Fit for Purpose

Your death has been scheduled for 3 P.M. Eastern Standard Time today.

Damn, and I haven’t even gotten to my morning coffee yet. My AI generated life algorithm, or The Thread as social media lovingly dubbed it, hadn’t scheduled it for me yet. Glancing at the time I noted it wouldn’t be for another 30 minutes as The Thread had deemed that the optimal time for my body to make use of the caffeine. The suddenness of my expected death invaded my thoughts so deeply I didn’t realize it was time for my scheduled shower until my watch buzzed.

I found myself also distracted by thoughts of it in the shower. Why did I deserve to die and why would it even be necessary? A reminder tone echoes in the bathroom prompting the end of my shower abruptly. I wasn’t panicking yet, but I could feel it lurking in the shadows of my mind ready to upend my emotions at any moment.

Ultimately, it's the Human Care Unit that receives and relays The Thread’s daily schedule. Maybe there had been a mistake on their end or maybe they had sent the message incorrectly. I’m only 35 and have no history of health issues so surely I have years ahead of me still. The more I have questions about my death, and the possible mistake, the more I realize I should submit a Thread Deviation to the Human Care Unit, just in case.

Looking at my phone I can see I have a few minutes and can submit it during my morning coffee drink. I brew the coffee and sip on it while walking over to my computer. Navigating to the Thread Deviation page I type in my request.

Delay of Death.

The cursor blinks on the screen for a few moments before a reply is generated.

Deviation denied.

I sit looking at the answer, frustration building, until I think of something else to type. I refresh the page and enter in a new Deviation.

Visit nearest Human Care Facility.

The cursor seems to blink for longer this time as if to taunt me. Finally, an answer comes back.

Deviation approved. Take the 431 bus on Ford Street at 1:30 P.M. to the stop for the Human Care Facility located on Central Ave.

I have been holding my breath, I realize, and exhale loudly. I’m shaking from feelings I don’t understand so I exhale again hoping to let them go as well. I consider putting in a Deviation for work but decide I need to stay busy to keep my thoughts at bay. I chug the rest of my coffee and lay it in the cleaner.

Looking at my watch I assume its time to leave but see I still have another minute. Feeling I could use more than the usual fresh air on a day like today I head toward the door anyways. As I step outside my watch buzzes to alert me I’m ahead of schedule. I decide it feels good to ignore it.

At work I follow my normal routine and schedule. My thoughts, however, are anything but routine. I practice over and over again what I’m going to say once I’m at the Human Aid Facility. I think of argument points and counter argument points. I mentally list the contributions to society I’ve made that can prove there’s been a mistake. A buzz on my watch startles me from my thoughts. A message from The Thread.

A sensitive and carefully crafted message has been written for you in your inbox to send to your manager. It will alert them to your untimely death and the need to fill your position. You are to send the email and take your normally scheduled lunch. After lunch you may proceed to your requested Deviation.

I locate the email easily enough and read over it. It’s truly a work of art and I can’t imagine writing anything better so I click send. I receive an almost immediately reply email from my manager letting me know how sorry he is and his condolences.

My Thread approved lunch period for optimal digestion is scheduled and I decide I’ll call my mother to let her know the terrible news. She’ll be confused I’m sure. She’s from a time when The Thread was connected to fewer devices and ran algorithms for fewer life events. Of course, there were also more issues back then too. Thank goodness we don’t live in those times anymore.

Her voice is strained as she struggles with what I’m telling her, “This doesn’t make any sense, there must be some mistake!” She just keeps repeating herself making it hard to have an actual conversation about my feelings. I still struggle for closure with her even as the conversation ends. For my last conversation with her it feels as if nothing has been said of any impact, nothing lasting or meaningful. Her final words to me are how she’ll pray for me and it’s probably the most heartfelt part of our conversation. My watch reminds me lunch is about over and I’m not even done, oh well, I’m not very hungry anyways.

Suddenly I’m feeling faint and a crippling fear comes over me. The realization that in a mere three hours I can potentially be dead is too much to bear and I rush to the bathroom. It’s all so ridiculous and I splash water on my face hoping it’ll calm me. My watch alerts me it’s time for my Thread Deviation and I can feel the emotions receding. I return to my desk. At my desk I look at all the unimportant personal items and decide I don’t need them. I head toward the elevator.

