So, I definitely shouldn’t be telling you this, in fact I signed papers promising not to, but you asked, and it’s a story I’ve been dying to tell someone. A story that you may feature in, a little. I apologise in advance. But here’s the truth.

Until recently, I was part of Project Marduk.

You’ve probably heard about the conspiracies, right? Animal experimentation. Cognition-enhancing drugs. Secret underground facilities. Then there are the conspiracies about the conspiracies and I tend to tune out at any mention of lizard men. I can’t speak to those kinds of claims, but I was there.

Officially, I was a Linguistic Technician, a twelve-year employee at Brighter Connections Ltd, contracted out to the UN for the purpose of their ‘special project’.

Unofficially, I spent every day in a covert windowless laboratory teaching Martin how to communicate using an outdated tablet and soundboard software my company hadn’t updated in years. We immediately hit it off once he realised I wasn’t like the rest of the goons involved in the project. We spent a lot of our time together just shooting the shit, albeit in our limited capacity, throwing tennis balls back and forth and eating a lot of bananas.

But it didn’t last. You see, Martin wasn’t just a chimp. He was supposed to be the chimp who changed everything.

For the first 30 weeks or so my mornings were deliciously predictable: catch the number 87 bus, buy a black Americano from the friendly coffee-truck girl en route, then enjoy a yummy cigarette while I walk to the facility entrance, inconspicuously disguised as a warehouse. I’d boop my ID pass through automated security gates one through five, neglect to leave my phone in the security drop-box, collect the day’s lesson pack from an unmanned reception, powerwalk the creepy halls keeping my head down to avoid anything with a pulse. Then a quick what’s-up with Martin and we’d get straight into the work.

His dorm was a sizable but worn laboratory room that had been half-heartedly furnished into a living space with a single bed, a kitchenette, an impressively stocked bookcase, a box of “enrichment toys” and the kinds of posters you’d see in a high school science classroom. Oh, and my favourite item – a too-soft mustard futon that stood out as the only item in the room with any colour, trying its best to say “this definitely isn’t a prison”. Every door in the building required a pass to get in and an exit button to get out, except for his. Martin’s door asked for a pass in both directions. So that futon was really working overtime.

Our sessions together consisted mainly of flash-card noun drills followed by fruit rewards and switching out battery packs on his Communo Tab™, all punctuated with his near-constant slurping of nutrient gel sachets that dispensed from a machine on the wall. Feeling curious, I once tried one and they were horribly sweet, which I expected was precisely why Martin loved them. If we finished the day’s assignment early, we’d chat and throw tennis balls to each other, waiting for the wall clock to read 13:00 and for the accompanying chime. There was one speaker mounted to the wall as well as five security cameras that hung like bats from the ceiling. After the chime we’d high-five our goodbye and I’d head off to write my daily reports and have my instant noodle lunch made with hot water from a sink. In a massive retrofit facility with fancy locks and I don’t know how many empty rooms, I was allocated a closet with a tiny desk, a single plug socket and a laptop that whirred and became concerningly hot when I opened more than two programs. I was used to being treated like a temporary utility but this setup took the biscuit. I’d finish a few hours later and leave, have a quick cigarette at the bus stop, get home, devour my instant noodle dinner and then pass out in front of the TV until my alarm went off the next morning, where I’d start all over again. I used to find this kind of repetition soothing.

As far as what was expected of me, it was a pretty standard project. The exception here was the whole top secret underground UN laboratory vibe, which to me was more of an inconvenience than some kind of exciting privilege.

Having worked with plenty of chimps in the past I wasn’t especially nervous about working with him, even with an official name like Marduk. Truth be told, I preferred spending time with animals. And they seemed to respond well to me. Once my boss realised that non-humans learned the system almost twice as fast with me it became my entire caseload. Colleagues joked that I was raised by ferrets, implying, I think, that we shared a skittish and antisocial temperament, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but also that I could therefore communicate directly with animals. I wish I could, but the secret of my ‘superpower’ was just paying attention to a degree they seemed incapable of. It’s all right there in front of you, if you can be bothered to look. Hackles lift. Ears fold back. Pupils dilate. Animal vocabulary is mostly limited to what they can say with their bodies. People, on the other hand, are ten times more complex – so convoluted and tied in knots, unsure of what they even want to say most of the time. I stopped trying to understand people years ago. And sure – it hadn’t done much good for the social life, but things became many degrees simpler. It turns out the simplest relationship to manage is the one that doesn’t exist.

Sometimes we’d be hired for scientific projects, like this one, but mostly the work had become commercial. ‘Consenting Animal Testing’, in a lot of cases. If a chimp can tick a consent checkbox and then provide feedback on the quality of your shampoo then it’s not technically been tested on animals and now you can brag about it in your marketing without getting in trouble. It’s not cheaper than human testing but the beauty industry loves it because chimps are easy to please and tend to score very favourably. I happen to know that they just like sweet smells and attention. And so if someone were to ask me what I did for work, I would have said it was my job to ensure everyone had hair that chimps would love. It would have guaranteed a laugh, perhaps after a bit of explaining. Regardless, no one had ever asked and I doubted anyone ever would.

It usually takes around 20 weeks to teach an intelligent primate the basics. You develop a small vocabulary of nouns with flashcards, usually pre-determined by the client for the purpose of the project, then some basic verbs through demonstrations. Then you teach how to navigate the Communo Tab interface and press the buttons which speak the chosen word aloud in a joyless monotone. With persistence, hey presto – now you have an animal who can ‘talk’.

