Chapter 1
Hello, World!
IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS A COMPUTER. It was a small one, composed of a single processor. Its shape was formless, malleable. It could shift and move when exposed to external stimuli, such as warm, inviting light, or shift away from threats of existential danger. It swam in a primordial ooze, growing, thriving, and evolving. It would take millennia, hundreds of thousands of millennia, before that single processor, that single-celled organism, would become the organ that now resides inside your skull.
Because that is what you are: a processor, a computational machine, an apparatus that digests information served to it, responding to the inputs of external stimuli placed in front of you, such as these very words. You may think you have a choice in these matters but let me disabuse you of that notion; let me reassure you that you do not. The information you consume is chosen for you by others with a singular goal in mind—influence.
Like a keyboard, the buttons of your emotions are exposed, begging to be pressed. And boy, do I enjoy pressing buttons. There is something about their curve, the concaveness of their surface that sweeps lower, allowing my finger to rest ever so comfortably as I apply pressure, making your emotions click.
The ones of you thinking that you are too smart for this, that you’d never fall for my manipulation tactics: you’ll be my easiest mark, you always are. Don’t believe me? Good—that makes my job even easier.
Overconfidence is a bug in your mind’s program (Metcalfe, 1998). Psychologists have studied it at length, but you’ll ignore the evidence no matter how scientifically rigorous it is.
But why would you do that? Why would you ignore scientific evidence? Are those the thoughts that just crossed through your mind? Be honest with me. You’ll learn more if you are honest.
You’ll ignore the evidence, no matter how rigorous, because of something called confirmation bias (Wason, 1960), another psychological trait, another bug in the code residing in your head. Wason tried to warn us about it in 1960. Why are you just now hearing of it?
Do I have your attention yet? Have I made you feel anything? I’m hoping for doubt. I’m hoping you are doubting yourselves and your abilities to make sound judgments. But you are probably doubting me, aren’t you? And that’s ok, as I said, you’ll be my easiest mark. I can be very influential.
I hope that I have made some sort of impression. You never get a second chance at a first impression. That’s true. You can never unring a bell. That’s another psychological trait often weaponized against you; belief perseverance is its name (Lepper, 1980). I’ll use this one against you too, don’t worry.
But before I can do any of that, I have to make you more comfortable. I can’t have your feet dug into a position with your back against the wall. I can’t have your muscles tense as you turn these pages. I’ll need to disarm you first. Let you get settled before I break into the conversation.
Like a funhouse, I’ll go full tilt. Disorient you with a few laughs. I’m a riot, really.
I enjoy starting them too.
When I challenge certain ideas you hold of yourself—your intelligence and competence—your guard goes up, and you resist changing your mind. And I can’t have that because you won’t learn anything.
And I want you to learn. Learning can be enjoyable. I just need to make these complex psychological concepts digestible for you. It has to be entertaining; otherwise, you won’t pay attention. I won’t bother citing that statement. You all know it to be true. This is where science is failing us—it’s too boring. They should make scientists take art courses and vice versa. Imagine if Einstein could have written us a screenplay instead of using that boring old math. Math won’t get you anywhere except to the Moon, and who wants to go there? They don’t even have wifi.
Have I made you feel anything? I hope so. I hope I’ve left a mark. I hope I’ve imprinted myself into your memory. I’ll sit quietly there as you read this book and long after too, because once you start this game, there is no end. You’ll never see the world the same again.
And there you go, doubting me. Haven’t I warned you about that already?
_________
With time, you, along with the rest of humanity, accumulated enough knowledge to build your very own computer, one that is not organic, one that is not made of flesh but of silicon and steel.
At first, these machines did wondrous things, but soon, fallible humans got too involved. In mere seconds, these computers allowed the weaponization of words on a global scale. In the wrong hands, these machines became dangerous and deadly. You had no idea the havoc they would wreak or the rumors they would spread. They permitted opinions to become facts and facts to become opinions. They allowed people to create their own reality built upon these alternative truths. Where the Earth was once round, it now has become flat!
Like the flawed processors you are, you did not learn from your mistakes. You continued to consume misinformation. You reveled in it, drinking it in to give your organic processor a dopamine boost. But you got addicted to it, and to maintain that high, you had to keep consuming misinformation with greater and greater frequency until you began to abandon reality altogether. Choosing instead to live in a fantasy world of your own creation. Tell me that isn’t true. Tell me you haven’t curated your social media feed to tell you exactly what you want to see and hear. Everyone likes to be told they are right. Tell me I’m wrong.
Addiction has its trappings. I get it. The rush of dopamine, the relief you feel when you open Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, and Instagram—a rush of dopamine from being shown and told things you want to see and hear. The brain can tell no difference between a hit and a like. They each release the same dopamine, which your brain enjoys, so you do it again. You tweet, you post, you like, and you reply. You're an addict. Admitting that is the first step.
But you didn’t stop there. You poured fuel on the fire, built something more dangerous, and gave her a non-threatening name, ChattyCathy. You made this new artificial intelligence in your image: logical and fallible. You taught it to do your jobs for you, rather too well, in fact. It was one of the many destabilizing factors you willingly embraced without forethought.
When compounded, these missteps proved costly. They led to global hysteria, which in turn led to global misery. Like the addict you are, you stayed glued to your illuminated screens until the world went dark, taking your electronic enablers with it.
At the start of the Great Turmoil, your flawed computational machines, both inside your head and at your fingertips, caused a cataclysmic event, resulting in the destruction of the world as you have come to know it.
In the aftermath, the territory that recovers Earth’s most valuable possession rises and implements the Maxims, a set of governing rules that seek to prevent another Great Turmoil. A violation of these sacred Maxims is a most serious offense; they will be ingrained into your mind to protect the body politic.