I walk a block over to the Ford Street bus stop and board the necessary bus that’ll take me to my destination. When I exit the bus I find myself directly in front of the Human Care Facility building. Once through several security checkpoints I find myself in what feels like a museum. From floor to ceiling there’s hallmarks of an era that doesn’t exist anymore, an era that was dominated by war. In fact, I find a plaque commemorating how AI put an end to the last war. Only as a young man approaches do I realize my mouth is hanging open like some kind of fish.

He greets me as he gets closer, “Sam! Right this way, we are so very happy to have you!”

He escorts me down a labyrinth of cubicles until he brings me to one where he motions for me to sit opposite a very small and simple desk. As I sit down he places a box of tissues on his desk nearest me.

Before I can speak he immediately starts typing into his computer, “So, you’ve requested a Deviation to your algorithm and found yourself here. Looking over your information today I understand why as this would be an extremely difficult day for anyone. The Human Aid Unit is not unsympathetic, naturally.” He pauses and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to speak or not.

“Yes, my Thread has said I’m supposed to die today. It feels like there may have been some sort of mistake.”

As he answers me he sounds more chipper than I feel he should, “Understandable. I did take the liberty of looking up your algorithm when I was informed of your arrival. Let’s pull up your Thread notes together shall we and see what they have to say.”

He clicks the keyboard a couple of times, “Ah yes, that’s right, the notes state you are a part of something pretty important.” He smiles in a reassuring way but I’m starting to feel uneasy and I reach for a tissue from the box on his desk.

“Important? What does that mean? I’m confused.”

“Let me just read the notes aloud that were generated for you. Congratulations Sam Mayweather on your contribution to society. This contribution will carry through several generations…”

“I’m sorry, did you just say congratulations?” I quickly put the tissue to my face to stifle a sob starting.

“Oh, I’m sorry, don’t worry. It’s just the notes from the AI system that I’m reading. I didn’t write this.” He moves his trashcan around his desk to be closer to me. “Let’s get through the notes as I’m sure it’ll help.”

He continues, “We know this is a difficult day for you and that the algorithm that has found you is a tough one, but know that the outcome will enhance society’s outlook considerably.”

I feel tears gathering forces at the edge of my eyes, uncontrollable violent tears.

He glances at me as if he knows but pushes forward, “Today you will find yourself on the way home from this Deviation and once you are on your usually scheduled bus ride home there will be an accident. Your bus will be destroyed along with everyone on it minus five people who will be saved by an Alan Grant.”

“The algorithm,” he goes on, “has found that Alan Grant has the correct amount of healthy genetic code, stamina, willpower, and interest in politics that he is the ideal choice for areas in politics that are not available for public sector consumption but that can be said with certainty will be substantial. Furthermore, based on data available to the algorithm, a heroic deed committed by Alan Grant will assure his successes in this field into the future. It has been decided that this is the correct moment and place for Alan Grant to commit his heroic deed where he will save five people from this bus.”

What was that? I sit up suddenly and my tears are immediately forgotten. This is it, my chance.

“Wait, well surely I can be one of the five people. Can you just input a change to the algorithm? Tell it I should be one of the five?”

“It doesn’t work like that. We don’t tell it things, it tells us. I’m just a human, I can’t possibly know if that’s the best choice for this situation.”

I break down crying uncontrollably. Any control I had over my body’s emotions is in shambles and everything floods on to this tiny dismal tissue I’m holding. He clears his throat and hands the box of tissues to me. He’s visibly uncomfortable.

“Well what does that matter?!” I yell through fits and sobs probably a little louder than I should, “It can be anybody! Why those five people and not me? Who are these people?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that information in these notes. I truly am sorry. I would be just as upset as you.” He seems to genuinely mean it.

“But, surely, there’s something I can do? Are there any options open to me at all?”

He frowns a little at this point, “Know that you did all you could do. The algorithm is quite thorough and goes on in depth. Apparently, there will be several descendants of Alan’s that will contribute great things to society as well.”

Regaining his composure a bit, “Nice to know the algorithm has plans for us even far into the future, huh? Kind of makes you feel safe and cozy. Try to think about the positives and how many great things will come out of this.” He looks at his watch, “Well, your assigned time is almost up. Is there anything else you need before you go?”

“Wait, what? What time is it?”

