After the demonstration, Lonah found herself in a secure meeting room with John Harlan and the other shareholder, Arthur. As they prepared to leave the R&D facility, their conversation continued in the back of John's limousine. The tests had been promising, a clear success, but something nagged at Arthur.
"This is undoubtedly a huge breakthrough, Lonah," Arthur began, his voice thoughtful, "but how do we proceed from here? The chances of error, once this is out of a controlled test environment, are still high, not low. What happens when it's not supervised? Will it still perform to standard? And, more critically, how do we ensure the user doesn't… expire?" He used the euphemism, referring not to biological death, but to the consciousness being wiped clean, leaving only Oracle in control.
John, who had been staring silently out the car window as they glided through the bustling evening streets of Masonvale – still beautiful and vibrant – turned his attention to the conversation. He too was interested in this crucial point. They were heading to the airport; Arthur and John had a meeting in Falworth, the capital, the specifics of which Lonah was not privy to.
Lonah answered with calm confidence. "With more development time, Arthur, Oracle will become even more seamless and advanced. This was Version 5, not the final iteration. There will be a Version 6, and then the release candidate, Version 7, which will build upon this foundation. Version 5 is purely for internal testing and data gathering; it was never intended for release." She paused, wanting to ensure her explanation of AI development sounded credible. "The current test subjects will be… disposed of, and their implants removed and destroyed. We have all the data we need from them. Version 5, while functional, is still a prototype with certain risks; even our scientists wouldn't advise its general use. The NIN hardware is perfect, but the Oracle 5 programming is too raw for public consumption. Version 7 will be tailored for a safe, effective user experience."
John chimed in, supporting her. "I was the one who relayed that information about the versioning to Lonah. She is correct."
Arthur seemed surprised. "Then why, John, is Lonah still not cleared to contact the Oracle core development team directly in Falworth? She's performing exceptionally well. The project is on track. It's time her clearance was raised."
Arthur leaned back, appearing tired after the intense demonstration and subsequent discussion. He closed his eyes as if to rest. John gave Lonah a knowing look, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them.
Lonah felt a thrill of excitement. This was huge progress. Arthur's suggestion, and John's implicit agreement, meant her authority within Project Aurora would be solidified further. The Oracle core developers were one of Noxon's most secretive assets. Being granted direct access to them was a precious opportunity, a significant sign of trust and a validation of her skills and hard work. Without it, she wouldn't be able to effectively manage the project's final stages.
It brought back a familiar memory. Just last week, John had casually mentioned an unofficial evaluation was underway. If she showed promising results – which today's demonstration certainly had – she would be considered for a more significant position.
Arthur's comment confirmed her suspicion: Project Aurora, and her leadership of it, was being very closely watched. She was sure everyone involved in its success would be rewarded, but her reward, she sensed, would be of a different magnitude. This wasn't to say the Oracle developers were gods, but they literally determined Oracle's core functions, what it was allowed to do, and what it couldn't. Lonah and her teams merely helped train it, refine its interactions, and build the physical conduit for it in the form of the NIN and the data-gathering Kream app.
The next day, Noxon HQ buzzed with an unusual energy. Lonah had called an all-staff meeting, ostensibly a small celebration for completing a major project milestone. During the meeting, she released some carefully chosen critical information, indirectly hinting that an internal assessment was ongoing. Some, she implied, would be lucky enough to get "front-row seats" in Noxon's new future – a priceless opportunity. But that wasn't all; there would also be substantial rewards and bonuses tied to Project Aurora's successful completion.
This news fostered a sense of harmony and renewed loyalty. Noxon truly valued them, or so it seemed. It was, of course, a silent tactic on Lonah's part. She felt nothing delivering those carefully crafted words, but her expression was perfect, conveying sincerity and excitement. She fooled everyone, even senior executives like David Simons. This was a chance no one wanted to miss, ensuring they would all strive to perform at their absolute best, with no thoughts of internal sabotage.