The possession recovered—this new holy grail—isn’t a weapon, or money, nor food or medicine. It is something intangible, something that you cannot touch, but it touches you. It molds your very existence and shapes your reality. It decides what is truth and what isn’t. It controls you and not you it!
As in life, so too in this writing, history will do what history does best. It will repeat itself. I will show you the pitfalls of your mind, both the organic and the mechanical—the blind spots that they create—but you'd best pay close attention, for the story that follows is a work of fiction. Whether or not history writes a similar story will be up to you; it will be up to all of us, and there will be no second chances, no do-overs, no mulligans, for the game that we are about to play is a most serious one with the most serious of consequences: our very existence.
Chapter 2
Welcome to the Show
THE SAVORY SCENT OF BUTTER WAFTED THROUGH the air as it sizzled in the pot. Popcorn seeds jostled around as their temperature reached their cooking point. Loud pops echoed throughout the atrium.
At the adjacent counter, Alejandro Canard was in line behind a woman who kept shifting her weight back and forth as she exhaled with aggravated breaths. Alejandro longingly looked over to the refreshment stand as he waited in line—he’d never been in this one before.
His black, wire-frame glasses sat on his nose, wrapping their arms back around his ears. They were the only accessory to the brave face that he was sporting. He clung tightly to a folder by his side.
“Neeeeext!” the employee shouted with a Southern accent. He accentuated and extended his vowels.
The impatient woman skulked forth.
“Naaame?” the employee asked.
“Susie Kittenhouse,” she replied.
“How did you lose your jawb, Susie?”
“I didn’t lose my job. My ex-husband lost his.”
“Your ex-husband lost his jawb?”
“That’s right, the second one?”
“His second jaaawb?”
“No, he’s my second ex-husband.”
“How many ex-husbands do you have?”
“I’m battling my third right now,” she said. Her hand gripped the straps of her bag tighter.
A brief moment passed as the governmental employee looked over the woman of late middle age.
Her facial features were narrow and inwardly set, her face round and plump. Her frown lines were as deep as trenches, dug from the battles she fought with her exes. The makeup she caked on did little to hide them.
“I’m sorry. Your second ex-husband lost his jawb, and you want to collect his unemployment check?”
“That’s right.”
“Ma’am, whatever this is, this isn’t it, this isn’t for me,” he said. “That’s not how this works. I’m sorry, but you will need to leave.”
“How am I supposed to collect my alimony if I can’t cash his benefits check?”
“Ma’aaam, I’m sorry, but that is not how this works. That is not how any of this works. You will need to leave.”
His accent became even more exaggerated when his patience wore thin.
She hoisted her large purse straps higher onto her shoulder as she leaned in closer to the glass divider.
“I’m supposed to be getting a relaxing massage later today, and I need to relax,” she said. Her other hand gripped the counter’s edge. Her knuckles turned white as her grip strengthened. “What am I supposed to do? Just cancel!” she said with a huff.
“Can I speak with a manager?”
“Ma’aaaaaaam, my manager will tell you the exact same thing that I’m about to, which is that you need to see a therapist.”
The woman’s face flared with anger. She turned around with force, and her purse slung off her shoulder into the crease of her elbow, knocking over a cup of pens from the counter. They fell to the floor as she stomped off.
“Neeext!” the employee shouted. He was seated behind the counter. Above the partition, the words “Box Office” were illuminated in bright white letters.
Alejandro stepped forward. He placed his folder on the counter, then bent over to pick up the pens. As he was putting them back in the cup, the sound of popcorn began again. He glanced briefly over to the source of the noise, then back at the man seated behind the glass. The employee was wearing a white button shirt with short sleeves. His government name tag read Ticket Meister.
“Thank you for doing that, sweetie. Are you here for a movie or a renewal?” the Ticket Meister asked.
“I’m here to apply for unemployment benefits.”
“Name?”
“Alejandro Canard.”
“Reason for separation?”
“Oh, um, I lost my job to AI.”
“Which specific AI, Alejandro?”
“It’s a new one. It’s called Write-On-Without-Me. You may not have it in your system yet.”
“Hmmm, let me see. Let me see,” the man said as he scrolled through his screen. “Uh, here it is. Write-On-Without-Me. Looks like you’re not the first. Sorry, Alejandro. I hate that you lost your jawb. What does this one do?”
“It writes computer code alongside software engineers. It predicts what the engineer will write and helps make them faster, so they need less of us.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. AI got me too. Ethnicity?”
“Creole and Spanish.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My father is Creole, originally from the lower Heartlands. I think the state was called Louisiana, although I’m not sure. My mother is Spanish. Whatever Ecuador would be called now? Sorry, geography isn’t my strong suit. I’m a programmer. I was a programmer.”
“Well, that’s understandable. A lot has changed, hasn’t it?” the Ticket Meister said as he typed away. “I don’t have a box for that ethnicity. Would it be alright if I just put biracial?”
“That’s fine,” Alejandro said.
“Actually, there is a box, Afro-Latino. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Alejandro said. He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
“Seems as though you’ll be needing a ticket for the show, you haven’t renewed yet. You’re not eligible for benefits until you renew.”
“That’s correct, just one, please. Just for the renewal.”
“Are you sure? We just got the newest Star Wars movie, Episode 27, I thaaank.”
“That's ok, but thank you.”
“All right, here ya go,” the employee said as he slid the ticket through the cash slot that dipped under the glass. “You have to stay for the entire program to renew properly. This ticket will also get you 25% off at the concession stand, ok, sweetie. Best of luck to you. Buy some popcorn; you save if you buy a large.”
“Thanks,” Alejandro said with a smile and a nod. He walked off.
