Betrayal
The day after Paul had popped into my office to tell me about Reese wanting to play ball, he knocked on my closed door.
I had missed the deadline Demetrius had given for reconciling the competitors’ data with our own. He had lowered the boom on me at 8:00 the evening before when he had come to my office looking for an answer. Since few people had left the office for the evening, a large portion of the workforce could hear him yelling at me even though he had closed the door behind him.
For good measure, he threw in the fact that my WAGEs score was almost down to the “Intervention” level. This was a none too subtle reminder that losing my job would drop my WAGEs score a full 2 steps and place me under the jurisdiction of the state for “Retraining.”
I spent the next morning with the team assigned to the project, but we were still having difficulty. It was beginning to look like our major difficulty was one of our key assumptions. If that was wrong, a great deal of work must be scrapped and redone.
Our solution was to perform our own version of the test the competitor had done and verify their findings. Even though everything they had done looked correct, we could not risk changing our course only to discover later that they had made an error. We assumed that only one course could be correct. I must admit that this approach had no basis other than the faulty assumption that if one approach was wrong then the other must be correct.
The basics of the experiment were established and could easily be put in place. Within a week we would know if the experiment was on track to verify or to disprove the competitor’s work. When we verified that course, the rest would fall into place.
A week!
With Demetrius already on a rampage because I was now a day late, another week might mean a firing squad, at least figuratively. I was pretty sure that he did not have the authority to do it literally.
I was trying to develop what I would tell Demetrius to reassure him that a week was sufficient. If the competitor was correct, we would have to make adjustments that would add significant time to reach our goal. If I was correct and the competitor had leaked false information to us, we were within a few weeks of the final solution. I would push for four weeks knowing that he would demand two. We might meet that deadline with some luck.
Paul’s timing for entering my office was perfectly bad. Or perhaps it was simply perfect for what must transpire. There are moments that define and reveal character, and those inopportune moments are when we are most vulnerable to revealing who we really are.
“Evan, you know that this experiment to prove or disprove the new data requires that we use every one of the macaques, don’t you?”
Hardly switching gears from my thoughts on appeasing Demetrius, I responded, “Of course.”
“And there will be no survivors. Every macaque must be sacrificed.”
Frustrated, I gave Paul my full attention. “Yes, Paul. What is your point?”
“Reese. I was thinking about Reese.” He fidgeted, looking for a way to phrase what he wanted to say. “There has never been a test subject with a name before today.”
I wanted to sympathize with Paul, with Reese, and to save the little monkey. But my rational mind responded, “Why is Reese here, Paul?”
Paul smiled. “Perhaps we do not understand why he is here.”
“Paul, I like the little guy and I understand what you are saying. But why are you and I here? We have a purpose, a mission to accomplish, and we have a deadline. How long would it take to get more of these dumb brutes?”
I do not know where the callousness of that question came from. Perhaps it was to numb me, to deny my feelings at this moment. Or perhaps it was just fear of my own personal circumstances.
Paul stiffened at my words, his smile vanishing. “Probably 3-4 days by the time we have received and vetted them.”
“We do not have the time, Paul.”
Continuing in voice that sounded like pleading even to me, I tried to justify my actions. “I have to go to Demetrius in a few moments and explain why we have been delayed and ask for more time. Would you care to join me and make the case for saving a monkey?”
“No, that is why I came to you, Evan.”
He backed toward the door, giving me an opportunity to respond. Hearing only my silence, he added, “I will tell them to proceed.”
He turned and left without another word.
I felt guilty, but I had a job to do. This is what I told myself.
A few minutes later, I met Demetrius in his office and made the case.
The conversation – his demanding questions and my attempts at answering correctly and tactfully – lasted for 20 long minutes. The result was as I had anticipated. Now we had to wait for the results of the experiment.
The wait for results was a long week. Yes, time is relative, speeding through moments of pleasure and appearing endless when waiting for an answer.
