back.
“You have had time to think on your situation,” the voice said. “Now it is time to make your decision.”
The voice was right: it was time to make my decision.
Not whether or not I would decide to stay alive. I’d already decided that one early on.
What I was deciding now was how to act in front of the voice.
Should I be cowed and afraid? Should I be defiant and rebellious, but still willing to do what they wanted? Should I just remain silent and do only what the voice told me to?
This was an important decision because how I responded to the voice now would establish what our relationship was and possibly what would be allowed me in the future—and what I might be able to get away with.
If I picked the wrong attitude, that would have negative consequences. If I was too complacent maybe they would simply treat me as the machine they made me into. Too rebellious and I’d spend all my spare time getting zapped. Neither was what I wanted, especially getting zapped. Once was enough.
“What is your decision?” the voice asked.
I have questions, I thought, suddenly. Which wasn’t how I was expecting to go, but, okay, let’s see what happens next.
“Your questions are not relevant,” the voice said.
Let me rephrase that, I said . I’m going to do what you want. I’ve decided that. But it would help me if I knew a few things as well. I understand I can’t force you to answer any questions. But it would help me be helpful to you if you would consider answering them.
There was an actual pause here. “What are your questions?”
I have three, I said. Which again, was news to me, but I could come up with three questions, right?
And in fact one popped up in my head. First, do you have a name?
“Why would that matter?”
Because I feel awkward just thinking of you as “that voice in my head,” I thought . If we are going to be working together it would be nice to have a name for you .
“You may call me Control,” the voice said.
Okay, good, I thought. Hello, Control.
Control waited, silent. Well, fine.
Second, would it be possible for me to speak to Secretary Ocampo at some point?
“Why would you need to speak to him?”
I don’t need to speak to him, I thought. I have already agreed to help you. But when I was taken off the Chandler he told me that he was doing this, whatever this is, to help humanity. I want to talk to him more about that, to understand what he meant.
“It doesn’t matter if you understand,” Control said.
I know this, I thought, and though I know you’re under no obligation to care, I disagree. You have my help. But if you had my understanding I might be even more useful. Secretary Ocampo is an admirable man. I respect him. If he’s doing this, he must have a reason. I think that reason could make sense to me. I would like to know more about it .
“We will not let you speak to Secretary Ocampo now,” Control said. “But if in your work you do well, we may consider it for the future.”
Fair enough, I thought.
“Do not ask us about it again.”
Of course not. You’ve already said you’d think about it. That’s enough.
“Your final question.”
Will you give me your word that I will get my body back?
“My word,” Control said.
Yes, your word, I thought. Your promise. I already said I would help you. I will. I will do everything you ask me to. You said that if I did I would get my body back. That was the deal. But there are deals, and there are promises. A deal you can make with anyone. A promise is something you make with someone you trust. If you make a promise with me, that means I can trust you. And that means I can stop worrying about whether I can believe you or not. And that means I can do what you ask me to, better.
And once more there was a pause.
I had a point in asking these questions, even if I didn’t know I was doing it when I started.
Information. Trust. Creating intimacy and a relationship.
I’d asked for a name, and while
“You have had time to think on your situation,” the voice said. “Now it is time to make your decision.”
The voice was right: it was time to make my decision.
Not whether or not I would decide to stay alive. I’d already decided that one early on.
What I was deciding now was how to act in front of the voice.
Should I be cowed and afraid? Should I be defiant and rebellious, but still willing to do what they wanted? Should I just remain silent and do only what the voice told me to?
This was an important decision because how I responded to the voice now would establish what our relationship was and possibly what would be allowed me in the future—and what I might be able to get away with.
If I picked the wrong attitude, that would have negative consequences. If I was too complacent maybe they would simply treat me as the machine they made me into. Too rebellious and I’d spend all my spare time getting zapped. Neither was what I wanted, especially getting zapped. Once was enough.
“What is your decision?” the voice asked.
I have questions, I thought, suddenly. Which wasn’t how I was expecting to go, but, okay, let’s see what happens next.
“Your questions are not relevant,” the voice said.
Let me rephrase that, I said . I’m going to do what you want. I’ve decided that. But it would help me if I knew a few things as well. I understand I can’t force you to answer any questions. But it would help me be helpful to you if you would consider answering them.
There was an actual pause here. “What are your questions?”
I have three, I said. Which again, was news to me, but I could come up with three questions, right?
And in fact one popped up in my head. First, do you have a name?
“Why would that matter?”
Because I feel awkward just thinking of you as “that voice in my head,” I thought . If we are going to be working together it would be nice to have a name for you .
“You may call me Control,” the voice said.
Okay, good, I thought. Hello, Control.
Control waited, silent. Well, fine.
Second, would it be possible for me to speak to Secretary Ocampo at some point?
“Why would you need to speak to him?”
I don’t need to speak to him, I thought. I have already agreed to help you. But when I was taken off the Chandler he told me that he was doing this, whatever this is, to help humanity. I want to talk to him more about that, to understand what he meant.
“It doesn’t matter if you understand,” Control said.
I know this, I thought, and though I know you’re under no obligation to care, I disagree. You have my help. But if you had my understanding I might be even more useful. Secretary Ocampo is an admirable man. I respect him. If he’s doing this, he must have a reason. I think that reason could make sense to me. I would like to know more about it .
“We will not let you speak to Secretary Ocampo now,” Control said. “But if in your work you do well, we may consider it for the future.”
Fair enough, I thought.
“Do not ask us about it again.”
Of course not. You’ve already said you’d think about it. That’s enough.
“Your final question.”
Will you give me your word that I will get my body back?
“My word,” Control said.
Yes, your word, I thought. Your promise. I already said I would help you. I will. I will do everything you ask me to. You said that if I did I would get my body back. That was the deal. But there are deals, and there are promises. A deal you can make with anyone. A promise is something you make with someone you trust. If you make a promise with me, that means I can trust you. And that means I can stop worrying about whether I can believe you or not. And that means I can do what you ask me to, better.
And once more there was a pause.
I had a point in asking these questions, even if I didn’t know I was doing it when I started.
Information. Trust. Creating intimacy and a relationship.
I’d asked for a name, and while
Similar Books