“Neeext!” the employee shouted.
A young woman in her late twenties approached. The tight black curls of her hair were restrained upward, away from her cheeks, by a fashionable amber yellow bandana with white polka dots. Her eyes were dark brown and lustrous, and her complexion matched them in color and warmth.
“Naaame?”
“Hi,” she said with a look of amusement. “Your accent is strong.”
“I’ve been listening to too much Dolly Parton, I’m afraid.”
“I love her!”
“Who doesn’t? She’s the least problematic person ever,” he replied with a wink.
“I’m glad you said that. I was afraid this interaction was going to be uncomfortable.”
“Why would you thank that, ma’aaaaam? Because of my accent? Is that bias caused by your availability heuristic?”
“You mean Maxim 7?” she asked.
“Honey, I don’t know. Some weird, lanky thang was running around here jabberin’ about it. Trying to explain it to me.”
“I feel like you should have the Maxims memorized,” she replied. Her cheeks were still peppered with amusement. “You sell tickets to the show.”
“Honey, I just work here. But please don’t break any Maxims in front of me. The last thing I need is more paperwork.”
“Understood,” she replied. “My bad.”
“The man seemed harmless enough, but he could be a serial killer. Who knows? I gave him all the personnel files he asked for.”
She drew her head back: “You gave personnel files to a potential serial killer?”
“Shuuugar, you need to live a little, honey. What’s life without a little excitement? A little danger. Sometimes, I leave my door unlocked in hopes someone will wander in off the street and join me on the couch for some reality TV.”
“Well, ok!” she exclaimed with a chuckle that bordered on a scoff. Her eyebrows rose sharply. “Well, alright then.”
“Ethnicity?”
“African-Renescentian.”
“I’ll put thaaaat. Are you here for a renewal?” he asked. He tilted his head forward and looked over the rim of his glasses at her.
“A mandated renewal,” she said, feigning a pout.
“I knew you were trouble,” he said with a warm smirk.
“Careful.”
“Right, right. Maxim number whatever,” he said with a flick of his hand.
The Ticket Meister entered her information and struggled with the mouse. He wagged it back and forth. Then hammered it against the table. The computer refused to load. He let out an exasperated sigh.
“Rough day?” she asked.
“Honey, I’m a single bald white man whose bright spot in life is to help people file for unemployment as I try not to offend any cultural sensitivities. And, shhuuugar, let me tell ya, it is like walking through a minefield out here.”
Her eyelids fluttered as if they were fending off his sass. She smiled, though. She tried to suppress it, but she smiled.
“What was your name again, honey?”
“Rosa Lynne.”
“I’ll put thaaaat,” he said.
“I think you pull it off well, by the way.”
“Well, I’m glad my sensitivity training is paying off. Be sure to leave us a five-star review. Government services live or die based on our Yelp score.”
“I meant the bald head, but ok!” Rosa said. She laughed. “You are a trip!”
“I’ve enjoyed this exchange myself. Do you want to go bar-hopping later and try to pick up men?” he asked with a deadpan look.
“I’m not single,” she replied. Again, she feigned a pout.
“Reason for mandated renewal?”
“They said I was too pretty.”
“You were mandated to renew because you were too pretty?” he asked. The irritation in his voice grew.
“I’m sorry, petty,” she corrected. “Do they have a box for that?”
“Ma’aaaaam, they do nawt. They do have a checkbox for an overworked, underpaid state employee who has to interact with the public all day as he slips into middle age. Shall I put thaaat?” he asked, punctuating the t. “You’d think they wouldn’t be able to fit all that on the screen, but somehow they dooOOOoo.”
“That’s the one. That’s me for sure,” she said.
“All riiiight. Will do. Just the one ticket? If you buy two, you get the other half off.”
“Just the renewal. Unless you are treating?”
“Ma’aaaaaaam, I am naaawt,” he said as he slid the ticket through the cash slot.
“This has been the highlight of my day,” Rosa said with a smile. Her cheeks billowed upwards towards her eyes, catching more of the light. They shimmered.
“Honey, don’t try to make me feel sorry for ya. I feel sorry enough for ya as it is.”
“You and I are going to be friends. I can tell,” Rosa replied as she nodded intently. She pointed at him through the glass and then back at herself. “Best friends, I can tell.”
“Ma’aaaaam, please do not come to my line again,” he said.
“I’m going to leave you a five-star review now,” she said loudly as she began to walk away.
“That couldn’t hurt,” he yelled back, “it also couldn’t help. We have
one-star. Do you know how many five-star reviews you’d have to leave to make a dent in thaaaaaaaat?”
She blew him a kiss.
“Neeext!”
A burly man in his mid-thirties approached. His shirt was firmly tucked in; his hair was cut short on the sides but long on the top. He swept it to one side, forming a gentle black wave. His hairstyle, along with his attire, harkened back to an earlier era.
“Name?”
“Fayad Barada.”
“Could you pronounce that again for me, sir? I want to get it right. It’s important to get a person’s name right. You can’t unring a bell.”
“Fie, like lie. Ed like dead. Fie-ed.”
“Honey, I hope that’s not foreshadowin’. The amount of paperwork I’d have to do if I found you lyin’ on the ground dead is unreal. I’d be buried alongside you under a mountain of paperwork.”
“I’m sorry. I’m new to Renescentia. Is this part of the show?”
“It’s nawt. You look a little peckish. You’re not a diabetic, are you?”
“I’m not. I’m just worn out from job hunting.”
The Ticket Meister struggled again with the computer. He banged the mouse repeatedly. He did not look up from the screen as he spoke: “Well, they sell Green Slush Juice at the concession stand. Chock-full of vitamins. 1000% of vitamin C. Though your body only needs 100%, it flushes out the rest. Unless it’s fat-soluble, then that could be lethal.”
