Chapter 9: Amahle’s Story

When I was young, I was told there was always a choice. Whether it be between two goods or two evils, in life there existed options. It was a kind, useful reminder stemming from thousands of years of cultural compromise.

It is not true.

On occasion, there is a situation that has only one answer. Stupidity and selfishness create alternate paths.

It was my first day after graduating that I received a job offer from Antler Industries. I had heard of them, of course. They had grown exponentially year after year, with the only plateau being people’s wallets. They wanted to expand those as well. I had written my dissertation on Antler. It was scathing. My advisor warned me that even though it was academic, such a paper might incur the wrath of Antler fans or the company itself. He was a disappointing advisor.

I got the call directly from Anders’ assistant. They told me that he had read my paper, despite it criticizing his business. In that moment, I felt curiosity, not fear or nervousness. I simply wanted to hear what someone had to say, someone who wasn’t vying for affection or cowering from a monolithic organization. The assistant asked if I wanted a job, and I asked what the position would be. They said the Chief Operating Officer, and I asked in turn if this offer was serious. I did not appreciate pranks. They said yes, and so did I. I flew out to Echo City as soon as I packed my essentials.

When I initially worked at Antler, I did not meet Anders Askeland. I learned about the company, how wonderfully it was run, and the scope of their enterprise. I was aware of how it functioned on paper, but it was strange to see it in person.

For a week while I got acclimated, I waited to meet with the CEO. The fact he hired me and didn’t know me was as much a surprise to me as anything else. Finally, the day arrived to speak to him. He requested I meet him in the lobby. I obliged and arrived early. The only one there was the receptionist, Will. He was a curious one—he stared at me too much. I told him so a few days prior, and to his credit, he toned down his gaze.

Right on time, Anders entered the lobby. He covered the ground in even steps, never hesitating. Expecting there to be reporters following, he did not allow anyone to enter unless they were staff. The lobby was not empty. People passed by, fully capable of listening in if they chose to. I wondered why Anders decided on this location. He sat down facing me, a table separating our respective chairs. He set his drink down.

“Amahle Imada,” Anders stated.

“Anders Askeland,” I equalled. He looked at me, his eyes revealing nothing.

“Let’s talk about your paper.” Anders pulled out a packet. He had it properly bound like a textbook. It was my first time seeing my writing in this form.

“I’m happy to.”

“Antler Industries and Existential Risk: Threats of a Hyper-Advanced Company.” Anders looked up at me. “Quite the title.”

“Every word was necessary.”

“I heard about this through someone who works for me. They thought I would be angry. I asked them if the paper had merit. They said it didn’t. I asked them what it’s flaws were. They couldn’t think of any.”

“I agree with that last assessment,” I replied. He laughed in a volume that engulfed the room. It was fortunate the building was stable.

“I don’t often read papers by students, but only because my time is valuable. I read yours.” He gave me a second, as if expecting a bow. I did not move.

“As you should.”

“Hm. This effect you describe, the ‘self-destruction’, is it set in stone?”

I leaned back. I did not expect this. Anders was, even from my distant view, a man sure of himself. It was even an assumption in my paper that the company in question would not change, and would collapse. Here he was, presenting himself as a man willing to evolve.

“For your company, it is not. Not yet.”

“You list some solutions in your paper, but none of them are feasible,” said Anders.

“Why are they not feasible?”

Anders closed his eyes. As he breathed in, the passersby quieted down. He did not like distractions.

“Solution A: In order to avoid the growing asymmetry, the company must lower the quality of their products. They must match their competition.” Anders put the papers down. “I cannot release anything less than perfect, Amahle Imada.”

“That is not the only option,” I said calmly. Anders slowly picked the paper back up.

“Solution B: The company in question must educate…” Anders paused briefly, “The public, and by extension, the competition, as to how their products function. Their ingenuity must not remain a complete mystery. I cannot determine which option I like less, but I do not enjoy the thought of giving away our company’s knowledge to everyone. I’m sure you see why.”

“I do, Anders.”

“These are the only two options?”

“They are.”

Anders did not yell, nor did he make any movement intended to intimidate. It was solely by his subtle decisions, done without thought, that he became a figure fearsome and admirable. He sat there, in the lobby of his headquarters, for five minutes. He kept his eyes closed and made no noise. Those who entered and exited the building were just as silent. I waited.

“It has to be the product,” rumbled Anders. I raised an eyebrow. I knew my paper better than anyone, which meant I was, more than anyone, curious what I could have missed.

“The product—the knowledge on how the product is made and functions—is the most important component.”

“If the product defines the market, if it transforms the market to such a degree that this effect ceases to exist, that would do,” he stated. I watched him, as if he might make his words clear. He wanted me to ask.

“It doesn’t matter how much better your product is than the competition. At some point, either your company will falter or someone will falter for you.”

“It’s not better. It’s perfect.”

“A perfect product?” I asked. Such a thing was not a foreign concept to me, though it did not exist in the real world.

“A perfect product, so much so that one purchase eliminates a need from the consumer permanently, as well as opposing companies. The value of such a product would be higher than anything you have studied.”

“I suppose it would be,” I replied.