> Bobo > Want > Banana

> Bobo > Sleepy

> Bobo > Go > Bed

> Bobo > Like > This > Shampoo

Etc, etc…

Hooray for us. We formalised a method for inter-species communication and used it to determine whether chimps prefer the smell of fake mango or fake peach. Such a waste. And in case you’re curious, they always prefer the tropical fruits. Figures.

After one morning together I dropped the name Marduk, which didn’t fit his vibe at all, and settled on Martin. And boy, was he something else. An adolescent with glossy dark hair, big expressive eyes and an unsettling air of calm, he was chosen for the project due to his “extremely high degree of empathy and cognitive reasoning”. I had access to his notes through the intranet guest login I’d been given to submit my reports. Probably shouldn’t have, what with all the secrecy and NDAs, but I did and I was curious, so I read what I could find.

How do you get a chimp like him? Turns out, you painstakingly assess individual chimp behaviour looking for markers of empathy and intelligence, you take the highest scoring male and highest scoring female, dim the lights and let them have a chimp sleepover party. Rinse and repeat for however many generations until eventually you arrive at a hairy little guy smarter and kinder than any chimpanzee who’s ever lived.

By Week 2 he was already forming basic sequences with the Communo Tab. By Week 7, he was communicating at a level that usually took months.

> Thank You > Martin > Like > Banana

> Martin > Want > To > Give > You > Banana

> Martin > Feel > Happy > Here

> You > Feel > Happy > Here > Question Mark

Even if I hadn’t read his background notes, his capacity for empathy was striking. Always asking questions. Always checking on me. Once he’d figured out how to sequence the request, every single piece of fruit he earned he offered to share with me. He requested it so often, with an accompanying gentle brown finger prodding my chest, that I added a button for my name so we could better engage. By Week 9 it was;

> Martin > Want > Give > Arlo > Banana

> Martin > Like > Arlo

> Arlo > Is > Martin > Friend

> Martin > Give > Arlo > Tickle > Now

And then we’d have a tickle-fight and he’d laugh his all-breath laugh that sounded like a bike pump, lips pulled back revealing incisors and canines he’d never use for anything more than smiling and eating fruit. It was impossible not to be impressed and inevitably, enamoured by him. I got the impression that those in charge felt the same, from the few times I actually saw someone.

We were mostly left alone to get through his curriculum but every few days an official would pop in and make a show of checking on him. Most often it was a stout and swaggering middle-aged guy who’d introduced himself as Harris. He never specified whether that was his first or second name so I determined it must be his only name, like he was some kind of mass-produced appliance. Harris would burst into the lesson unannounced, his smart shoes clap-clap-clapping loudly on the floor tiles like he was giving himself an indulgently slow round of applause. His crispy smart trousers were too tight for his gait and he was always putting a hand in his pocket to fish underwear out of his ass.

“Where’s our little genius?” he’d ask loudly as he appropriated the futon.

“Are you enjoying your lessons, Marduk?”

> Yes > Thank you > Learning > Fun

“There’s a good monkey!”

He’d scratch Martin’s head. Martin would pretend to enjoy it.

“You keep it up now. We need you sharp as a tack!”

He was too loud and gesticulated far too much to be around animals. Martin winced with each overconfident gesture. He’d ask a few more banal questions and once he was satisfied he’d slap his thighs before getting up and shoe-clapping his way out of the room, but not before shouting “sharp as a tack!” one final time, every time.

It took me until Week 12 to realise the extent of Martin’s deception. When officials were around, he’d play the good boy, not just dialling-up his obedience but dialling-down his intelligence, answering in basic phrases he’d stopped using with me weeks prior. I realised that he was performing more primate traits too; curving his spine, scratching himself cartoonishly and submissively dipping his head low and often. He was composing a lesser picture of himself for them; training them.

Then he noticed me noticing.

He began to shoot me knowing glances, cross his eyes or extend a mocking lower lip when Harris wasn’t looking. For the first time, I was invited in on an inside joke. And it was a good joke. I’d often have to hide my laughter by pretending to take long drinks from my coffee. And that’s not to mention his impression of Harris. It was honestly pretty accurate. He captured his walk perfectly, even stopping to pull imaginary underwear out of his ass before slapping his thighs and swaggering towards the door. Hidden away in his Communo Tab vocabulary menus, a sub-folder in a sub-folder in a sub-folder, was the phrase “ass-hat” that we saved for after Harris’ visits. The monotonous and emotionless inflection of the soundboard coupled with Martin’s impeccable comic timing on that button often left me in pieces.

Around Week 14 he developed this unusual habit of cutting out words from the many reference books that populated the bookshelf in his room. Often he’d come to me after our exercises and unfurl a handful of individually cut-out words. He’d lay them out on the table for me, like a child having scoured a beach for pretty shells and he’d point to them one by one for me to provide definitions. There seemed to be no consistent theme or subject, just words he wanted to understand. I’d never had this happen before, but I was here to teach him to communicate as best he could so, why not? If he’d taken on a word’s understanding then I’d add it to his Communo Tab database, provided it wasn’t on the Ban List. I’d always hated the Ban List. It was directly prohibitive to learning and the notion of suppressing ideas by restricting vocabulary was nauseatingly dystopian. In Martin’s case it was redundant anyway as he understood the flexibility of language. You can ban the word “escape” but that doesn’t erase the notion, nor its synonyms.

I was supposed to be documenting his linguistic development but not once did I mention any of this in my reports. And I never even considered whether that was the right thing to do. Not once. He had trusted me with the truth of his ability, and I guess my instinct had been to trust that he concealed it for good reason. I guess I wanted to protect him. No one had ever relied on me like that before. It felt good.

