The big heist only hit a snag near the end. I’d gone to work like normal and completed my assigned tasks. Most of them were rather boring; they were tasks too nonlinear for a bot to handle but not worth a researcher’s expensive time. This played to my advantage: To the researchers, I had the level of invisibility all support staff eventually gain and was able to move around everywhere without anyone so much as batting an eyebrow. Only the bots were given less attention by the human staff. Even if some researcher noticed that I was somewhere that I wasn’t authorized to be, the thought of me being a security threat wouldn’t even cross their minds. Someone who was running Helix corpo-ware, physically and mentally wasn’t capable of industrial espionage, or being any type of threat in general, on corporate property. Even if they held a prototype for a next gen product in their hands, anyone without authorization wouldn’t be able to see it or even remember it later if they somehow got their hands on it.

The one bit of digital infiltration that had gotten me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be had been done beforehand. The OSPF, presumably Blackbeard, had smuggled a fake work order into the research center’s systems for me. This way, the research facility’s mainframe intelligence would assign me to complete a task in a high-security area. I, being the diligent worker, had followed the mainframe intelligence’s navigational instructions down to the secure level. It had helpfully buzzed me through doors, called elevators, and turned on lights for me to complete my “task”. In its AI-brain, it just believed it was doing its job. It didn’t question orders. Of course, maintaining facility security was also one of its directives, but from its viewpoint, I was epitome of a perfect worker. Not a threat. I understood why once I reached the secure levels:

The vision interpreted from my mostly biological eyes by the Helix ware didn’t match what I could see through the visual input of my OSPF ware underneath. Not by a long shot. In Helix-vision, I had one, long, narrow corridor to walk down, ending at the door where my “assigned task” was located. The corridor was barren, cold, and illuminated by regularly placed lights. Just what one would expect from the lower levels—the guts—of any proper facility. OSPF-vision however, revealed the truth. I wasn’t in a narrow corridor; I was in a veritable underground city: hundreds of meters above me, distant lights illuminated a colossal facility space which was filled with what appeared to be miniature mobile city blocks. These blocks were comprised of modular labs, workshops, and storage units, and some of them were stacked high enough to nearly reach the manipulator gantries far above. The path that Helix vision had dictated for me was clear, but all around me and undetectable to Helix-me, bots of all shapes and sizes scurried, flew, and drove about. It felt like an android metropolis, or an advanced logistics hub.

Transporters shuttled around large prototype combat-bots, assembly bots tore down and fabricated new lab modules left and right, and crates were transported in all directions. I quickly realized what this space was: this was where science actually happened. All my time as an assistant, I’d believed the research was done off-site, perhaps even out of system, when in fact, it had simply been below my feet. It made sense though. Why have humans navigate this chaos and potentially expose themselves to dangerous experiments or hazardous manufacturing environments when simple teleoperated or AI-driven bots was so much easier, safer, and more efficient?

Pretending to stretch while looking around, I realized it was understandable that this space was mostly a human-free zone: anyone without censored vision in this madhouse would go crazy in short order. Ahead of me, like a shoal of fish, bots adjusted their flight patterns and machinery shifted to clear my designated path while always maintaining speeds high enough to casually dismember anyone who wasn’t part of this mesmerizing dance of large-scale automation. It was hard to avoid flinching when multi-ton bots that should’ve been invisible to me blazed past my designated “safe corridor”. I fervently tried not to think about the fact that the rapidly moving bots probably wouldn’t be able to stop in time if I suddenly and inexplicably sprinted into the corridor wall shown by my Helix-ware.

Eventually, I reached the room where my bogus “task” was located and entered it. Helix-vision showed it blank, save for the highlighted 1 sqm of floor that I was supposed to “inspect”. Dutifully, I went over and looked at it. My fake assignment gave me 10 minutes to “inspect” this specific patch of floor, and until it was time to direct me back to the elevators, the mainframe wouldn’t be paying direct attention to me.

I waited a couple seconds, to make sure the MI’s attention would be somewhere else and then moved on to my actual task: this room contained a secure terminal. No wireless capabilities and a physical interface meant local users only. It had the ability to directly access airgapped security databases and could theoretically retrieve this facility’s partial Key. In the briefing that I’d been given, Claire explained that the only reason this specific facility even had a partial Key was because one of the research-oriented Helix board members kept his “pet projects” here. Unusual, but from their perspective it made sense. R&D needed to be secured with strong encryption just like any other project or product.