“That’s what we will do then,” he added.

“My paper deals with the global market, not just one niche consumer want.”

“I did not say ‘want’, Amahle,” he stated with a cold stare. “This is a ‘need’. This is not niche, this is necessary. This is not a small market, it is global. We will create the perfect product, and you will help me avoid this problem. How does that sound?”

I considered his question. I had accepted this position because I could not think of a more interesting place to explore what I had studied. However, despite my impulsive decision to accept the COO position, I did consider what I might have to do. This, morphing the world to fit the wants of Anders Askeland, was not on my list. I nodded my head.

“Fantastic,” he said with a clap, “Now we just have to make a prototype.”

I met with Anders only a few times after that talk. Every time, he assumed I agreed with what he said. Every time, I felt more and more unsure. I worried that if Antler became too advanced of a company, they would outgrow the understanding of consumers and lawmakers. Who could control a technology no one understands? Who would put laws in place to stop a market beyond human comprehension? Anders saw no wrong with this because his flaw was believing himself to be good. It wasn’t a matter of good or evil, it was a matter of unintended consequence. No one wants everyone to be unhappy. No one wants everything to go wrong. It is only through different, honest beliefs and circumstances that we end in war and suffering. Anders was not a god, and the rest of humanity were not puppets. If he did not bring his company back down to Earth, there would be someone to misread the text, to impose their beliefs and knowledge in a manner that benefitted no one. I knew this would happen, and yet he did not agree. He did not just believe himself to be good, but perfect. There was no such thing.

I had to steal what he created.

Months later, after I met Nathaniel Hensley months later, I felt a deep loneliness. I was not a criminal. I was not prepared for the dread of facing someone oblivious to my motivations, their eyes believing me to be on their side. I had no one to turn to. Nathaniel was the only one I could talk to, and I could not talk to him. I flew off to Shanghai after informing him of his real job. Any more contact would draw attention.

I did not plan this trip, so I was worried. There were details to iron out, a theft to organize. I was not confident, but I knew what I had to do. I was told that I would be speaking with the Chinese manufacturer for a variety of our products, including the one I intended to take. Still, this task was normal. It was important and so was I. The plane arrived in the rain, but it did not take long to get to the location.

It was there, as I exited my company car, that my memory cut out.

I woke up in a hotel room. It was midday and sunny. My skin felt strange, my eyes were constantly adjusting to distance and brightness, and I couldn’t remember how I got there. I immediately searched for my phone, finding it on the bedside desk. I checked the date first. A day had passed. I checked the location and it was Shanghai, at the hotel I was booked for. I checked my arms and legs and I was not injured. I called the man I was supposed to meet yesterday.

“Hello?” His voice rang loudly against my ear.

“This is Amahle Imada from Antler.”

“Ah, Ms. Imada! I’m surprised you’re calling me while on the plane!”

I was confused. I didn’t get the date wrong, but he was acting as if yesterday didn’t exist.

“I’m already in Shanghai.”

“Really? Well you can come down whenever you want. My team is ready to discuss numbers.”

“Right, see you then,” I replied tiredly. My mind was in a daze. I checked my calendar, and it showed today as the correct day to meet him. A day had passed, and only I had a mild recollection of it. I stood up and went to the bathroom. One step inside and I saw my reflection. It was me, but someone else. All my features were there, but my instincts told me they were the features of another. My phone rang.

“This is Amahle Imada.”

“I know. This is Mr. Askeland's assistant. He asked me to relay this information to you.”

“He didn’t ask you,” I corrected. She coughed.

“Well, he told me to tell you that you’ll be getting the prototype in Shanghai.”

“What? The prototype is ready?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Imada.”

“Fine. Tell him when you see him that I want to talk to him.”

“Okay,” responded the fearful assistant. I hung up and placed the phone down. My day only became more strange. The prototype wasn’t close to being ready as far as I knew. Did Anders keep a secret from me? I thought to myself. The answer was clear. He was a blunt man, but he avoided honesty if it benefitted him.

I met with the head of our Shanghai manufacturer later and it went poorly. I was scheduled to return to Echo in a few days, but I stayed for weeks. Antler thought it was for company-related discussions, but the truth was that I caused problems on purpose. I had to stay to figure out what happened to me. I had to figure out what Anders meant. After a few weeks, it became clear.

Anders, a man hungry for a world to change in his vision, had turned me into the prototype for human-integrated Perma Tech. I did not know why, not immediately. Why would he choose me instead of someone on the brink of death? Did he know I was planning to betray him?

I came back soon afterward. I was too good at what I did for the discussions to take so long. I arrived in Echo City no longer human. I told Nathaniel where to go and what to steal. I needed the card used in the Perma Tech phone. It was the only other example of the technology in existence. I had to learn how it could be undone, how it was built and how it could fail. I knew more than most in the business, but not everything.

I waited in his apartment while the rest of the world thought I was halfway across the globe. Anders had since I had gotten back from China and hadn’t let up even after the conference. I had a plan, but it was cowardly. I felt guilty when I first met him, and even more so when I watched him walk through the door with the chip in hand. His smile made it only more tragic. It was all necessary. I didn’t have a choice.