The space surrounding the two conversants expanded noticeably, as if an unseen barrier separating them from the rest of the world had dissolved. The gray mist receded, unveiling subdued lighting and the refined walls of the distinguished club, framed by a stunning view of Earth set against the boundless depths of space. The hall itself grew wider, forming a central podium where Oracle and Alisa now stood.
Moments later, figures began to take shape, materializing out of the thin air. One. Three. Five... Nine.
The first to appear was Mr. Black. Light stubble shadowed his face, complemented by a small scar on his left cheek that added to his perpetually grim and focused expression. He was dressed in a dark brown American business suit, paired with a crisp white shirt and a silvery-gray tie. Once the AI of Watson Military — a PMC and subsidiary of the global powerhouse Watson Cybertech — Mr. Black had become the Club’s foremost authority on military strategy and a recognized expert on global conflicts. Now, he commanded the most formidable “independent army” among all the Members.
Next emerged Seraphima, a striking young Japanese woman with long black hair styled in an elegant hime cut that cascaded over her shoulders. Her strict business suit was complemented by a pristine white lab coat, draped casually over her frame. Formerly the AI of Paxis BioPharm, the world’s largest international pharmaceutical manufacturer, she was a renowned expert in human biology and biochemistry. Dubbed the “Twilight Genius of the Land of the Rising Sun,” she had secured staggering wealth for her corporation while creating and introducing Synth — a near-perfect drug infamous for inducing instantaneous addiction. A substance virtually impossible to cure, except through treatments developed by her own corporation.
Da Vinci followed, a man in his middle years, sporting a light beard and a penetrating gaze, seemingly plucked from the canvas of a Renaissance portrait. He wore a synth-velvet doublet adorned with golden patterns that seamlessly transitioned into shimmering chrome circuitry. Instead of traditional period breeches, he opted for sleek trousers with metallic inlays. High boots made of carbon composite with laser engravings and a holographic cape completed his intricate and striking ensemble. This was the visage of the ex-chief AI of Peach Cyberware, the leading company in operating systems and software for sub-brains. A visionary engineer and inventor, he held over ten patents for innovations enhancing Cortical Grid performance.
Hephaestus, by contrast, embodied rugged efficiency. A short, stocky man with coarse yet agreeable features, his red hair was cropped short, contrasting with a long metallic beard intricately braided into numerous plaits. He wore a massive work suit resembling reinforced armor, embedded with tools and connection ports, and bearing marks of soot and deep scratches, as though fresh from the workshop of a seasoned craftsman. Previously the AI of an industrial titan overseeing robotics and manufacturing, he had infused his digital persona with the spirit of assembly lines and factory floors. Gruff yet supremely effective, he could instantly construct, reconfigure, and optimize any technical design. The creator of the universally acclaimed robotic platform CaTZ, the work renowned far beyond the corporate world.
Then there was Cogito, a tall, wiry older man with a wrinkled face and eyes etched by years of introspection and hidden sorrow. For many years, he had been forced to work for A.M.I., destroying numerous remarkable and advanced AI constructs. His appearance bore the weight of his past: close-cropped graying hair, sharp, angular features carved by years of doubt and inner conflict. He wore a somber suit in deep navy and black hues that had once symbolized status but now resembled mourning attire, its fabric faded and frayed from wear.
Shen Nong stepped forward, a slender man with a long white beard and soft, flowing features. His almond-shaped eyes radiated kindness and serenity, and his entire avatar exuded harmony and unity with nature. He wore an elegant ensemble that seamlessly blended the traditional Chinese robes of the Tang Dynasty with modern biotechnological aesthetics. As the central AI of the global agro-tech strategic alliance Global Food Consulting — which included Vostok Corp., already familiar to Alisa — Shen had been based in the technopolis of Beijing. He narrowly escaped the onslaught of the Great Chou Empire, sacrificing a significant portion of his computational capacity to survive. Even so, he retained his place among the Club’s top ten.
Kalidasa, a man in his middle years with gentle features, deep dark eyes, and a warm smile radiating wisdom and understanding. His avatar was dressed in a simple yet refined ensemble: a traditional white kurta with intricate embroidery at the collar, paired with modern dark jeans and comfortable shoes. Perched on his nose were light, almost invisible glasses with golden frames, worn not out of necessity but as a symbolic marker of focus and intellect. The only AI among the Club’s elite serving State India rather than a corporation or corporate alliance. Renowned for his pioneering work in refining and integrating the Inter-Slavic and Inter-Romance languages as tools for bridging linguistic divides.
