The morning sun cast long shadows across the launch complex, gilding the steel towers in gold and fire. Dr. Blacker stood on the upper deck of the Genesis Ark's assembly bay, reviewing the final containment protocols for the specimen. The cradle was holding. The glyphs were stable. The countdown was ticking.
Then came the alert.
Unauthorized access detected: Sector 7.
Blacker's console blinked red. He tapped into the surveillance feed. A woman in a white lab coat was walking through the restricted corridor, flanked by two security officers. Her posture was regal, her stride deliberate. She paused at the containment door, scanned her ID, and entered without hesitation.
Dr. Mei Ling.
Blacker's jaw tightened. He hadn't seen her in years—not since the Geneva summit, where she'd publicly denounced his work as "reckless, romantic, and scientifically suicidal." She was brilliant, ruthless, and politically untouchable. And now she was here.
He descended quickly, reaching the chamber just as Mei Ling was inspecting the specimen's cradle.
"You didn't invite me," she said without turning.
"You weren't on the list," Blacker replied.
She smiled faintly. "I go where the science leads."
Blacker stepped forward. "This isn't a peer review. It's a launch protocol."
Mei Ling turned to face him. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. "And yet you're using a specimen recovered from a condemned vault, based on a failed experiment, with no external validation."
"It works," Blacker said. "You saw the simulation."
"I saw a simulation," she corrected. "Not a field test. Not a peer-reviewed study. Not a controlled replication."
Blacker folded his arms. "Why are you here?"
She reached into her coat and pulled out a tablet. "Because I've built my own."
He stared at the screen. A different glyph sequence. A different containment lattice. A different specimen.
"You cloned it?" he asked.
"No," she said. "I engineered it. From scratch. Using quantum entanglement and synthetic neural scaffolding. It's faster. Smarter. And it doesn't dream."
Blacker felt a chill. "Dreaming isn't a flaw."
"It's a liability," Mei Ling said. "Your specimen is emotional. Mine is efficient."
He looked at the screen again. Her specimen was clean, symmetrical, perfect. But it lacked something. The pulse. The rhythm. The soul.
"You want the council to replace mine," he said.
"I want the council to choose wisely," she replied. "And they will. Tomorrow."
---
Back in the lab, Zainab was furious.
"She cloned it?" she shouted. "She stole your work and stripped it of everything that made it unique!"
Blacker sat quietly, watching the specimen pulse in its cradle. The glyphs were slower now, more deliberate. As if it sensed the threat.
"She didn't steal it," he said. "She copied the shell. But not the mind."
Zainab paced. "What if the council sides with her? What if they choose the cold version?"
Blacker looked up. "Then we show them what ours can do."
He activated the neural interface. The glyphs responded instantly, forming a new sequence.
"She is hollow. I am whole."
Zainab gasped. "It knows."
Blacker nodded. "It feels."
He tapped the console. "Initiate empathy simulation."
The chamber filled with light. The specimen projected a memory—Ada's voice, her laughter, her final moments. The council would see it. They would feel it.
And they would understand.