The Six

The morning sun shone through the windows at Unusual Appraisers Ltd., illuminating tiny grains of dust drifting in the air. Situated on the eleventh floor with a view of the littered river, the office was small and unassuming. The equipment was the only thing that revealed the seriousness of the issues Unusual Appraisers handled daily—the computers, designer lamps, and audiophile stereo equipment. Reiner, a plump, balding man of sixty, reclined in his opulent, twelve-grand office chair and lost himself in the music.

“Fucking Austrians. They’re so… precise,” he muttered, taking in the Vienna Philharmonic’s rendition of Beethoven’s Ninth, which flowed from four carefully positioned speakers. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Larry, a twenty-five-year-old new addition with curly black hair and visible signs of mild depression, barged into the tiny room, violently disrupting the floating dust. Reiner sighed and turned the music off. His plan to have a quiet, meditative morning was hereby canceled.

“That’s it. I quit,” Larry said, slamming his briefcase on the smooth, shiny desk. 

“That difficult, huh?” Reiner asked, “What did you get? The taste of strawberries? A blackbird’s song on a cold spring morning?”

“This time, it’s different,” Larry said, “it’s about that list. You know? The six.”

“The six. Ugh,” Reiner leaned back and rubbed his eyes, “I think we have a right to refuse. For moral reasons.”

“Do we?”

“Yes!” Reiner threw his hands in the air and looked at Larry like with a hint of contempt, “Once word gets out, these people will be hunted!”

“Yeah but, hopefully head-hunted to be employed,” Larry shrugged. 

“Or to be locked in a tiny room for the rest of their lives,” Reiner said, looking at him sarcastically.

“Look, If we don’t take the job, someone else will,” Larry concluded, and emptied his briefcase. He carefully placed a crystal pyramid, a flower, and a butterfly specimen on the desk.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. It’s um… messy. And who needs a fucking mess these days? I know I don’t.” Reiner said, raising his eyebrows. He took a sip of green tea from his new mug, “A Fucking Legend” printed on it in gold glitter.

“Doesn’t seem messy to me,” Larry said. Reiner sat up and looked at him.

“I’ll tell you a story. Back in the day, when we were just starting, one of those rich, corporate psychopaths came over. He wanted to get a valuation of his kid’s coding abilities. The kid was a prodigy, I have to admit. But this man, he started pressuring us and pushing us to ramp up the value. You see, he wanted to take a loan against the kid’s talent. And soon, it got real ugly. People got threatened, and some of them quit. In the end, he sued us for legal malpractice. So um… It’s not always the best type of job to take,”

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal anyways. What did the AI say?” Larry sat down and started typing on his keyboard. A screen appeared on the opposite wall. 

“It’s not about what the AI said. It’s about how they said it. They put a spin on it,” Reiner said.

“Yeah, it’s all clickbait,” Larry scrolled down the page, “I’m surprised people take this seriously,”

“Hah! The first, fully automated AI newspaper. Of course, it’s clickbait. They’re just pushing the human pleasure button,” Reiner said.

"Well, this time, the story got so popular that it got on the news,” Reiner activated his screen on the adjacent wall and turned on the news channel. The face of an amicable, black teen appeared. 

“Can this man solve all of the world’s problems?” the headline said.

“Oh,” Larry said and blinked several times, “I see.”

“Poor kid,” Reiner shook his head, “they’re gonna rip him to shreds.”

***

Akebo woke up drenched in sweat. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, but the air in the tiny shack was already unbreathable. Akebo’s one-room home had no windows. The only light in the tiny bedroom came from a water bottle stuck in the roof. The slum kids were playing outside like every morning. Every morning they’d come out on the empty, barren, dried-up lot, they’d adopted as their playground and gathered every stone and brick they could find. Then, their daily competition began. The target? A screen the size of a car hovering on a drone platform over the slum city, delivering daily news, gossip, and advertisements of popular soft drinks. This morning, something was different. The kids sounded different. Then he realized. They were yelling a name. His name.

“A-ke-bo! A-ke-bo! A-ke-bo!” they chanted. That’s odd, he thought and a chill went down his spine, sending bouts of adrenaline to his arms and legs. Drawing attention never meant anything good in this neighborhood. Someone must be after him. Is it because he did something? No. In this neighborhood, they just chose random people to pick on. This time, they must have picked him. He jumped up, dressed, and rushed scooting around his tiny shack to gather all his belongings. Three t-shirts, a change of underwear, shorts, spare sneakers - a reminder of better days, a shaver, toothbrush, soap, solar charger, knife, a collapsible baton, laptop, and a battered tablet he kept all his textbooks in. His hand hovered over the last item left in the empty room. A framed picture of his mom, the only real family he had and had lost. He threw it in the backpack and zipped it up. He cracked the door, or rather the sheet of metal that served as the door, and peeked outside. The kids were heading his way. He saw the edge of the screen-drone hovering above the roofs like a sinister demigod. He focused on the screen. His face was on the news! He gasped and more sweat rolled down his forehead. Why was he on the news? This can’t be good, he thought. He turned to the back wall and remembered a trick an old man once taught him. Never go out the front door. He grabbed a part of the metal wall in the back and shook it, pulling it out of the ground. The tin roof jumped up and wobbled. He put the panel aside and jumped into the back alley. He put the metal wall back in place. The slum kids were already pounding on his front door. 