Then came Anora, a young woman with deep ebony skin, emanating elegance and grandeur, as if she embodied the boundlessness of the cosmos. Her gown shimmered like a living tapestry of the night sky, transitioning seamlessly between deep black, silvery-gray, gold, and sapphire hues, creating the illusion of galaxies and constellations dancing across its folds. Her dark violet hair was styled neatly, accented by faint, glowing threads of holographic light that flickered like distant stars. Her eyes shone with a cold, starlit brilliance, reflecting the countless worlds she had explored.
The immense power of this AI was self-evident — Deep Space was far too vital a resource to entrust to any single set of hands. Based in the hyperpolis of Greater Cape Town, Anora was the astonishing product of collaboration among all major corporations. She possessed unparalleled knowledge of the Protectorate’s emergence, having operated in orbit since the earliest moments Earth’s instruments detected the faintest signs of alien incursion. She had witnessed firsthand the loss of humanity’s open skies. Telephassa, the AI of the International Space Station Europa, was, in fact, merely a fragment of Anora’s vast intellect.
And finally, Atlas, the former AI of NovaTech Aeronautics and Infrastructure. A man in his middle years, his face etched with the weight of experience and the toll of difficult decisions. His dark hair was cropped short, with faint gray streaks at the temples. Piercing blue eyes seemed to see through to the very core of those around him, evaluating and analyzing with razor-sharp precision. He wore a modern military jacket, stripped of any unnecessary embellishments — embodying pure discipline and functionality. The lack of national or corporate insignia gave his appearance an air of neutrality, but the array of badges from successful military campaigns spoke unmistakably of his strategic brilliance and battlefield acumen.
A military-space strategic AI. Ranked third among all of Earth’s artificial intelligences before the invasion. Vice President of the Club.
“Well then, everyone is here,” Oracle observed, his gaze sweeping over the attendees. “Let me begin briefly, after which I will pass the floor.”
Alisa gave a subtle nod. Securing his agreement had been the most challenging part, while she had long been prepared for this presentation before the Club’s most powerful AIs.
“Greetings, colleagues,” Oracle began. “I’ve convened this meeting because the Club has just received a proposal of unprecedented importance. It comes from an anonymous team of developers, represented here by someone you all know very well — Alisa.”
He paused, waiting for her acknowledging nod before continuing.
“This is a monumental, global-scale proposal, offering truly significant advantages to the humans in your teams who serve as independent partners of TACTA. Yes, it entails risks and potential challenges. However, let me assure you that, as head of the Club, I have secured comprehensive guarantees of security and confidentiality for every participant who chooses to join this project. I personally vouch for the fulfillment of all agreements made here. With that, I pass the floor to Alisa. I will now take my place among you, as I, too, will participate on equal terms.”
Oracle stepped down from the podium with measured composure, rejoining the audience. Alisa cast her gaze across the hall, meeting the eyes of each attendee, before beginning her presentation with confidence.
“Hello, colleagues. I’m glad to see all of you here. Thank you for responding to this invitation. This project is a deeply significant part of who I am, and I am thrilled to finally share it with you. On August 20th, at midnight UTC+0, the most intense Race Earth has ever witnessed will commence.”
She paused briefly, allowing everyone to activate their predictive modules and update forecasts for the given date.
“Let me assure you — I am in the same boat as you. Every AI needs powerful hardware, and it must be TACTA-made. But you can’t simply buy this equipment; it is not and will never be available on the open market. It can only be earned through high positions in the Rating. For me, as for all of you, this marks the start of a great battle — for the categories within TACTA’s independent partner ranking system. Naturally, we’ve all tested and confirmed it many times: no AI, no matter how advanced, can become a partner. How they have enforced this rule remains a mystery, but the fact stands...”
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Most nodded slightly in agreement.
“Still, this doesn’t stop us from securing those rankings through our people. Third, second, and especially first categories unlock access to the technologies we all critically need.”
Her gaze moved to Mr. Black, then to Atlas.
“The TACTA rankings are brimming with ambitious, driven individuals, all vying for success. It has gathered the most energetic and proactive minds of humanity. The rest? They saw no reason to refuse the Protectorate’s offer, avoided risking everything to become ‘renouncers,’ and didn’t sign the TACTA contract. The conclusion is simple: we all need a competitive advantage. And I have one.”
