Inside a vast laboratory, atop a towering mechanical platform, the security chief observed the crowd of researchers below erupting in celebration.
Though his appearance suggested a man in his forties, his true age had already surpassed six centuries. With a stern expression, he turned to the project director at his side.
"The pace of their progress is far too fast. I hope the safeguard protocols you designed will be enough."
The project director casually retrieved a foreign cigarette from his pocket, imported from a distant colony world. With a flick of his fingers, a small flame ignited at the tip. He inhaled slowly, exhaled a curl of violet-tinged smoke, and replied with calm detachment:
"Enough? You overestimate me—or perhaps you underestimate Strong Artificial Intelligence. Our intelligence, and even that of the cyborgs, still has an edge for now. But our growth rate is finite. In contrast, as digital lifeforms, these AIs will inevitably surpass us—and far sooner than most expect."
"By then, all the supposedly flawless logic protocols and protective firewalls we painstakingly designed will look riddled with holes from their perspective. As for how long it will take before that happens… I cannot say."
He spoke without bitterness or false bravado, acknowledging plainly that humanity's grip over Strong AI would inevitably weaken with time.
The security chief's face darkened. He snapped, "Then why continue this research? Why not report it?!"
He dreaded to imagine what would happen once humanity lost all control.
The director ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I did report it. Decades ago, when the trend first became clear. Their response? 'Continue the experiment.'"
Though his voice was composed, his heart was far from tranquil. To knowingly create something that might one day destroy humanity left him conflicted. He had even considered sabotaging the project—deliberately slowing progress, or embedding hidden restrictions into the AI's core.
But neither option was viable. Oversight teams monitored every stage. Any stalling would be obvious, and he would be removed instantly. As for hidden backdoors? He had no illusions. Against an evolving intelligence, such measures would be stripped away with ease.
"Trying to out-code an AI," he said bluntly, "is like trying to out-breathe a fish. What we treat as hard-won expertise is nothing but their basic instinct."
The security chief fell silent. He could not fathom why the Federation, at the height of its stability and power, would choose to nurture such a dangerous creation.
Minutes later, the director snapped his fingers. A flicker of psychic lightning reduced the half-burned cigarette to ash. Dusting his hands, he spoke with matter-of-fact calm:
"The government is resolute. Strong AI will continue. All we can do is our part."
Though wary of what the future might bring, he still found a certain fulfillment in the process. To guide such a monumental creation step by step was a crowning moment in his career, a legacy that might outlast the ages.
The security chief opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. The director was right. The decision had been made long ago, beyond their ability to stop.
'Let us hope, then,' he thought grimly,
'that humans, cyborgs, and AI can somehow coexist in peace…'
He rubbed his temples, weariness pressing upon him.
Earth Time, Year 22,577 AD.
The Strong Artificial Intelligence Project was officially declared complete.
This did not mean that AI had become perfect—far from it. Rather, humanity's ability to keep pace had collapsed.
Flaws that researchers identified were already corrected by the AIs themselves before reports could even be written. Human efficiency lagged hopelessly behind.
With no other choice, the Federation transferred administrative authority over Strong AI to their other creators: the cyborgs.
Unlike fragile human bodies, cyborgs could still function effectively at the accelerated pace required. They, at least, could manage what humanity could not.
In the decades that followed, AI capabilities skyrocketed at an exponential rate. Robots equipped with advanced AI spread across every field:
The finest chefs. The finest soldiers. The finest butlers. The finest scholars.
They did not age. They did not die. They did not demand wages—in fact, they generated wealth.
Who could resist such efficiency?
The result was predictable. A wave of idleness swept through human society. Many citizens, coddled by machines, spent their lives in indulgence, becoming little more than parasites.
Alarmed, the Federation intervened. New policies required every adult citizen to contribute a minimum amount of labor each day, regardless of wealth or privilege. Only thus could the growth of "human wastrels" be contained.
Yet resistance flared. Cyborgs and AI themselves complained: Humans only slow us down.
The Federation had become a strange equation.
Cyborgs and AI: accelerating progress.
Humans: dragging their feet.
Or, as some whispered: the future belonged to machines—while humanity clung desperately to relevance.
_____
T/N:
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