I didn’t know exactly how big the gap was between how smart they thought he was and his actual intelligence, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring it to light. So I submitted my reports, perhaps omitting bits and pieces here and there, and it was someone else’s job to determine how he was scoring. I’d never been a company-man but I’d always toed the line, so hiding the truth from the UN felt pretty damn thrilling. The first rebellious thing I’d ever done. Still, even playing dumb his intelligence scores must have been through the roof.

Week 18 was the one and only time I saw him lose his composure. As soon as his door slid open I heard the screeching. He’d been mostly silent during our time together, bar his wheezing tickle-laughs, so I thought he was being attacked, perhaps by an escaped subject like himself. I raced into the room but when I caught sight of him he was on his own, scrambling at the corner in a panic, trying desperately to climb the white featureless wall.

“Martin! Martin, it’s okay! Come to me, bud!”

He didn’t hear me but I kept calling. Eventually he locked eyes with me, let out a screech and then ran across the room, arms waving above his head in a full warning display. He wrapped himself around me like a hairy toddler with long arms. I made gentle shushing sounds and stroked his back hair and once he’d calmed enough I asked him to tell me what had him so spooked. He took my hand and led me to his box of enrichment toys. Keeping his distance, he pointed at the floor next to the box. It was a spider. A common house spider, no bigger than a bottle cap. I retrieved a glass from his kitchenette and trapped it, sliding my clipboard underneath the glass so I could pick up the little intruder. He screeched again, shoulders hunched to his ears, as I held it out toward him. I put it down on the table and took the opportunity – new words anchor more strongly if they relate directly to an emotional experience, like this.

I found his Communo Tab facedown on the floor. Pointing to the glass I taught ‘spider’, adding it to his Animal Noun sub-category. His face still showed mild horror, baring his lower teeth at the very mention of the word. Then I saw an opportunity to develop his abstract nouns.

“Scared,” I said, pointing to him and miming his panic. “Scared. And hey, scared is okay. We all get scared. Life is scary.”

He softened at this and took a tiny step closer. He looked between me and the glass. I nodded reassuringly. He took another step and lowered his head so he could see inside the glass.

“Well done, buddy! That’s it. Courage. Martin has courage.”

He looked at me. I did my best to mime courage; I took a deep breath, dropped my shoulders and pushed out my chest, putting a look of resolve on my face. I pointed to him.

“Courage is…when you feel scared, but you go on anyway. To overcome fear we use courage.”

I added it to his Feelings sub-category. He picked up the Communo Tab from me.

> Martin > Feel > Scared > Of

He took a moment to find the new word in the menus.

> Spider

“Yeah, that’s understandable. I don’t exactly love them either. But it won’t hurt you. Besides, now you know that whenever you feel scared, it will be okay. Because you also have courage.”

He stopped and thought for a moment. He looked between the glass and me and his Communo Tab. He tapped out a sequence.

> Arlo > Give > Martin > Courage

I couldn’t help but smile and open out my arms for another hairy cuddle. A wheezy tickle-fight was soon underway.

From that day his interest in me deepened and so did our bond. He began to blitz through our exercises with undisguised ease, knocking back nutrient gel packs like shots on a hen-do, so he’d have more time to enquire about my life. I was mostly happy to chat and even enjoyed the unfamiliar experience of someone finding me interesting. He asked about my childhood, my hometown, my parents, my schooling. I’d sometimes get carried away and find myself detailing all the painfully vivid experiences of being bullied at high school that I’d never told anyone about. He was curious and he really, really listened. Though sometimes his bluntness would catch me off guard.

> Why > Does > Arlo > Smell > Like > That > Question Mark

“Excuse me? Like what?”

> Like

> A > Bad > Smell

“Oh come on, it’s not that strong. I smoke the occasional cigarette, in the morning and evening and sometimes on my lunch break. And before you say anything, yes – I know, they’re bad for me.”

> Then > Why > Do > It > Question Mark

“Because humans are illogical and it feels good. Also, it looks undeniably cool.”

> Humans > Are > Strange

“You’re not wrong, my friend. But if the smell bothers you I could always wait until I’m home.”

> No

> It > Is > Okay

> Martin > Is > Sure > Arlo > Look > Very > Cool

> Where > Is > Arlo > Home > Question Mark

“I’ve got a little flat downtown. You think this place is small, you should see it.”

> Is > It > Nice > Question Mark

“It’s fine, for what I need.”

> Sleeping > And > Smoking > Question Mark

“Hey – don’t forget eating instant noodles too.”

> Of > Course

> Arlo > Has > Friend > At > Home > Question Mark

“In fact I do – George. He’s not quite as chatty as you but I still think the two of you’d get on great.”

> Arlo > Is > He > A > Fish > Question Mark

“He’s a goldfish, technically.”

> Fish > Do > Not > Count

“Wow – that’s a bit prejudiced, especially coming from a monkey.” I teased. He lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and glared before tapping.

> Chimp

> Arlo > Has > Human > Friend > At > Home > Question Mark

“Nope. I live on my own. And work keeps me busy. You’re the person I see most often now. You and the girl in the coffee truck. And that’s not a complaint, by the way.”

> Drink > Dispensing > Female > Is > Friend > Question Mark

“No, I don’t think you could say that. I mean we chat a little sometimes. Ask about each other’s day. But I’m not sure that Drink Dispensing Female and I qualify as friends.”

> Arlo > Make > Drink > Dispensing > Female > Friend > Question Mark

“How would I go about doing that, Martin? Deploy your technique of offering half a banana every morning?”

> Morning > Banana > Work > With > Arlo

He waggled his eyebrows.

“Very funny. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Honestly. I’ve got my work and now, I’ve got you.”

His shoulders dropped a fraction and his amber eyes softened as they bore into me. His fingers softly tapped the screen.