This wait was particularly hard because of Reese. It was not just the guilt that lay within me, although I felt that more and more, but the change in attitude toward me as everyone learned what had happened.
In the eyes of my co-workers, I had killed a friend.
There was a coolness that now existed in every relationship I had.
People did not come to the office to chat or suggest we have lunch together.
Passing people in the hallway, I was usually ignored, although occasionally I received a cold look of disdain.
Isolation was preferable, so I stuck to my office. The “what if’s” of the data could keep me occupied for more than a week if I wanted, and so I stayed behind a closed door as much as possible.
If confession is good for the soul, it may not be good for relationships.
I told Rachel what had happened that evening. I told her of the need for the experiment, that all the macaques would be needed, and of my meeting with Demetrius. I did not mention Paul’s visit.
She understood immediately that I had sacrificed Reese.
I should explain that the word “sacrifice” has different meanings depending on the context. Examples will help to explain.
First, a parent sacrifices time (doing what the parent wants to do) for the sake of their child (what the child needs from them).
Second, a scientist sacrifices an animal in order to learn something that will help humans.
Third, a person offers the destruction of an object or an animal or a human life to appease a deity.
I had done the first with Reese, giving my valuable time to him. Or at least that is what I thought, but I benefitted from those breaks, too. Of course, I had discontinued this because my time became too valuable.
And I had done the second to Reese, as if I were an objective neutral party sacrificing something of lesser value for something of greater value.
But now I was coming to a new understanding, that the third meaning of sacrifice had been my primary motive.
And the god to whom I had sacrificed was not science or medicine. It was not even to Demetrius and the Harkness Immortality Mission.
Reese’s sacrifice had been to my job, my position, in order to provide my own security and comfort.
It had been pure selfishness on my part, and there was no way to undo the act.
This all went through my mind in the instant that I saw Rachel’s expression change to one of disappointment and sorrow. Such a look causes more anguish than a hard punch to the stomach. Time does not heal such a wound.
And there was no way to untell her of what had happened, what I had done. It would always be there between us
In the past I had thought of the sacrifices that I had made to get to the point in life where I was. I had seen those sacrifices only from my point of view. Suddenly, the truth was clear: I had sacrificed others. The act became easier with time, and now I had come to this state.
Sacrifices are not just bodies laid on an altar to science or success or to another god. Sacrifices always are relational.
Every sacrifice involves disconnecting or disregarding a relationship. There is always an excuse – not enough time, the requirements of a job, another priority. Yes, always other priorities…things that become more important than relationships…ideas that must be developed…wrongs to be corrected…and the list goes on.
What is more important than our relationships? My stomach turned as this thought washed over me.
Rachel finally put her feelings into words, summing up my thoughts exactly: “How could you?”
I pulled nothing from my empty depths for a response. There was literally nothing there.
All of my relationships had died with Reese.
But time did move forward, however slowly.
The results of the tests on the macaques finally came. This was not in any way an end of the issue for me, however. The fact of the tests was the issue, not the results.
Our group met to examine results and next steps. I was still the nominal head of the group and reluctantly went to join them.
There were three different issues and I had asked a specific person to report the findings on their particular issue. They would probably all have the same conclusion, either the competitor’s or our course was correct, so we would see agreement as solid verification of which was the correct path forward.
Each person made their report, and the three were consistent.
The results of the study showed no basis for our competitor’s conclusions.
The consensus was that they had allowed incorrect information to reach us so that we would be diverted from our own work, which now we assumed was confirmed. Actually, we had proved nothing about the validity of our approach, only that theirs was not valid.
There was a general acknowledgment that the experiment and the haste with which it had been done had been necessary. There was even a discussion in which all agreed that these macaques’ sacrifice had done a great deal in moving the project forward.
As I listened, I felt a gratefulness for what seemed to be a general apology for the harsh judgment made of me.
Just before the meeting adjourned, Paul stated what seemed to be the consensus.
