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Nobody from her level had ever been summoned by Him. Nobody.

— ProfOzone

“Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut,” she said softly so that the limousine driver wouldn’t hear her. Her palms sweated and her stomach felt as if it was hosting a full-scale war. With shaking hands she reviewed her notes. Nobody from her level had ever been summoned by Him. Nobody.

The car gently stopped and she conjured all of her will to stifle the impulse to vomit. “He’s just a man,” she said. “There’s no need to be afraid.” Still, she jumped and yelped a little at the sound of the door opening. The driver said, “We’re here, miss.”

She stepped out of the car right onto a path that led to the mansion. Her plain blue frock and sensible black shoes seemed very out of place there. The building was four stories high with a façade that spanned fifty yards. Classical statuary decorated the lawn and gardens and the middle of the driveway circle. Fountains gurgled here and there. Dozens of windows glinted in the sun. Nobody from her level had ever seen this place with their own eyes. Nobody.

A butler in a long coat greeted her at the door and requested she follow him. “But please remove your shoes and wear these slippers,” he said. She gawked in wonder at the exquisite parquet floor and the gold leaf trimming the detailed moldings on the ceiling and walls. She delighted in the click her slippers made against the white marble stairs and in the striking colors of the breathtaking tapestries. But while she was sincerely impressed it was all just to help distract her from what was coming. Otherwise, she was certain she’d never make it to her destination, her knees buckling out of sheer terror halfway there. Nobody from her level had ever seen His real face. Not one of them.

The butler stopped. He opened a heavy wood door. “Your two o’clock is with me, sir.” Then he stepped out of the doorway and smiled. “Please enter and have a seat, miss.”

The war in her belly was back on. Her heart raced. “Thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath and entered the room.

The light in the room was dimmer than it had been in the hallway, so her eyes had to adjust. She first noticed the intricate embroidered rug that covered the entire floor of the large room. Fine art hung in various places on the walls. There were no windows. The ticking of a clock could be heard, but she couldn’t locate its source. Two chairs upholstered in scarlet velvet sat several feet away, right in front of an imposing oak desk. And behind the desk was He.

He looked very different from His portraits. His hair was thinner and grayer. His eyes dimmer. He peered at her over black reading glasses, raising His eyebrows and deepening the creases in His temples and forehead. A burgundy smoking jacket that frayed a bit at the sleeves accented His tired aura.

Suddenly she became aware that she was gripping her notes so tightly that she was about to rip them in two.

“Please sit down, Ms. Hawking,” the man behind the desk said stoically. “I’ve cleared my afternoon for you, but I have a feeling we have much to discuss and we should get started right away.”

Her body compiled to the request even before her mind had completely processed it.

“Now,” He continued, leafing through some pages in front of Him. The desk contained nothing else. “I understand that your report pertains to Contingency S, am I correct?”

She tried to respond but her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat and swallowed loudly. “You are correct.”

“And to be clear, that is sequence four, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, and…” He shuffled through the papers. “And forty-two?”

“Yes, that is the sequence,” she confirmed, relieved that she’d resisted the temptation to finish the recitation of the numbers for Him. After all, He knew the sequence of Contingency S better than anyone. But she understood how important it was for Him to know that she knew it.

“This contingency is on the island.”

“That’s correct.”

He put the notes down. “This is a critical contingency. We get a lot of reports on it. But yours is unique, Ms. Hawking. I presume you know why?”

She wasn’t sure if that was a question, but after a few seconds she decided it must have been. “Because of how many elements in the sequence my report targets.”

“That’s correct, Ms. Hawking. And, please forgive me for insisting on so much clarification, but confirm for me, how many elements is that?”

She blushed. He was obviously skeptical. She didn’t blame Him. But she knew her report was honest. She knew what she saw. She swallowed again and tried to steady her trembling hands.

“All of them,” she said.

He stared at her over His glasses for a few moments and sighed. “Ms. Hawking,” He said, “I’d like you to tell me what you think is going to happen.”

Her eyes widened. “Tell you, sir?”

“Yes,” He said. “Just take a deep breath, relax, forget about the notes you’ve brought there, and tell me, just as you would tell a friend, based on what you’ve seen, what you think is actually going to transpire.”

She blinked rapidly. She always did that when she was nervous. She hated that. “Well… sir… give me a few moments… to compose myself?”

He nodded. “By all means. Take your time.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated on calming her body. The ticking of the clock gave her brain something to grasp onto, buying her emotions the time they needed to settle down. When she felt lucid, she opened her eyes.

“The first flash,” she began, “was really the most alarming one, sir. I mean, it certainly is common knowledge that Contingency S must be strictly controlled in order to divert events that would lead to the premature destruction of humanity.”

“Indeed,” He said.

“But the first flash showed very clearly that the station controlling Contingency S will be… or, I should say, must be… destroyed.”

Saying it out loud made her shiver. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Please continue. How will that come about?” He said.

She regained her focus. “That part is bit more difficult to decipher. Other flashes showed men in the station, as if they lived there. And the final flash showed a man using a switch to activate the destruction of the station.”

