Of all he’d interviewed so far, she was the least transparent. Although they’d curated the content delivered to her social media feed as precisely as all the others, her interactions remained guarded. The AI seemed to think it had her figured out, but Richard wasn’t so sure.
Reilly, the agricultural researcher, was anything but a mystery. The algos had digested his social media history and uncovered precisely what buttons to push. The kid just needed to hold himself together well enough to prove he’d fit in. Unfortunately, he hadn’t.
Not the worst reaction he’d elicited, but close. One engineer, a young woman from Kansas City, leaped across his desk and tried to grab him by the throat. A few others had cried. Most, however, eventually shut down and stopped responding, getting through the final moments of the interview with grunts and nods.
After that, the recruiters managed damage control to get the ones who passed the test to sign on. All but two had done so, accepting the explanation that the ordeal was crucial to ensuring a harmonious atmosphere, and did not reflect the Managing Director’s true nature.
Richard opened his door, deciding Dr. Adams had waited long enough.
“Miss Adams? So sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s Dr. Adams, sir.”
Still smiling, and nothing in her reaction revealed she’d taken offence.
“Of course. Dr. Adams. Please come in.”
He gestured to the door, but she didn’t enter. Instead, she pointed a picture on his wall.
“I couldn’t help but notice your photographs. This one is lovely.”
“My sailboat,” said Richard. “First day I took her out.”
“That’s your wife?”
“Cecilia, yes.”
“She’s beautiful. And the other couple?”
“My commanding officer and his wife. We became close when we were stationed in D.C. together.”
Impressive. Instead of jumping into interview mode, talking about herself, Dr. Adams wanted to establish a connection. Richard let it play out.
“Wave Function,” she said, pointing to the name painted on the back of the sailboat. “What does that mean?”
“A physics pun.”
Dr. Adams smiled, but didn’t laugh.
“So you’re a doctor of physics?”
“That’s right. MIT.”
“I didn’t realize the Navy recruited physicists.”
“I worked in Naval Research—with all sorts of other scientists and engineers.”
“Weapons research?”
Nothing in her profile revealed an aversion to the military. Of course, her profile didn’t reveal much of anything.
“Not directly. I did theoretical work related to quantum computing. Others had to figure out the practical applications for defense.”
“That sounds fascinating.”
“While that may be true, we’re here to talk about you.”
Again, Richard gestured to the door.
“My apologies, Dr. Vandergroot.”
She slipped past and took a seat at his desk. Richard plopped down opposite her and looked at his laptop. Even when he wasn’t referring to anything, he liked to pretend he was. The interviewees seemed to find it more unsettling.
“Lovely view of the base,” said Dr. Adams. “You must enjoy that, considering your background.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“I’m sure it’s just your southern charm.”
He added deliberate emphasis. Exceptional by all measures, Dr. Adams was an overachiever who’d earned the right to be taken seriously. The algos identified it as a potential angle to exploit.
“You showed your promise quite early,” he said, glancing at his screen again. “Graduated high school at sixteen with a perfect GPA, and voted class valedictorian.”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“And we’re not talking about some dump in the ghetto. Atlanta Girls’ School is a top-notch private high school.”
“It is an excellent school. I enjoyed my time there very much.”
“Were there a lot of girls like you there?”
“How’s that?”
“People of color.”
“It’s a diverse school.”
He paused and held her gaze for a moment. Still nothing.
“Undergrad degree in psychology at Spelman. I’m curious about that.”
“Yes?”
“A perfect GPA at an expensive private school, and then Spelman?” he said, wrinkling his brow. “You could have gotten a full ride at a good Ivy League college, maybe even without the diversity quotas.”
“Spelman felt like the right choice for me,” she replied. “A perfect fit. I can’t imagine my undergrad experience anywhere else.”
Remarkable discipline. She didn’t avert her eyes or shift in her seat. And he wasn’t being subtle, either.