“Evan, I know that there was a lot of pressure on you to resolve the issue concerning the credibility of our work. You had to make a very difficult decision, and you did so without much support. Thank you for pushing this through.”
There was a general agreement with Paul’s statement verbally or with clapping around the table.
Paul had stated what everyone else found too embarrassing or too difficult to put into words: Reese had been a necessary casualty. That was OK. I was forgiven.
The swift thawing of attitude toward me, the consensus that what had been done had been necessary and correct, was a welcome relief after my unofficial isolation.
But I did not feel justified. In my heart, I knew they were now complicit in my guilt.
That evening, I relayed the events of the day to Rachel. Concluding, I stated, “I must admit that I feel some better with their understanding.” This was a partial truth, but I hoped that I might also hear a confirmation from her.
Rachel started to speak and restrained herself. Yes, restrained is the correct word because I could almost feel the lashing that would have come. Instead, she made a simple statement of fact.
She stated calmly, “So they agreed that Reese’s sacrifice was justified.”
Emboldened by the support of co-workers, I believed – or thought I could believe – that my position was defensible.
“Rachel, the macaques are bred for the jobs that they do. That is their sole purpose. We raise livestock for the sole purpose of eating them. There is no difference!”
And that was supposed to be my defense!
“So if Reese had been served for dinner, you would have been fine with that?”
“You are confusing the issue here, Rachel.” I was exasperated because I knew she was right. She knew me too well and delivered the coup de grace.
“No, you are confusing the issues of responsibility and expediency. We have a responsibility to the creation that has been entrusted to our care. And as we develop a relationship, a bond of trust with those put under our care, we are bound to a higher standard.”
She paused for a brief moment to make her point more personal. “How much would you have to disassociate yourself from me before you offered me as a sacrifice to some corporate agenda?”
“That is a low blow, Rachel.” My statement was flat, hardly even a protest. The guilt superficially lifted that morning reasserted its weight.
“If it is accurate, you must own it.”
I almost protested that she had changed due to the work that she did, that rhesus macaques were not children with health challenges but were animals. A higher life form than grass or trees, yes, but not human, I would have said.
But a voice asked me, “Where does God’s love stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
"Where does God's love stop, Evan? Is any part of His creation not worthy of that love?" Her voice broke over my thought and I could only assume she was clairvoyant as well as right.
I had been self-centered even when I had condemned myself. Everything had existed only in relation to me. Even the guilt had been mine alone, something I held and cherished as a thing apart, an entity in its own right.
Rachel relented somewhat. Perhaps she had sensed my inner agony.
“You are an intelligent and well-educated man, Evan. An inquisitive and thoughtful nature has brought you this far in your work. Let those attributes guide you in relationships – I mean relationships with life, not just people.”
She took my hand. “I do love you, Evan. And it is as much as for who you are becoming as for who you are.
“What are you learning from this? What is there here and how will it transform you?”
I nodded an acknowledgment. Good questions, but I had no answers.
Events transform people. Events also transform relationships as the individuals change, or don’t change. This was clearly a turning point in life, and I wanted my compass point to be true north.
And so it was that a few weeks later we were ready to test the protocol on a human, and I volunteered. Although forgiven by the others, I increasingly felt aware of my failings in this whole process, and with Reese, in particular. There was still a sense of condemnation, but now from my side rather than from others.
This feeling of disconnectedness from all of humanity was increasing. Undoing the past is never possible. I wanted to reveal evidence of my transformation.
At some point I realized that I had volunteered not to save some poor soul from suffering whatever negative outcome might develop, but that I might sacrifice myself instead of sending another. Perhaps that was a step forward, but even this could be a self-centered response. I felt lost.
Immortality seemed a curse to me at that moment. I truly hoped for either a quick death, or to serve eternity as a self-sacrifice, some attempt at rectifying what I had done and finding redemption in this way. Those were the extremes in possibility, and they were equally acceptable.
