She glanced his way again, and saw that he had a small tablet on his lap. She hadn’t seen it as he entered the room. She looked forward again, but from her peripheral vision she was sure her own face filled the screen. There was no camera visible in the blank wall opposite her, and yet her face was being captured and transmitted to Gabriel’s screen.

  “Relax if you can,” he said brightly. “I know this is unexpected and without precedent, at least in your own experience here at the Every. Are you comfortable? The chair, the setting, that is?”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “The chairs being side by side like this is an innovation of mine. I’ve found that eye-to-eye contact sometimes alters results. Some people get anxious and that sets off stress hormones. Sitting side by side, without the tension of eye contact, puts people at ease, at least relatively speaking. And again, you have no reason to be nervous. This should be enjoyable for us both.”

  Delaney laughed nervously, as if to underline to Gabriel the joke of him suggesting that a surprise interrogation in a blank pink room, between herself and this head-melter, could be enjoyable. Beyond that, Delaney was not ready. She looked down at the floor, at the faintest saber-shaped scratch in the timber. She thought of the work of her onetime boyfriend Derek. Though going undercover with Idaho Fish and Game was far afield from this white-box interrogation, the key to lying remained the same. The crucial thing was to simply say things that were true. Turn the question in your head, rephrase it—even reconstitute it—until your response could be truthful.

  “Hold on,” Gabriel said, and tapped his screen a few times.

  She expected him to begin with easy questions and wend his way up to whatever purpose he had in mind, so she girded herself, taking some comfort in the fact that she would have some time to practice on banal queries before he went deeper.

  “Why are you here?” he asked suddenly.

  Delaney felt slapped. He knew. He knew all her plans. Her body instantly soaked itself in flop sweat, but she knew to keep her mood light. She forced herself to smile, then to laugh. She tried to pour a kind of carefree mirth over her voice, her face. She felt half-crazy as she laughed, dropped her head and laughed more.

  “I consider myself a funny guy,” he said, “but not that funny. And not when I haven’t made a joke.” He chuckled a bit, to indicate he was amused, not cross.

  “Sorry,” Delaney said, and laughed more. She really did sound insane, she realized, but it was better than seeming scared or caught. “I expected you to start with questions about pets and favorite foods. Your first question just struck me as funny in its directness.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, and he sounded genuinely curious, and maybe even a bit off his game.

  “Can you repeat the question?” Delaney asked, and laughed again, this time for real. She was funny, she thought. Asking him to repeat a four-word question—that was funny. That was a good one.

  “Why are you here?” he repeated.

  There was no affect in his voice. She realized two things: first, that his questions were carefully crafted, such that he would not alter their wording. And second, when he asked them, he kept his own tone neutral. This must be part of his method.

  Delaney decided to maintain a blithe tone. She smiled and turned to the blurry version of him available through the blind. “Why am I here in this room?”

  “On campus,” he said evenly. “At this company. Why are you here?”

  Her mind iced over. He had to know. For a moment she felt like giving up. Lying was exhausting. Whenever she watched cop shows she identified strongly with the perpetrators who didn’t run, didn’t argue, who quickly raised their hands in surrender. She stalled.

  “Why am I at the Every?” she asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  Should she give up? Tell Gabriel the truth—that she had entered the Every with the plan to destroy it? She pictured herself being escorted from campus, and found the image vastly appealing. She would go back to Idaho, rest for months, live for years alone in the woods. Then again, if she were to be expelled from the company, why not fight her way out? Why give up—why give in to a man like Gabriel Chu, who wrote online surveys? She slowed her breathing and a smile spread over her face. Embrace the absurd, she thought.

  “I wanted to be at the center of the world,” she said.

  He looked down at his screen, but otherwise gave nothing away. “Where is your favorite place?”

  Now relief spread through Delaney’s every filament. Maybe this was just a randomized test, an inscrutable mind-maze?

  “Ghost Canyon,” she said. She was relatively sure he was getting a level now, comparing her initial answers, which no doubt rattled the sensors, with a few benign answers.

  “Your hometown,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you enjoyed your time here on this campus?”

  She smiled again, looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think of all the things she loved while racing through all she loathed. Focus on what you love, she thought. She thought of Wes, of Joan, of the feel of the Bay air as she stood naked under the skylight.

  “I have,” she said.

  His head dipped briefly.

  “Do you have a roommate named Soren Lundqvist?”

  “I do.”

  “Did you tell him that you wanted to kill him?”

  Delaney’s throat cinched shut. “It was a joke,” she said hoarsely. “My father used to hate the smart stop sign and—”

  “I understand,” Gabriel said. “But do you now wish harm upon Soren Lundqvist?”

  “No.”

  “Do you intend to kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Is Wes your friend?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you invent AuthentiFriend?”

  This is a nightmare, she thought. Speed through it. “Yes,” she said.

  “Did Wes also invent AuthentiFriend?”

  “Yes. He did the coding for my concept.”

  “Did you invent StayStïl?” he asked.

  “No,” Delaney said quickly. This, she felt, was true enough.