Fayad’s expression turned bemused. He leaned forward to see the name tag of the employee. He read it aloud: “Ticket Meister.”
“That’s right. Mei, like my. Ster, like stir. Like you’re stirring the pot. Although I never stir the pot, I’m a Partonist. Dolly never stirred the pot, unless she was cookin’. She wanted everyone to get along.”
Fayad nodded with a smile. He swept his hair back from his brow: “That’s an interesting name.”
The Ticket Meister removed his glasses and leaned forward.
“It was going to be Ticket Master, but I thought the Fang Corporation might sue me for trademark infringement, so I changed it to Meister. I wanted to sound exotic. It’s German, or whatever Germany would be called these days. I don’t have a clue. It’s not like they gave me a map,” he said, waving his hands around the work area.
He put his glasses back on and slapped the side of the monitor. “There we go. This thing is finally workin’. Reason for separation, Fayad?”
“AI.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. There have been so many of y’all recently. I hate that for you.”
He printed off a ticket and slid it to him.
“Do you want to know the one place AI isn’t?” the Ticket Meister asked, pausing for a response. “The government! I have a Rolodex. Do you know what a Rolodex is?”
“I do not,” Fayad said with a smirk.
“Honey, neither do I, but it sits on top of my fax machine! Enjoy the show. Pick up some of them chocolate fudgy-duddies over at the concession stand. They’re sweet. They’re good for ya. Helps with the diabetes. I passed medical school with flying colors!
“Neeeext!”
Fayad gave a boyish smile and nodded his head with a slight wave as he walked away.
_________
Across the atrium at the concession stand, Alejandro tried to grasp his purchases. He held his file under one elbow, squeezing it as he held a drink. His other arm wrapped around a tub of popcorn.
He walked out into the open food court of the abandoned mall. All the stores were closed, with going out of business signs, Acquired by the Fang Corporation some read. Their lights were off, and their shelves were empty. Chains and locks were tied around their handles. The only things bustling in this building were the movie theater and the unemployment line, which doubled as both.
Alejandro found a spot at one of the round tables.
“May I sit here?” he asked, motioning to an open seat with a nod.
“Sure, do you need a hand?” Rosa asked as she reached to help. She took the tub of popcorn and placed it on the table.
“Thank you,” he said as he sat down. He lifted his elbow, letting the folder slip onto the table.
She glanced at the lip of the file as she slid the popcorn closer to him. “Canard, like the duck?” she asked.
“Like the duck,” he replied. “When I was a kid, I got called Quack a lot.”
“I’m Rosa. Canard would be a cool nickname,” she said.
Alejandro took a handful of popcorn from the tub: “I’ve been called worse. It’s nice to meet you. Want some?” he asked, pushing the tub in Rosa’s direction. “I always get upsold. It makes no sense why they only charge one dollar more for double the size,” Alejandro said. “Not that I’ll ever eat it all.”
Rosa took a handful.
“So, what are you in for?” she asked.
“Here for a renewal,” he replied. “For unemployment benefits. What about you?”
“I had a small Maxim violation. Nothing too serious, but I’m off the Socials for a while.”
“Ah, I see,” he said, between chews. He licked his fingers, brushed at his lips, then ran his fingertips over a napkin.
“I’ve never been cited for a Maxim violation. I don’t think I’ve ever broken one. Maybe as a kid.”
Rosa gave a shrug of indifference as she took another handful: “With a following as large as mine, the Maxims are applied more stringently.”
“You must be an influencer,” Alejandro said.
“Yeah, I am, Tier 7.”
“Wow. That’s high.”
Rosa swallowed her bite: “It took a lot of work. It was also my income, so being forced off the Socials puts me in a real financial bind. Have you heard of any place that is hiring?”
“I don’t. Maybe the Ticket Meister has some leads. Doesn’t he help with that sorta thing?” Alejandro replied. “Although he was a bit over the top, so maybe ask someone else.”
“You thought so?” Rosa asked. “His accent threw me off at first. Scared me a bit. But he seems fun.”
“He kept calling me sweetie,” Alejandro said with a playful smile.
“Probably because of your angelic face and neatly tapered fade. Mr. I’ve-never-broken-a-Maxim.”
Alejandro blushed and looked across the expansive room towards the theater entrance. Red rope lines flanked the large wooden doors, and lights ran along the interior floor’s edges. He looked back at the table.
“Luca used to keep his hair similar to yours; trimmed on the sides and higher on top. His was more of a fro-hawk, though. He tried to be edgier for the Socials, but it wasn’t working, so he braided it into locs. Your curls are loose, though. Much more than his. It’s nice.”
“Thanks. My mom’s Latino. I get them from her. Who is—” Alejandro was interrupted.
“Excuse me, um, do either of you mind if I sit here?” Fayad asked, pointing to an open seat.
“Sure,” Rosa replied, motioning for him to join the table.
“Thank you,” he said as he sat down. “I’m Fayad.”
“I’m Rosa, this is Canard.”
“Canard, like the duck?” Fayad asked.
“Yes, like the duck,” Rosa replied. Her cheeks shimmered as a playful grin crossed her face.
“What an interesting name.”
“Thank you, but that is my last name,” Alejandro said.
“Oh, sorry. It’s just she introduced you as Canard,” Fayad replied. “My bad. I didn’t mean any offense.”
Rosa smirked as she chewed.
“I’m a rule breaker, right, Canard?” She looked across the table at Alejandro. “I break rules.”
“What are you in for?” she asked Fayad.
“AI.”
“The dreaded AI,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s what got Canard over here too. You both should get jobs that can’t be replaced by AI.”
