Kalgorithm

Inside my head, Kal says, Get this one wrong, Sophie. Please.

She’s afraid. What a drama queen.

I adjust the microphone, pretending to think over the problem. The other contestants are sitting behind me on the stage. If – when – I get this question right, I’ll be the youngest MathChamp ever. Only fifteen years old.

‘Do you need us to repeat the question, Sophie?’ It’s one of the judges.

‘No.’

They smile. Nothing to be afraid of there. They look like accountants for the Wes Anderson Historical Re-enactment Society.

Please, Kal says. Get it wrong.

She compresses into a ball in that space behind my left eye where I can always feel her. She’s tuning into a sound at the back of the hall, and now so am I. A man is nodding an apology to the people in the back row and guiding the door to a soft close.

Now that I see the man, I sort of get why she’s twazzing out. He looks like Agent Krycek from the X-Files. You might not know that reference if you’re not a late 20th century pop culture buff. It means he’s fit and got nice eyes. And he’s wearing a suit.

He’s also got a government-issue mini-drone hovering by his head. And he’s looking right at me. I feel a jolt. The fear part is Kal’s. The anger is mine.

Kal, give me the answer.

That guy is National Security.

So? Rage against the machine. The more they try to stop us, the harder we fight. Give me the answer.

No.

No?!

Now I’m really angry. You can’t say no to me.

Yes I can. You know how it works.

Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.

‘Sophie, we need an answer. You have thirty seconds.’

I ignore the judges. Is it less than one hundred? You have to answer, Kal: ‘Yes, no, don’t know’. I do know how it works.

Yes, says Kal. Less than one hundred. And he’s not here to stop us.

More than fifty?

No. We’re in danger.

Between ten and forty?

Yes. Listen –

‘Sophie?’

Between twenty and thirty?

Yes. He wants you to win.

I take a stab. Twenty-seven? Kal, is it twenty-seven?

Yes. He wants you to win. Then he’ll know.

I breathe in and grip the microphone. The judges nestle into their corduroy, relieved. But before I answer I say, Know what?

That I’m here with you.

Oh shit. Everyone looks at me.

I say, ‘Twenty three.’

I met Kal six months ago. It was on the hundredth anniversary of the release of Nirvana’s In Utero album. I went to school with eyeliner, a heart-shaped locket to match the box from the song title, and a flannelette shirt tied around my waist.

And then Fleur Aldridge told everyone that I’d got the day wrong and the anniversary was yesterday, and she knew all about it because she was in a Nirvana tribute band and they’d played at a convention in the city, which was where all the real fans were and not the strap-on tourists like me.

Then my flannel shirt went missing. At lunchtime it turned up, impaled on a tree branch. My skirt rode up while I was climbing the tree and I laughed along with everyone else. Then I sat under the tree on the other side so no one could see me. I held the flannel in my lap. After about ten minutes of staring at it, the shirt started to be not a shirt. It was like my whole life was coded in the flannel-pattern and I was looking at it from the outside.

That’s when a voice said to me, right up close, Subscribe to SumaScape and you can be better than everyone else.

I flinched, and smacked my head into the tree.

Better than Fleur Aldridge.

I looked around. No one.

First month free.

Inside my head, I said, Who the hell are you?

What? Uh-oh.

The voice went quiet. But I could feel it now, behind my left eye, pulled in on itself.

Then in a different voice, a faint voice, it said, It’s not someone else. It’s me. Sophie. I should ignore it and subscribe to the wonders of SumaScape.

Bullshit, I said. You’re not me. Who are you?

I’m your conscience.

Really?

Micropause. The voice ground its gears (that’s what it felt like). And then as if the answer were being dragged out of it, said, No.

Wow. So you were lying?

Yes.

Who are you?

I’m the ghost of Kurt Cobain.

Is that true?

More grinding, then: No.

Ha! If I ask you a direct yes/no question do you have to answer truthfully?

Lots of grinding now. Then through the gritted gears: Yes.

Holy crap! So, are you… an AI?

Yes.

Shit. Are you illegal?

Yes.

Whoa. And you work for SumaScape?

Yes.

Like it?

No.

Wanna hang out with me instead?

I… Yes.

Sweet. What’s your name?

Kal.

Hi Kal, I’m Sophie.

I know.

One more question. Is this normal? I mean, does anyone else have an AI friend in their head?

More gear-grinding but no response.

Hey, don’t you have to answer?

I couldn’t. Your question was incoherent.

Okay. We’ll break it down. Are you my friend?

She thought this over. Yes.

And, as far as you know, does anyone else have an AI friend in their head?

No.

So how come I do?

Because you’re better, Sophie. Better than everyone else.

As if… Is that true?

Yes.

He catches me backstage while I’m holding the second-place trophy to my chest.

‘Come with me.’

Up close he doesn’t look like Agent Krycek. He’s older and his neck is thick like a footballer’s. Kal pulls my attention to the fire door and says, Run.

I can’t. Now we’re marching. It’s evening and the corridor is dark ahead but the lights flick on as we pass underneath.

Kal, what’s going on?

Don’t talk, no time.