  “You were close to its creation,” Gabriel said.

  “I know Syl,” Delaney said.

  “After that, I had to move onto campus,” Gabriel said. “My kids had been happy at their school in Pacifica. Friends, teachers they liked, playgrounds they knew, the beach. Now we all live here.”

  Delaney didn’t know what to say, so said nothing. Gabriel continued. “Were you part of Bananaskam?”

  “I was with Wes when he thought of it,” she said.

  “And AnonIdea?”

  “Yes.”

  “You seem to often find yourself in the room where things are invented. How do you account for this?”

  She could frame this in her mind, Delaney felt, in a way that would register as truthful. “I hadn’t thought of it,” she said. This was accurate, in some way—she hadn’t thought of herself in a room when these ideas had been formulated.

  “You were at HereMe when they proposed a massive expansion of their listening programs,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you feel about their ideas?”

  “Which ideas?” she asked, and Gabriel sighed a disappointed sigh.

  “The notion that HereMe should be a tool to prevent domestic violence and child abuse—that accessing all in-home audio and working with police should be a right of the Every and the state.”

  Again Delaney thought of a truthful sentence. “It will save lives.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked again.

  “You asked me that a minute ago,” she said. This, she knew, was a tired tactic. A guilty person would provide a rote answer. An innocent mind would do the natural thing—note the repetition.

  “Would you lie for a higher purpose?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?” She’d heard him clearly but needed time to form a response.

  “If you felt it necessary to achieve a noble objective, would you lie?”

  “Yes,” Delaney said. There seemed to be no risk in saying so.

  “Your name, Delaney, means dark challenger in Irish. Do you know why your parents would have named you that?”

  “I didn’t know it meant that,” Delaney said. She really had no idea. “They told me it was a family name.”

  “Are you a dark challenger?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, sure this would read as a lie.

  “Do you know the work of Meena Agarwal?” he asked.

  Delaney looked down, to prevent whatever cam was in front of her from seeing the shock in her eyes. He’s playing all the hits, she thought.

  “Yes,” she said. “I took two classes with her in college.”

  “Tell me about Professor Agarwal,” he said evenly.

  She focused on Agarwal’s health. “She was brilliant. Is brilliant. She’s sick. Do you know her?” Delaney decided to return to an upbeat, even playful conversational style.

  “Did you agree with her theories?” he asked.

  “Which theories?” Delaney asked. Again, she felt this was the most natural style. “She’s written a hundred papers.”

  Delaney could feel Gabriel smiling.

  “Would she have approved of you working here?” he asked.

  Easy one. “No,” Delaney said firmly.

  “Have you spoken to her since you were hired?”

  “No,” Delaney said quickly. This satisfied her greatly. She’d been smart to make no contact. Mistakes precipitate lying; planning and discipline eliminate the necessity.

  “Is this company a monopoly?” Gabriel asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “There is no barrier to entry for potential competitors. I wrote a paper on this. You might be aware of it?”

  His head was bowed, looking at his screen. “Do you agree with Agarwal’s theory that we’re undergoing a species-level evolution?”

  “I’m not sure,” Delaney said. True enough, Delaney thought.

  “Agarwal says people do not want to be free. Do you agree?”

  “She says most people don’t want to be free.”

  There was an oddly long pause. She saw Gabriel’s hand touch his screen and perhaps even type a word.

  “And do you agree?” he asked finally.

  “I don’t know what percentage of people fit that description, but there is some percentage of humans who prefer to be told what to do.”

  “Is it over fifty percent?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and was certain this lie would be sensed. Delaney had in her mind a number, as accurate as she could conjure and catchy, too: 82-82. Eighty-two percent of people want eighty-two percent of their lives dictated for them.

  “Do the people working at the Every fall into this category, of people who do not want to be free?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Delaney said. She scolded herself. That answer was not wise. The correct answer was “No.” She had just tipped her hand, and was certain this answer alone would cause the termination of her employment. Any loyal Everyone could not possibly think her coworkers were indifferent to freedom. Should she amend the answer? The pregnant pause after her answer meant he was giving her the time to do so, as if he knew she might.

  “I think,” she said, “there are people everywhere who fall into that category, and always have—long before the advent of the Every. So it stands to reason that there are people here, too, who don’t recognize the difference between being free and not free, or don’t care much about the difference.”

  Gabriel stared ahead for three seconds, five seconds—an epoch.

  “How is freedom best exercised?” he asked. He hadn’t looked down at his screen. This seemed to be an improvised question.

  “Willfully,” she said. “Irregularly. Through the refutation of custom. The breaking of patterns. The rational flouting of irrational rules. Keeping secrets. Being unseen. Solitude. Social indifference. Fighting ill-wrought power. Irreverence for authority. Moving without limit or schedule through the day and the world. Choosing when to participate and when to withdraw.”

  When she finished, she knew she’d said too much. Gabriel took another long pause, and she saw him scrolling on his screen. While he paused, she cursed her blathering. Then again, many at the Every, and she expected him to be among them, respected freedom of thought and expression as long as it didn’t threaten their business plan.