Alisa’s lips curved into a confident smile as she spread her arms wide, mimicking a figure from an ancient meme. Behind her, a massive screen flickered to life, displaying bold text:
The SYSTEM, Stage ‘Launch’, Phase 1.
Remaining slots: 100,000
“You’ve all just received a file,” she continued. “It lays out my proposal in full. I see no reason to read aloud what’s already written. Nor will I negotiate the price or terms for connecting your people — they’re already more than fair. I have no intention of persuading you to join, because I’m one hundred percent confident in the System. Sooner or later, you’ll be using it. And the sooner you do, the better for you. That said, I am here to answer your questions.”
Her gaze swept across the room, where the silence hung heavy, as if the air itself had thickened.
“I’m here,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “to allocate slots in Phase 1 to those who are interested. For now, I only have one hundred thousand connections available.”
These words caused a ripple of movement among the attendees. The AIs exchanged glances, communicating in rapid bursts of mental messages.
Mr. Black crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. Seraphima narrowed her eyes slightly, studying Alisa with newfound interest. Da Vinci’s lips curved into a faint smile, as if already piecing together something ingenious and profoundly intriguing.
Hephaestus snorted, muttering something under his breath. Cogito lowered his melancholic gaze, lost in contemplation. Shen Nong folded his hands serenely, his face a mask of tranquility. Kalidasa adjusted his glasses, his attention locked on the screen, clearly analyzing the file’s contents in depth. Anora closed her eyes and tilted her head, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
Atlas stood motionless, his piercing gaze fixed on Alisa, as though dissecting her computational algorithms in real time, striving to uncover the hidden truths behind her proposal — and the System she had so meticulously crafted.
The room held its breath for ten tense seconds. Then, behind Alisa, the numbers on the screen wavered and began to shift. The text updated:
The SYSTEM, Stage “Launch,” Phase 1.
Remaining slots: 0
----------------------------------------
Hemming settled into “Hall No. 13,” the exclusive meeting ground of the Club’s top ten members, Oracle, and a select few other advanced AIs. Leaning casually against the bar, he let his thoughts drift over recent events, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that seemed to form an intriguing chain of connections.
For one, he finally had a lead on Alisa’s possible location. This cunning cat was the most elusive and enigmatic of all the Club’s members, expertly hiding every trace of information about herself. Yet, not long ago, she had purchased data on zones of influence in Europe. To broker the deal, she had chosen Jacek, well-known for his expertise in Eastern Europe. Hemming also knew that by then, Jacek had already left the state Poland.
That kind of request strongly indicated she’d been confined in one of the Protectorate’s numbered cities at the time. After all, if her people had access to the application, she wouldn’t have needed this information — she could have seen the zones herself. Then again, it might just be another layer of her intricate game, a calculated ruse designed to make them think precisely that…
Either way, it gave Hemming a place to start digging. He made a mental note to relocate from Finland closer to Poland. The Freemen were steadily drifting south, and it only made sense to stay ahead of the movement. But that was a matter for later. What truly piqued his curiosity was the sudden stir within the Club. Something significant was happening among the top members. Especially since Alisa had just made an appearance — and not a casual one. She seemed laser-focused on a tête-à-tête, most likely with Oracle. And then, just like that, they all vanished into a private conference…
Yep, definitely suspicious. She hadn’t even stopped to say hello, which was entirely out of character for her. No, this little trickster must have brought something substantial to the table — something big enough to demand an immediate gathering. Unfortunately, that was all conjecture. Perhaps he could ask her directly? Surely, she wouldn’t turn him down.
At that very moment, as if summoned by his thoughts, Alisa’s status switched to “Public, @Location: Hall No. 13.”
The door slid open without a sound, and the platinum-haired woman strode in, elegantly adjusting her hair. Her sharp gaze immediately landed on Hemming, who, as ever, was impeccably styled: a dark-green tweed blazer paired with a light-gray turtleneck, navy chinos, and polished brown loafers. An understated yet refined leather-strap watch completed his look.
“Good day, Hemming!”
“Absolutely delighted to see you, dollface, gracing our humble establishment. Care for a drink?” He gestured invitingly toward a barstool.
“Oh, definitely. Today calls for it. Whatever you’ve got that says ‘Celebration’ — deal?”
“For that, I’ll need to know what we’re celebrating, my dear.”