“Then graduate studies and doctorate at the University of Georgia in Athens,” he continued.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Yes. I loved it there, and I loved the city. It had a lot of energy and a positive vibe.”
“No regrets, then? About not finding a place that would challenge you?”
“Oh, believe me, Dr. Vandergroot. It was plenty challenging.”
She grinned, perhaps unaware of the game—or perhaps enjoying it. He took a deep breath and tried again.
“I’m curious about your choice for postgrad. Why organizational psychology?”
“Corporations have a disproportionate influence on our society. I realized I could extend my reach through a focus on corporate culture and values.”
“The pay’s not bad either, I imagine.”
“I have no complaints.”
That smile again. Richard felt his eye twitch.
“So if it’s about helping people, then why not be a real doctor? Why not cure cancer or something?”
“Do you consider yourself a real doctor, or would you prefer I call you Mr. Vandergroot?”
Finally, something—but she seemed more amused than upset.
“Indeed. I guess I just find it hard to understand what you do. Corporate culture? It seems… frivolous.”
“I can assure you there is nothing frivolous about culture. It governs our behavior in ways we don’t even realize. If Mr. Kamaras expects to change the world, he’s going to need to change our culture.”
Richard smiled. She had no idea how right she was.
“You say it like it’s so simple, but is it really possible to change culture?”
“Sure. Let me give you an example. This country was founded by immigrants from England—notwithstanding the people already here—yet our culture is distinct.”
“I concede that. But how did it happen?”
“It’s not a simple answer, but it started with a vision.”
“A vision?”
“Yes. A clear and compelling picture of a preferable alternative to the status quo, stated in powerful terms.”
Richard cocked his head, inviting her to continue.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Hmm,” said Richard, leaning back in his chair.
“Did you feel that?” she asked.
“Feel what?”
“Here,” she said, placing her fist at the base of her sternum. “You felt something.”
“I did.”
It was true. He had felt it.
“That’s it. That’s your culture speaking to you.”
Richard put a finger to his chin and glanced at the ceiling.
“So if it starts with a vision, what’s next?”
“You need norms and values to act as guardrails to behavior, and you need to guide the everyday work of getting where you’re going.”
He leaned in, resting his elbows on his desk.
“Apply that to your analogy for me.”
“The constitution would be the guardrails. Laws, policy, etcetera, give the daily guidance.”
“So that’s it? A bunch of words?”
“Of course not. We have our shared mythology of heroes like Abraham Lincoln, Neil Armstrong, and Rosa Parks. We have symbols like the flag and the American eagle. We have rituals like the pledge of allegiance, and we sing the national anthem before football games. We celebrate the Fourth of July and watch our athletes win gold at the Olympics. All of these are aspects of a culture we’ve sustained for almost two hundred and fifty years.”
Richard nodded as he listened. Exactly what the Center needed; brilliant, poised, and pragmatic. Still, he couldn’t resist one more test.
“But now that we’ve achieved our vision, what keeps us going?”
Dr. Adams’ fa?ade cracked for the first time. She sighed and raised a finger to her lips, shaking her head. Richard could almost hear her thoughts. Oh, you sweet summer child.
“That they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” she said again. “The men who signed that document bought and sold other men as property.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I’m not saying that as an indictment of the country, just to illustrate that an enduring vision evolves. It’s always just out of reach. Even today, many would argue they’re denied the pursuit of happiness.”
“So, no matter what, there’s always more to do?”
“Yes,” she said, setting a fist on the table. “And that’s a good thing. It gives us purpose. Human beings need purpose to be happy.”
“Do you think you could find your purpose here at the Center?”
She sat for a moment, her eyes locked on his.
“Yes. I do,” she said finally. “With Mr. Kamaras’s resources, there is an opportunity to impact the ability of the next generation to pursue their happiness. If we can’t get a handle on environmental issues, we’re dooming them to a bleak future. I’m here because it is a purpose I believe in.”
