Director Vance was a man who preferred dealing with problems that fit into neat, pre-labeled boxes: Terrorists, Hostile Nations, Corporate Spies. Dr. Aris Thorne didn't fit a box.
"We have a billionaire genius operating outside of the chain of command, running a private, highly advanced intelligence operation," Vance summarized, glaring at the data Sarah Jenkins had compiled. "He used his own satellite network to manipulate crowd control in a sovereign nation after inciting a riot with his Booker Prize-winning novel."
"It appears he was attempting to stop the violence his book caused, sir," Sarah interjected, adjusting her glasses. "His data campaigns moved people away from conflict zones."
Vance waved her off. "Motive is irrelevant. The point is capability and control. A mind that operates on that level, in two diametrically opposed fields, is inherently unstable and unpredictable. We need eyes on the asset. Now."
"We've initiated physical surveillance on the Aeon Core campus in Geneva," another analyst chimed in. "But his security protocols are tighter than the Pentagon's. We can't penetrate his lab space."
"Then we observe the man, not the lab," Vance stated, his gaze hardening. "Sarah, you're the lead on this. We need to know what makes this Janus brain tick. Find his vulnerability. Does he drink too much? Does he have family? A mistress? A favorite brand of coffee?"
Sarah pulled up Aris Thorne’s personal profile again. The man was a void. No spouse, no children, no close confidants, no vices the system could identify other than a severe lack of sleep and an affinity for 19th-century literature. He lived in the Aeon Core’s penthouse suite, a self-imposed fortress of solitude.
"His only predictable pattern is his need for specific, high-end espresso beans sourced from a single farm in Colombia," Sarah noted, pointing at the screen.
Vance raised a cynical eyebrow. "A genius with a habit. The oldest story in the book. Have someone monitor the supply chain. We’ll find a way in."
In Geneva, Aris felt the subtle shift in the air pressure. A high-intelligence mind is acutely attuned to its environment. The world around him had changed from indifference to intense observation. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he felt the digital eyes upon him.
He was working on an essay about the ethical framework of artificial intelligence, drawing parallels between Asimov's Laws and ancient philosophical ethics. He paused, his pen hovering above the paper.
"Janus, run a level-four sweep of our network perimeter," Aris commanded softly.
"Scanning," the AI replied. "Minor, non-invasive probes detected. Appears to be low-level governmental interest, likely US in origin."
"Low-level?" Aris scoffed. He knew the signature of state intelligence when he saw it. They were sophisticated but sloppy. "They’re watching."
He smiled faintly. It was invigorating, a new puzzle. They sought to understand him by breaking him down into predictable components, but they couldn't grasp that his intelligence wasn't a singular entity; it was a conversation between two modes of thought.
He turned his attention back to the essay, but his focus fragmented. The observer effect was real. Just by knowing he was being watched, his behavior changed. He was no longer just a scientist or an artist; he was now a target, a variable in someone else’s equation.
He needed to control the narrative. If the intelligence agencies wanted to study him, he would give them something to study—but it would be a carefully curated performance.
He put down the pen and walked over to his technology desk. He began typing code with ferocious speed, building a complex series of encrypted data packets designed not to hide his work, but to overtly advertise the next phase of his research: A global, decentralized information network that would render all state surveillance obsolete.
He was baiting the trap. He would use their fear of the Architect to protect the Poet, and vice versa.
The game had begun, and for the first time in his life, Aris Thorne had the feeling that his next novel wouldn't be fiction at all. It would be a manual.
No comments:
Post a Comment