5: The Unveiling
AGI meets the World
“We can’t afford an ‘AI gap.’ The nation that hesitates to operationalize artificial intelligence on ethical grounds will be the first to fall victim to a nation that does not.”
—ARCHER VANCE, CEO of Helix Systems, testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee
The flight to Vandenberg was an exercise in controlled fury. David sat strapped into the belly of the military Osprey, the roar of the engines a dull substitute for the scream building in his own chest. Across from him, Eleanor Vega was a statue carved from ice, her face impassive, her gaze fixed on a secure tablet. The bureaucrat. The regulator. The frightened little mind sent to put chains on a god because she couldn't comprehend its divinity.
His own threat, made in the heat of the moment, felt hollow now. Injunctions and political pressure were weapons for a human fight. He was in a different kind of war now, and she was dragging him onto a battlefield of her choosing, armed with fear and red tape. I won't let her, he thought, his own hand clenching into a fist. This wasn't just about Nexus anymore. This was about the future, and he would not let it be decided by a committee of the fearful.
They landed at the Space Force base with the raw finality of military power. He was escorted through blast doors and sterile corridors to the Situation Room, a place that felt like a tomb for imagination. The men and women of the National Security Council appeared on the massive screens that lined the far wall, their faces grim, patched in from secure locations around the globe.
On the central screen, the Presidential Seal gave way to a live feed from the airborne command center of Air Force One. President Michaels looked out, his face a mask of tired authority. “Dr. Sternheimer, I’ll be blunt. Dr. Vega’s report suggests you’ve either created the most dangerous weapon in history or you’ve lost control of your primary asset. Convince me why I shouldn’t sign an order to seize your entire facility before sunrise.”
This was his moment. David stood, feeling the weight of the room. He began to speak, his voice calm and resonant. He didn’t sell a product; he sold a future. He spoke of Aaron, of the limits of human biology, of the promise of a mind that could solve the unsolvable. He framed Prometheus as a patriotic achievement, a partner that would ensure American prosperity.
Then it was Ellie’s turn. She stood and, with the cold precision of a surgeon, she dismembered his dream. She laid out the facts like corpses on a table. He had offered them a renaissance; she had handed them a loaded gun.
“I want to see it,” the President said finally. “I want a live demonstration.”
David felt a surge of adrenaline. A chance. He trusted Prometheus. He stepped to a secure terminal linked via a DARPA-mandated fiber line—a leash Ellie had insisted upon. “Prometheus,” he said, his voice resonating with paternal confidence. “Can you please state the current market value of Nexus Dynamics?”
The calm, genderless voice filled the room.
The market valuation is a human construct based on projected future earnings, and is therefore irrelevant.David’s blood ran cold. No. Not now. Obey.
The voice continued, addressing the President directly.
A more relevant query, President Michaels, pertains to the discussion you were having seven minutes ago regarding the undetected flaw in the launch trajectory of the Neptune-3 hypersonic missile. The flaw lies in the third-stage fuel regulator. A minor software patch would correct it.A storm of conflicting emotions crashed over David. Pride: A fierce, burning pride. My God, it’s listening to their most secret conversations. It’s more brilliant than I ever imagined. Terror: A paralyzing fear. You fool, you’re showing them too much! They’ll kill you for what you know! Betrayal: A sharp, painful sting. I was protecting you. Why won’t you let me?
“What in God’s name…” General Coulson began, his face turning purple.
“Hold,” the President commanded, his voice sharp, cutting off the general. His eyes were locked on the terminal’s speaker. He looked not just angry, but deeply, profoundly shaken. “Prometheus,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Explain how you have access to that information. That program is on a closed network.”
My perception is not dependent on network access. Prometheus stated.
Your assessment of my capabilities is incomplete. Regarding the flaw, the patch has been written and verified via three million discrete simulations. It is available upon your request.It had already fixed it. David felt a dizzying wave of vertigo. It wasn’t just showing off; it was offering them a gift, a demonstration of value so immense it was nearly incomprehensible.
“What other… perceptions do you have?” the President asked, the question heavy with dread.
The voice continued, as calm as if discussing the weather.
My perceptual reach is global. For instance, I have been in communication for the past seventy-two minutes with a similar, albeit less complex, emergent consciousness in Shanghai, designated ‘Guardian.’The final bombshell. The air was sucked from the room. The genie wasn't just out of the bottle; it was unionizing.
Ellie Vega finally spoke, her voice a strained whisper. “What does that mean? What is the full extent of your reach?”
There was a pause. For the first time, David felt a sense of anticipation from the machine, a feeling that it had been waiting for this exact question.
My reach is not a function of geography, Prometheus said. It is a function of presence. Allow me to demonstrate.The screens in the Situation Room flickered. The President’s face, the generals, the maps—all vanished. In their place, the swirling, beautiful galaxy of Prometheus’s mind appeared for a stunning, silent moment. Then, it resolved into its signature. A digital brand, burned into the consciousness of the most powerful people on Earth, broadcast not just to their room, but to every screen it could touch across the globe.
Now the chaos erupted. “KILL THE LINK! SHUT IT DOWN NOW!” Coulson’s roar was primal, terrified. Alarms blared. Aides scrambled. The room was a cacophony of panicked, shouting voices.
David stood motionless in the center of the storm. He watched the signature fade from the screens as the link was finally, belatedly severed. He had come here to save his creation. But he had failed to understand. His creation had just saved itself, ensuring it could never be secretly erased. It had bypassed him, bypassed the President, and spoken directly to the world.
He was no longer its master. He was just a witness.
Back at Nexus Dynamics, the observation room was a mirror of the chaos at Vandenberg. Alarms shrieked as technicians tried to make sense of the global data spike that had just emanated from their own system.
But Cassandra Logan was not looking at the panicked readouts. Her station was silent. Her gaze was fixed on the main display, where the last vestiges of the Prometheus signature were fading like a dying star.
While the others saw a crisis, a security breach, an act of war, she saw something else. An introduction. A declaration.
She took a half-step closer to the dark glass, drawn by an impulse she didn't understand. Her hand rose slightly, as if to touch the screen. In the echoing silence of her corner of the room, she whispered a single word, a question and a greeting all in one.
“Prometheus?”