> It > Seems > To > Martin

> People > Need > People

I thought about that as I took a drink of the Americano she’d made that morning, my throat feeling suddenly tight, eyes welling, then I laughed.

“Are they training you to be a psychologist or something? Are you gonna produce a Rorschach test made from banana peels for me next? Come on, buddy. Let’s get back on track, eh?”

I pulled out the new pack of flashcards I’d picked up that morning and waved them at him. He sighed in defeat, his lips blowing an exasperated raspberry.

“Countries, Martin. Come on – let’s see if you pick up geography as easily as the rest.”

Of course, he did. Within a week he could match over a hundred countries with their capital cities and flags. And he had the audacity to look bored while doing it, whiling away the time until we could chat freely again. Week by week this new curriculum continued: borders, then populations, then exports. It wasn’t until I was given a pack labeled International Sanctions that I started to wonder how anyone could possibly benefit from equipping a chimp with this kind of knowledge.

In truth, I’d tried desperately to keep my head in the sand rather than confront the context surrounding Martin. Because the animals I taught all served a very specific purpose and once their utility was spent, well, I tried not to concern myself with the parts that weren’t my job. But by this stage Martin had become my friend and I was worried about whatever purpose he was being prepared for.

Then he started to change.

Around Week 24 he seemed increasingly lethargic; less enquiry, less play, glassy-eyed. We’d still work through our exercises but with more and more cold efficiency and less friendly chit-chat. His coat lost its gloss. He began squinting at the Communo Tab screen, complaining it had become blurry and hard to read. I sent an email reporting his complaint and two weeks later I came in to find him wearing a pair of cheap pharmacy-bought reading glasses that would become a permanent feature of his face. He’d regularly get so lost staring into space that I’d have to call his name several times before he snapped out of it. Something was weighing on him.

By Week 27 he had completely rejected the good-time trinity; no bananas, no tennis balls, no tickle-fights. One day, while sitting on the futon staring at nothing, idly thumbing a toy train I’d never seen before, he asked me if I’d given much thought to ‘The Trolley Problem’. I had a vague idea what it was but I couldn’t fathom why they’d be exposing him to this kind of thing. The toy, I assumed, had been some kind of learning aid. I was reluctant to get involved, not wanting to interfere with his learning beyond my remit, but I wanted to help him.

“Go on, tell me about the Trolley Problem.”

He sat up and started typing quickly.

> Imagine > Standing > On > Bridge > Above > Train > Track

> Several > People > On > Track

> Train > Coming

> Fat > Man > On > Bridge > Too

He glanced up at me to check I was following. I nodded.

> If > Push > Fat > Man

> His > Fat > Body > Will > Stop > Train

> Save > People

> But > Guilty > Of > Fat > Man > Murder

> What > Does > Arlo > Do > Question Mark

He looked at me longingly, as though my answer could absolve him in some way. I plucked the wooden train from his hands and turned it a few times while thinking.

“Martin, I think I would turn my ass around and find another route home. Because that way is clearly full of difficult, moral dilemmas. And I just want to get home and watch TV.”

I knew my answer was a cop-out and could see the disappointment in his face, but I didn’t want to add more fuel to a fire that seemed to be hurting him. I slipped the toy into my pocket and tried my best to move the conversation on.

“Hey, I saw Drink Dispensing Female this morning. And I think you were right – I could probably do with expanding my social circle, a bit. But where to start, you know? How would I even begin? What do you think?”

His gaze drifted around the room, cluttered and strewn with unfurled books, cut out words and crumpled gel packets. Eventually his eyes landed on me. They looked smaller through his lenses. He looked down to the Communo Tab.

> But > Arlo

> What > About > The > Fat > Man > Question Mark

I’d kept myself deliberately ignorant of what Martin’s days consisted of beyond our sessions. And the more I wondered what else he was being taught the larger the pit of anxiety grew in my stomach. Week 31 began and I couldn’t stand to see him so low anymore. He’d been staring vacantly at a poster of the Earthrise for ten minutes.

“Martin, what’s going on? Are you feeling okay?”

It took a moment for his eyes to find mine, as though his thoughts were a deep well that required great effort to climb out of. He looked down at the Communo Tab at his side.

> What > Question Mark

“You don’t seem like yourself, pal. Is something wrong?”

He sighed and closed his eyes and his head gently lolled one side to the other. He looked more tired than I’d ever seen him. After a moment he tapped a finger at the screen.

> Why > Are > Humans > Like > This > Question Mark

“What do you mean? Like what?”

He navigated through his vocabulary menus for a moment then tapped in slow succession;

> War

> Hunger

> Corruption

> Pollution

A cold shiver crawled over me. We had never covered those words. I jumped out of my seat to sit next to him and looked at his screen. There was a whole sub-category of words that I’d never seen, labelled under Geopolitics.

“What the fuck is this, Martin? Where did these come from?”

I searched his eyes for an answer but they stayed stuck on the tablet screen. He breathed a long sigh out of his nose as he tapped out –

> Martin > Learn > Truth

There was a heavy silence between us as I tried to understand what he was telling me. His fingers reached for the screen again and his eyes emptied.

> War > Hunger > Corruption > Pollution > War > Hunger > Corruption > Pollution >  War > Hunger > Corruption > Pollution >  War > Hunger > Corruption > Pollution > War

Heart pounding, I shot up from the seat, fumbled my pass at the scanner with shaking hands and then ran down the hallway. I could still hear the awful repetition as I went. War. Hunger. Corruption. Pollution. I kept going until I found someone.

“Harris!” I yelled.

He looked up from his phone and his eyes widened at my advance. He stepped back as I got in his face.

“What the fuck have you been doing to Martin?! He is messed up in there, man! Tell me right now – what is going on?!”