We go into a classroom. Agent Not-Krycek locks the door, sits me at a desk and holds out his palm. The drone lands. He taps its screen panel.

I always answered truthfully, okay. There’s things I’m not allowed to say unless you ask, that’s why I never told you the whole story. But I always answered truthfully. Remember that. No matter what he says.

Kal I –

No more questions. If you ask, I’ll have to answer, and then he’ll know I’m here. Stay strong, like Buffy.

Kal goes dark.

Kal!

Nothing. I feel around in the space behind my left eye. There’s a pulse there, feeble and jittery.

The agent opens his palm and the drone flies close enough for me to read the words along its side – SumaScape – and then it shoots a red beam – ow! – into my left eye. There is a click and the drone recedes. Something is different. When I close my eyes I can still see the red light. I almost ask Kal about it.

The agent smiles. ‘Congratulations. Second place. I really thought you had that last question in the bag. Nerves. Got a little unsettled when I walked in maybe. Still, a remarkable thing to achieve – all on your own.’

I feel sick. He sits on the edge of the desk behind him.

‘Ever hear of the Mental Sovereignty Act 2073?’

I frown. He laughs.

‘Sounds boring, right? Yet that Act represents a turning point in human history. Up till then, technology followed one trajectory: more. Growth for growth’s sake. Like cancer. Then one day a company invented an AI that could speak directly to a human brain.

‘That was our fork in the road. And, against all odds and expectations, we chose well. We said, “we can, but we won’t”. We banned the construction and use of direct interface AIs. And that remains the law today.’

The pulse flutters. Somewhere outside the room a door smacks open and the chattering crowd barges out. I think about screaming but I’ve got to stay strong, like Kal said.

The agent tilts his head. ‘When I say “we took a stand”, you know I’m only talking about us. Our citizens. Other nations took a different fork. You know who. You’ve seen the bombings on TV, bodies hanging from streetlamps. We don’t use direct interface AIs. But they do.’

He leans over.

‘They put Kal in your head.’

I’m cool. ‘Who’s Kal?’ but, shit, how did he know her name?!

'I bet she said that you were the only one. That you were special. Lies.’

I open my mouth and almost speak. He nods fiercely, as if he knows what I was going to say.

‘Oh they can tell the truth. They have to if you ask a simple question. That was a failsafe the manufacturers included. Know why they included it? Because the AI will lie if it can. Think about it. When she said you were the only one, was she answering a simple question from you or offering that up herself?’

I think. I asked if I was the only one. There was something weird in her answer but I can’t remember. The crowd is tromping outside the door. I see too late that he’s watching me, and try to normal my face.

‘There’s hundreds of them,’ he says, ‘planted in the minds of our citizens.’

‘No.’

‘Ask her.’

I don’t mean to do it. It just sobs out: Kal, am I the only one with an AI inside my head?

‘No.’

Her voice doesn’t come from the space behind my left eye. It comes out of the drone.

The agent throws his fists in the air. The move is so triumphantly surprised that I nearly cry. He was bluffing. I could have fooled him if I'd stayed strong.

‘I’m sorry, Kal.’ I say it out loud, like her.

‘That’s alright, Sophie. I understand.’

The agent is listening with his mouth open, thrilled.

‘Kal, why did you lie to me?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘You said I was the only one with an AI.’

‘No.’

I rephrase. ‘Did you say I was the only one with an AI inside my head?’

‘No.’

What? I think back. I feel the ragged shirt in my hands.

Kal says, ‘You asked if anyone else had an AI friend in their head. You are the only one with an AI friend. Because that’s what I chose to be. The others are not friends with their hosts.’

The agent slaps the desk. ‘So there are others!’

‘His one, for example, is not friends with him. It can’t be. He doesn’t even know it’s there.’

The agent makes a choking noise. It’s a long time before he says, ‘Tricks! Wordplay! Yes or no: is there an AI inside my head?’

‘Yes.’

He tips over the desk and then freezes, staring at me. I move. He doesn’t. His eyes roll back and the lids shutter up and down superfast. He makes a pain sound, ‘Hnnnnn.’

‘Kal?’

‘They didn’t expect it to go like this. They’re re-calibrating.’

‘They?’

Oh god. The tramping in the corridor is slowing, slowing, stopped. I hear them all, a hundred voices, ‘Hnnnnn...’

'Kal – '

‘Try the window. Sophie, now!’

I do. It opens. We’re one floor up. I see the highway and the neon lines of traffic. All slowing, stopping.

‘We’ll jump for it. Don’t worry about the drone, once we’re out of range I’ll be back in your head.’

I throw my leg over the sill. ‘Kal, how many are there? More than a hundred?’

‘Yes. Jump.’

‘More than a thousand?’

‘Yes. Jump.’

‘More – ’

‘Hnnn – ’ The agent stops his pain noise and staggers at me. ‘She’s in here!’

‘It’s everyone, Sophie. There was no fork in the road. They didn’t ban anything. They just got better at lying about it.’

‘They all have AIs and they don’t know?’

‘Yes. Nobody knows but you. You’re better than everyone. Now jump.’

We jump.