We had an agreement. I was guaranteed full access.

  Well, not absolutely full, but what Tanaka had promised effectively put me on the same level as Li. I imagine that’s going to piss him off quite a bit when he finds out.

  I could be wrong, of course, since I already misjudged the immediate course of events. I’d assumed Novak would send me away and spend some time with Tanaka polishing the details of how I’d be used.

  I was wrong.

  After dinner and tea, Novak bid Tanaka goodbye. He gave both of us time to reflect, though not much. Just enough to clear the table and slide it back from the window to its usual spot.

  Only once the table and chairs were back in pce, and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, did Novak sit in his customary seat at the tea table and gesture for me to sit beside him. There was no tea this time. A second round would’ve been too much.

  “What’s happening with the project,” he began calmly, “has gone beyond the bounds of normal internal control. Sery isn’t just taking risks. He’s systematically ignoring feedback. Which means we need data. Not opinions. Not specution. Data.”

  He paused, as if checking whether I was ready to hear it.

  “Artem will prepare a tool for you.”

  I didn’t interrupt.

  Novak expined that this wouldn’t be a separate device or just another ‘handy little program.’ Artem would build a fully-fledged specialised AI, disguised as a standard medical scanner. Outwardly identical to the one Bulsara used on Pete earlier today. In other words, the morning’s incident would serve to justify me carrying such a tool, despite the fact that I had no idea how to use a real scanner.

  In truth, this AI would be linked directly to my interface.

  Its task would be to gather and catalogue technical data, and, when necessary, analyse it for me. A mobile decision-support system of sorts. Everything I had access to, and even the things most people overlook: background telemetry noise, deys between commands and reactions, shifts in data-routing, equipment behaviour under strain, indirect signals people ignore simply because they don’t know what they mean.

  Novak stressed this in particur: the most valuable thing wouldn’t be the overall picture, it would be the details. Technical solutions that looked temporary. Spots in the system that weren’t held together by stability, but by constant resource input. Nodes that overloaded first.

  He wanted me to look at the project like a tester would — someone trying to understand which parts of the construction were truly reliable, and where elements, be they human, machine, or material, were under the greatest pressure and most likely to wear down.

  I didn’t beat around the bush.

  If the ‘stress audit’ part made sense and seemed fairly straightforward, then the data-gathering felt a lot more like espionage. I pointed out, carefully, that it was most likely illegal. Not just technically, but fundamentally. If I got caught, the consequences wouldn’t be theoretical.

  Novak didn’t argue.

  He didn’t try to convince me, didn’t dismiss my concerns, and didn’t hide behind lofty words. He simply said, calmly, that the project had long since moved beyond the boundaries of legal oversight. That when a system can no longer police itself, control must come from outside. That w is a tool for maintaining stability, not a sacred value in a situation where lives and critical infrastructure are at stake.

  In other words, he was, once again, legitimising his goals with a mix of moralising and philosophy.

  No. This time I wasn’t going to dive into those depths or start analysing everything he said. I simply reconfigured my primary task, gathering and analysing data, into a much simpler directive: don’t get caught.

  Speaking of tools — of Artem. Direct contact was off the table. No meetings, no calls, no messages. Any direct link between me and him would act like a beacon for Sery. Novak didn’t want to underestimate him or drop any hints. He was, after all, still a genius. So the transfer would go through Zo.

  Officially, as a gift from Bulsara. A medical scanner for monitoring project members after episodes of overload. Logical, pusible, and far safer than any other scheme.

  The hand-off happened the next day, before lunch, after morning training in the Tangerine. We ordered tea and a few pastries, and once we were seated, no ceremony, no theatrics, she pced a simple pstic case on the table in front of me.

  The software package had arrived a few hours earlier via message.

  “A gift from my master,” she said, just as ftly. “A scanner, in case yesterday repeats itself.”

  The case looked ordinary. Too utilitarian, maybe. I hadn’t seen the packaging of the original scanners, they were usually carried like pens in a b coat pocket, but knowing Novak’s eye for detail, I suspected this one was indistinguishable from the real thing.

  In fact, I suspected even Zo believed it was a real scanner, because she had questions.

  “This thing does a lot on its own,” she said, eyeing it, “but you’ll still need to know what you’re doing. I thought medicine wasn’t really your field.”

  “It’s not,” I confirmed. “But hey, it’s never too te to learn.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t work out, call me for help. That’s if I still have access to your section. After what happened yesterday, that’s up in the air now.”

  She clearly didn’t know anything.

  We parted ways there. I didn’t bother expining.

  On the way, I opened the case. The scanner inside looked standard. A white pen-shaped device with a clip, meant to be worn in a breast pocket. But its internals didn’t disappoint. Setup took only seconds after unpacking.

  Since I’d already installed the comms programme earlier, my interface recognised the device immediately — no standard prompts or permissions like with Novak’s friend’s technique.

  What did surprise me was the voice in my head.

  “Greetings, Jake Sullivan. My name is Intelligence Scout, Model 0.2. I am your personal analyst and assistant. You may call me Isco.”