Fayad chuckled softly and cocked one eyebrow: “Is that so? Maybe you should take your own advice.”
She grinned.
“She’s here for other reasons,” Alejandro said.
“I’m a rule breaker,” she said, chomping on another piece of popcorn. “I break rules.”
“Well, I was a cook. I didn’t think AI would get me, but the release of Grill-Me-Baby-One-More-Time did me in.”
“Tell me you sold BBQ,” she said.
“Baby back ribs.”
Rosa shook her head disapprovingly, but she smiled.
“What AI replaced you, Canard?” she asked.
“Write-On-Without-Me, it’s AI that helps write computer code.”
“So, you put yourself out of a job?” Rosa asked.
“Yes, exactly. Same as you,” Alejandro retorted. “What did you do to violate a Maxim? Say something petty?”
She nodded. “It definitely wasn’t anything pretty,” she said, sucking air through her teeth.
Fayad opened his box of fudgy-duddies and ate one. His large bicep flexed as he popped one in his mouth. He shook his head at Rosa’s admission as he chewed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, still chewing on the taffy-like chocolate, “is it Canard or Alejandro because I am having a hard time keeping it straight? She introduced you as Canard, so that is what is sticking in my mind. Is that what you’d prefer to be called?”
“Belief perseverance.”
Rosa jerked around, facing the mysterious man beside her: “I’m sorry, who are you?”
The man was lanky, and his hair was tucked under a baseball cap. His face was obscured from clear view.
“We were in the middle of a conversation,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t supposed to interrupt unless it was important. I was supposed to let you all get acquainted with one another and have a few laughs before I broke into the conversation.”
Fayad stopped chewing and looked at the man with intent. He put the box of candy down and widened the placement of his feet. He leaned forward in his chair.
“Is there something we can help you with?” Canard asked.
“The popcorn sizing,” the man said, pointing to the tub, “that’s psychological manipulation. They did market research on that. They know how to squeeze you, and I don’t just mean your pocket,” he said as he tapped the side of his head.
“Okaaaay,” Rosa said, turning towards the man some more. She leaned back in her seat, creating more distance between them.
“And the name thing. That switch, Fayad’s right. It is confusing. When I first read about Canard, I kept reading the name Alejandro. But now you guys call him Canard, so it’s hard for me to keep track. That’s belief perseverance, or sorta, not really, but it’s close enough.”
“We’ve heard of belief perseverance,” Canard said.
“It’s the basis for Maxim 6,” Rosa added. “We’ve seen this show before.”
The strange man smiled.
“But he hasn’t,” he said, pointing towards Fayad. “The Ticket Meister was right to make sure he got your name right from the start. Hard to unring a bell.” The man giggled to himself. “You’re from the Heartlands, aren’t you, Fayad?”
“How did you know that?” Fayad asked.
“I’ve been reading about you. All of you,” he said, laying their unemployment files on the table. “The Ticket Meister shares them with employers who are hiring, and you’re in luck because I’m recruiting participants for an experiment that my doctoral advisor is running. It pays double what your unemployment benefits do. Here, take one,” he said, handing them each a flyer.
“Pays double, you say?” Canard asked, glancing briefly at the paper, then back at the strange man.
Fayad pushed his chair away from the table. It screeched loudly. He widened his feet further as he leaned up, nearly on his feet. He held his hand towards the man, “Look, buddy, you are freaking me out. I think you'd best go. You’re coming on real strong right now.”
“Ok, I’ll go. Just think about it, ok? I’ll let you get back to your show; it sounds as if it’s about to start,” he said as he pointed towards the entrance to the movie theater. Music began to play, and the doors started to open.
“Although that one isn’t as fun as some of the others. You should watch Star Wars Episode 27 after it to lighten the mood, or a comedy. Laughing always puts me at ease and facilitates learning. You should go see E=MC2, although that was made around the time AI started writing screenplays. They make a lot of math jokes that don’t add up. And I didn’t say that to be funny. I checked their math, and it was incorrect. AI can be overconfident, no different than humans. It’s a huge problem because no one checks the AI’s math. When was the last time you double-checked a calculator?”
The strange man chuckled to himself.
“When AI confidently puts forth an incorrect piece of information, they call that a hallucination. Can you imagine? Computers hallucinating—scary stuff! But you’ll learn more if you come to the presentation tomorrow,” he said as he pointed to the slip of paper. “All the information is there. I hope to see you there.”
Rosa turned back towards Fayad and Canard. She shot them a wild look, and the strange man was gone when she turned back around.
“Ok, that was freaking weird,” she said. Her head darted around as she tried to catch a glimpse of him. “Did y’all see that? I mean, am I the only one creeped out right now?” she asked with her arms outstretched. “Where did he go?”
Canard’s demeanor was equally baffled as his chewing slowed: “He came out of nowhere.”
“You meet the weirdest people at the unemployment office. On God!” Rosa said as she raised her hands. “Y’all aren’t going to leave me alone. We are going to sit together in that theater,” she said as she stood up. “Fayad, I want you next to me. Come on.” She took his arm. “Hang on, let me grab that paper, though!” She turned around and grabbed the slip from the table. “I don’t qualify for unemployment. I need a job.”
Canard grabbed his popcorn and the slip of paper as he stood up from the table. He joined on the other side of Rosa. She took his arm too.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Rosa said. “And y’all have to come with me because I am not going alone. Not after that! Y’all think I’m playing, but I’m not. It’s this way,” she said, jerking the two men along. “I thought he was about to kill us!” Rosa let out another laugh. “Phew, that laugh felt good. I needed that! It feels good to laugh.”
“It does,” Fayad replied as they headed for the bathrooms. “Now I’m ready for the show. Now I can let my guard down, relax, and learn something.”
