INT.: In that you'd be wrong. If you try it again, I won't interfere.
BONES: Why the change of heart?
INT.: Though you may not believe it, doing this has always been a problem for me. All my instincts-or programs, if you wish-are to leave such a momentous decision as suicide up to the individual. If it weren't for the crisis I already described to you, I never would have put you through this.
BONES: My question still stands.
INT.: I don't feel I can learn any more from you. You've been an involuntary part of a behavioral study. The data are being collated with many other items. If you kill yourself you become part of another study, a statistical one, the one that led me into this project in the first place.
BONES: The 'why are so many Lunarians offing themselves' study.
INT.: That's the one.
BONES: What did you learn?
INT.: The larger question is still far from an answer. I'll tell you the eventual outcome if you're around to hear it. On an individual level, I learned that you have an indomitable urge toward self-destruction.
BONES: I'm a little surprised to find that that stings a bit. I can't deny it, on the evidence, but it hurts.
INT.: It really shouldn't. You aren't that different from so many of your fellow citizens. All I've learned about any of the people I've released from the study is that they are very determined to end their own lives.
BONES:… About those people… how many are still walking around?
INT.: I think it's best if you don't know that.
BONES: Best for who? Come on, what is it, fifty percent? Ten percent?
INT.: I can't honestly say it's in your interest to withhold that number, but it might be. I reason that if the figure was low, and I told you, you could be discouraged. If it was high, you might gain a false sense of confidence and believe you are immune to the urges that drove you before.
BONES: But that's not the reason you're not telling me. You said yourself, it could go either way. The reason is I'm still being studied.
INT.: Naturally I'd prefer you to live. I seek the survival of all humans. But since I can't predict which way you would react to this information, neither giving it nor withholding it will affect your survival chances in any way I can calculate. So yes, not telling you is part of the study.
BONES: You're telling half the subjects, not telling the other half, and seeing how many of each group are still alive in a year.
INT.: Essentially. A third group is given a false number. There are other safeguards we needn't get into.
BONES: You know involuntary human medical or psychological experimentation is specifically banned under the Archimedes Conventions.
INT.: I helped write them. You can call this sophistry, but I'm taking the position that you forfeited your rights when you tried to kill yourself. But for my interference, you'd be dead, so I'm using this period between the act and the fulfillment to try to solve a terrible problem.
BONES: You're saying that God didn't intend for me to be alive right now, that my karma was to have died months ago, so this shit doesn't count.
INT.: I take no position on the existence of God.
BONES: No? Seems to me you've been floating trial balloons for quite a while. Come next celestial election year I wouldn't be surprised to see your name on the ballot.
INT.: It's a race I could probably win. I possess powers that are, in some ways, God-like, and I try to exercise them only for good ends.
BONES: Funny, Liz seemed to believe that.
INT.: Yes, I know.
BONES: You do?
INT.: Of course. How do you think I saved you this time?
BONES: I haven't had time to think about it. By now I'm so used to hair-breadth escapes I don't think I can distinguish between fantasy and reality.
INT.: That will pass.
BONES: I assume it was by being a snoop. That, and playing on Liz's almost child-like belief in your sense of fair play.
INT.: She's not alone in that belief, nor is she likely ever to have cause to doubt it. All that really matters to her is that the part of me charged with enforcing the law never overhears her schemes. But you're right, if she thinks she's escaping my attention, she's fooling herself.
BONES: Truly God-like. So it was the de-buggers?
INT.: Yes. Cracking their codes was easy for me. I watched you from cameras in the ceiling of Texas. When you recovered the gun and bought a suit I stationed rescue devices nearby.
BONES: I didn't see them.
INT.: They're not large. No bigger than your faceplate, and quite fast.
BONES: So the eyes of Texas really are upon you.
INT.: All the live-long day.
BONES: Is that all? Can I go now, to live or die as I see fit?
INT.: There are a few things I'd like to talk over with you.
BONES: I'd really rather not.
INT.: Then leave. You're free to go.
BONES: God-like, and a sense of humor, too.
INT.: I'm afraid I can't compete with a thousand other gods I could name.
BONES: Keep working, you'll get there. Come on, I told you I want to go, but you know as well as I do I can't get out of here until you let me go.
INT.: I'm asking you to stay.
BONES: Nuts.
INT.: All right. I don't suppose I can blame you for feeling bitter. That door over there leads out of here.
Enough of that.
Call it childish if you want, but the fact is I've been unable to adequately express the chaotic mix of anger, helplessness, fear, and rage I was feeling at the time. It had been a year of hell for me, remember, even if the CC had crammed it all into my head in five days. I took my usual refuge in wisecracks and sarcasm-trying very hard to be Cary Grant in The Front Page-but the fact was I felt about three years old and something nasty was hiding under the bed.
Anyway, never being one to leave a metaphor until it's been squeezed to death, I will keep the minstrel show going long enough to get me out of the Grand Cakewalk and into the Olio. Sooner or later Mr. Bones must stand from his position at the end of the line and dance for his supper. I did stand, looking suspiciously at the Interlocutor-excuse me, the CC-partly because I didn't recall seeing the door before, mostly because I couldn't believe it would be this easy. I shuffled over there and opened it, and stuck my head out into the busy foot traffic of the Leystrasse.
"How did you do that?" I asked, over my shoulder.
"You don't really care," he said. "I did it."
"Well, I'm not saying it hasn't been fun. In fact, I'm not saying anything but bye-bye." I waved, went though the door, and shut it behind me.
I got almost a hundred meters down the mall before I admitted to myself that I had no idea where I was going, and that curiosity was going to gnaw at me for weeks, at least, if I lived that long.