“You were scheduled for 15 minutes and it’s 1:55 P.M. You have a bus to catch. The 2 o’clock will pick you up right outside the building.”

Before I can even respond he’s moving around the side of his desk and gently helping me out of my chair.

“Thank you, thank you for taking the time.” I squeak out as my brain struggles to understand what’s happening.

He wraps his arms around me in a comforting way as he walks with me, keeping me at a brisker pace than I probably would’ve chosen on my own. I abruptly feel like taking my time, why hurry when I know it’s all leading me to my doom?

Before I know it I’m at the bus stop just as the bus is pulling up. I board the bus and watch as the young man waves as we pull away.

As I look around I swear it feels like everyone is staring at me or giving me awkward glances. I have less than 30 minutes to live and the whole world is watching. My breath is being pulled out of my lungs and I can feel the oppressive hands of anxiety constricting my chest.

“Are you OK? You look pale.” I hear someone ask as if in a far away land. It’s a small woman sitting next to me holding a baby. I manage to nod my head in acknowledgment.

Some time has passed, I’m not sure how much, but I can tell I’m nearing my stop.

“Is this your stop?” she asks.

Wait how did she know that? Did I say something about it out loud? I can’t remember.

I mechanically get off the bus and have only a minute to wait before my usual bus pulls up. I can see familiar people that ride the bus with me all their expressions as dour as I’m sure mine is. They know as well that they are about to die too except, of course, for five of them. I wonder if I can tell who the five are, they probably are the ones that look smug. I board the bus and look around at everyone’s faces. I can’t really tell if anyone looks differently.

Suddenly, the normalness of my actions seem insane. I can’t believe this is happening. My hands are trembling as I watch us pull away from the curb. I can’t do this, there’s no way. I start to make my way to the front of the bus but someone is blocking my path. There’s less than a handful of minutes left, with at least one more stop before then. I can get off, I’m going to get off, I tell myself. That’s it, I’m not having somebody tell me I’m going to die when I feel perfectly fine. I have to be careful though. I look over my shoulder toward the back doors and make note that there is only a little girl with her mom blocking my way out. I could push them. They’ll be fine and I’ll be fine, it’ll all be fine. The stop is approaching. I lock my legs into place and make a small move to angle myself toward the door. This is it, and as the door slides open I find my body moving quicker than my brain and I’m amazed at how effortlessly I push myself past the little girl and her mother, knocking them back at least a row.

“Hey!” I hear someone yell from behind me. But it’s too late, I’m off the bus. I’m visibly shaking on the sidewalk and my thoughts and emotions are a buzz of bees in my head.

Those thoughts are cut short as a cacophony of electronic buzzing, beeping, and every other sound imaginable fills the air. My ears are swimming in a pool of sound. I hold my breath and open my eyes slowly and before me is a crowd of people all looking down at their phones or watches. The hair on my arms stands up and a small moan escapes my lips as all their heads look up and turn toward me. I attempt to run but before I know it they are grabbing me, some gently and others a little harsher, and pushing me back toward the bus. Another strong pair of hands grabs me from behind and lifts me back on to the bus. The doors close so quickly I can feel them against the tip of my nose. I turn around to see a man with a kind face smiling at me.

“I think you accidentally got off at the wrong stop.”

I can feel the bus lurch forward as it takes off from the curb. It will only be moments now before the end.

The bus driver comes over the intercom, “Society thanks you for your purpose.”

I start to open my mouth when something slams into the bus and it all goes black.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Alan Grant finishes pulling the fifth person from the bus that’s quickly being engulfed in flames. The Thread had told him earlier what the five people would be wearing so he could identify them. He thinks to himself how good it feels to have saved these people as he sits down to catch his breath. Nearby, people are filming the event with their phones. Creeping guilt tugs at him and begs for attention. He could’ve saved more, there is time even now. There had been an unconscious woman close by his last time in the bus that looked OK. He could’ve pulled her from the wreckage, surely. But, he hadn’t been told to save her so he hesitated. After all, the algorithm reassured him that five was the optimal number to save. Too many and the deed would have seemed overly heroic and cast suspicion on him. Better to not tempt fate. He doesn’t have more time to think about it as people are coming up to him now and patting him on the back. People congratulate him and keep telling him how incredible it is that he put other’s needs ahead of his own. He smiles and shakes someone’s hand that is extended. This is a day he’ll be telling his grandchildren about.