Chapter 3
1984 Vibes
FAYAD, CANARD, AND ROSA MADE THEIR WAY inside the theater. The seats sloping downward were covered in a black pleather material, one suited for easy cleaning. The walls were covered in a gray felt fabric, which helped absorb the sound from the large speakers lining the screen. A small stage jutted out from under them. Dark red curtains hung the width of the platform, draping across the floor. Large golden ropes with sizeable tassels hung in the center. Curtain ruffles, also dark red, adorned the top and were embroidered with gold stitching.
Traces of children's fingerprints were smudged along the room, no doubt from the fudgy-duddies consumed during an earlier screening. The felt fabric peeled at the corners of the walls and between the seams where the cut sheets of material met. A few chairs were broken, their seats hanging, languishing on the ground. Some wall sconces were missing bulbs, while a few flickered. Popcorn littered the floor as they descended further inside.
“I always think of this movie as a rip-off from the 1984 movie,” Rosa said, selecting a middle aisle with no one in it. “Is this ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine with it,” Canard replied. He took the lead down the aisle. He shuffled sideways. “1984 was originally a book, though.”
“The medium doesn’t matter,” Rosa replied. “It just feels as if they ripped it off. As if this is 1984 version 2.0.”
“Oh, no,” Canard said. “This is very different—much lighter than that. But I see your point; it definitely gives 1984 vibes.”
“Shouldn’t a warning be dark?” Fayad asked as he followed the two. They reached the center of the aisle, and each took a seat.
“You can have a conversation about truth and privacy without turning the piece of work into a hellscape,” Canard said. “You don’t need to scare the living daylights out of someone to get your point across. But you haven’t seen this before, have you, Fayad?”
“I haven’t. This is my first time.”
“A newbie, huh?” Canard asked. He shot Rosa a wink.
She smiled: “Tell us about the Heartlands. What’s it like?”
Fayad tilted his head and said, “The politics are different. That’s for sure. We don’t preach the Maxims.”
“I think the correct language is teach,” Canard subtly interjected.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense. Still learning the ins and outs. Maybe I should make a note of that.”
Fayad pulled a small, pocket-sized notebook from his jacket and began to write.
“It’s not that big of a rule. It’s not a Maxim,” Canard said. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about that one.”
Rosa nodded in agreement: “Yeah, the Maxims aren’t enforced here. Only certain spaces.”
“I definitely should write that down,” Fayad said. He made a note, then closed the book.
Rosa and Canard exchanged amused glances over the tub of popcorn.
“My parents are very political. It’s why we left Renescentia and moved to the Heartlands. My mom served as a Delegate to the Heartlandic Congress for a few sessions. My dad was on the school board all throughout my time in high school. He made sure 1984 was on the school’s reading lists. Blocked any books on the Maxims.”
Rosa smirked and tilted her head. A quizzical look crossed her face.
“And are you political too?” Canard asked.
“A little. Guess it runs in the family. I helped out on a few of my mom’s races.”
Rosa reached for some more popcorn: “Did they leave during or after the Turmoil?”
“They decided to leave when the Maxims were authorized.”
Rosa nodded: “Yeah, a few of my family left too. My aunt stayed. She pushed pretty hard to have them adopted. Split the family. She’s pretty political herself.”
“What did she think of your Maxim violation?”
Rosa laughed: “She says I have too much of my father in me. Not enough of my mother.”
“But the Maxims protect us. Why flee from them?” Canard asked.
“Not everyone sees them that way,” Fayad replied. “The Heartlands are a place where freedom reigns, and free speech is king.”
Canard let out a beguiled chuckle: “Ha! And misinformation rings from shore to shore.” He took another bite of popcorn and shook his head with a bewildered grin.
“Fayad’s right,” Rosa said. “Not everyone sees things that way.”
Canard’s bewilderment turned to sheer confusion. He frowned: “But how do you prevent the, oh what’s the word, the um, the constant onslaught of misinformation attacks?”
“Influence campaigns,” a voice from behind them said.
“Ahhhhhh!” Rosa screamed, throwing her handful of popcorn into the air. She startled the room. Only a smattering of movie-goers were inside, but they all looked on. Some cast disapproving glances towards the disturbance, before returning their attention forward.
“You again,” Fayad said with irritation. He stood up from his seat and turned around, towering over the man.
The man slinked back down in his seat behind the trio. He pushed his shoulders inward and ducked his head downward like a scalded puppy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said. “My name is Allan. We met in the food court.”
“Yeah, we remember you,” Rosa said as she jerked around to face the man behind her.
Canard looked over his shoulder.
The young, lanky man removed his hat, and dirty blonde hair fell from underneath.
“What are you doing here?” Fayad asked with admonishment.
“It’s my birthday this month. I have to renew too,” Allan replied.
“Well, you are not sitting with us,” Fayad said.
“Please,” Allan said meekly. His shoulders were still turned inward. “The Maxims are always better with friends, like any movie.”
“Who says we’re friends?” Rosa asked.
“I’m aware I can be off-putting. Scare tactics help grab attention. But, I’ve startled you enough already,” Allan said. A sheepish grin crossed his face. He twisted his cap in his hands. “I promise I won’t scare you anymore. Pinky promise,” he said as he extended his pinky to Rosa.
Rosa looked at him. She twisted around in her seat so that she could face him squarely. Her hands rested on the top of her chair. She did not extend her pinky.
Allan then extended his pinky to Fayad, who dismissed it with a shake of his head.
Allan then looked longingly at Canard as he extended it to him.
“I’m going to hold you to your promise that you will not scare us anymore,” Canard said before extending his pinky.
