Twelve #2
and he felt suddenly embarrassed by his own thoughts.
“And what, let them just start importing goods directly from the US?” Julian said derisively. “They still have the stronger
foothold in the region. It doesn’t benefit us to do things by half measure.”
A flush rose to the other student’s face. Klaudia said, “This is a prisoner’s dilemma and both sides have already defected.
Do we continue to defect in perpetuity, or do we try to cooperate? The first option is known as the grim trigger. Once player A defects, player B will defect in every future iteration of the game.”
“Why would that ever be the answer to anything?” another student asked, her voice tipping into a whine.
“Stop thinking about strategy in terms of answers,” Klaudia said. “As Julian said, it’s about relative gains. The perfect
solution doesn’t exist. Sometimes you just need to make whatever play doesn’t lose you the game immediately.”
The other students glanced among themselves, brows furrowing. But for a moment Julian once again let the game slip entirely
from his mind. This was the first time he’d heard Klaudia say his name aloud, and he was very much distracted by the sound
of it leaving her lips.
“Continue to press the Pacific,” Julian said, when he had recovered himself. “We might sustain short-term losses, but it’s
all in the service of baiting them into Latin America. If we take something away from them, they’ll want to take something
away from us.”
Klaudia’s expression was unreadable. “Do we all agree with this plan?”
Another chorus of nods.
As the simulation wore on, Julian’s confidence increased. It was very much like chess in terms of the skills required: pattern
recognition, visualization, adaptation. When he was nine years old, his very first chess coach had told him to play the opponent,
not the board.
They were playing Carter like a fiddle.
The simulation ended in a victory for red. It was perhaps the inevitable outcome, with Klaudia as their captain. The team
gave a round of applause, though it was hesitant, nothing like the swaggering celebration Julian had seen when he’d spied
on Klaudia’s simulation before. This time, it was obvious that their input was unnecessary. None of the other students had
contributed anything useful. Julian and Klaudia had controlled the board; this was their victory.
“An excellent first simulation,” Professor Narendra said. “I’ve witnessed some standout performances. Your rankings will be updated tonight to reflect the results.”
Carter didn’t punch the wall, but his face flushed red and his whole body shook with fury. Julian couldn’t resist flashing
him a smile.
As the other students were gathering their things, Professor Narendra approached him.
“I read your file,” he said. “Chess is your game, isn’t it?”
“2400 Elo,” Julian replied, feeling no need to be modest.
“I’m not surprised at how well you performed today. Chess skills are highly transferable.” Professor Narendra smiled. “Check
your ranking tonight. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Julian glowed. Hope mounted in him—maybe it had been enough. Maybe the number-one spot—and the weekend furlough—would be his.
He opened his mouth to reply, but then the door swung open and the classroom fell instantly silent.
Dr. Iver stepped through the threshold, white hair gleaming. He looked idly content, almost amused, as he walked to the very
center of the room.
“Dr. Iver,” Professor Narendra said, with a dip of his head. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I’d heard that your first years were playing their first simulation today, and I thought I would observe the results.” He
cast his gaze around the room. “Congratulations to you all.”
A subdued round of thank-yous came out from his classmates.
“But admittedly,” Dr. Iver went on, “I also came to congratulate Ms. Shimonova, who has passed another week at rank one.”
There was some scattered applause. Klaudia’s expression didn’t shift.
“As is custom, you will be rewarded with a weekend furlough.”
Julian’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He waited for the glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze, even the very subtlest indication that she was pleased at her success.
But Klaudia merely replied, “No thank you.”
“No?” Dr. Iver did not sound surprised. “Well, then, there are a number of other rewards that may be to your liking. . . .”
Blood rushed in Julian’s ears and drowned out the rest of Dr. Iver’s words. As he stared at Klaudia, at the cold, resolute
set of her gray eyes, he found that he felt more bewilderment than anger. Every time he believed he might have cracked her
armor, she clad herself in ice all over again. And he was once more inferior by compare.
Klaudia slipped from the room without even a backward glance. Julian watched her black hair flutter over her shoulders as
she vanished.
Julian stayed up until midnight, refreshing the rankings board. Mikhail was gone again, staying over with Jane, and Julian
tried to distract himself with Thymos. Mikhail had coded a game, not unlike the simulations or chess, but also entirely different.
One that required constructing a team with perfect synergy, predicting the patterns of the AI opponents. If Klaudia had built
hers, as she had claimed, that meant Julian was already behind. It might not affect the rankings, but maybe if he could somehow
show her up with Thymos, he could rattle her. Make her slip. The green check mark beside Klaudia’s name pulsed, almost a taunt.
Twelve a.m. came. Julian refreshed the page with his heart in his throat.
Klaudia Shimonova
Julian Joyce-Young III
Carter Egan
Matteo Alemu Sorensen
Mikhail Karchenko
Joy surged up in him. He hadn’t felt so accomplished since election night, giving his victory speech before his fans and supporters, promising reforms beneath the flashing of cameras.
Looking out into a sea of smiling faces, signs hoisted high.
One of them, holding a sign that said JULIAN JOYCE-YOUNG III IS DADDY MATERIAL, had grown so impassioned that she had to be escorted out by security.
But his happiness was quickly tempered. The gap between number one and number two was greater than the gap between two and
fifty. He had not succeeded yet. The half-written letter was still crumpled in his desk drawer.
He could reach number one. He had to. The weekend furlough and his redemption and his mother’s peace of mind depended on it. But as Julian slid into bed at
last, his thoughts kept returning to Klaudia. The fire in her eyes. How easily their allyship had formed. And how easily he
had become desperate for her praise, her approval. She had gotten him onto his knees with no more than an offhanded comment
of praise. He flushed with embarrassment to recall it now, to remember how much he had relished giving in to her.
Stop. Stop. Julian shook his head as if to clear it, and then clicked off the lamp on his bedside table. It doesn’t matter. Life at Valeran was a zero-sum game. Iterated endlessly, defection was inevitable. He would be number one. At any cost.
And he told himself he didn’t care that it was Klaudia he had to ruin.