Next chapter
The day after Paul had popped into my office to tell me about Reese wanting to play ball, he knocked on my closed door.
I had missed the deadline Demetrius had given for reconciling the competitors’ data with our own. He had lowered the boom on me at 8:00 the evening before when he had come to my office looking for an answer. Since few people had left the office for the evening, a large portion of the workforce could hear him yelling at me even though he had closed the door behind him.
For good measure, he threw in the fact that my WAGEs score was almost down to the “Intervention” level. This was a none too subtle reminder that losing my job would drop my WAGEs score a full 2 steps and place me under the jurisdiction of the state for “Retraining.”
I spent the next morning with the team assigned to the project, but we were still having difficulty. It was beginning to look like our major difficulty was one of our key assumptions. If that was wrong, a great deal of work must be scrapped and redone.
Our solution was to perform our own version of the test the competitor had done and verify their findings. Even though everything they had done looked correct, we could not risk changing our course only to discover later that they had made an error. We assumed that only one course could be correct. I must admit that this approach had no basis other than the faulty assumption that if one approach was wrong then the other must be correct.
The basics of the experiment were established and could easily be put in place. Within a week we would know if the experiment was on track to verify or to disprove the competitor’s work. When we verified that course, the rest would fall into place.
A week!
With Demetrius already on a rampage because I was now a day late, another week might mean a firing squad, at least figuratively. I was pretty sure that he did not have the authority to do it literally.
I was trying to develop what I would tell Demetrius to reassure him that a week was sufficient. If the competitor was correct, we would have to make adjustments that would add significant time to reach our goal. If I was correct and the competitor had leaked false information to us, we were within a few weeks of the final solution. I would push for four weeks knowing that he would demand two. We might meet that deadline with some luck.
Paul’s timing for entering my office was perfectly bad. Or perhaps it was simply perfect for what must transpire. There are moments that define and reveal character, and those inopportune moments are when we are most vulnerable to revealing who we really are.
“Evan, you know that this experiment to prove or disprove the new data requires that we use every one of the macaques, don’t you?”
Hardly switching gears from my thoughts on appeasing Demetrius, I responded, “Of course.”
“And there will be no survivors. Every macaque must be sacrificed.”
Frustrated, I gave Paul my full attention. “Yes, Paul. What is your point?”
“Reese. I was thinking about Reese.” He fidgeted, looking for a way to phrase what he wanted to say. “There has never been a test subject with a name before today.”
I wanted to sympathize with Paul, with Reese, and to save the little monkey. But my rational mind responded, “Why is Reese here, Paul?”
Paul smiled. “Perhaps we do not understand why he is here.”
“Paul, I like the little guy and I understand what you are saying. But why are you and I here? We have a purpose, a mission to accomplish, and we have a deadline. How long would it take to get more of these dumb brutes?”
I do not know where the callousness of that question came from. Perhaps it was to numb me, to deny my feelings at this moment. Or perhaps it was just fear of my own personal circumstances.
Paul stiffened at my words, his smile vanishing. “Probably 3-4 days by the time we have received and vetted them.”
“We do not have the time, Paul.”
Continuing in voice that sounded like pleading even to me, I tried to justify my actions. “I have to go to Demetrius in a few moments and explain why we have been delayed and ask for more time. Would you care to join me and make the case for saving a monkey?”
“No, that is why I came to you, Evan.”
He backed toward the door, giving me an opportunity to respond. Hearing only my silence, he added, “I will tell them to proceed.”
He turned and left without another word.
I felt guilty, but I had a job to do. This is what I told myself.
A few minutes later, I met Demetrius in his office and made the case.
The conversation – his demanding questions and my attempts at answering correctly and tactfully – lasted for 20 long minutes. The result was as I had anticipated. Now we had to wait for the results of the experiment.
The wait for results was a long week. Yes, time is relative, speeding through moments of pleasure and appearing endless when waiting for an answer.
