-92

            The machine beeped again. The beeping was entirely random, happening at some point during an interval of four minutes. It was difficult to keep track of the four-minute cycles, as the beeping could take place at any point during the duration, not necessarily at the beginning or end. Sometimes a beep came almost immediately following another beep, and Keiger knew then that the cycle had just begun anew. He tried not to keep track of the cycles, though. Keiger thought that that would be hurtful to the machine should it ever learn that he was wary of it.

            He needn’t have worried, but since worrying seemed to be inevitable for him, he should have worried about more important matters. The machine was a simple random number generator, assessing a myriad of vibrating particles in tiny, two-sided tubes to determine whether each was at one end or the other in a binary function which gave it two values to work from. The first was the millisecond value that would be assessed to determine at what point during the four-minute interval the beep would sound. For instance, should the value be 15000, the beep would occur a minute and a half into the cycle, and if it was a negative of the same number, the beeping would occur two and a half minutes into the cycle. The second was a far more specific function. Every time the beep sounded, the machine would add together all the values of the particles, positive and negative. If, at the instant of the beep, the value were to equal exactly negative ninety-two, the machine would expel from itself a volley of knives in an array specifically designed to kill Keiger almost instantly with no chance of escape. There was no danger of the machine beginning to distrust Keiger, but certainly, there was danger present.

             “Ah, I see you’ve beeped again. That’s wonderful, isn’t it?” asked Keiger of the machine. “It lets me know that you’re still doing well, still fit and fine.” Keiger shifted awkwardly in his seat. At his feet lay a knife, which he had thrown on the ground as a sign of his trust in the machine. You see, the machine received its power through a large wire which lay about on the ground in front of it. One determined swipe from Keiger’s own knife would have saved him from a multitude of knifes moving in the opposite direction.

            Keiger eyed the knife with what he thought would be perceived as a demeanor of distaste. “An odd situation we’re in, wouldn’t you say?” said Keiger, still eyeing the knife in a manner that he thought the machine would appreciate. “I know you could kill me whenever you wanted, but the fact that you could have all this time and chose not to is really appreciated. I just want you to know, I have no intent of killing you. Let’s just continue to enjoy each other’s company, alright?”

            The machine did not respond, but silently began its cycle anew and decided that the next beep would occur in three minutes and twenty-eight seconds. The apparent silence unsettled Keiger. “I know you must be nervous, but it’s okay. I’m a very non-violent person, and I would never kill someone. Besides, I barely know you. I’m sure that you’re really very interesting.” Both Keiger and the machine sat in silence for a moment. A beep sounded, and the machine quickly counted a number of vibrating particles. The number it arrived at was three hundred and four. The number not being negative ninety two, the machine erased it from its memory. Keiger breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw that no knives were flying from the machine.

            “They want us to kill each other, you know. I have no idea why, but they’re under the impression that one of us needs to die soon. Well, we’ll show them, eh? We could just as easily sit here peacefully like any two normal, rational people.”

            The machine beeped, and for the first time since his imprisonment Keiger felt a sense of communication between himself and the machine. “That’s right! Who do they think they are, handing us knives and expecting us to fight like animals?” Keiger picked his knife up off the ground and waved it about in a mocking manner. “We really don’t need these, anyway. What purpose do they serve? To anyone else they might be tools, but between us they are weapons of murder! I’ll gladly cast mine aside. I just sort of wish you would do the same.”
            Keiger shuttered when he realized what he had said. “No, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! It’s not that I don’t trust you with your knifes; I know you don’t want to hurt me. I just…” Keiger struggled to find the right words, fearing with each passing second of the four-minute cycle that the machine would become offended and decide to kill him. “I guess I’d just feel better about everything if we were both unarmed, you know?”

Keiger shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the knife still dangling in his limp wrist. After an unusually long silence, the machine beeped. Keiger looked up hopefully. “You agree? I knew you would. You’re so understanding. I mean, if either one of us has a knife, it’s just going to end with one of us stabbing the other.”

            Keiger scanned the machine and found the covered ports where the knives were meant to be fired from. He looked down at his own knife. Slowly, while keeping his eyes on the machine, he began to rise to his feet. He took a tentative step forward, grasping the knife with uncertain resolve.

