From his spot in the long, orderly queue, Balch could just see the clinic’s large double doors. One intermittently swung open as nurses and national guardsmen ushered the next person inside. The queue then inched forwards like a great lazy caterpillar to fill the vacated space.
Balch kneaded his pockets. His turn would be a while yet.
Identical clinics had opened worldwide following the parasite’s discovery — a biological oddity colloquially dubbed ‘the Slug’, despite news broadcasts highlighting the microscopic creature’s dendritic shape. How they’d spotted the Slug, Balch couldn’t explain. But he understood why it mattered.
Apparently, the Slug had been randomly infecting half the population for centuries. It wasn’t deadly, supposedly. Yet it dulled its host’s every faculty, hampering their ability to do most things — including reasoning cogently, retaining information and even playing sports. How the Slug spread, the World Health Organization couldn’t say. Yet that hadn’t prevented scientists from developing a cure packaged in bubblegum-flavoured oral lozenges. The world’s governments immediately enacted mass screenings among their populations, dosing Slug carriers on detection.
Watching nurses shepherd another person through the clinic’s doors, Balch wondered whether he had the Slug. He couldn’t imagine finding himself smarter and more athletic overnight. The thought made his brain itch. He sighed, wishing the affair was over.
“Boring wait, huh?”
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Balch turned. Behind him stood a youngish, bespectacled man in a tweed suit and bow tie meant for someone four times older.
“If you need entertaining,” he said, “how about a riddle?”
“Why not,” said Balch.
“Picture a game show,” said the man, “involving three doors. One conceals a million dollars. The others, nothing. You’ll win whatever’s behind the door you choose. With me so far?”
“Yup,” said Balch. “Guess correctly, make a bundle.”
“Perfect. Suppose you select Door number 1. Before you turn the knob, the host opens Door number 2, revealing empty space. He then invites you to ditch your initial pick for Door number 3. The question is: should you switch?”
After a moment, Balch said, “Weirdly enough, you should.”
“Interesting. Why?”
“Because the original set-up’s a one-in-three chance for the right door, but the second offers a two-in-three chance for Door 2. Much better odds.”
“That’s right,” said the man, grinning.
Balch smiled back. He’d heard the solution before, but kept that to himself. All of a sudden, the man took Balch’s arm, yanking him out of the queue.
“What the …?” Balch sputtered.
“Quiet,” whispered the man. “Nobody must overhear. It’s a matter of vital importance. Most would dismiss me as a crank for what I’m about to say. You, though! You’ve got the right mindset. Because you understand the door puzzle, and how changing circumstances counter-intuitively redefine rational choice.”
Balch remained quiet. Interrupting seemed unwise.
“You see,” said the man, “I’m an economist. Yes, yes, funny occupation. Correctly predicted seven of the last four recessions, et cetera. Whatever. My friend, the reality is, we’re facing probabilistic questions with existential stakes.”
“What?”
“Think carefully about the following question: as you await screening … do you hope you have the parasite?”
“Of course not!” said Balch. “Isn’t that the whole point? To be clean, because it’s better not to have a Slug infection?”
The economist’s expression hardened.
“You’re mistaken. You should pray you’re infected.”
“Nonsense!”
“It’s paradoxical,” said the economist, eyes widening. “You’re unaware whether you’re free of the parasite. But you do know what you’re capable of at this moment. You have a handle on your own abilities — your cleverness and strength relative to others, and what that enables you to achieve. If you’re clean, your abilities will remain unchanged after your screening. Yet, if you’re infected, the calculus changes. You’ll become better at everything you’ve ever tried. As will half the world. You should therefore want to number among them.”
Balch’s damp hands clenched.
“There’s the rub,” the economist continued. “This screening represents a point of no return. You’ll soon learn whether what you are now is all you will be; whether your own mediocrity is mere inconvenience or inescapable fate. Could you live with the results of a clean diagnosis? Could anyone?”