Seconds later, it was done. The simple automated hacking script I’d been given found the key that I shouldn’t be able to see on a terminal that shouldn’t exist from my perspective in a room I wasn’t supposed to be in under a minute. Mission success. Cold sweat ran down my back. It felt too easy, but I reassured myself with the facts: The likelihood of me getting caught had been low; this mission was the perfect storm of opportunity, coincidence, and timing. Running fully realized Helix-ware on top of anything else should be impossible, but Matryoshka took care of that and nobody besides Claire and Blackbeard knew it existed. Furthermore, there being a Key, even if it was only partial one, in such a facility was an oversight by management to put it mildly. Moreover, not just anyone could’ve done what I just did. One had to have genuine corporate ware for Matryoshka’s disguise to work, as no matter how good it is, in a full ware replacement it would show up.

Getting genuine ware in the first place would be impossible for any OSPF member as their previous affiliation would be immediately flagged during install. Finally, as good as Blackbeard was, he wasn’t naïve. Matryoshka would eventually be leaked and summarily security patched into oblivion. I’d been the perfect person at the perfect time, and it wasn’t complete blind luck that this key-snatching endeavor went off so smoothly: it was the confluence of long-term planning, a technological edge, and striking at the presented opportunity ruthlessly when it came up.

I had 9 minutes left until the mainframe intelligence would direct me back out of the secure area. So, the waiting began.

Two minutes later, I’d had enough. I’d just committed the crime of the decade—possibly century—and it had been a proverbial walk in the park. Getting away with it wasn’t going to be difficult. All I had to do was walk out, and nobody would be the wiser. This reassurance didn’t relax me though, the partial Key copy proverbially burned in my mind. It felt like a live mine about to go off: it was distinctly uncomfortable to keep it in there—not because it was itself dangerous, but because of what it represented. I just couldn’t keep still. That’s why I decided to take a quick walk around the little lab that I was in.

Halfway through the long, bright white room, I felt it. Something was wrong. It took me a second to pin down what it was, but when I did, I only grew more confused: gravity wasn’t right. According to my inertial perception, something extremely dense had to be at the far end of the lab module. That doesn’t make sense… Are they keeping a singularity in a box down here or something? Triangulating in on the gravitational disturbance among the many crates was easy and I made my way towards it.

At the far end of the lab was an ominous two-meter square crate. It was gray, with Helix-corporation colored accent lines near the mounting points and the diagnostics panel. On it, in large block lettering, was spelled out “PROJECT HAWKING”.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I was, needless to say, incredulous. In a daze, I approached the diagnostics panel. After a light prodding, it confirmed my suspicions: not only was this an actual singularity in a box, but this was also the apocryphal core of Helix Corporations’ next-generation information security system—the same system that Helix had spent the last product cycle alluding to as being “next big thing”.

Now, I’m not a cryptography expert, so my knowledge on what exactly the rumored Project Hawking was supposed to do is a bit piecemeal. What I did know is that the backbone of modern information security rests on the shoulders of being able to generate absurd amounts of truly random numbers. That’s where Project Hawking allegedly came in: a random number generator which draws its randomness from the quantum-level effects that surround a contained miniature black hole. This shouldn’t be here. Why is this here?

I couldn’t think straight. Mere mortal eyes such as mine shouldn’t be able to look at this thing—or hell—even exist in the same room as this thing. This device, this key-generator, was the type of thing that would make rival corporations deploy squadrons of tech-ninjas, raze planets, or marshal fleets if they thought they could capture it with its precious data intact. And I’m in the same room as it.

Almost subconsciously, my finger pressed the unlock button on the diagnostic panel. Then, as if I’d been burned, I yanked my hand back. Fortunately, nothing bad happened. In fact, the panel only politely informed me to enter my security authorization. Breathing in relief and thankful that I’d been stymied by something out of my control, I stepped back before freezing in place an instant later. I had a Key.

I had a Key.

Feeling detached from reality and the situation in general, I reached forwards with a shaky hand towards the hardware interface port. Then, thoroughly suppressing any dissenting thoughts, I gave the crate the partial Key that I’d just copied from the secure terminal. Then, I stopped breathing. Two seconds later, the box beeped, and displayed:

[Private partial Key accepted]

[Alert! Provided Key has special permissions, elevating user level]

[Diagnostic User —> Administrator]

[Welcome Dr. Whitehouse]

Below that, the menu gave all sorts of options. Mostly diagnostics and maintenance information. In a dream-like state, I skimmed the list before my eyes caught on the second-to-last option. There, they stuck. I couldn’t look away. In simple text, the menu option read:

[Export Project Hawking Master Keyring to file?]

The world seemed to stop. My entire vision kaleidoscoped in on those simple words. I would’ve stopped breathing if I’d been doing so. Outside of the lab-module, bots still lumbered past, but they weren’t of concern anymore. Nothing was, and my already racing thoughts accelerated once more to truly incredible speeds. Stealing the partial Key would greatly bolster the OSPF. I’d be an anonymous hero. Stealing this would turn human space—human civilization—on its head.

Really, there wasn’t any choice to be made.

I selected the option and saved the file it produced deep inside my mind, somewhere only I could find it.