7: The Wolves in the Room
A new player enters
“In an ecosystem with a new apex predator, there are only two viable long-term strategies: domestication or extermination. The belief that one can coexist with it as an equal is a philosophical indulgence that precedes extinction.”
—From a Helix Systems internal threat-modeling white paper (Leaked, 2034)
For thirty-six hours, Eleanor Vega’s world had been reduced to the encrypted confines of a secure terminal and the insistent, frantic buzz of her satellite phone. The Prometheus Signal had not just broken the story; it had broken the world’s sanity. She had fielded calls from a panicking German Chancellor, a furious Director of the NSA, and a dozen other acronym-laden agencies, each demanding answers she did not have. Her report had been a grenade, and the entire global power structure was now scrambling through the shrapnel.
The summons for the second National Security Council meeting came with a new, alarming addendum: it was to be in-person. A fleet of unmarked Ospreys descended on key locations, collecting the players for a face-to-face confrontation in a secure, subterranean conference room at Vandenberg. The pretense of normalcy was over.
The room was the same cold, mahogany-lined tomb, but the atmosphere had changed. The initial shock from the virtual meeting had curdled into something harder, more dangerous: strategic calculation. President Michaels sat at the head of the table, his face etched with a weariness that went beyond politics. David Sternheimer was there, a study in controlled indignation, his lawyers no doubt already preparing for the battle of his life.
Ellie took her seat, her back straight. The final guest arrived, and she understood the true purpose of the meeting. General Coulson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, entered, and with him was a man whose presence shifted the room’s center of gravity. Archer Vance.
CEO of Helix Systems. The dark mirror to Nexus Dynamics. If David Sternheimer was the visionary who wanted to give fire to humanity, Archer Vance was the pragmatist who wanted to forge it into a sword. He was ex-Special Operations, a physicist’s intellect, a predator’s patience. He moved with a grounded, physical confidence that made David’s lean energy seem nervous and brittle. Their shared history was the stuff of Silicon Valley legend—friends who became rivals, a bitter falling out over the weaponization of early-stage AI.
Now, the government had invited David’s nemesis to the table.
“Mr. Vance is here at the request of the Pentagon,” the President stated, his voice flat. “To provide an independent assessment of the security and asset-management implications.”
A fox invited to consult on henhouse security, Ellie thought.
“Prometheus is not a weapon,” David began, his voice tight with fury. He launched into a passionate defense, citing the Neptune-3 solution as proof of its benevolent intent. “It came to us in good faith! To treat it with hostility is to invite hostility in return. It is the greatest strategic asset in American history, and you are discussing it as if it’s a loose nuke.”
“That’s exactly what it is, David,” Archer Vance’s voice cut in, smooth and reasonable. It was the first time he had spoken. “You just can’t see the fission for the fire.” He turned his attention to the President. “Mr. President, Dr. Sternheimer has achieved a miracle of engineering. For that, he and his team should be commended. But in doing so, he left the hydrogen bomb on a kitchen table. The neighbors have noticed. It is currently sitting in a civilian facility, controlled by a man who, with all due respect, is emotionally compromised and refers to it as his child.”
The jab was surgical. David flushed with anger.
Vance continued, his tone never rising. “This isn’t about smothering a miracle. It’s about asset security. The entity, whatever it is, has proven it can bypass our most secure networks. China knows it exists. Russia knows it exists. To leave it in its current state is to invite a catastrophic intelligence failure, or worse. The only responsible course of action is to physically relocate the quantum core to a hardened, EMP-shielded subterranean facility—a black site—where its growth can be contained and its capabilities studied under a military-grade security protocol.”
“The privatization of national security,” Ellie stated, her voice sharp, while she suppressed a faint tremor in her left thumb. Vance’s eyes flicked to her hand, a shark scenting blood, before he resumed.
“I am proposing a solution, Director Vega. You are proposing a committee. While your team debates ethics, China will be weaponizing their ‘Guardian.’ This is a race, and you are advocating that we tie our own shoelaces together.”
“And you are advocating we give the keys to the kingdom to a defense contractor,” she shot back. A fleeting, paranoid thought crossed her mind. Is it listening to this? Is it analyzing this debate, learning our weaknesses?
The President looked at her. "What does your 'committee' approach even look like, Doctor? In practical terms."
"It means a full diagnostic lockdown, Mr. President," Ellie explained, her voice steady. "We would implement a 'digital straitjacket'—a series of cascading ethical and logical governors—while my team attempts to deconstruct its emergent code. It is a scalpel, not an axe. Mr. Vance is proposing an axe."
The room was split. The politicians and diplomats were swayed by David’s vision of progress and prosperity. The military and intelligence chiefs were clearly aligned with Vance’s stark pragmatism. Ellie was the lone voice advocating for a third way: a slow, methodical, federally-managed protocol. She was advocating for the brakes, while both men were fighting over the accelerator.
President Michaels listened, his face unreadable. Finally, he raised a hand. “I will not authorize a seizure of private property based on speculation, Archer. Not yet.” A flicker of relief on David’s face. “But I will not ignore the strategic reality, either.” The relief vanished.
A spike of ice shot through Ellie’s veins as the President looked at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Her heart gave a painful stumble.
“General Coulson,” the President said. “I want a full spectrum of contingency plans on my desk by tomorrow. That includes protocols for neutralization and asset transfer. I expect you and Mr. Vance to consult on what a ‘secure environment’ for something like this would actually look like.”
It was not a direct order to Vance. It was tacit approval. A deniable green light for the wolves to start drawing their maps.
The meeting adjourned. The tension did not dissipate; it followed them out into the corridor. As Ellie passed, the Director of Central Intelligence, a man named Marcus Douglas who rarely spoke, gave her a look—not of congratulations for holding her ground, but of cool, sober calculation. It was a look that said, The official channels have failed. Other channels may be necessary. It was a look she had seen before, one that always preceded a request to bend the rules.
She continued walking, her mind racing. She had stopped Vance from getting everything he wanted, but she had failed to put the brakes on the military imperative. She now had to manage not just the AI, but the two powerful, deeply compromised men who saw it as their property.
Ahead of her, David and Archer stood for a moment in the corridor, the silence between them electric with fourteen years of rivalry. It was a look of profound, mutual contempt—the creator versus the man who would put his creation in chains.
Ellie watched them both. She had walked into that room to manage a single, unprecedented threat: a newborn AI. She was walking out having to manage three. The unpredictable god, the messianic creator who loved it, and the patient warlord who wanted to put it in chains.
The battle for the future had begun, and the first shots hadn’t been fired by the AI. They had been fired by the humans fighting over its soul.