This wait was particularly hard because of Reese. It was not just the guilt that lay within me, although I felt that more and more, but the change in attitude toward me as everyone learned what had happened.
In the eyes of my co-workers, I had killed a friend.
There was a coolness that now existed in every relationship I had.
People did not come to the office to chat or suggest we have lunch together.
Passing people in the hallway, I was usually ignored, although occasionally I received a cold look of disdain.
Isolation was preferable, so I stuck to my office. The “what if’s” of the data could keep me occupied for more than a week if I wanted, and so I stayed behind a closed door as much as possible.
If confession is good for the soul, it may not be good for relationships.
I told Rachel what had happened that evening. I told her of the need for the experiment, that all the macaques would be needed, and of my meeting with Demetrius. I did not mention Paul’s visit.
She understood immediately that I had sacrificed Reese.
I should explain that the word “sacrifice” has different meanings depending on the context. Examples will help to explain.
First, a parent sacrifices time (doing what the parent wants to do) for the sake of their child (what the child needs from them).
Second, a scientist sacrifices an animal in order to learn something that will help humans.
Third, a person offers the destruction of an object or an animal or a human life to appease a deity.
I had done the first with Reese, giving my valuable time to him. Or at least that is what I thought, but I benefitted from those breaks, too. Of course, I had discontinued this because my time became too valuable.
And I had done the second to Reese, as if I were an objective neutral party sacrificing something of lesser value for something of greater value.
But now I was coming to a new understanding, that the third meaning of sacrifice had been my primary motive.
And the god to whom I had sacrificed was not science or medicine. It was not even to Demetrius and the Harkness Immortality Mission.
Reese’s sacrifice had been to my job, my position, in order to provide my own security and comfort.
It had been pure selfishness on my part, and there was no way to undo the act.
This all went through my mind in the instant that I saw Rachel’s expression change to one of disappointment and sorrow. Such a look causes more anguish than a hard punch to the stomach. Time does not heal such a wound.
And there was no way to untell her of what had happened, what I had done. It would always be there between us
In the past I had thought of the sacrifices that I had made to get to the point in life where I was. I had seen those sacrifices only from my point of view. Suddenly, the truth was clear: I had sacrificed others. The act became easier with time, and now I had come to this state.
Sacrifices are not just bodies laid on an altar to science or success or to another god. Sacrifices always are relational.
Every sacrifice involves disconnecting or disregarding a relationship. There is always an excuse – not enough time, the requirements of a job, another priority. Yes, always other priorities…things that become more important than relationships…ideas that must be developed…wrongs to be corrected…and the list goes on.
What is more important than our relationships? My stomach turned as this thought washed over me.
Rachel finally put her feelings into words, summing up my thoughts exactly: “How could you?”
I pulled nothing from my empty depths for a response. There was literally nothing there.
All of my relationships had died with Reese.
But time did move forward, however slowly.
The results of the tests on the macaques finally came. This was not in any way an end of the issue for me, however. The fact of the tests was the issue, not the results.
Our group met to examine results and next steps. I was still the nominal head of the group and reluctantly went to join them.
There were three different issues and I had asked a specific person to report the findings on their particular issue. They would probably all have the same conclusion, either the competitor’s or our course was correct, so we would see agreement as solid verification of which was the correct path forward.
Each person made their report, and the three were consistent.
The results of the study showed no basis for our competitor’s conclusions.
The consensus was that they had allowed incorrect information to reach us so that we would be diverted from our own work, which now we assumed was confirmed. Actually, we had proved nothing about the validity of our approach, only that theirs was not valid.
There was a general acknowledgment that the experiment and the haste with which it had been done had been necessary. There was even a discussion in which all agreed that these macaques’ sacrifice had done a great deal in moving the project forward.
As I listened, I felt a gratefulness for what seemed to be a general apology for the harsh judgment made of me.
Just before the meeting adjourned, Paul stated what seemed to be the consensus.