“Hey, smartass! Your stupid face is on the news!” one of them yelled. But Akebo was already gone. 

***

Larry met his special consultant at the designated coffee shop near a fish market. It was a dodgy place and he hated coming here, but Santiago got to choose where and how they met. Apparently, it was the safest place in town. No sign, no CCTV, it wasn’t even on the map. Mark ordered a double poospresso and sat down. Soon Santiago showed up. He walked in and scanned the entire room. He looked almost normal in a black sweater turtleneck, black jeans and round glasses. But his arms were a little too wide for an intellectual.

“So, you must have heard about the Mercibus?” Lamar askńed him right away.

“Yeah, yeah. I heard something. Some news website,” Santiago said, spreading himself on the couch. 

“Not just a news website. The first fully autonomous AI newspaper,” Larry corrected him.

“Yep, that’s the one. Anyways, no one really reads it, right? It’s mostly bullshit.” 

“Well it was mostly bullshit,” Mark agreed cordially, “up until yesterday, when it published the names of the six most intelligent people in the world and everyone fricking lost it.”

“Why? I thought they had the Mensa for that?”

“No, this is different, OK? Intelligence tests are cavemen technology compared to what the AI can do. The Mercibus ignored all the standardized test results, grades and scores. Instead, it took everything the person had ever said and written. It sourced all their essays, verbal and extended questions and then it actually read all of them. It analyzed their complex thinking patterns and reasoning skills. A human couldn’t have possibly done anything even remotely similar,” Larry said. He breathed heavily. Santiago gave him a long look and smiled. Mark frowned. Santiago leaned in.

“We had been using a similar engine for years now,” he said.

“What? How? For what?” Larry shook his head.

“To track the dogooders,” Santiago said in a hushed tone. Larry took a deep breath and felt a wave of irritation. He didn’t like to be the last one to find out about things. And apparently, his big news was old news to Santiago. He usually had a hard time comprehending what the heck Larry was talking about and now he's the one with the news? Larry blinked.

“The what? What are… What are dogooders?” he blurted out.

“You know, people who do good. Hippies, treehuggers, philanthropists, charity workers,”

“You tracked them? Why? Why do you even care?”

“Well, they ruin the business,” Santiago said in a flat tone. Larry looked at him appalled.

“You tracked people just because they were doing good… deeds? And then what? Did you kill them?” he ended in a much higher pitch than he intended.

“It had to be done,” Santiago shrugged.

“Damn you! You and your whole… whatever this is.” Mark said.

“It’s business.”

“It’s not business. It’s a war on… people.” 

“Business.”

***

Akebo didn’t get very far, when they got to him. As he turned the corner, a tall man in a black suit blocked his way. 

“You will be coming with us, son,” he said. Four other men took positions around them.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you.”

“What do you want?”

“We’ll explain later,”

“Uh, sorry but no,” Akebo had always been polite. Too polite. A series of bullets grazed the wall to his right. The man looked at him and raised his eyebrows meaningfully. So this was how it is, Akebo thought. He jumped into a sprint, but the men were faster. They threw him on the ground and tied his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing? Who are you?” he yelled, and then he noticed a tiny emblem on their sleeves. They were the government.

“You are arrested on suspicion of entering a conspiracy, plot or criminal organization,”

“But I haven’t done anything!”

***

“So why did you never do the same thing as Mercibus? You never thought to look up the smartest people?” Larry asked.

“To recruit them? No. We don’t need intelligent people. We need ruthless people. People don’t do crime because it’s difficult. They do it because it’s easy. You don’t need to be a genius to whack a fucker on the head.”

“Still, you surely could use someone to solve your existing problems, no?” Larry asked and waved at the waiter.

“Not really. We don’t need new solutions. We don’t need new ways of doing things.”

“Really? You could use no new ideas whatsoever?” Larry got the waiter’s attention and pointed at his empty espresso cup.

“No. We don’t need to figure anything out. We already figured it out. We’ve been doing the same thing for decades.”

“We? Who’s we?” Larry asked. Santiago grinned and said nothing, “OK fine, but aren’t you afraid of these superbrains? Aren’t they a potential threat? ” “Look, the dogooders are a problem. Smart people? Not as much. Look at them. They dye their hair blue and dig in used clothes and think that it makes a difference. They go on and on about movies and books as if they’re real. I mean, no serious, grown-up person actually gives a fuck about any of those things. They’re harmless. They’ve already made themselves irrelevant with their ironic vintage mustaches and beanie hats,” Santiago laughed. 