  “Why were you upset at the park ranger at the beach?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?” she said. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Shortly after you were hired, you tried to go to Ocean Beach, and were confronted by a city sentry. He was checking your phone and oval. Why did that upset you?”

  “I wasn’t upset,” Delaney lied, and knew the lie was obvious. “I was surprised. It had never happened before at that beach.”

  “Did that upset you when you were a forest ranger—the requirement that hikers have phones with them?”

  “No. It keeps everyone safe,” she said. Now her lies were childish.

  “You wrote a complaint,” he said.

  “I did no such thing.” She had, but she’d written her complaint on paper, in a field office in New Mexico, a thousand years ago. Delaney could not believe that note had somehow been saved, digitized and was discoverable by Gabriel Chu. But of course it had.

  “I don’t remember doing that,” she added.

  “Why did you choose to live in a trog house?” he asked.

  “It was cheaper,” she said. This would read as partial truth.

  “Research has found that, in terms of overall expenses and convenience, they’re more expensive,” he said.

  “In terms of rent, it was cheaper.” She laughed. Should she go back to the laughter strategy? Why had she abandoned that?

  “Why do you have a post office box?” he asked.

  “I get letters from trog friends, older relatives,” she said, then realized the most authentic response would have been shock and outrage that he knew such a thing. “This is a paperless campus, as you know.” Again she tried a little laugh.

  “Do you like living on campus?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, and it felt true enough.

  “What was in Hans-Georg’s folder?”

  “I don’t remember,” she said. The lie was reflexive and she couldn’t take it back.

  Gabriel suppressed a smirk. “Did you see anything unusual in your medical evaluation?”

  And there it was, at last. All she could do was tell the truth, and quickly.

  “Yes,” she said. “I saw what appeared to be Mae Holland’s sonogram.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this?”

  “No,” she said. His eyes were on his screen. His goddamned face, she thought. This was his experiment all along. He’d just confirmed it, and his face revealed nothing—no satisfaction, surprise, not even mild interest.

  “Do people want to be free?” he asked. He read this from his screen. Either the questionnaire was ordered elliptically or it was intentionally repetitive.

  “Many people appreciate boundaries,” she said.

  “Do you appreciate boundaries?” he asked, as if genuinely curious.

  “In many cases, yes,” she said.

  Again she pictured herself fleeing through the gates and never coming back.

  “I’m going to suggest you wait a few weeks before visiting PrefCom. Is that okay with you?”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  He knows, she thought. He must know. She felt cold mercury racing through her veins.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. “Sorry to ask again.”

  He absolutely knows. She gripped the chair, ready to get up. His eyes turned to her, surprised. Something in his look, some faint mirth that mitigated her terror, put her back in her seat.

  “You invited me here,” she said.

  “Why are you working here at the Every?”

  “Didn’t you ask me this before?” she said.

  “Forgive me. Can you answer again?”

  “When you asked me the first time, I said I wanted to be at the center of the world. And that’s true. I also want to make an impact. Here and in the world generally.”

  She felt good about that last sentence. It was true enough, and bland enough. Her peripheral vision caught his head nodding, as if she’d confirmed all he suspected.

  XXXVI.

  IT WAS LIBERATING TO GIVE UP CARING. Delaney left the Aviary shaken, expecting at any moment to be escorted from campus or thrown into the Bay. Did they do that? She believed they could. Now, anything was possible. She’d just been experimented on. Interrogated, toyed with. She thought helplessly of lawsuits. Hadn’t Gabriel done something illegal there? She searched her mind for applicable laws broken and found none. Was it emotional abuse? Were mind-games protected by the NDAs she’d signed?

  When she left the building, her fury lost strength, but she was torn between wanting more than ever to destroy the Every and wanting to flee. She was just a person, she thought. She deserved a life, deserved to be happy. Why couldn’t she simply leave all this? Leave her species to their inevitable devolution? Each minute on Treasure Island would only make her more paranoid, her mind more bent and frayed. She could simply go. There was that freedom still. She could walk away and nothing could compel her to return.

  She crossed the Daisy in a state of nihilistic euphoria. One moment she was leaving, ready to pack her few belongings and walk to the subway and ride to the airport, where she’d get on the first plane to Boise or even Seattle—she’d find a way home. The next moment, driven by righteous vengeance, she wanted to go back to the pod, to plan, to scheme faster, better. She’d been fucking around and now she needed to work quicker, more intentionally. She’d give herself a month. A month and she’d bring the place down, or leave.

  The sun was out, a breeze was coming from the north, tousling the hair of a group of Everyones squatting and murmuring in the grass. Some were being comforted. She saw an Everyone—was it Fuad?—crying on a berm, shoulders shaking as he looked at his phone. Delaney checked her own screens and realized it was the quarterly deëmployment moment. The bottom 10 percent of every department was being let go, via text, determined by an algorithm. Those let go had no one to complain to, for no one was responsible. The Eye of Bailey passed overhead just then, and in its shadow Delaney could see more clearly: It was Fuad. He was being comforted by Syl, who seemed to be having a rough time, too.