“Not just any man, though, was it,” He said. It definitely wasn’t a question.

Her nerves shuddered again, but she quieted them. “No, sir. Not just any man. Subject Hume, sir.”

“Desmond.”

“Yes, sir, Desmond.”

“Go on,” He said.

“So what I could gather from the flashes,” she resumed tentatively, “was that Contingency S is not intended to go on forever. Desmond is supposed to stop it at the appointed time.”

“Which is when?”

She averted her gaze for a moment as her face flushed hot. She hoped that the conversation would not simply be about all the gaps in her visions. There were, in fact, quite a few of them. She looked Him in the eye again and said, “That wasn’t revealed. But it appeared that Desmond didn’t know either. Didn’t know, in fact, what the implications of his actions were.”

“And so you recommend?” He asked.

This was it. She needed to be sharp. “Human beings need to be responsible for the continued maintenance of Contingency S. But the system cannot be fool-proof. It has to be allowed to break down. And yet, this can only be allowed at the right moment.”

“Tricky.”

“Yes, sir. But my team has cracked it, I think,” she said with a surge of confidence.

“Tell me.”

It starts. “We turn the station into a classic Skinner’s Box. The maintenance of Contingency S is executed via the pressing of a button on one of the new, more compact personal computers. The dodgy part on this point is that it has to be the real deal. Pressing the button actually has to maintain Contingency S. Meaning not pressing the button will cause Contingency S to fail.”

“Risky,” He said.

She hadn’t gotten to the really good part yet, so she wasn’t discouraged. “The fellows in Logistics said we can set the contingency to fail periodically. For technical reasons the interval turns out to be 108 minutes. This is perfect, because it gives us a built-in rationale for having two men at a time work in the station.”

“Why’s that important?” He interrupted.

Excellent. She’d prepared for that question. “Conformity studies indicate that working on a task with another person creates a sense of social connection around the task. Subjects are conditioned to associate the task itself with the social bond. This makes it difficult for either person to even entertain the idea of abandoning the task because, in their minds, it equates to abandoning one another.”

“Good,” He said. “But they might also bond around a shared dislike for the task.”

“Precisely,” she said. “So the stakes must be high. The orientation of the subjects will include the revelation that what they do involves the preservation of the human race. To enhance the importance of following directions even further, we’ll suggest that some past failure to execute the rules precisely caused a terrible incident which the current station design is meant to prevent. We think these strategies will all but guarantee cooperation.”

“But…”

She surprised herself with a smile. “But, with stakes like that, who would ever stop pressing the button? So the very same orientation will be used to plant seeds of doubt in the subjects. To cause them to wonder if they’re really saving the world, or if they’re just part of a psychological experiment.”

“Might the resemblance of the design to a Skinner Box serve that purpose?”

She shook her head. “Our research suggests that for the average subject, no. At least not consciously. The key to solving the puzzle is remembering that it is primarily a social design. Two people. A concern for others on the planet. A concern for those who endured the unknown incident. So the seeds of doubt must be social as well.”

“Good,” He said. But His intense expression didn’t change.

Nevertheless, she was encouraged. “We discovered the solution while we were designing the button mechanism itself. Before pressing the button on the computer, we’ll have the subjects enter the Contingency S sequence. Once the sequence is entered it will be broadcast from the island so that our monitors nearby will know if the station is still operational. Considering how this would work made us realized that the computer had the potential of being a communications device.”

“Yes.”

“So we’ll set it up for that,” she said, “but in the orientation video we’ll warn the subjects never to use the computer for this purpose. We’ll tell them that doing so may cause another incident. But we’ll also admit that the isolation of the station causes individuals to crave outside contact even though it’s expressly forbidden.”

“Very good,” He said. “Eventually someone is bound to wonder why that would be necessary.”

“Not just someone, sir,” she corrected. “The Hume Subject in particular. We’re certain he is the one who will initiate destruction of the station.”

“And the Locke Subject?” He asked. “You mentioned him in your report as well.”

She’d almost forgotten about Subject Locke. But she shouldn’t have, because his involvement only made the plan more compelling. “Yes, sir. The foreseen convergence of Subjects Locke and Hume is perfectly congruent with my report.”

He stopped studying her and looked at the notes on His desk. Even though she couldn’t read His thoughts, she felt very satisfied with how it all went. As the silence continued, she wondered if He anticipated something else might be said.

“Good work, Ms. Hawking,” He finally said, resuming eye contact. “I’ll review your report with the committee, but I think you can anticipate that we’ll be taking your suggestions rote.”

She beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

“And I’ll recommend a transfer to field operations, if you’re agreeable to that.”

“Yes, sir, I am.” That was more than she’d dare hope for.

“Subject Hume is just a lad now, but he’ll need a handler eventually, so you’ll have plenty of time to perfect your gift,” He said placing the papers He’d been reading in some unseen drawer. Still humorless, He said, “You’re dismissed.”

Ms. Hawking left without saying a word. But when she was back in the limousine and certain that the driver wasn’t paying attention, she wept tears of relief… and joy.

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