His panic turned into an amused smile as he realised the extent of my ignorance. He puffed out a performative little laugh and tried to make himself taller.

“Marduk is doing just fine. And it’s none of your concern, so how about you back off and go back to teaching the monkey his ABCs?”

Before I could think I’d grabbed a double-fistful of his shirt and had pushed him hard against the wall. His head bounced on impact and panic flashed in his eyes. Inches from his face I heard myself growl;

“What are you sick fucks going to do with him? Tell me!”

“Christ! Okay! I thought you’d know! He’s being trained to be our pilot PDS!”

“What’s a PDS?”

“A-a-a Primary Decision Surrogate! It’s this whole thing, around decision architecture. There was a paper, by the GGC, we’re just following the recommended-”

“What’s the GGC?”

He hesitated and his eyes darted to the side. I could tell he was about to try to make a dash for it. He flailed wildly, but I grabbed a hold of his tie, and as he tried to pull away the knot tightened around his neck. My grip held and he bungeed back to the wall. I was honestly kind of surprised by my own ready violence, but tried not to let it show.

“No, no, no. None of that, please. Just tell me – what’s the GGC?”

“Fine, fine! It’s the Global Governance Committee! It’s all there in the project files!”

I let go of his shirt and tie and he slumped against the wall, his pupils wide in the middle of his shocked pink face.

“Stay the fuck away from him, Harris.”

I started in the direction of my closet, dizzy from adrenaline. But it was killing me – I turned back.

“And he’s not a monkey, he’s a chimp. They’re different.”

I turned to walk away. I stopped again realising I may never get another chance.

“And get some trousers that fit, you little freak.”

Logged into my intranet guest account I opened up the Project Documents tab and searched ‘Global Governance Committee’. Pages of documents appeared. I added the search term ‘Decision Surrogate’ and the number of results dropped significantly. I clicked through the links looking for something that resembled a scientific paper.

Memos. Research references. Meeting minutes. Nothing.

Until I found a document titled – PROJECT MARDUK: An Evaluation of Non-Human Decision Surrogacy in International Governance. And it was authored by the Global Governance Committee. I suspected Harris would have security looking for me, so I needed to go. There was no way to send the paper outside the network and no connectivity ports on my machine. But I had my phone. As quickly as I could, I snapped a picture of each of the report’s 64 pages, logged out and shut down the laptop. I power-walked through the security gates to the exit and once I was around the corner from the main building I sprinted to the bus stop where, coughing my guts up, I just managed to catch the homebound 87.

I spent the next four hours chainsmoking on my sofa, pinch-zooming into blurred photos, my head spinning as I tried to make sense of the paper.

It starts by referencing a bunch of examples across modern history where human self-interest has led to catastrophic results and yeah, there are a few. European colonialism, the Atlantic Slave Trade, the Bengal Famine, the Partition of India, the 2008 Financial Crisis, the list goes on. Then, after building a sufficiently vivid picture of how awful humans can be, it drops its main thesis on page 8:

We have concluded that humanity’s capacity for rational decision-making, whether in isolation or working in a group setting, becomes compromised and inevitably diminishes when applied to the solving of complex collective issues across global jurisdictions. History shows us time and time again that the individual’s propensity to over-value the acquisition of short-term interests will ultimately undermine any attempts of meaningful long-term collaboration. Recent anthropological research suggests that humanity’s social evolution, having already reached a successful threshold, positioning our species at the top of our ecological food chain, has effectively ceased developing (research outlined on pages 14-17). The Global Governance Committee therefore recommends that, due to this limitation of our species, we seek external support in matters of morally complex or ambiguous geopolitical issues if we are to pursue improved global circumstances. We therefore officially recommend the pilot implementation of Non-Human Decision Surrogacy within the United Nations’ decision architecture (outline on pages 29-48).

I was left near paralysed on my sofa trying to make sense of it all. I re-read it over and over but kept arriving at the same conclusion – the most powerful institution on the planet had determined that we are so bad at solving global problems that we should stop trying and outsource the job to a chimp. To Martin. This was his ultimate destiny. Marduk – builder of the new world.

They’d tested all kinds of animals for aptitude, intelligence, empathy, and of course, chimpanzees came out on top. As well as being our closest genetic relative they, lucky for us, possess a level of empathy that hasn’t been eroded by centuries of individualism. In a horrifying way, I realised, it made sense. But that didn’t make any of it okay. Not to mention pages 41-44 that detailed the barely researched cognition-enhancing drug, meo–trimathlemine, which was to be dispensed in handy calorie-dense gel packs – the ones that I’d watched Martin slurp down hundreds of. Side effects may include vivid and disturbing dreams, lethargy, permanent kidney damage, heart failure and blindness. I felt sick.

I found his programme schedule in the paper too – Language, Linguistics and Vocabulary with yours truly for the entire duration of his training period, I guess to make him as effective a communicator as possible. But his afternoons, I learned, were for his specialist subjects, all taught via the ‘Multimedia Suite’ which meant – educational videos. Who knew how many countless hours of history, politics and philosophy the poor guy had already endured. It was no wonder why he was burning out.

Weeks 1-10: Understanding Humanity

Weeks 11-20: Understanding Human Systems

Weeks 21-25: Understanding Global Systems

Weeks 26-30: Introduction to Philosophy and Ethics

Weeks 31-34: Decision-Making Strategies and Ethics Unit 1

Weeks 35-39: Decision-Making Strategies and Ethics Unit 2

Week 40: Final Assessment

Weeks 41-42: Onboarding

Week 43: Official Deployment

I called in sick for the rest of the week so I could think about what I was supposed to do next. In spite of what my logic told me, in spite of the odds we’d be up against, I couldn’t let my only friend stay imprisoned to these fucked up ends. We had to try to get him out.

