Complicit Survival
“Well, then,” Eslar said, standing and gaining control of the room. “I think we should plan our attack.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Snow said, now that his job was seemingly finished.
“Why don’t you stay?” Jo suggested before she could second-guess herself. “And help us brainstorm?”It’s not like you have anywhere else to be, she wanted to add. Even if Jo understood, with stunning clarity after Nico, why he would not want to get closer to the members of the Society than was absolutely necessary, it didn’t mean she agreed with it.
“I don’t think I would be much further help,” he wavered.
“I don’t think you’ll stop anyone from saying what they want.” Jo motioned to the group, inviting someone to object. “Maybe you’ll help us in a way you don’t expect?”
Uneasily, Snow sat back down in his chair. It was as if a switch had been flipped and without having information about a wish to impart to them, he had no purpose being in the room and thus had no idea what to do with himself.
“Th-thank you for staying, Snow.” It was odd to hear Eslar stutter. But judging from his reaction, the oddest thing currently was Snow’s presence. Snow gave a nod, as if encouraging Eslar to continue as he always did—leading the group on the execution of the wish itself. “I think we should figure out our approach.”
“You say that like we’re actuallyon boardwith this crock of —”
“Wayne!” Eslar snapped, much more noticeably aggravated at the New Yorker’s pointless interjections this time. And much quicker than usual, too. “No one is happy about this situation,” Eslar went on after a moment of collecting himself, in which he gracefully (if not forcefully) sat himself down. Almost at once, Jo watched Samson reach out to grasp one of Eslar’s hands, the slightly lighter tone of his skin standing out against the rich darkness of Eslar’s.
For some reason, Jo felt the need to look away.
“Wayne’s not wrong.” Takako blessedly jumped in. “No one’s thrilled about any of this. Regardless of any personal beliefs towards the Artificial Care Act—or similar governances surrounding the rights of artificial intelligence, regardless if the victims are innocent or not, murder is still murder. There are no masked vigilantes, only criminals. We all know that. But all of that doesn’t change our assignment or our ability to opt out of it.”
Little by little, everyone turned their attention towards Takako, willing and even forcing themselves to get into the mindset they’d come to associate with granting a wish. That didn’t mean the feeling lifted, though—the one where they all seemed to be walking a tandem tightrope; if any one of them shifted their weight too far, they’d break apart and tumble down to earth. And at least one of them would be certain not come out alive.
“So where do we go from here?” Jo tried her best not to sound bitter and mostly succeeded, though she felt every ounce of that bitterness settle spoiled and churning in her stomach. “We just close our eyes and guarantee permanent sanctuary for a murderer? Let him live out the rest of his days happily carving people up?”
“Everyone dies eventually,” Eslar said, blunt and ruthless, and Jo’s stomach dropped.
Still, she found herself biting back, “Except us, right?”
“Well, that is our goal,” Eslar replied without skipping a beat, and Jo couldn’t help but startle at his lack of argument.
“I think . . . I mean, what Eslar’s probably trying to say is that we’ve already done our duties as human beings. We’ve already paid the price of death in the ages we were born into and gave ourselves to a higher power. We’ve done all we can to help the world from here, everything and then some. We’ve stood by and witnessed as the world was wracked in horrors much worse than this.”
“We’re complicit,” Takako whispered.
“We’ve had to be,” Wayne insisted.
Samson cringed at Wayne’s tone. Swallowed once, twice, as if trying to clear his mouth for the next words. He finally got there. “And this . . . this is all we have left. I-I know it’s selfish—” At this, he bowed his head, slouching back into insecure reservation. But his spine found the strength to form a straight line once more. “But haven’t we lost enough?”
No one in the room seemed able to keep their eyes from drifting over to the empty chair at the table. Their crafter took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was raw and shaking. “Don’t you think we might have earned the right . . . to be a little bit selfish this time? To do this and not feel wretched about it for the sake of our own survival?”
At first, the room as a whole seemed unsure how to respond, the weight of Samson’s words dragging a heaviness across their shoulders and keeping them pinned in place. Though there was no scolding, Jo couldn’t deny that she felt chastened nonetheless.
After a moment of awkwardness began to stretch and pull between them, Wayne settled back in his chair with a huff, the sound shattering the tension at once. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned; if it weren’t for the situation, Jo probably would have laughed at the theatrics.
“Sammy’s right,” he said, drumming his fingers along the crook of his elbow. Samson tilted his head slightly at the sudden use of a new name for him. “We’ve served our time. Some of us more than others, but time nonetheless. We might not like what we’re doing—hell I’d take the Great Depression all over again if it meant avoiding all this . . .But . . . But I’d fancy a guess I’m not alone in saying we’d like losing another one of our own even less.”
This time, when a renewed quiet settled in, it was almost reverent, the group as a whole balancing Wayne’s words with Samson’s with whatever else had gone unsaid. For Jo, she couldn’t help feeling as though she hadn’t servedenoughtime, maybe. And yet, at the prospect of spending eternity balanced on the razor’s edge of a second demise, Jo couldn’t help but agree with Wayne.
“We’re survivors,” Takako murmured.
It was all they could do, survive. For their own sake, for each other’s. Jo liked to think it was what Nico would have wanted, but it didn’t seem enough.
“Aren’t we focusing on the wrong thing?” Jo looked to each of them as she spoke, looking for someone to meet her eyes and give her a glimmer of hope that there was someone else who thought as she did. That she wasn’t insane for all the thoughts that had been stirring in her mind following Nico’s death. “Even if we complete this unpalatable wish, what stops the next one from being worse?”
“What are you saying?” Eslar was the one to ask.