Richard leaned back in his chair, nodding. She’d handled herself incredibly well.
“I have to say this has been a fascinating discussion, Dr. Adams.”
“It has.”
“Before we conclude, do you have anything you’d like to ask me about the Center?”
“There is one thing… and please forgive me for asking.”
“Of course. Anything.”
He wondered if she would call him out for his line of inappropriate questioning.
“Do you choose your candidates based on a diversity requirement?”
“What?”
“It’s just that there is a lot of diversity here. More than one could optimistically expect.”
Richard nodded. The recruits were a diverse group—and not by accident. If any of the others had noticed, they hadn’t mentioned it. She’d earned at least part of the truth.
“I will be honest with you. Part of the reason you are here—you and many of the others—is because of our commitment to diversity.”
She held his gaze without reaction, waiting for him to say more.
“But not in the way you think. There’s not going to be any self-congratulatory photo ops showing the world how inclusive we are, or anything like that. Mr. Kamaras is more pragmatic.”
“How so?”
“This project is his top priority, and he’s only interested in diversity to the extent it serves his goals. Diversity yields better results, and we’ve done the math to prove it.”
“The math?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“That’s just a figure of speech, you understand. I’m talking about hundreds of millions of AI-powered quantum computer simulations that demonstrate better outcomes with a diverse team.”
Dr. Adams sat up in her chair.
“I would love to know more about these simulations,” she said. “The implications for minority opportunities outside of the Center could be significant.”
Irrelevant. Richard decided he’d shared enough for the time being.
“You’ll learn more in due time. But first, we need to work on the contract and get a non-disclosure in place.”
“Contract? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here.”
“You’re going to save the world, Dr. Adams.”
***
Jayson had failed in his attempts to book an immediate flight, and briefly considered booking a hotel near the airport to distance himself from the Center until he could escape the island for good. It didn’t take long to realize the personal expense of doing so would be too much to bear. He was no billionaire. As he sat isolated in his room, reading an article on the Pacific garbage gyre, a hit from Samaira finally appeared.
Still here?
Want to talk?
He hesitated. Although part of him wanted to see her again, the other part dreaded having to explain what had happened during the interview.
Still here
Meet at the bench?
On my way
He jumped from the bed and checked his hair in the mirror before heading for the shoreline path. When he arrived at the bench where they first met, she was waiting for him.
“That was fast.”
“I was on my way back to the residence when I hit you.”
“How’d it go?”
“Not bad. Better than you, it sounds like, huh?”
He snorted.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He asked me a bunch of inappropriate personal questions and then insinuated, because I’m native, I might have a substance abuse problem.”
Samaira nodded.
“Yeah. He did the same kind of thing with me.”
“What?”
“He was trying to press my buttons. Trying to get a rise.”
“Racist prick.”
“No. I’m not sure that’s it.”
“Huh? Then what the hell was that all about?”
“Just an interview technique designed to evaluate your temperament. I didn’t bite.”
Jayson’s jaw dropped.
“Son of a bitch.”
“I take it you didn’t react well?”
“I told him to go fuck himself.”
“Ouch,” said Samaira, grimacing. “That’s a tough one to bounce back from.”
“Not sure I care about bouncing back. I mean, what kind of person pulls shit like that?”
“Not exactly subtle.”
“How did you know he was playing some kind of game?”
“I had an unfair advantage.”
Jayson narrowed his eyes.
“I teach a similar technique in a workplace psychology class I give to HR students at the University of Georgia. Although, if any of my students handed in an interview script as clumsy as Richard’s, they’d get a C-minus, at best.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Sorry.”
“Is that a normal thing? To piss people off in an interview?”
“Not really. It’s meant for high-stress jobs, or ones that require prolonged isolation—like astronauts or arctic researchers. Maybe he read about it in some management magazine.”
Jayson took a deep breath and shook his head.
“Son of a bitch.”