“Evan, I know that there was a lot of pressure on you to resolve the issue concerning the credibility of our work. You had to make a very difficult decision, and you did so without much support. Thank you for pushing this through.”
There was a general agreement with Paul’s statement verbally or with clapping around the table.
Paul had stated what everyone else found too embarrassing or too difficult to put into words: Reese had been a necessary casualty. That was OK. I was forgiven.
The swift thawing of attitude toward me, the consensus that what had been done had been necessary and correct, was a welcome relief after my unofficial isolation.
But I did not feel justified. In my heart, I knew they were now complicit in my guilt.
That evening, I relayed the events of the day to Rachel. Concluding, I stated, “I must admit that I feel some better with their understanding.” This was a partial truth, but I hoped that I might also hear a confirmation from her.
Rachel started to speak and restrained herself. Yes, restrained is the correct word because I could almost feel the lashing that would have come. Instead, she made a simple statement of fact.
She stated calmly, “So they agreed that Reese’s sacrifice was justified.”
Emboldened by the support of co-workers, I believed – or thought I could believe – that my position was defensible.
“Rachel, the macaques are bred for the jobs that they do. That is their sole purpose. We raise livestock for the sole purpose of eating them. There is no difference!”
And that was supposed to be my defense!
“So if Reese had been served for dinner, you would have been fine with that?”
“You are confusing the issue here, Rachel.” I was exasperated because I knew she was right. She knew me too well and delivered the coup de grace.
“No, you are confusing the issues of responsibility and expediency. We have a responsibility to the creation that has been entrusted to our care. And as we develop a relationship, a bond of trust with those put under our care, we are bound to a higher standard.”
She paused for a brief moment to make her point more personal. “How much would you have to disassociate yourself from me before you offered me as a sacrifice to some corporate agenda?”
“That is a low blow, Rachel.” My statement was flat, hardly even a protest. The guilt superficially lifted that morning reasserted its weight.
“If it is accurate, you must own it.”
I almost protested that she had changed due to the work that she did, that rhesus macaques were not children with health challenges but were animals. A higher life form than grass or trees, yes, but not human, I would have said.
But a voice asked me, “Where does God’s love stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
"Where does God's love stop, Evan? Is any part of His creation not worthy of that love?" Her voice broke over my thought and I could only assume she was clairvoyant as well as right.
I had been self-centered even when I had condemned myself. Everything had existed only in relation to me. Even the guilt had been mine alone, something I held and cherished as a thing apart, an entity in its own right.
Rachel relented somewhat. Perhaps she had sensed my inner agony.
“You are an intelligent and well-educated man, Evan. An inquisitive and thoughtful nature has brought you this far in your work. Let those attributes guide you in relationships – I mean relationships with life, not just people.”
She took my hand. “I do love you, Evan. And it is as much as for who you are becoming as for who you are.
“What are you learning from this? What is there here and how will it transform you?”
I nodded an acknowledgment. Good questions, but I had no answers.
Events transform people. Events also transform relationships as the individuals change, or don’t change. This was clearly a turning point in life, and I wanted my compass point to be true north.
And so it was that a few weeks later we were ready to test the protocol on a human, and I volunteered. Although forgiven by the others, I increasingly felt aware of my failings in this whole process, and with Reese, in particular. There was still a sense of condemnation, but now from my side rather than from others.
This feeling of disconnectedness from all of humanity was increasing. Undoing the past is never possible. I wanted to reveal evidence of my transformation.
At some point I realized that I had volunteered not to save some poor soul from suffering whatever negative outcome might develop, but that I might sacrifice myself instead of sending another. Perhaps that was a step forward, but even this could be a self-centered response. I felt lost.
Immortality seemed a curse to me at that moment. I truly hoped for either a quick death, or to serve eternity as a self-sacrifice, some attempt at rectifying what I had done and finding redemption in this way. Those were the extremes in possibility, and they were equally acceptable.
Next chapter