End Game

Part II -- Air raid

How does a moral man justify an immoral act?

I'm doing it for other people: for my family, my friends, my compatriots. It is permitted to kill another man in war, is it not? How is this any different?

Or because the cost-benefit analysis tells me it's okay. Certain people will suffer from my act – but their suffering will be less than my gain. The greatest good for the greatest number. And what is the greatest number of all? Number one. There are eight billion people on this planet, give or take, but only one of them is me.

Or simply because I want to be the man who saves the world. Always have been, ever since I was nobody. If an opportunity presents itself, I have to take it. It's how I'm made.

After all, it's not love that makes the world go around. That's just sloppy sentimentality. The real engine of life is death. It is the relentless surrendering to entropy that pulls us into the future. To survive is to burn fuel. Smoke, flame, or explosion – slow, fast, or catastrophic. The speed may vary but the direction never does.

Some things just have to be done.

*

Ordinary people, I'd asked for. Fate had certainly delivered.

The young man was an uninspiring specimen. Scruffy, with a pale complexion and dark eyes that peered out from under a fringe of lank hair – a dourness of expression totally out of sync with the inane things that came out of his mouth. At least he wasn't wearing that ridiculous shirt today.

His companion was almost as bad, her fizzy hair surrounding an oval face that was stuck in a look of perpetual startlement, as if expecting something to happen at any moment and perplexed by the fact that it hadn't, yet.

That at least was something I might be able to help her with.

All in all, a representative sample of modern youth? God help us. Either way, they'd have to do.

"It's very simple," I explained. "Just get in and lie down. The machine will do the rest."

"Is it safe?".

"Absolutely."

"What does it do?" asked the man.

"Best I don't tell you that. I don't want to contaminate the data by giving you preconceived ideas. You'll be debriefed afterwards – for now all you have to do is experience it."

"Sounds fair." He went up to the coffin and peered in, ready to step inside.

The woman, however, hung back. "Are you crazy?"

The young man seemed to consider this a legitimate question. "I don't think so. Come on, they obviously want to flog these things to the general public. How bad can it be?"

I decided my best bet was to stand back and allow peer pressure to do its thing.

"Oh, all right," she said.

The pair of them climbed into their respective caskets. Just as I was about to lower the covers, the woman sat back up again.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're Melon Husk, billionaire. Why isn't some flunky doing this for you?"

I repressed my sigh, forced a smile. "Because this is the moment of truth," I explained. "All of our testing, all of our development, finished at last. This revolutionary new tech is being used by the paying public for the very first time. Skipping the payment part, of course, in your case." I placed a gentle hand upon her forehead, lowering her back into the casket. "This is a momentous occasion. Of course I want to be here."