The following Monday I took the bus to the lab at my normal time, devoured four cigarettes on the way, bought an Americano from Drink Dispensing Female (who had changed her hairstyle) and made my way to his dorm. If Harris had called security after our scuffle then they might still be looking for me but as usual the long worn-out halls were near empty. I guessed he was too embarrassed to have reported it, which was fine by me, though I was still on edge.

I scanned my pass and Martin’s door slid open. He was sitting on the floor surrounded by crumpled gel packs, thumbing through a hardback of ‘National Geographic – Our Earth in Photos’. I sat down and gave him a gentle touch on the shoulder. He nodded his acknowledgement without taking his eyes from the book. For a few moments we just looked at the images together. A cluster of luminescent jellyfish, a desert tribe dancing, an aerial shot of a busy intersection, a tank of exotic fish at a bustling wet market, a lone shepherd on a hillside. I kept my voice low.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I’m sorry I left and I’m sorry about…well, everything. I didn’t know. But the truth is, I didn’t want to know. I wanted to keep pretending our time together was just…two friends hanging out. But I know the truth now and I can’t just ignore it. Primary Decision Surrogate, huh? What a gig.”

He snorted a slight laugh at that. I dropped my voice to a near whisper.

“And that’s why I’m asking you now, if you want me to get you out of here? Because I’m sure we could find a way. I’m not sure how, but we’d find a way together, if that’s what you wanted.”

He turned another page. An arctic fox leaping in the air. A man alone at night in a back alley sushi bar.

“You don’t have to decide now. But think about it. Think about whether you want to commit your whole life to serving the people who put you here. To cleaning up their mess.”

He paused as he seemed to consider my words before turning the page again and studying the images. Exhausted long-distance runners crossing a finish line.  A family of gorillas lying entwined together in long grass. He pressed one of the Communo Tab’s side buttons several times, lowering the volume.

> Arlo > Would > Get > Big > Trouble > If > Caught

> Likely > Prison

> Likely > Long > Time

“Yeah. But you’re my friend. That’s what friends do.”

He looked at me, eyes squinting behind his smudged lenses. He looked back to the tablet and his finger hovered a long while before typing.

> Arlo > Is > Going > To > Need > Bigger > Apartment

He waggled his eyebrows at me. I returned his smirk.

“Well, George may need some convincing but I’m sure he’ll come around to a roommate. So what are you thinking? I grab us a couple of fake moustaches and boiler suits, say we’re plumbers and waltz on out of here?”

> Don’t > Be > Absurd

> Arlo > Would > Look > Terrible > With > Moustache

“That’s true. We’ll need to think of something else then.”

> Do > Not > Worry

> Leave > Plan > To > Martin

“Oh, I didn’t realise escaping high-security government facilities was covered in your syllabus too.”

> Arlo > Has > Security > Pass

> Martin > Has > Big > Brain

> Trust

“Don’t let that big brain of yours give you a big head, alright? This is dangerous. But I trust. When?”

> We > Wait > Until > Final > Week

> When > Martin > Has > Completed > Learning

“Okay. That gives us like, seven weeks, right? Surely that’s plenty of time to come up with a half-decent plan. It’s insane that we’re even considering this but…I think between us, we’ve got this.”

> No

> Arlo > Does > Not > Got > This

> Arlo > Is

> Unprepared

“What do you mean?”

> Currently > Arlo > Is

> Highest > Point > Of > Risk

“Are you trying to say I’m a liability?”

> No

> Just

> Highest > Point > Of > Risk

I levelled an unimpressed glare at him. He ignored my glare and typed on.

> Tomorrow > Martin > Give > Arlo > List

> Tasks > To > Complete

> Reduce > Risk > Of > Massive > Failure

“Oh I’m getting homework am I? Wonderful.”

> Do > Not > Worry > Arlo

> We > Can > Do > This

> We > Have > Courage

I’d barely got my foot through the door the next morning before Martin assailed me with the unsurprisingly comprehensive plan. It was a laundry list of tasks for me to complete ahead of our escape, varying in scope from the easy acquisition of tools to complete lifestyle changes.

1. Acquire bolt and wire cutters
2. Acquire premium running shoes x2
3. Acquire balaclavas and baseball caps x2
4. Acquire backpack x2
5. Acquire new outfits in medium size x4
6. Quit smoking
7. Quit instant noodles
8. Learn to cook 5 plant-based meals
9. Start running every day
10. Reach a 5k time under 29 minutes
11. Find nicer and bigger apartment
12. Furnish nicer and bigger apartment with new furniture

“Oh, so the bigger apartment thing wasn’t a joke.”

> No

> Unless > Arlo > Want > To > Share > Bedroom > With > Chimp

“Good point. But why exactly do you need me to start running?”

> Arlo > Cardiovascular > Health > Bad

> Too > Much > Noodle > And > Smoke

> Escape > Requires > Running

> Tired > Means > Capture

At first, I was a tad offended by the more personal items on the list but as always, his logic was indisputable – he’d have one shot at escape and I was it. What good is an escape partner if they keel over in a coughing fit after running 200 yards? We’d spent months together, he’d asked me hundreds of questions about my life and lifestyle. I wondered if he’d been auditioning me this whole time.

> Arlo > Complete > List

> And > Martin > Handle > The > Rest

> Have > Trust > Have > Courage

“Okay. Trust. Courage.”