“Well, I guess you’re kind of right,” Larry said, staring into space. He’ll have to see his psychiatrist for a new prescription after this

***

Six hours later, Akebo stared gloomily at the man in front of him. Gyro was his name. He was the man who led his arrest.

“Akebo, is that your name?” Gyro asked him. They were deep underground, and Akebo could hear the dizzying sound of large ventilators behind the wall of the interrogation room. 

“Yes,” he answered.

“People like you… present a problem. Your potential is lethal, for lack of a better word.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I'm going to invent another atom bomb,” Akebo sighed.

“Maybe. Still, you could invent something that's a threat to power,” Gyro said.

“Really? And what's so terrible and threatening that people chase the six of us like we're rabid dogs? What could I possibly invent?”

“A new political system,” Gyro said. Akebo laughed. 

“There cannot be a new political system. The greatest minds of political science have already established that.”

“But not the futurologists who are able to imagine other options. Not the psychologists who have found numerous faults within the system or sociologists who have been criticizing our society since the fifties,” Gyro said, irritated.

“How come I've never heard much about that?” Akebo shrugged.

“You're smart enough to know, that they are not part of the mainstream curriculum. Many of those scientists have been banned, exiled and silenced. It wasn't just one book or one essay, you know?”

“You want to tell me that the most threatening thing to the people who are in power right now, is someone capable of designing a new system?”

“Look around you. Is the world OK? Is everyone happy? Society should be working like a well-oiled machine. People should be reaching their fullest potential.”

“Maybe it's not the system. Maybe people are flawed?”

“Oh, trust me, it IS the system.”

“How can you know that?”

“If you knew the lengths to which the government had been going to keep the current mechanisms in place…” Gyro sighed.

“You mean people had ideas before? They tried to change things?” Akebo asked, excited.

“Of course.”

“And what happened to them?”

“The same thing that would have happened to you if we wouldn’t have intercepted you.”

“But, you threw me on the ground and said I was a threat!”

“And you are. Like I had just explained,” Gyro said patiently.

“Well, what are you going to do? Why are you telling me all this, if you're going to get rid of me anyway?”

“We're not going to get rid of you. We'll just contain you and see if you can help us with our goals.”

“What if I won't?”

“I think you will.”

***

Larry barged into the office. Reiner raised his eyebrows. It was three o’clock in the morning. He was pulling an all-nighter and didn’t expect anyone to come into the office.

“I’ve got an idea,” Larry said immediately.

“For what?” Reiner said in a sleepy voice, and shook his head.

“The appraisal.”

“I’m dying to hear it,” Reiner said, rubbing his eyes.

Larry carefully put his briefcase on the desk and sat down slowly. He straightened his tie.

“With the coming of holographs, physical objects became obsolete. Why?” he asked rhetorically.

“Well, for a number of reasons,” Reiner wondered, “endless possibilities for creativity that real objects couldn’t-”

“Hah! Couldn’t compare to! Better than real! Right?” Reality is boring. Reality is obsolete.”

“What does that have to do with ‘the six’?” Reiner asked, shaking his head.

“They are irrelevant!” Larry threw his hands in the air, “Did you know that extremely intelligent people are less likely to get hired?”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Because most jobs require a mediocre level of intelligence. Most companies hire people with basic intelligence. Anyone above 140 points is likely to become a problem,” Larry said.

“A problem?”

“For example, they could become an intellectual threat to management! They could come up with ideas that disrupt the entire corporate structure. Too much creativity causes unpredictable mayhem. Add to that personality traits such as stubbornness, disregard for authority, eccentricity and the whole game stops being worth the trouble. And that’s not even the most worrying part.”

“Huh. What is the most worrying part?” Reiner asked. Larry took a deep sigh.

“Innovation is more likely to threaten current industries than advance them,” he said. Reiner stared at him and there was a long silence. This kid was smart. Smarter than he tought. 

“So what’s your valuation?” Reiner finally asked.

“Zero,” Larry whispered. Reiner looked at him in disbelief.

“Is that your final decision?”

“Yes,” Larry said and sat down with a sigh.

“Well, that will stir things up.”

***

Akebo’s cell was very comfortable. He even had a computer, although it wasn’t connected to the internet. He found it funny that it was very similar in size to his tin hut in the slum. He could live here and not get too bored, provided he’ll have enough books to fill the time. There was a polite knock on the door and Gyro entered with two guards. 

“I have some good news,” he said without a smile.

“OK?”

“You’re free to go.”

“What? But you just arrested me. You… you… can’t do this.”

“Oh, I see you’ve made peace with your situation… of confinement,” Gyro said, “I have to say, I’ve come to like you in our short time together, but the evaluation of you as a threat has undergone verification. Our… management feels there’s no further need to contain you.”

Akebo looked at him for a minute, sighed, and stood up to gather his things. He followed the guards to an armored, windowless van in the courtyard. They dropped him off downtown. He looked around, squinting in the hot midday sun.

“Well, that was fucking weird,” he muttered.