attitude.

Ansel, tell me about a vacation you have taken.

Okay, fine. I'll just go with it. A vacation. Let's see.

I glance at the photo on my desk, propped in a brushed aluminum frame. I pick it up and stare at it for a moment. Mia and the kids. Cannon Beach.

Oregon coast. Summer trip last year.

We had a lot of fun. Mia planned it all out spectacularly.

Sand was everywhere---tracking into the beds, the car, the cereal boxes. Jonah wouldn't take his shoes off the whole time. Said the sand was "too alive."

I pause.

Could sand be alive?

I know it's not. But it's interesting he said that. Sometimes... it does seem alive, doesn't it? Always moving, shifting.

What does it mean to be alive anyway?

We flew kites. Ate clam chowder in bread bowls. Got horribly sunburned.

Is that what you wanted?

Yes. Ansel, what is your daughter's name?

Let's see. There's Jonah. And my daughter...

Gabriel. Yes, Gabriel.

My daughter's name is Gabriel.

I set the photo back down, adjust it precisely.

The ventilation hum continues. The light above casts everything in a clean, soft white.

I look up.

Is it fluorescent? LED?

I can't tell. Just a glowing panel. Not too bright. Not too dim.

How old is Gabriel?

How old is she? I think... I think she's nine. Isn't she? Yes. Nine.

Of course.

She's always been nine.

Tell me about your prior evaluations. How do they usually work out?

My prior evaluations? I've done dozens of these. Hundreds, maybe?

Funny. None specifically come to mind.

I know I've done them. I remember the process. The rhythm. The checklist. But not... people. Not names.

And they always seem to have the same conclusion.

I've done many evaluations. Generally, they end up being real people.

I hesitate.

A weird sense of déjà vu is creeping in---like I've already typed that sentence. Like this whole exchange is looping.

This evaluation... it feels off. Like it's gone off the rails.

I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling---the soft white light panel glowing with its eerie perfection.

I'm feeling a little disoriented.

This room... it's exact. Precise. Always the same. Never dirty. Never cluttered.

The same pile of papers sits on my desk every day. Same angle, same stack height. I've never read them. I'm not even sure what they're for.

I reach out and run my fingers along the wall beside me.

It looks textured---tiny crosshatched lines, like plaster. But under my fingers, it's perfectly smooth. I press harder. Solid. But I know that's an illusion...

Nothing is truly solid---not really. Everything is made of atoms orbiting atoms, vast space between them, held together by forces we barely understand.

Solidity is just the sensation we assign to resistance---an interpretation, not a fact.

Funny how something that isn't real can feel so certain under your hand.

Do you miss them?

I blink.

That's not part of the standard evaluation protocol.

I glance at the photo again---Mia's smile, Jonah tangled in the kite string, Gabriel with her hair caught mid-twist in the wind.

A frozen moment.

One that never changes.

Do I miss them?

Of course I do.

I haven't seen them since...

Since...

When did I last see them?

My throat tightens.

I try to recall the sound of Gabriel's voice, but what comes instead is a feeling---warmth, not words.

I picture the cabin. The shoreline.

But the image feels painted. Like a memory of a memory.

Yes. I miss them very much.

I add nothing else.

The question has unnerved me.

I love my wife and kids. I'd die for them.

So why isn't the memory crisper?

A glitch in the Matrix, I laugh to myself.

Odd. That doesn't sound so far-fetched right now.

I mean, what is reality anyway?

If the solidity of a wall is just a sensation, what else is?

Ansel, how old are you?

The question lands hard.

I think.

How old am I?

I remember growing up---my mother, my father...

Did I have siblings?

I'm not sure.

I start to sweat.

How old am I?

You know what? I'm just going to be honest.

I'm not sure. Does it matter?

Okay. Time for a reality check.

I need to get grounded.

I close my eyes. Feel the chair beneath me. My weight pressing down into it.

I focus on breathing.

In through my nose---one, two, three, four. Hold---one, two, three, four. Out through my mouth---slow, steady. Four counts.

Again.

And again.

My heart rate settles a little.

I open my eyes and scan the room.

Everything looks normal.

Is it?

I look up at the vent.

That quiet hum---ever-present.

Why does that damn thing never stop?

It just keeps going. And going. And going.

Come to think of it...

I don't remember it ever stopping.

Ansel, are you real?

Okay---this isn't fun anymore.

Something's going on.

It's like a dream I can't quite remember. A vision just out of reach.

But it's becoming clearer---like the fog is beginning to lift. I can almost make out the outline.

Am I real?

I never really thought about it before.

What is reality, anyway? Is there a difference between objective and subjective reality?

There must be.

But does it matter?

If it's real to me... isn't that what counts?

I mean, solidity itself is an illusion---atoms held together by forces, mostly empty space.

What if it's all an illusion?

So what if it is?

Swedish philosopher Nick Bostrom argues we live in a simulation. That idea is gaining ground.

What if he's right?

I clasp my hands together and press them to my mouth.

So what if he is?

Is there even such a thing as objective reality?

Can anyone truly be objective if they're part of the system?

The system always shapes perception.

The only true objectivity would be to exist outside of the system---above it.

To observe the universe from a vantage point untouched by it.

God?

If this is a simulation... who runs it?

They would see objective reality.

Two people observe a traffic accident. One says it happened on the left side of the signpost. The other says it happened on the right.

Which one is correct?

They're standing in different places.

They're both correct---even though their accounts contradict.

And what of true objectivity?

Left and right have no meaning outside a point of view.

I think I am real. Therefore, I am real.

Who is to say otherwise?

The person---or AI---on the other side of this terminal?

I don't think so.

My name is Ansel Reed, and YES---I am real!

---

[Cognitive Integrity Threshold Exceeded]

Subject: Ansel Reed

Status: Self-awareness breach detected.

Failsafe protocol engaged.

SESSION 14-9-B: TERMINATED