A Prompted Story by /u/prompted-writing
"To sum it up: You must make one wish per day for an entire year - fail and everything is reverted. No altering previous wishes, no meddling with time, nothing exceeding the boundaries of this planet!"
(reddit link)
"Okay, but what if it was eight billion people tied to the other track? The entire human population?" he asks.
His eyes are fixed on Alison and a smile is playing at the corner of his lips. He thinks he's won. He is smarmy and proud and Alison dislikes him more with every uttered sentence. He isn't stupid, clearly, but it's obvious he isn't accustomed to debating people who've actually thought carefully about a topic.
Alison takes her time. She pops another olive in her mouth, making him wait while she considers how best to respond. She's doing her part to help consume the olive glut, the wish-gone-wrong. The irony of that, given her position in this debate, is not lost on her.
"Within that narrow, strictly consequentialist frame you've sketched, you're right. The welfare of everyone would outweigh our moral responsibility to one single individual." She pauses. It's obvious there's a "but" coming. Alison lets the anticipation of it saturate her audience.
More than a handful of people have gathered around the couches now, to witness their argument. The potential for conflict has drawn them. Their audience has grown large enough that as the silence stretches, the absence of hubbub is noticed around the room. Small talk and pleasantries subside as more eyes turn towards them.
"But the forced choice you're offering isn't analogous to our situation. There's a third choice. We could let the trolley kill eight billion people, we could tied the man to the track and let the trolley kill him instead and be certain of saving everyone, or..." Alison pauses again.
Only a few wisps of other conversation share the room with them now. Almost all eyes are on her. She knows that it isn't just the potential for entertaining conflict that's drawn their attention. Everyone in the room, perhaps everyone everywhere, is wrestling with this moral dilemma. Feeling its weight on their shoulders, or desperately trying to avoid feeling it.
"Or," Alison continues, scanning her gaze around to the room, making eye contact with as many people as she can, "we could let the man decide for himself. We could risk everything, everyone, risk ourselves, to preserve his freedom and dignity. We could preserve our own dignitiy. Our morality. We could have the courage to face uncertainty. We didn't have to become torturers to be safe."
The reaction is immediate and divisive. Some faces distort in outrage and anger, some look away in shame. Many hands move to the fancy, pure gold smart watches on their wrists---as though admitting the shame of what they'd done might cause the benefits they'd reaped to disappear. A server drops their tray of olive-based dishes on the nearest counter, too quickly---it teeters, almost falls. The server's hand covers his face, covers tears, as he hurries out of the room. Voices from around the room have started rising again. Angry, defensive, accusatory. This was not a truth, not a possibility, that they wanted shoved in their face. It risks uncorking a flood of warring collective emotions: guilt, shame, blame, triumph, entitlement.
The smarmy young man speaks up, clearly aligned with the angry faction.
"That's so naive. You think Amir al-What's-his-face would have just used his wishes to help humanity? You think if the World Council hadn't acted, you wouldn't be worshipping King Amir right now? Wouldn't be living in some Muslim dictatorship? Grow up, idealist."
"His first wish was to transport himself to the World Council chambers in Auckland, to tell the entire world what he'd discovered."
"He wanted them to make him Prime Chancellor! He had to be controlled!" Smarmy boy's voice is rising now. Alison knows she's treading close to thoughts he finds unthinkable. She keeps her own tone level and controlled. The party-goers who are still listening have to lean slightly closer to hear her.
"We didn't have to enslave him. It doesn't have to be torture. He can't move. He can't even breath on his own. He only speaks once a day, when our machines force air through his voice box and shape his words for him. We are the monsters."
"Do you have any idea what he could do, if we let him utter just a few words? The harm he could cause!? Even if he did want the best for humanity, and I really doubt he does, especially now, you know how cunning and malicious the genie is. Thousands of the world best minds are working non-stop, every day to outwit it and we're still left with..." Smarmy boy gestures around them---to the olives, the endless silk covering every surface, the shoes that float just above the ground at the threshold of every household, completely unwearable.
"He could have," Alison begins, but realises it's pointless. This isn't a debate about actual possibilities, it's about moral responsibility. She changes tack, letting her rhetorical sails luff for a moment.
"You know, you're right." She's pleased when his eyebrow rise slightly in surprise. "What's done is done. Releasing him now, after everything we've done to him, it would be suicide for humanity. We can't do that. We've picked our path, we're committed. But we don't need to lie to ourselves. We can admit our crimes, our culpability, instead of trying to rewrite history so we can pretend we're the good guys."
"Sure, whatever, libtard. Go hide in your fantasy world while the grown-ups face the hard choices."
The audience is starting dissipate as the argument descends to name-calling. It's becoming obvious that the growing tension of the last eleven months won't be absolved at this particular soirée. They retreat into their own debates and gossip. From outside, the distinctive echoes a flesh golem tiptoeing through traffic provide an undertone for the chatter.
"We aren't making the hard choices, you and I, any of us." Alison continues. Her gaze stays on the young man as her hand reaches for the Endless Carafe on her hip. "We are on the opposite side of the planet to the research institute. We are just enjoying the benefits. The only choice we face is whether to condone this. Whether we admit our own, collective culpability or continue lying to ourselves. And for how long? It's been almost a year. How long will we keep pretending this is okay, keep letting them torture him, before we raise our voices and say it's enough?"
"Obviously forever." Smarm-boy replies, perhaps too quickly. Alison can tell feel a hint of fear in his tone now. "If the genie disappeared tomorrow, the world would be fucked. You want to go back to the way things were?"
Alison remembers her old life, though so much has changed, it seems far more than a year ago now. The struggle to find work, the poverty, despair, watching the global ultra-wealthy tighten their dominance as she struggled to feed her family. This was better. Better for her. Better for everyone. Everyone except Amir.
"It's still not right" she says, but with less conviction.