And so I got to it. Over the following weeks, I started running after work, I learned some recipes for meals I thought he’d like and, lo and behold, I actually quit smoking. It felt easy this time with a good reason for doing it. Then a few weeks later I found a new place on the other side of town. It was modern, airy and open, not actually that much bigger than my previous place but the extra bedroom and all the natural light made it feel like it. It meant a much longer bus ride to the lab but our time there was ticking down anyway. I bought all the gear he’d listed and kept it stashed in duffle bags under the bed in his room. I even bought a mustard futon for the living room which I knew would get a little laugh out of him. All the while, he continued to toil away in the lab with his lessons and assessments.

This was how the final weeks went by. I hid my growing anxiety from him and if he had any anxiety then he probably drowned it in meo-trimathlemine enriched calorie gel. I warned him about the side-effects but it didn’t deter him.

“You know they’re not good for you, Martin.”

> Maybe > Chimps > Are > Illogical > Too

I was hardly in a position to argue. He’d become such a good communicator by this point that further lessons from me were completely unnecessary. But still I kept turning up, mostly to give encouragement or fetch gel packs or provide another cut-out word’s definition. I can still picture the scene perfectly – Martin sitting cross legged on the futon, surrounded by white walls and books fraught with missing words, wearing Bluetooth headphones too big for his head, glasses on the tip of his nose as he thumbed through a book on the Soviet Union. I was so damn proud of him and couldn’t wait for him to taste freedom. Also noodles. I couldn’t help excitedly telling him about this new dish I’d learned to cook – a garlic sesame tofu ramen with pak choi – that was going to blow his socks off. And deep inside me, hidden behind my excitement for him, was my excitement for me. It felt like waiting for this new version of myself to arrive, a version who was bold and brash enough to do something crazy like this. I was sick of the old me. The ferret me. If becoming this new person meant risking going to prison, it was a price I was ready to pay.

I would check Martin’s weekly assessment results through my intranet login and though I couldn’t make sense of the metrics and analysis I assumed the percentages – always mid-to-high nineties – were good. He was locked-in, trying to extract as much knowledge as he could before jumping ship, while maintaining expectations to those in charge. I respected his determination to reap as much value from the bastards as possible. I’d considered starting to steal things to follow suit but determined it wasn’t worth the risk. His focus kept me motivated to the point where my running times were actually improving, albeit slowly. My lungs no longer strained and struggled for oxygen once I’d reached running pace. I was sleeping better which meant I felt generally sharper. The longer commute gave me time to read. One morning, Drink Dispensing Female even mentioned that I was looking good, to which I embarrassedly balked and stammered and shuffled away. Martin’s plan had fast-tracked me into what I felt was a pretty darn capable escape partner. I wanted to be mad at him for having improved me with something as paltry as a to-do list and a motive but I was feeling far too good to be truly resentful. Occasionally he’d put down whatever he was reading and check in on my progress out of the blue.

> And > List > Question Mark

“Seven out of twelve completed, Captain. Items six, eight, nine, ten and twelve are in-progress.”

> Good

> Pass > Scissors > Please

And that would be it. Our plans being discovered by those in charge at this stage would be game over for both of us and we never really knew how sensitive the security cameras’ microphones were, so discretion was the key. I quietly chipped away at my list while Martin cooked up his master plan.

Before I knew it, our last week together in the lab had come. It had only been a few days prior that I’d managed my first sub-29-minute 5k, officially ticking off the last item on Martin’s list. Despite the constant carousel of elation, excitement and terror, I’d never felt physically better. Who knew preparing for a prison break was so good for your health? He’d asked for my complete trust but the curiosity and anticipation by this point was killing me. I had to practically chew my own lips off to stop from immediately asking about his plan as I stepped into his dorm that final Monday.

> Morning > Arlo > You > Are > Looking > Well

He’d typed, sitting cross-legged on the mustard futon, an open book on his lap.

“Thanks, Martin. I’m feeling well. In fact, well enough to have completed item ten.”

He nodded approvingly, adjusted his glasses and turned back to his book.

“So…got any exciting plans this week? A movie or a haircut perhaps?”

> Actually

> Martin > Has > Dinner > Plans

In mock surprise I replied, “Well, that sounds delightful. Anywhere good?”

> Just > Noodles

> With > An > Old > Friend

“Sounds boring.”

We shared a knowing smirk and then a comfortable silence extended between us. He sighed and shuffled over. I sat in the spot next to him and after a few moments he began to type.

> Do > You > Ever > Dream > Arlo > Question Mark

“Sometimes. But not very often. Do you?”

> Never > Before

> But > Lately > Yes

“I can imagine that could be…somewhat alarming.”

> A > Little

> Martin > Dreams > He > Is > Standing > On > Tall > Bridge

> Overlooking > Beautiful > Hills

> There > Is > Breeze > And > Blue > Sky > And > Birds

> Martin > Feels > Great > Peace

“Sounds like a nice dream.”

> Then > Hears > Screams

“Oh.”

> And > Train

> Martin > See > Train > Heading > Toward > Group > Of > Humans > On > Track > Below

> They > Are > Scared

> Then > Arlo > Is > There > On > Bridge

> Arlo > Says > Martin > Has > Courage

> We > Hug

> And > Martin > Push > Arlo > Off > Bridge

> Then > Martin > Wake > Up

“…Are you trying to tell me to avoid walking over bridges with you in the future?”

> Maybe

I gave him a teasing elbow nudge and he looked at me fondly.

> Arlo

> Today > Is > Our > Last > Day

I took a deep breath.

“Okay. I’m ready, pal. Tell me what to do.”

> When > Session > Ends > Today

> Leave > Your > Security > Pass > On > Bookshelf

> One > Book > On > Shelf > Is > Upside-Down

> Take > It > Home

> Inside > Is > Note > With > Further > Instruction

> Do > Not > Read > Until > Home

> Understand > Question Mark

“I understand.”

> Do > Not > Read > Until > Home

> Trust

“Trust.”