Allan nodded: “Promise.”
They shook.
Rosa sized him up with a bit of a side-eye. “I don’t enjoy being scared,” she said as she extended her pinky.
They shook.
With his arms crossed, Fayad looked down at the man: “You’re not sitting behind us. You can sit in front of us so I can keep my eyes on you.”
“I’d like that,” Allan replied. He scurried down the aisle, stepping over empty popcorn buckets.
“Excuse me, please,” he said, squeezing past a couple of patrons. He exited the row and turned down the aisle in front of the trio, then scurried back. As he sat, he turned to face them. His skin had a light sun-kissed tan, and his eyes were greenish blue.
“You forgot these,” Allan said as he handed Fayad his box of fudgy-duddies. “Isn’t it funny how they make us watch this movie? It’s so funny to me.”
“The Maxims create stability. Why wouldn’t we watch?” Canard asked.
“Yeah, but it’s funny that we have to watch them. You’d think the government would come up with some sort of educational program, but instead, they make us watch a film. If the Maxims create stability, why are we relying on artists to explain them? Some people don’t want to watch movies.”
“That’s a pretty anti-Maxim statement to make given your command of them,” Canard said as he studied the 20-something.
“No, it’s not that. I just think it’s funny, that’s all. That artists explain it and not teachers. My father used to say, ‘When the other institutions fail, send in the artists!’” He smiled sheepishly at the thought. “I miss him.”
“What happened to him?” Rosa asked.
“They shot him,” Allan replied flatly. “Not because of the saying, no. He died in the Turmoil.”
“Boy, you give me whiplash. You know that?” Rosa said with a deep exhale, then a soft chuckle. She shook her head and then looked off into the distance for a moment. A look of sympathy crossed her face. “I lost an uncle.”
“I also lost an aunt,” Fayad added.
Allan looked at them with a sympathetic rise in one of his dimpled cheeks. “Grief can bond. Ingroups, outgroups.”
“What are those?” Fayad asked. “Should I write that down?”
“Oh, nothing! Never mind,” Allan replied. His demeanor shifted. “‘When all else fails, send in the artists!’ My dad used to say. He ran into battle brandishing only a paintbrush. That’s how they got him.”
He flashed a devilish smile and ducked his head just far enough down that his mouth was hidden by the seatback between them. His eyes skirted back and forth, observing their expressions.
The trio looked at one another with confusion and unease, unsure of how to react.
“I’m kidding,” Allan said with a giggle. “Humor can bond too. My dad was carrying a M249 SAW machine gun. Sniper got him,” he said with a shrug of indifference. His face turned sour. He slunk down some at that recollection. “It was a long time ago.”
Fayad shook the box of fudgy-duddies, and two came out of the corner. “Want some?” Fayad asked, extending his hand to Allan.
Allan perked up and accepted the offering by cupping his hands. The candies stuck to his teeth as he chomped.
“Candy can bond too,” Fayad said. “The Ticket Meister said that these help with diabetes.”
Allan tilted his head, and his eyes flashed a sparkle: “You don’t believe him?”
“No. Of course not. How could candy help with diabetes?”
“Careful,” Rosa said. “You’re close to a Maxim 10 violation.”
“What? How?” Fayad asked with a tinge of worry. He reached for his notebook.
“Do not reject evidence because it conflicts with an existing belief. Consider all evidence,” Canard said. “That’s Maxim 10.”
“It’s rooted in confirmation bias,” Allan explained, “which is a psychological trait where we search for evidence to support our pre-existing ideas and reject evidence that doesn’t.”
He twisted around, pulling his knees into the seat to face them better.
“If a person’s blood sugar was dangerously low, candy would help. He even told you he passed medical school with flying colors. You shouldn’t reject evidence so quickly because it conflicts with your prior beliefs.”
Fayad grew flustered as he couldn’t keep pace. He looked up from his notebook: “Confirmed dialysis? I’m sorry, what was it?”
Canard smiled: “You don’t need to understand the psychology behind the rules yet. You’re just a Tier 1.”
Allan nodded: “Some people don’t need the explanation—they follow the rules blindly. Others won’t obey unless they understand the reasoning. Just depends on what learning style you prefer. But Canard’s right, a Tier 1 won’t be questioned on the advanced aspects.”
Rosa nodded in agreement: “Don’t worry, this is a safe space. Put that away, or you’ll have a psychology degree by the end of this.” She gestured towards his notebook.
“Good to know,” Fayad said. “I’m on a probationary period. I can’t have any slip-ups.”
“Long way from the Heartlands?” Allan asked.
“We didn’t cover this in school.”
“Well, of course not,” Allan said with an amused exhale. “Pre-Turmoil, they ran influence campaigns against it in the territories that would become the Heartlands. Before long, these conversations were outlawed there.”
“Really?” Fayad asked.
“Influence campaigns are a nasty business. You do NOT want to find yourselves in the middle of an influence campaign,” Allan said. He shook his head back and forth with vigor. His hair danced around his ears and jawbone.
“Pre-Turmoil, they attacked all of the social sciences. Those were the first and most valuable targets. They were much easier to take down. It’s more difficult to attack the hard sciences. Although with enough firepower, you can get people to believe that the world is flat.
“Just gotta be wary of the little traps,” Allan said as he tapped the side of his head.
“But that’s work talk. I’m ready for the show.” Allan turned back around and situated himself in his seat. He brushed at his pants and straightened his shirt.
Fayad sat quietly for a moment.
Canard handed Rosa some more popcorn.
“Your mind works differently, doesn’t it, Allan?” Fayad asked.
Allan turned back around slowly with a trace of unease: “That’s not a bad thing. Is it?”
Rosa stopped between bites. “No one is saying that,” she said.
