The General was still amazed at the macro level of recycling 'wastelanders' could pull off. The courtyard of the Castle was now arrayed with tables and benches, made from the wood from the stage that had stood for the inception of the government not so long ago. It was like nearly everyone could just look at an item and mentally break it down into base components and build it back up into finished items. Well, what passed for finished in this post-apocalypse.
"Alright, everyone!", she called out. "You know why you're here and the importance of this. So follow instructions. Follow the rules. Otherwise, a lot of people are going to be really hurt. Really quickly.
"For those of you who don't know, because I (and others) have mixed you in: the people and/or synths you see in white environmental suits are from the Institute. Just as you're in disguise to keep this test blind, so are they. They are proctoring this test under the watch of the Minutemen. If we need to discipline them or correct their course, I doubt that's going to be revealed to you in interest of keeping the test honest. React to that how you will.
"Your only identification is the number drawn on you by Minutemen personnel when you entered the Castle. It'll wash off. And you'll be issued three PURIFIED WATERs to do so.
"You all have been randomly rearranged before entering the Castle purposely. This is primarily to confuse the test. Some are indeed Mark III synths and you know what's at stake. If you're a person, welcome to the Commonwealth citizen. If any of the machines present are not, then the government will decide how to enforce the property rights of the Institute. Some are Minutemen selected by myself; possibly out of suspicion, possibly randomly, possibly because I think you'll be able to throw a kink in the Institute's proctoring. If so, think twice about the level of professionalism and discipline you want on display in front of me and the rest of the Commonwealth. Some are agents of the surviving Railroad, reformed under the command of codenamed-Desdemona. Whatever you believe you thought you were going to pull today, you are not. I would point out that no critical asset of the Institute is actually here in the Castle. I will point out that I personally put down the previous leadership of the Railroad.
"Your respect today has been bet on. By me, in risking the Castle for this test. By Desdemona, in fielding you. By the Institute in accepting that the possibility of even a single one of targets passing. If not, only Minutemen personnel have been openly allowed to carry weapons. Hence the security cordon complete with vertibird scouting overhead. If a test taker is armed and unauthorized, they will be personally eliminated and their results will be that they are indeed not sentient. Yes, that includes human test takers as well and will subject them to the same legal fate as any other piece of malfunctioning and/or stolen Institute property. If any of the Railroad or Institute volunteers are armed, I will immediately rule the results in the other's favor. If both are...well, the Commonwealth has had enough with infighting and the elimination of such elements will be applauded.
"If you have any remaining questions, that may or not may be intentional. Use your gut feeling, intuition and common sense to figure that out should you have any of those talents.
"Begin."
The Institute people (?) laid out thin plastic tablets in front of every participant. "You may begin when ready.", they reminded. "You have as much time as your biology allows. You will be counted as 'finished' if you are unconscious, regardless of cause."
One of the tested exclaimed. "Which color is prettiest? What the fuck?"
"Invalidate the question.", the General commanded the nearest Institute marked proctor.
The woman (?) shook her head. "We can't invalidate every question just because someone exclaimed it. Otherwise, we would have to invalidate the entire test on the basis of the exclamation alone revealed to the other participants that the question may or may not appear in their test and nearly certainly won't appear in sequence."
The General glared at her. "You're going to invalidate the question because it is clearly a biological test. Even if you're going to attempt to justify it with how the response to the question is formed is important, your tablets can only display so many colors. And given that the Institute designed the synths, you know how many colors their eyes are responsive to. And given that most humans only perceive color with three types of cone nerves by the varying levels of voltage stimulation of the electromagnetic waves of the light entering the eye, it is way to easy to make this a question of testing for anatomical differences than actual thought.
"Invalidate the question. And if any other question exists in this test that is of the same nature, invalidate them as well. If the lack of those questions or their lack in the sequence messes with your results, the you should of thought about that before you tried this stunt."
The white concealed figure nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
The General sighed. After perusing the tables, she wandered over to a woman concealed in hooded clothing and a GAS MASK.
"So how goes running the Institute, Bullseye?", the woman asked.
"Well, it gets harder every day concealing exactly how much control I have from the Minutemen, if that's what you're asking.", the General answered. "How's the laser burns?"
Desdemona scoffed. "I'm no longer a c-cup, after pulling that Joan of Arc. But I wasn't planning on having children anyway."
"In all honesty.", the General began. "I did rig this in your favor as much as I could."
"Why do you think I sent Deacon to assassinate you?", Desdemona countered. "Glory wanted to just snipe you from the stands in Diamond City. But I could count on him to actually get close enough to make an assessment first. You, however, didn't give me any social wiggle room to say anything in your defense though.
"And if this goes through: your managing to take control of the Institute and have them actually agree a synth can be sentient? I'll accept you know what you're doing. And, if Deacon wasn't lying for once, the title of spymaster hippie."
The General winced. "It's 'colonel' actually."
The other woman nodded. "I was wondering what a hippie was."
"And if no one passes?", the first continued. "If the Institute can, without a doubt, differentiate between sentient thought and synth calculation despite a lack of biological or personally identifying information?"
"I've fought uphill battles with the Railroad compromised before.", Desdemona replied.