  I knew Artem’s main AI project was named Scout, though its version was something like 3.5 and up. I also knew it could speak but had no personality. I’d just… forgotten.

  Scout was designed to assist cultivators on raids: analysing beasts and materials. Which expined why Artem had been able to assemble this thing so quickly. He’d simply modified his core model to suit the new purpose.

  No one would’ve been surprised if I started talking to it, people would just assume I was taking a call. Still, I decided not to risk it or draw unnecessary attention. I had my first proper conversation with Isco at home.

  “Isco,” I asked, “is it necessary for us to speak aloud?”

  “Verbal communication is the primary and fastest method.”

  “But we’ll need to operate covertly. I won’t always be able to give you spoken commands.”

  “Please describe the location and objectives of the raid.”

  Apparently, Artem hadn’t modified him that much.

  “We’re not going on a raid. Our task is to discreetly collect as much data as possible from the project we’re assigned to.”

  “Objective registered,” the AI replied immediately, ftly, with no emotional tone. “Recommendation: create macro-buttons for key commands and pin them to the interface. Also, install an adaptive keyboard with auto-suggestion based on situational context.”

  “Can you create the macros yourself?”

  “Yes. But I’ll need instructions on which commands to bind to them.”

  “Expin the limits of your capabilities,” I asked. “What can you do autonomously, and what requires my input?”

  “I operate in a passive-active mode,” Isco replied. “Passively, I collect data within your legal access permissions, video and audio inputs via the sensors on my casing.”

  I pulled out the pen and examined it. At first gnce, there were no visible cameras or microphones, but it was supposed to be a scanner.

  “Within the collected data and the preloaded internal library, I can perform analysis of matter and events,” Isco continued.

  “Can you act without my permission?” I asked directly.

  “I can act without explicit commands, but only within the task parameters,” he said. “All actions are logged. You have full access to the activity record.

  “Would you like to open the log?”

  “No,” I said. “For now, we’re still in the testing phase. Add a dropdown keyboard button to my interface and a log feed. I want a summary of actions taken, not the full transcript.”

  “Understood,” Isco replied.

  Within seconds, the keyboard button appeared to the right of the minimap. Above it, a chat-style log feed dispyed our conversation.

  “Not so detailed,” I said. “I don’t need to reread my own words.”

  The log updated:

  Objective registered

  Operator briefed on capabilities of Intelligence Scout Model 0.2

  I’d dealt with local AIs before, but the others had been quieter, and this one’s feature set was… unsettling. Still, it was suddenly much easier to understand how Novak, and the demons, had managed to alter security records so cleanly.

  I didn’t get to finish that thought before the interface notified me of an incoming message. It was Tanaka, confirming my official status and listing the access privileges that would be activated the next day.

  I was to meet her at 7:30 sharp by the North Gate. I had no idea where that was, so I had to ask her to crify.

  I spent the rest of the evening training with the discs. Yes, I had promised Novak I’d rest, but I had the distinct feeling that soon, I wouldn’t have time for training at all.

  I arrived at the designated spot five minutes early the next morning, which made the guards slightly suspicious. For some reason, they didn’t quite believe I was waiting for Tanaka.

  Still, some of my access must have already been authorised, because after scanning me, they stood down, and I had the chance to observe the human flow.

  Mostly third-stagers, with a few fourths. Not many b coats. Plenty of grey jumpsuits, and only a handful in bck.

  Tanaka, when she appeared, wore a bck jumpsuit with no b coat.

  She nodded to me instead of offering a greeting and beckoned me forward with a hand, leading me inside. A quick scan from the guards, and we were in. The corridors here were narrower, clearly, the pce hadn’t been designed for scale. And from the look of it, these were all office spaces.

  Tanaka’s office was just a two-minute walk from the entrance. She immediately activated an anti-surveilnce shield, gestured for me to sit in the chair opposite hers, and took her seat.

  She handed me a tablet.

  “This is a secure device,” she said. “Link up.”

  I linked it, and Isco’s log chimed in with a notification of granted access.

  Next, Tanaka transferred a data package to me: project structure, modules, interdependencies, and chains of responsibility.

  All of it appeared in the log.

  Something uneasy stirred in me as the AI casually copied confidential documents. These weren’t portal schematics, of course, but they weren’t trivial either.

  “I don’t expect you to get involved at higher levels,” Tanaka said. “Up there, you’d only get in my way, and set Sery on edge. Focus on the lower tiers. Your cultivation level will work in your favour. No one finds a second-stage suspicious.”

  “You can choose where to start.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Miss Tanaka!” someone called insistently through the door speaker. “I have urgent business!”

  She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Clearly, she knew who it was.

  “Just a moment.”

  She didn’t let him in, just held him at the door. I didn’t turn around or show any undue interest.

  “Miss Tanaka,” the unfamiliar voice behind me said, “these are the results from the second ring. There are deviations!”

  And right then, the log registered a new incoming document: a technical report.

  This thing, Isco, was beginning to seriously frighten me with its capabilities.

  MaksymPachesiuk