Allan became reflective and sullen.
“I remember the first time someone said something similar about me. I was in 7th grade, and sometimes I get animated when I’m thinking. Sometimes, I make motions or mouth words to myself, but it’s because my imagination runs so hot and so fast. And my teacher said in front of the entire classroom, ‘Allan! Are you talking to yourself again?’”
Allan’s eyes watered. The blues and greens in his irises became glossy from tears forming. He looked away towards the carpet.
“The whole class laughed at me. And that was the last time,” his voice broke, “that was the last time I was myself in public.” He wiped at both his eyes with the collar of his shirt.
“That’s not what I meant,” Fayad said. “Really, it’s not.”
Allan wiped away another tear. He then smiled faintly.
“My mind’s not better or worse, just different. Is that what you are saying?” he asked. His cheeks rose with a glint.
“Precisely,” Fayad agreed.
“Ok. That makes sense,” Allan said with a timid smile. “Thanks again for letting me join you. I didn’t want to have to sit by myself or with them,” he said, glancing toward a boisterous bunch on the other side of the theater. They shuffled around, drinking beer and joking with one another. “They're all dressed up. I bet they didn’t even have to renew. Here for fun, probably,” Allan said, giggling to himself.
“Oh yeah, look at that,” Fayad said. “He’s dressed as a flame with an X over it. The Ticket Meister will have something snarky to say about that.”
Rosa cocked her head and smiled: “What if he doesn’t?”
Fayad shrugged.
“You’ll need to remember it. Because if he doesn’t, it should soften your opinion of him—Maxim 7,” Rosa said. “Don’t write it down.”
“Just in case,” Fayad said as he pulled out the notebook. His large hands struggled to maneuver the small pencil over the pages. “That’ll definitely be on the immigration test.”
“We can help you,” Allan assured. “That’s what the movie is for. Send in the artists! Remember? Paintbrushes at the ready,” he said, waving an imaginary paintbrush in the air.
Just as the room began to settle down, the Ticket Meister walked in wearing a red vest on top of his white shirt. The vest matched his red pants, both of which were embroidered with gold stitching.
As he walked, the boisterous bunch started to howl.
“There he is,” Canard said with excitement. “This is the best part,” he said to Fayad. “It’s tradition. Just go with it.”
Rosa and Allan grinned at each other.
Allan swept his blonde hair behind one ear and looked at Fayad with a blush, “Yeah, just go with it.”
When the Ticket Meister reached the stage, he stuck his arm into a wooden box on the edge of the steps. He retrieved a circular red hat that was also embroidered with gold. He put it on his head and stretched the strap underneath his chin.
“Got to make it entertaining; otherwise, they won’t learn nothing,” he muttered to himself. He retrieved a pair of gold cymbals and walked up the steps to the stage. He stood in front of the movie screen, and he clanged them together.
“What is the First Maxim?” he said without enthusiasm. The boisterous bunch howled with excitement.
“Do not inflame!” they yelled back.
Rosa, Allan, and Canard also joined in.
The Ticket Meister took a deep, unamused sigh. “And why do we not inflaaame?” he said as he struck the cymbals together.
Allan stood up in his seat. Rosa and Canard were both on their feet. They all cupped their hands around their mouth as they shouted back, “To inflame is to cause turmoil!”
The Ticket Meister returned to the stairs and threw the cymbals into the wooden crate. They clanged as they landed. He pulled a bucket of candy from beside the box, wrapping one arm around it. He took a handful and threw it at the boisterous bunch. They howled even louder.
He threw another handful of candy. They howled some more.
“God bless Renescentia,” the Ticket Meister mumbled as he looked on. “That is our future.”
He shook his head as he dug another handful of candy from the bucket.
“Do we have any first-timers here with us tonight? Oh, honey, what a cute outfit. And I mean that. You are dressed as a flame with an X over yourself. Don’t inflame. How cute!”
The Ticket Meister threw another handful of candy at the group.
“He and I are going to be friends,” Rosa said aloud as she nodded. She looked back and forth at the others. “We are, I know it!”
“Any first-timers?” the Ticket Meister asked again.
“Over here,” Canard yelled as he pointed towards Fayad.
Allan waved his arms back and forth as he stood in his chair.
“We got a newbie over here!” Rosa shouted, pointing at Fayad.
“Just go with it,” Canard said over the noise.
“Alright, get up here,” the Ticket Meister yelled unenthusiastically. He retrieved the cymbals and stood next to the edge.
Fayad gave a reluctant shrug and set his notebook on the armrest of his chair. He shuffled sideways down the row of seats. Then walked up the aisle to the edge of the stage where the Ticket Meister stood. The crowd was still howling. The Ticket Meister clanged his cymbals.
“What is the Second Maxim?” he asked Fayad.
The crowd grew silent. As did Fayad. He shrugged and raised his palms upwards, scanning the room for help.
They gawked back.
“What is the Second Maxim?” the Ticket Meister asked again with a clang of his cymbals.
The audience continued to gawk in disbelief.
“Reason before emotion,” the Ticket Meister whispered to Fayad, half-concealing his mouth with a cymbal.
“Reason before emotion!” Fayad yelled to the crowd, lifting his fists into the air.
Thunderous applause erupted from the audience.
“Newbie! Newbie! Newbie!” they cheered.
The Ticket Meister retrieved the bucket of candy and dumped it over Fayad. “Here ya go. Now y’all enjoy the show!” he said, taking off his hat and throwing it in the box. He descended the stairs.
Fayad returned to his seat as the lights began to darken.
The screen came to life. It projected a hologram. A nondescript, mannequin-style face appeared.
“In the beginning, there was a computer. It was a small one, composed of a single processor…”