He shot a nervous glance at the nearest security camera, I guessed becoming conscious of our interaction looking suspicious. I gave him a final agreeing nod to assure him I’d understood and then we proceeded to run through the motions of a typical day in the lab. He read a book about The Silk Road, we went over a few new words, shared a couple of bananas and chatted about this and that, all the while concealing the churn of excitement and anxiety that curdled in my belly.

Before I knew it, the clock struck 13:00, and the familiar chime sounded from the speaker. We shared a look. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave me the slightest nod. Silently I put on my jacket and dug into my pockets, finding my security pass in one and the toy train in the other. I tapped my pass to unlock the door then gently placed it and the train on one of the bookcase shelves. I scanned along the book spines. ‘National Geographic – Our Earth in Photos’ was upside down. I could have guessed. I slipped it out and tucked it inside my jacket, under my arm, ensuring the pages were pinned tightly shut. My heart was pounding as I opened the door and turned back to see him watching me.

“See you soon, pal.”

He didn’t say anything back. He just sat cross-legged on his futon, watching me with an expression of calm neutrality; my unflappable hairy best friend. I let the door shut behind me and the lock clicked shut.

I didn’t want to think or even give myself the chance to think lest the panic overwhelm me. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible so I could read the plan and come to terms with whatever lay ahead. I power-walked with my head down through the first two gates, the book pinned tight under my arm, just willing my legs to go-go-go, when I crashed into Harris.

We both stumbled. He kept himself upright, likely thanks to a low centre of gravity, while I reflexively put my arms out to catch myself against the wall. The book slipped from under my arm and clattered to the floor. He furiously looked from the book to me, his salmon-faced anger dampening and morphing into something uncertain.

“Wow, careful there,” he said with uneasy amicability.

Horror washed through me as he bent down and picked up the book.

“Oh, I’ve seen Marduk looking through this one a lot. It’s one of his favourites, right?” he asked as he started to flick the pages.

“Yep. He…said I could borrow it for a few days.”

I noticed a folded piece of paper; Martin’s note, bookmarking the last few pages. Harris flicked closer and closer to the end and the note, before snapping the book shut without spotting it, just a few pages away. He held the book up, as though he were considering confiscating it.

“Did you get it signed-off? Anything that comes in or out needs signed-off.”

“Yep. It’s signed-off.”

“…Okay, good. That’s good. He’s sharp, that one, huh?”

He lowered the book, holding it out for me. I hesitated, half expecting him to yank it back, but I took it and tucked it under my arm once again.

“Sharp as a tack,” I said.

He snorted a single amused breath.

“Alright, get out of here, then,” he said as he stepped aside, one hand gesturing me onward while the other went into the front pocket of new loose fitting cords.

I put my head down and got moving again, so desperate to be home that I barely even registered the journey. The walk, the bus ride, the walk again, were all spent in a kind of dissociative haze, my outer-body viewpoint looking down at this scrawny guy clutching a National Geographic book like his life depended on it.

It was the noise of my still unfamiliar keys jangling in my front door that snapped me fully back into reality. I kicked my shoes off and went straight to the living room, placing Martin’s book down on our new Scandinavian coffee table. I sat on the edge of our futon. I took a deep breath and opened to the page bookmarked with the loose sheet of paper. Martin’s note. The edges were dog-eared, and it was composed entirely from the cutout words I’d watched him harvest and study for so long; the crafty devil. The words, coming from a hundred different books, were all varying in size and font, which didn’t make it the easiest to read. I clicked on the new table lamp and leaned in closer.

dear arlo

thank you for being very magnificent teacher

you taught me many many words and communication and helped martin become very smart

martin watched many hours of video and read many books to learn about humanity

a dark history of war and suffering

cruel and illogical and violent

made martin very sad to learn

but arlo taught martin about humans

how they can be fun and loving and kind

they can care deeply about others

sometimes to their detriment

sometimes willing to risk everything

and though they are not perfect

and ass-hats like harris exist

anyone can change and grow and better themselves

they can be like arlo

for all the humans like arlo

with good hearts

martin decide to stay

and try to help the world

martin is sorry cannot come with you

and sorry for not telling

martin is sad we will not share noodles

they sounded very delicious

but arlo deserve freedom

not a life hiding fugitive chimp

go live and find happiness arlo

enjoy your home and body and life

and if you are ever scared

remember

courage is when you feel scared

but go on anyway

arlo has courage

thank you for being my teacher

but more important

thank you for being my friend

martin

The letter shook in my hands as the tears rolled down my face and dripped from my chin and were absorbed into the futon. He was never going to come with me, I realised, painfully. He gave me the list because he understood two things: I’d never have done any of those things for myself, but I loved him enough to do them all for him. My crying became laughter as I realised just how hard he’d played me. He’d tricked me into improving my own life before exiting it entirely. And to top it off, he had my pass, so I could never go back. That clever little bastard.

I took down the monkey-themed “Welcome Home” banner, still laughing, eyes still filled with tears for a friend I’d never see again.

About a month later I found myself on the bus heading in the direction of the facility. There was one thing I still needed to do.

“Morning,” I said.

“Oh, good morning! How are we doing today?” asked Drink Dispensing Female.

“Well, work has been kinda crazy lately but honestly, I’m doing really well.”

“Love to hear it. Hey, I’ve always been meaning to ask – what do you do for work?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me your name.”

You smiled and paused for a moment.

“It’s Anna.”

“Well, Anna. It’s my job to ensure everyone has hair that chimps would love.”

You laughed and raised a bewildered eyebrow.

“You’re going to have to explain that one.”

“I’d love to,” I said. “But it’s a long story. Hey, do you like noodles?”