Then, Lonah directly addressed the elephant in the room, a move that momentarily dampened the celebratory mood, but one she knew was necessary. Rumors were circulating nationwide about the murder of the CIB field agent, with many online claims linking him to uncovering Noxon's "dirty laundry."
As CEO, Lonah had a duty to protect the company's image.
Her voice took on a passionate, almost heated tone, as if she were defending herself in court. "These claims are a baseless ploy by our competitors!" she declared. "The tragic death of that agent is in no way tied to Noxon. We are an upright company that competes fairly. We do not need to resort to such despicable means to achieve our goals!" She continued, her voice rising, "These are the actions of those worried about our innovative projects, scared of our sudden, successful entry into the chip market! If this is their reaction, it should be clear to all of you: they are afraid of us. They cannot compete equally. You should be proud to be part of Noxon, not swayed by baseless suspicions! If any of you are approached by individuals spreading these lies, or if you feel threatened, a dedicated number will be provided. Contact it, and you will be assigned protection."
Her speech swayed them. Lonah herself almost believed her own words, a small, proud smile playing on her lips as the staff erupted in unified applause.
When she got back to the sanctuary of her office, the facade dropped. She was deeply troubled and stressed. The constant pressure, the deceptions, the moral compromises – it all took a toll. No matter how expertly she handled these situations, she felt increasingly tired, worn out. The last few weeks, in particular, had been grueling. She took a small bottle of pills from her desk drawer and swallowed a couple.
She was currently reviewing a complex data packet sent by the Oracle core developers. As expected, it was dense and highly technical. What surprised her, however, was how "wild" and unrestricted Oracle Version 5 truly was. It had very few built-in limitations. Now she understood why it would never be used for the public launch; it was a raw, powerful iteration meant solely for data gathering, a stepping stone to the more controlled Version 7, after which Version 5 would be scrapped or archived.
She placed the data file on her table and retrieved a small, plain envelope from another drawer. Locking her office door, she called her secretary. "Redirect my calls for the next hour, please. I'll be in an online meeting with a special client." It was a normal request, and her secretary readily agreed.
Lonah then swept aside the files and papers on her desk, some tumbling to the floor. Anyone seeing this would be shocked; Lonah Harlan was always the epitome of calm and collected order. From the envelope, she poured out a small mound of white powder: cocaine.
Since her husband's death, she had cultivated the image of a strong, unbreakable woman. Inwardly, however, few ever asked how she truly felt. She drowned herself in work, in her demanding role as CEO. Occasionally, very occasionally, she let loose. It was a dangerous habit, a problem she knew she had. There had been a few relapses over the years, but Lara was always there, and sometimes John too, so these episodes were rare. She usually had someone looking out for her.
But today, no one was watching. Most of the things she orchestrated were cruel, even heartless. She knew the full extent of Noxon's illegal experiments, the unethical nature of the AI Oracle, and so much more. The list of transgressions was long, and it affected her more than she ever let on. Sometimes, she desperately wished she could push it all away, forget it all. The staff meeting, having to look all those people in the eye and lie so convincingly, had been the final nail. She wasn't sad about the lies themselves, but the burden of it, the weight of assuming responsibility for these events, was immense. If the truth ever came out, she would be seen as the monster she was fighting so hard not to become. She had, in many ways, already bled for this organization.
She started sniffing the lines. After a few rounds, a wave of relief washed over her, her body relaxing. Sometimes she even forgot she was forty-five years old, almost half a century. Taking care of her appearance, maintaining her poise, came with those executive perks, but now, alone in her soundproof office – its walls solid, not glass, though no one would question her need to unwind even if they were – she let it all go. Her neatly styled bun came undone, her hair cascading around her shoulders. She didn't care about her appearance now.
She even played some music, turning the volume up high, and began to dance, moving freely, a stark contrast to her usual controlled demeanor. As she swayed to the rhythm, a dangerous, electrifying thought formed in her mind, striking her like lightning. She laughed out loud, a strange, wild sound in the otherwise silent office.