The machine beeped. Keiger stiffened instantly, “No, it’s alright! I’m not going to kill you!” The covered knife ports remained covered. Keiger relaxed. “It’s okay. I’m just trying to disarm you. Don’t worry about it.” He took a few more uneasy steps forward, and found himself standing mere inches away from the multiple points from which death could fly swiftly towards him at any moment. The panels themselves were sunken into the face of the machine, about four inches square, covered by a metal plate which extended an inch beyond the external frame of the port.

Keiger took all this into account. Prying the cover plate off would be impossible, that much was clear. He looked into what he perceived to be the face of the machine, though no such thing existed. “I think I’d need to puncture these doors. I don’t know if it will hurt you, but you have to understand, it’s the only way I know to disarm you. Is that okay?”

The machine gave no response. Keiger stared down at the knife in his hand for what seemed like an eternity, and finally brought it level with the knife port closest to him. He placed the tip gingerly against the corner of the frame, so that it was perpendicular with the metal covers surface. Pausing once more to listen for the voice of the machine, Keiger forced his eyes shut and thrust the knife as hard as he could against the knife port.

A metallic click was heard. Keiger opened one eye. The sheet of metal guarding one of many unfired knife projectiles showed no sign of having been touched. The knife in Keiger’s hand had slid across the surface of the port and slammed against the side of the frame, not having even scratched the surface. On the floor by Keiger’s feet lay the tip of his own knife, broken free by the impact.

Shaken, Keiger made his way back to his seat, his knife hanging broken and limp against his side. The machine beeped. Keiger nodded. “I guess that didn’t work out too well, now did it?” The machine arrived at the number seven and counted off the rest of its four minute cycle in silence, leaving Keiger to run some silent calculations of his own. He knew that the machine was a random number generator with no personality, with no free-will of its own. He knew that it could not hear his friendly banter, nor did it feel the knife sliding across its port. But he also knew that no number was truly random. There were always outside factors to consider, and without knowing what those factors were, Keiger could only act in the manner which he believed would be most favorable to whatever unseen forces were holding the projectile knives in their place.

“You… you can’t hear me, can you?”

The machine said nothing in response, having decided one minute prior that its next beep would sound in two minutes and twenty seven seconds. Keiger noted the silence, “I mean, all you do is come up with numbers and shoot knives at people. Do you like either of those things?”

The machine, of course, had no strong opinions one way or the other. Keiger sorted his thoughts, trying to find the words to what he hoped was the solution. “You don’t like those much, do you? I know you must not like killing, as we’ve been here for quite some time and you have yet to kill me. And it must get so tedious, having to deal with all those numbers all the time.”

“What if…” Keiger began, trying for all the world to sound as though the idea was just occurring to him, “what if… you didn’t have to do either of those things anymore? What if you just stopped?”

The machine had thirty one seconds remaining before it would beep. In the interior of the machine, hundreds of tiny tubes vibrated in their place, sending the particles within bouncing from one end to the next, back and forth, positive and negative. Near the surface, several dozen knives were loaded just under their respective knife ports, poised like bullets in a gun, awaiting the count. Keiger pretended to notice none of these things, and continued to state his position. “Well, you know, both of those things would stop if I were to just cut your power intake. That’s all it would do. You wouldn’t need to die, just rest for awhile. Would that be alright with you?”

There was no signal, nothing that could be interpreted by anyone as an affirmative or a negative. Keiger held his broken knife in his right hand as he stooped to the ground and picked up the thick input wire in his left. He held the wire against the blade of the knife, the soft rubber coating marked already by the meager pressure Keiger exerted from his shaking hand. He looked up at the machine. “I’m sorry.”

The machine beeped. Keiger froze where he kneeled, his arm becoming too tense to move. He dropped his knife beside his trembling legs, which had begun to spasm. Blood seeped from his mouth, and he found himself unable to cough or breath. The blood had begun to pool just under his tongue when he fell forward, his elbows no longer able to support his weight. The uncut wire pressed against his blood-soaked side, and a knife with a broken tip was engulfed by a puddle of blood, slowly advancing from Keiger’s body.

            The machine closed its empty knife ports and cleared the number negative ninety-two from its memory. It then began to wait out the remaining one minute and twenty three seconds before deciding the time when if would next beep.