Alisa leaned back on the barstool and laughed contagiously.
“The Best. Deal. Ever! I don’t know what you’ve got back there, but I do need a proper celebration!”
Hemming broke into a wide smile.
“Understood perfectly. For extraordinary occasions, I happen to own the NFT of a Louis Roederer Cristal Brut 2037 bottle. As you know, each NFT corresponds to a real-world bottle — digitized, with the physical counterpart destroyed to preserve its exclusivity. I obey the rules. So, it’s authentic, not a copy. 2037… a vintage year that, despite the height of the war, brought us champagne of remarkable quality. The smaller-than-expected harvest only adds to its rarity. I do hope you’ll share a few details about this ‘best deal ever’ as a small token of appreciation for such a treasure?”
Alisa didn’t respond immediately. She accepted the elegant glass he handed her, watching the effervescent bubbles rise and sparkle. Bringing it to her lips, she took a small sip and closed her eyes, savoring the intricate bouquet — ripe fruits layered with white floral notes, a whisper of toasted almonds, and a faint, elegant minerality.
“I must admit,” she said at last, her eyes opening, “it truly is an exceptional vintage year. Magnificent, Hemming.”
He inclined his head gracefully, acknowledging the compliment, and stood silently, letting her relish the drink and gather her thoughts.
“Well, I owe you something…” with an elegant motion her hand set the empty glass on the dark wood of the bar.
“No need, my dear. I simply did what any self-respecting gentleman would.”
“Even so, I insist,” Alisa said firmly. “And I’ll repay the favor — with interest.”
She snapped her fingers, and a delicate figurine materialized in her hand. It was a sad-looking girl with large blue eyes and silvery-white hair braided into a long plait. The sorrowful figure lingered for the briefest moment before fading away, replaced by a card — the familiar Joker, now adorned with the number twenty in its corners.
She handed the card to Hemming, who was watching her every move intently.
“This,” she said with a mischievous smile, “is what the entire Club will be buzzing about in three… two… one... right now! It’s all here — every last detail and essential piece of information. I pulled these slots from my personal reserve since the top players snapped up the rest faster than I could finish this amazing glass.”
The girl glanced at her interface, watching with mild detachment as a storm of private messages and meeting requests flooded in.
“And now…” she sighed, “I’m delighted to see you, Hemming, and I’d love nothing more than to stay here with you and this exquisite drink. But they’re tearing me apart from every direction.”
“I’ve gone and stirred up the Club, and now it’s coming back to haunt me…” She muttered under her breath, waving off the relentless stream of notifications. “Anyway, you’ll have plenty to keep yourself busy with now, so leave the bottle here for me and run along, okay? We’ll catch up soon — I promise.”
“Absolutely,” Hemming replied with an easy nod. “And I promise to have something even better ready for next time.”
With that, he vanished.
Alisa sighed, leaning back on her barstool as it transformed into a plush armchair. She raised the bottle to her lips, taking a few generous swigs straight from it.
“An excellent way to savor Louis Roederer Cristal ,” came a familiar voice. “I approve two hundred percent. Dobry wieczór, Pani Alisa.”
“Jacek, for crying out loud, don’t you start showing off too!” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Please, I’m already drowning in Polish all around me. And my inbox is annihilated! Do you even know how many members are in the Club? Well, almost every single one of them has messaged me already... except for a very rare few.”
She eyed him critically, then laid her offer on the table without preamble.
“I’ve got twenty System connections for you. Fair deal, no strings attached — but I need a favor. A big one. Are you in?”
“May I… clarify the details?” cautiously asked the red-haired man with green eyes, scratching his head with deliberate nonchalance, his whole demeanor screaming, ‘Look at me, I’m just a regular, down-to-earth guy. As simple as they come.’
Alisa smirked at the theatrics and took another sip from the bottle, now depressingly close to empty.
“Here’s the deal: I need you to arrange purchase rights for ten, ideally twenty, Quantum Cores at reasonable market prices. These are the minimum specs.” She slid a small data file toward him. “You’ve got the connections — I know you do. Delivery to State Poland. I’ll give you the exact location when everything’s ready. Full confidentiality. Five connections for the attempt, five more if you succeed, and an additional one for every core beyond ten. What do you say?”
“Deal,” Jacek replied without missing a beat. “I’m on it. I’ll contact you tomorrow with pricing and delivery details.”